fosliie · 1 year ago
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Happy Pride Month fellas!! You guys are crazy if you think for a second I ain’t gonna do a pride post with the most goofiest husbands ever ❤️🧡💛💚🩵💜
+ silly Sam & Max sketches and a lil sona pride doodle :]
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hollenka99 · 6 months ago
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YouTube yesterday: Hey btw The Longest Johns just released a song about Horatio Nelson's death.
Me: Cool, excuse me as I stare off into space and think about L'Manburgian soldiers' reaction to hearing about Kiril's dying to withering whenever I play the song.
#regicide au#like yes I know realistically Kiril would be a bit of a controversial figure in L'Manburg#his father (and ancestry in general tbh) represents centuries of colonialism and oppression#like ffs you can't just walk into a place like Pogtopia going 'hi I promise I'm a good Krafta'#when you've had to spend the past few years drastically unlearning all the colonialist propaganda you were fed as a child#anyway Artur is representative of continuing the oppression of an entire people no matter how hard you have to grind your boot on them#while Kiril represents the effort to at least make a start on fixing the mistakes of the past#with liberation in the hopes that will open the door for reparations etc#not that he ever expects to see that because he'll be dead from fratricide#(not to mention shit like that will take generations for the wounds to begin healing so no veteran of this war will live to see it either)#he still wants to do *something* as a way to work towards that better future though#a war of independence sure as fuck wasn't what he imagined but 'the universal language is violence' yada yada#it certainly seems to be Artur's universal language#and Kiril gains an even better image of himself as a general who is willing to fight and potentially die with his soldiers#those under his command absolutely have deep respect for him thanks to how he conducts himself#...and then the withered arrows start flying#people are going to end up talking about how he never let on he was hit himself#he simply visited the affected soldiers in the infirmary some of whom were doomed to die in one of the worst ways possible#then he was gone. just grabbed by his brother so he could be killed in Rayusel (or away from the public eye in general)#rumours are going to fly about all sorts of things pertaining to Kiril's final hours but one thing is for sure#there is going to be grief amongst the soldiers who loved him#'let him die in peace' ...yeah they really are going to hope that somehow he didn't suffer as much as a typical withering victim#god I am just shaking this song vigourously by its shoulders I swear
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askfordoodles · 5 months ago
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A detail I don't see mentioned about the confrontation between Blitzø and Stolas is that while Blitzø is understandably angry and lashing out, he also ends his rant with an invitation to Stolas, imploring, no, demanding he meet him at his level, to get as angry as he is, to FIGHT HIM, right then and there.
We've seen frequently that imps are violent in general, they're originally native to Wrath, and we see that most of their bonding rituals often involve violence and/or bodily harm (just look at how much Millie and Sallie May messed each other up at the end and while being able to laugh about it; a broken bottle fight and broken bones is their version of a light-hearted pillow fight)
While Blitzø is also very self-destructive, even by Hell's standards, it should be noted that he's technically begging for Stolas to connect with him in this moment, to speak a language he understands. "At least respect me enough to fight me! If you care, why walk away? Get real with me, if we can't get physical with our genitals, then at least let us get physical with our fists!"
Unfortunately, Stolas has had the exact opposite cultural upbringing, having been taught his whole life that emotional outbursts are unseemly and improper, so his main go-to for conflicts is avoidance. He avoided confrontation with his father, he basically avoided Stella as much as he could even when she was openly shitting on him at parties; and ONLY just recently has he managed to stand up for himself and when he finally does, it's not to strike back, but simply stand his ground for once, emboldened his new-found love for Blitzø and the knowledge that his daughter isn't fooled by the act anymore and will soon be of age anyway.
It is not currently in Stolas' nature to be confrontational the way Blitzø desperately needs him to be.
Blitzø says: "Please, if you ever actually cared, you'd fight for us Get mad, show me that you care!"
What Stolas hears is just the most literal interpretation with zero subtext, because he isn't attuned to the subtleties of arguing and especially not what it looks like for imps, i.e. he focuses on the "I always hated you" interpretation.
Both gave the other an opening, but only heard dismissal, because it wasn't spoken in a language they were familiar with.
I'm not saying either handled things well here, Blitzø shouldn't immediately respond with anger and Stolas shouldn't default to walking away, that's my whole point.
I just thought it was an interesting angle that their differences aren't just societal (privilege/wealth/respect) but also cultural in how it influences how they each handle emotional confrontation, or, in the case of Stolas, how they don't.
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sunnymoonxx · 4 months ago
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❝lethal lust❞ | qimir x fem!reader
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pairing: qimir x fem!reader
summary: smut without plot, little bit of angst! ep6 left me speechless so of course i had to write something
warnings: english is not my native language, p in v, ocean sex (don't recommend), fingering, backshots against a rock, little bit of violence, established relationship, qimir being too fine
now playing, lust for life by lana del rey
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The stones were cold, running through your numb bare feet. The lukewarm wave from the ocean soothed the pain, gently caressing your skin with its rhythmic ebb and flow. The ache slowly vanished as you dipped your ankles deep into the water, letting the waves cling to your calves.
You woke up later than intended today, exhausted and sore from last nights encounter with the jedi. You suffered many injuries, the outcome of being out of practice for many months. You were fortunate to find yourself this morning with only scars left, your lethal wounds healed and mended. You could never count on your fingers how many times Qimir saved your life. The number of times he healed your wounds, no matter how little they were. He hated seeing you injured, harmed in any way. You wanted to pay him back but you had no idea how. Any time you asked him he responded with, I have you. That’s all that matters. You always felt a little guilty.
“Are you gonna just stand there or join me?” You heard him spoke, few meters away from you, relaxing in the ocean, guarded by a circle of large rocks. He had his back turned to you, his hair pushed back, wet, dripping with to his shoulders. You saw his scar many times, but never got quiet used to it. You wanted to find that person who gave it to him and make them suffer for eternity. One day, he promised you.
Lifting up your hands to your robe, you slowly untied it, letting it fall on the shore, taking your time to get into the water.
After a few seconds you finally reached him, putting your hands on the side of his arms, your chin resting on his shoulder. His skin was hot, despite the cool temperature around you. You felt his hands reach out for your legs under the water, caressing your skin with his fingers.
“You saved me there,” you broke the silence, lifting your hand to play with the ends of his hair. “Again.” Last night, Yord almost separated your head from your shoulders and if it wasn’t for Qimir pulling you away, you wouldn’t see him turn to face you now. His eyes were set low, softness blending it with yearning. His hands danced their way from your thighs to your waist to pull you closer to him. You could feel every curve of his, every small movement against your skin, and even after hundreds of times, you never got used to the striking feeling it brought you.
“You would do the same for me,” he simply added, tilting his head, scanning you with his eyes.
“But I never do.” You replied, ashamed, shaking your head. “You never need my saving. It is always I, who needs it.” You felt embarrassment crawling to your cheeks but returning his intense stare. He never broke eye contact; it made you nervous.
“You’re saving me every day,” smile danced on his lips as his hand reached your jaw, his thumb resting on your cheekbone. “By being here with me.” His voice was soft, teasing. “I lost everything a long time ago, and I thought I was at peace, that it fit me. But all I needed was someone by my side, someone to share the same feelings, desires, dreams that I do. You found me.” His thumb moved in circles on your cheek, making sure you heard every word he let out.
You didn’t dare to even blink, admiring every movement of his lips, his eyebrows, the way his eyes kept circling your face.
“You’re saving me simply by returning the love I give you.” He repeated before slowly leaning in to give you a small kiss on the top of your nose.
“But-“ he didn’t even let you start, placing his wet hand against your mouth. You saw the smirk on his lips, the desire to kick him in the shin growing stronger every second.
“No arguing,” he said, more steadily and loudly. “Please,” you heard him add, lowering his voice back.
You didn’t want to argue either, but you wanted to do more then just to breathe next to him. You wanted to help him when it came to battle, protect him from potential harm. It was like arguing with a wall. He knew you were powerful, almost his equal. But the fear of getting you hurt made him keep you away from the fights he so often faced.
Okay.
You thought to yourself, before feeling his hand move away from your mouth, to let it rest against your hip. His other hand found yours, lifting it up and pushing it against his abdomen. His eyes never left yours and you could slowly recognize the desire within them.
You remembered, years back, when you still trained as a jedi, any sign or hint of desire forced you to suffer the jedi punishment. As a jedi, especially as a padawan, you could never let these thoughts even fly around your mind. If you even dared to share a though, you were destined to dark side. That’s what you were taught. Until you met Qimir. You were both padawans, both training to be the next jedi knights. So when you saw the glimpse in his eyes, you realized you might not be the only one. That it’s normal to feel those things. It’s normal to want. And for months you despised yourself, but Qimir helped you. Helped you how to deal with those feelings. Taught you.
When you two were later found out, you were forced to leave the Order, as for Qimir, you never found out what they did to him. He never told you, not even after years when you found each other again, leaving you wondering. You wanted to avenge him, hurt those who hurt him. Why did he suffer for things you were too a part of.
You didn’t know how long you stood there for, how long he held your hand against his torso, or how many times the waved washed over you. You started to get cold and Qimir wasn’t blind to it. You stood still as he lowered his gaze to your shoulders where he slowly rested his hand. His fingers tracing your scars, slowly moving his way up your collarbones, to your neck, tickling your jaw, until he placed it next to your ear, curling his fingers to get underneath your hair. His other hand, still underwater let go of yours to push it to your lower back, centimeters above your ass.
He didn’t say anything as he moved in closer, his lips brushing against your face. You started to feel the heat between your legs grow stronger, his smell driving you crazy. Closing your eyes you let him leave wet marks on your skin, bending his knees to circle down to your chest, his nails pressing against your back dimples.
You didn’t realize all while doing that, he was slowly pushing you back until you were met with a hard texture of the rock behind you. It wasn’t necessarily comfortable but when Qimir’s lips attacked your breasts, all of the discomfort left your mind.
Instinctively your hands moved to his, still dripping wet hair, enjoying the sensation of his mouth. His tongue started circling your hard nipples, his fingers lightly tugging on your hair. Moans started to leave your mouth as his other hand squeezed your ass, his mouth never leaving your tits. Lifting your arm to hold on onto his, as he kept pulling your hair.
Even in the water, you could feel the wetness already forming between your thighs, his touch clouding your thoughts and any form of previous opinions.
He knew exactly how to make you want him, how to touch you and how to keep you on the edge. How many times he made you straddle him during training sessions, how many times he walked around naked just to pass by you. He enjoyed the teasing, and you knew it.
You were aware of every touch of is and when his hips met yours, pushing you with force against the cold stone, you had to bite back a moan. He was already rock hard, resting against your abdomen.
He quickly moved away from you, his hands and mouth leaving you only to find his fingers right between your legs, brushing against your bundle of nerves. You cried out, not expecting him to be so fast. Most of the times he waited till tears formed in your eyes, wanting to see you so desperate and needy just to feel his touch. He wasn’t wasting time today. He needed you. And he needed you now.
“You’re needy this morning.” He purred, grin on his face as he looked down at you. You were, you had no intention of denying it. His fingers worked magic on you, teasing your entrance as he roughly attacked your neck, making you dizzy, not sure where to put your focus on.
You pressed your hands against his chest when you felt his fingers thrust into you, receiving a sharp intake of breath from you.
Fuck.
You never comprehended how his fingers alone could make you feel so good. Sometimes you prefered it. But nothing ever topped the way his tongue worked on you. The way he devoured you whole like he wanted to eat you. The way he made you sit on his face with full strength, how he almost made you faint one time from orgasming too many times just on his tongue.
Your brain was empty, only focusing on his fingers, thrusting in and out of you while his thumb circled your clit. His mouth marking your neck, leaving bunch of red marks around. He loved marking you.
“Qimi-“you failed to speak, his fingers making you see The Force itself. You were absolutely useless. Pressed against a rock as Qimir pounded into you with his thick fingers.
“Yes, darling.” He responded to your nonexistent question. Your eyes were closed, focusing only on the pleasure but you could see the stupid cocky smile he had on his lips right now. He loved seeing you so desperate, drowning in his touch.
“Fuc,” you wanted to speak but his fingers shut you up every time they moved inside of you. You were so close. You could feel his force, intensifying your pleasure, making it way harder to keep your legs steady.
“What do you want, I can’t hear you.” Jerk.
So close. You could feel it. You grabbed his hand, digging your nails into him as your legs started to shake, orgasm approaching fast.
Or it would, if Qimir didn’t move his hand away, leaving you feeling empty, unsatisfied and angry.
“What did you wanna say?” he asked, stupid grin on his face. His hair was slowly drying, few strands falling into his face. His lips plumb and pink, his chest covered on salty drops of the ocean. You wanted to eat him.
“You fuck.” You whined, shoving your hands against his chest. It only widened his smile. You ought to expect it when he grabbed your hands out of reflex, bending them to make you turn, forcing you to be face to face with the rock you were just now pressed against. Groan left your mouth out of both pain and shock, his one hand holding both of your wrists against your beck, your ass to his already leaking cock.
You tried to hold yourself against the rock as you felt his strength against you. You felt him against your ass, closing your eyes wanting nothing else than him right now. His free hand slowly moved your hair away from your back so he could trace your spine down to your ass, which he then aggressively spanked.
“You need to be more loud next time.” He ordered, pushing you against the rock one last time. His rough actions weren’t anything new to you, it often happened after a battle. Once he had you bent over against a random building, few minutes after being attacked by a group of bounty hunters.
You were powerless against him, so you decided to rest your face against the rough texture of the rock, only feeling his hand holding your wrists together.
“Tell me when to stop,” he breathed out as he brushed himself against your entrance, the water making it more difficult to see, but that didn’t stop him. You could feel him against your folds, trying to hold back a moan.
Without any warning he pushed forward, burying himself inside of you. Both of you cried out at the same time, trying to compose yourself, feeling him spreading your walls, not even halfway in yet.
“Qimir fuck.” You shout out, his hand finally leaving yours so you could hold yourself against the rock as he slowly started to push himself deeper, as much as you allowed him to. No matter how many times he used you, you never got used to the feeling of having him inside, filling you to the fullest.
His hands gripped your hips tightly, holding you steady as he began to thrust roughly. You knew he’d leave marks on your hips based on how strongly he was gripping you, pounding into you mercilessly.
You used all your power to keep yourself standing, gripping any part of the rock, not caring about the bruising you’d be left with.
“Fuck, you feel so good.” He growled, pounding into you harder, sliding in and out of you. His one hand left your hips to reach out for your hair, pulling your head back.
You felt his breath on you back as he pulled you against him, his thrusts becoming sloppier, hungrier. He was close. His chest pressed against your back, his hands finding your breasts, fondling them, not stopping abusing your g-spot.
"Qimir, please," you whispered, reaching out to hold onto something, for your legs started to feel weaker, the water splashing around with every thrust of his distracting you.
"I know," he breathed into your ear, chills travelling down your spine. Without warning, he pulled himself out of you, turning you back to him again, your back scratching against the rock. Lifting you, you wrapped your legs around his hips as he pushed himself into you again, thrusting harder than before. He leaned against the rock, his arms around your head. You ignored the pain of your back being pushed repeatedly against the rock and only focused on his cock filling you up so good, hitting all the spots you never reached yourself. Your arms wrapped around his torso, your nails leaving long marks on his back.
"Please," you begged, feeling yourself closer than before. You felt him starting to twitch inside of you, both of you so close. Two more thrust into you, he panted, feeling his climax building up inside of him. He couldn't hold back any longer, his hips bucking wildly as he came hard inside of you, filling you up with his cum. At the same time, you felt your walls contract around his thick cock, feeling him fill you up as your eyes filled with tears from the intense orgasm.
You didn't realize or hear the loud crash as Qimir pushed too hard against the rock next to your head, cracking it in half before it fell into the water, splashing the both of you with a huge wave.
Your hair was now dripping wet, curling at the ends, leaning against Qimir's chest, who tried to regain his composure. Both of you stood there for a few seconds, staring at the cracked stone lying in the water next to you.
You flinched at Qimir's arms, holding you tightly against him. He didn't bother to move and decided to stay inside of you for as long as you let him.
"Next time," you murdered, raising your head to look at him, his eyes still dark, filled with lust. "on the shore, please."
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ponderingmoonlight · 5 months ago
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Saving Genya from his big brother only to make out with Sanemi
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Pairing: Sanemi x fem!reader
Word Count: 2,9k
Synopsis: It was never an easy job, being the only one who's able to calm the wind hashira down. There was never more than respect and understanding between both of you. Until you bodly decided to stand up for Genya, until Sanemi finally reveals his true feelings...
Warnings: We're talking about Sanemi so language at violence lol, aggressive making out
I love love love Sanemi and I desperately hope you do as well hehe, enjoy and leave a comment/like/reblog <3
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There he stands with his hot temper filling the air and his ruthless beatings torturing the poor souls in front of you. Hashira training never sounded like fun to you, especially when you consider who you’d have to deal with.
Sanemi Shinazugawa, especially.
“Get back up, brat. We’re not finished yet.”
You watch from afar as he hits the poor red-haired poor over and over again. Without any mercy, without the slightest hint of regret. And still, you can’t help but ponder about the way his arms flex and show every vein that decorates his skin. How he moves so effortlessly that your eyes are almost unable to follow. No, it’s not a secret that apart from being a madman, Sanemi Shinazugawa is hot as hell.
And your crush since you joined the demon slayer corps.
“Don’t you think that’s enough for today? The poor boy isn’t even able to stand up straight anymore”, you interfere when he’s about to hit him once again.
 "Oh, I'm sorry, I didn't realize you were the expert on disciplining. How about me fetching you a chair so you can supervise more comfortably?”
All pairs of eyes are set on you while you step towards the scene in death silence. Apart from everyone else, you aren’t here to train under Sanemi. No, you are a very capable demon slayer yourself, so good that you even managed to beat Mitsuri from time to time. You definetely don’t need Sanemi to train.
In fact, you are here because you’re the only one who is able to tame him apart from Kagaya-sama himself.
"Well, if you ask me so nicely, a chair actually doesn’t sound bad for the next time. Meanwhile, how about we wrap this up? Enough's enough."
Sanemi’s venomous eyes meet yours, tempting you to lose your cool. Within the past few months, you’ve learned how to act around him and that his actions don’t reflect his true feelings at all. Deep within, he is the most caring and compassionate person you’ve ever met, so tender that you’d simply melt away in his touch. He never failed to protect you even if not needed, always made sure you are save before looking out for himself. Damn, he even left his desert for you to eat.
But on the other hand, he’s very good at hiding that side of him.
“Fine. Call it quits for today then. But we two will have a talk later”, he finally mutters before turning around and disappearing without any trace.
Your heart skips a few beats before you’re able to think straight again. Oh, how much you adore him. Just the sheer thought of meeting him alone sends shivers down your spine even though nothing ever happened between you two. After all, you’re only here to look out for him, right?
“Thank you for standing up for me. Now you’ll get in trouble for helping me out”, the red-haired boy lying in front of your feet speaks out while dragging himself up.
“Oh, don’t worry about me, I can handle him. Are you alright?”
In the matter of seconds, your eyes scan his body for serious injuries. Nothing, as you expected. Even though his training methods seem rough, he’d never allow himself to truly lay hands on another corps member. Not even him, Kamado Tanjiro. The boy who has what Sanemi always dreamed of.
“Yes, thanks to you. We really need a break after training day and night. Sorry, may I ask you for your name?
“My name is (y/n). Nice to finally meet you in person, Kamado Tanjiro.”
His eyes widen in an instant when you tell him your name. Even though you’re not a hashira, it seems like a lot of corps member know you. A decently skilled swordswoman, a trained doctor who made sure that no one ever died as long as you were around.
“The angel”, he breathes out.
“What an honor to meet you in person!”
In an instant, he gets on his knees and places his head on his flat palms. A pose of deep respect, so intimate that your cheeks heat up in an instant.
“Please, lift yourself off the ground. I don’t deserve your praise-“
“You deserve so much more than that!”, Tanjiro interrupts in an instant.
“Leave her alone. Can’t you see that you’re making her uncomfortable?”, another voice mutters from behind.
A very familiar voice you haven’t heard in quite some time, that makes your heart jump up and down in joy.
“Genya!”, you cry out.
You waste no time. In an instant, you lunge yourself at the now much taller boy and wrap your arms around him so tightly that he cannot escape. Oh, you really missed him. Even though Sanemi states over and over how much he hates his little brother, you always had a weak spot for him. Maybe because you’re able to see his soft side as well or because of the cute way he blushes when you look at him.
“Genya, are you alright? Your face is so red-“
“SHUT UP”, he barks at Tanjiro while you giggle to yourself.
“Why didn’t you send me a crow like I told you to? I was beyond worried about you. But oh I’m so proud. Did you really help to kill an upper moon demon and supported your friends?”
“Well I-“
“Yes he did! He was a big help for all of us!”, Tanjuro interferes immediately.
“(y/n), didn’t I tell you we need to talk?”, someone suddenly barks from the inside.
All color drains from Genya’s face immediately as he turns around with you.
There he stands with his arms crossed in front of his muscular chest, eyes almost piercing through you while the vein on his forehead threatens to pop any minute.
Your heart sinks in an instant. No, don’t let him control you like that, not when you know that he’s just…jealous?
“I needed to talk to Genya first”, you clarify.
“(y/n), please don’t-“
“Oh, is that so? Why would you even look at that trash?”
Thick anger rushes through your veins like the flood. If there’s one thing you hate about Sanemi’s attitude, it’s the way he talks about his little brother.
“I’m looking at you as well, don’t I?”
He flinches ever so slightly, his furrowed eyes now piercing through you like a thousand knives.
“Get inside. Right now.”
“Get some rest you two”, you quickly shout over your shoulder before you disappear into the house with a furious Sanemi by your side.
He slams the door shut behind you so rapidly that it rains plaster.
“What was that, huh?”, he speaks out with threatening low voice.
“I asked your little brother about his mission.”
He cages you between the wall with no way to escape, dangerous eyes locked with yours.
“I told you to stay away from him.”
“And I told you that I don’t care.”
“Why don’t you leave, then?”
“Because I’m the only one who’s able to tame you down”, you bite back.
He huffs in sheer annoyance while pushing himself off the wall. Why does he have to look so vulnerable and strong at the same time, so scary but also mesmerizing?
“You won’t force me to talk to him”, he finally speaks out.
“I want him to leave the corps and get as far away from me as possible.”
“Away from you or away from the danger?”
“I don’t care about him.”
“So you don’t care about me as well?”
Thick silence hangs between both of you while you stare at each other. To this day he never revealed how he truly feels about you. Does he hate you, respect you, love you? You might never know. But your influence on him speaks for itself.
“Go to sleep. We’ll get up early tomorrow.”
Without another word, he leaves you standing in a new wave of ponderings and emotions.
-a few hours later-
Your eyes dart open for no reason. Aimlessly, your orbs roam around the dark room, ears searching for a single sound.
Voices. Shouting. Blows.
Blows?
“Big brother?”
Your heart drops to the floor. That’s Genya. Why does the floor start to vibrate now?
Out of instinct, you yank out of your room, follow a wave of destruction until you finally get what’s going on.
There they stand. Genya with fright written all over his face and Sanemi with orbs so empty you’re almost able to see through them.
Your guts turn uncomfortably as he speeds forward so fast that your eyes are almost unable to follow. Fuck, is he about to pierce through Genya’s eyes?
You waste no time. In the matter of milliseconds, you drag Genya to the ground and therefore safe him from Sanemi’s merciless attack.
“Sanemi.”
You breathe out his name like a prayer.
“Get out of line, (y/n).”
“I can’t allow you to hurt him!”, you cry out, hands still holding onto Genya’s trembling body for dear life.
“You leave me no choice, then.”
It happens faster than you’re able to think. He dashes forward while grabbing the handle of his sword tightly, his eyes and blade darted towards you.
But you don’t even think about leaving Genya. No, you stand your ground in front of him, glossy orbs watching as his blade crashes down straight towards your face.
Until it stops.
“I said move”, he hisses through gritted teeth.
“And I said I won’t. Leave Genya alone.”
“Are you really putting up a fight with me, (y/n)? Here, right in front of everyone else?”
You couldn’t care less about the stinging fact that the others are watching you drowned in fear. This goes too far without any doubt.
“You don’t have to do this, Sanemi. Not when we both know you love your little brother dearly”, you breathe out.
“Come on Genya, let’s leave”, Tanjiro’s voice mutters behind you, causing a wave of relief to wash over you.
“I don’t love anyone. Not him, not you, I don’t give a shit about anyone around here”, Sanemi barks back at you with nothing but hatred spilling from his mouth.
Genya doesn’t deserve those words reaching his ear. But apart from that, you can’t escape the sting that fills your heart with agony.
Him, not loving anyone? Of course you never really expected the wind hashira to actually like you back. Of course even him respecting you is more than you could have ever asked for. But somehow you still hoped. Each and every night, you imagined what if would feel like to lay in his arms while listening to his steady heartbeat. Every free second, you pondered about how his lips must feel pressed against yours, how it feels to fall asleep and wake up next to him.
And now he tells you that you mean nothing to him.
You swallow hard, desperately trying to avoid his gaze at any cause. No, you can’t afford to lose yourself right here when everyone is watching.
Out of instinct, you straighten your shoulders and cross your arms in front of your chest.
“If that’s the case, I’m leaving. Good night, wind hashira.”
You don’t care about waiting for an answer. All you want to do right now is going back into your room, going back into safety where he’s not around. How stupid to even consider that Sanemi Shinazugawa could feel anything apart from a little respect for you. You, nothing but an ordinary slayer, still too weak to be called a real hashira. You, apparently nothing but a fool.
Hot tears start to swell up your eyes and cause your vision to get foggy. You never allowed yourself to cry over something so minor. What did you expect, a gut-wrenching love story? With the wind hashira?
“Why did you turn your back on me?”
You flinch so hard that you almost trip over your futon.
“What are you doing here?”, you cry out.
Fuck, this is him, without any doubt. What on earth is Sanemi doing in your room? Just now, when you’re looking like a mess.
“Are you crying?”
“Even if I do, why would you care?”
When your gaze drifts towards his, you feel like drowning and taking your first breath at the same time. He looks so distressed that your heart wrenches all over again. Like a lost puppy, he draws closer until he cages you against the wall. His eyes seem to stare right through your soul, make it hard to produce a single logical thought.
“Why would you even think that, idiot?”
His hand yanks your chin up, forces you to stare at him even more intensely.
“Because you said so yourself”, you bite back.
“You shouldn’t have interrupted me in the middle of teaching Genya a lesson.”
“Teaching him a lesson? You’re breaking that poor boy’s heart-“
“Breaking him? I’m saving him, goddamn!”, he blurts out so suddenly that you shake.
“Saving him? What are you t-“
“Poking his eyes out isn’t that big of a deal, he’d definitely survive. But his career at the demon slayer corps would have been over and out, he would have been saved”, he mumbles frantically.
“That would have meant he’s save, that would have meant he doesn’t die in this shit-“
“Sanemi”, your hands grab his face gently, try to get him out of his constant mumbling.
“He’ll die just like our mother did.”
“Sanemi.”
“I can’t fucking protect you all. Not when you’re around as well, not when you’re not listening just like he does-“
“Sanemi.”
When your eyes meet his, he looks like a troubled child scared of thunder. His glossy orbs stare at you desperately, make your heart ache all over again. All that rambling, giving Genya his coldest shoulder…to protect him?
“You’re just as reckless as him. Not looking out for yourself. What am I supposed to do without both of you around? What if I lose you two as well?”
“You won’t lose anyone, I’m good enough to-“
“How can you know?”, he screams into your face, his voice vibrating through every cell of your body like thunder.
“How can you promise you won’t die? One wrong move and you’re gonna bite the dust. Or you’re at the wrong place at the wrong time like Rengoku-“
It might be the stupidest thing you’ve ever done in your entire life, so reckless that you’ll lose Sanemi completely.
But you don’t care.
Before he’s able to talk about the grief within the past any further, you crash your lips against his while holding onto his face for dear life.
Over and over, again and again until your mind finally shuts up, until it’s only you and Sanemi and his puffy lips against yours.
He wraps his arms around you so tightly that you allow your knees to give in, bodies resting against each other so desperately that you feel like dreaming. Countless nights you pondered about the way his frame feels pressed against yours, what the wind hashira might taste like.
Oh, the reality is so much better, so good that you have to convince yourself you’re not dreaming.
“You’re driving me insane. Since the first time I saw you training with Obanai, since you beamed at me with that sickening gorgeous smile. I can’t escape you. I can’t fucking lose you”, he hisses against your mouth before entangling his tongue with yours all over again.
Sparks fly, stars take up your sight completely as you threaten to choke on all the affection and love that hits you with full force.
“Why didn’t you tell me?”, you breathe out.
“And risking you’ll never talk to me again? You have to be out of your mind.”
“I’m out of my mind because of you. Because you make me feel all those strange things”, you puff out.
Faster than you’re able to react, he pulls his face away from yours enough to almost drown inside your glossy orbs. For a moment, all the does is staring at you as you desperately gasp for air with your chest rising and falling rapidly. This really happened. Did you really make out with the wind hashira after he tried to murder his little brother, after all the fighting and rambling of today?
“You’re my weakness, (y/n)”, he finally blurts out.
“And I hate that power you have over me. Especially that everyone else knows it.”
You tilt your head to the side. Oh, that’s so true. After all, this is the reason why you were sent here. You are here to make sure he doesn’t go too rough on his students, that his hot temper is kept at least a little cool.
Well, given the heat that radiates from him at this very moment, the last part definitely didn’t go as planned.
“They know about my feeling for you as well.”
His eyes widen while he stares you up and down in sheer disbelief.
“Stop fucking with me”, he grumbles.
“You were too blind to realize that I loved you for so long while I didn’t even think about the opportunity that you might like me back”, you admit with your cheeks turning as hot as the sun.
“You fool.”
He yanks your chin towards his face, a small smile decorating his usual so irritated face.
“I’ll definitely never let you go again now.”
His lips crash into yours and leave your mind blank all over again.
“But I’ll still kick your ass for talking to me so disrespectfully and interfering with Genya.”
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Tags: @chilichopsticks @hellkaiserinphoenix  @ynackerman9499 @keepghostly @beatrexworld
@froufrousnowman @hidazinie @tomiokathedepresso  @poketrainer2270 @chaoticwinnercupcake
@lees-chaotic-brain @wordskeeper @polarbvnny @sugu-love @ryva @baku2345
@komelrebi-san @kentocalls (your fic will be next) @barbuse @sunshine7queen @lavenderdrxp
@yaninnaacu @hopefulbelievertimemachine (thank you sooo much for helping me creating reader for the cover)
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heavndoll · 4 months ago
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𝐓𝐄𝐀𝐑 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐀𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐓.
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pairings — fem reader and eddie munson.
summary — you and eddie are childhood best friends, and you've always trusted him. your love for him was innocent — his love for you was the complete opposite.
warning tags — adult language and semi-graphic violence. dark!eddie munson. unhealthy obsessive and possessive behavior. eddie like worships reader, reader lowkey is into it. term “y/n” is used once (had to be sorry). the smut for the nasties; unprotected activities, f!ngering, oral (reader receiving), choking, degradation, overstim, eddie getting mean with his d!ck. there is aftercare <3
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Eddie Munson was your best friend. You and him grew up together, homing in the same trailer park, and guardians being friends.
You were glad to have him in your life. He was always there, willing to tend to any of your needs, and would do anything for you.
You found it sweet.
But Eddie would kill for you. He knew you took all his gestures into an innocent, sweet manner, and he was okay with that — but he was in love with you.
A love that wasn't so gentle and safe. He was obsessed, and was repulsed to the idea of anyone else taking you from him.
No one knew you in all the ways he did.
There wasn't a right match for you, except for him. He patiently waited for you to understand that he was suitable for you, but as time went on, and you got with more guys, it became thinned out.
Eddie would give you a bit more time to accept the truth that he was the man you needed.
"Hey, Eds?" You asked, noticing he was zoned out. The chatter of Hawkins cafeteria couldn't even pull him away from his thoughts. Your sweet voice was the only thing that could.
"What's up?" Eddie asked, picking at the raisins in his lunch pale. "You okay?"
"Do you think there's something wrong with me?" You asked, a mere frowning playing on your lips.
"No, why?" Eddie was confused, his attention falling entirely on you. "Did someone say something to you?"
"No— well, I don't know," you mumbled, rubbing your temple. "You know how I have been talking to Brandon Smith for a while now?"
Eddie nodded, tuned in and listened carefully. "Yeah, one of Jason's other lap dogs."
You sighed, rolling your eyes. "Well, I thought things were good between us. We just went on a third date last Friday, and then, I found out he's taking Annie to the Winter Formal."
"What?" Eddie muttered.
"Yeah! It doesn't make sense to me either," you continued, pursing your lips. "I mean, we never clarified we were exclusive, but I thought we were getting somewhere."
Eddie's blood boiled, and fumed. His hands rolled up, tightening into fists, and had skilled at not showing you his visible anger. "There's nothing wrong with you," Eddie reassured, giving you a gentle smile. "Brandon is a cracked up fuck, anyway. No good for you."
"Yeah, maybe you're right," you chuckled lightly, and Eddie hummed, patting your shoulder. "It's just shitty. He seemed really genuine."
"You'll find someone good," he said, handing you his bag of trail mix. "You're a sweet girl, and for Brandon to do that is a douchebag move. You don't need that, okay?"
You flashed a soft smile at Eddie, nodding and began to eat the trail mix.
Eddie's friends came to sit at the table, but were the only ones to notice his dull, blank expression. They had a poor feeling it had to do with you, yet chose not to question, and simply eat their lunches.
You were too distracted in your conversation with Dustin to notice what was going on, and what ran through Eddie's head.
Brandon Smith was the only person in the locker room after his last period at Gym had ended. He was putting on his shirt, his hair damped and messy as he just gotten out of the shower.
A pair of footsteps creeped up the locker room, near him, and he raised a brow. Not particularly scared, but worried, he peeked behind the lockers, and didn't see a single person.
He shook it off, assuming it was a student who forgot their bag.
"Hey, Brandon!" Eddie exclaimed as he popped up on the opposite side of him, smiling. Brandon shrieked, earning a chuckle out of Munson. "Did I scare you?"
"What the fuck, freak?" Brandon snapped, zipping up his Gym bag. "What the fuck are you doing in here?"
"Here to chat," Eddie answered. "That's all."
"Chat?" Brandon nearly barked a laugh, rolling his eyes. "What makes you think I would want to talk?"
"Oh, but you're fine with chatting with me when you're fuckin' fiending!" Eddie said, clear and loud enough for any remaining people in the locker room to hear.
Brandon glared at him. "That's a different scenario."
"Not really," Eddie muttered, stuffing his hands into his own pockets, his hand grasping onto the switchblade that sat within the right one.
Brandon sighed, realizing he wouldn't be able to leave until Eddie got his words across. "Okay, what do you want?" He asked, leaning against the lockers, Eddie only standing a few inches away in front of him. "I got places to be."
"Tell me what happened with Y/N," Eddie said, monotone and blunt in a blink.
"What? Why?" Brandon wondered. "You're wanting to talk about her?"
Eddie hummed. "Answer the question."
"Well, man," Brandon sighed, crossing his arms over his chest. "She gave it up too easily, and got too many damn problems. She's a trailer park whore, and I didn't need that."
Eddie's head spun, and the light around him was slowly sinking into nothingness. "Gave it up?"
"Ya'know, her body, her pussy," Brandon clarified, finding it humorous. "She has no self respect, and that's pathetic."
Another word didn't come out of his mouth as Eddie grabbed him, and tossed him to the ground. Eddie's vision was a blur and his mind was clogged, but could understand the punches he was throwing into Brandon's face.
The rings on Eddie's fingers doubled the aggression and assault.
He swore he cracked his cheekbone, and caused a concussion, but didn't care. He didn't care if he killed him in this very locker room, because all that mattered is that he would stay away from you for good. That he would never talk about you in a derogatory way ever again.
Eddie needed to make sure of that – he had to.
"Fuck you!" He screamed as his fist collided into Brandon's left eye, and could hear him gasping, crying, and wanting to fight back, but Eddie's weight held him down. "Fuck you, fuck you, fuck you!"
Eddie breathed heavily, one of his punches breaking Brandon's nose, an audible snap coming into his ears. He got up, hovering over the sobbing, vulnerable male.
He wanted to laugh — one of Hawkin's best basketball players, who was intimidating yet charming, and broader and stronger than Eddie, was now curled up in a ball, bleeding out of his face.
Eddie struck his ribcage with a hard kick, and Brandon groaned, pleading for mercy. "Fucking pussy," he mocked, tossing another strike of his foot to his side. "You deserve this. You deserve worse than this."
"I—I'm sorry!" Brandon sobbed, gasping heavier, trying to engulf oxygen into his bruising lungs. "Please."
Eddie crotched down, gripping a chunk of his hair, brought his head up and forced eye contact. "You're not sorry. You just make sure to never speak to her, or I will kill you next time." He released Brandon's hair from his grasp, his head thudding on the tile floors.
Eddie's every step had a bounce to it as he walked out of the locker room.
You were laying on your stomach on your bed, flipping through magazines as music faintly played in your bedroom. You carelessly eyed new styles, humming to yourself.
A knock planted softly at your door, and you peeked up, seeing your aunt. She smiled small, a cigarette dangling between her lips. "Chrissy Cunningham is on the phone," she exhaled a blow, "asking for you."
"Did she say why?" You wondered.
"No, but she sounds shaken up," your aunt continued, and you nodded, getting up from your bed, strolling to the kitchen where the landline hanged out at.
You picked up the phone, bringing it up to your ear. "Hey, Chris. What's up?"
"Brandon is in the hospital," Chrissy said, and your heart sank. She was sniffling, overly worried and in panic. "It's so bad."
You paused. "W—What happened? Why is he in the hospital?"
"Jason and the guys found him in the locker room," Chrissy's voice began to shutter. "He was beaten, really bad. Nose broken, ribcages fractured, nearly blind in his left eye — it's so gory."
"What? W—Who... What? This doesn't make sense," you said, unease and confused. "Did he say who?"
"No, he won't make a confession," Chrissy answered, sighing heavily. "Either way, he can barely talk, or make any sort of comprehension. He has a severe concussion."
You went quiet for a moment, trying to gather up pieces in your head, making a puzzle in your head.
Brandon did have enemies, but it was mostly outcasts, and the smartest kids in school — the opposite clique of him, and Jason's friends. But, those enemies were not capable of any harm, nor would attempt any. If they did, they'd get it worse.
Nothing had happened to him until today when you told—
"Chrissy, I have to go," you muttered, hanging up the line. You ran into your bedroom, grabbing your shoes, and slipping them. Your hands were shaking, your heart thumping and pounding in your eardrums, bile burning your throat.
It was just a thought, a consideration, and you knew Eddie would never hurt anyone.
He was too kind, and gentle.
You stalked out of your trailer, finding your aunt watering the front lawn with a new cigarette in her mouth. "You going to Eds?" She asked, and you hummed. "Okay, be safe."
You continued your stalking to Eddie's uncle's trailer, stomping up onto the porch, and pounded your fist against the door. "Edward Munson!" You shouted, banging persistently on the door. "I know you're in there, I can smell fresh pot!"
After a few more harsher hits, the door opened up, revealing a contented, shirtless Eddie, and had a joint in his mouth. "Well, if it isn't my favorite person," he joked, and crossed his arms over his chest as he leaned against the door frame.
Red, bruising spots were visible on his knuckles. He wasn't even trying to make them discreet.
You brushed past him as you welcomed yourself into his trailer, and he closed the door behind the both of you, his eyes falling into yours.
You stood in the middle of his living room, making a safe distance between the two of you. "Are you responsible for Brandon?" You questioned, and Eddie chuckled, flashing a toothy smile. "I don't have time for your shit, Eddie!"
"Oh, excuse me, sweetheart," Eddie snickered, burning his joint out onto the ashtray that sat on the living's room coffee table. "I knew you'd figure it out."
You scoffed. "So, you did?"
"I may have swung a punch or two at him," Eddie said, grabbing a cheap beer from the fridge. "Nothing too bad."
"He is in the hospital, Eds! He has a severe concussion, fractured bones!" You shouted, irritated at Eddie's amusement. "What the fuck did you do?"
"He called you a trailer park whore," he stated, walking to his bedroom as you trailed behind him. "Saying how you spread your legs easily for him, and that you were just bad for his bullshit reputation."
"He said that?" You asked, Eddie sitting on the edge of his bed, and you stood in front of him.
"He laughed at you. He was practically mocking you," he emphasized, scoffing harshly. "I took care of it. I handled it for you."
"But you didn't need to, Eddie!" You panicked, shaking your head in utter disbelief. "If he comes clean, you'll be arrested. You'll go to jail."
"I really don't care," Eddie said, grinning. "You think this is my first time doing this shit for you?"
You fell silent, suddenly lost in what he was saying.
He got up from his bed, only needing to take a few, close inches towards you. He looked down at you as you stared up at him. "Aidan Walter, Michael Dallas, Kyle Thorne, Richard Fields, Brandon Smith — they all had the same thing to say about you. They degraded you proudly, and you think you deserve that?'
Your mouth opened, but your words croaked in your throat. Nothing came out, shock falling over you. "I... I don't know."
"Every time you came crying to me about a guy who did you wrong, I handled it. This isn't my first time, and they know they can't turn me in," Eddie explained, and you raised a brow. "They're drug addicts. They know if I sneak a word to their coach to drug test them, they're fucked."
"But they could turn you in for being a drug dealer," you retorted, and a faux pout dangled on Eddie's lips. "They have privilege, you don't."
He settled his beer down on his cluttered dresser, turning his attention away from you. "If that's the case, why haven't the others said anything?" Eddie questioned. "You haven't asked me why I did it — that's surprising."
"You did it because you want revenge? Because you were trying to be a good friend?"
"Revenge, yes. I'd beat those fuckers with no hesistation," Eddie agreed, shrugging lazily as he went back to sitting on his bed. "But, I did it because you don't deserve to be talked about like that. I did it because I would do absolutely anything for you — I'd fucking rip apart this filthy world for you."
You took a step back, a brutal realization striking you.
"Are you in love with me?" You asked, so simply, but with so much fear behind your words.
He hummed. "There's my smart girl."
You were oblivious — gullible — to Eddie's generosity, and kindness. A more crucial role behind every word, every action, every thought that came out of him. You didn't know how to comprehend anything, your mind fogged, and mute.
You should've been feeling sick to your stomach, nausea and terror was meant to consume and claim you entirely. A person who had received the news that their best friend beat — and nearly murdered — men who have hurt you, would run away, and shut them out forever.
You didn't do that. You were paralyzed in your spot, only hesitate to make eye contact with Eddie, and could feel his eyes boring into you.
What he did was unsettling and wrong, but your heart couldn't help to ache to what he did.
"You hate me now?" Eddie asked, and you inhaled sharply, peeking at him. You shifted over towards him, bringing him into an embrace, his head resting on your stomach as your hands rested on the back of his head.
"No, no," you mumbled, looking down at him. "But you could end up in jail because of this, Eddie. You have to understand that."
Eddie inhaled your perfume, his mind ransacking with complexed thoughts. He was glad you appreciated his devoted duty, but hated that you were worried about his well being.
He only cared that you would be safe.
"I'll be okay, doll," he muttered, practically smashing his face into your stomach.
You fiddled with his hair, not knowing what was to happen next. He was in love, and obsessed with you — that's not easy news to take in.
You let him out of your embrace, crouching down and stared up at him. "I can protect myself, and... I'm sorry you had to hear those things from Brandon."
Eddie took your face into his hands, his thumbs softly caressing your cheeks, and you could feel yourself melting into his touch.
A delicate touch that held so much violence behind it.
He could do immense damage to another human, but never to you. You were the peace in his chaotic world. You were serene, in contrast to his mayhem. You knew there was always a darkness that consumed him, but you granted such light to it, that he'd forget he even held it in him.
Eddie wanted to hold you close, skin absorbing into one another's, and have you forever. He wanted to tear you apart, but then mend you back together.
The silence that fell into the air was tight, and suffocating.
This man had been your best friend for years, and there was never any unbearable tension until now. In this very moment, where his eyes drowned into yours, and his lips quivered for the taste of yours.
"Can I kiss you?" Eddie cut the silence, his face cautiously inching into yours. "Please?"
A simple kiss, that could change the course of everything. But you wanted it — you wanted Eddie to kiss you. You had never craved such a risk until now.
You nodded. "You can kiss me, Eds."
He didn't let another second pass as his lips smothered yours, and his hands shifted to your waist, drawing you onto his lap. You propped yourself comfortably onto him, his hands snaking around your body, needing you close and secured.
You could taste pot on his lips, your cherry gloss mixing into it. His hands slipped under the sides of your shirt, yet went nowhere near your bra. His thumbs and hands grazed your soft, loving skin, and thought he must've been dreaming — he had yearned for this. For years.
Your own hands brushed his toned body, trickling down to the waistband of his sweats. You let your fingers curl around them, but wait there.
Eddie moved his face back, his taste disappearing from yours, and he grinned at your swollen lips. "Look at you," he mocked, admiring the desperation on your face. "You have no idea how long I've waited for you, sweetheart."
Your heartstrings tugged at his words, and the tips of your index and middle finger carefully touched his lips, eyes focused on this movement. "Do you really love me?" You softly asked. "Why do you love me?"
"You're the purity to this corrupted world," Eddie began, and you blinked up at him, and his gaze locked with yours immediately. "Your beauty is uncompared, and unbearable – it makes me a madman. Look what I've done for you; you have me in your power, and you don't even know it."
Eddie Munson is in love with me, you thought to yourself. He is in love with me, and I've been so blind to it.
The only man who'd ever wanted you for you. The only man who you didn't need to give your body to, to feel self-worth and loved. You could see in his eyes he meant what he said — that he swore his life on it. And if he were to ever hurt you, he would want death.
He would rather die, than to live with the knowledge that he dimmed your lightness, and damaged you.
"Please kiss me," you pleaded, wanting his love to soak and burn into your skin. "Kiss me, do what you want to me. But Eddie, do not leave me."
Eddie frowned. "I'd die without you."
You nodded, and your lips fell back onto his, bodies pressing against one another. His hands pulled you over and down onto his bed, your body trapped underneath his. "Are you sure you want this?" He asked hastily in between a kiss. "Do you?"
"Yes, I do," you breathed. "I want this."
Eddie kissed your cheek, leaning back, and shifted himself down in between your legs. You propped yourself up on your elbows, watching him take off your shoes, and then make his way to the waistband of your sweatpants.
He hooked his fingers under the hem of your bottoms and panties, looking up at you with another look of reassurance.
"I trust you," you said, and he pulled off both pieces of clothing, disposing them to a pile of his clothes on the ground.
Eddie parted your legs, laying himself on his stomach, and you could feel his hot breath blowing against your cunt. You relaxed your body, and Eddie's mouth attached itself to your area, earning a soft moan out of you.
You perked your head up, seeing the sight of him gladly eating you out. He wrapped his arms around your thighs, his strong hold locking them in place, and practically buried himself in between them. He moaned to the sweet taste of you, the vibrations buzzing against your sensitive hood.
His tongue ran up and down your slits, his lips plumped and stuck on your cunt. Your head fell back as your noises and breath grew louder, your mouth falling open the second he pushed two fingers into you, working them at a gentle, yet rapid pace.
Eddie was probably the only guy who knew how to properly eat you out, and you didn't have to fake an orgasm with.
"Fuck, fuck," you breathed. "Just like that, baby. Holy fuck."
His fingers were slamming into you, and his mouth separated from your cunt, his lips plumped and covered with your wetness. "Come here, sweet girl," he said as he hovered back over you. "Taste how good you are."
He placed his lips back onto yours, his fingers still violently pumping into you. Uncontrollable, lewd noises elicited out of you, being able to make out his grin pressing against your lips as he brought himself back from your mouth.
"So good for me, sweetheart," he praised,and adjusted himself back onto his stomach, hoisting your thighs over his shoulders. He hooked his mouth onto your cunt, devouring you once more, and you could feel a sweet scorch in the pit of your stomach.
It was too embarrassing and easy for you to cum this earlier than usual. You tried to ignore the hot sensation, focusing on the rhythm Eddie's tongue and mouth made on your cunt, and fucking good it felt.
Eddie had himself deep into your cunt, grateful to even pleasure you this well. All he wanted was to make you feel good.
The fire in your stomach ran to your thighs, and it became torturous to shut out. "Gonna cum," you warned, your voice shuddering. "Keep going, Eds. You're doing so good."
Eddie abided, never letting himself get a second of air as your thighs trembled on his shoulders. "Oh fuck!" You gasped, riding your orgasm out onto his fingers, and he let them fall out of you shortly after. His tongue lapped up your climax, his mouth sucking gently on your cunt.
Your chest heaved, and a fulfilled Eddie detached his mouth from your area, his mouth glistening with your juices. You peeked at him, chuckling and grinning at the sight of him.
"I'm not done with you yet," he said, his hand gripping your forearm, and you suddenly adjusted back on his lap. You whimpered as he used other hand to hold your jaw, having a firm grasp on it, and forcing you to pay attention to him.
"What now?" You asked.
Eddie placed his coated fingers on your bottom lip. "Suck."
You obliged, taking his fingers into your mouth. Eddie looked at you in pure awe, a cocky grin playing on his lips, and kissed the side of your head. Few seconds later, his fingers slide out of your mouth with a pop, and the knuckles of his hand caress your cheek so lovingly.
There was a flip in Eddie's eyes, and body language. He craved more of you, more of your body and desperation. He wanted your tears, screams, and sweat. He needed to see you plead under him, until you all you could think of was him senselessly fucking you.
For this, it was a danger. You were encouraging his obsession, and you couldn't tell if that was okay. It was flattering he hurt people for you, all because he wanted to defend you at every cost — like it was his soul purpose on Earth.
You weren't exactly opposed to his devotion to you, only in fright of how bad it could get.
It wasn't like you hadn't had your own moments when it came to Eddie and other girls. There were a few who had eyes on him, and always dumbly flirted with him — even in front of your bare eyes. You would always think you were being crazy for being jealous, especially when you got angry when Eddie would jokingly tease back at those girls.
You didn't want to share the attention he gave to you.
This was a bad idea. The worst idea to ever exist. But it didn't matter anymore — you and him were the perfect match. Maybe your need for him was always there, but you were too busy with others to notice it.
Those other guys didn't compare to Eddie Munson — none of them. And they would never commit their life to you.
Eddie had finally freed your jaw from his hand, but withheld staring at one another. "I know that look in your eye," he said, inhaling sharply. "You've finally come to your senses. I've been waiting for you to make that realization."
"How long?" You wondered.
"Forever," he answered, and planted his hands under your shirt, letting them carelessly rest there. "Even if you didn't, I still would've handled every guy who fucked you over. I would do it until it caught up to me."
You sighed. "It just might. Brandon will blab."
"Then promise to bail me?" He asked, and you snickered, rolling your eyes.
"My aunt is going to have a rage if you get arrested," you joked, and his grin turned into a small smile. "Let's not worry about that right now, please. I just want you, I want this."
Eddie titled his head to the side, his smile fading. "Be more clear, sweet girl."
You turned coy, your body tensing as his hands gave your torso a squeeze. You decided not to speak, your lips laying on his, and he let your body rut against him. "You're going to drive me more insane," he mumbled, and you hummed. "Come on, doll. Ride me."
You didn't hesitate for a moment, breaking the kiss, and you drew off your top and bra, letting them drop to Eddie's floor.
"Fuck," Eddie breathed, taking a second to memorize your body, and how he just knew it was made for him. "Fuck, you're perfect, doll."
You smiled, and looked over to Eddie's nightstand, finding condoms to lay there. "I'm not your first fuck?" You asked, a hint of bitter in your tone as you snagged an individual wrapper.
"I deserved to have my own fun, don't you think?" Eddie retorted, dragging off his sweats and boxers, dropping them on the floor. He merely sat closer to the middle of his bed, seizing the condom from your hold, and you glared at him. "Don't be so jealous, doll. You're my only girl, promise."
"Were they a good fuck?" You asked, and Eddie snorted while rolling the condom onto his dick.
"And I thought I was too possessive," he mocked, and braced his hands onto your hips, his nails digging into your skin. You were about to protest until Eddie's cock shoved into you, and you gasped at the sudden contact. "Maybe I'll fuck you out."
Your breath hitched in your throat as you and Eddie worked together, your hips rolling and his cock hastily thrusting into you. "Fffucckk, oh my god," you babbled, squeezing your eyes shut, and overwhelmed at Eddie's size.
"You take me so well," Eddie praised, another faux frown on his lips, and grabbed your face. "Look at me when I'm fucking you."
You obeyed as best as you could, cursing and moaning breathlessly. It felt like he was splitting you open, claiming your body entirely, and making you memorize the scynorichize of his cock pounding into your soaking cunt.
"I'm going to fucking damage you," he assured, his hand squeezing your cheeks, and felt as if his nails were drilling into them. "Tear you right apart."
"Yeah?" You taunted, able to pass a giggle through your shuddering breathing. "You're going to hurt me? You're too soft for me to do that, Eds."
He stopped all movements for a moment, and his hand made a switch, sending a hit across your left cheek. It turned your head and neck entirely, feeling his handprint drowning into your skin.
You only laughed. "Slapping me? Some of the guys did the same thing," you said, looking back at Eddie, and wanted to punish him with your words. "I think it was Brandon who would pull my hair and call me his filthy slut."
Eddie snapped. He took your form back under him, your body flattened into his mattress as he hovered over you, his hand furiously grasping your throat. "And you took it like a slut too. Didn't you, silly girl?"
You smiled. "Maybe," you breathed out, able to feel his nails clawing into the sides of your neck. "Maybe I fucking loved every second of it."
"Oh, I'm sure," Eddie muttered, his cock stuffing your cunt again. "But I'm going to make sure you can only think of me forever."
He kept his hand on your throat, and pushed his cock rough into you as you swore he was nearly reaching into your stomach. Your eyes watered, breath hallowed and weak with your pleads for him coming out hoarse and rough, putting one of your hands on his wrist.
"No, you don't get to touch me," Eddie said, pushing off your hand with his free one. "You don't deserve to touch me, silly girl."
You huffed. "Why not?"
"Cause you let all those idiots touch you," Eddie taunted, mocking despair on his face. "And I should just leave you hot and bothered after what you said, but I didn't – so be grateful."
Your lungs engulfed immense amounts of oxygen when Eddie's pulled his hand back, moaning out his name like it was a prayer. He grinned, staying hovered over you, and let his cock sinking deeper and harder into you, watching you fall apart slowly to it.
Sweaty, hot skin smacked throughout Eddie's bedroom, being sure that the whole neighborhood could hear you whining and crying for more of him.
"You sound so pretty for me, doll," he moaned, grinning. He positioned himself back, in a near-sitting style as he tossed your legs over his shoulders and snaked his arms around your waist, continuing to push himself into you.
"Oh shit— ffucckk, Eddie, Eddie," you moaned mindlessly. You were locked in his hold, your body squirming and twitching. Your fingers gripped at his bedsheets, your mind being rotten with the focus of his dick, and how good it felt pounding into you, basically stuffing your cunt.
"Don't you dare fucking cum," Eddie forewarned, chuckling breathily. "Just be a good girl, and take my dick, babydoll. Just take me."
You nodded, knowing there was another climax making its build in your stomach, but refused to pay any mind to it. "You fuck me so good, Eds," you whimpered, eyes rolling back. "Need more of you, please."
"You have me, sweetheart," Eddie promised, pressing his hand on your stomach for additional torture. "But don't try to sweet talk me just so you can cum."
"Just once, please," you cried, resting your hand on top of his hand. "Please, I'll be so good for you."
"Are you not being good for me right now, hm?" He wondered, the ball of his palm sinking further into your belly. "What a pathetic girl you are, trying to get whatever you want."
You hissed and groaned. "Please, please. I c—can't."
"Is my poor girl going to cry?" He taunted, holding back a laugh. "If you cum right now, then you'll have to keep doing so until I think you're done."
"Y—yeah, please!" You agreed mindlessly, chewing harshly onto your lower lip.
He hummed, and tapped the side of your thigh as a sign. Your body nearly melted into his mattress, your orgasm pushing out of you, and you could see a flash of stars in your vision. "Oh fucking hell!" You screamed, your body twitching seconds later.
Eddie pushed your legs off of his shoulders, letting himself fall out of you, and was already rotating you around onto your stomach. "We're not done, sweet girl," he said, planting a gentle kiss to your cheek before his arms were looped around your limp form, bringing your ass close to him.
You were barely to collect any thoughts, groaning the moment Eddie was back in you. He worked at a slow, steady peace in you as he used his strength to hold you up and close, stifling a chuckle in his throat.
"You said you were going to be good for me," Eddie reminded, his fingers clawing and curling into your hair, forcing the majority of your body to be picked up and brought against his. "Is this all you can really take, hm? Made me think you were better than this."
You grinned, sweat beading on your forehead and body. Your face was close enough to his as you glanced up at him, trying to correct your breathing. "You made me think you were gonna fuck me better than the others," you said lazily. "But it's about the same."
"Yeah?" Eddie rolled his hips forward, snapping a single sharp and deep thrust into you, and all at once, he began to violently pound into you. He made sure to keep you close to him as yours and his moaned mixed, and echoed throughout his bedroom.
Your eyes fell to the back of your head, grasping onto Eddie's arms and could feel your body growing more frail within every thrust that pushed into you. You were entirely trapped in his hold – not that you were complaining, it felt nice.
"That's my good girl," he praised, passing a kiss to the side of your head. "You take my cock so well."
You hummed, nodding, and could only hear him breathily chuckle to your obedience. He let his right hand creep up between the valley of your breasts, and it wrapped itself around your throat, using it as an extra leverage to hammer himself deeper into you.
"You seem to be liking my cock a lot," Eddie teased as your noises shuddered, and tears pricked at the corner of your eyes from the overwhelming exhilaration and pleasure. "Just wanted to be fucked and treated like a whore. All you had to do was ask, sweetness."
"Ffucckk you— ahh!" You cried the second the head of his cock started to continuously strike at your orgasm. "Oh shit, ffuucckk! Right there!"
Eddie orgasm was rising, keeping you locked and tight on him as he allowed himself to be audible, letting you know how good you were making him feel. "Fuck, sweetheart, I'm gonna cum," he panted, giving you another sweet kiss to your cheek. "Cum with me, yeah? I want my girl to cum with me."
Your next climax had surfaced into the depths of your belly as you could feel Eddie's arms and body begin to tremble. "W—Wait!" You breathed, swallowing thickly. "I want you to cum in me."
"What?" Eddie chuckled, stopping himself entirely. "Repeat that for me."
"Oh, you heard me, Munson," you said, and he grinned. "And yes, I'm sure."
Eddie granted you that exact wish, letting himself out of you for a mere second and tossed his condom carelessly on his bedroom floor before taking his cock back into you. He looped his arms back around your form, tugging you back towards him as he perfectly fucked himself into you, and you bounced back onto his cock.
It didn't take long for both highs to come back to the surface, your head falling back and landing on his shoulder, and he smirked, brushing strands of hair out of your face. "Be a good whore, and cum," his breath was ragged and uneven, feeling it skim past your cheek. "Don't wanna disappoint me, hm?"
"N—no," you rasped, exhaustion slowly falling onto you but gathered enough energy to keep you going.
"Cum with me, honey," Eddie said, a hint of shudder playing in his words. You nodded, your high immediately crashing out of your body as your body jerked and nearly fell out of Eddie's grasp, but he had enough strength to hold you in his embrace.
He wasn't far behind you, his orgasm hitting its final peak, and rushing out of him, into you. He pushed softer and slower thrusts into you as he rode out his orgasm. Eventually, all his motions came to a stop, and his arms unhooked from your body, watching you collapse onto his mattress, and he fell out of you.
You took your time to recover your proper breathing pattern and energy, laying flat on your stomach, and you could feel sweat stick and drip around your body.
Eddie rested next to you, not caring that you were both drenched in sweat desire, and brought you next to him, letting you rest in his arms. Your head was on top of his chest, listening to his heartbeat as he was also trying to catch his breath.
"So that was," you tried to speak, your throat scratchy and hoarse. "Oh fuck."
He stifled a laugh, smiling in pure pride. "We need to clean up, doll."
"I would so gladly get up," you began, sighing warily, "only if you didn't fuck me numb and raw."
"Don't complain," Eddie said, getting himself up, and easily dragged you up off the bed, over his shoulder. "We are getting cleaned up, and then find something to do after."
"Like what?" You wondered, being placed on top of his bathroom sink as he started up a warm bath. "You're not worried Brandon might say something?"
Eddie shrugged. "Not really, no."
"Why not?" You asked. "He has all the privileges and status, you don't."
"Are we really discussing this again?" Eddie asked, moving back over to you while the water ran. "I'm going to be fine. Just let me take care of you, doll."
Your gaze softened as you could see pure admiration and care in his eyes for you. You nodded, chewing onto your lower lip. He pinched your chin, giving your nose a sweet peck, and walked back to the bath to stop the water.
Eddie helped you into the bath, setting you down into it, and the water soaked your body. You moaned to the feeling of it and relaxed into it.
"Feel good?" Eddie smiled, sitting in front of you, and you hummed in response.
You brought your legs up to your chest, hugging them, and rested your cheek on it, looking at Eddie with a small smile playing on your lips.
He noticed. "Yes, sweetheart?"
"Nothin'. Just love you, Eds," you said. You had told each other 'I love you' on many occasions, but this time, it had a different meaning behind it. "Always have, always will."
"I love you too, sweet girl," Eddie responded, bringing himself closer to you, and kissed your forehead before pressing his against yours. "Always have, always will."
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milliumizoomi · 5 months ago
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𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 𝐇𝐄...
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☆彡SUMMARY.; Things I believe he would do in a relationship that you’d (us.. all of us..😭) would find attractive
☆彡FEATURED.; ARMANDO ARETAS x READER
☆彡TROPE.; Established Relationship
☆彡FORMAT.; HEADCANON
☆彡GENRE.; FLUFF + SUGGESTION + A TINY BIT OF ANGST
☆彡WARNINGS.; mature language, mature actions, a lil bit of Armando’s toxicity shining thru, brief mentions of choking (not in like he’s gonna kill u type of way😭) brief mentions of violence, a little bit of spoilers ahead.
☆彡NOTES.; heyyyy thank u guys SAURRRR much for the love on the last Armando work I posted, I’m glad so many of yall liked it and I will continue to post and write about him 🫶🏽. (And yeah I took that picture on the middle so be free to save.. cause whew lord..). I hope you guys enjoy this one😛💕.
REBLOGS ARE APPRECIATED🫶🏽.
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[IN PUBLIC]
✬ Armando would keep an eye on you, especially since he’s not a very trusting person to most
✬ He’s like very aware of the space you’re both in so he’d keep you at least within arms reach of him if it’s just a regular kind of day
✬ And he’d also do that thing where if he wants you to move, he’ll grab your waist and either shift you to where he wants you to do, or he’ll do that just to pass behind you
✬ And he a quiet person so instead of using many words, he just stares and expects you to know what he’s thinking
✬ If a situation arises where you’re doing something that he thinks you shouldn’t be doing, he’ll simply clear his throat and stare and he knows you should know what he’s thinking
✬ also this man has no filter whatsoever, so if you’re talking, it doesn’t even have to be to him, you could be taking to his dad or something and he’ll just blurt out some of the most insane stuff in either Spanish or English
✬ (like he did to that girl when he called her fine)
✬ like if you say “im so hot” on a day when it’s scorching outside he’d def say stuff like “I definitely agree” or some shit like that just to embarrass you
✬ He’d also stare at your lips while you’re talking to him, especially if you’re mad at him
✬ and openly stare at your body too
[ON CASES || MISSIONS]
✬ you don’t even have to be in a relationship for this one but just watching him fight
✬ Each movement of his is so effortless and he just looks good each and every time
✬ He’d also probably see you staring and raise an eyebrow at you and tell you to pay attention
✬ would tease you on missions definitely
✬ especially if it’s a mission together
✬ only a bit tho cause he’s very focused on missions
✬ makes you be his backpack on his motorcycle
✬ he’d adjust your hand to where he wants it when riding the motorcycle
✬ drives it with one hand and occasionally taps at your leg with the other
✬ and if he has time, he’ll teach you to fight like he does
[IN PRIVATE]
✬ in private he’s definitely an attitude fixer
✬ if you do something to piss him off he’ll probably just stop talking all together until you apologize
✬ when that happens tho he furrows and raises his eyebrows a lot while clenching his jaw as a way to not get too annoyed with you
✬ curses in Spanish a lottttt
✬ and when you’re being bratty or rude to him, he’ll literally grab you by the neck and bring you real close to his face then say in your ear “arregla tu actitud antes de que yo la arregle por ti..” (fix your attitude before i fix it for you..)
✬ ofc he’d do that in public too
✬ I feel like he’d be a bit clingy when alone because he doesn’t like pda, so he waits until it’s private and will literally grab all over you
✬ he cooks shirtless (idc it’s true and yes he can cook🤚🏽)
✬ has told you the most mundane every day things in the sexiest voice ever
✬whistles when you walk in a room
✬ and slaps your butt regularly (sue me ik he does🤚🏽)
✬if you’re sleeping in the same bed there’s only two places he’ll sleep, on your butt or on your stomach (no in between 🤷🏽‍♀️)
✬ uses that same condescending voice on you to tell you what to do, when you’re wrong, or to stop acting up
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eugh I love him sm🥹
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bbyseok · 5 months ago
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at first sight? — GOJO SATORU
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pairing: gojo satoru x gn!reader
word count: 10k (idek i was possessed)
banner by @/bbyseok , dividers by @/bunnysrph !!
a/n: um hi. its finally here ! thanks to all who liked the teaser, this is my first jjk/gojo fic ever but i really think everyone needs some comfort after jjk chap 261.. and fuck u gege !!
content: soulmate au, gender neutral reader, minimal use of they/them pronouns for reader but gender is not specified, sorcerer reader, nicknames ‘sweetheart’, ‘pretty’, ‘baby’, fluff, mild angst with a happy ending, slowburn??, several pov switches, suggestive/implied nsfw at the end but nothing explicit, brief swearing/explicit language, brief violence/injuries, alcohol consumption, reader gets mildly drunk but nothing else, implied satosugu as past soulmates: can be interpreted as either romantic or platonic, fic takes place after jjk 0 but before the show starts
analysis: this is a world filled not only with curses, but soulmates—in which you know someone is your soulmate when you first make eye contact with them. but for your case, things can get a bit complicated when someone is wearing a blindfold.
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here, in this universe, you can tell that someone is your soulmate by simply looking at them. so with that, the saying of “love at first sight” is actually pretty accurate here. you see them for the very first time and barely know the person and yet, somehow, they’re the one you’re destined to be with.
with that, you’d think it’d be pretty common for two random people to run into each other while crossing the street or something and bam! suddenly you’ve found the supposed love of your life!
and you? well, for you, that hasn’t happened yet.
to be fair, it’s not like you’re actively trying to look for your soulmate. handling curses as a jujutsu sorcerer is difficult enough. (maybe you’ll run into them one day after saving them from a curse or something. how romantic!)
it’s better to leave it up to fate. it’s fate who decided your pairing anyway, right?
your transfer to jujutsu tech had been fairly smooth. after being stationed in kyoto for a while, tokyo was a nice change of pace.
coincidentally, you had been out of the country during the incident known as the night parade of a hundred demons. a scary event that proved the threat of curse users to be formidable.
because of that, your decision to transfer to tokyo seemed like the right thing to do. and so far, it’s been decent.
it’s a nice change of scenery. the students are aspiring; while maki and megumi aren’t the friendliest, they’re warming up to you. toge and panda are gradually improving.
nanami’s pessimistic outlook on jujutsu society and shoko’s overall unenthusiastic demeanor are certainly interesting for the most part, but your coworkers are pleasant to be around.
well. except for one.
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gojo satoru knows that you are his soulmate. he has indeed known this fact right from the very start, ever since your first meeting.
even with his blindfold on, he could see your own eyes before him. his six eyes can see everything. the thing is.. he didn’t know he could have another soulmate.
his situation with geto suguru is something he doesn’t talk about with anyone. maybe shoko at times, but even then, it’s rare. it’s not that he doesn’t want to, but it’s pretty hard to talk about.
after suguru defected, gojo could still obviously feel their bond. even though they were no longer together as the strongest duo, did it really matter when their souls were still connected to one another? it was a factor that played in avoiding (and perhaps meeting up with) each other as the years went by.
satoru felt their bond die that day after the events with okkotsu and rika. and it had frightened him. that lingering presence of the bond was no longer there.
so imagine his surprise when he sees you.
a new sorcerer in kyoto, now transferred to tokyo. normally, gojo doesn’t seek out the new recruits, but yaga had dragged him over regardless. besides, he might as well get to know his possible assistant teacher that would be helping him out with the new first years.
“i guess i can check out some new faces,” he relented with a sigh, adjusting his blindfold and looking to the side as yaga’s steps slowed as they approached you.
gojo rolled his eyes–not that you’d see it anyway–as yaga introduced you with your name and your sorcerer grade. he stopped to stand next to the principal.
you extended your hand to offer a handshake, and gojo finally turned his head.
that feeling as his gaze fell upon yours beneath the blindfold was familiar—frighteningly so—and unfamiliar at the same time. as if he could breathe for the first time in ages. your eyes are unaware, but they’re so revealing to him.
satoru stuttered in his movements, reluctantly taking your hand. the skin that touched yours felt like it was on fire. he briefly held on to see if you felt it too.
but you simply smiled up at him.
“it’s nice to meet you, gojo,” you said, blissfully unaware of the revelation currently dawning on the man before you and the turmoil it brought as he abruptly retracted his arm back.
gojo stiffened. he merely offered a curt nod before turning on heel and walking away briskly. he could faintly hear yaga protest about his sudden departure before apologizing to you hastily. satoru shook his head.
how was this be possible? how could the universe give him two soulmates? he didn’t even know that was a thing that could happen. he wondered if there had been a similar occurrence before.
gojo couldn’t help but feel nauseous. was this the world playing some sort of sick, cruel joke on him? or was it perhaps giving him a second chance?
and truthfully, it wasn’t like gojo even wanted another soulmate. not after what he had been through with suguru. he hadn’t given it much thought.
was it really worth it?
what if he couldn’t protect you too?
so satoru had decided on one thing that day: the blindfold stays on. concealing his eyes from the world not only for him, but for your sake too. he was certain in his choice; he would never tell you the truth.
as far as you were concerned, you haven’t met your soulmate yet.
and never will.
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your first meeting with gojo wasn’t exactly unpleasant, but it wasn’t something you could describe as good either. you’ve been left with the impression that he’s cocky and indifferent.
and that he doesn’t like you.
it’s been around.. two? three weeks? it’s been a while since your encounter with the white-haired sorcerer, and you’ve only seen a few glimpses of him here and there on campus.
okay, he doesn’t display any outright mean or ill intention towards you. on the very rare times the two of you do interact, he is obviously curt and clipped. seems like he’s deemed you worthy of the only either nods or one word responses.
you’ve yet to actually participate in a lesson or mission with gojo, but you prefer it that way. providing individual training and advice for the upcoming second years has been going great. at this point, you’re sure it’d only be awkward.
besides, the strongest sorcerer alive doesn’t necessarily need assistance in dealing with curses after all. that much is understandable.
you’re currently in the teachers’ lounge room with nanami. even though he isn’t actually a teacher, he pays visits sometimes. he’s good company anyway.
“it’s nice to hear that you’re settling in well,” the blonde says with a nod. he loosens his necktie absentmindedly as he adjusts the newspaper in his lap. “especially with that gojo around. he can be a pain in the ass sometimes.”
you frown at the mention of the sorcerer, crossing your arms. you’re seated across from nanami, watching him idly look through the newspaper.
“oh, well, actually, he isn’t too much trouble. for me, at least,” you reply, brows furrowing, “he barely talks to me.” (in fact, he seems to avoid you like you’re carrying the plague or something.)
nanami looks up, raising a brow. “huh. you should be grateful then.” he then hums, “but maybe that’ll change once there’s actually new first year students to teach. you both are assigned to them after all.”
you lean back in your seat, your shoulders committing to a halfhearted shrug. “maybe. it’s not like i never did anything bad to him though..”
nanami sighs gruffly. “don’t think about it too much.” before he can continue, there’s the sound of footsteps. nanami brings his newspaper back up, muttering, “speak of the devil.”
“nanamiiii!” gojo’s voice sounds from around the corner. it almost startles you how lively he sounds. you realize you’ve never actually heard or seen how he acts without you around.
nanami doesn’t respond, rolling his eyes.
gojo strolls in enthusiastically, blindfold on. “heyy, nanami, we should-” he cuts off when he presumably sees you, falling quiet and stopping short.
you blink, a bit hurt. does he dislike you that much? but you don’t let it show, resorting to greeting him politely like you usually do when you occasionally pass each other.
“good afternoon, gojo,” you muse, offering a little wave.
nanami notices his reaction too, but doesn’t comment on it. he continues to ignore the sorcerer’s presence in fact, eyes still roaming over the newspaper.
gojo clears his throat and resumes his pace. “afternoon,” he responds, focusing his attention back on nanami. he reaches the two of you, giving you no further acknowledgment.
you don’t care if he can see you looking at him, you opt to stare at the black blindfold covering his face. you have a hunch that he can see, or at least feel, you staring at him.
“can i borrow you for a sec, nanami?”
nanami emits an exasperated sigh, but stands nonetheless to follow gojo out of the room for some discussion not meant for your ears apparently, leaving you alone with your thoughts.
do you make gojo uncomfortable? you don’t know what you could’ve possibly done so though. from what you’ve heard from the others, he can be rather eccentric and overbearing.
does he just not like you? perhaps he views you as inferior, too below his level and power to actually converse with you. while it seems a bit of a stretch, you’re sure it’s not out of the possibility also based on what you’ve heard about him from others.
your frown returns. before you can dwell on it any longer, nanami comes back into the room. “well, i certainly see what you mean from what you said about gojo earlier,” he announces.
his words do nothing to falter your frown. “right.” you then shrug once more, “it’s okay. it’s just a bit.. strange.” you then shake your head, trying to be a bit optimistic. “but also like you said earlier, that might change! who knows?”
who knows, indeed.
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megumi tucks the cursed tools inside their designated box and closes the lid. he moves on to the next one right as gojo enters the shed, beaming a smile.
“hey, megumi. you almost done wrapping up things here?” satoru asks, undoing his blindfold naturally. there’s a pair of glasses in his hand ready for use.
the teen nods. they had used a few cursed tools during training session today, and the storage did need a bit of tidying up. “almost done.”
satoru makes a noise of approval as he places his glasses on. “great! do you need help setting up your dorm room?” he looks excited at the idea, still grinning.
meanwhile, megumi looks disinterested at his offer. “no thanks. i think it’ll be easy enough. it’s not like i’m decorating it anyway.”
“oh, boo.” but gojo doesn’t insist on it any further. he actually falls strangely quiet, which causes megumi to glance at him curiously.
his teacher looks.. distraught. it’s hard to actually tell, but he seems to be looking at the floor, maybe lost in thought. before megumi can say anything, gojo’s expression changes and he starts talking again.
“you’re, uh, with the new teacher for tomorrow,” gojo then informs. he shoves his hands into his pockets and kicks at the floor absentmindedly. (he’s fidgeting. subtly.) “it’ll just be you two, i think, on a small mission. so they can get used to actually working with students on field. it’ll be good for the both of you.”
megumi nods. he tilts his head afterward. “you can say their name, you know. it won’t kill you,” he says a bit pointedly, “and they’re not technically new anymore. it has been a few weeks now since they’ve joined the school.”
“right, right.” megumi’s face scrunches up as gojo’s hand comes down to ruffle his hair gently. (a habit that has not died since his younger days.) “whatever you say, megumi.”
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despite your minimal interactions and his rather closed off demeanor, megumi is actually one of your favorite students. (and yeah, maybe you shouldn’t have favorites, but oh well.)
your mission with megumi, or rather, the mission you’ve been assigned to supervise the student on, is rather simple.
there’s been reports of a low grade curse roaming the premises of a supermarket neighboring a nearby cemetery, so megumi is to obviously exorcise it under your watch. the area has been closed off with a small veil. megumi had decided to check the parking lot first for any lingering traces, so here you are.
“i think we’re good here,” the teenager confirms as his demon dogs return to his feet, seemingly in the clear. you nod and let him lead the way towards the inside of the store.
as the two of you begin to walk down each aisle with one of the demon dogs trailing behind, megumi says your name in an inquisitive tone. “what do you think of gojo-sensei?”
the sudden question has you blinking in surprise. your eyes scan megumi as you both continue to trek down the aisle. “what makes you ask?”
“no reason.” he doesn’t meet your gaze.
you bite down on your lip in contemplation. you’re not sure what brings this question to mind for him, but you’re willing to indulge him for now. “well.. i think he’s.. alright.” you pause. “as a sorcerer, i admire his strength. though, i think a lot of people think that obviously.”
“and as a person?” megumi presses, turning to investigate the next aisle. he still doesn’t glance over to you, still preoccupied with searching for the curse.
(hell, for a teenager, he sure is perceptive.)
you choose your words carefully, thinking it over with a brief pause.
“i’ll admit, i don’t think i know him well enough to be sure. as a person, i think he’s.. self-centered and rude. sometimes, i see him act very carefree in a way. he’s.. obscure, i guess.” you clear your throat and reiterate, “but again, i don’t really... know him.”
you can see megumi go over your words silently. the quiet continues. the conversation seems to be dying, but it doesn’t matter when monstrous gurgling sounds up ahead.
a curse appears in front of you, the shelving of the aisles toppling over as it gargles some unintelligible roar. megumi doesn’t hesitate, using his technique to summon his demon dogs once more to swiftly engage in combat.
the fight is easily handled in three minutes top. (they weren’t kidding when they said it’d be easy.)
after the commotion has settled, you allow megumi to do one more check up around the store just in case. just as you are prepared to exit and bring down the veil, you decide it’s your turn to ask him now.
“and what about you, megumi?” you inquire lightly, giving one of the demon dogs a few head pats for their good work. “what exactly do you think of gojo?”
megumi hums.
“i agree with most of what you said actually,” he answers honestly, causing you to chuckle in amusement. the teenager tilts his head and finally looks at you. “but i also think he’s kind when he wants to be.”
his frontward honesty surprises you once more. this kid sure is something. you believe his words; he has no reason to lie to you, especially about gojo of all things. still, you poke at him teasingly, “really now?”
you don’t really expect him to answer, but then megumi says in a mumble so quiet that you nearly miss it.
“well, he did sort of raise me after all.”
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“i just don’t think he likes me, shoko,” you puff out a sigh, watching as she puffs out smoke. “i’ve seen the way he is around other people, and he’s not like that with me.”
she’s on break right now, so you thought you could talk to her about a certain blindfolded sorcerer who’s been plaguing your thoughts.
it’s interesting to hear about the different sides of gojo satoru from your peers. from nanami, you’ve learned that he’s pretentious and troublesome. from megumi, that he can be caring in his own way. and shoko?
“he’s crazy.” the doctor waves her cigarette at you with a shrug of her shoulders. “but it beats me on why he doesn’t particularly like you.”
you groan, slouching in one of the chairs set up in the infirmary. “maybe i should’ve stayed in kyoto,” you mumble. it’s more of a joke than anything; your.. weird terms with gojo isn’t enough to actually deter you.
but shoko puts the cigarette back to her lips and tilts her head. “want me to ask him about it?”
you straighten your posture abruptly and look at her. “what? you don’t have to. he might think i asked you to or something.”
she shrugs again. “your call.”
your brows furrow. “maybe we just got off on the wrong foot somehow. even though all i did was shake his hand.” you snort. “maybe i can get him something to break the ice. what does he like?”
shoko doesn’t even hesitate. “sweets. he likes his sweets.”
oh. oh, okay! you blink and nod. who would’ve thought? the strongest sorcerer in the world likes sweets. “i can handle sweets.”
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you, in fact, cannot handle sweets.
why are there so many? you’re at a local bakery staring at the rows and rows of pastries they have on display, looking as if you’re trying the decipher the world’s hardest math problem.
shoko never specified what kind of sweets he liked during your conversation with her a couple days ago. cake? ice cream? cookies? you might as well buy the whole damn store at this point with your luck. the last thing you want is to buy him something he won’t actually eat.
“oh, fuck it,” you mutter and finally decide on a small piece of cake. it happens to be your favorite kind of cake, but oh well. if he doesn’t like it, he doesn’t like it! it’s the thought that matters anyway, right?
as you exit the shop with your newly acquired dessert, you try to devise a way to give it to him. do you just.. hand it to him? or maybe it’ll be better to leave it in his office. or have shoko give it to him!
ughh, who knew how hard it’d be to give a man a cake? okay, okay. you’ll simply give it to him in person since he’ll know it’s directly from you. problem solved.
well, actually, problem is not solved. how are you supposed to give the cake to gojo in person when you have absolutely no clue where he is right now? after returning to the school, he’s no where to be found, so you eventually turn to yaga for help.
“he’s on a mission where??”
you stare at yaga with wide eyes as he names some city so far away you’re pretty sure you wouldn’t be able to find an affordable ride to get you there in a reasonable amount of time.
“oh, alright,” you say, feeling a little disappointed. the cake suddenly feels a little too big and heavy in your hands.
the principal’s gaze flickers down to your little intended treat for his former student. “these kinds of missions are no trouble for satoru. i’m sure he’ll be back soon, so you can leave that in his office.”
you brighten up at that and nod. “thank you, yaga.” you then dismiss yourself with a polite bow after he informs you where gojo’s office is exactly, and you start to make your way there.
it’s only a few minutes until you get there. you open the door and catch sight of a desk. it looks rather plain, which is understandable since it doesn’t seem like he uses this space often. (though, there is a chair that looks more expensive than your entire rent.)
either way, you walk inside and set the container down on the desk with a small sigh. hopefully the gesture is appreciated! if he really does have a sweet tooth like shoko says, you’re not sure why he’d turn it down. again, you can only hope.
you sigh again and turn to leave when the sound of the door creaking open sounds again. you freeze in place when it swings out fully, revealing the very man you were thinking about.
(yaga was not kidding when he said that gojo finishes his missions pretty fast.)
gojo perks up at the sight of you in his office, and even with his blindfold on, you can tell he’s got a surprised look on his face. “can i help you.. or do you have a reason on why you’re snooping around in my office?” he inquires, walking in.
while not evidently hostile, his appearance and words suddenly have you anxious. “oh, well, i-’’ you want to mentally smack yourself for fumbling over your words. “i’m sorry for intruding. i, uh, just wanted to leave you a little something.”
it’s only then does gojo look past you and makes a small noise. you can’t really decipher it, but you watch as he walks by you to open the small packaging to see the slice of cake meant for him.
and when he makes a small noise again, you can tell it’s one of delight. “you got me.. cake?” he asks, looking to you again questioningly.
“i did,” you clarify with a small nod, summoning a small smile and rubbing the back of your neck a bit sheepishly, “i didn’t know what kind of sweet you would like, so i just ended up choosing my favorite cake. um, i really hope you don’t mind the flavor, but if you don’t you really don’t have to eat it so-”
“kikufuku.”
you stare at him, confused. “what?”
“kikufuku,” satoru reiterates, and it’s his turn to smile. (it nearly catches you off guard because although very small, it’s pretty.) “s’my favorite. or.. one of my favorite sweets. crepes are good too.”
his newfound friendliness has you smiling a bit more evidently, pleased that this interaction is your most pleasant one with him so far in the weeks you’ve been here. “oh, okay,” you chuckle, “noted.”
gojo opens the container and unwraps the plastic fork that had came with it. he takes a bite of the cake and hums in approval. “can see why it’s your favorite. it’s not bad.”
your face lightens up at that. “oh, i’m glad.”
he hums, popping another slice of cake into his mouth. “any particular reason on why you’ve decided to give me cake, if i may ask?”
you falter once more, now nervous in telling that you’re hoping to.. resolve this one-sided tension with you. ultimately, you decide to be straightforward, inhaling deeply and looking at him. (well, his blindfold.)
“well, i’m not an idiot, gojo. you haven’t exactly been.. friendly to me. i’m not trying to win you over or anything, but if we’re going to work together with the first year students, consider this a gift for a truce. or um, a peace offering so we can act somewhat decent with each other.”
the white-haired sorcerer falls silent at your confrontation. you’re half expecting him to brush you off and walk out of the room entirely. especially since he seems to have stiffen up (similarly to the way when you first met, you had noticed).
he seems to contemplate for a bit. you don’t know where he’s looking at; the floor, the cake in his hands, you? it’s suddenly nerve-wracking.
“you’re right,” he finally speaks up, “i.. i’m sorry for my previous behavior towards you. can we start over?” he places the cake aside and walks back over to you to hold out his hand.
“gojo satoru.”
your eyes flicker to his blindfold to his hand, then back to where his eyes are hidden underneath. the rumored powerful and breaktaking six eyes concealed from your ever so curious sight.
against your better judgment, you repeat your name and take his hand.
“it’s nice to meet you, gojo.”
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your new relationship with gojo is steadily becoming better. he’s no longer curt with you, and actually engages in conversations even with no other people around.
though, you can’t help but feel like he’d avoiding looking at you for some reason. which is pretty far off since you can’t technically see where he’s looking, but it’s a hunch you have nonetheless.
but hey, it’s progress, progress that you’re somewhat happy about.
like now, as satoru leans over your shoulder to peer at the clipboard in your hands. you’ve just finished wrapping up a lesson with the soon-to-be second years out on the field.
“ooh, what’s on the agenda for tomorrow, teach?” he pries.
“assistant teach,” you remind him teasingly, going over the contents of the clipboard. “more sparring. oh, and the registration for that new first year.”
“the one from the countryside?” gojo hums.
you nod. “yep. a.. kugasaki nobara. we won’t actually get to meet her, but arrangements for her arrival are getting finalized.”
“oh, boo. s’just more paperwork,” the sorcerer beside you whines, kicking at the grass.
“at least megumi isn’t the only one now,” you point out and finally turn to him.
just as you expected, satoru glances away to look at panda and toge finishing up. you squint at him narrowly but don’t comment on it.
“that’s true. not like that kid cares anyway, but it’ll be good for him,” gojo agrees airily, shoving his hands into his pockets.
you eye him. “hey, gojo?”
“yeah?” his head remains turned to the students. (further proving your point! you feel like you’re collecting evidence here; the gojo satoru cannot look at you in the eye!)
you hesitate. “wanna grab some kikufuku?”
he perks up at that. (like a puppy, really. it almost makes you laugh.) “mm, whatever happened to not trying to win me over with sweets?” he teases.
you laugh at that then, shaking your head in soft denial. “no- that’s not what i-”
“well, you did said kikufuku.." satoru interrupts you with a dramatic sigh and heave of his shoulders, “so how could i ever possibly resist?”
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satoru doesn’t dare to look down at you.
“care to join me?”
but you smile up at him cheekily, and he hates the way the sunlight is hitting your features just right. it looks like the color of your eyes is glistening.
you’re just.. lying down on the grass of one of the training fields, admiring the drifting formations of white clouds on the blue canvas that is the sky.
satoru keeps telling himself that shouldn’t be doing this. his first mistake was accepting your cake. allowing himself to get closer to you. but when you look at him like that, he feels like he can do anything. which is odd, becaues really, he can do anything. it goes without saying as his status as the strongest.
but with you, it’s starting to feel a bit different.
when he doesn’t give you an immediate answer, you tilt your head and continue to blink up at him. “you can see the sky even with your blindfold on, right?”
he snorts. “yeah, i can.”
you pat the space on the grass next to you welcomingly, a beckoning that he just can’t resist again. “well, come on and join me,” you persist.
he hesitates, shifting his weight on his legs for a moment. against his better judgement, he joins you. it’s surprisingly comfortable, he finds, as he kicks out his legs and sighs.
it’s a comfortable silence that it’s almost startling. how easy it is just to be around you. (which is the exact reason why he had been avoiding you in the start, in fear of slipping up around you. he still might.)
“you get headaches, right? if you don’t cover your eyes.”
he chuckles at your question. “yeah.” it’s a half truth, half lie. he does get headaches, but for another reason now. you can’t get out of his head. (he’s got a suspicious feeling it’s because the soulmate bond is incomplete. but again, that’s just a theory of his.)
“‘m’sorry. that sucks.” you pout subconscously, still looking up at the sky to admire it.
he scoffs fondly, clapsing his hands over his stomach. “it’s no biggie. you think headaches can take down gojo satoru?”
“hey now, tough guy. they can take down me sometimes.”
(he’d fight off headaches from you if he could.) his heart is thudding against his ribcage, warning him. but he doesn’t heed the warning, and continues to lay down with you on the grass.
it’s a nice feeling. he doesn’t feel like the greatest sorcerer in the world with his colleague. it feels like he’s just satoru, pointing out the different shapes and animals you can spot in the sky with his soulmate.
“hey, that one looks like you!”
“hah?!”
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“i’m guessing you and gojo-sensei are getting along now,” megumi bluntly comments.
it catches you off guard slightly, and you can’t help but laugh. (of course he had noticed how the both of you interacted from the beginning.) “oh, uh, yeah.”
and as you watch satoru go down the steps of the stairs to head over to you both whilst waving an arm with much more enthusiam than needed, you can’t help but smile.
“yeah, we are.”
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this is a mistake. he shouldn’t be doing this.
but satoru can’t help but be so selfish, selfish in indulging in your looks, in your scarce touches. when you had confronted him with your peace offering as you had so called it, he had given in.
and now he’s spending more time with you. be it after lessons with the students, on random days where you have nothing to do, during weekends when there’s no authorities to bother him—he can’t help it.
was it the bond wanting to be complete? you were still unaware of his true identity, of what he could possibly mean to you, so why does he feel like he needs to be so close? he gets antsy at times when you’re not in his sight. it’s starting to affect him.
the soulmate bond, or lack of it—that has to be the only explanation for it. because he knows that you’re his soulmate, he’s subconsciously drawn to you and your presence. (it’s definitely not because he likes the way you smile, or laugh, or-)
fuck.
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after a relatively tough mission, you’re obviously sent to see shoko. you’re not fatally harmed, maybe a scratch here and there. and okay, maybe a gash on your shoulder..
it had been enough to sort of knock you off your feet, but you’re fine. totally. exorcising a semi grade two curse at 1 a.m. in the morning was no biggie at this point.
once she’s finished tending to your wound, she dusts off her hands and places them on her hips. “you’re all set.”
you smile gratefully. “thanks, sho. can always count you to patch me up.”
she snorts. “well, it is my job.”
gojo suddenly appears right next to the table and you yelp, startled by his teleportation. shoko, on the other hand, looks unfazed, as if she’s used to this.
“gojo!” you blink, your voice taking a scolding tone soon after, “geez, you scared me! what’re you still doing awake??”
the blindfolded man falters, looking apologetic. “sorry. heard you got back from your mission.” he sounds worried, but before he can voice his concern, shoko rolls her eyes.
“they’ll be fine,” she says.
gojo’s shoulders finally drop down and he plays off his previous display of concern with a laugh. “ahaha, yeahhh, i knew that,” he scoffs with a wave of his hand, “i can’t bless you two with my presence?”
shoko gives him a displeased look before she turns around to tidy up her tools. you chuckle at her annoyance. “thanks for checking up on me, satoru,” you say sincerely. your eyes go over his appearance; he’s dressed more casually: a pair of dark slacks and shirt that expose his collarbones. not that you’re.. particularly looking.
but his shoulders seem tense again at your words and he hums quietly. (huh, strange. at least he’s not refusing to look at you anymore, you think.)
“well, i say this calls for a little celebration,” satoru suddenly purrs in delight, waving his hands in the air.
“celebration? for me getting kinda beat up?” you blow a raspberry at him, only for him to blow one at you right back. even though you had done it first, you can’t help but giggle at his childish antics.
he grins at that, then shakes his head. “heyy, i heard you beat up a semi grade two curse!” he says, “i think that does call for a celebration, does it not?”
you stare at him, unsure on whether he’s joking or not. wait, how did he even know that? well, maybe he had gone through the mission reports and assignments. still, you’re surprised that he knows. “you can wipe those out in less than a minute, gojo,” you point out with a raised brow, “don’t try and humor me.”
his grin lessens. “well, yeah, s’kinda easy for me, but i think that goes without saying. you’re telling me don’t wanna celebrate an accomplishment of yours?”
you look to shoko who is almost finished with cleaning up. she just shrugs. you look back to satoru and shrug yourself whilst rolling your eyes. “alright, we can celebrate.”
gojo fist bumps the air. and here you are again, giggling at him.
eventually, when he leads you out of the infirmary and to the teachers’ lounge. he digs through one of the fridges and hands you a bottle of what seems to be alcohol.
“i didn’t even know this was allowed here,” you mumble, settling down on what of the high chairs near the counter. you wiggle in your seat to get comfortable as gojo takes the one next to you.
you offer it to him but he shakes his head, nose scrunching up a little. “i don’t drink.”
“wasn’t this your idea?” you blink. “suit yourself, more for me.” you shrug and open the bottle to pour yourself a glass. and another. and another. and then another.
(you don’t know what particularly drives you to keep drinking as you talk with him, but perhaps it’s the way you know that satoru’s eyes are lingering just underneath the blindfold. you can practically feel his stare.)
and gojo watches you gradually drink yourself to being mildly drunk.
“okay, no more for you,” he laughs as he takes the bottle away from you and holding it above your head when you try to reach for it.
“awh, man.” you pout and rest your head on your arms on the table, looking at him the best you can. “you meanie. you got me drunk on purpose. give it back.”
he snickers, amused and endeared by your drunk antics as he pushes the bottle aside. “sorry. you’ll thank me later, pretty.”
pretty. he’s never called you that before. you wanna hear him say it again. (amongst some other things.)
“pretty.. you’re pretty. i bet your eyes are pretty too,” you say into your sleeve, your other hand reaching out to his blindfold, “everyone else says they’re v’ry pretty.”
he leans back to avoid your hand, heart pounding in his chest a little too loud for his liking. he wonders if you can hear it. “sure. i guess they are,” he says softly with a small chuckle.
“i wonder who my soulmate is,” you then mumble out. maybe it’s the alcohol, maybe it’s your incoherent slurring, but you sound.. sad.
before he can dwell on it, you’re slurring out another question that has come to your head.
“d’you have a soulmate?”
satoru’s eyes widen under the blindfold. he knows that you’re drunk. that you’re just saying things. but your hazy eyes stare up at him with a glint that makes his heart lurch.
and you won’t remember a thing in the morning, right?
before he can answer, you’re out like a light.
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you wake up in the morning with a splitting headache.
with a groan, you sit up in what seems to be a bed that seems way to be to be your own, legs kicking the sheets that had been draped over you in alarm.
you have no idea where you are, but there’s a glass of water along with some painkillers on the nightstand beside you, which you down gratefully. there’s also the smell of food coming from outside the room.
you can piece two and two together that you’re probably in the home of someone you know.. your brain racks for information of what had happened last night but it’s only causing it to ache even more.
gojo.
you shake your head and make your way to what seems to be the bathroom to tidy yourself up. you notice that your’re still clad in your clothes of last night, so gojo had done the courtesy of tucking you in.
after you’re done, you take a deep breath and head outside.
you navigate your way down the hallway and follow the smell of food. as you turn the corner, you catch the sight of satoru in the kitchen. not that you doubted that the greatest sorcerer could cook, but for some reason, he looks so domestic.
he’s simply wearing sweats and a loose fitting shirt, your back turned to you as he tends to the stove, but the mere sight of it has your heart leaping into your throat. you have a feeling that it’s a sight meant for you, for you to see.
you don’t no how long you stand there, but suddenly a laugh rings through the kitchen from satoru teasingly. “take a picture, sweetheart, it’ll last longer.”
you yelp, embarrassed. (sweetheart? you try not to think about it, but you hate the way it makes your heart leap again. he’s just.. messing with you.) “erm.. sorry. good morning, gojo.” you approach the kitchen and take a seat at the counter.
when he finally turns to you, he’s not wearing his usual black blindfold, but instead what seems to be white bandages. you haven’t seen it on him before, but you don’t comment on it though.
he says good morning back before serving you some food, which you thank him for gratefully. “thank you for the painkillers too. i didn’t do anything embarrassing last night, did i?” you inquire, half jokingly.
you try to remember what had happened last night, but your memories are still a bit hazy. all you can recall is talking with him about things and staring at him. (you’re not going to tell him that though.)
“nah,” he waves off, “just told me your darkest secrets, s'all.”
you straighten up. “what?”
“kidding, kidding!” he snickers.
you groan and drag your plate to you. “i didn’t know you could cook.”
satoru looks mildly offended, emitting a dramatic gasp as he waves the spatula at you in a petulant manner. “hey now, i’m no expert. but i can at least make some sort of breakfast.”
(he totally did not look up a tutorial on how to cook for you. definitely not. but he’s a natural at everything, so at least his naturally gifted skill is in his favor this time.)
“thank you, gojo.” a smile tugs at the edges of your mouth.
“satoru.”
“what?”
“c’mon, you’re literally eating breakfast in my kitchen,” he laughs, sliding a mug of coffee (probably with extra cream and sugar because it’s gojo) towards you across the counter. “satoru’s fine.”
you test the name on your tongue, paying little attention to the way it makes the man before you stiffen up as you grab the coffee. “satoru.. thanks, satoru.” you think you can get used to saying that.
(he does too.)
satoru turns away back to the stove. “you’re welcome.”
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“hey satoru, what did you say what you wanted again? i’m thinking bubble tea but i dunno..”
he likes the way his name sounds from you.
“uh, satoru? satoru? helloo, earth to gojo satoru? satoru!”
oh.
fuck, he hadn’t realized he had spaced out. gojo lifts his head in a sudden motion, making a surprised noise. he smiles sheepishly. “what’s up?”
“you feeling alright, satoru?” you tilt your head.
keep saying his name.
“awhh, i’m feeling more than alright, sweetheart.” he shoots you a grin, liking the way your eyes reflect the café lights, giving it a warm hue. “i’ll have whatever you’re having.”
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“you seem to be in a good mood lately,” megumi points out. ijichi, in the front see, looks at the two of them through the rear view in silent agreement.
(a lot of people have noticed actually.)
gojo pauses, halfway through unwrapping the plastic of a popsicle. it’s the same one he used to consume during his youth, but his taste really hasn’t changed after all this time. “oh?”
the teenager eyes him narrowly. “yeah.”
gojo merely hums and pops the icy treat into his mouth.
“heh, i guess i am.”
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you can hear gojo and shoko’s voices coming from the infirmary, causing you to smile absentmindedly. you didn’t think you’d be enjoying their company this much in the recent months—especially satoru’s.
(strangely, it feels so natural to be around him, you can’t help but wonder if he feels the same. you try to write it off as spending so much time together for a while now, but you can’t lie when you say he doesn’t make the stomach churn with butterflies.)
you turn the corner and announce your presence to the two with a smile and wave. you catch sight of them when they glance over to you, noticing something different.
shoko is wearing her usual white coat with a cigarette in hand, but she’s got her hair tied up in a rare bun to keep any strands from her face.
but that’s not what’s different as your gaze strays to the man next to her, the familiar frame of gojo catching you a bit off guard.
he’s wearing his glasses.
you’ve never seen him wear anything but his blindfold.
how does he look even more breathtaking than without it? you can’t see his eyes still, no—it’s a deep, deep shade of blue that still blocks his gaze from anyone else. but it’s a more casual look, seeing as his hair isn’t being help up and a few strands fall down and you can see his sharp facial features a bit more and-
and then he’s gone.
you audibly make a sound of confusion and hurt, because one moment he’s there and the next he’s no where to be seen. he had vanished without a single world.
he’s fucking avoiding you again; the realization of it makes your throat close up. after all you had been through with satoru.
“what the fuck was that?”
shoko stares at the space gojo had just been standing, just as lost as you.
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there’s a distance between the two of you again. it’s painstakingly familiar to when you had first met gojo and he had kept himself strictly professional with you.
and you don’t know why.
it’s back to the cold shoulder from him; you’re seeing him less and less around campus, and those times where you did hang out off duty are practically a thing of the past now.
satoru is going to be the death of you one day, you’re sure of it.
and you and satoru aren’t even.. a thing.
then again, you’re not even sure what you are. you’re friends, yes, that’s much more than clear, but why does it feel so much more intimate than that despite the fact that the two of you have never even done anything?
however.. a part of you knows that you want more. more of those days lying in the grass with him, more of those mornings eating breakfast with him in his home, more of those afternoon café runs, more of everything with satoru.
is that why does it hurts so much now that he’s pushed you away again?
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satoru is praying that you’re not in there with shoko as he approaches the infirmary a week later. she had called him over, and though he could’ve easily refused, he found himself obliging anyway.
“hey, what was that the other day?”
shoko is blunt and straight to the point once he arrived, striking him with a petulant and expectant gaze with her tired eyes.
gojo blinks innocently, tilting his head at shoko. “what was what?”
shoko then rolls her eyes. “you know what i’m talking about. what was that. you just- walked out like they we’re going to kill you or something.”
that’s the thing. you just might.
the white-haired man frowns and continues to feign innocence. he’s starting to wonder why he bothered coming here. “i have no idea what you’re talking about.”
his avoidance causes shoko to frown as well and she crosses her arms. “you’re doing the same thing that you did with them when they first joined here.”
when he doesn’t say anything, she continues, “avoiding them, pushing them away. i thought you didn’t have any problems with them. at this point, make up your mind because you’re just toying with their feelings and it’s not going to-”
“we’re soulmates,” satoru blurts out.
shoko is cut off, staring at him all wide-eyed for once. “you’re kidding.”
satoru falters. “i’m not. s’why i always wear the blindfold. and that’s why i.. i ran that night. just my glasses was too risky.”
what if he had angled his head the wrong way, what if you saw his eyes, what if you finally realized that you were fated to be together at the whims of the universe? he couldn’t do that to you.
“how long have you-”
“since we first met. i.. i could see it because of six eyes,” he explains, running a hand through his hair. “i don’t know why. i didn’t think i could have another one after-”
the two fall quiet at the mention of suguru, a heavy feeling hanging in the air between them.
“what are you going to do?” shoko asks quietly.
satoru sounds wrecked. “..i don’t know.”
“well.” shoko smushes her cigarette against the surface of the metal table. “you better do something before it’s too late.”
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unfortunately, the higher ups have also noticed.
(the push and pull that has been going on between the pride of the gojo clan and a random transferred sorcerer from kyoto. nothing goes unseen by their tight hold on jujutsu society.)
and you are none the wiser when you’re an assigned a mission late so at night, at a secluded edge of tokyo. you would’ve questioned it, but after looking over the details, it seems easy enough since it was a low level curse.
ijichi drops you off near the location and bids you luck. the night is dark, with the shape of the moon only peaking out every now and then due to the clouds to offer minimum light, and then the veil is coming up.
it’s fine though, as you start walking to get this over with. the faster, the better.
what the fuck? the cursed energy here is much stronger than you had anticipated, almost as if it’s suffocating. now uneasy, you continue your search with more caution.
a low growl sounds from somewhere behind you, and you turn on heel to brace yourself in case the curse decides to catch you off guard with an unexpected attack.
your heart drops.
it’s a grade one curse.
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something’s not right.
satoru can feel it. he can sense it in the air. something is lingering, a presence that makes even him feel uneasy, and he doesn’t know why. nothing makes him feel uneasy. but it’s a gut feeling, it’s the bond tugging and tugging and-
you.
something’s not right.
and then gojo is teleporting and finding ijichi in record time, giving the poor man a scare. gojo’s voice is on edge and leaves no room for argument as he demands the assistant director where he had driven you minutes prior. the veil still stands, undisturbed.
fuck, fuck, fuck- shoko was right. he should’ve done something before it was too late, because now it might actually be too late as he steps through the veil.
it’s too quiet for his liking, but the lingering silence only lasts for a few heartbeats before he hears you scream.
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you’re going to die.
you don’t want to think that, but you’re definitely not going to make it out of this unscathed as you dodge the curse’s scarily accurate attacks, as if it knows where you’re going to move and land.
the curse screeches out something ugly, and you’re too stunned to react in time as one of its malformed limbs swings down with a speed that you can’t comprehend.
your throat cries for help even as the air out of your lungs, but then there’s the sudden brilliant flash of red that blinds your vision.
satoru?
you can’t see and your body aches everywhere while the sounds of the curse fade out. it’s replaced by the sound of someone speaking frantically. it is satoru as he crouches down at you, hands coming to lift you up gently. his infinity is off. “hey, hey it’s me,” he voices, “it’s me, sweetheart.”
satoru, it’s satoru. satoru is here.
you emit a sigh of relief, cloudy vision gradually focusing. you try and focus it on satoru, tracing over his features repeatedly, trying to engrave it into your memory.
“shit. those damn higher ups,” gojo grits his teeth into an angered scowl. the higher ups? were they behind this? you don’t know, but you know that you’ve ever seen him this furious before. “i am going to rip those old geezers apart limb from li-”
“satoru, we need to head back.”
he looks dazed, tufts of snowy hair now hanging a bit loosely over his blindfold compared to when it’s normally pushed upright. he even sounds dazed, the great gojo satoru, when he says, “yeah. yeah, okay.”
he’s holding on to you tight and suddenly everything seems to get blurry for less than a second before you blink. you realize he’s teleported you both not to the school, not to shoko’s infirmary, but to his penthouse.
the interior is at least familiar: white walls, a little messy, a couple of decorations, and—
“my place,” he clarifies, as if he had read your thoughts. he sets you down on his couch, uncaring if you’re staining the color of the cushions. but he doesn’t let go, hands still cradling your form so tight that you don’t know if you’re still shaking or that he is.
“are you okay?” you utter out weakly and scan him for any injuries while clutching at his arms, which is ridiculous because he’s untouchable. but you’re not in the right mind right now, and you have a feeling he isn’t either.
“i should be the one asking you that,” he retorts, and you also have the feeling he’s doing the same thing with you with the help of his six eyes.
“i’m alright,” you try to reassure him with a small shake of your head. it only aids you in wincing, but the pain is the last thing on your mind. especially with him here. “it’s fine.”
“it’s not fine,” he argues, his hold tightening even more on you, if that was even possible. is that a slight tremor in his voice? “you almost died.”
“and why do you care?” it’s not a malicious question from you. it’s more of confusion, of genuine. after all you’ve been through with satoru, you’re not sure where he stands. what he feels.
he seems startled by your question, like he can’t believe you could ask such a thing. “of course i care! why-”
you clench your fists in your lap, eyes tracing over his face repeatedly. “i don’t know what you want anymore from me, satoru! you’re not- you’re not telling me the truth.”
“i didn’t want to hurt you,” he tells you hoarsely. god, you wish you could see what he’s thinking. what’s going on in that head of his.
“you did hurt me.”
gojo trembles. “i know.”
“you seem to know a lot of things.” your voice sounds tired. your hand goes to rest on his chest, where you can faintly feel his heartbeat underneath. (oh, to be the only one who can touch gojo satoru like this.) “what are you hiding from me?”
“i can’t hide anything from you.” he draws a slow intake of breath. he then whispers,
“but how am i supposed to tell you that we’re soulmates?”
your heart skips a beat.
gojo satoru is your soulmate?
astonished, you now stare at him with wide eyes. “why- why didn’t you tell me??” you ask, voice cracking. to think, all this time, your soulmate had been right there, right beside you, right in front of you.
then it all clicks. his off-standish behavior, his reluctant interactions, his avoidance. his blindfold. he didn’t want you to see his eyes.
he’s known all this time somehow—and oh, oh. his six eyes. your lips part in realization as you stare hard, as if you could see his damned eyes beneath the cloth that hides you from the truth.
“i thought that if you knew that we were soulmates, you’d-” satoru shakes his head. “something always happens to the people i love.” he hesitates, “you still have a chance. you can find someone else.”
“what if i don’t want someone else??” you say out softly in protest, gripping the lapels of his uniform.
gojo shakes his head again. despite this, he doesn’t let you go. like he can’t, like he doesn’t want to. “we’re not bonded yet,” he says your name shakily, “please.”
still gripping the collar of his uniform, you tug him closer to you desperately. it’s so clear, so obvious that he wanted this.
“satoru, have you thought about what i wanted?” you breathe out, feeling tears well up in your eyes, “that maybe, there’s a chance that i want to take the risk? that i want to be bonded to you?”
your eyes flicker down to his lips momentarily. “that i want you too?”
satoru’s breath stutters.
“you haven’t seen my eyes.”
you cup satoru’s face in your hands, swiping your thumb under the space where his eye is hidden with a fierce tenderness that makes him listen.
“satoru, i didn’t need to see your eyes to fall in love with you.”
your confession has him stilling.
(all the times he had stiffened up in your presence, he had been falling for you, bit by bit. you know that now.)
his hand comes to cover yours, the one that’s still resting on his cheek, fingers smoothing over your knuckles. and then his hand continues to go up, up, up, and-
he tugs the blindfold up and over his head, revealing his eyes to you at last.
his eyes are gorgeous, a blue that seems to spill into your vision and take over your senses. a blue that you can get lost in, a blue that reminds you of the summer sky, a blue that tethers your soul to his, and you both can feel it.
the bond between you is so electrifying that you nearly forget how to breathe.
and then satoru is surging forward, closer, even closer, until your breath is his and you forget how to breathe for a whole different reason entirely.
he’s kissing you.
he kisses you like you might disappear right before him, his head angling into yours to capture your lips with a force that makes your world spin.
and you return it tenfold, one hand still cradling his face while the other sneaks to dig its fingers into his undercut, and he’s making a noise into your mouth with fervor.
you’re all too aware of his heat against you, the frantic touches he’s now giving into as he draws you closer. the surface of the sofa dissipates into nothingness and then-
suddenly he’s teleporting you both again—or maybe he’s kissing you dizzy. but you realize you’re now in space that’s not overly familiar with you, but you can tell it’s most likely his bedroom based off of the feel of the lush satin sheets underneath you.
less than an hour ago you were fighting for your life, and now you’re fighting for your life on gojo satoru’s bed.
“satoru, s’toru, wait-” you’re gasping for air, for something as he engulfs you with his presence. he’s everywhere all at once, and it feels as if the bond is intensifying everything he’s doing to you.
“nuh uh. think we’ve both waited long enough for this, baby,” he gasps against your lips, like it’s impossible to be separated from you again, “don’t know how much i wanted this, wanted you. drove me crazy.”
his words makes your head all fuzzy. you don’t even know if it’s the bond anymore, or just the way he makes you feel. maybe even both. your lungs feeling like they’re burning, but even then, you manage to get out,
“you have me, ‘toru, you have me.”
“yeah?” when he pulls back, it’s not even a few inches, his nose brushing against yours. his alluring eyes glimmer in the darkness of the room, and you’re almost so mad that you feel like kissing him again because he’s kept them from you for so long.
your hands hook over his neck again. when your fingers run over his undercut again, you can actually feel him shiver, causing you to giggle in delight. “yeah, ‘toru.”
“yeah, pretty,” he sighs out and he’s losing himself in everything that is you once more so willingly. your eyes, your very being, compels him to give you everything, so he does. “y’have me too. all of me.”
his confession rings through your ears before he’s kissing you again, kissing you breathless. it’s a blur on what happens next; feverish touches and passionate symphonies, but one thing’s for sure,
the magnetic glow of his eyes in the dark of that night is something that you’ll never forget.
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as your stir amongst the tousled bedsheets, you can feel the warmth of a certain someone creeping over you, like a cozy cat searching for cuddles.
your eyes peer open to meet the blurry sight of the ceiling, along with the sight of messy white hair tickling your chin.
“good morning to you, sweetheart,” a voice says cheekily, followed by cascading kisses down your jawline, prompting you to giggle softly.
you watch sunlight spill over into the bedroom, engulfing the man above you in an angelic glow as he finally pulls back to look down at you.
so maybe you didn’t fall in love at first sight with gojo satoru.
that’s okay.
cause as you stare up into your soulmate’s pretty ceruleans in the morning light, you think you can fall in love with him like this a little more.
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BONUS!
“you owe me.”
nanami drags a hand over his face as he digs into his pocket for his wallet. “this is the first and last time i make a bet with you,” he grumbles.
shoko merely smirks. “you have such little faith in gojo.”
“bet or not, can we go back to before they were together?” nanami looks like he’s close to investing in a pair of one of gojo’s glasses that can block any normal person’s vision.
satoru is clinging onto you like a sloth.
“babyyyyy,” your boyfriend whines, resting his chin on your shoulder with his arms wrapped around your torso. you can’t help but giggle, endeared by his clinginess. (he had claimed it was to make up for the way he had acted in the past and for lost time.)
he’s like another part of you now. not that you mind. being his soulmate is everything and more—from the tender touches to the passionate ones, to the talks of everything: to the mundane to the serious. after all, your soul is his, and his soul is yours.
(and then his hands are sneaking off to places they shouldn’t be.)
“‘toru, not here!”
nanami heaves out another sigh as his hand comes to pinch the bridge of his nose. “is it too late to quit being a sorcerer again?”
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TAGLIST : @spn-obession , @deepestartisanhumanoidshark , @scarasw1f3 , @kalopsia-flaneur , @90s-belladonna , @peachipeachy , @chrystinaamanda , @kalulakunundrum , @hunnyheavenn , @dekusdante , @dontmindmelove , @cherries-lostgirls , @rv19 , @etherealstarlightqueen
+ a/n: this fic ended up being way no longer than i expected omg.. but thanks to all who asked to be on the taglist !! some didnt work so im sorry about that </3
like this fic? feel free to go ahead and check out my other works here! -> masterlist
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kithtaehyung · 1 month ago
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minted: two (explicit) | myg
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title: minted: two (explicit) pairing: street king!yoongi x street vendor!reader series: one | masterlist rating/genre: m (18+) ; angst , action ; haegeum au , gang au summary: after a whirlwind of a detour, you have second and third thoughts about the guy you saved. who even is this man? and what the hell is in that bag? note: holy shit, y’all. thank you so much for the love on this series already! it’s been a minute since we started a new series here, so nerves were firing on all cylinders. but you all showed out and gave me enormous relief and motivation to keep going, so thank you! note 2: as always, this is dedicated to hali @sailoryooons for ur belated bday, nary @joonary for being a cutie pie and letting me adopt the tangerine cart girl idea in general, and luce @minttangerines for ur url and for being a wonderful friend. love you all! warnings: language, violence, weapons (guns), blood/wounds mentions, drugs, alcohol, trauma/pstd, poor reader :(((, but also YES READER???, tension to the max, inner turmoil, mint!yoongi, haegeum!yoongi, tatted!yoongi, his eyebrow is pierced, yoongi visuals in this one areeee… a ha ha, did i mention tension?, tense situations, crass af yoongi lol, reader is also a baddie but who is shocked, slow burnnnn drop date: september 30th, 2024, 9:03pm est word count: 9.8k help me @ god
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There’s something to be said about the human gut. 
Not for being the source of multiple health aspects, nor the way it’s connected to the brain. 
But, other than when violence tears it to shreds, it can be quite the defense mechanism. Just like yours churns and churns with each mechanical click of the elevator shaft.
Who is this person next to you? 
Who exactly did you decide to follow upstairs hours ago, killing your daily life to save and join on the run? 
You don’t know if you release your hand or if Yoongi lets it fall, but you take this unlinking to create space. As you slide your gaze toward your companion, he merely shifts his weight and finds interest in increasing, beeping numbers.
How can someone’s profile be so troublingly handsome? You’d be able to think more clearly if he wasn’t both attractive and dangerous. Or if you simply weren’t on the verge of collapse.
Frankly, if you didn’t just murder a man you’d pass out as soon as you took too long to blink. 
To keep yourself alert—and to hopefully gather some much needed intel—you suddenly question aloud, “Where are we?”
No answer.
Alright.
“That driver called you Agust,” you recap on a second go. “What was that about?”
All Yoongi does is stare at his reflection in opulent, dim mirrored walls. Or whatever else he’s doing besides talking. 
Okay. Well.
You can face forward, too. 
“Those guys after us,” you try a third time, because who are you to give up now even if he radiates annoyance. “They didn’t look like Crane.”
“Doesn’t mean they weren’t.”
Your neck almost snaps when you turn. “Are you kidding me?”
As you watch Yoongi scorn the ceiling again, you can’t believe he doesn’t agree. 
Mm. Does he?
From the flex of his jaw, you have to assume you’re right to some degree. Because it looks like he’s very, very bothered by the people that chased you down. 
If those weren’t any of the high-powers but had equal resources and numbers…
What the hell were they? Where did they even come from?
Geez, it’s freezing. Is a drop in temperature the best barrier to you making sense of things? You can’t even appreciate the way Yoongi’s veins protrude with every adjustment he makes to that mysterious duffle bag.
Lies. You absolutely can. But there’s no way in hell you’re ever complimenting that. Or anything about him anymore because he clearly doesn’t want anything to do with you! 
Why did he even hold your hand? Was that just a ploy, too? 
But that taxi drive…
Yoongi looks down before lightly scuffing his shoe, and both of you fall silent as you finally give up with a huff. 
Massively dehydrated. Sore. Still covered in a myriad of unmentionables and now being ignored by the guy you saved. 
All you wanna do is go home, and you don’t even know where that is. 
How far did you travel? What district is this? You’ve never heard of a grey zone, but they seem fairly peaceful even at night. Neutral enough for you to consider relocating even if it meant sleeping on the street.
That brings up another question. “If we’re in a grey zone, how did you know—”
A ding interrupts your last thought, and you look to see where you ended up.
But the elevator doesn’t say a number. Only letters? What kinda floor did you stop on? 
One thing’s for sure, though. Whatever room you end up getting, if there’s only one bed you’re hogging it or taking the…
Floor…
There are many things that have shocked you in your lifetime. Many things just from today that had your head positively and forever reeling. 
But when the elevator doors slide open, you can’t even fathom what the fuck you’re dealing with. 
And in this second, more than ever, you understand how ludicrously out of your element you really are. 
“Holy shit,” you blurt, barely hearing the huff at your side.
Don’t elevators usually open up to hallways? Why are you walking into an entire living space? Is this a real place people choose to sleep in for a night? A whole floor?
Forget a whole floor, it’s a whole other place.
You slowly survey everything, wondering how much this has to be because you have never seen a living space so big. Or pretty. Or anything like this.
The ceilings vault and the furniture looks nothing like you’ve ever seen. Everything looks pristine. Clean. Is that a whole kitchen?
How are there living arrangements this big? This one place is bigger than your entire apartment level back home. 
And here you are: speechless, virtually homeless, and dragging your filth onto white marble floors. 
Perfect.
“What.” 
You turn at the scrape of Yoongi’s voice, wondering why now is when he finally chooses to acknowledge you. Head pounding, you ask outright, “Who… Who even are you? What is this place?”
He levels your stare before walking towards a long couch, dumping the duffle and raking his hair back in minted waves. “There’s a shower in every bedroom. Take your pick.” 
…Is that really his only response?
“That’s not what I asked,” you fire back, wondering what the hell his problem is so you can add more out of spite.
“But it’s what you need.”
“Say what now?” 
The fucking nerve? Even though you obviously, desperately need one, hearing him mention it makes you wanna re-use the chopsticks in your pocket. 
But Yoongi simply waves you off, grabbing a remote and flicking on a television so wide you would struggle to reach both ends. 
This is all too much. 
“You know what I need? To go home,” you huff out, leaving fire in your determined trek to the elevator. “Have a nice life, Yoongi. Or Agust. Whoever the fuck you are.” 
You get to the door and run into a dirt-slicked forearm. “The fuck are you doing?”
“Shouldn’t be that hard to figure out.”
“You serious?”
“Yes, I am. So move.”
Yoongi pauses, jaw working overtime before he steps aside—wait he’s gonna let you go that easily? 
…Oh.
That was certainly not what you expected, but what else would you even think? This isn’t one of those stories that ends perfectly after trials and tribulations. Yoongi has proven more than once—in mere hours—that he’s no regular civilian. 
But despite that, you blink before freezing at a terrible realization. 
No matter how you slice it, you’re much better off with him right now than you are by yourself. Even if he is a secretive criminal with a smoking gun. 
He did keep you alive that whole chase.
But there’s the smallest, tiniest chance that you aren’t quite safe with him, either. You don’t even know who this man is anymore—maybe you never did.
So in a quick decision, you skim his side to slap the elevator button, chucking daggers at his brows until he leaves you to wait alone.
Good. You don’t need this. You can find your way back to your city block somehow and live the life you’ve chosen to lead again. 
Yes. You can do all of that by yourself. The chase is done. 
And so is your story with the man that will never buy your tangerines again. 
Grabbing your sleeve, a second fact stings your fingers. A jacket woven in Dragon teal. 
Shit. You need to ditch this, too. Either right now, or before you get the hell out of this grey zone because if you don’t, this is the biggest target you could ever have on your back. 
No good. No good no good you didn’t plan any of this well at all. Fucking pride blinding you to everything else logical. Is this how your story ends? Because of regret and resistance? 
You wait for the sliding doors, about to leave the biggest room you’ll ever see to occupy a box. How poetic. 
Your heart pounds as you close your eyes. Yoongi just cut you loose; it’s obvious he doesn’t care so why should you? No going back now. You’ll figure it out. The doors are finally opening. 
And someone’s inside?
Wait.
Your brain both whirrs and skids to a halt at the sight of the staff member occupying the elevator. When they give you a look, you find your hand drifting towards your back pocket.
Fucking hell, relax. You should be safe with a staff member, right? They wouldn’t be out to kill you. This is just your adrenaline on its haunches. 
However, one foot in the elevator and your senses go haywire. 
Because you can’t do this alone. You aren’t nearly as prepared to brave this foreign space as you need to be. With red in your hands and Dragon on your back? Absolutely not. 
You bow to the hotel staff before you face forward into the expanse. 
And as the doors start to close, you see Yoongi’s stare over his shoulder, storming with emotions you can’t name.
Yeah, you fucked up.
Fuck. 
Fuck you actually made a big mistake go back don’t let the elevator close shit—
As you lunge for the door, you get your arm through to block it from closing, turning to the employee inside and seeing their expression change. 
What was that about?
“Sorry,” you blurt to their pressed and polished grey uniform. “I forgot something inside.”
“I can wait, Miss,” they immediately offer, to which you politely and cautiously decline. 
“No need.” When you step out of the elevator, something happens that you think about hours and hours later. “I’ll come down when I’m ready, thank you.”
You can suddenly breathe again. Why was it so stuffy in there?
The worker bows stiff. “As you wish.” 
Without pause, you nod, waiting until the doors close to face someone turned away.
Ugh. It’s like Yoongi knew you weren’t gonna leave. Either that, or he really didn’t give a crap about what you did at all.
Either way, fuck this guy and fuck your indecisive ass!
In full aggravation, you march through the entrance before grating out, “You’re lucky I—”
“Shower.”
“What?”
“The blood,” he calmly breathes. “If you’re gonna hit the streets, wash it out.” 
“It isn’t mine.”
“I know.”
Your mouth snaps shut. 
Fuck. Yoongi’s right. 
“Okay. Well,” you scoff, “Good point but how can I trust you to not do anything.” 
When he tilts his head with a bored, unamused, borderline ticked off expression, you almost scoff before he drawls, 
“Not interested.” 
Oh. He’s… 
Oh. 
But the taxi and the hand-holding and the the the kiss what the hell? Was your liplock not up to this Dragon’s standards? Why are you questioning something so trivial? 
The nerve. You plunge your shoulders in exasperation, hating how you chose to put yourself in another situation with this pain in the ass and he isn’t even… “I swear to—You know what? Good. Not interested, either.”
A lie. 
Scrambling, your stomach speaks the next sentence for you, “But there better be food when I come out cus you robbed me of lunch today. So do something about that.” 
Fucking hell you do not need his lips to quirk up so deliciously. That one look completely offsets what he just said and annoyingly tickles your core. 
Stop. Focus. You cannot entertain any of those thoughts so ignore him and find a bedroom. 
Opening the first door you can see, you continue your tirade, “And no more stealing my chopsticks.”
“Closet.”
Of course it’s a closet! Shutting it with force, you let out a high curse. “Who needs a closet here? Whatever, just—figure it out, I’m starving.”
“Yes, princess.”
You flick Yoongi off as you blaze down the hall, not even knowing nor caring if he sees or not. 
The next door works, and you shut him out before falling back onto its weight, so fraught with emotion that you can’t even register the appearance of the room. 
Today has aged you multiple years. So much has transpired ever since this afternoon that you can’t even think in straight nor curved lines. As soon as you remember something, another thought juts between. Why are you simultaneously thinking about dingy, stained floors while agonizing over Yoongi’s lips? Is there a place other than hell or heaven you can settle on? 
As soon as you’re physically and mentally patched, you are out of here. 
The plan is simple. Shower, eat, give this man a piece of your manic mind, then go home.
Although… It would be nice to at least know what’s in that duffle. If it’s something worth taking you could finesse a piece of the loot. 
Swallowing dry, you push yourself off the door and finally notice a flood of ambient light. 
At your side, you come across an expansive bathroom, eyeing the wall-to-wall entrance before taking in the center shower with disdain and awe.
The whole setup is lavish. 
Does the water just fall straight from the ceiling and into that large square tub? This looks nothing like your cramped, chipped one back home. There’s even lush plants lining the area and towels already folded nearby for use. 
Maybe you did get killed on the run and you’re in some type of dreamworld. 
Too bad you aren’t alone.
As you drag tired feet onto heated tile, you search for the shower knobs, realizing you have a whole panel to work with instead. 
Uhh. 
What. 
You quickly find that one button blows water like a hose straight from the top, scaring you so bad you jump. When you hastily try another, something whirrs in the floor that has your brows kissing—
“You good?”
Fuck!
You flinch and hit the wall, groaning when you see Yoongi lazily resting against one side of the bathroom entrance. Both of your voices echo in the extravagant interior.
“You ever knock?”
“No.”
“Shocker.”
He walks up the tiny steps, and you’re more than relieved you’re still wearing his jacket. When he gets closer, you turn and face the panel, “I can figure it out.”
“Move.”
You get slightly displaced as he gets close, resting a hand on the wall while bending to operate the buttons. As you inhale his musk, you respond to his second question instead of his first. “What?”
“Is this fine,” he repeats, checking the settings before turning to the shower area.
Oh. Wow. It’s a lot more than fine.
A circle of rain falls into a beautifully lighted tub, steam wafting through the glow and coating your skin. 
You’re so entranced that you are quite literally left speechless. Skirting around your present company, you gaze up, down, silently observing the plants sway with the shower air. 
Strangely, this whole bathroom makes everything you’ve seen today believable because of the sheer wonder of it all. It’s almost enough to make you forget what you’ve done. 
Almost. 
When you pause, you see Yoongi watching your face from beyond the rainfall. And he looks so handsome, even now, not doing a thing. 
Is it because he’s clearly roughed up but still so poised? Very unlike you in your banged up, dirty state? 
Huffing, you fold your arms a little too harshly—out of jealousy or whatever else, who is to say. “I’m good now,” you proclaim, keeping your walls high. “I can do the rest myself.” 
Again with that little slant. 
Ignore him ignore him. If Yoongi keeps doing that, you’re really gonna have to brave the outside world instead of dying by smirk. A tub has never been so interesting in your life. 
“Suit yourself.”
You look up again.
But he’s already left you alone.
Solely to undress and contemplate what the hell he implied by that.
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Why did you walk left today instead of right?
Under scorching rain in the middle of luxury, this is the question you repeat in your head. Watching all the burnt streams of your decision swirl, and swirl, and swirl. 
The blood will never wash out.
Does the price of saving a life have to be this high? It must be somewhat divine, being that in order to save, you took. If only there was another way to achieve that end goal. Though there’s no way to do it all over again to be sure.
Staring at four chopsticks on the ground, you try to assure yourself. You need to.
Because at least you succeeded. 
But will your price be more damning because of the one you saved? 
Rushing water mutes your hearing as it pours onto sore limbs. When you reach for the scrub for a third time, you make sure to really dig, scraping at every. Single. Inch. In a last attempt to cleanse yourself completely.
Knowing that even after the water runs clear, you still see nothing but red.
You chose left today.
If you had chosen right… 
Doesn’t matter. 
Your palm tingles.
Blood never really washes out.
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Holy fuck, you don’t have clothes to change into.
Wrapping yourself in plush material, you hastily pad around freezing floors as you think of a plan.
You can’t just ask for them. How would Yoongi even have any for you? The jacket was more than enough borrowing for today and you’re in a hotel room, not his place.
Thank the universe.  
But the matter is pretty urgent. Because you’d rather burn your belongings before putting them on again. Which leaves zero clothing and a thousand issues. Fuck. 
Dragging feet to the massive sliding doors, you steel your resolve. Hoist your shields back upright. 
Because there’s no choice. You’re just gonna have to dread another conversation with this man. An embarrassing, awkward, unprecedented shit why is he in the bedroom!
You flinch backward as you slam the door closed. Peeking out, you gawk, “What the hell are you—?”
Did Yoongi just pocket a phone?
The duffle rests at his feet. 
Wait. Did he stay in here while you showered? Thank god you had the foresight to slide all the doors shut because you definitely spent a lot of your time scrubbing like mad or standing completely still. 
No. Yoongi’s hair is wet, so he did shower at some point. And he’s donning a robe, which is precisely what made you slam the door shut. 
How can he look like royalty wearing that? The material is quite lush and silken, but still plain. It makes no fucking sense and you wanna rip it right off—
Gathering yourself, you rush out, “Why are you in here?”
“You took too long.”
“So? That doesn’t—”
“In my shower.”
Wait. What? “Oh.” 
You slide the door open a little more to check his claim. And now that you finally see the room, you can tell it’s clearly been used already, clothes and bottles scattered about. “You said pick one.” 
“I did.” Yoongi turns to drop something onto a dark comforter. “Figured you picked it on purpose.”
“No, I… I didn’t notice the room.”
“Doesn’t matter,” he says after a brief look your way. “Not sharing the bed, though.”
“No need,” you snip. “I’m leaving soon.” 
Motherfucker. Yoongi only regards his sheets with a smile that triggers your fight response. And you almost—almost—drop the towel. 
Speaking of. How are you even standing in his vicinity with only a single piece of cloth? Are you seriously that exhausted you didn’t even think twice about it?
Suddenly very, very aware of yourself, you squeak, “Umm.” He waits. “I don’t have any clothes.” 
“That’s what you get for kicking me out so quick.”
Your jaw hits the floor. “So what, I’m walking around with a towel? Are you out of your mind? If you think I’m some—”
“Fuck, relax,” he slowly groans to the ceiling. “I was gonna say there’s robes in the closet.” 
You snap your mouth closed so hard it jangles. “Then just say that!” And you slam the partition closed before fast walking to find them. 
Missing the way Yoongi huffs before staring hard at his bedroom door.
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On your second arrival into his room, your steps and demeanor are a lot calmer. 
Is it because he’s a lot calmer, too? Maybe. Is it also because you smell food, realizing he did exactly what you wanted? Maybe more so. 
Noticing a table situated near balcony doors, you blink before regarding Yoongi’s sitting form on one of the chairs outside. 
A man lounging while smoking in a robe should not be this alluring. And yet, that’s the only word you can think of to describe him.  
Throat drying and aching, you slowly walk over and take a seat, already ravenous enough to dive into broth head first. But you eye Yoongi while retrieving new chopsticks, scowling when all he does is flash teeth through the glass.
Do not engage do not engage do not engage. 
Pretending not to care and severely failing, you focus on your— 
“You’re really mad about that, huh.”
You snap your head up to see him leaning on the doorway. “I was hungry.”
“There was a cup of them on your table.”
“So why didn’t you grab those instead!” 
Yoongi ticks his brows before peering into the night. And he stays like that for awhile, letting a breeze lift his damp locks. “Didn’t expect to see you there,” he admits. “Gotta say you threw me off.”
Nu uh. No more heart skips for today. “I didn’t expect to see you, either,” you too choose to be honest. “Thought I’d never see you again.”
“You were going to.”
As curious brows furrow, you break your utensils apart. “Figured something happened.” Guess you’re being honest about a lot of things. “Or you found another tangerine girl.” 
Yoongi holds his look before taking a drag, smoke spiraling around his words, “Why were you even over there? You’re a bit far from Crane.”
You blink at his deflection.
What was that about? What is that look for? 
Holding his gaze because you aren’t done challenging him, you calmly answer, “I was shopping.”
“Shopping.”
“Mmhmm.” 
Falling silent, he observes a little longer before flicking ash off his cigarette. 
And just like that, the conversation dies. 
It’s for the best anyways. If Yoongi kept prying, he was gonna get closer to the truth. And you wanna slip around that as much as possible. 
But he keeps standing in the doorway, inked arm bending as he breathes in smoke. Donned in a dark robe and topped in teal, he suits Dragon perfectly. Way too perfectly. 
Pretending not to care and severely failing, you focus on your noodles instead. 
Your noodles.
Your noodles. 
You’re not hungry anymore. 
Something horrid jams up your throat, and you run through your day in flashes. The restaurant. The food. Dragons. The chopsticks. The kill. The chase. Yoongi. The kill the kill the kill. 
Dirt and shouts and lifeless lips clog your hearing, and your grip loosens completely as your vision shakes and shakes why couldn’t Yoongi have gotten anything else why does it have to be—
A hand. 
A robed arm. 
Your new utensils come back into view. 
But when you face reality, you don’t see them put them back into your hand. You don’t even see them dug in your noodles and left there. 
Instead, you watch as Yoongi plants one palm on the table, slowly lifting strands from the bowl and staring right into your eyes, 
“Eat.” 
Words. Get them out. Something something communication. Key is communication. What the fuck is happening to your brain? 
“I can’t,” you finally croak out. “I’m not.. I’m not hungry.” 
“You are.” 
“Not anymore.” 
Nose scrunching, Yoongi suddenly drops the food and dumps himself on the chair nearest, stretching his leg and revealing a littering of scars. “Didn’t know you were fine with wasting food.” 
The icy descent of his tone freezes your bones.
“Thought you of all people would hate that.” 
“I—I’m not—It’s not that—”
“Then eat.” 
“I literally can’t—” 
“Water. Food. If you’re gonna waste all my shit, then leave.” 
“What?” 
Is he serious? You’re in the midst of post-traumatic shock and he can’t take the hint? You’re so appalled by this man that you can’t even think straight. 
“You heard me. Stop acting like you didn’t.” 
“Oh, I heard you,” you snap. “Just double-checking what the fuck you said.” 
“So you gonna leave or just sit there? If you’re staying I’ll just walk out the roo—”
“Don’t.” 
Both of you still at your words.
And you have to force your palms to unfurl on your quivering thighs. One knuckle. Another. Nails leave half-moons in your skin. 
Breath haphazard, you finally break. “Just,” you swallow, hard. “I’m not wasting it just give me a sec.” 
You don’t want to tell Yoongi why you want him to stay. Despite him being the most infuriating person you’ve ever met, it beats the alternative. And you don’t want the alternative. Truthfully, that’s another reason why you left the elevator earlier. 
Yoongi looks pissed as hell. 
But he hasn’t moved. 
And that’s enough to get you to pick up your chopsticks and try again. 
You stare. Stare. Stare. Mustering courage and inhaling all the aromas you indulged in just earlier today. 
Fuck, you wanna hurl. 
“You’re gonna have to get used to this.”
Your gaze snaps to his, brows and thoughts knitted in disbelief. “What?”
“This feeling.” Yoongi looks out the glass doors, hands resting on the arms of his chair. “The faster you do, the better.”
There’s no way he’s serious. Get used to it? What reason would you ever have for doing that? Caustic, you scoff, “Why, so I don’t waste more of your food?”
You’ve never seen someone laugh in a negative way. But he does before sliding his eyes over. “So when you have to do it again, you don’t lock the fuck up hours later.”
You shoot up from your chair, hellbent on oh fuck you stood up too fast. “You—”
Yoongi just watches as you grab the table for balance, wincing from the pangs in your head. Words grind through your teeth, unable to fully form beyond the light assaulting your brain.
“Like I said.”
Palms press against your forehead before you slump back into your chair. 
“It’s better in the long run.” 
Technically, he’s right. It’s better in the long run if you get used to this. 
But there’s no way you can do it again. Who does he think you are? Yoongi’s got to know that you aren’t planning on making this a daily habit. This isn’t you. You only killed to protect somebody. Killed to save the person telling you to basically get over it.
Fucking hell, this sucks.
Frustration and exhaustion sting the corners of your eyes. 
Eat. Build your strength and get the hell out of here. Deal with it deal with it deal with it.  
As you regrettably pick up your chopsticks, you don’t care if your tears season your noodles. And quite frankly, you don’t give a shit if Yoongi watches them fall, too. 
Because they’re liquid anger. Hot trails blazing down your face, hardening into sticky paths and dried rivers. 
“What were you looking for.” 
Your eyes slide up to regard him, his arms folded and brows low. Because of course he doesn’t care about your state, either. Of course he’d rather entertain his curiosity. “Nothing you need to know,” you mutter, banning him from knowing another truth. 
“Did you find it.” 
You swipe at both your eyes.
As spice coats your tongue, Yoongi keeps prying, “Something you needed to go all the way there for?” 
“Fuck off,” you dismiss, slurping and swallowing with ease. “I don’t have to answer you.” 
“You already are,” he responds, confident. “Now tell me. Is there one in particular you need?” 
Wait. You barely gave anything away, so how is Yoongi asking the right questions? There’s no way he actually knows what you were looking for. No way in hell.
This man is more dangerous than you thought. 
“Why do you even care,” is all you choose to say, more focused on your food now because above everything else, it’s quite fantastic. It somewhat reminds you of a past home, and you can’t help but escape to those distinct walls. “It’s irrelevant to you.”
“But I have what you want.” 
You take another bite before stilling, looking up to see Yoongi propping his head with roughed knuckles. “You’re lying,” you drawl to his smugness, trying to act as if he didn’t just figure you all the way out. Because he didn’t. There’s no way. “And I’m still leaving.”
“If you stay, I’ll show you.” 
When you leer over your soup, he simply stares back with no hint of emotion. 
And you’re so curious about what he means that you finish your whole bowl. 
When you push it forward, you understand exactly what Yoongi did. It worked perfectly, and you have to hand it to him even though he mangled your character minutes beforehand. “Thank you,” you offer some manners. “This was goo—”
The scrape of a chair cuts you off, and your sentence dies in midair as you watch your runaway partner vacate his seat. 
Good riddance.
He knows how to stay on your bad side, that’s for damn sure. 
But Yoongi simply heads back out to the balcony for another light. So you chalk up his swift exit to vices and not wanting to breathe your air. Or maybe he’s done with his fun and is already writing you off before you head out. 
Clearing your bowl from the table, you walk out of the bedroom and bring it to the large kitchen, noting with a scowl that it’s obnoxiously bigger than half your floorplan back home. 
Yearning pierces right through your chest. 
The elevator is right over there. 
You showered, you ate. You can leave as soon as you clean your dish.
Are you way too curious about what Yoongi’s gonna show you? Yes. But is that gonna stop you from getting out of here? No. 
Well. This robe is hugging your figure perfectly and feels way too comfortable to just use for an hour or so… Plus, if you ditched it now, Mister Morals will scorn you for wasting that away, too. 
How rude of him to assume that about you. Of course you aren’t wasteful. The only times you let things go are when you absolutely have to, like you should have back in that noodle shop instead of braving the back staircase. 
Scoffing to no one, you scrub your bowl in the sink, grunting explicatives and stabbing Yoongi with curses until you hear a distinct beep. 
Was that the elevator?
You cut the water off with a twist.
Cautiously, you make your way across the kitchen, peeking around the corner to appease your curiosity and spike your anxiety. 
A bellhop? Another grey uniform looking to and fro to survey the area. It’s the same person that sent a look of panic your way before you went up to the room. 
And your defense mechanism blares. 
But before you can hide behind the partition, their eyes lock onto yours. Arm outstretched, the staff is motioning for you to… join them? Why? 
You’re the one bunking with a gangster. Why does this person make you even more uncomfortable? This feeling is just like the one you had when you called the elevator the first time. Was your gut warning you then, too? 
Maybe it’s because you don’t like the staff thinking they can come in unannounced. Grey zone etiquette or not, you can’t see how this is ever appropriate. In fact, it poses so many safety concerns. How is this okay? 
Walking into the foyer, you rest a hand on a robed hip. “Can I help you?” 
“I’m the one trying to help you,” they whisper, harsh and with another swipe of their hand. “You have to get out while you can.” 
Wait. What do they mean while you can? “And why’s that?” 
Sputtering, the bellhop sticks one foot out the elevator while pleading and, for some reason, that pisses you all the way off. “There’s no time to—”
“Get. Your foot. Off my floor.” 
Is that fear in their eyes or surprise? “Oh, apologies. I didn’t realize you were… I thought—”
“Thought what?” Your arms fold, weight shifting to your other tired foot. “Speak up.” 
Frankly, you don’t know where this newfound energy is coming from. All you know is that there are certain things you still despise and this person is ticking all the boxes. 
“I thought you were taken, Miss. I’m here to save you.” 
Pausing, you grip your arms, feeling silk gather under your palms. 
There’s a lot you tolerate. Many things that a lot of people can’t. But someone assuming you’re the weak one that needs saving? There is no quicker way to lose your interest. 
Stepping towards the elevator, you unfurl your arms, robe swaying and billowing around your freshly showered legs. 
“Yes, that’s right. Come on, we can take you away.” 
Hand on the entrance, you lean forward. “You’re not taking me anywhere,” you command, finger pressing the button at your side. “And you aren’t coming back up here until I say so.” 
Slowly, the doors slide shut, your reflection two halves in the metal shine. 
Well. 
So much for leaving. 
You may spend more time here than you thought. 
With more thoughts swirling, you spin, heading back into the kitchen to pick up the same bowl you were washing. Hoping you and your gut made the right call. 
Yoongi’s a criminal and a madman. But he’s not… the worst. At least, not horrible enough to warrant someone coming up to steal you away.
Besides. Is Yoongi aware that staff can come and go as they please? He seems like the type of guy that would hate that. 
Staying vigilant seems to be a little more important now. 
It’s soon after, when you’re placing the dish somewhere to dry, that you hear noise in the living room beyond the countertop. Looking up, you see someone much more familiar enter the space. 
Hmm. Whatever’s in that duffle must be worth millions for Yoongi to lug it around everywhere. 
As he dumps it next to the couch again, you don’t choose to ask about it just yet. Only because you want to ease into it later when you’re both not at each other’s throats. And while you’re not reeling from another strange encounter at the elevator. 
So you go with a safer question instead, choosing not mention what just happened. “Is this whole floor… your place?”
Yoongi looks up. “Only when I need it to be.”
Interesting. “Does anyone else know about it—”
“Do you always ask this many questions?”
You blink. “I mean. I don’t get by selling fruit cus I’m quiet.”
“You’re quiet with me.”
“And even then I get you to talk.”
Yoongi frowns slightly before moving away, more towards the sliding door leading out to another outdoor area. 
God, this place is obnoxiously huge. There’s still a whole other half you haven’t seen yet. 
When you peer out, you watch as he leans against the railing, seeming to look both up at the building and down at the streets below. 
Well. If you aren’t leaving anytime soon, may as well offer some sort of peace offering. Maybe the two of you just need to chill the fuck out. 
Rummaging through the kitchen, you manage to find some high quality beer in the fridge. On your walk to the sliding glass, you’re reminded of the time you gave him one before when he helped fix your cart. 
That was so long ago. 
You’re so lost in thought that you barely register Yoongi whipping a hand to his waist when you walk outside. But you catch the metal just in time. 
“It’s me!” you quickly alert before regressing back to annoyance, “Really…”
You’ve had way too much to deal with today. You don’t need a bullet in your chest to be another problem. 
Especially since his little maneuver showed a bit more skin than you meant to see.
Yoongi eyes you before his shoulders rest, and you stride forward to offer up the cold can in your palm. 
But you decide to hesitate while he goes to grab it, and you instead open it to have some. 
Ugh. High quality, your ass. This one is way too bitter. 
Your companion snorts as you make up an excuse, “I’ve had better.” 
“Do you even drink?” 
“Well, yeah,” you pout. Needing to prove it, you decide to keep the can. “Lemme try again.”
Somehow, this leads to you sharing the beer with him, tasting the mix of alcohol and smoke even after he tosses another cigarette off the ledge.
It’s not quite enough to forget, but it’s certainly helping. Observing the clouds so close and the city so far beneath your toes is extremely calming. It’s almost like you’re flying. 
“It’s different here,” you mention out of the blue.
“This sector?” 
“This high up.” Breathing in altitude, you sigh. “I’ve never been higher than my fourth story. It’s nice.” 
“It’s usually silent, too.” 
Your eyes slightly stab. “Whatever. You like having me around and just won’t admit it.” At this, Yoongi avoids direct contact. “Mmhmm. Don’t even try to hide it.” 
“You’re useful to me.” You freeze. “That’s why you’re here.” 
You shake your head. For someone deeming you useful, Yoongi’s pretty nonchalant about you dipping. Taking a tangy sip, you clarify, “But you don’t care if I leave? If someone comes to take me?”  
He takes the offered can. “Mm.” 
That answers that.
You should probably still tell him about what happened, though. His reaction could give more away than his words.
Instead, you drink in the night with your eyes. Knowing that you should know better about the company present. 
The more you converse with Yoongi, the more you pick up. And one of those sad facts is that he doesn’t give a shit about anything you do or don’t do. Because all he really cares about is what he needs. 
You can’t do anything to change him. Fix him. Whatever exists in fairytales. So you decide to take the night in stride. Not give a shit about him, either, per se. 
Your curiosity gets the better of you now. Not just about what he’s gonna show you, but about that duffle. You quite literally don’t have anything to lose anymore, so may as well go for the question you’ve been wanting to ask all day. 
“I was gonna ask for a cut of that,” you divulge with a head-tilt to the bag. “But figured you won’t even show me.” 
“Why not?” 
“Uhh.” You didn’t expect this. “You don’t like questions? You’re always secretive?” 
“Never talk to the streets, princess. They’ll snitch on everything you say.”  
“That’s deep,” you admit, taking a once full beer in your palm. “But I’m no snitch.”
“I know.” 
Your look carries a slight pang. 
“Come here.” Both of you walk inside as he plays with his lighter. When you round the couch, Yoongi dumps the bag right onto the cushions. “If you wanna see what’s in here, do it.” 
You stare before slowly walking forward and kneeling to unzip the bag. As your slide reveals the contents, you’re nervous about what you’ll see. 
But when it’s open, you freeze. 
It’s all…chil-don? Tons of money wrapped in sleek stacks with edges so… Crisp. New. 
Wait. 
These patterns. 
These are il-don? 
Holy fucking shit there’s no way these are real. This is currency seven generations old. The first ever of the established system. Worth more than anything in current circulation, especially in their pristine state. Forget being worth millions, these are next to priceless. 
You’ve never seen them like this.
“They’re some of the last in mint condition.” 
The shock value is so high you forgot you were alone. Slowly turning, your breath catches as you ask, “How did you know where to find these?” 
“Like I said,” he drones. “Streets talk.” 
You look at the bills before glancing back up. “Can I…?” 
Yoongi cocks a brow before angling his mouth. “Touch them? Do what you want, doll.” 
You blink at the name this time. Because him saying that with a fresh cig in his lips is making your stomach flutter. 
Picking up a fresh stack, you inspect the ancient pattern inlay with eyes wide, admiring how paper so old can have such detailed engravings. “These can’t be real.” 
“They are.” He shifts. “And most people never see one in their lifetime.”
You put the money back on the pile inside. Yes, these have got to be worth a fortune. But there’s nothing else in the bag? No drugs, no lethal substances, anything? “Wait, so. This is it?” 
Yoongi fully laughs before flicking his lighter again. “You want something else?” 
“No, I—” You back away. “There’s really nothing else in there?” 
Coolly, he lights up before taking the initial drag. “Nah.” 
Smoke spirals around you. “I dunno what I expected but it wasn’t that.”
Yoongi lets a wisp leave his mouth. You know it’s getting in your robe, but caring about the little things has now jumped out the window. “Whatever’s in that bag can feed half the city.” 
“What?” As you look, he walks over to what looks like a small section of a bar. “Is that why you stole it?”
“Stole it?” Yoongi grins and shakes his head. “Sure. That’s why we stole it.”
“We? Leave me out of this.”
“Too late.”
“I’m serious.”
“So am I.”
You step forward in anger, but you only get a sound out before Yoongi straightens, aura blazing,
“I—”
“Say I do leave you out of it. Nothing happened tonight, according to me.” He discards his fresh light in an ashtray, watching it die before sliding his gaze your way. “Doesn’t mean whoever we just fought will suddenly leave you alone.”
Shit. He has a point. You ran for so long and fought plenty of those guys.
Is this what he meant? Getting used to that feeling? Maybe your consequence is joining the cycle of the damned, forced to kill in order to protect. Both others and now yourself. 
“But I’m… Just a nobody. A civilian, I…”
Yoongi walks until he’s in front of you, hand cupping your chin and voice whispering mortifying allegations in your ear, 
“You took a body for a Dragon, love. You’re not a civilian anymore.”
Your arms shove him backward without pause, face distraught as you watch his smirk bounce with his shoulders. His cackle echoes mad through the room, pinging the floors and piercing through your robe. 
Truthfully, it doesn’t even feel like you’re wearing one. So naked and exposed in the open for this man to see. “You’re despicable.”
“That right?” His mouth sets as his lids lower. “And what about the one that killed and kept running?”
What.
“There was a police car at the restaurant,” Yoongi continues, a reminder so sharp it slices clean. “Yet you didn’t turn yourself in.”
Your feet sink into the rug beneath. “That’s not…” 
With measured steps, he stalks forward, a harbinger of horrific realizations that you don’t want to hear, “You didn’t have to keep running. Didn’t have to get in that taxi.”
Stepping back, you find the room so stuffy it’s hard to move. “You—”
“Could’ve taken another train.” 
“Stop.”
“Could’ve stayed in that elevator.”
What the fuck is happening right now? 
Yoongi’s close. Very much too close, and the energy he radiates sets your instincts ablaze.
This is the man you’ve been pining over this whole time? If you ever get back home, you have got to remind yourself to avoid him at all costs. There’s nothing good for you if you stay. Danger surrounds every inch of him, and there’s no telling when you’ll take collateral damage.
“But you didn’t,” he delivers the final blow. “And you’re still here.” 
Lifting your chin, Yoongi grins slow when you yank away. 
“I should’ve never saved you.” Gaze finally locked, you growl from within, letting a monster loose, 
“I should’ve left you for dead.” 
Wait. 
Stop. 
This isn’t you. This isn’t who you are. You’re a helper. A healer. Those words came out so strange that you’re questioning how they left your mouth so freely.
Did you really mean that? Or was this some feeble attempt to hurt him?
Yoongi doesn’t seem phased. But you clearly don’t know him so it’s not like—
Something heavy and dark as fuck is placed in your hand, and you snap your eyes to his in utmost disbelief.
“Go ahead then.”
Oh, this man is psychotic.
“Be my guest.”
No fucking way you’re gonna do it. “Stop—”
“If you regret it, why waste time—”
“Seriously, I’m not gonna—”
Yoongi forces your fingers flush against metal as he holds the gun to his forehead, both eyes piercing right into yours with no hesitation whatsoever. 
And it is frightening. 
All anger from before flees as fear and intensity rush into its place. Your brain fizzles and cracks as you try to wrestle out of his grip, and you feel burning at the corners of your eyes. “Stop!”
“Why.”
“I’m not gonna shoot you, the fuck!”
“You sure?”
“Yes!”
Mercifully, he lets go, pistol thrown as you’re tugged forward with a—
“What’s stopping you,” he grounds out, formidable presence all-consuming. “Tell me.” 
You’re breathing so hard it hurts. “You”—a shaky heave—“You are out of your fucking mind.”
When you struggle from his grip, Yoongi pulls you even closer. Reacting in a rush, you propel your knee up to wrap around his side and twist. 
But he proves just as quick, gripping the bare skin of your leg as you shove him down against the sofa. Grunting, you both curve with the furniture, Yoongi locked onto your knitted, conflicted brows.  
“You regret saving my life,” he simply repeats to your frustration. “I gave you the chance to fix that.” 
“Shut up—”
“But your will is weak.”
“I swear to—”
“Guess I was wrong.”
Who the hell does he think he is? This guy—Yoongi, Agust, whoever the fuck—has no right to play with you so casually. 
But something else is swirling inside your ribs. Because through his cutthroat words and actions, this man is somehow stirring the deepest waters of your soul. Ripples rumble and stretch into waves, tugging your toes in undercurrents of obsidian. Dark. Primal. Hazardous. All you. 
Is it from being subjected to such a heavy dose of his power? 
Or is it because—even if just for a moment—he’s handing all that power to you?
Quite literally, you’re the one on top.
And Yoongi holds your gaze, unfazed by the way your robe completely spread open during your tumble. Or the fact that you have nothing beneath that silk. 
He could easily take over. From the feel of his build beneath your hands and between your legs, you know he can. 
But he’s not. There’s no hesitation. He’s legitimately giving you the choice and reveals no ounce of remorse.
This revelation courses through your veins, pumping a new kind of life into your palms. You have a shot at a criminal with a bag of il-don waiting to be snatched. And you know you won’t take it. 
And that alone alters the chemistry of your brain.
With more fear of yourself than anything else, you shake out, “If I’m killing you, it’s gonna be entirely my choice.” 
He’s laughing? You’re instigating a threat and he’s enjoying it? God, you are teetering on the brink of madness and another emotion that won’t dare be acknowledged. 
Tugging Yoongi up a notch, you proclaim to the glint of his eyes, 
“And when I do, you’ll die exactly how I want.”
Yoongi’s lips slowly, dreadfully spread, teeth shining in the dim lamp lights that sharpen half his features. When he speaks, you shiver. Because it’s a mix of pride and fear, sprinkled with a hint of alarm,
“That’s my girl.” 
The room quiets, your bodies locked in a way that you’ll remember years from now. Breaths. Your bare chest hovering inches above his. If there were bystanders, they would no doubt get the wrong idea. Because if things were different, and if this man underneath you wasn’t who he was, you’d entertain another type of ferality and not stop until morning. 
To be fair. That same dark part of you would still do it. 
But this is about the righteous part of who you are. The one that abides by the rules. The one that fights to keep days boring, uneventful, the same. 
So you quell that monster pacing in your core. 
One more exhale leaves your lips before you let him drop, sliding off his silken, tone form to quietly readjust your robe. Turning away, you focus on the night skies, wondering if the people back home are sound asleep as you should be. 
“My will may seem weak. But I don’t care what you think of me.” 
Sound is crisp again as Yoongi rises to his feet. Around you, the air starts to lighten, cold slipping delicately into your skin. 
Slowly tying the wrap at your waist, your words float to the ground, “Because I know who I am. And no one can take that from me, not even you.” 
His presence fills the space at your back. But it’s muted. Less intimidating. Or maybe you’re just at your limit because you admit a little more than you intend, 
“This world has already tried enough.” 
Both of you come to another standstill, two black robes staining a room full of white. Even time itself gives you space, slowing and circling until you’re ready for it to flow straight again. 
As a cloud shadows the light of the moon, you feel knuckles caress your neck. And Yoongi’s never sounded so calm as he starts, “They’ll come after you.”
You slightly turn. 
“You still want to go back?”
A pause. A nod.
His knuckles continue to glide along your neck, slipping down your back before traveling the swoop of your shoulder. Everything in your body thrums, silently quaking because you have no idea where this is coming from and you can’t say you hate it. 
Quite the opposite. And that scares you more. 
“If you do, you’re dead to me.”
Of course. You’ve seen and know too much. There’s no reason for him to show up to your street now, especially if tangerines are all he’s looking for. He can always find them anywhere else. 
But, for some reason, this still stings. In a way that irks even your reasonable side. Is it because of his touch? No. That’s only making you nervous from the fact that you probably aren’t… as experienced as he is. The uneasiness is wholly from your own limitations. 
“I’ll survive without you,” you whisper resolute, chest squeezing when he replies,
“I know.” 
The same fingers get bolder, tracing down your arm before sliding along the wrap at your hip. 
And you freeze. 
Because the tension is palpable. The power is intoxicating. It’s a new type of anticipation and you are fighting yourself to not give in. Don’t let everything get to your head. Don’t let anyone in again. Don’t stray onto a path you can’t quite navigate. 
But fuck, you kinda want to. 
Rocks slide against exposed skin when he decides to speak again. And it makes you wish the two of you were extraordinarily normal. Or that you at least knew what the fuck to do here because the attraction you feel is not as one-sided as you presumed. 
“What made you stay.”
A breath you didn’t know you were holding huffs out, and you swallow with difficulty. “I just…” 
Get it together. Keep up your guard. It’s proving so hard, especially when his touches spark fires along your limbs. But you have to. 
And therein comes another lie. “I wanted to know what you stole.” Gulping down the truth, you harden your resolve. “That’s it.” 
With more restraint that you want, Yoongi bunches silk at your pelvis, hitching your robe and your breath all at once. When his other hand slowly holds your neck in place, you can’t help but flinch, and his low hum pours lava straight down your chest, 
“What a shame.”
Oh. Is this how it ends? Did your gut get it all wrong? 
He could end your life with a flick of his wrist. You know far too much. You’re not useful anymore. 
“Someone will take you back tomorrow,” Yoongi murmurs, proving every single theory wrong. “After that, you’re on your own.” 
And just like that, he releases you to stand alone. 
Oh. You’re going home. 
Good.
This is good, right?
Your heart beats overtime, almost drowning out your entire thought process. The thumps and pulses seem to cut every string of consciousness short. 
What was that? What was any of that? 
Never mind. Nothing happened and you can keep it that way, for the better. Yoongi is risk draped in beauty, and once you’re back home you can cut ties with anyone like him for good. You saved him; he spared you. It’s over. 
…But do you want it to be? 
Yes. 
Of course you do. 
Clouds let moonlight shine again. 
When you arrive at an answer, you turn to find that Yoongi’s already gone, duffle and all shut inside his room with a muted click.
A flip switches as you let exhaustion take over completely, falling onto cushions that still hold his scent. Inhaling, you drift into darkness, wondering how your final decision will affect the rest of your days.
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Whether awake or asleep, nightmares are real. 
Only this time, you aren’t quite sure if the blood and guts you’re seeing are yours or someone else’s. Can’t discern the limb on the ground from the limb on your torso. Screams echo and ping from all directions, a cacophony of death that has you scratching at mania to stay sane. 
Murderer. Murderer. A murderer that regrets who she saved. No, wait, that’s not true. You’d still do it again.
And you watch the same swing over and over. The same arc of finality. Those lifeless eyes. Closer. Closer. Sharper. Judging. 
You were wrong. Were you wrong? Running does nothing and doesn’t provide an answer. The ground under your toes gives out. 
How far are you straying? How low are you sinking? If you told your neighbors who you killed for, would they be upset or betrayed? 
They’d hate you. Their fingers aim straight. Their tongues fire bullets. 
They’ll hate you. Hate you. Hate you hate you hate you—
A room bursts into view as you jolt awake. Sounds snap silent, the hum of the air all you can hear as you rub your eyes. 
So much for sleeping. There’s no way you’ll be able to now.
Focus on something else. Anything else. The past cannot be undone, so live with the choices you made and deal with the faces that haunt your dreams. 
Staring into the dark, shapes and sharp edges slowly form, your vision sharpening with every passing second. Tiny pops and creaks tickle your eardrums, and Yoongi’s scent still lingers with your own. 
You don’t want to focus on him, but it’s better than what forced you awake.
A lot happened tonight. But also, nothing at all. Something is keeping you both together, tightening and squeezing the strings in your chest. But you don’t know if that’s from the adrenaline of today’s events, or from the pure shock of your unexpected reunion. 
There’s something else you haven’t considered until now. Despite his unorthodox and hellish methods, Yoongi did keep your head on straight. You showered. You ate. You drank. You inhaled fresh air. 
Your compass righted itself when you didn’t blow his brains out. 
The nothingness was all to your advantage. Was that all calculated, too? 
One part of you—the bright side of you—knows that it doesn’t matter. No matter how helpful he was tonight, distance is crucial. Stay away from people like him. They’re all too cunning to be kept close.
But if leaping that crevasse allows you to keep your mind off everything else? If you need to stop the bleeding, why not reach for a cure?
Your exhale shakes as your shoulders fall forward, self-deprecation destroying your brain because what the fuck are you thinking? This is nonsense. Madness. 
Maybe you’ve just been insane from the very start. 
Your breath quickens at the possibilities. The potential outcomes of what you’re about to do. 
This is the most solid decision you’ve made all night.
As your toes travel across plush, trek over marble, and arrive at their destination, the rest of your body quietly, nervously follows. 
Raising your hand, you listen for movement. When you find none, you softly knock and wait for what seems like an eternity. 
For nothing. 
All that worry for naught. Yoongi’s most likely fast asleep and not dreaming at all. 
Good. This is your sign to let it go completely. In the morning, you’re going back home. The nightmares will consume you and you’ll wake up everyday to brave the streets. Assassins will be on the hunt for revenge. You won’t be saved by the boy in teal. 
What a shame, indeed.
As you step to leave, you hear the door slowly swing.
And Yoongi emerges from behind, minted hair mussed over lowered lids and robe slipping down a tatted shoulder. 
Fuck everything. 
“I don’t regret what I did and I’d do it all again,” you admit with finality. To him, to yourself, to the ones you’ll disappoint back home. “And I refuse to get used to this feeling because it reminds me I’m still a good person.” 
Yoongi’s eyes don’t change as he stares. 
“But,” you exhale with a shake. “Just for tonight…”  
This is it.
The brink of no return.
Your soul dips into the dark.
“Please make me fucking forget.”
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a/n: once again, i cannot thank y'all enough for being patient and understanding as i go through life while working on this and all the other writing projects we have going on! it means the world, and even though there were some not-so-fun asks to get, the supporting and wonderful ones are what i will continue to focus on! so if you've ever left something sweet, thought provoking, encouraging, etc - thank you from the bottom of my heart! you're what keeps this writer going. a/n 2: if there's something you liked about this or a line/scene/whatever thing you enjoyed, feel free to let me know! feedback is never expected, but always appreciated. if the interest level is high, that adds motivation like no other. thank you all for reading! ++ feedback box: ⇥ of course, any reblogs/comments/messages are appreciated! ⇥ for the ones that are too shy to reblog with a review, comment on this, or send a message, i went ahead and made another anonymous form where you can send in what you think! ⇥ no emails collected, no need to put in a username. it’s literally just a comment dropbox :D feedback can be as short/sweet or as long as you’d like! ⇥ here! ++ more links: ⇥ masterlist  ⇥ minted masterlist
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s-brant · 2 months ago
Text
The Calm Before the Storm
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With the family coming from Dragonstone to visit after the birth of Y/N’s first child, Aemond must control his impulses and be civil with the Velaryon boys for the sake of his wife. (or judas part five).
9k (18+)
Warnings: smut, lactation kink, oral sex (male receiving), facefucking, switch aemond, strong language, hints of yandere (so basically canon) aemond, death, and referenced violence.
-
Their footsteps echo in the hallway as they make their way to the private rooms her mother and father are staying in for the next few days. Her husband's shoulders are squared, his posture straight, the entire way there. Ever since he woke up this morning with the knowledge that Daemon, Rhaenyra, Jace, and Lucerys are here, he hasn't allowed himself a moment to relax. If it weren't for the three-week-old babe clutched against her chest, she'd reach out to take his hand or rub up and down his back.
Without turning her head to look at him, she says, "You need not worry. My brothers simply wish to meet their niece."
The doors to their chambers come closer and closer—
"I am not worried," he says. "Your half-brothers pose no threat to me."
The long conversation they shared last night as the babe suckled at her mother's breast proved otherwise. It was late enough that their servants had gone to sleep, so neither of them felt the need to speak in the language of their ancestors to keep anyone from overhearing. They spoke quietly in the common tongue to not wake their daughter from her milk-drunk trance.
He confided in her that he didn't feel comfortable having his daughter around her half-brothers without him present in the room. At first, she had been offended. She looked at him like he had struck her and bit her tongue as she fought the urge to say the first nasty thing that came to mind. It had to do with his brother. It was a snarky comment regarding her reluctance to allow their daughter to be alone in his presence, but she stopped herself before she could say it. No matter how much she loved them, he had reason to be wary of them after what they did.
The guards hold the doors open for them and announce their presence as the couple enters the room. The first thing Y/N sees is her mother and father standing together, the former with a hand cradled on the underside of her heavily pregnant belly. Then, it's her half-brothers sitting on the couch behind them. And, finally, her youngest brothers, Viserys and Aegon, play together on the carpet-covered floor.
"My sweet girl," Rhaenyra says in greeting with a bright smile and holds out her arms.
Aemond, ever the attentive husband contrary to the assumptions from her side of the family, is already reaching to take the babe from her arms to allow her the chance to embrace her mother. A quiet, "Thank you, my love," is muttered under her breath as she passes their daughter off to him, trying not to ogle him in the presence of her family. Seeing him with Daenaera, cradling their small child against the body she knows so intimately, never fails to make her stomach flutter.
What she doesn't notice due to her preoccupation with her mother is that her brothers are staring daggers at Aemond from where they lounge on the couch. As always, he doesn't miss a thing.
Jacaerys in particular has the more sour expression between the two of them, seeing that he is older and more knowledgeable about the ins and outs of marriage, but it does little to intimidate her husband. Aemond simply stares back with a blank face, daring him to say or do anything to provoke him in the presence of his wife and child.
Next, he turns his attention to Lucerys while Y/N is greeting her parents. The younger of the two is less angry and more frightened. Ever since what happened between them at Driftmark, they've never been able to let their guards down around one another. And now that the young boy he maimed has grown into a man, one who rides the largest dragon alive and has bested Criston Cole with a sword, Lucerys has often anticipated retaliation of some sort whenever they meet again.
But he made a vow to his wife. He swore that he would not harm either of her brothers, and it was not something he took lightly. It wasn't a means to end their argument, it was real. For her, he would leave them be...unless they swung first. In that circumstance, he cannot deny that he would revel in the opportunity to get revenge. His vow to her did not mean that he would befriend her brothers, or that he cared about them. It only means that he cares more for her and their daughter.
Aemond never breaks his eye contact with Lucerys as he stands by in silence. The mischievous glint in his remaining eye seems to say, "I won." The tiny, shifting weight of the newborn cooing in his arms is proof of that.
Before anything can be said between the two of them, Y/N pulls away from the embrace shared with her parents and turns to him to say sweetly, "Māzigon, valzȳrys. Ivestragī zirȳ rhaenagon zirȳla." Come, husband. Let them meet her.
The little girl fusses in his grasp when he walks over to the three of them without speaking a word, and this causes Y/N's brows to pinch together in concern. Her hand comes up to stroke the top of her head, fuzzy with wisps of silver hair, to soothe her as Aemond hands the babe off to her grandsire. Although he does not cry, his eyes become glassy at the sight of his daughter's child.
Daemon says, allowing her little fingers to curl around his pinky, "Gevie." Beautiful. His eyes shift to look back and forth between Y/N and Aemond before finally settling on the former. "She has your lips and nose." A pause, and then he looks at Aemond. His tender expression hardens a little, but he keeps it contained. "I see you in her as well."
He hums in appreciation of the comment—a rare compliment, perhaps—but is quick to correct him.
"She is the image of her mother," he says softly and valiantly fights a smile when his eye abandons his uncle to look upon her little face.
The harshness that is always present in Daemon's gaze when Aemond is near softens at this as though he has been presented with a new side of him. Throughout their marriage, Daemon has made no secret of his distaste for her husband. Not only because of his scheming grandsire but because of his history with her half-brothers. With every raven sent to King's Landing from Dragonstone, he made a point to ask her how he had been treating her, promising that he would be there on Caraxes with haste should he mistreat her. But this...Even though she has told him countless times that she is happy with her marriage, this is the first time he has truly seen it.
Next, Rhaenyra holds her. It's almost effortless how she falls back into the motherly role once a babe is placed in her arms. Having birthed five children that survived beyond the womb, it is second nature to her, and it won't be long before the sixth comes along.
"What is her name?" her mother asks.
This brings a smile to Y/N's face.
"Daenaera."
-
Dinner with the entire family, both the Green and Black sides, is never a dull event.
She sits with Aemond to her right and Daemon to her left, little Daenaera sleeping with her head on her shoulder. Both Alicent and Rhaenyra advised her to give the babe to a servant to allow herself to enjoy the night, but she politely refused. Her little girl often had trouble if neither she nor Aemond was near, so she is held to her chest with one arm while the other reaches for the fork beside her plate.
The last time they had a dinner all together was before she married him. It's a little different tonight seeing that Viserys is not well enough to attend, but there's a new member of the family to bind both sides together this time, so the night has progressed without issue thus far. How could anyone be compelled to argue or incite violence with an infant present at the dinner table.
It was a calculated decision on her part, which Aemond clocked instantly. His lips fought the urge to turn up at the ends in a slight smirk when she insisted upon keeping the babe with her. She knew that he would refrain from any impulsive behavior regarding her brothers with her at the table. His cunning, devoted lady.
Aemond watches her as she struggles to hold their daughter up with one arm while she reaches for her cup of wine. He's readying to scoot back from the table and take Daenaera from her arms, but he's halted by the sound of her brother's voice.
"Sister, if you won't let the servants help, please allow me to hold her while you eat."
His one eye shifts its focus away from her to find the source of the offer.
Rhaenyra says, "How kind of you, Jacaerys." She then turns to look at her daughter past Daemon, leaning forward into the table. "You should take him up on the offer, my love, you must be tired."
The younger princess hesitates for a second and glances at her husband as though to tell him to keep his composure, then nods.
"Here, let me bring her to you," she says to her brother who was already prepared to walk around the table to their side. "If she wakes, she will not be easily soothed by anyone but her father."
It is true. For some reason, only the Gods may know, she is most comfortable being held and talked to by him when she's crying in the dead of night. Y/N is a close second, but no one makes her feel quite as safe as her kepa does. Even now, when she's too little to speak or walk or show a hint of personality, she knows that he will cross any line imaginable to safeguard her and her mother's lives.
The comment brings him pride, and it's difficult to refrain from smiling to himself when he hears it. Despite all their attempts to frame him in their minds as an uncaring husband—he didn't pretend not to see the comments Daemon made in letters she left out in the open for him to find—he has proven otherwise. He knows it must pain them, especially her father, that there are no excuses for them to look down upon him.
"You must support the back of her head with your hand or your arm," she says softly to her younger brother as she transfers the babe into his possession. "There—like that."
It takes little time for her to circle back around to their side of the table and take her seat beside her husband. From a glance, she can tell that his body has tenses from the sight of Jacaerys holding Daenaera. It isn't as though he's deluded enough to think her brother would wish to harm their child or act in an unbecoming way in her presence, despite his grudge he knows his nephew well enough to know that. Yet, it makes him squirm in discomfort all the same.
What if he accidentally hurts her? What if she wakes from her nap to see a new, strange man holding her and is frightened? Would anything be able to stop him from taking his child from his arms and glaring at him for inadvertently upsetting her?
It isn't until Aemond feels his wife's right hand settle atop his clothed thigh under the table that he is snapped out of his thoughts. Gods, he feels so unlike himself when he takes a step back and analyzes his thoughts at the present moment.
He always swore to himself that he would not care this deeply when the time came for him to take a wife and sow his seed, but, as he has been forced to realize again and again, he does care. In fact, he cares so deeply that he doesn't know what to do with himself when anyone is close to either one of them. It's possible that his vow to remain detached from his feelings, to focus solely on his duty as a husband and father without complicating things, was another defense mechanism unknowingly put in place to protect the part of him that always cared too much.
As the others talk amongst themselves and pick at their food, she leans in to say softly, opting for the native language of their family over the common tongue to keep it as private as can be, "Nyke gīmigon bisa iksis qopsa syt ao." I know this is hard for you. Her eyes soften, and she can feel the hard muscle of his thigh relax a little when she strokes it gently with her thumb. "Yn emā gaomagon sȳz." But you have done well. There's a pause, and then she mutters quietly enough that no one else can hear, "Perhaps I may express my gratitude after dinner."
This makes his body go still.
Since it is his blind eye that is closest to her, he cranes his neck a little to allow him to see her face. The expression he wears is virtually unreadable to everyone else in the room, but she can see the fire she lit within his body from gazing at him alone. Seeing that their lives have been consumed with doting on Daenaera in the time since she gave birth, only opting to hand her off to servants for the night to allow them time to rest, they haven't had the energy or urge to engage in any sexual activities. Not that she can be on the receiving end of anything for two moons, but that doesn't mean she cannot satisfy him.
Aemond's brows furrow a little, then he mutters, chancing a glance around the table to ensure nobody is listening, "We cannot."
Her lips twitch up on both ends into a slight smile.
"There are other ways," she says softly, careful to keep her tone hushed and words ambiguous in meaning.
From the outside looking in, they appear to be a happy couple, so taken with one another that they are lost in a conversation that causes them to ignore their surroundings. In a way, that perception is true, but the topic being discussed isn't what anyone would guess.
He doesn't respond to this verbally.
Instead, he hums to himself and turns his focus back across the table to where her brother is cradling their daughter in his arms, but she knows she got under his skin. A second after he looks away, his hand finds the one she is resting on his thigh, and he weaves their fingers together. The sole reason he didn't say anything back to her was because he knew he wouldn't be able to control what would come out of his mouth if he let himself speak. As peacefully he and Daemon have managed to co-exist today, Aemond does not think he could say any of the things he says in the privacy of their bedchamber in his presence without causing a brawl.
Jace smiles down at the babe and says, not to anyone in particular, "She'll make a fine queen, will she not?"
Rhaenyra's head turns to look upon the two of them, and it's clear to see the warmth this brings to their mother's heart.
It's Alicent, however, who responds.
"Yes." She looks at Rhaenyra, saying, "We have had our share of difficulties, as all families do, but Daenaera is a blessing."
The effect it has on her mother is clear in her. Y/N's eyes linger on her for the better part of a moment before they find Otto sitting next to her, doing his best to mask the displeasure evident in his expression at the notion of Rhaenyra or her children ascending the throne. Aegon, on the other hand, seems as though he couldn't care less. Although they rarely dwell on the matter of succession to avoid fighting, she and Aemond have both agreed that he does not want the position or the duty it entails. He would be content to live the rest of his days as he does now, drinking himself into oblivion and fondling any servant girl left alone with him for too long.
The hand resting on Aemond's thigh squeezes at the rare sight of their mothers getting along.
Rhaenyra says earnestly, fighting off a smile, "It gladdens my heart to know that we are both grandmothers to this beautiful babe."
There's a distant flash of longing in her eyes in the second she takes to pause, then rise from her seat with her cup raised. The last time she toasted someone at dinner, it was to Alicent, but, this time, she turns toward where her daughter is sitting beside her husband.
"I raise my cup to you, brother," she begins. "For your devotion to my sweet girl. As the Queen said, we have had our difficulties as a family in years past. Yet, I find I can sleep soundly at Dragonstone knowing my only daughter and grandchild are undoubtedly safe and contented at your side." Her cup is raised higher. "To Prince Aemond. You have my gratitude."
At first, he is frozen in his seat and unsure of what he hears. How could this be the same woman who demanded he be "sharply questioned" after one of her bastard sons maimed him for life? Then, as he takes in what she says, he has to fight the urge to doubt them. His immediate assumption is that this is a facade being put on for the sake of bettering her appearance, but when has his half-sister ever cared for appearances? One glance across the table at Jace's dark brown hair answers the question for him. So, he thinks, if it isn't to make herself appear gracious, seeing that she is too confident in her position as heir to deem it threatened by anything she does, it must be genuine in some way.
It goes against everything he knows to admit to himself that Rhaenyra is being anything but ambivalent toward him or Aegon, and yet...He inclines his head to her in a gesture of acknowledgment and gratitude. It's all he can think to do until words find him, and they eventually do. A lengthy moment passes then—
"You have my gratitude as well, sister," he says, although strained, to Rhaenyra. It comes as a surprise to everyone watching after all that has transpired in the past. He then looks upon his wife with a tenderness few ever receive from him. "For having her."
-
As soon as the door shuts behind the servant who gently took Daenaera from her arms, Y/N has Aemond pushed up against it with her arms wrapped around his broad shoulders, and their lips connected in a kiss.
After they dined, Rhaenyra felt a sensation in her body that she knew all too well and apologized to her daughter for having to hurry back to Dragonstone on such short notice. She made certain to apologize to the Queen, asking her to pass along the message to the ailing, bedridden King Viserys if possible. This saddened Y/N, of course, but she cares for the comfort and health of her mother. She agreed it was better that they return to their ancestral home at the first sign of her impending labors. Seeing that this was a possibility, they brought her midwife along for the trip, so the Princess is soothed by the knowledge that her mother is to be well taken care of on the journey home.
Her mother is the last thing on her mind now, though. All she can seem to think about is the man she has trapped between her body and the door to their chambers.
Aemond kisses her hungrily, his hand cupping the back of her neck and head to keep her from pulling away as he delves his tongue into her mouth. He is careful when touching her, however. His hands slide down the sides of her hips to gently squeeze her bottom, but not too forcefully. She gave birth three and a half weeks ago, and the maesters were strict in their instructions to wait five at the very least to encourage healing.
Knowing this, he feels compelled to stop her despite the ache of his erection pushing at the fabric of his breeches.
He parts from her for a second to murmur, "I will not bed you in this condition," before lurching back in to kiss her again.
It almost makes her chuckle into his mouth, and she flattens her palm against his chest. It descends against the taut, muscled abdomen hidden beneath his clothes and continues until it reaches what she seeks. Beneath her palm, he pulses with need after three weeks of nothing but the comfort of his own hand.
"Mmm," she hums against his lips as her own tilt up at the ends in a grin, "I'm afraid your body does not know that, my love"—The tips of her fingers reach for his belt with a confidence she does not have to question—"and, as I said, there are other ways."
As if to punctuate her statement, she unclasps his belt in a matter of seconds and pulls from the buckle until the leather band comes free from the loops of his pants. The very same belt that he instructed her to bite down on the last time he fucked her. The sound of the buckle clattering on the floor echoes through the spacious room as she moves to sink to her knees, but he stops her.
Her brows raise in a silent question directed toward him. His answer is equally as silent.
Aemond begins to undress her, starting with the top layer of her dress and patiently working his way down to her underclothes until she is standing nude before him. She knows without having to ask that he does not intend to push the boundaries of their agreement with the maesters by taking her too soon after giving birth. He simply wishes to see her in her entirety. If he will be laid bare, so will she.
Once her clothes all lie in a pile on the floor, she returns the favor. Her gentle touch lights a fire in the pit of his abdomen, but he holds still and watches her undo the buttons of his doublet until the garment comes loose around his torso. It takes little time for the pile of clothes on the floor to grow, and she cannot help but stare at his nakedness with flushed cheeks as though she hasn't seen him like this countless times. Now that there are no more layers left to separate their bodies, he leans in to kiss her again. Slowly, drawing it out for the sake of savoring the moment.
To her surprise, he lays a sweet peck on her lips, then dips his face into the crook of her neck.
"Aemond—" she warns, not wanting to become too aroused without a way to satisfy herself, but he is too starved from not touching her for the past three weeks to care.
His teeth nip at the delicate skin of her neck, leaving a mark visible for everyone to see as he sucks at the sweet spot that never fails to draw a breathy moan from her. She can feel his mouth curling up into a smirk when she, as though on cue, lets a stifled sound of pleasure escape. It isn't the first time he's left a love bite somewhere that couldn't be hidden beneath her clothes. Every other time, she was quick to scold him once the blissful haze of post-orgasmic bliss receded, but she doesn't feel so angry this time.
It's been far too long since she's had the opportunity to get upset over something like this.
Those desperate kisses descend the length of her fragile neck and go down, down, down until he's crouching to take one of her nipples into his mouth.
"Wait," she says, whining in sensitivity, and braces a hand against his chest. "It's going to—"
His arms pull tightly around her waist to keep her from moving away before the first drops of it touch his lips. The relief of the milk letting down causes her to let out a sigh, but paired with the inherent eroticism of him doing this, she has to press her thighs together to quell the dull ache felt between them for the first time in weeks. Her hand had fallen to his chest with the intention of pushing him away out of embarrassment, but the sound of him groaning in approval gives her a reason to pause.
Does this...arouse him? He has always had a fixation with her breasts since before she was pregnant, but perhaps it's shifted into something stronger with the changes in her body after birthing a child. She cannot deny that it feels good—not only due to the relief it provides after going all day without feeding the babe but because of how perverse it feels.
The hand on his chest moves to slip her fingers beneath the leather strap of his eyepatch and toss it to the side. Then, she cradles the back of his head with it, playing with the soft strands of silver hair as he continues to suckle at her breast. It's a strangely thrilling sensation. Her lips part to allow her a shaky inhale, and she feels the hands gripping her waist squeeze hard enough to leave a bruise behind.
Ignited with a new sense of confidence from having a typically strong, dominant man in a position of vulnerability, she asks, "This is what the rider of the largest dragon in the world enjoys behind the comfort of closed doors? Feeding from his wife's teat like a helpless babe?" There's a second of pause, then—"Hmm."
He can hear a smugness in the tone of her soft "Hmm" he would often fuck out of her or swat his hand against her ass as punishment for, but he cannot bring himself to do anything about it at the present moment. No, he just lets her nipple slip from his mouth and moves on to the other. The sweet taste of her breastmilk on his tongue makes his cock twitch where it sits, heavy and hard, against her belly. While he is distracted, she reaches down to grasp it.
The sudden stimulation makes him suck harder at her breast in response, and she chuckles under her breath. Her thumb brushes over the tip of him a few times, just for the sake of teasing him, before she begins to pump him at a pace that never fails to send all of his blood rushing down. The hand cupping the back of his head pushes his face harshly into her chest in a desperate bid to bring them as close as possible without having him inside of her.
Another moment passes, yet the lust surging through her has yet to be sated by what they're doing. It matters little to her that she won't be getting anything in return. With how rare physical intimacy is for them as of late, she is eager to indulge in everything they've been kept away from.
"This isn't enough," she says through a sigh.
Her fingers slip into his hair to get a good grip, then tug to pull it taut from his scalp in a way he's done to her many times. This brings him far enough from her breast for their gazes to meet across the limited space between them, and his eye widens a little at her impertinence. As quickly as it widened, it narrows at her. Now that he isn't preoccupied with her breasts, which are no longer as heavy and full with milk as they had been before he worshipped them, he can think clearly enough to decide that she needs to be put in her rightful place.
All it takes is a pointed glare from him for her grip on his hair to release. With how quickly she retracts her hand, one would think he burned her, yet he just looked at her. He remains silent and straightens his spine to bring him back to his full height. This only intimidates her more. With him looming over her, his eye not blinking as he stares, she cannot resist the urge to look away from him.
To this, he makes a quiet "Tsk," sound at her.
Her chin is quickly snatched up by his callused hand, forcing her to meet his gaze and hear what he has to say next. Their faces inch closer until—
"Kneel."
Her knees are kissing the cold floor in a matter of seconds. His hand never leaves her chin, keeping it tilted up to prevent her from breaking eye contact.
He nods at her in encouragement, then drops the hand holding her chin back to his side.
"Go on," Aemond commands.
Not wanting to provoke him any more than she already has, Y/N wraps her fingers around his thick cock to help guide it past her lips. But, first, she takes a moment to stroke him, keeping the fire blazing within him burning in the time it takes her to let a string of spit drip from her mouth onto his tip. It makes the movement of her hand pumping up and down the length of him much smoother. The hand that fell back to his side reaches for the back of her head, though, so she keeps her hand firm around the base of his length and dips her head down to put her mouth on him before he grows impatient.
A muscle in his jaw clenches as he watches those pretty lips wrap around the tip, smeared with a mixture of his precome and her spit, and sucks just hard enough to elicit a quiet moan. Then, slowly, never looking away from him, she takes as much of him as she can fit into her mouth until she feels him in her throat.
When she first did this, she thought it quite awkward. Although he assured her he had enjoyed himself, she knew she wasn't keeping the correct rhythm the whole time, and she had to take a few breaks to breathe. After the first time, she decided to make it her mission to perfect the vulgar act. It only felt fair considering how skilled he was with his face between her thighs. So, she did it all of the time—waking him from sleep with her throat clenched around him, dropping to her knees in a secluded corner of the library, and, most often, when she dragged him back to their chambers after watching him train with Ser Criston.
Somehow, he had been foolish enough to admit to his older brother how frequently his insatiable wife does this. Aegon had goaded him into it, imploring him to accompany him to the Street of Silk night after night. He droned on about the things these low-born whores would do for the right sum of coin. At last, after hearing him comment on how they are more willing than their wives to partake in such "undignified" behavior, Aemond said under his breath, "Speak for yourself." Although he was pestered for more details, he refused to provide them. Naturally, Aegon made all sorts of teasing remarks for the next couple of days and hasn't been able to look at Y/N the same since.
The hand wrapped around him pumps what remains of him that she cannot fit in her mouth, her other hand gently cupping his stones and stroking them the way he likes. With ample experience under her belt since they were wed, she breathes calmly through her nostrils without having to pull away to allow herself to rest. This allows her to fully devote herself to his pleasure.
And while she is singlemindedly focused on what she is doing, Aemond is losing himself in the haze of warm, wet pleasure.
Targaryens have always been likened to Gods walking amongst men, and how could he deny such a claim with how he feels at this moment? Not only did Vhagar choose to bind herself to him but so did this beautiful creature kneeling before him. Most of the people inhabiting this keep pray on their knees to the Seven, but she prays to him, and with every caress of her mouth, he is pushed a touch closer to the heavens.
Her head bobs in a practiced rhythm, and when she pulls away, leaving just the tip between her lips, she hollows her cheeks to suck harder. If she could, she would smile in satisfaction at how his head tips back in a groan.
"Aōha relgos iksis bē hae sȳz hae aōha orvorta," he says. Your mouth is almost as good as your cunt. High praise as far as she's concerned. He has made it clear to her on many occasions that his favorite place to be at any given moment is inside of her. "Fuck..."
The last bit was muttered under his breath as he pushed her head further down his length until the tip of her nose grazed his stomach. He can feel her gagging, throat clenching and unclenching around his cock, and forces her to remain this way for another second before releasing her. Yet, even after this, she doesn't retreat to take a breath. She simply opens her eyes to look back up at him and relaxes her jaw to open her mouth to him as much as she can.
He knows without having to communicate verbally what she's urging him to do, and it's a wonder he doesn't spill into her mouth in a matter of seconds at the mere thought of it. There's a glint of mischief in her eyes—which he responds to with enthusiasm, taking hold of both sides of her head and guiding every fluid movement. It's more gentle at first. Rather than roughly fucking her mouth the second she gives him the go-ahead, he takes the time to enjoy it and commit every sensation to memory. There's something intoxicating about the power she allows him to hold over her.
Both of her hands slide up his thighs to seek stability, her fingertips digging into the muscular flesh hard enough for her nails to leave crescent-shaped indents in his pale skin. With each thrust, his pace picks up, and soon her spit is drooling out of her mouth onto his sack. Those once gentle thrusts turn rough and unforgiving the longer he spends trapped within the warm, wet channel of her throat. And though he is the one leading, she looks just as hungry for it as she had when she set the pace. If anything, having him hold her head in place to rut into her mouth like a wild beast makes the lust wreaking havoc on her healing body worse. What truly makes it insufferable, however, is knowing that she cannot have him after this. Not to the extent that she craves so badly.
Her lashes flutter with the effort it takes to keep looking up at him like he's a God while she gags on him and takes deep breaths in through her nostrils. Her spit is dripping from the corners of her mouth and onto the floor, his manhood entirely soaked in it too. All the while, Aemond is making noises unlike anything she has heard before. Due to his naturally reserved disposition, he often stifles the moans and grunts that try to leave his lips. But, sometimes, when he's too overwhelmed with pleasure to recall the world that exists beyond it, all of those lovely noises flow freely.
Right now, as she reaches up to give his stones a squeeze with her free hand, he's whimpering, gasping, and grunting all at once. Not only is he a feast for her eyes, he's a feast for her ears as well. Gods, she has never wanted anything as badly as she wants him right now, and the frustration of knowing she cannot do more than this drives her to work even harder. To perform for him as though she's getting paid.
The vibration of her soft moaning around his cock pushes him closer, dangerously closer, to the climax threatening to barrel into him at a moment's notice. Somehow, he hangs on. Not for anyone's sake but his. It has been too long since he has been allowed the privilege of being intimate with his wife, so he tries to stave it off for as long as possible. But, fuck, she's making it difficult—with those sultry eyes looking up at him through her lashes, cheeks hot to the touch under his palms, and mouth swallowing around him on the upstroke of every thrust. He cannot bring himself to look away from her, and that is what brings him to the edge.
"I'm—" he tries to give her a warning, but she doesn't need nor want it.
She continues at this pace for another ten or so seconds, intent on milking him dry, until his cock begins to twitch in her mouth with the onset of his climax.
Her lips remain closed around him, determined to catch every drop as his seed spurts into her mouth in pulses of warmth that trickle down her throat. As it always is, the taste is slightly salty, though not unpleasant enough that she can't swallow it all. It isn't until he is grabbing her by the shoulders and guiding her away that she removes herself from him, letting it slip out of her mouth as it softens, still shining in the dim light with her saliva.
When she looks up at him, it is clear to see that he is utterly spent. A job well done as far as she is concerned. Aemond tends to have an impressive amount of stamina when he fucks her, and sometimes they can continue round after round without him having to stop, but she managed to subdue him with her mouth alone tonight.
His chest rises and falls with the rapid pace of his breathing, and she can see by looking into his eyes that it'll take a moment for him to come back down from such a high. It's as though he's in a trance of some sort, staring down at her and panting for air. It only takes a second or so for the trance to break at the sound of her voice.
Her delicate hand slides up the length of his thigh and over his abdomen as she asks in a doting voice, "Do you feel better, my love?"
Without answering, he dips down to heft her into his arms, lifting her and holding her against his body with one hand on the small of her back and the other beneath her right thigh.
As he walks in the direction of their bed, she is giggling and asking him what he is doing, yet he offers no reply. Not until he has her laid down on the mattress. A second later, she feels the bed shift with his weight when he crawls in beside her and pulls the sheet up to their waists. The warmth of his body, solid with lean muscle against her soft, womanly figure, instantly keeps the breeze blowing in from the open windows at bay.
"Hold me," he says, already moving to lay his head atop her breast. "Kostilus." Please.
A second later, one of her arms is wrapping around him, keeping him cradled as close to her as physically possible, and she can feel him loose a heavy sigh of relief he's been holding onto all day. His head fits perfectly into the crook of her neck. Every few seconds, she lifts her hand to rake her fingers through his hair. The silver strands are silken beneath her touch, scented with a hint of lavender from the bath they shared before falling asleep last night. Noticing that it is still tied back in his typical, half-up fashion, on her next pass through, she pulls it free and combs gently until there are no tangled pieces left.
For a while, they lay together with nothing to fill the silence but the sound of their quiet breathing. His head rises with every inhale, her breast a soft cushion for his cheek to nuzzle up against. Neither of them wants to be the one to speak first for fear of ruining the peaceful moment, but, inevitably, she gives in.
His neck cranes to allow him a glimpse of her face before she starts speaking as though they share one mind, as though he knows what she'll say or do before she does it. When she thinks about it, they've always been that way.
"I'm proud of you...You have every right to feel slighted by them all for what happened at Driftmark, I will not deny that," she says, pausing for a beat afterward. The tip of her thumb brushes across his lower lip as she looks down at him with nothing but love in her eyes. "And you still didn't let it stop you from enjoying our time together as a family."
Hearing her lavish him with such praise brings a flush to his pale face, and he must resist the urge to avert his gaze sheepishly. He manages, though. After all, he's faced much more daunting challenges than looking at his wife as she tells him how proud she is of him. If these are the only challenges he has to endure in this new chapter of his life, he'll be eternally grateful. He has spent his whole life yearning to prove himself—as a son, a dragon rider, a prince, a swordsman, and now a father. Because of this, her approval and praise mean more to him than she'll ever know.
The thumb pressed to his lips is given a tender kiss before he moves on to her index finger, then the next, the next, and the next. His larger hand is clasped around her wrist with his thumb pressing into the center of her palm to allow him to maneuver her hand however he sees fit. Once the last kiss is placed against the small pad of her pinky finger, he releases her wrist from his grasp to lace their fingers together. Aemond holds on as though she is the anchor keeping him grounded to their world, always there to draw him back before he disappears too far into the darkness that has dwelled within him since the day he claimed Vhagar.
Unable to accept it without diverting some of the attention away from himself, he takes it as his turn to praise her.
"You were clever in keeping Daenaera at the table for dinner," he says. A half second later, he utters the next words into the soft skin of her breast. "You see right through me."
Although he can barely see it from the corner of his eye, her lips curve up at the ends in a soft smile.
"I always have, haven't I?"
To this, he responds with his usual hum of acknowledgment and brushes his nose against her peaked nipple. His lips press against the skin just beneath it in another kiss, but he's careful not to stimulate her. It would be cruel to arouse her even further with no way of sating her desires. The next two weeks will pass, albeit slowly, and then he can properly bed her the way he wishes to tonight.
His arms pull tightly around her waist. If she had any hopes of escaping his embrace tonight, it's now clear he has no intentions of entertaining them. No, he will hold her prisoner if he has to. He will do whatever he must do so long as it means he gets to keep her, and the thought of this brings a barely-there smile of relief to his face.
"Sleep," he murmurs, pulling the sheet further up to keep their bare, entangled bodies warm. "Tomorrow, when the babe is taken for her nap, I will take you to visit Vermithor. You cannot ride him yet, but he will be glad to see you. It's been too long. The dragonkeepers have told me he has grown restless."
This makes her smile too.
"I would quite enjoy that."
With that, she relaxes beneath the weight of her husband's body lying atop her and nuzzles her face into the pillow the way he had her breast a moment ago.
It takes little time for the pair to be pulled beneath the veil of consciousness, their breathing evening out into slow inhales and exhales that are hardly audible over the fire crackling in their hearth. For once, all is peaceful in the Keep. Their families dined together as one, the children have been put to sleep by their nursemaids, and the night has descended into a type of quiet so rarely found in a place like King's Landing.
As night descends upon them, the only people still awake within the walls of the Keep are the servants readying themselves for bed after a day of tireless work. While the royal family had been served platters of freshly cooked meats and goblets of the most expensive wine, the smallfolk working beneath them quiet the rumbling in their stomachs with whatever scraps remain if they are so lucky. If not, they eat a plain stew of some sort, accompanied by slightly stale bread and a cup of ale to wash it down. But even that is considered generous as far as lowborn citizens of King's Landing are concerned. Servants within the keep live comfortably compared to peasants living in the city beyond the walls.
Far from where the servants reside, in the stillness and silence of the night, King Viserys slips further into a state of delirium where he lays alone in his room in Maegor's Holdfast. Since his lady wife, Queen Alicent, left to retire to her chambers for the night, he has been muttering into the empty room and talking to ghosts. At last his frail, trembling hand lifts from his chest and toward the sky, reaching for what he could not have as long as he remained alive. With his last breath, he calls out for his love, Aemma, and his suffering is ended at long last as the Stranger comes to take him.
Despite this, the night remains quiet and peaceful. For no one can know that Viserys has passed in his sleep until the servants come to wake him in the early hours of the morning, but, once news breaks among the staff and Queen Alicent is informed of her husband's death, the calm before the storm comes to an end. Soon, dragons will dance, and she will not waste any time in securing her eldest son's birthright. Not after her husband spoke his name in his final hours.
It isn't until an hour after sunrise that Y/N is roused from a deep sleep by the light shining in through the windows that remained open all night.
She sighs and presses her cheek into the pillow in defiance of her current state of consciousness, wanting to steal another couple of moments of rest before she's ushered into the bath by her bright-eyed young handmaidens. But, after lying there for a second or so, her eyes flutter open. The sun has fully risen, she realizes with a sense of urgency. Her feet quickly kick the sheet from her body. Her hand reaches behind her to feel where her husband should be resting beside her only to find the mattress cold and empty.
How had she not felt or heard him leave?
"Aemond?" she calls out drowsily and pushes herself up into a sitting position, looking around the room in confusion.
No answer.
"Nyla?"
No answer.
Nyla is always the first to arrive and aid her in getting dressed for the day, intricately braiding her hair to her head in the fashion her mother wears, not that which Queen Alicent and Princess Helaena prefer. But the sun has already risen, she should have come in to wake her and Aemond already if they had not risen on their own accord...
Y/N abandons the bed and makes for the chair her robe, a rich shade of red embroidered with accents of gold and black, is draped over. Seeing that she is nude, it's the quickest way for her to cover herself and protect her modesty before leaving the room to inquire about why no one thought to wake her as they have every morning since her wedding. Something is wrong, that much she knows. She feels it in her gut and the very air surrounding her.
Rather than find Aemond, she'll first head to the nursery where Daenaera has been sleeping all night. Her husband is capable of taking care of himself, their daughter not so much. If something truly is amiss as her intuition is telling her, the babe comes before her husband—he made her come to that agreement the day she was born.
But when she tries to pull the doors to their chambers open, they do not budge. Thinking it a mistake of some kind, she tries again, and they refuse to open no matter how hard she pulls at them.
Her closed fist begins to knock at the door, soft at first, then harder and harder until she is forced to bang on it in hopes that someone will come.
"Hello?" she yells, pounding on the door with both fists. The thought that she is trapped, forced to stay away from her weeks-old child...It makes her efforts double in intensity. "Why have I been trapped in my room?"
No answer.
"I need to see my daughter! Let me out—"
The sound of Ser Erryk's voice interrupting her plea for freedom pulls a deep sigh of relief from her chest. Of all the men sworn to protect their family, he and his brother have proven the most loyal and kind. Surely Erryk will help her.
"My sincere apologies, Princess," he says, "We have been instructed to keep everyone confined to their rooms until further notice. One of your ladies will be up to bring you breakfast and dress you soon."
Her brows furrow at this.
"And under whose authority am I to be held prisoner in my own home?"
There's a long, drawn-out stretch of silence that follows, and it makes her stomach churn with dread. Something is wrong. This is not normal.
When he does not respond after a moment, she calls, "Ser Erryk?"
He clears his throat.
"Our lord hand is the one responsible, my lady. I am only doing as I've been told."
It takes her the better half of a moment to conjure a response. She is too shocked to put anything into words at first, but, then, her mind runs wild.
"What has happened? What could possibly warrant this?" she asks. After another dreadful stretch of silence, she resorts to shouting. "Tell me! That is an order from your Princess, an heir to the throne no less!"
Despite being strictly ordered not to divulge any critical information to anyone aside from the Hand, Queen Alicent, and her children, he cannot allow her to sit here and suffer in a prison of her making. He has watched her grow up and served her since he was first sworn into the kingsguard. She deserves the truth even if she cannot be freed from her room to do anything about it.
"The king has died. Princess Rhaenys is confined to her room as well by the orders of the Hand. I cannot say more. Forgive me, my lady."
Before she can even process what he has said, Erryk turns and walks away from her door, leaving her frozen in her place with her closed fists hanging at her sides. They have been anticipating this for the past five years, yet hearing it still shocks her.
The king has died, which warrants every lord and lady in his court to be kept out of the way as they make the necessary preparations before it is announced to the city...but it does not warrant the imprisonment of any members of the royal family. Surely, this is a mistake. Surely, there has been a miscommunication regarding who is to be kept from roaming the keep. If Aemond is not here, he must be permitted to go where he pleases, so why cannot she? Why cannot Rhaenys?
A cold chill runs down her spine when the realization of what's happening hits her.
Her feet are carrying her across the room before she can blink, bringing her to the opened windows that overlook the courtyard where people come in and out of the gates to the Keep. What she finds, she does not want to believe, but she's witnessing it with her own two eyes. Lord Caswell is being ripped from his horse by members of the Kingsguard and dragged like a dog through the dirt in the direction of the castle doors.
There is no other explanation for why Aemond is allowed to roam free while she and Rhaenys are held prisoner. There is no other explanation for Lord Caswell to be violently assaulted by the kingsguard for trying to leave the Keep on horseback. There is no other explanation for Ser Erryk apologizing to her. He wasn't just apologizing for locking her in her rooms...
They are usurping the throne.
-
Oh it’s about to get goooood. Let me know if you liked this chapter. I’ve had it in the works since before season two aired but I wanted to wait to finish/post it.
Tag List: @m-indkiller, @tinykryptonitewerewolf, @hopebaker, @bcon24, @eleganttravelercloud, @aemond-targaryenx, @the-blue-banshee, @saramayu, @merakiaes, @its-sam-allgood, @grungegrrrl, @singitoutgirl26, @scarlettmoon98, @cicaspair418, @itisjustwhatitis, @cl-0-vr, @d34d-4c1d, @hargrovehoe, @vainillasmil157, @leahjean, @captainweirdo42, @magnificantmermaid, @dark-night-sky-99, @kaicyl, @ladybug0095, @bellaisasleep, @blackravenart, @isaxbella749, @reneki, @heylosers06, @izzicle, @bucky-thorin-winchester, @hangmanscoming, @harrypotteranna23-blog, @fan-goddess, @glame, @muthafuckingstargirl, @barnes70stark, and @shintax-error.
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lunartulips · 9 months ago
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𝐴𝐿𝐴𝑆𝑇𝑂𝑅 𝐴𝑆 𝐴 𝐵𝑂𝑌𝐹𝑅𝐼𝐸𝑁𝐷 { 𝐻𝐸𝐴𝐷𝐶𝐴𝑁𝑂𝑁𝑆 }
Very loving lover. To say the least. Probably the best thing that’s ever happened to him since he’s been in hell
Alastor would greet you in the morning with a big smile
“Good morning! It’s absolutely deadly in hell isn’t it?” Or if you walk in and see him eating then he’ll offer you a plate. Even if it’s a dead deer.
“You look well-rested, care for some deer?”
Since he’s the radio demon and feared by many he’ll make sure that you’re protected at all cost. Even bribing Husker to watch over you when he can’t, with booze of course
“Do take care of them I’ll be stepping out for a moment”
“Yeah yeah, got it now go”
Compliments I feel are a must. He’ll say compliments during the day or randomly. Smiling and looking straight at you when he does.
“My, don’t you look breathtaking today-!”
Flirting, probably would or won’t. When he does he’ll be a gentleman when he speaks. Holding your hand and adding a gentle kiss when he’s done, very like him. In a low tone voice to feel flirtatious
“My my, what a darling demon we have here~”
“Acting shy now? How adorable”
Alastor would be very protective and wouldn’t hesitate to tear a few limps off to protect you. Since he’s so gruesome with handling ‘enemies’ he’ll probably distract you from seeing such things with your own eyes. Or hold you close to his chest as he unleashed his wrath on another
“Hm? Oh don’t worry at all-! I’m simply ℒℰᎯᏉℐℕᎶ Ꭿ ℳℰЅЅᎯᎶℰ….”
“Don’t worry, how about some dinner hm? I’ll let you wait inside-!”
Very cute nicknames for you. Like darling, dearest, and honey. Alastor will call out to you using those names to find you, even in front of everyone, had no shame or embarrassment about it
Even outside of the hotel when he takes walks
“Ah-! There you are darling-!”
Oh boy….when this demon is jealous it’s every sinner for themselves. With you he’ll do his best to hold back so he wouldn’t scare or hurt you. Of course everyone else from the hotel will be staring and just watch. Charlie would probably try to calm him down before more heads roll. But Angel Dust would probably edge him on.
“Uh, Alastor? Please calm yourself please?”
“No! Keep going! So them who Y/N’s lover!”
There’ll be lots of blood and destruction when he’s jealous but of course he’ll won’t immediately go to violence when he’s jealous. Alastor can also stay close to you and place a protective hand either on your shoulder or around your waist. And would just give them eyes of death to the demon or person who dares talk to you in front of him
Dates would be very causal. Either meat dinners or hanging out with him listening to the radio
Love Language would be Quality time <3
Walks around the city in the wrath ring or joining him in his recoding studio when he’s on the air. When you work in the Hazbin Hotel he’ll pop in to checkup on you. And, when needed, he’ll help you in any way he can. He’ll make sure that you to have lots of time together both during work hours and when you clock out.
“You look like your struggling with this, allow me my dear-!”
Holding hands will be included with this relationship, along with him smiling a lot both at you and in general. Like the gentlemen he is he’ll make sure that your smiling with him.
“You’re never fully dressed without a smile~”
Alastor would be a very interesting demon to date with. Protective and old fashioned. Always smiling and would hum songs to you when you’re stress
Not only that. He’ll make sure you will avoid the three V’s/Vees. Especially Vox. If that does happen or you accidentally cross paths make sure you have a pair of sunglasses and stay behind a strong building before things get very ugly well quick unless you want to see such horrific scenes
But if that doesn’t happen then all things should be float
𝐴𝐿𝐴𝑆𝑇𝑂𝑅 𝐴𝑆 𝐴 𝐵𝑂𝑌𝐹𝑅𝐼𝐸𝑁𝐷 { 𝐻𝐸𝐴𝐷𝐶𝐴𝑁𝑂𝑁𝑆 }
written by Lunartulips ☾ & ✿
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flowerandblood · 2 months ago
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The Lost Haven (16/16)
[ modern mafia • Aemond x niece •female ]
[ warnings: incest obviously, sex content, dirty talk, smut, the angst, murder, character death, miscarriage and the trauma associated with it, panic attack, mafia stuff, brutal violence, uncomfortable conversations, bad, bad things ]
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[ description: The vacation from eight years ago still haunts his memories and doesn’t let him forget what happened between him and his niece, the daughter of his sister and Harwin Strong. Their paths separate and he immerses himself in his father’s mafia world until the day she calls him for the first time since those events. Sexual tension, dark, dangerous, withdrawn, thirsty Aemond. ]
Author’s note: As promised, this is another, this time official modern version of The Fall from the Heavens. In this version, Daemon is not related to the family, but is simply Rhaenyra’s husband and the leader of the second gang, Alys and Larys are also not related to each other, but Larys is Harwin’s brother. I will partly refer to the original series, hiding some easter eggs, and some will be a completely new, fresh plot. As in every universe, only Aemond calls her Rhaenys and this is not her real name (she is unnamed character and the others also do not know that he calls her that). There will be a lot more brutality and angst in this version, so watch out. You can read this as a standalone story.
Series & Characters Moodboard Aemond & Rhaenys Moodboard
* English is not my first language. Please, do not repost. Enjoy! *
Next chapters: Masterlist
_____
She was pregnant.
Although, according to all moral and social norms, she should have been crying in despair, she was happy: touching her belly with her hand, she felt nothing but love for this little being that was slowly growing inside her.
The fruit of their warm, deep, sincere affection.
The knowledge that she was not alone helped her when it was time for her to meet the staff for whom she was to be responsible from now on. Aemond insisted on being with her, fearing for some reason for her and the baby, she, however, knew that this was something she had to do alone.
Their stares when she walked into the VIP room in which she had ordered the meeting told her everything – grown men and women who looked as if they had seen far too much in their lives watched her in disbelief.
She knew they thought with disapproval that she was just a little girl, a whore who had been given this place as a gift by their boss that she wouldn't know what to do with, pestering them with her stupid bullshit.
She sat down in one of the empty armchairs, a few people lit cigarettes and grunted, other than that, complete silence all around her.
"I know what you're thinking and you're right. The fact that I have taken over these premises is a form of security for me. In true, not only for me, but also for you. Aemond will stop the flow of drugs through these and two other places that used to belong to my father. I have no intention of changing managers or leadership, quite the contrary – I want to talk to you about what you need. I want this to be a clean, legitimate business that is profitable. No drastic changes." She said, looking at them expectantly, feeling her heart pounding like crazy.
A few people twisted in their seats, others looked at each other.
Silence.
Obviously they didn't trust her.
"Think whatever you want about me. It doesn't matter. Know, however, that my stepfather no longer threatens you, and Aemond will still protect this place. All I ask for is loyalty. If there is a problem with something, come to me with it, not to my uncle, or he will be furious. Now get back to work, I want to stay with the manager." She said calmly.
All but one man who could easily be her father got up from their seats and walked out, leaving them alone.
"This is not a toy you can just pick up and have." He said finally, firing up the lighter, leaning over the flame with his cigarette.
"I don't see it as a toy. We can all gain something if we accept each other. Would you rather keep wallowing in this shit and selling ecstasy to young kids? Don't you have children of your own?" She asked coolly, and the man snorted under his breath, the corner of his mouth twitching in a smirk.
"I do. Three. Two sons and a daughter. Each of them works here. The sons as security guards and the daughter behind the bar." He said dryly and she swallowed hard, feeling the cold sweat on her back.
Fuck.
Had she just insulted him?
"You let your own kids do drugs? Do you want them to be arrested with you if the police come by here, as part of family integration?" She asked, and he sighed heavily, taking a loud drag on his cigarette.
"I didn't say that." He replied, letting the smoke out through his mouth.
"And I don't want that either. Help me protect you." She insisted, and he looked at her finally, as if he had made up his mind.
"You're just like your father."
She exhaled loudly, in an involuntary reflex she'd been holding back for the last few hours touching her lower abdomen as soon as the car door closed behind her.
"And how was it? Everything okay?" Her uncle asked, immediately grasping her hand in his, looking at her expectantly, tense.
"They are difficult people. Difficult, but tired. They don't want problems. They get used to it." She said quietly, exhausted and sleepy.
She looked at him, a worry in his eyes but also a tenderness from which she felt warm in her heart.
"Take me home."
The road to the sea was getting terribly long, perhaps because once in a while she felt an unpleasant twinge in her stomach, indicative of what was about to happen.
"– no – no, stop the car, stop the car –" She muttered, and he immediately pulled over to the side of the road – she only managed to open the door before she vomited on the grass, panting heavily.
"– oh, baby – why don't you lie down in the back seat? – you'll be more comfortable –" She heard his voice, his broad hand stroking her back.
Ever since they'd found out they were going to be parents he'd been so tender, so good, so sweet.
Exactly like he had been back then.
"– okay –" She mumbled and swallowed hard, wiping her mouth with her handkerchief. She unbuckled her seatbelt, climbed out and opened the door in the back, laying down on both passenger seats, closing her eyes.
"– sleep, little one – I'll drive slowly – we're not in any hurry –" He said, looking at her in the rear view mirror, and she nodded.
She flinched when she felt the car finally stop – she heard someone open the door, the fresh air and his familiar hands enveloped her, lifting her up, and she clung to him like a small child. He carried her into the house, to a room that belonged to him, where they had set up their makeshift bedroom for the time of renovation.
She felt him lay her gently on the bed, taking his place beside her a moment later, embracing her from behind.
"– you're tiring your mummy terribly –" He whispered, stroking her belly with lazy, calm motions of his hand. "– you need to let her rest –"
She smiled, allowing herself to fall asleep again, this time in his embrace. Her uncle often addressed their child as if the baby could already understand him – he was making a connection this way, realising that he was really going to become a father.
He was involved in everything about preparing for the arrival of their child into the world – they decided to dedicate the room she slept in that summer holiday to their future offspring and repainted it together, sticking cute glow-in-the-dark stickers on the walls in the shape of various planets and stars.
With some things, they had to wait because they didn't know if the baby was going to be a boy or a girl.
"It cost me a lot of money, but I made it. I have written permission from the Archbishop. Rhaenys, we can marry." He said to her one morning, holding a piece of paper in front of him that was to change their lives.
A dispensation for a church wedding.
"We need witnesses." She muttered, gripping his hand in hers. Her uncle nodded, as if he knew she'd said it.
"I know, Helaena agreed. I didn't want to decide about another person for you." He said, and she smiled, feeling grateful.
He became more open, more affectionate, always thinking of her and her needs too.
She knew who she wanted by her side.
"I know I'm asking a lot and that I'm not entitled to it. I know your father will be furious if you say yes, but… you have always been close to my heart. You didn't judge me. I wish I had you with me on this day." She mouthed in a breaking voice, standing alone in the bathroom with her phone pressed to her ear, wiping her face wet with tears.
She heard Baela swallow hard, shocked by her words.
For a long moment, they were both silent.
"– I – God – I've always felt you were in pain – only now I know why and I'm sorry you've been alone with this for so long – I don't want you to not have your bridesmaid on your wedding day – just tell me when and where –" She muttered and she burst out into a quiet sob, feeling relieved.
"– forgive me – forgive me for being such a disgusting person –" She choked out, whooping, feeling that she had finally described herself truly.
She had fucked her own uncle and was going to have a baby with him.
She was sick.
Baela drew in a loud breath.
"– stop – if he was your own birth brother, it would be much, much worse – on the positive side, he's actually only half your uncle –" She said, and for some reason she burst out laughing.
God.
"– right – it's a good thing I didn't choose Jace –" She mumbled, and Baela snorted.
"– exactly – let's stick to that –" She said.
"– it would be funny if the police burst into the church and arrested us –" She sneered, fiddling with the soft towel hanging on the rack, imagining commandos with guns ordering them to fall to the ground.
"– for what? – for drug dealing or for incest? –" Baela scoffed, and she giggled under her breath.
"– for everything – the list of crimes is long –" She said with a smile, for some reason feeling lighter.
It was the first time she had ever talked to someone about it completely honestly.
She shuddered when she heard a loud knock on the door.
"Rhaenys? Are you all right?" She heard his concerned voice.
Ever since he had found her in the bath then, he had been afraid if she stayed in the bathroom too long.
"Yes. I'm talking to Baela. She agreed." She called out to him.
"That's great." He said with sincere relief, as if he was afraid she would suffer another disappointment and rejection from her family.
They hadn't planned to invite any guests to the event, have a dinner together or anything of the sort – they knew that most of their family felt there was nothing to celebrate, and for them, as it wasn't a state wedding, it only had symbolic significance.
Helaena helped her choose the right dress – she wanted to look special that day, because even though their nuptials were going to be bittersweet, she was, in the eyes of God, going to be his wife.
"– oh – look – this one is lovely –" Helaena hummed, taking from the rack a long, white gown with a cut-out back and lace at the neckline and the ends of the delicate, long sleeves.
"– you're right – it would match the flowers in my hair –" She said, in her perfect image of herself that day wishing she had daisies woven into her curls.
Helaena dropped her off in the car at a shop near their house and they said their goodbyes – she needed nothing so much as a walk and some fresh air, however, she wanted to cook them dinner too, knowing that her fiancé would be back late.
Since he had started telling her about his affairs, what he needed to do and where he needed to go, she felt calmer and his absence no longer frightened her so much.
Besides, he wasn't leaving her alone anymore, she thought, touching her stomach happily, looking curiously at the shelves full of different kinds of pasta, searching for the perfect one for spaghetti.
She shuddered, having the feeling that someone had rubbed against her by accident, but then she felt that person holding something against her back.
"Be quiet and leave the shop slowly." She heard a cold, unfamiliar voice behind her and froze, feeling her heart leap up into her throat, a cold sweat on her back.
She looked to the side, wondering if she should scream, if anyone would help her, not knowing if this man held a gun or a knife against her body.
"Don't try anything or I'll butcher you like a pig." He said, as if he was reading her mind, and she swallowed hard, feeling burning tears of terror under her eyelids, her body involuntarily began to tremble.
She simply moved towards the exit, and the man she was afraid to look at put his arm around her like he was her boyfriend, clamping his hand firmly on her waist to make sure she didn't try to escape.
As soon as they left she sprang up to throw herself into a run, but the man grabbed her waist and clamped his hand over her mouth – she bit him with a loud squeal, but he only hissed, not letting her go, hiding behind the wall of the shop, two other men got out of the car.
One of them, a blond man with a beard and blue eyes had a scars on his left cheek.
"– come on, what the fuck are you waiting for – faster –" Tyland Lannister growled, and the man who was clearly his bodyguard forced her to bow her head and forcibly shoved her into the back seat, closing the door behind her.
She burst out crying, curling up as Tyland sat down next to her and the two men took their seats in front, driving away with a squeal of tyres.
"– shut the fuck up – be a good girl and no harm will come to you – I need to clear up a few things with your uncle –" He said lightly – only when she looked at him did she notice that he held in his hand a gun pointed towards her.
She pressed her body against the car door, looking at him with big eyes and shook her head.
"– please – please let me out, I'm pregnant – I –" She mumbled out and squealed, leaning forward, feeling a sudden, penetrating pain in her lower abdomen, and then another and another.
She began to pant loudly in terror, and wailed as Tyland slapped the back of her head with an open palm.
"– stop pretending – I told you to fucking calm down, I won't do anything to you – I won't –" He muttered and fell silent, looking with her at the drop of blood that ran down her thigh from under her dress.
She covered her mouth with her hands and screamed loudly, falling into sheer hysteria, the man in front cursed, telling her to shut up, and Tyland just stared at her, his mouth wide open.
"– stop –" He muttered. "– fuck, God, stop, stop, stop –"
"– here? – boss, we're in the middle of a country road –"
"– STOP, I SAID –"
The car stopped at the side of the road with a screech of tyres in a way that made her hit her head on the seat in front of her – Tyland opened the door, grabbed her ankle and dragged her out of the car like an animal, leaving her on the grass, then got back inside.
The car drove off.
She just breathed, whooping with tears, looking at the grass around her and the tree trunks, feeling a horrible warm stickiness between her thighs, twitching all over, not having the strength or the will to get up.
After a while some other car stopped beside her, the people inside screamed in terror and got out, a woman who could have been her mother ran up to her and covered her mouth with her hand.
"Good God, I think they raped her."
No, she thought.
They took something much more precious from me.
She heard his loud, frightened breath as she lay in the hospital bed, the policemen standing beside her grunted at the sight of him.
"Are you her family?" Asked one of them.
"Y-yes, I'm her uncle. Good God, what happened?" He mumbled in a breaking voice.
"Your niece was found by a woman on a country road, thrown out of some car. She immediately informed us, suspecting that a rape had taken place, however, the cause of the bleeding was a sudden stress-induced miscarriage. The victim does not speak and does not want to say who did this to her. Could you please…"
The man did not finish as she heard him burst into a loud, mournful sob, felt the touch of his hands on her body, his face pressed into her hair, his broken, heavy breath.
Her eyebrows arched in pain, a single, lonely tear ran down her face.
Daemon had warned her.
The hours, the voices, the smells merged into one for her – she heard her uncle's voice, her mother's voice, she smelled their scent and touch, she heard their weeping and despair, but she herself felt like she was dreaming awake, feeling and experiencing nothing.
She felt herself awake when she heard another familiar voice.
"Did she say something?"
"No. She's silent. There's no contact with her. She's in shock." Her mother muttered, and Daemon embraced her, looking her straight in the eyes.
She felt something – she felt her heart hit harder in her chest, her eyebrows arched in misery, her breath caught in her throat.
"– baby – baby, please, say something to me –" She heard her uncle's whisper and only after a moment did she realise that he had been lying next to her on the bed all this time, that he had been stroking her head, that he had been looking at her, that he had been crying like a little baby.
"– get out for a while – leave us alone –" Daemon said – her uncle opened his mouth, furious, but she spoke up before he could say anything.
"– I want to talk to my dad –"
Everyone around her fell silent – Rhaenyra walked over to her brother and took his hand, explaining to him in a whisper that they would be back soon, that she was no longer in danger, that everything would be all right.
She felt herself quivering all over when Daemon took the chair and sat down beside her bed exactly as he had done then, after she had tried to take her own life.
She looked at him, into his bright, piercing eyes, and thought that this was what he was trying to protect her from.
"I wanted this child, dad. Very, very much." She muttered and closed her eyes, feeling the blissful emptiness she had surrounded herself with begin to crack, the pain that pierced her body, her heart so strong that she sobbed.
"I know." He replied.
"Is the baby…is the baby still inside me?" She choked out with difficulty, whooping with her own tears, feeling like she couldn't catch her breath.
"No. I'm very sorry, but no. It was too early, the baby was not yet formed. Nothing could be done." He said and she clamped her hands on her lower abdomen, thinking she felt like ripping out her uterus and other entrails because they were useless.
She was full and suddenly empty again.
She felt her father's hand on her arm, his fingers strong, his embrace giving her a sense of security.
"I have abandoned you. I chose my own pride. I knew he would want to take revenge on him. If I had given you my protection, it would never have happened. Forgive me." He said, and she closed her eyes, thinking that she wanted to become nothingness and disappear.
Despite Daemon continuing to speak to her, she fell into a state of half-sleep again, unable to think about it – her mind was repressing everything that had happened and waiting, although she didn't know what for.
What was she actually waiting for?
For her baby, she thought.
Little girl or little boy will be born in a few months.
No, she realised.
Not any more.
Tears ran down her face, but no sound came out of her mouth.
She saw him – her uncle stood in the doorway of her hospital room drenched in tears, trembling like a small child, just like she had been when she came into his room then, terrified of the darkness.
Darkness surrounded him, and he was frightened.
She didn't want him to be afraid.
He cried out loudly when she reached out her hand to him – she realised it was already dark around him when his body snuggled against hers, when he embraced her and kissed her cheek, when his face snuggled into her skin.
They lay, just breathing, holding hands – there was something comforting about that – in his silence. The fact that he knew there were no words of comfort, of justification, of absolution for them.
What did exist, however, were their bodies, warm and familiar, clinging to each other to find shelter.
She fell asleep, wrapped in his scent.
"I know you think this is my fault. That you will never forgive me." She heard his voice as if from a distance – she blinked, surprised to see that it was already daylight all around her, that her uncle was sitting beside her in a chair, looking at his hands.
Days flew by between her fingers.
How long had it been since that incident?
Since when had she been empty?
She pressed her lips together, feeling nothing but rage.
"I want Tyland Lannister." She hissed in a cold, shaking voice, and he looked at her in shock.
They stared at each other for a moment – his lower lip twitched when he suddenly realised what had happened, something in his gaze that had always frightened her, but now pleased her.
Aemond
Emptiness.
It seemed to him that he had simply gone through all the phases of grief – from despair, through denial, to a state of complete indifference.
His child, whom he had so desperately wanted, was no longer there.
He thought it would help to give the baby a funeral, even though they had nothing to bury – that's why they put the glowing stickers they had stuck on the walls of the room that was to belong to their child in a small box and buried it under a tree in the garden of their house.
She wanted the thing that would remind her of their loss to be close by, so that she could look at it every morning from her window.
It was an ordeal they lived through together, and although they suffered, they found relief in each other's arms.
She let him take her for the first time two weeks after it happened.
Lying in front of him in his embrace, she took his hand in hers and slowly guided it down under the material of her panties – she surprised him with this, because he was convinced that the vision of him touching her like this would be something disgusting to her – she, however, was wet.
He couldn't hide how much he missed her, and after a moment they were both naked from the waist down, fucking each other like animals with loud smacks of their hips, wanting nothing more than to feel fulfilled and relieved – the release he felt when he finally came inside her was like a revelation, her body hot and sweaty in his embrace, her little cunt pulsing on his erection, sucking his seed.
I'll give you another baby, he thought tenderly, kissing her long neck, not saying it out loud though, not wanting her to think he had already reconciled himself to their loss.
I will give you another baby, and then another and another.
We will be a big, happy family.
If he could say that anything good had come out of this awfully sad situation, it was that their families had begun to talk to each other again – Otto and Daemon couldn't forgive the murder of their grandchild, and Alicent, Rhaenyra, Jace and Baela had watched over his niece in his absence, looking after her.
Even Aegon asked him for a meeting, which was strange and downright comical. His brother put a hand on his shoulder and looked at him in a way from which he felt a squeeze in his throat.
"We're going to catch that son of a bitch."
The only person who was afraid to meet them was Helaena, blaming herself for what had happened despite the fact that neither he nor his Rhaenys resented her.
"She said she wanted to go shopping. Your house and the beach was across the street. I-I had the security guards go and take her dress to your house. She wanted to take a walk, she insisted. I…"
"Stop. You are not the one who did this to her. No one is blaming you." He said calmly, staring dully ahead, sitting in his car, feeling that his heart, his skin, his body, his breath were cold.
I want Tyland Lannister.
He licked his lower lip when he spotted his silhouette in the distance, coming out of one of the clubs surrounded by a few of his thugs, surely for protection.
Jason helped his brother move to another city, hoping they would never find him.
But he was wrong.
"I have to go." He said and hung up, starting the engine, dialing another number.
He never thought that he'd talk to him of his own free will.
And yet.
"He just left."
He followed him for a few streets, driving a few cars behind him, feeling strangely calm and patient – he had the impression that there were no more tears he could cry or screams he could shout.
His persona had come full circle, becoming again exactly who he had been before she had called him that evening for the first time in eight years.
He smiled, seeing that they had realised that someone was following them, trying to change direction suddenly – as he had predicted, they had fallen straight into their trap, and hundreds of loud gunshots rang out around the corner.
He pulled over to the side of the road and stepped out of the car, watching as Daemon's men slaughtered Tyland's men one by one, surprised by the manhunt from both sides, unprepared for such a sudden, merciless attack.
"– please –" Tyland mumbled, crawling on the ground at Daemon's feet – his sister's husband held a baseball bat in his hand, all dirty from his blood.
He thought with amusement that Lannister's face looked like a squashed tomato.
Together with Daemon, he dragged him, moaning and crying, to the boot of his car, locking him in there, and together they set off without exchanging a word.
By the time they reached the house by the sea there was only an hour left until dawn – Tyland had passed out in the boot from a lack of oxygen, and a strong kick to the liver revived him, making him draw in air loudly and cough, spitting up blood.
"– no – no, no, no, no, please, no –" He whined as they began dragging him along the ground towards the door, leaving a trail of his blood on the ground behind them.
When they walked into the house they threw him to his knees in front of her – his Rhaenys looked at his hunched, pathetic figure sitting in front of him on the couch in a white dress he was seeing for the first time, a knife in her hand.
Was this supposed to be her wedding gown?
I have taken away your purity and innocence, he thought with pain, looking at her with adoration.
Kora was no longer there.
Only Persephone was left.
His Queen of the Hades.
He longed to lie down at her feet and simply abide.
"– I lost someting because of you –" She said and raised herself up, touching her lower abdomen. "– my baby didn't even manage to take their first breath –"
He closed his eyes, feeling the squeeze in his throat, the pain he felt in his heart unbearable.
"– I didn't know – I didn't know, I'm sorry, I didn't know –" Tyland mumbled, because of how swollen his face was his words were indistinct and difficult to understand.
Standing over him, in her white dress, with a knife in her hand and with her beautiful hair loose, she looked like a ghost.
Like Death.
"– you threw me out of the car like an animal – you left me to die and drove away –" She whispered, tears one after another rolling down her beautiful, tired, pale face.
She had waited so long for this.
For relief.
For justice.
But no more.
"– please – please –" He begged, and she took a step towards him and knelt before him, looking straight into his eyes.
"– let me, Rhaenys –" He muttered, not wanting her to burden herself with this, to dream nightmares like him, to suffer like him because of what she had done.
"– no – I want to feel the life drain out of him – as it did out of me, then –" She said, and the knife she held in her hand stabbed into his side like butter.
Tyland wailed, grabbing the hilt, but Daemon held him down, preventing him from moving – he saw her slide the blade out, a huge bloodstain spilling down his shirt, dripping down his leg straight onto the foil-lined floor.
"That's enough. I'll take care of the rest. Take a bath and burn everything." Daemon instructed, laying Tyland's barely alive body on the ground, his breathing shallow until his eyes went blank.
His soul had left his body.
"Come." He said to her, taking the knife from her palm, placing it on the floor. He nodded at Daemon and grabbed her hand, leading her upstairs to the bathroom where the bathtub was.
Her entire dress and hands were in blood.
"Come here, little one. Come, let's wash it all off. It's okay, honey." He whispered, hugging her close, sinking his hands into her soft, smooth curls, and she reciprocated the embrace, sighing, closing her eyes as if relieved.
"Thank you."
Again she lay in the bath red with blood, again she was pale, however this time he felt that the life was not escaping from her, but returning to her – with each passing minute her cheeks flushed, her eyes wide as if her mind had returned to reality.
"Is he dead?" She muttered, and he swallowed hard, washing away with his hands any trace of what they had done from her beautiful, innocent body.
"He's no longer here. He's disappeared. He was just a monster from the wardrobe, nothing more, my love." He said quietly and she sighed, her hand touching his face.
"Do you still love me?" She asked in a trembling voice, and he looked at her, shocked.
"You are the love of my life. You need to rest. You are very tired. You haven't slept well in a long time. You're daydreaming." He replied, taking an unruly strand of hair from her face, her gaze warm and tender, meant only for him.
"Are you not disgusted with me? I've done something monstrous. I think I killed someone." She whispered, her eyes full of tears.
"– shhh –" He hushed her, pressing his forehead against hers, stroking her hair as if she were a small child. "– I forbid you to say such things – it will be our secret – mine, yours and your dad's – only we will know about it –"
"– about the monster from the wardrobe? –" She mumbled, and he nodded.
"– yes –"
Rhaenys
"– I'm scared, mummy – can I have my little lamp lit today too? –" Aemma muttered, but before she could answer her anything, she heard a voice from the bed above them, belonging to Visenya.
"– no, I can't sleep then –" Her older sister hissed, looking down at them, the bright curls she had inherited from her father in disarray.
"– I'm afraid of the monster from the television – the one from the horror movie that Aegon was watching –" Her daugther said in a breaking voice, and she furrowed her brow, shaking her head.
"– I told you this is not a film for small children –" She said sternly, and Aemma lowered her gaze on the verge of crying.
Vinseya groaned in frustration and climbed down the ladder, lying down under the duvet next to her little sister.
"– move along, coward – I'll kill any monster that disturbs my sleep –" Her daughter muttered, and she smiled and stood up, turning off the lamp.
"– good night –" She hummed and left, closing the door behind her.
She sighed, seeing the light on in his office, and moved lazily in that direction, finding him bent over documents. He glanced at her, then at the silhouette of her naked body hidden only beneath a soft silk bathrobe, and licked his lower lip with his tongue.
"– I'll come soon – give me a moment longer –"
"– talk to Aegon tomorrow – he mustn't let Aemma watch horror movies with himself because she is afraid afterwards – she's too little –" She said.
He shook his head, signing a few things.
"– I'll try, but you know him – he'll find a thousand excuses and explanations –" He grunted, and she laughed under her breath.
"– he resembles your brother –" She said amused, leaning her hip against the doorframe, and he snorted under his breath, the corner of his mouth lifted upwards.
"– indeed –" He said and looked up at her, his gaze again escaping down to her breasts and then even lower.
"Come here. Sit on the desk." He said, leaning back in his chair, and she obeyed his command with a smile, walking closer with a lazy step.
He stood up as soon as her buttocks touched the tabletop, spreading her thighs apart, making her have to reach back with her hand to catch her balance.
"– ah –" She gasped as his fingertips sank into her fleshy, warm womanhood, collecting her sticky wetness.
"– since when are you in this state? – hm? –" He hummed, pushing her closer to him with an impatient tug of his hand on her ass, the other digging warningly into her delicate skin, trailing it around her swollen clit.
"– since this morning – since I saw you come out wet and naked from the bathroom in our bedroom – I've needed you, and you haven't touched me –" She mewled regretfully, feeling her walls clench greedily around nothing, craving him inside her.
What he heard was enough for all his foreplay, and with her help he quickly undid the belt of his trousers, his breath heavy and hitched.
"– after all, I fucked you last night – I had to drive Aegon and Visenya to training – you could have joined me in the shower –" He exhaled, impatiently releasing his long, hard erection from his boxers.
She sighed and tilted her head back as, without even waiting for her response, he directed the head of his cock against her slit, opening her wide on his fat length, filling her with himself with one, lazy thrust.
"– uncle – o-oh, fuck, uncle, yes, yes, yes –" She cried out, resting her hands behind her back, letting the material of her bathrobe slide off her shoulders, revealing her breasts full of milk, bouncing each time his hips pounded against her buttocks.
"– God, be quiet – shhh, be good or I won't let you come – is that what you want? –" He breathed out and she bit her bottom lip with her teeth, looking up at him pleadingly, something in her gaze from which he began to slam into her like mad, himself struggling to restrain himself not to moan.
"– that's what I thought – you come to me – ah – begging with those big eyes for my cock – and then you can't even fucking behave –" He growled and sighed, feeling her struggling to stifle a sob of pleasure when another thrust against that same sweet spot made her fall apart in front of him, panting heavily along with him, the next few loud, sticky slaps of their bodies were enough for him to cum with a sigh of relief.
They knew each other's bodies all too well by now and, with amusement, found more and more that they had trouble holding back from coming too early.
It was just too pleasant.
"– I'm pregnant –" She whispered, and he blinked and looked at her, as if he needed a moment to start thinking soberly after such intense fulfilment.
"– what? – but –" He exhaled.
"– I'm sure – I went to the doctor today –"
"– you lied to me –" He said with irritation in his voice.
"– Criston drove me there – I told you I would go shopping with him and we did after the appointment – no lies –" She said with a smile, touching her belly affectionately.
Her husband sighed, placing his hand on hers, the expression on his face calm and gentle again.
"– it's the sixth – what a big family indeed –" He hummed, and she laughed, nodding her head.
"– yes, my love – another child to drive to training –" She said amused, and he kissed her forehead with tenderness, from which a pleasant warmth spread over her heart.
"– don't sit here too long –" She sighed, jumping off his desk as soon as he slid out of her.
"– I won't –"
On her way to their bedroom, she walked into their youngest child's room and smiled, covering her little son more tightly with the duvet. Aemon's leg immediately pushed the bedclothes off him with his mutter of displeasure, so she gave up and left him alone.
She froze, spotting a silhouette in the corner of the room, thinking it was a man, with bright eyes, blonde hair and a beard, but was relieved when, after a moment, she noticed that it was the only shadow cast by the wardrobe standing nearby.
When she walked into their bedroom, she immediately turned on the lamp by their bed and waited patiently for him to return.
She knew she wouldn't fall asleep anyway.
When she was alone in bed, she saw his face and her hands sticky with blood.
When she heard her uncle's footsteps, when his warm body finally lay down beside her and his lips placed a soft, sticky kiss on her neck, she turned off the light, his whisper next to her ear like the calm hum of the wind.
"– now I will let you moan as much as you wish –"
"– Aegon – don't let her swim out into the deep water – Daeron, Visenya keep an eye on her, after all you can see she can't swim well yet –" He shouted to their children the next day, lying in front of her on a towel on the beach, little Aemon, sitting next to them, was building a sandcastle, the hot sun burning their skin.
"– okay, Dad! –" She heard Daeron voice behind her, lying on her stomach in her black one-piece bathing suit with her back cut out, reading a book, her husband's doctoral thesis on an excavation he had run with her in one of the cities the year before.
"– what do you think? – it's the last time for corrections – I've read it hundreds of times and it already makes me want to vomit when I look at it –" He said disapprovingly, turning his gaze towards the sea again.
"– it's the best doctoral thesis I've ever read – really –" She said softly, turning the page, amazed at how effortlessly her husband wrote.
"– look, mummy – it's a fortress, and here's the moat – and there's a dragon on top –" Mumbled Aemon, forcing the Mighty Vhagar figurine that had once belonged to his father onto the top of the tower.
"– beautiful, darling – it looks like the real thing –" She said with warm approval, and Aemon smiled broadly, satisfied, busying himself with creating a bridge over the moat from sticks.
"– Aemma, don't swim so far away – how many times do I have to tell you? –" Her uncle called out, raising himself angrily on his elbow, and she sighed heavily, throwing him a look full of pity.
"– she has swimming sleeves that are full of air that will float her even if she stops moving her arms and legs – she won't drown –" She said, and her husband sighed heavily, looking anxiously towards their children playing in the water.
"– I prefer to be sure –" He muttered.
She looked at him tenderly for a moment, feeling nothing but warmth in her heart.
He was such a good father.
Such a good husband.
She knew that one day they would have to explain to their children why they only had a church wedding and were not married before the state.
But not yet.
"So let's make sure. We should swim with them." She said, extending her hand to him, and he looked at her, apparently recalling their conversation in his car then, many years ago, when he had described his fantasy to her.
He licked his lips with his tongue and grinned in a way she loved.
"Come."
______
Author's note: The child that Rhaenys lost was Viserys: I decided that this story, because it is so dark, could not end differently, and the decisions of the characters had to lead to tragedy sooner or later. Something dies in Rhaenys, but thanks to this she can finally fully join her husband in their Hades, crossing the border of innocence and naivety, maturing in a kind of cruel way. However, the rest of their children, who appeared in the original series, are born. After losing Viserys (in this version they did not know that it would be a boy), they decided that they wanted to have as many children as God would give them, since he took one away from them (in their eyes one too many). Visenya and Aegon will definitely become mafia bosses in the future, just like their father, lol. Their children have the same characters and looks like in the original series, which you can see here.
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darklordofthesimp · 2 years ago
Text
Anything (König x Reader)
The 1st instalment in the Anything-Verse
Main Masterlist
Part 2 - Part 3 - Part 4 - Part 5 - Part 6
Like the characters? Read their fics below!
Sunshine Masterlist || Saint Masterlist
Series Summary:  A lack of information from the chain of command results in König mistaking you for an enemy sniper.
A/N: I have no idea how we got here
Category: Angst || Hurt/Comfort || Forced Proximity || Enemies to ?
Warnings: Graphic description of violence || Graphic description of injury || Graphic language
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“You’re a liability.”
The words rang like a church bell. You were never one for petty violence but in that moment, after he’d so calmly said the words, you thought that you just might kill him.
“A liability?” You hissed, glaring at your superior like he’d grown two heads. “I’m a sniper, Sir, not a fucking ninja.”
The captain simply shifted his weight lazily, unfazed by your temper. He’d dealt with it many times throughout the years but it hadn’t bothered him because you weren’t inherently his. You were somebody else’s spitfire, under another unit’s command; but now you were part of the 141 and you needed to learn.
“Come on, Birdy. You know I’m right.”
Birdy.
You had Soap to thank for the name. ‘Snipers and birds both shit on people from above’. It wasn’t creative and honestly you could have thought of one hundred better names to offer, but once Ghost started addressing you by Birdy, it was set in stone.
When you said nothing, he continued.
“You can’t fight your way out of a wet paper bag,” he scoffed, swallowing a snort when your eyes widened. “Sniper’s need to defend themselves too, Birdy. You learnt that the hard way, remember?”
How could you not?
The knife wound had healed but the memory of it had not. Images of the hooded man wedging a blade into your shoulder flickered across your vision. Fists bearing down onto your jaw. Fingers wrapped around your throat.
A chill skittered across your skin.
“So, what’s your suggestion?” You crossed your arms over your chest.
When the corner of Price’s mouth quirked upward, you’d already begun to regret asking.
“Simple, really.” He shrugged, “someone’s gonna train ya.”
Your stomach dropped and a cold shiver traced the length of your spine.
“Who, Sir?” Your voice was barely a whisper. “Ghost’s not here. Everyone’s on leave.”
Price smirked.
“Not everyone.”
___
You felt nauseas.
Anxiety had your stomach in a death grip, and it was all you could do to not throw up. Pacing up and down the gym mats, you tried to cool your nerves.
There was only one person that had remained a complete anomaly to you and now he’d been given literal permission to beat the shit out of you.
Training.
You remembered what they loved to call ‘training’ at your old unit. You’d never been the fastest or the strongest, that was not your job. You were the one who could take make an impossible shot a kilometre away, but that’s not what ‘training’ entailed.
Your body ached at the memory.
There was a small noise by the doorway and your body stiffened. He was letting you know that he was there, his equivalent of a knock.
You both knew that he could have had you on your back whenever he pleased.
“König.” You acknowledged him as confidently as you could, turning to face the beast head on.
The giant stood in the doorway looking like the fucking bogey man himself.
“Birdy,” König inclined his head. Those dark, watchful eyes observed you from beneath his hood, taking in your visage. Heat licked the back of your neck and you began to sweat under his gaze.
He was clad in his usual getup from the waist down, the tactical cargo pants and the hefty boots being his barracks favourite. It was the hoodie that had caught you by surprise, you’d seen it a few times in passing, but up close it rendered you breathless.
“I didn’t realize you were staying with the 141,” you said, swallowing nervously as he stepped into the room, ducking his head to avoid hitting the frame above.
This was a sick, sick joke.
“My transfer was approved,” was the only explanation that he offered you.
You knew, logically, that what had happened between the both of you had been a misunderstanding. It was a communication failure on behalf of the brass that had almost gotten you killed but the idea of working with him, training with him, made your stomach drop.
König’s hands got to work removing his gloves and the memory of those fingers wrapped around your throat made you flinch.
You’d set up a sniper’s nest atop the rooftop, watching the entrance of the building the 141 was infiltrating. They were going to flush out the target and send him running right into your line of fire.
No-one had been informed of KorTac’s involvement.
You’d heard König before you’d seen him, the dismantling of your trip mine giving you enough indication to roll onto your back to investigate. By then, he was already upon you.
You’d kicked the rifle from his hands but that was where your advantage finished. He’d dragged you by your ankles from your weapon, straddling your flailing body as he got to work. The knife he’d brandished stabbed into your flesh violently, and at first, you’d thought he only punched you.
Until the searing hot pain bloomed across your body and blood sprayed across his hood.
Those emerald eyes were wild and hard as he gripped your face over your balaclava. You couldn’t think to react, dizzied by the agony of knife he twisted into your skin. His palm covered the entirety of your features, fingers tight against your temples as he pulled your head forward then smashed it back into the concrete.
You thought your skull had exploded.
Fists ploughed into your jaw but it was as though you were numb now. Finally, his fingers were drawn to your throat, squeezing tightly as he leaned in. The cloth of his hood brushed against your battered body, filling the space between you as his lips pressed against your ear.
“Your fight is finished,” he hissed heatedly. Then König pressed down into your skin.
You don’t remember what happened afterward. You knew that he’d been called off by his chain-of-command just in time to stop himself from ending your life, but that was according to Soap.
You were in a coma for two weeks.
It took you months to recover.
And only once you came back to work, fit to fight and ready to go, had you discovered that König had applied to transfer into the 141 shortly after the incident. KorTac had offered him up to fill in your position while you recovered.
Not only had the bastard nearly killed you but he’d taken your place.
Now that you were back, he would lose his place as a sniper and be back to running with the team on the ground.
König watched you carefully from where he stood.
“You’re my instructor,” you said plainly, stating the obvious. “Price made you my hand-to-hand combat trainer.
“Ironic, isn’t it,” his voice came quietly from beneath the hood, a small snort following in suit.
You would have laughed had you not been so fucking terrified. You were about to take your place back on the team, a position this giant clearly wanted and now he was given the chance to put you back into the hospital with no questions asked.
You wouldn’t be able to do anything against him. König was a mountain of a man, a force to be reckoned with, and while he tried to make himself as disarming as possible it was implausible to hide that frame.
“Did you want to get started?” König asked, leaning his hip against the table beside him. He was so casual for someone who had nearly killed you.
“No,” you said simply.
“Are you not up for this?” König ventured carefully, pushing off the bench and taking a slow step towards you. Your heart thrashed against your ribs at his approaching figure and you forced yourself to stay still. “You still have bruising-“
“That’s what happens when someone shatters your fucking face, cunt,” you snapped, casting your gaze from his. You were hoping that he wouldn’t bring it up, everyone had danced around your condition for so long. No one spoke about how fucking ugly you looked as you tried to recover.
“It was an accident,” his voice was hard, almost bewildered at your sudden aggression. “We both paid the price for someone else’s mistakes.”  
“Don’t talk to me about paying the price, you fucker,” you snapped, shoving against his chest. König yielded a step and it infuriated you even further to know that he’d allowed it. “You got the fucking job you wanted, you got the transfer you wanted, you got the training you wanted. Didn’t you?”
“Yes, but-“
“You wanna know what I got?” You snapped, shoving him harder this time. König’s eyes narrowed and he snatched your wrists, holding them against his ribs to stop your assault. You continued anyway, walking his body backward until his heels hit the wall. “I got put into a fucking coma.”  
König’s gaze softened, his chest heaving beneath your hands. You could feel his heart pounding beneath your fists, you could hear his breaths grow ragged.
“I know,” he murmured, his fingers tightening on your wrists. “I was assigned to watch over your bed for those two weeks."
You stared at him for a long moment, sniffling and gasping for air after your rant. König lowered his head and his grip loosened.
“What I did to you…” he trailed off, unable to meet your gaze. How ugly must you have become that he couldn’t withstand looking at his own handiwork?
You turned around, hiding the hot tears forming along your lashes. You were so fucking ashamed by the terror gripping your throat, embarrassed by how much your image affected you. You hated feeling disgusting. You felt like everyone’s eyes were on you at all times it was suffocating you, they gawked and stared and whispered about how your 'pretty face was ruined.'
You began to understand why people wear masks.
“You ruined me,” you rasped. “And I couldn’t do anything to stop you.”
König was silent from behind you, mulling over your words. You couldn’t bring yourself to be embarrassed by your outburst. He had stabbed you, shattered your skull, broken your nose and jaw and nearly snapped your neck- he deserved to listen to you yell at him at the very least.
Fingers slid over your shoulders, slowly turning you around to face him. You tugged against his hold half-heartedly, vision swimming beneath never-ending tears.
“Look at me, Birdy.” His voice was soft and pleading, his hand slowly moving to cup your bruised jaw. You froze as he manoeuvred you, forcing you to face him square on. König slowly lowered himself to rest a knee on the ground, leaving him still taller than you but closer to eye level.
With the hand that was free, he reached for his hood. You swallowed nervously as he carefully pulled it from his head, resting the cloth on his upright knee.
Dirty blonde hair lay splayed across his forehead, the length curling by his ears. Dark brows framed the emerald gaze that watched you intently, taking in your visage as you observed him. All of him.
The scars caught your attention.
Winding from his upper lip, across his eye and leaving a line through his brow, the winding length of damaged skin presented itself. There was another scar along the bridge of his nose that travelled across the width of his cheekbone and into his hair.
“Do I…” König trailed off, full lips parting as he mused over his next words. You stared in awe at the innocence of the freckles smattered across his features. “Are you afraid of me?”
You said nothing for a long moment, mesmerized by the features of a man that had haunted your thoughts for months. He’d been the centre of your existence for so long, the reason you ached and the reason you’d bled. König had plagued your every waking moment ever since the incident, and now he knelt before you. He was on his knees baring his vulnerabilities to you, knowing you could destroy him with it.
“Of course,” you whispered; your voice shaky as you met his gaze.
König’s expression became pleading, “then let me teach you how to beat me.”
His thumb lightly caressed your purple cheek, brows furrowed as he took in his handiwork. “Let me pay for what I’ve done by teaching you how to never let it happen again. And when you finally beat me, revenge will be yours and you may do as you wish.”
“Anything I want?” The words slipped from your lips before you could stop them.
A wry, sad smile pulled at the corner of König’s mouth.
“Anything, mein vöglein.”
My little bird.
____
Next Chapter
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sanarsi · 3 months ago
Text
Birthday present
Javier Peña x f!Reader
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Summary: You're the daughter of one of Columbia's godfathers. Agent Peña decides to surprise you on your twenty-fifth birthday. Warnings: +18, MDNI, protected PIV, car sex, age gap (10y), reader has tattoo, pet names (baby, cariño, princesa), dirty talk, mention of corrupt family, violence Wordcount: 5,3k An: English isn’t my first language so I’m sorry for possibly misunderstanding. Hope you’ll enjoy xx Music I worked with: MAMACITA - Black Eyed Peas, Ozuna, J. Rey Soul / Alibi - Sevdaliza, Pabllo Vittar, Yseult / LA FAMA - ROSALÍA, The Weeknd
Masterlist
Javier's informants usually did not disappoint.
And he was one of those who often put everything on one card. Either he will succeed or will have to try hard to succeed.
That's what led him to this moment. An opportunity to get closer to you than ever before. To get you to cooperate.
Latin music played softly on the radio as Javier calmly drove away from the city center. From time to time he glanced in the mirror to fix his mustache and hair. He had to look good enough to catch your attention. He had to try harder for a while even though he wasn't being paid for it. But Javier was as dedicated to his work as anyone else. Sometimes it could be called his flaw but he didn’t cared about what others thought.
The car stopped in one of the side streets leading to a seaside bar. The bar where you celebrated your birthday.
Javier looked at his reflection one last time and dabbed his skin with aftershave. A strong masculine scent wafted through the car. The perfect weapon for his hunt for an evening companion. He didn't doubt his abilities and that he would be able to woo you too.
Relaxed, he moved towards the muffled music. He was passed by several people who clearly wanted to continue having fun in a more private place. Javier smiled to himself, feeling that he would be lucky today and his intuition never failed him.
From a distance he could already see the outline of people dancing on the dance floor. The music was getting louder and people's conversations began to drown out his own thoughts. Even though he was tired, this was what brought him relief. Finally, his attention was focused on something other than work. Even if that's exactly what he came here for. Work.
Javier walked up to the bar and nodded to the bartender. “Whiskey,” he said, and wasting no time, he started slowly looking around at the people standing closest to him. You weren't here.
His eyes immediately fell on the dance floor. A lot of people. Definitely too much for a small bar by the water.
Javier might have been fooling himself a lot, but he couldn't deny that he loved the energy here. Or at least the energy from the people who simply live here. Having fun and living life to the fullest. If it weren't for all the crap he dealt with, Columbia would be heaven.
Barman placed a glass of whiskey next to him, so he handed him a few bills and took his first sip of alcohol. This was what he needed after a long day at the office.
He slowly savored his drink when his eyes fell on the girl in the middle of the dance floor. He tilted his head to get a better view between dancing couples and slowly ran his gaze down her entire body. The blood red dress hugged her body tightly and several ruffles fluttered with every movement of her hips. His gaze stopped for a moment on her lush hips, which had a lot of life in them.
Javier gulped as he watched how the dress barely covered her ass. Still, she didn't seem to care and was definitely testing the durability of the piece of fabric that gave a lot to the imagination.
His eyes moved lower to her legs and black high heels. A small tattoo on her ankle caught his attention. A light immediately went on in his head. His instincts never failed him, and this time was no exception. It was you. He spotted you like a predator and wasn't going to waste any time from attacking you.
He drank the entire contents of the glass at once and took a deep breath before moving towards you. Someone bumped into him several times, but no one even bothered to notice. Not that Javier cared. His attention was only on you.
The way your fingers disappeared into your hair.
The way your hands slid down your body.
The way your lips moved with every word of the song.
Oh he could get high from this view…
The song changed and this gave him the perfect opportunity to attack. His hand placed itself on your hip, which caught your attention. You opened your eyes, pulled out of your dancing trance, and looked over your shoulder at your attacker.
With a smirk, Javier slowly walked around you to face you. Your eyes immediately began to carefully scan his face to assess whether he was worth your time.
"Such a beautiful woman shouldn’t dance alone," he spoke first. A smile appeared on your lips as this text quickly convinced you to him. You glanced to the side so Javier did the same.
Away from the crowd stood a man watching you carefully. All you had to do was gently nod your head towards him and he immediately relaxed and sat down at the table and started talking to another guy. Javier immediately calculated in his head that there were two bodyguards with you.
Nothing he couldn't handle.
“So let's hope you can dance,” your voice caught his attention. His smirk widened as he tightened his grip around your waist, bringing your frames together. You placed your hand in his and wrapped your other arm around his shoulder. You lifted your chin to keep eye contact with him as he slowly started leading, making your hips move.
You danced the first song in silence. Javier knew you were judging his skills as you stared into each other's eyes with every move. Your noses were brushing against each other and there was almost no space between you.
You felt his thigh between yours as he guided the movements of your hips and you liked the fact that he can lead in dancing. You could finally have fun with someone who lived up to your expectations. And that's what convinced you to continue having fun with him.
“I'm surprised men can still dance,” you said with a laugh as he turned you around once again and pulled you closer to him. Javier was smiling widely as he looked at you, and he'd be lying if he said he was having a bad time.
"Real men can do this and more," he replied with his professional pick-up tone.
You raised your eyebrows with a wide smile, amused by his words. You knew this tone in men very well.
Javier spun you around a few times and pulled you closer to him again. He had to admit that he loved the closeness of Latin dancing. He could shamelessly hold your hips tightly against his and grind you against his thigh.
“Care to tell me what you mean?” you asked innocently, observing his eyes closely.
Javier spun you around and pulled your back against him. You felt his hard chest on your back and after a moment his arms wrapped around you tightly again, making your hips move. You smiled to yourself as you felt his hot breath on your neck.
“A real man will take care of a woman not only in dancing,” he whispered in your ear and his hands slid to your hips, digging his fingers into your skin. You smiled wider as he turned you around to face him again in one move. You wrapped your arms around his neck and Javier leaned closer, nuzzling your nose. You rocked your hips in silence for a moment, watching each other.
“Oh, I see,” you nodded with a soft laugh and let him turn you around. He embraced you and grabbed your hand, slowly taking steps to the beat. "You mean yourself or..."
“Myself,” he cut you off halfway through. You smiled and nodded, hitting your heels and the dance floor with every step.
“You have a high opinion of yourself…” you started to say and stopped at the end, raising an eyebrow.
“Javier,” he finished for you.
“You have a high opinion of yourself, Javier,” you repeated so as not to forget his name in a moment.
"It's just the facts, baby," he said, wanting to sound indifferent.
And he sounded... like an overconfident pick-up artist.
You raised your eyebrows with a smile and nodded. Javier sensed that you were allergic to idiots who wanted to get you into bed. He had to do something more.
“Why have I never seen you here before?”
“I rarely come here,” you replied with a shrug and a soft smile.
“So today is a special occasion I assume,” he noted, slowly leading you across the dance floor. You laughed sweetly at his words, making him smile too.
“Yeah, actually,” you nodded, “it's my birthday today,” you explained. Javier was a born actor, so he had no problem feigning surprise. Of course, you believed it.
“Well well,” he smacked his lips in the air and ran his eyes down your entire body, “But I'm not surprised at all. You don't come across women like you every day," he added with a smirk and pulled you closer again. “Let me buy you a drink.”
"I don't know if—"
“As a birthday present,” he interrupted you, raising his eyebrows encouragingly. He looked at you like a dog, waiting for you to submit to him. And you gave in. You laughed sweetly, shaking your head.
"Let it be."
Javier smiled broadly and grabbed your hand before heading towards the bar. You sat down at the bar with a wide smile and Javier was not shy about being close to you. He immediately wrapped his arms around your waist, gluing himself to your side. He waved towards barman and you watched his every move carefully.
The way his face became serious when he ordered you drinks.
The way his gaze immediately stuck to your eyes right after.
The way his thumb gently traced your hip.
It was all intended to distract you.
“So what birthday is it? Eighteenth?” he asked, looking down at you. You rolled your eyes at his words but snorted under your breath anyway.
“Twenty-fifth,” you replied, wrinkling your nose with a smile. Barman placed the drinks next to you, so Javier immediately downed one for you.
“Then let's drink to your eighth-eighteenth birthday,” he toasted with a smile. You laughed at his words and clinked glasses with him. You both tensed without breaking eye contact. You grimaced at the taste of strong alcohol and he chuckled.
“It was supposed to be a drink, not straight vodka,” you noticed with laugh and took another sip. Javier watched you carefully, hoping you were weak in the head because, unfortunately for him, you didn't seem stupid.
"It's not appropriate to refuse a gift," he noted with a smirk, slowly sipping his drink. You rolled your eyes and took another sip of your damn strong drink with feigned pleasure.
“Thank you for the present, Javier,” you said with forced politeness. He chuckled at your reaction.
"De nada querida."
Thanks to his gift, you were tongue-tied pretty quickly and you spent half an hour talking nonsense at the bar. Javier listened with interest to everything you said and responded to make you say even more and it wasn't until you finished your second drink that he took you dancing again.
And if Javier thought you didn't limit yourself before, you were a beast now. Latin dance has only now gained everything it was about. And it was no longer an ordinary dance. It was literally just sex.
Your noses touched, breathing heavily against each other's lips as Javier guided your hips. Another bead of sweat was already dripping from his forehead after dancing a few songs intensely. And he'd be lying if he said he wasn’t enjoying himself because he hadn't spent such an intense evening, out of bed, with such a beautiful woman for a long time. And he would be lying if he said that your proximity and the alcohol didn't affect him.
He turned you around, and only when you clung tightly to him again, you feel that he was half-hard. And it certainly didn't stop you from rolling your hips right next to his. Javier couldn't help but let out a soft moan that disappeared into your hair. You smiled blissfully, knowing the effect you had on him and you couldn't have expected how much it stroked your ego.
His hand covered your lower abdomen and the other covered your chest. You felt trapped and didn't complain at all. You deliberately moved under his touch and movements, even when you felt his lips near your ear.
"You're playing dirty," he whispered in a hoarse voice and then placed a gentle kiss just below the ear.
A wave of shivers ran through your body at this act of closeness, and you were unable to resist as your head fell on his shoulder on its own. Javier immediately took advantage of the situation and ran his hand from your chest to your neck. His lips slowly began to place wet kisses on your neck and you smiled widely as his closeness bounced between your thighs.
“I got it from my dad,” you replied in a whisper, not really thinking about what you were saying.
“Is he naughty too?” he asked next to your ear and gently bit the lobe. You sighed louder and murmured a quiet affirmation. Now you didn't trust your words anymore. “He should teach you how to behave,” he continued and pressed his hand harder against your stomach. Your hips pressed further into his, allowing you to feel him more clearly. You parted your lips so as not to moan and swallowed saliva, which he immediately felt under his hand.
He had you in his grasp.
“If your dad didn't teach you this, I'll be happy to do it for him,” he whispered and gently bit into your neck.
You smiled broadly and blissfully at the feeling, but it quickly disappeared when Javier spun you around again and this time you fell into his arms, not expecting such a sudden move. You giggled to yourself, hugging his neck again as his hands moved to your hips. You looked up at him, immediately noticing that he was no longer smiling. He looked at you… thirsty. And you couldn't help but have fun.
You ran your fingers along his neck, following your every move with your eyes. You touched his jaw until your thumb was able to graze his lower lip. You smiled when, without any resistance, he opened his mouth and placed a gentle kiss on your fingertip.
Javier might have complained, but he could honestly admit that he was enjoying the game of cat and mouse. It was a nice change from the prostitutes who did whatever he wanted. It was nice to have a taste of winning someone's heart from time to time.
“Ven conmigo,” he whispered without thinking. He liked the tension between the two of you, but he honestly couldn't and didn't want to resist the urge to claim you in his bed or anywhere you let him.
“If only it were that simple…” you sighed with an innocent smile. Javier moved closer to you and ran his nose over yours. He kept his eyes glued to your mouth as his mustache brushed against your lips. His hot breath bounced off your skin as you watched him closely.
You didn't even notice that you had been just standing in the middle of the dance floor for some time. Everyone around was dancing exuberantly and you were absorbed in each other as if there was no one around.
“It wasn't a question,” he whispered against your lips and you both locked eyes at the same moment. Your pulse quickened as you realized you might have gone too far. You've never allowed yourself so much but apparently you forgot yourself a bit this time.
“Trust me, you don't want this,” you tried to discourage him but still you couldn't pull away or even push him away.
“Why wouldn't I?” he asked, completely unconcerned by your words. “If you had a boyfriend he would be here with you so it's definitely not that. I don't see any other reason why I would give up the opportunity to turn those sweet eyes inside out," he purred, nuzzling your nose.
You smiled and looked away for a moment. You had to admit to yourself that you wanted him. He was charming and you were too susceptible to that. You looked back at him, feeling reluctant that you had to reject him.
For his own good.
“My father doesn't like it when men want to claim me,” you started, hoping it would discourage him, but he didn't seem bothered by your words. “I want to spare you a bullet in your head,” you added, raising an eyebrow with more certainty.
“I'll take a chance,” he replied with a smug grimace, and without waiting for your response, he pressed his lips to yours. You were in shock for a moment, but it quickly passed, replaced by desire.
Javier sighed contently as you kissed him back. His hand quickly found itself in your hair, pulling you even closer. You didn't resist when he slipped into your mouth like it belonged to him. He tasted like cigarettes and mint unlike your sweet lips. He kissed you lazily and deeply. He took his time tasting you and took advantage of every second you submitted to his movements.
He finally pulled away from you, but only for a moment. He glanced to the side to see where your bodyguards were, so you did the same. They were busy talking to each other instead of keeping an eye on you.
This was his chance.
He grabbed your hand and leaned close to your ear.
“Give me fifteen minutes,” he whispered and pulled away to look at you. You glanced at the security guards again and back at Javier. It took you less than a second to make your decision. You nodded gently, which was immediately met with his reaction. In a few seconds, you were out of reach of the dancing people and out of the sight of men who were supposed to protect you from such situations. Luck was in the agent's favor.
You tried to keep up with him, but your shoes were of no help. Javier glanced at you over his shoulder and with a smirk on his lips, he wrapped his arms around your waist tightly to help you a little.
You glanced over your shoulder towards the bar but didn't see anything that might catch your attention. They haven't noticed you've disappeared yet. You smiled to yourself because it meant you actually had a chance to have some fun.
Before you knew it, you stopped at one of the cars. Javier unlocked the door and opened it for you. With an encouraging smile, he offered his hand to help you inside. You accepted his help like a proper lady. Your pulse quickened as the door slammed shut and Javier appeared in the driver's seat. You swallowed, watching as he closed the door and pushed his seat back. He straightened up with a sigh and looked at you with a smirk.
“Fifteen minutes, start,” he said and leaned towards you, connecting your lips.
This time he started more aggressively. He tangled his fingers in your hair, deepening the kiss, which gained momentum with every second. You moaned into his mouth, feeling the lack of air begin to cripple your lungs. And that's when Javier pulled away, only to grab your thigh and pull you on top of him. He did it so naturally that you didn't even have to make an effort when you sat on his thighs. His hands were immediately on your hips, pulling you even closer. You spread your legs further as he pressed you against him and connected your lips again.
You tangled your fingers in his hair, pulling it, making him growl against your lips. The sound echoed between your thighs in a wave of tension.
His hands immediately went to work, pushing your dress up to your waist. You moaned into his mouth as he squeezed your cheeks.
“So soft,” he murmured against your lips and moved his hands down to your thighs. His fingers squeezed every inch of your body that happened to be within his reach.
You didn't have to wait long before you felt his fingers trailing down the inside of your thighs. You didn't even hold back your panting into his mouth due to the sweet anticipation that was pulsing throughout your body. You inhaled louder as his two fingers ran from the very bottom up your pussy, collecting all the wetness that had managed to escape from you. Javier growled, gripping your hip tightly.
“You haven't worn damn panties all evening,” he announced, running over your wet hole once more. His cock twitched in his pants at the thought of having you at his fingertips all evening, and you who knew it very well. “Shameless girl,” he growled, sliding two fingers into you.
You moaned, throwing your head back and he immediately attacked your neck. He placed wet kisses and nibbled at your skin as his hand worked wonders between your legs. His fingers slowly moved in and out of your pussy. Wet sounds and your moans filled the car, instantly raising the temperature.
Javier didn't waste time because he didn't have enough of it.
Enough to satisfy you but not enough to enjoy you.
He reached with his free hand towards the glove compartment and took out a pack of condoms. You were too busy to even notice that his mouth disappeared from your neck for a moment so that he could open the package with his teeth. His fingers worked wonders inside you, slowly flexing at the point that made his palm wet.
You opened your eyes as you began to miss the feeling of his lips on your skin. You looked down just as he finished putting on the condom. Your pulse quickened even more when he looked up at you.
“Come on, baby,” he encouraged, pulling his fingers out of you. “Lift your hips for me,” he ordered, running them over your clit.
You moaned softly and immediately obeyed his command. You felt him shift restlessly beneath you, positioning himself perfectly at your entrance.
You didn't need his command to slowly lower yourself onto his cock. For a moment, you lacked the strength to make any sound. Only when you sat on him with your full weight, you moan loudly. Javier watched with parted lips and heavy breathing as his cock disappeared inside you.
“You're so fuckin’ tight, baby,” he moaned and pulled you closer to him, connecting your lips in an intense kiss. You tightened your fingers in his hair and he gripped your hips. “Dance for me,” he whispered against your lips and dug his fingers into your flesh, forcing you to move.
You slowly began to ride him as his lips stayed on yours and his arms held you tightly against him. You moaned softly into his mouth as you set the perfect pace, rolling your hips on his cock.
But it wasn't enough for him. That's why he started pushing his hips towards you. You both began to pant heavily into each other's mouths as Javier entered you with strong thrusts.
“Oh… fuck yes, baby,” he growled, feeling you tighten around his cock with every movement of his hips.
You leaned back against the steering wheel, trying to follow his movements. His gaze fell between your bodies and he watched contentedly as his cock disappeared into your pussy again and again. The wet sound that accompanied it was like something from pure porn.
“She's so pretty with my cock inside her,” he said, his voice laced with sex and you could only moan louder. Your hands grabbed onto anything they could to give you a sense of stability. Javier began to moan softly as he entered you faster and faster.
Your eyes fell on the inside of the car for a moment. You panted heavily, looking around until your eyes landed on something shiny. Despite the darkness, you were able to easily make out the shape of the badge. Your hip movements began to slow down as you looked back at the man who was currently inside you. You breathed heavily, looking at him carefully.
“No, no, baby. Don’t slow down,” he groaned in disappointment and looked at you. Only after a while he notice that you were looking at him as if you were seeing him for the first time and, what's worse, you froze in silence. Javier frowned, breathing heavily. "What’s wrong, cariño?" he asked confused.
"What do you do for living?" you asked simply.
Javier was silent for a moment, then he understood. He turned and looked at the badge lying on the backseat. Fuckin’ hell. He sighed heavily and looked at you again. There was no point in lying.
“I'm a DEA agent,” he told you, his cock twitching inside you in anticipation. You slowly calmed your breathing as everything that was happening started to sink in.
You were fucking an agent who probably wanted to get information from you.
You felt a wave of cold wash over you, making you involuntarily tighten around his cock and he groaned at the feeling.
You straightened up slowly, keeping your cold gaze on him and with one movement you swung your hand, hitting him on the cheek. His cock twitched inside you again at the sudden blow, but he didn't speak. For a moment, he didn't even dare to look your way.
But when he did and opened his mouth to speak, he was hit a second time. This time he had to move his jaw to relax, and only then did he look at how calm and angry you were at the same time.
“Maldito hijo de puta…” you started, wanting to call him the worst names, but he quickly cut you off. His hands tightened on your thighs, which caught your attention.
“I just want to help you,” he started gently and you frowned. You didn't know whether to laugh or punch him in the face again.
“I don't want your help,” you growled.
You felt his arm wrap tightly around your waist, holding you in place. Not that you were struggling, but he wanted to make sure you wouldn't pull away when his other hand pressed between your bodies.
“It wasn't a business proposition, princesa,” he said confidently. You opened your mouth to argue with him but you felt his fingers on your clit; instead of words and curses, a surprised moan came out.
Javier watched your reaction carefully, slowly massaging the small spot that could render you speechless.
“I can get you a new life,” he continued, completely indifferent to the fact that you were trying to catch your breath. "Away from the crap your father deals with."
“Vete a la mierda,” you choked out and he pressed his fingers harder. You moaned louder as you felt his movements begin to have the desired effect.
“That's what I'm doin’,” he replied confidently. He watched carefully as your eyes closed and your lips parted in pleasure. He felt everything he was doing to you, every squeeze of your pussy made him shiver. “Think about it, cariño, new identity, no killing and no drugs. Normal life." He sped up his finger movements, feeling your hips thrust towards him. Your body sold without much problem, but at least you could think straight.
“You want me to sell myself like a puta,” you pointed out. Javier growled under his breath, but not because of your words.
“I want you to buy a better life for yourself with a few pieces of information.”
“Nicely said,” you snorted under your breath in disdain at his words.
“You're a smart girl, I believe you know deep down that my proposal is mutually beneficial,” he continued, but your attention was focused on your building orgasm. You started breathing faster, focusing on him, afraid that one wrong move and you would lose the long-awaited fulfillment. "You have to promise me that you will think about my proposal."
"Or what?" You raised an eyebrow, waiting for his response, but he just stopped moving his fingers. You felt your orgasm slowly fade into oblivion. “Mierda… okay, okay, I will think about it,” you growled, furious. Javier smiled with satisfaction because it was enough for him for now.
He moved his lips closer to you and touched your clit again, the feeling of your orgasm building again. You didn't need much this time. You started rocking your hips gently for additional stimulus that was still deep inside you. Your slow movements of your hips and his fingers combined in a pleasurable race for fulfillment. You mentally cursed how much you hated yourself and the agent under you. You felt like a traitor, but luckily his touch drowned out your remorse.
You moaned softly into his mouth and he drank it like the most expensive whiskey. Your hips sped up a bit, chasing the pleasure that was about to reach its peak at any moment.
“Oh yes, baby, I can feel she wants to cum,” he moaned into your mouth. These words sent chills throughout your body, straight to your crotch. "And I will only let her because I am close too."
You moaned louder and your hands quickly found their way to his hair. You clenched your fingers tightly, moving your hips faster. Chasing your orgasm, you even ignored the way Javier gently stroked your back in anticipation of your fulfillment.
“Come on, baby,” he moaned and began to move his fingers more intensely on your throbbing clit.
A few moves and it was all over.
A few movements of your hips and you froze motionless.
A few movements of your hips and your body shook with shivers of fulfillment.
You squealed into his mouth, feeling your hips shake from your intensely sweet orgasm. You tightened around his cock again and again, making him groan throatily.
“Fuck— good girl,” he choked out, wrapping his arms around your waist tightly. You moved your hips once more to get comfortable on him. This, combined with the passing orgasm, finished him off as well.
You felt his cock inside you start to throb again and again and his kiss became harder, almost crushing your lips. You squealed softly, but he drowned you out when he finally growled throatily in satisfaction.
You stayed in silence for a few minutes, calming your breathing and collecting your thoughts. Javier was furious at his mistake because he hoped that your conversation would turn out differently. But there was nothing he could do now to change the past.
But all you cared about was that you fucked a fuckin’ DEA agent.
“Will you consider my proposal?” he finally asked and pulled away to look at you. In silence, you glanced at his eyes and face and nodded gently.
"Yes."
But you weren't really going to spend even a second on it.
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ellastone-olsen · 10 months ago
Text
Make her happy-Wanda Maximoff
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★Pairing: StepMom! Wanda x f!reader
Summary: one day your father brings home a new woman, and then that woman brings you home. drunk. and you're in love with her.
★Warning: NSFW 18+, stepcest, age gap (all legal), mommy kink, praise kink, masturbation, smoking, alcohol, forbidden relationship, mentions of violence, little fluff at the end off course
★Word count: 3k
★AN: there are a few set expressions that are in my native language, but I don’t know how it sounds in English, so I translated it verbatim
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There was a crowd of people around. A lot of young people like you, who came here with the same goals: to drink, have fun, maybe find someone for the night, as is usually the case. You never needed a lot of alcohol to start feeling drunk, and after a bottle of beer you were already in high spirits and holding the second one in your hands. Your friends went into pairs and danced together, you looked around: some were kissing as if they were ready to eat each other, some were simply jumping in the music like you, some had already begun to go to separate rooms or to their homes for more private relationships . As always, the student party smelled of alcohol and debauchery. A girl was dancing across from you; you were clearly having fun, even if you didn’t know each other’s names.
You've always had a taste for older women, so it wasn't a surprise when you realized you liked your stepmom. Your parents divorced when you were 11 and immediately after that your mother left for oblivion in another city. At first, out of childish naivety, you tried to call her or write, but as you got older, you realized that your life was no longer her concern. When this realization came to you, there was an unpleasant pang somewhere in your heart; for the first time you realized that there was no such person who didn’t care about you. Even your father, with whom you stayed to live in your hometown, seemed in no hurry to provide you with parental support and care, you just saw each other at home, as if you were neighbors, but were not close. And then Wanda appeared.
Your father chose not to tell the details of their acquaintance and at first, of course, did not bring her to your house. You just knew that somewhere out there there was another woman named Wanda, who, according to your father, was a real angel and you would definitely make friends with her. Of course, you were overcome by skepticism about this. He said this about Jessica and about Emma and about... and you no longer remembered the names of all his ex-women with whom he tried to start an affair after your mother left. Generally speaking, you didn't expect anything. But when their relationship (as your father thought) reached a new level, Wanda showed up at your house. You were a little over 19 at that time and you were studying at college not far from home, God knows why, but you didn’t want to go somewhere else to a life full of uncertainty and doubt. Of course, the factor that living with your father was easier financially and domestically also played a role; you knew that your small salary as a salesperson and an even more meager stipend would not be enough for the same comfortable life as you had now.
As you walked out of your room to the sound of the door opening and two people talking, Wanda greeted you with the most beautiful smile you had ever seen. You just stood there in your pajamas and stupid bunny slippers and stared unblinkingly at the woman with the big green eyes. The thought “what someone like Wanda saw in your father” even flashed through your head, even if it was wrong to think so. From that day on, the woman became a frequent guest in your home, and gradually in your thoughts.
One day, walking past a room that belonged to your father, who was not at home at that moment, you looked into a small gap from the door that was not completely closed and stood in place, as if stuck to the floor. Wanda stood with her back to the door and pulled the straps of a lacy black frameless bra over her shoulders. In the mirror that was a little to the side, you saw the reflection of her full breasts, the barely visible outlines of her nipples and her soft, toned stomach. You knew that you shouldn’t do this, at least for reasons of personal space, and at most for moral reasons, but you couldn’t help yourself, this sight fascinated you so much. Your mouth watered and your breath caught in your throat as you watched the woman who was your stepmom. When Wanda started to turn around to take a red knitted sweater from the bed, you jumped away from the door as if struck by an electric shock and quickly went to the kitchen, turning on the kettle and carefully pretending to choose between several types of coffee. A minute later, the older woman joined you, making her presence known with her hands sliding softly over your waist. Of course, your trembling at this action did not escape her attention.
In the end, Wanda finally settled in your house and with each passing month her presence drove you more and more crazy. It seemed like she deliberately didn’t close the door all the way when she went to change clothes or take a shower, putting on a little show for you. Her touches, which were unusual for you, gave you goosebumps, but due to the lack of warm relationships in the family, you thought that all “parents” do this: they hug you from behind and leave soft kisses at the base of your neck. One small incident became the point of no return for you personally.
You have never been a morning person, if in the morning and during the day all you dreamed of was a sound sleep, invariably with the onset of night a small hyperactive motor would start up inside, but perhaps your insomnia was also to blame. The clock showed 2:34 when your eyes scanned the Tik Tok feed and you giggled at stupid videos with animals, before having managed to take turns drawing, then reading, and so on in a circle. The apartment was quiet, only the sound of the clock ticking away the seconds, disturbing the peace of the heated spring air. You took off your massive headphones and pressed the off button when you heard some strange sounds somewhere behind the wall in the back where your father's room was and... oh. You held your breath and listened more closely, but there was no need because Wanda didn’t seem to be trying very hard to control herself. Every second, the woman’s screams of pleasure were muffled to your ears and an insistent pulsation settled between your thighs. With every sound coming from her mouth, a hot wave appears in the bottom of your stomach and the desire to relieve it was driving you crazy. Then for the first time you did THIS with thoughts about your stepmom.
The hand pulled the pajama pants down your legs along with ruined panties. When you pushed two fingers inside, your pussy was already wet and ready for invasion. You focused your mind on the image of the woman behind the wall and your own moans were drowned in the pillow. You imagined how her hips were rolling now, how her breasts were bouncing, her soft tender skin, in your mind there was only Wanda.
You look in prostration at the boiling kettle when a familiar hand strokes your lower back. "Good morning, my dear." You don't look at her, cheeks turning red from the events of this night. "Good morning." You drink your coffee in silence, you avoid her gaze. The click of a lighter breaks the ringing emptiness between you. A woman lights a cigarette and the smell of tobacco reaches you; a hand with a red manicure hands you a pack. It’s not that you hid your bad habits, but you didn’t allow yourself to do it in front of your father. A sigh leaves your lips and you take one, Wanda strikes the lighter and brings the fire to the tip of the cigarette between your lips. Nicotine hits your head and everyone is dizzy from harmful pleasure. "How did you sleep?" She asks as if she's mocking you. Only now did you notice that she was wearing a light night dress, which did not hide her breasts too much. You try your best not to look there, your gaze runs from her face to her chest several times and she sees it perfectly. “Like dead.”
The party was in full swing, the second bottle of beer was finished and thrown into the trash. It was your friend's friend's house or something like that. You stood in the kitchen and poured yourself some water, hoping that there would be lemon in the refrigerator. Someone’s arms wrapped around your waist from behind and you were scared because the body pressed against your back was clearly taller and larger than you. “Baby, do you want to go upstairs?” You immediately disentangled yourself from the unwanted hug and looked at the guy you saw a couple of times in college, but didn’t even know his name or what year he was in. “Who are you anyway?!” He made another attempt to come closer, but you had already jumped away towards the living room with a crowd of people. “Come on, don’t pretend, that’s how you look at me in college.” You were confused. “What are you talking about? I don't even know who the hell you are." You turned and started to leave, but his strong hand grabbed you, holding you in place. “No, I didn’t finish.” His grip was strong and you had already imagined all the worst possible scenarios, but like a blessing from above, your friend appeared. “Dude, haven’t you mixed up anything? Do you want us to go out now and I’ll put your brains back in place a couple of times?” You were immediately free. The guy raised his hands in surrender. “Okay okay, take it easy man.” He retreated as quickly as he appeared. You were shaking a little from the situation and you immediately took out your phone, finding Wanda’s contact.
“Y/N how are you? I don’t know who called him here, do you want to go outside?” You shook your head in reluctance. “Everything is okay, I’m drunk and I’ll probably go home. Wanda will pick me up." Your father was not in the city; in truth, he began to go on business trips too often, which aroused certain suspicions. Wanda saw this too and began to understand where everything was going. The answer came immediately, as if she had been waiting for this message. “I’ll be there in 20 minutes.” Her text message said.
After saying goodbye to your friends in the driveway, you got into Wanda's red Volvo, where the woman interrogate you about what had happened. “What an asshole.” You were already at home in the kitchen and the woman was swearing under her breath while she made you both hot tea. She changed into her home clothes, back into one of her light night dresses. Your alcohol-fogged brain was screaming to touch her. You watched her body move under the thin silk fabric and legs themselves carried you in the right direction. Wanda was stirring sugar in her tea when your arms grabbed hers and you pressed your body against her back, burying your face in her hair, inhaling the aroma of shampoo. The woman mentally smiled at your gesture of tenderness. "What is a cute girl?" She reached out her hand and slide it in your disheveled hair, slightly pulling back the tufts of hair. The little whine escaped you and you pressed yourself closer to her, as if you were trying to become one with her. “You smell like beer and cigarettes Y/N.” Well, it was a statement of fact, so it’s not offensive. You nuzzled her neck and Wanda turned in your arms. Now was, if not ideal, then a great moment to lay all the cards on the table. “How dare this bastard touch what’s mine.” She whispered it on your lips and your heart sank. “Wanda...you...” The words died between your lips as the older woman pulled you into a kiss. Out of shock, you didn’t immediately answer her, but quickly relaxed and attacked her lips, pressing the woman into the kitchen counter.
“Wanda...I...” You tried to convey your thoughts about your feelings for her between kisses. “Hush, pretty girl...I know everything.” You stopped and looked at her with wide eyes. The older woman laughed and took your face in her hands. “Did you really think that I wouldn’t notice anything? Oh what a sweet little thing." Everything seemed too good a dream, the woman was about to take you to her room, but you stood on the threshold, refusing to go there. “No, come to me.” You clearly didn't like the idea of ​​doing this with Wanda in the bed where she slept with your father. Then you remembered who she is to you and how you both act towards him. “Wait, but my father...You are his wife.” “And it only started to bother you now? Oh don't worry about it baby, he's been cheating on me for a long time and I want to file for divorce. Just don’t tell him.” She winked and closed your bedroom door behind her. She didn't seem upset about it.
Wanda was lying on your big soft bed, surrounded by plush animals, her housedress riding up to her hips and it was too good to be true. It seemed that you would wake up and everything would be over. You didn't care about taking off your dirty street clothes, all that mattered now was the woman underneath you. “Come on baby, make mommy happy, make me cum.” The title that Wanda gave herself completely drove you insane and you tore the silk from her body, leaving only panties decorated with lace. Even though you were on top, Wanda controlled the situation. Her skillful hands and voice guided you on how to do better.
Your knee put pressure between the older woman's thighs, which you held with your hands so tightly that they would leave bruises later. Her skin was as soft as you imagined and Wanda held your hair and guided you to her breasts, encouraging you to play with her nipples. You were ready to suffocate between her breasts, you liked them so much. Your lips wrapped around her nipple and grip on your hair tightened. “That's such a good girl, now give me your hand.” She guided you between your legs where underwear was soaked with arousal. When your finger brushed over her swollen clit, she flexed and grabbed your hair tighter. “You’re so wet, I need to try it, can I?” You whined, desperate to please.
She was completely naked in front of you and your mouth was watering at the sight. “You are even more beautiful than I imagined.” Your lips peppered her stomach with small kisses. “Did you imagine me naked, baby? Mmm I bet you were touching yourself when you thought about it.” She again directed your head, but this time to her pulsating center, and before diving between her folds, you decided to add fuel to the fire. “To be honest, I heard you scream while you were fucking with my father and while listening I touched myself right here on this bed.” You said this and your lips wrapped around her swollen bud, causing Wanda to arch her back. She squeezed around nothing and you put three fingers into her at once, twist them so that each time they hit her sensitive spot. "Yes Yes! That’s my good girl, you make mommy feel so good!” She screamed into the emptiness of the apartment and fidgeted all over your face. You pounded into her at a fast pace and added a fourth finger. After a few minutes, her walls began to tighten around you and she came, squeezing your head with her thighs as if she were going to crush you.
When she relaxed, you rose to her lips and brought you together. “Did I do good mommy?” You whispered in her ear, biting her earlobe. "Yeah baby." You lay under her side playing with her tits, sometimes kissing her shoulder. The woman stroked your cheek and lifted your face, urging you to look into her eyes. "Do you want to be with me?" The question took you by surprise and you remained silent. Wanda took this as a refusal and turned to the other side, covering her naked body with a blanket. "I understand." It came muffled from her. The last thing you wanted to do was upset her, especially since you wanted to be her girlfriend more than anything.
You got up from the bed and the older woman thought that you were leaving, but you walked around the bed and sat down in front of her so that you could see her face. "Yes, I want to be with you. I think I love you Wanda." After these words, she crawled out of her homemade cocoon and extended her hands to you. You crawled into her arms.
"What will happen next?" Your question hung in the air. More than anything, you hated uncertainty. Wanda turned to look at you. “I will divorce with your father and move into my old apartment. We can see each other without hiding it, he’s unlikely to mind.” You nodded but remained silent, encouraging her to continue. “I don’t think he should know about our new type of relationship, of course, but that’s just for him.” You nodded again. It was like something self-explanatory. In your dreams, you had already moved into Wanda’s apartment, but you didn’t tell her.
"So what is next?" A grin settled on her face. “And then baby, I’d like to think about your satisfaction.” She said as she pulled your clothes off.
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deadsetobsessions · 11 months ago
Text
Cassandra Cain knows how to read people. Every twitch, every micro-expression, every sway of their pupils.
She knows people better than they know themselves. She could pick out a person’s life without having to speak or hear a single word from them.
Language, without a sound.
Honesty, complete and unwilling, at her fingertips.
David Cain had beaten it into her; to observe, to read, to kill without protest. She was never a daughter to him- even if Cassandra hadn’t understood what love or being a daughter meant before she met Bruce- and she understood that.
There are scars lining her body, truths carved into her flesh that she knows she could never truly hide. But that’s alright. She’s learned by now that no one can read her quite as well as she reads them. Not even the metas. They notice it, of course, the tells and the twitches. But none of them could flawlessly put everything together like Cassandra could. They focus on the big things, like heart beat or sweat or flickering eyes. Cassandra takes note of the twitching fingers, the stances, the breaths, how lax their legs are, or which muscle groups are bunched up. She figures things out about them far before they even have a hint of her outer workings.
Cassandra Cain knows there is subtle faintness to her frame, a wildness lurking beneath her skin that she’s never going to be able to tame completely, the ways in which she leans that betrays her time as a starved and feral street kid. She also knows that no one will ever know the extent of it unless she allows them to. It’s nice, having that security.
It’s also lonely, that no one will understand her the way she understands everyone else. Well, until Danny Phantom.
Just like how she can see the scars left on him by people he trusted, the marks of crackling electricity behind a boy who should be dead, he also sees her. The training, yes. But Danny Phantom also sees the pavement like side to her where it should have been downy feathers. He sees the wildness prickling at her fingertips, the violence set in her bones.
And he still smiles at her anyways. His acceptance is screamed to Cass, though simply relaxed to anyone else.
Cassandra glides over to place a hand on Danny’s shoulders and squeezes twice.
Yes, she tells him without a word, spoken, you’re my little brother. I am not alone anymore.
Yes, she tells him without a sound passing through their eyes, we will protect you.
Danny beams up at her as the rest of the family relaxes. She still feels a thrill when she realizes (not belatedly, only slow comprehension) that they were waiting for her verdict.
She sighs in relief. Message received. Danny, eyes glowing green, leans back to rest on the couch.
He shrugs at her with a sincere grin.
And he even says thank you.
And he meant it.
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