#i die a little bit i MISS MY HUSBAND

[tonycries]

Haunting You - G.S.

Synopsis. A bIoody trail of vampire attácks, a political marriage, and four suitors you’re forced to choose from - all haunting you. But none as much as the mysterious stranger that makes everything in you scream that you might just be fated for the very thing your kingdom is trying to escape from.

Pairing. Gojo Satoru x Reader

Content. MDNI, fem! princess! reader, king! Gojo, vampire AU, he’s actually ÍNSANE, royalty AU, arranged marriages, creampíes, breéding, fated mátes, FÉRAL down bad Gojo, mentions of bIood and kílling, bíting, óral (fem receiving), spítting, marks (a LOT), fíngering, pórn with plot tbh, overstím, ínnapropriate use of powers, jealous! Gojo, slight inspiration from Persephone and Hades, pet names, swearing.

Word count. 15.8k (HUH???)

A/N. Was listening to Haunted by Beyoncé, and my mind went “ooo vampires.” Hope y’all have a lovely week <3

In all your years being carefully primed to take over the throne, there have only been two rules you were raised under:

You live by the crown, and you will die by the crown. No matter what. 

To stop the vampires - if your father, the king, fails to contain the bloody trail of killings before his own inevitable death, you have to. Or, more according to those tedious meetings with the table of elders, your husband will have to.

And it seems as if they were well and fully intent on enforcing that last rule as of late - with sharply increasing numbers of attacks on your local towns, the public was growing restless - and so was the royal court. 

You weren’t doing any better either - but for a wholly different reason.  

Maybe it was paranoia, but these days, you found yourself constantly catching a flash of crystal blue in the corner of your eye. Or hearing a sweet, sweet whisper in your ear deep at night. Maybe even a soft run of fingers down your spine as you were readied for yet another ball - hands much too large to be any of your ladies-in-waiting.

Like something was watching. 

Waiting. 

“And then I- your highness, are you listening?”

That familiar, grating voice snaps you out of your thoughts, and you’re gasping in embarrassment as you turn back to the prattling man in front of you. 

“My apologies, Lord Naoya.” you smile tightly, desperate to finish up yet another conversation about his latest cavalry expeditions. Nodding dismissively, “Just tired, please continue with your ah- wonderful tales.”

But of course, when he starts right back from the very beginning to “cover the key points you missed”, your stomach turns when you realize that you won’t be escaping any time soon. Great. Wonderful. Perfect.

God, future suitors your ass. You’d been taught that there’s no such company as “bad company” when you’re an heir to a kingdom, but this has been the fourth royal ball this month - and the biggest one yet. The fourth night you had to listen to another uptight lord show off his sparse battle medals, or another elder snide about how you’d be useless against the dangers of vampires.

You knew it was likely some coping mechanism with the grim deaths this week, but surely the nobles were tired of all this silly dancing? You sure were. 

Gauzy dress just a bit too tight, sighs just a bit too loud than was permitted for the princess, you let your gaze wander across the brilliant ballroom. Those intricate gowns, the huge reflective wall, those little pastries you really wish you could walk away from this conversation and-

Blue. 

Crystal blue.

“Wait! Did you see-” you startle, and it disappears as fast as it appeared. Your heavy skirts sway as you whirl around to uselessly track that odd burst of color, “Did you see that?”

“I know!” Naoya gasps, making you turn your head in excitement. “The light reflects off my medal so gorgeously! Oh, and this one-”

Dammit. 

All through your life, it was this same color that’d been flitting occasionally through your vision, now haunting you almost every day.

You didn’t know where to look to find that familiar blue again - and you didn’t want to stand here waiting to find out. At the very least, your ears have definitely been assaulted with enough talk about horses and how “absolutely enormous” Lord Naoya’s weaponry at the Zenin Estate was.

Compensating, you muse.

The thought helps you plaster on a grin to your face, humming in a saccharine-sweet tone, “It pains me to cut through, my lord.” It really didn’t. “And I’d love to chat more later, but I think I hear my lady-in-waiting calling for me.”

He sputters, breathing out a few profanities under his breath that you catch. An arm raising as if to keep you in place, “Now, wait a minute-”

You’re angling your body expertly to make your dash. Batting your lashes deceivingly innocently, “Oh? What was that?” you cup your ear. “I hear her again- I really do apologize, but feel free to recount your valiant um- fairy tales in a letter.”

“But your father-”

Not waiting to hear the rest of his response, you barely even bother with a polite curtsy before determinedly weaving your way through the stuffy ballroom. Nodding by the nobles greeting you, waving past the throng of young lords that wanted to reel you into more conversation. Your satiny feet taking you anywhere but here - anywhere but where you could feel the still, heavy gaze of something burning into your back as you escaped. 

You just prayed that it was only a miffed Naoya and nothing else.

It was around this time that the orchestra struck up another upbeat waltz, and with most people pairing off on the dance floor, barely anyone noticed you tip-toeing out of the ballroom. 

“God-” you’re letting out a sigh of relief when you reach the long hallway, rubbing at your throbbing temples. “The next ball they host, m’gonna conveniently disappear, I swear.”

You didn’t care enough for what matchmaking would happen in the future anyway, no matter what the elders may tell you. 

Your ballgown swishes with every urgent step through the quiet, dimly-lit corridors. Maybe a bit too quiet. 

Strange. You knew that not many nobles would be wandering around the palace during a ball but, surely you can’t be the only one here? Where were the guards?

Just then, a soft winter breeze puffs against your left ear - and you inhale sharply. “Wha- hello?” you shudder, gaze darting around. “Anyone there?” But when only silence greets you, you’re struck with the sudden thought that the windows along the hallway were closed. 

Where did the wind come from?

The realization has you taut with goosebumps pricking at your skin, your pace increasing ever-so-slightly. Gulping, you round the corner quickly, making a beeline for the closest haven you could find - the library.

Ducking past the towering stone archway, you hastily slam the door closed. It takes you a few seconds to get used to the darkness inside. With silvery moonlight ribbons filtering in through the curtained windows, you could just barely make out the rows upon rows of books you’d pestered your father into lining. Surrounded by heavyset tables, and your favorite, cushioned armchair. Luxurious, yet completely dwarfed when seating the lone silhouette-

“If this is an attack, then I surely don’t mind.”

“Fuck-” you scream, reflexively grabbing the nearest book spine you could reach to throw in the direction of the shadow. “Show yourself.”

Somehow, it’s as if the book bounces off an invisible forcefield, plopping down unceremoniously onto the velvety carpet right in front of the tall figure. 

“And here I thought princesses usually curtseyed.” that deep, honeyed voice cuts right through your heavy breathing. He makes a move to get up - languid, and torturous, as if he enjoyed your agonizing suspense. “Well, maybe I do prefer being pelted by a- hey, that doesn’t mean pick up another book!”

In a split-second, you were brandishing a weighty encyclopedia this time - holding it firmly behind your head in a ready stance to throw once again. 

“Show yourself.”

The man sighs, stepping into a channel of low light. It illuminated his stature - taller than you’d thought, towering well above most of the generals in the royal court. Muscled, yet lean - powerful, the thought strikes you. Magnetizing. 

Someone from outside the kingdom, you observe, otherwise you’d have remembered that cloudy white hair, strands falling over a strange, black blindfold stretched across the upper half of his face. Leaving you only a set of high cheekbones, and a pert, pretty mouth to admire.

One that curls into such a mischievous smirk of neat pearly whites, and a tiny dimple digging into his cheek. “Now, I’ve never had anyone this eager to see me.” He drops into a courteous bow at the waist, expensive blue fabrics rippling. “From the North kingdom, Satoru, at your service, princess.”

Your hand falters - partially because of the heavy weight, partially because you recognised that gold “G” insignia in the middle of this stranger- Satoru’s uniform. The Gojo family. 

That mysterious, estranged kingdom from the Northern part of the country that hadn’t been seen since you were young. You’d heard stories of them - everyone in this vast country had, it was impossible not to. Of their cruel winters and even crueler king, how blood stained every room in his palace. It was rumored he was a monster, and yet, no one ever saw his face - if they did, they never lived to tell the tale. 

You knew your father had invited the king to every single ball out of diplomatic obligation, but he’d never attended. Never even bothered to respond. 

So who was this?

“No one. Just a lowly attendant accompanying my king, your highness.” you’re jolting when he purrs, a brow quirking at just how he knew what you were thinking. “The question ah- showed on your face, my apologies.”

Finding your voice, “Um, I apologize, too, Satoru-” You note the lack of a last name, “-for the book. I can’t imagine being hit with Yaga’s 1001 Methods to Crochet was a very warm welcome.” And like a little truce, you’re placing down the encyclopedia in your hand. Flashing him your most practiced smile, “I bet you’re hiding out here for the same reasons as me, then.”

That draws out a pretty laugh from him, bubbly and boyish. “Mhm, the ladies just refuse to leave you alone, too?”

“Well, more like the lords there.”

He hums, something that sends a chill down your spine. Words just a little strained, “Not much for bragging about horses?” 

And suddenly, you get the urge to snark back, huffing in a way you know your preparational teacher would faint at. “Absolutely not. I’d rather face a vampire than listen to Naoya and the “absolutely enormous” weaponry he uses to-”

“-compensate!”

“-compensate.” the two of you finish at the same time. “I like this place a lot better, it’s quiet- though…” your voice trails off in wonder. “It’s strange, guests aren’t supposed to be allowed in the library unsupervised.” His jaw clenches when your eyes sweep him, “We are supposed to have a few guards here but I don’t know where-”

All of a sudden, it’s like you’re being splashed with cold water. And your words are dying on your tongue when the room drops a few degrees in temperature. 

Satoru is unnervingly still, yet he catches onto your slight shiver. “This damned wind, am I right?” And he’s gesturing at the windows with his head. The closed windows. Words tumbling quickly from those pink lips now, “Anyways- why don’t you sit down-” He prowls towards you, slow, confident. Large hands rest at your arms, they’re pale, surprisingly cold - guiding you easily to sit on the unoccupied armchair. “-since m’being nice enough to let you hide out here.”

His words drip with tease, and you still couldn’t see his eyes, but you imagined they’d be twinkling. No one ever dared to speak to you this way - it was always either thinly-veiled condescension or fear towards royalty. 

Surprisingly, you didn’t mind. 

You roll your eyes, trying to hold back your smile. “Yeah? Well what do I owe you in return for that, Satoru?”

His lips part, as if not expecting this response. Before letting out another sharp cackle at your expense, “Well, why don’t you-” You can’t tear your eyes away from his magnetic figure when Satoru begins unbuttoning his flowing coat to reveal a snow-white shirt underneath. Wrapping it snug around your shoulders in one, fluid motion, a hand of his tilts your head towards him. “-give me your soul?”

The Gojo emblem burns into your back, and Satoru’s deep, almost raspy tone rings in your ears. It sounded like a joke - but looking into his ethereal features, there was no trace of a grin on what you could see of it. And once again, you’re struck by the pure power radiating off of him. 

You hoped it was a joke.

“S-soul’s not for sale.” you manage to choke out, trying to make it look like you weren’t breathing in his metallic, peppermint scent. Heady. Pulling the soft fabric tighter around your cold body, “Steep price for a hideout, don’t you think?”

“S’a discount for you, flower.” his chilling breath fans your face. Letting out hushed, “Heh, you should see the prices I charge others.”

You’re reeling, face burning, “Flower?”

“Because you’re shaking like one, see?” The pads of his fingers move from under your chin to trace up, up, up the goosebumps on your exposed arms. Somehow, you can’t bring yourself to pull away.

Hypnotic. 

And his steps are soundless as he walks over behind you, the moonlight giving him an angelic halo. Haunting, almost. “And you’re just as gorgeous, like a wild rose. Way too gorgeous for the fuckin’ bastards out there, might I add, princess.”

The nerve!

Heart pounding, you turn around to- call him out for his disrespect? Snap back? Accept the compliment?

You don’t know - and you don’t get to find out, either. Because before your eyes can search for Satoru’s mysterious figure, the door to the library is slamming open with a deafening bang!

“Ah! There you are!” your lady-in-waiting’s relieved voice floods your ears. And she’s barging in with no comment about your sudden stiffness, or that foreign coat around your shoulders. “We’ve been looking everywhere for you, your highness. His majesty is just about to make his speech of the night and needs you there.”

Shit, out of all the scandals. 

“I- I can explain.” You’re desperately trying to catch Satoru’s eye to make up an excuse for why you’re alone with a strange man away from the ball, shooting from your seat to look around the library. “We’re just-”

The suddenly empty library. 

“Yes yes, I understand that the balls aren’t exactly your favorite pastime.” The oblivious girl is pushing you towards the door, brown eyes narrowed. “But we’ve got to get going now.”

Despite her wrangling you outside, you manage to sneak a few glances backwards, straining to see if he was hiding in the shadows. Only to be met with a now-rumpled armchair and the still, dark bookshelves. As bare as if Satoru never existed - the only proof of his existence being a sad copy of Yaga’s 1001 Methods to Crochet lying on the ground. 

And yet, you can’t help but feel a pair of eyes on you. 

You feel it all through the short walk back to the ballroom, Nobara’s excited chatter about how finely your all-new coat was made filtering through one ear and out the next. Even when you reach the edge of the dance floor, even when you feel every single other eye in the room on you - you feel it. 

“Um, Nobara.” you whisper, discreetly shuffling the coat off your shoulders. “Please take this to my chambers for me.”

The younger girl is positively bursting at the seams, murmuring conspiratorially to you, “So is this where you were? With who- The “G” what does that-”

“Ah! My daughter!” Saved by your father’s booming voice - though, you wouldn’t consider it too much of a salvation when you’re immediately being whisked away to the high platform your father’s throne was seated on. His arms spread wide to greet you in a hug despite stiff etiquette. 

“You’re late.” he whispers in your ear.

It’s all you can do to manage out a quiet, “S-Sorry.”

Without another word, he’s addressing the congregation in the middle of the dance ballroom again. More ruler than father at this very moment. “My people, we are gathered here today to dance, to sing, to forget about the horrors happening in our beloved nation.” To large murmurs of agreement he continues, “And despite it all, it’s a reality we must all live with. Me, especially, as your king, have a duty to fulfill.”

There’s a beat of silence, and you wonder where this is all going - your father never brought up vampires during a time like this. Never. 

Clearing his throat, “And as we all know, I’m not getting any younger here, unfortunately. Which is why-” He claps his hands once, and three figures - one of which being Naoya, amongst two other nobles you briefly recognized - step forward from the crowd. “Ah- there should be one more- Anyway, after thorough consideration with the table of elders, we have decided to go forward with the betrothal process for my dear daughter here. With the joining of hands will not only be the joining of kingdoms - but the joining of arms, and our people shall prevail as one over the vampires.”

You think you might stop breathing, eyes burning and trained firmly on the ground. This had been a topic of conversation - well, more the elders conversing while you skipped out on every meeting once this discussion was brought up. 

You knew this would happen. You knew. But now? At this very moment? All you can do is stand there and listen while he rattles off. 

“I know four of the- erm, three of the most eligible young suitors of the land will do their utmost to vie for her heart - and her hand. No easy task I tell you.” Your fists clench, head swimming. “And in a week’s time, we will hold the grand ball to announce my successor.”

Shit - a week. A week.

Somewhere in your line of vision you see - you feel that spark of blue. And you’re raising your head to cheers echoing from all around the room, and still no sign of where those eyes are. 

“The next time we meet, will be with the future king and queen!”

Fuck. 

---

That night was spent with a few too many tears, and a consoling Nobara at your side all until daybreak. And if you held onto that comforting, peppermint-scented coat through it all, well, you were only glad that you seemed too pitiful for her to question it. 

Feeling much more composed and only slightly less bitter about the prospect of being married off to a stuck-up noble you didn’t know, you made your way to breakfast the next morning. An affair usually spent with your father, or in the palace gardens - but this time, surrounded by four suitors under the guise of getting to know you. Sizing each other up, maybe. 

“Ah, your highness, good morning!” you sweetly reciprocate the greetings once you’re escorted into the dining room, taking your seat at the very end of the long, mahogany table. 

Sighing you take in the scene - on your left was Lord Naoya from last night, the same sharp grins and shifty eyes as you remembered. Seated beside him was the young duke of the Kashimo clan - hair striking, his battle staff laid out next to him on the table. Intimidating. 

But nothing in comparison to the hulking man on your right, it seemed as if his uniform was on the verge of bursting. Face sullen, letting his pink locks fall into place - Sukuna, you think you remember. 

“Your highness.” Ichiji bows, taking his place supervising the breakfast. “I am afraid our guests from the Northern kingdom will not be able to attend this breakfast today. He sends his deepest apologies. B-but-” His face-paled, looking scarred for life. “-he did have his um- attendant send this note-”

You’re gratefully taking the creamy scrap of paper before the words have even left Ichiji’s mouth, flipping it over to reveal slanted, beautiful calligraphy - Apologies for the sudden departure last night, flower. And I hope you forgive my king for not being here to deter the talk of horses - duty holds both man and beast from freedom. Worry not, we will be seeing your sweet smile again soon. But, for now, give those three bastards a rude gesture from me.

You giggle, tucking away the note. A tiny pang of disappointment hitting you out of nowhere at the lack of that gold “G” emblem anywhere along the table - and more importantly, the white-haired enigma that would follow.

All three men were glowering, yet begrudgingly plowing on with their conversation from before as you settled. Not having the energy to contribute, you listened in. 

“-this would never have happened in my estate.”

“Oh buzz off-” Kashimo interrupts Naoya, before throwing a guilty look your way at his crass words. As if you didn’t say worse. “Apologies, your highness. As I was saying-” he turns back to the man. “Don’t think we haven’t heard of those vampire killings in your court that you tried to cover up, your defense isn’t as impenetrable as you want it to seem, Naoya.”

That causes you to raise your brow - and evidently, Sukuna’s as well. “That so? Little fraud, aren’t ya, Zenin?”

The shorter man sputters indignantly, “You- you little- you call me a fraud and yet you’re the only one who didn’t bother to help investigate last night? Got something to hide, oh king-of-curses?”

“Tch, shut up.” That little nickname ticked something off in Sukuna, and his grip on his delicate fork tightens. Smirk intentionally bared to piss off, “It’s just because when the princess marries me, she won’t have to worry about vampires attacking guards in the middle of a ball.”

Wait, what?

“Yeah right, you and what army because I have an absolutely enormous-”

“What do you mean?” Your smooth voice cuts through their bickering, and all three men freeze, gazes snapping to you as if they’d already forgotten you were there. “I didn’t hear about any killings last night.”

If you thought they were tense before then you weren’t prepared for right now - shoulders raising in surrender, for all their blabbering, not a word was uttered after your accusatory question. After a few beats of silence, you scoff in frustration, turning towards your escort, squirming and avoiding your pointed stare at the very corner of the room. 

“Ichiji.” The man looked like he could positively give anything to blend into the meticulously hand-painted flowers on the wall. “Ichiji, tell me what happened.” 

“P-princess!” he yelps, adjusting his glasses. “I- I’m afraid the king said- please I can’t-”

“Ichiji…”

“P-please don’t banish me-”

You’re on your feet now, cornering the poor man. Mentally, you make a note to give him a raise. Eyes narrowing, “I won’t banish you, but as the future queen I have a right to know, don’t I?”

“...”

“...please?”

And the remaining men had been watching with morbid fascination as you worked your magic. They were already aware that the frail attendant was the weakest link out of them all, but what they certainly did not expect was exactly how weak. 

It only took a single bat of your lashes before his pale cheeks colored an almost-concerning pink. Eyes scrunching shut in embarrassment, as the words spilled from his lips. Neverending and slurring with haste as he speaks in one breath, “Th-three of the guards stationed near the outer corridor and library wing were found killed by a vampire last night before you retired for the night, your highness. Their b-bodies were disposed of, and this in combination with all the recent killings was why the king hurried the announcement for your engagement. B-but, his majesty decreed that this never be relayed to you in order to keep you in high spirits after the betrothal eep-!”

“Is- is that so?” you breathe, eyes wide. Taking one last look at the four speechless men, before walking out of the tall doorway. “I seem to have lost my appetite, I will be heading for my chambers now. I sincerely hope you enjoy your stay, my lords.”

Shit shit shit - how did you not notice? 

Maybe you walked right past the killer last night and didn’t even realize - who knows what could’ve been hiding in the shadows. How did you not realize? How did you not see?

Just then, a thought strikes you - did Satoru see?

---

It’s one of the whirlwind of questions ringing around in your mind even by the time you hear a steady knock on your door. Jolting you upright from where you splayed out on your plush, silken bed, rows upon rows of books on vampires haphazardly surrounding you.

Peering out of your large window, you notice the hues of pink and red painting the sky, a big red sun just dipping below the horizon - shit, when did you even fall asleep? 

“Come in.” you answer, voice scratchy. Rubbing away the sleep in your eyes, you could barely make out the hazy outline of Ichiji standing in your doorway. 

“Ah- your highness, I apologize for waking you up.” he bows. “But master Kashimo will be headed out for a late-night hunt at this very moment, and requested your presence shall you wish it. He noticed that you seemed upset at breakfast, and wanted to make it up to you.”

You take a moment to mull over the question - it certainly was rude for you to just ignore your guests all day. And considering you might just be marrying one of them, it wouldn’t kill anyone to actually get to know them.

“Alright.” you reply, voice even. And your answer seems to surprise the other man, “Tell Tsukumo to get my gear ready, I will be down as soon as I change.”

“Y-yes, princess! I will call for Nobara to help you get dressed.”

As the door shut once more behind him, you threw off your heavy blanket- and your coat? Satoru’s coat, which had evidently been draped around your upper half. Heart stuttering, you didn’t remember putting that on before…

Hm, you had to thank Nobara for that later.

---

Hunting with Kashimo was, unexpectedly, dull. 

“So…” you drag your words, trying to fill the tense silence. “What is it that we’re actually hunting for-”

“Shhh-” you hear for about the third time this past hour. A brow of yours quirking at the way it seemed like the two of you had been wandering the woods belonging to your kingdom’s estate for hours, and you still didn’t know what it was you were supposed to be looking for. 

Alright, perhaps hunting wasn’t the best opportunity to get to know your potential future husband. 

“My lord…” you call out warily, already aware of the duke’s affinity for hunting. “Maybe we should rest for a bit, after all, the stars are out already and the moon is so bright.”

He barely even turns to look back at you, “No time. The woods belonging to your kingdom have some of the rarest species of cursed animals in this country. I must make the most of this week in that case, your highness.”

You brighten at the closest shred of conversation in so long. “Oh, yes, I’ve heard! I also hear they-”

“Shh!”

So close. 

Letting out a resigned sigh, your eyes glaze over as you watch Kashimo trace his thick fingers over animal tracks on the dirt. Suddenly, gesturing for you to follow him as he sped off in another direction. 

It doesn’t take too long for him to stray out of sight. Meanwhile, your legs lag behind in protest - and pettiness, you realize. Grumbling to yourself about how you’d rather have watched paint dry as you’re sure the elders often did. Well, you look at the now-barren pathway, at least now you didn’t have to worry about someone shushing you all the ti-

“AHH!”

And then, all of a sudden - it felt like you were the hunted. 

It’s like every bit of blood drains from your body at the blood-curdling scream. Grip tightening on your bow, you’re jolting at the direction it came from - where did Kashimo disappear off to again? 

Yet, for how much you knew your kingdom like the back of your hand, it’s so dark. The moon barely peeking through gloomy gray wisps of clouds that you don’t know where exactly you’re running to - just that something was tugging. Reeling you in. No destination in sight until you’re crashing face-first into- a wall?

“Hey, flower, where are ya running off to this late?”

Your hairs raise, something visceral in your body jolting. 

Satoru - blindfold and all.  

“Wh- Satoru thank God you’re here.” you gasp, looking nervously over his broad shoulders. “I heard a scream, and I’m worried about Kashimo because he went somewhere over there and-” You’re pointing aimlessly in his direction, before clasping a hand around Satoru’s defined bicep. Tugging, “You have to help me, that idiot even insisted on no guards because of disturbing the wildlife and I’m so worried and-”

Before you can react, big strong arms are enveloping you. And you’re suddenly hit with the smell of peppermint and Satoru - something so sickly sweet tinging the air, it makes you droop limply into his firm hold. Your skin burns when he breathes in, deep. 

“Shhh shhh, I know I know, princess.” he hums, pulling you deeper against his chest. Until you could feel every dip and curve of his pectorals. “You must’ve been scared, right?” At your hesitant nod, “You did good. You did perfect- in fact. Especially putting up with that pretentious bastard.”

The shocked laugh that drags from your throat has Satoru sighing contentedly, an almost-pained grunt leaving him as he pulls away ever-so-slightly. You felt much the same. 

“S’alright, I’m pretty sure it was some animal.” he soothes. He clasps your hands with his, running a damp thumb over your knuckles. “I saw him trudging about disturbing more wildlife over there.”

You breath catches in your chest at just how close Satoru was now, his breath mingling with yours. Pretty plump lips so close - too close. Yet you’re leaning in closer, like you’re drawn by a thread. “Are you sure? Maybe we should-” You gasp, eyes widening when you look down at where your hands were intertwined - red. Or, what you assumed to be red, a saturated, patchy stain on your hands where Satoru’s met yours. He stiffens when he follows your gaze, trying to pull away, but you only hold your grip harder. “Satoru, are you bleeding? Or is this-”

“Not mine.” his voice is hard - and for a second you have to wonder whether this is really the same Satoru. And you swear there’s a little tremor in his words as he explains, “You see, I went out on a little hunt myself, flower.”

Even if Satoru didn’t have his blindfold on, you’re sure his face would’ve been unreadable. That almost-familiar grin of his is strained. Too strained. Yet, his movements are unwavering as he tries to wipe away the blood. “Must’ve forgotten to wipe down, I apologize for sullying your hands, princess.”

“Let me-” you mutter, taking a hold of the coat around your shoulders to wipe away the blood. Uncaring for what you were dirtying at the moment. “I swear you need to take better care of yourself, Satoru. Seriously.” 

And you didn’t see them - but somehow you could just feel the amusement dancing in Satoru’s eyes. Raising your confused gaze up to meet his, “What?”

He only flashes you a knowing grin, “S’jus’, you’re wearing my coat, your highness.”

Your movements pause, mouth gaping open while you try to pathetically spout out an excuse. “I- I didn’t mean to get this coat dirty, oh my god. I didn’t think-”

“S’alright.” he inches in even closer. A smirk grazing those sinful lips of his, “I actually prefer it like that, you look like mine.” Taking a deep breath, “You smell like mine.” 

And before you can ask about his cryptic message, he’s placing a hand at the back of your waist. A very improper hand that would definitely make the elders gasp in scandal. “We should head back to the palace, it’s getting late. I will escort you, m’sure that born hunter of yours is already halfway back too.”

“Carry me.” you blurt out, your body aching to feel more of him. And before you can retract your words - probably sputter a few apologies, you’re being cradled by a smug Satoru. One hand under your knees, the other supporting you like you’re weightless. 

“Heh, a princess carry for a princess.”

“Oh, shut up.” you grumble with embarrassment when he walks forward slowly, your legs swaying in midair. “Want my soul for this as well?”

And you can feel Satoru’s muscles ripple, you can feel the way his breath hitches in his chest ever-so-slightly. Rumbling as he drawls, “More than you’d know.”

“S’that a discount, too? You still didn’t tell me what you charge others.” you quip, remembering the conversation from the night before. 

“Oh, you’ll find out soon enough, your highness.”

You’re quirking a brow, something hot churning at the pit of your stomach at that ragged tone to his words. “I’m onto you, y’know.” You stare up at his clenched jaw, highlighted in the dim moonlight. His long, pale neck, the crevices of his blindfold. For a moment, you wonder what it would be like if you could peek under. “Onto you and your absurdly high prices, Satoru.”

He breathes out a shuddering, overly-dramatic shudder. “Mhm, flower, I should be worried.” Before looking up at the sky - and you wondered just how well he could see through his blindfold. “The moon is beautiful tonight, isn’t it?”

That night, you dreamt of long-winded star-gazing and blue, blue eyes. 

---

“What do you mean Lord Kashimo has left for his kingdom?” you hiss, feeling a faint stab of offense. Seriously, were you that awful at hunting? “He didn’t make any indication of it last night.”

And if your careless words made Nobara beam with slight embarrassment, you didn’t take note of it - too caught up in what you’d just heard. Enough so that it takes her next words to bring you out of your stupor, “Exactly what I said, your highness. The lordship and his court have all vacated their wing, leaving behind only a letter of forgiveness for ending the festivities early.”

“Still.” you murmur petulantly. Setting aside another one of your books on Vampire: Mates, Murder, and More. “It’s strange, I thought he was here for the hunting sprees, if not for me.” Your tiara weighs heavy on your head as you turn to your young lady-in-waiting. “I would like for Ichiji to catch up to Kashimo’s traveling party, make sure they’re safe, and send them my well wishes.”

Ha! Take that elders - you’d show them you’re fully capable of holding diplomatic relations as a ruler. 

“As you wish, princess. Additionally, this-” She’s holding out a small pouch of blue fabric that you’d never seen before. “-was found by your bedside when cleaning and I wished to give it back safely.” Before her polite smile drops into a much more devious smirk, “A gift from one of the suitors, perhaps~?”

You gesture for her to hand it over, the silk casing soft under your touch. Detailed. One-of-a-kind, from what your tedious lessons in the history of fabrics had taught you. You didn’t recognize the patterns sewn onto it as something typical for your kingdom - or any other you’d learned about, really.

“M’not sure.” you whisper. Opening the little purse to reveal a flash of gold - a necklace. Thin and intricate, holding a sapphire pendant in the shape of an eye. 

Blue.

A blue you knew too well - the same one that peeked out from every dark corner, that you saw before you slept at night. The one that’s been by your side for years.

Constant. Now coming to haunt you. 

Chills run down your spine, and your fingers tremble at how life-like it looked. Burning into your very soul. 

“Would you like for me to help you put it on?” Nobara asks, mistaking your shock for difficulty. And yet, you don’t correct her - body moving before your mind to simply nod. 

There was only one clasp on the chain - leaving you to worry about the fit. But when it was hooked around your neck, you found that it fit you so perfectly. Like it was tailored to you - and only you. Why was it so perfect?

Why did it capture the exact color you’d been chasing after your whole life - since before you’d even formed memories? Since you were nothing but a surly, teary-eyed little girl that was crying about the dark, babbling about that “blue flash” that no one else ever seemed to see.

“If that will be all, your highness. I will take my leave.” With a nod and a low bow, you’re left all by yourself in your sprawling chambers. Wondering, somewhat in amusement, whether you’d be let off this marriage pact if all the other suitors suddenly left as well. Hell, maybe you could marry whoever got you this necklace since they apparently know you so well. 

And you swear - maybe it was the fatigue from trekking last night, maybe it was the stress from the past month - but you swear the wind picks up in its chilly bite. Howling just low enough that it sounds like a deep, taunting cackle. 

The necklace doesn’t leave its palace around your neck for the next few days. You still didn’t know who’d gifted it to you - right inside your chambers for god’s sake - and if either of the two suitors remaining knew, they didn’t make any indication of it either. 

Three, technically, but it seemed that the more the days passed, the less you saw of the mysterious king of the Northern kingdom. 

While Sukuna and Naoya had taken it upon themselves to woo you by joining you in your daily activities, he hadn’t even shown his face to you yet. You were sure your father would’ve had him humiliated and thrown out of the palace already if he wasn’t afraid for his life. 

But you didn’t mind, because you saw enough of Satoru to make up for King Gojo and Kashimo. The man seemed well and fully intent to stick by your side, talking yourselves well into the night. 

It was on a night like this - sprawled out along the plush armchairs in the very library you’d met, only a few days after Kashimo’s departure - you asked, “Satoru, what color are your eyes?”

That makes him pause in the middle of his extremely animated story about how he’d caught Earl Yaga in the middle of an artistic dance routine. The baritone of his voice cracking so uncharacteristically as he responds with, “Wh-why do you ask, princess?”

“Because.” you roll your eyes. “In four days m’gonna be marrying, and it might just be your king. Yet, I don’t even know his attendant’s eye color - what type of good queen would I be then?”

You knew it was a flimsy excuse, truthfully you just wanted to see Satoru. All of Satoru.

“Not many have wanted to look into my eyes” 

You tilt your head, “How come?”

“Well, I can assure you that they aren’t half as alluring as yours.” Satoru pushes back your tiara ever-so-slightly to reveal your face to him better, fingers dancing down to fiddle with your pendant. “You’re a strange one, aren’t ya, flower?” he chuckles, face inching closer to yours - and for a moment, you think he might do something else. “Tell me, how are the wedding preparations going?”

Ah, right - the wedding preparations. Your wedding preparations, to someone else. 

Did you want him to do something else?

“W-well-” you pull back from his hypnotic presence. Heart lurching, necklace burning cold into your skin. “Sukuna keeps trying to teach me his very particular diet, I swear I’ve spent much more time with Uraume learning it than with him- they’re a sweetheart though, I can’t complain.” Eyes trying to avoid the intensity of his gaze, “Oh- and Naoya still talks about his weaponry, however, I think his Zenin elders had a word with him because he asked to meet me in the gardens tomorrow evening to actually get to know me for once.”

You brave to take a look at Satoru at the end of his spiel - only to be met with a face you never thought you’d see. His mouth a tight gash, jaw ticking, and you could almost hear the grinding of his teeth.

Terrifying. Magnetic. 

Powerful. 

The library was always cold - but you fail to suppress a shiver at the sudden grip in the air. “S-Satoru?”

And suddenly, at the mere sound of your voice, everything clicks back to normalcy. You’re staring that familiar grin painted onto his face again, musing slyly, “How much d’you wanna bet he’ll ask about your weaponry instead?”

“Oh, shut up.”

It’s only much, much later at night when you’re forced to retire early - Satoru slipping past the library earlier than usual with groans of his “attendant duties” that you realize - he didn’t answer your question. 

---

“P-princess, will you be alright going alone? I don’t think-”

“It’ll be alright, Ichiji, I’m just meeting Lord Naoya.” you wave off the stammering man. Tugging your velvety coat snugly around your body, “Honestly, you act like I haven’t been out in the gardens alone before.”

And it was true, since returning from his little meeting with the Kashimo court, your jumpy attendant seemed even more so - and you didn’t even know that was even impossible. Always peeking cautiously behind corners of the winding hallways, always hovering close by you even when his duty didn’t require it. 

He’d told you - in that quiet, shaky voice of his - that Kashimo was well, and headed straight for his kingdom to fulfill emergency duties. To which you’d accepted - you understood the gravity of responsibility, after all. 

“But- but, your highness!” he gasps, pulling you out of your little reverie. “I don’t think- with the way he-”

A spine-chilling breeze rustles the nearby tree, sending shivers down your spine. Howling in your ears. You squint your eyes against the cold, “Sorry, what was that, Ichiji?”

But the man in front doesn’t speak - fuck, you didn’t even know if he was breathing. Face a sickly pallor, mouth gaping open and shut like he wanted to say something - he needed to say something. Yet, he wasn’t even looking at you, wide eyes locked on something over your shoulder. 

“Are you-” Your body holds you back, feeling two burning eyes on you - and you have to force yourself to look over your shoulder. Only to see- nothing? “-are you alright?”

Seeing nothing out of the ordinary, you’re turning back to face your attendant - only to see him sprinting back down the entrance as fast as his knobbly legs could carry him. 

“I’ll see you tomorrow, then!” you call, hoping it echoed far enough to be heard.

Strange. 

It’s all you can think about for the next half an hour you’re seated on that dainty, painted bench in the middle of the palace gardens, waiting for your potential future husband. And for the next hour. And the next. 

It’s by the time the sun has fully set, when twinkling stars are dotting the night sky that you settle with the conclusion that yes, it seems that Naoya has already made his decision about the marriage. And no it doesn’t end with a wedding. 

“Dammit.” you spit, running a hand through the hair you had Nobara fuss about with. “S’not like I wanted to marry you anyway, bastard.”

And you didn’t - you really didn’t. Whenever you dared to imagine walking down that decorated aisle, Naoya was the last person you saw.

But seated alone and abandoned, trying to cover yourself from the biting chill of the night, you never felt more like an unworthy heir. Fuck, if no one wanted to marry you how would you even dare to think of taking over the throne?

Maybe you should just-

“We have got to stop meeting like this, flower. S’like you’re haunting me.”

“Satoru!” you gasp, throwing yourself into his embrace. You’re reaching up to loop two arms around his neck, “Oh, you wouldn’t believe it. That asshole had the audacity to stand me up.” Pulling back so your face ghosts his, “I got all dolled up just for him to leave me like this. As if I wanted to be with him, I was just trying to be a good- a good h-host and-” 

Suddenly, you’re struck with the realization of how close you two actually are. You could count every crease on his blindfold, pinpoint exactly where every dimple at the corner of his grin was. 

Your hands slide their way down to his sculpted chest, pushing slightly. “-I apologize, this was forward of me.”

But his arms only tighten around your waist - when did they even get there? Large and steady, pulling you back to nuzzle his face into the crook of your neck, your racing pulse. “Stay.” he groans, and he sounds slightly out-of-breath, heavy exhales tickling your ear.

“We can’t be caught like this, Satoru.” you breathe, but that familiar little tug has you shuffling closer. Breathing in that familiar metallic sweet scent you’ve grown to love, “I- I’m getting-” Bile creeps up at the back of your throat, and you laugh bitterly. “I think I’m getting married in three days, y’know? To Lord Sukuna, I assume, since two of my suitors ah- ran away and the other refuses to even see my face.”

His thick fingers dig deeper into the extravagant corset at your waist, “I know. Fuck- don’t I know.”

It’s a steady beat of silence, so still. So tense you could hear every stuttering heartbeat of yours, and strangely enough, you had the nagging feeling that he could, too. 

“You could just marry me.” Satoru’s abrupt confession breaks the silence, and you find yourself sinking deeper into his soft coat. Wrapping yourself up in his heady presence. “Be my queen. You wouldn’t have to worry about duties or elders or- or vampires.”

And the night was still. So still. 

Despite the way your heart races, eyes blinking up in disbelief, you find it in yourself to deadpan, “F-funny. Do I have to give you my soul for that as well?” Oh, some stupid little part of you think you might just have.

And you’d expected Satoru to crack a laugh, to give you a teasing smile while he carried on that little inside joke between the two of you. You’d expected him to no sooner shove you off and talk about it being late. Hell, a part of you even expected this to be some elaborate set-up from the elders to get you caught in such a compromising position with the no-longer stranger from the Northern kingdom. 

But, no. It’s anything but that - everything but that. 

Because the taller man only rasps, nose-to-nose now, “No.” Sounding like his sanity was slipping away from him with every breath, fingers making their dance down to twirl your sapphire pendant between them. “I’d give you mine.”

You can feel his breath fanning your cheeks, head dipping slowly - so torturously slowly. As if he was giving you ample opportunity to run away if you wanted to. But you don’t think you could move for the life of you. 

Instead, you’re dipping closer, gliding the tip of your thumb over his defined cheekbone. Mere millimeters away - just one push. Another hand of yours steadies at the back of his neck, feeling those snowing locks under your fingers. 

One. 

Your thumb dips just under the seam of his blindfold - unwillingly. 

“Your highness.” Satoru’s voice is cold, his fingers lacing with your own even colder. Something eerie. And even with the delicate touch you could feel the power thrumming through Satoru’s body. “This is for you.”

You can only stand there in shocked silence as the moment shatters, and he produces a wild rose as if out of thin air. “Consider it from King Gojo.” Touch searing against yours when he hands it to you, you feel drunk off of him “Perhaps the night is late now.”

Right. The king. 

When you’re walking back in the directions of the palace’s warm lights, you don’t think you’ve ever felt safer. Strangely enough. 

“Satoru.”

“Yes?”

“I’m onto you.”

“You’re onto me.” he’s tucking the bloom over your ear. Before stepping back into the inky pool of shadows beside the entrance you came from. “Sweet dreams, flower.”

That night, when you tuck yourself into bed, you swear you hear a faint whisper of those same three words lulling you to sleep. Over and over. 

Sweet.

Dreams.

Flower. 

---

Floral preservation was one of the lessons you’d been forced to attend growing up in the palace, but even you didn’t know how that wild rose Satoru gifted you hadn’t wilted yet. 

It remained as fresh and prim as the night it was picked, bluish pink petals never fading. You didn’t keep it safely in a bowl of water amongst the other plants and flowers in your bedroom. Somehow, never out of place, always tucked safely behind your ear in the days that followed. Perhaps it was improper to keep it on you even when you were being fitted into an engagement gown to be promised off to another man. But Satoru didn’t complain, and you didn’t either. 

With Kashimo departing for his kingdom early, and Naoya apparently following in his footsteps due to “irrevocable differences”, it was now almost confirmed that the future king was to be Lord Sukuna. Not like King Gojo had made any effort to reach out - and Satoru hadn’t mentioned it either. 

Satoru. 

Things were…the same after that night, and you didn’t know what to make of it.

It must be done, you sigh, wincing at the pinch of the flowing white dress being suited onto you by the bustling tailor. At least it could be worse, even if you’d rather…

“Honestly, young people these days.” Yaga speaks up from where he was fussing with the silken hem of your gown for tomorrow. “I heard of that Naoya brat leaving out of nowhere, princess. My condolences.” 

“Ah-” you startle, not expecting to be addressed. “It’s not your fault, we likely didn’t mesh all that well. I just wish he left a note- Honestly, I’m lucky to even have a suitor left after these six days.”

Another grimace leaves you when you feel another tweak of pins pricking at your skin. The other man hums lowly, “Don’t say that, anyone would be lucky to have you. Anyway-” He gets up from his position kneeling, towering over you to admire his own work. “How do you like it, your highness?”

You let out a gasp when you face the floor-length mirror, “Oh my god, it’s perfect.” The dress was regal, decadent. With flowing tresses resembling a petals, and gilded gold and blue weaved into the fabric. 

Blue. 

“I fashioned it after that necklace and flower of yours.” You unwittingly reach for that familiar pendant, “I ah- forgive the assumption, but I assumed you would be wearing them both at the betrothal ceremony tomorrow, princess?”

Taking another long look in the mirror, you nod, “Yeah. I will.”

---

“I knew it.” he laughs shrilly. “I fuckin’ knew there was something wrong with you. As soon as I saw you butterin’ the princess up in the library, I knew you were a fuckin’ freak.”

The other man only responds with ominous silence, letting labored breathing cut through the bone-chilling air. Clearly unsatisfied, “What? Not gonna talk now? Aren’t ya just in it for the crown like me? Have the bitch, just give me the crown.” Goading now, “I bet you’re not even an attendant are ya- I know what you are-”

His words are cut off with another choked-up gasp, followed shortly by a strained growl. “I know- what you are-”

Red stains the marble floor - a problem for later. 

“I know, King Gojo.” And it’s the last thing he sees. “And you’ll reap what you sow, she’ll never love you.”

Blue. 

“You’ve haunted me too long, flower.”

“Satoru–!” you scream, throwing your soft bed sheets off your body. 

It was burning - you were burning, gasping for the cold lungfuls of air that filled your empty bedroom. Mind bleary, distantly, you register that it’s around daybreak - tiny fingers of golden sunlight just barely dipping through your window - your open window. 

Hastily, you’re tumbling out of bed to slam it shut. Heart still pounding when you take in the mess of flower petals from those congratulatory bouquets you’d gotten. Ruined. Only the stems left in the vases after that sudden, chilling wind. 

“What-” Your eyes dart around to look over your dresser, where you always kept Satoru’s wild rose. And a shiver creeps down your spine when you realize it lay snug tucked behind your ear, safe and sound. Exactly where you didn’t keep it. “-happened?”

You couldn’t settle back into bed after that - couldn’t even think about it. So you find yourself reaching for your wardrobe of dresses, running your fingers along the intricate gown made for your engagement ball tonight. Your engagement to Sukuna. 

If this was the nightmare, and tonight was to be the dream - why did your stomach turn so?

---

It was difficult convincing Nobara to let you keep the wild rose on after getting ready. 

“But that’s so last season.” she bemoans. “No offense, your highness, but even old lady Ogami wouldn’t be caught dead wearing flowers in her hair these days.”

You’re giving her your best puppy dog eyes, “Please, Nobara?”

“No.”

“I’ll let you raid my exclusive wardrobe the next time you want to play dress-up?”

“...”

Which was how you found yourself shoved into a dress that was way too gorgeously palatial, barely even having the time to admire the lush gold and blue decorations around the sparkling ballroom before you were being ushered next to your father on his throne. 

You fiddle with your ringed fingers, feeling more and more like a lamb sent to slaughter - a very opulent slaughter - with each step. 

“I am so proud of you for this week, and you look absolutely divine, my love.” your father whispers into your ear once you’re up on the crushed velvet platform. “I hear from Ichiji that you know, I apologize we couldn’t go through with this marriage under better circumstances.”

You shake your head, giving him a calm smile - you’d already forgiven him, sometimes there was duty far greater than any man. 

“My people, as promised, we are gathered once more to celebrate the joining of two hands - and two kingdoms.” The king projects his voice out to the eager crowd, “Together, these two young loves will face their duty. They will face the dangers. They will face our future.”

The thought had you clenching your fist into the soft fabric of your gown, looking down at your feet in a bow. 

“As I did with my father before me - God rest his soul - the future king and queen will oversee their responsibilities to protect our people from those treacherous vampires. The elders-” he stops short, eyes widening at the empty seats on the balcony - where the table of elders always sat. Abandoned. Chilling. “...have decreed, in accordance with our princess, to introduce my daughter to you all as our future queen-”

Your father gestures a hand your way, and you step forwards to cheers, still not daring to look up. And all you could see were two, gold-toed boots stepping into your field of vision.

“-and our future king!”

“Look up, flower, this is the best part.”

Gasping, you raise your head - Satoru.

“Y-you?” 

He smiles that pearly smile at you, one that makes your knees weaken, “Me.” Before leaning down conspiratorially,  “Better get moving now, the king just declared that the big bad Northern king and the precious princess will have their first dance as a couple.”

It felt like you were moving through a dream as you slip your hand into his, flinching at the feeling of his cold lips meeting the back of your hand.

The crowd of whispering nobles part to make a path for the two of you, and Satoru is so gentle when he leads you into the middle of the dance floor. Weightless on his feet, swiftly placing a burning hand on your waist - just below where the elders would consider proper. 

The other intertwining with yours, you barely even register the slow, romantic tune playing from the orchestra. 

“I bet you have questions.” he whispers, breath fanning your cheeks. 

You take in his tall figure, the rows of medals, gleaming only half as bright as the smile that makes its way onto your face. Hissing, “That doesn’t cover the half of it, King Gojo.”

“I-I apologize. I can’t apologize enough but-”

“Though, I did have a nagging feeling about the fifth time you talked yourself up.” you smirk.

Satoru throws his head back in a loud cackle, echoing through the hushed crowds - no doubt gossiping about this being the Northern king, that fearful beast that ruled over the Gojo family. “I know.” His hand comes up momentarily to brush over your sapphire necklace, “And I’ll spend our entire lives making it up to you, flower.”

Goosebumps dance down your arm, your spine, right down to where Satoru held a firm grip on your hip. You two waltz around the edge of the dance floor, perfectly in time. Through the crowd of grumbling lords, the orchestra, past the table of foods.

“And exactly how long would the rest of our lives be, Satoru?”

Slowing right in front of that huge, reflective wall. 

You couldn’t see his eyes, but his biting gaze was all you could feel. 

Lingering on the blue pendant nestled at your chest, the everlasting wild rose tucked behind your ear, the mirror to your right - where the twin image of you shone. Powerful, gorgeous, everything that a monster like him could never have because he wasn’t standing there right next to you. His kind never could. 

In the back of your mind, you registered collective gasps sounding all around you - the rest of the ball attendees that’d also taken note of the lack of Satoru’s reflection. But your eyes stay locked on him. 

A thumb hooks under his blindfold, and he grimaces. “You really were onto me, huh, flower?”

Tugging. 

Your fingers tighten around his, unable to let the most fearsome of creatures escape from your grasp. “You must’ve been onto me, too, Satoru.”

Pulling. 

All you see is a flash of a regal nose bridge, and the flutter of thick white lashes - before every single chandelier in the ballroom snuffs out at once. Cloaking the room in unnatural darkness, it sends every single knight and noble into a frenzy. 

And then, he opens his eyes. 

“IT’S HIM-”

“A body! A BODY FOUND IN THE ROYAL GUEST SUITE–

“VAMPIRE! STAY BACK-“

Oh, it’s blue. 

That crystal blue. 

And then it’s black.

---

SLAM!

“If you must kill me.” Satoru’s voice sounds from somewhere above you. You blink away the darkness, feeling your bleary gaze try and adjust to that unfamiliar high ceiling, the outlines of hauntingly beautiful paintings on it. His ragged breaths cut through your thoughts once more, hastily folding your hand to grip your pendant. “If you must kill me, then I prefer you do it with your own hands, princess.”

You can’t tell whose hand is trembling more - yours or his. Distantly, you realize you’re being pushed up against a luxuriously padded wall, one you’d never seen before in your life. 

Where were you?

“The Gojo palace- Please-” he reads your mind, voice breaking at the end of his plea. Gasping - and you can discern two elongated teeth at his canines. Fangs, you realize with a shiver. “You may leave if you want to, you may kill me for what I’ve done. My life is in your hands.”

“Satoru.” you soothe in a hushed voice, despite the way your head was reeling. The Gojo palace? “I won’t kill you.”

“But-”

“Satoru, what does this necklace mean?” You beg, and at this point, you’re not surprised that the necklace is from him - because it was an exact replica of the two burning eyes staring back at you. The only source of light right now, glowing a blue you’d finally found after a lifetime. “Why did you-” you gulp, heart lurching. “Why did you hand me your…life?”

Soft lips play right over your rapid pulse, murmuring into your skin, “S’my soul.” A long, pale index of his plays with the pendant. “The only part of my soul that’s living, gilded into a necklace to be kept in the safest place I know. You.”

“But-” you cry out, trying to get another look at his eyes - but your fiancé only kisses deeper at your neck. Nibbling at the thundering beat just below. “But why did you give it to me?”

“Who else would I give it to, if not for my mate?”

Mates - there were a thousand and one books and official documents detailing everything from a vampire’s killing pattern to the aphrodisiac toxins found in their blood. But the research on a vampire’s mate was far and few between.

Perhaps owing to the lack of willing mates that can come out without persecution, or perhaps due to the vampires’ intense rumored mating rituals. But it didn’t go without its own gossip, you were no stranger to the ladies of the court tittering about how morbidly “romantic” it was that mates were akin to soulmates - how it was an invisible string connecting two people to share a life, a soul. 

A vampire’s one and only mate.

Satoru was pinning you harder to the wall now, his pink tongue darting out to lick over your pulse. The fingers holding onto the necklace were now tilting your chin up at him, “Speak to me, flower.”

“I’m your mate?” you whimper, your lips ghosting over his. Already knowing the answer, but fuck you needed to hear it from him. “What does that mean exactly?”

He lets out a pained grunt, pressing his forehead gently against yours. “It means you’re the other half of my soul. My only one, I was born for you.” Pressing a chaste peck on there - and you swear you could feel the nip of two sharp canines against your skin. “The one I’ll fight heaven and hell for, until the very last beat of my cold, dead heart.” Your fingers curl at his shoulders when his mouth moves to the shell of your ear. “The one I’ll kill for, take out every measly scum that thinks they can get with my mate.”

He huffs out a burst of cold laughter when your breath hitches, probably reading over the thoughts running through your mind - Satoru killed them. The guards, Kashimo, Naoya- fuck, maybe even Sukuna. He killed them. He killed them. He killed them. He killed them. 

You shiver, “A-and all the wind? The whispers? I thought it was just you these past week b-but- All my life, that was you?”

You know. You knew. 

Another kiss - this time to the corner of your eye, and Satoru licks a long, content stripe up the big fat tears unwillingly welling up behind your eyes. He groans at the salty taste of you, taking in a long, drawn-out breath. “Yes.”

All it takes is that single word for your entire body to collapse, thankfully onto an awaiting Satoru. He holds your entire body weight with one hand around your waist, the other coming up to swipe his thumb under those tears rolling down your cheeks now. 

He kisses your cheek, “All your life.” The corner of your lips, “And all of mine.” 

Run away run away run away run away-

But you can’t - you don’t want to.

Your lips wobble when he nuzzles down your face, leaving a trail of hot kisses with his cold, cold mouth. “As soon as I learned to use my powers - was just a brat you see - I just had to see my mate. To smell her scent.” He’s inhaling deeply again, hands groping over your engagement gown. “Lo and behold, there was you. A cute lil’ princess around my age, tuckered out and fast asleep.” Lingering at your jaw, the hand tight around your waist pulls you painfully closer. Satoru’s knee wedging itself between your trembling thighs, “Imagine my surprise when she took one look at me and cried. Scared me enough to teleport outta there as soon as you opened that smart mouth, flower.”

And the thought of Satoru - tiny and determined - teleporting halfway across the land only to be yelled at by you has you huffing out a shock of laughter.

“So when I heard through the grapevine about your potential engagement, fuck- I couldn’t have ran out of this palace faster. Was so excited I fuckin’ forgot to teleport, too. Even if you were afraid of the ‘cruel Northern king.’” 

Fuck - that’s right. He must’ve heard your thoughts that time you met him in the library. 

Satoru’s tone drops to a low simper, so close now that you could feel every slight curve of his grin. Every twitch of his fingers sweeping up and down your exposed skin, feeling the delicious thrum of your veins. He could bite you right now - easily.  “And luckily, as I grew up, so did my ability to blend in with the darkness.” Eyes boring into yours, something so vulnerable in them now. “But you found me, you always did.”

“Satoru.” you angle your head upwards. “Kiss me.”

And how could he ever deny you?

You wince at the slight pinch of Satoru’s teeth - his fangs - as he crashes his lips into yours in a greedy kiss. Sliding his tongue over to taste those candied lips he’s been dreaming of for years. 

“Fuck-” he breathes out through his nose, jaw sagging open further to kiss you deeper. “Fuck, princess.”

Strong arms pin you harder against the wall, and you’re blindly reaching out to reciprocate even a fraction of Satoru’s neediness. Just dragging your hips up and down his muscled thighs. Sinful. 

Shit, it was so endearing to him seeing you struggle to touch him this way. And with a flick of a wrist, the candle chandeliers hung high above your heads are lighting up at once. “S’that better, flower?”

It takes every bit of will in you to manage to pull away, yet the thought of seeing Satoru - of really seeing Satoru is what spurs you to break the kiss. Delicate strings of saturated spit snapping in the non-existent air between you two, you take a long look at your new husband.

Fuck, he was so pretty.

You always knew he was. 

But even with his face tilted downwards, within the soft light tinting those snowy strands a sunset yellow - you could make out the pretty pink flush all the way from his glossy, ravaged lips, up, up, up to his delicate cheeks - he looked like the last thing from a monster. 

“No you’re pretty.” he hums, and you’re still not used to him reading your mind. Head nodding downwards, “Just look, grinding on my thigh like such a slut.”

What met you was a dark pool of slick saturating his trousers,  just peeking out over the hem of your dress. It makes you give another lingering, experimental grind.

“Satoru—” you’re letting out a honeyed drag of his name, reveling in the way it makes him swallow heavily. “You can hear my thoughts, right?” Look at me. 

Slowly - but surely - familiar blue meets yours. Half-lidded, pupils blown, and if you didn’t know any better you’d have said there were tiny sparks of lightning at the corners of his long white lashes.

You’ve been haunting me my whole life, Toru.

And it was an accident - it really was, your freshly kissed brain too hazy to slur out Satoru’s full name. But the impromptu little nickname has him dragging forwards like he was magnetized. 

A low growl escaping when he’s kissing you again. And again. And again and again and-

“Say it-” Two hands are tugging at those tedious ribbons tying your decadent gown together. Pulling. “Say it again f’me.” Ripping. 

The more his lips are assaulting yours, the more the dress slips further and further down your shoulders. Tattered. The soft satin leaving goosebumps down your spine as it reveals your neckline - all that skin for him to ruin. To mark. 

“Oh-” you’re squealing when one of Satoru’s fangs prick a bit too hard at your lip. Feeling a hot flow of crimson bleed out, the feeling has you so weak. So drunk. “Quite eager, aren’t ya?”

“You have no idea.” he groans again. Soft tongue moving from swirling around your own to lazily pool your blood on it. And you can’t imagine what about the metallic taste would be so euphoric, but he’s letting out his loudest drag of your name yet. Eyes rolling to the back of his head like he’s just tasted a personal slice of heaven. “Fuck- fuck you have no idea.”

You moan into the kiss when he bites down again on your already-bruised lower lip, “I’ve always wanted to do this-” Slow, slow hands kneading up your waist, at a dizzying tempo matching his mouth down your jaw, your neck. Hips bucking, you feel the outline of something so hard between his legs. “-to kiss you. To-” Tethering on the sensitive area of your pulse, “-bite.”

In a split-second, you’re sinking down into plush silk sheets, swallowing you whole in a king-sized bed you didn’t even realize was in the room before. 

“S-Satoru, did you teleport us again?” you gasp, eyes adjusting to the intricate paintings on the ceiling that you hadn’t gotten to admire before. Of white-haired youths and roses, of cold, dark palaces and- and you. 

You - when you were younger, sleeping peacefully while a little boy watches intrigued from the corner. You - passed out in the library after a long night of reading, two pale hands wrapping a blanket around your shoulders. You - your brows furrowed, head cocked while you pushed past nobles to search for that flash of his blue. You, you, you.

You. 

“I can hear the gears in that pretty head turning.” Satoru grins, still kissing you in a languid graze of lips. “And as much as I love it when you hah- admire my lonely paintings, I’d rather you pay attention to-” A low groan curdles at the back of his throat when he’s grinding his massive clothed erection against the syrupy spot at your core. “-me.”

There’s a dark little huff of laughter and with one last bite at the side of your neck, Satoru’s unapologetically tearing right through the middle of your gown. 

And you know it’s made with the finest fabrics the country has to offer, you know that no normal man should be able to even rip a tiny shred through your dress - but Satoru is no ordinary man.

Your spike of disappointment is quickly overshadowed by cold breath hovering over your exposed tits. “Oh, so perfect f’me.” he’s groaning, deep and primal. Biting down on your hardened nipple, “Ya think those uptight elders your court has- ah, had would appreciate me desecrating their precious princess before marriage?”

Through gasps, you peek down at his wicked tongue, swirling around the sensitive spots of your areola. “Who- who gives a shit.”

“So feisty.” The peaks of your tits are left coated in him as Satoru pulls away. “So addictive.” Pinching your soft flesh between his teeth - just hard enough that you worry he’s out to draw blood again. “So- so-” 

Words are failing Satoru’s sharp mouth as he kisses his way down your body. The valley of your chest, your stomach, your hips.

Down, down, down-

“Fuck, Satoru-” you’re hissing when he easily pulls the pathetic remains of your dress off and onto the floor. The rest of your inner skirts easily following afterwards. “Are you gonna…”

“M’afraid not.” he licks sloppy circles at the skin of your thighs. Tasting, nipping, leaving little marks with his fangs for later. Sloppily soothing his tongue over the tiny droplets of blood beading from the bites, he murmurs stubbornly, “Not until you address me correctly.”

Hesitantly, you reach out a limp hand to thread through his dampening white tresses. Tugging softly to lock those devouring blue eyes with yours, “Please, Toru?”

You get absolutely no warning when he kisses right through that flimsy excuse of your drenched panties to slide his tongue up and down your sopping wet slit. Up and down up and down up and-

“Sh-shit, Toru-” you moan when he’s just dipping the very tip barely past your puffy folds. The fabric of your underwear still sticking to you, “Stop being such a tease, goddammit ngh-”

“Why?” Of course, he toys with your patience even now, addicted to those needy whines falling from your lips. “I jus’ wanna play with my princess’s pretty pussy. What am I getting out of it?” 

You smirk, not even having to move your pretty mouth to know you had him in the palm of your hand already. I’d be your mate for life. 

It’s all you can do to watch with satisfaction as the great Gojo Satoru gasps - gasps. Slick-glossed lips falling into a soft oh! Hazy eyes widening almost-comically, and at full heady attention while he takes a few seconds to mull over your words. 

RIP!

In an instant, your soaked underwear is ripped clean off to bare your dripping cunt for him, wrapped tightly around Satoru’s fingers and disappearing down below to where your imagination couldn’t handle. 

“Oh, such a pretty pussy.” he coos, thumbing apart your puffy folds to admire your lewdly winking cunt. Glistening and so so needy, you jolt when he bullies two long fingers past your sloppy entrance. With your greedy hole swallowing every slender inch of Satoru’s fingers easily, “So needy too. This all f’me?”

As if to prove his point, his pink lips wrap around your throbbing clit, grinding his tongue over the ravaged tip. The harsh texture of his tastebuds rolling over every inch of you he could reach.

“Y-yes-” you squeal, hips bucking down mindlessly to try and match his relentless tempo. “S’only for you.”

“Tha’s what I love to hear-” Satoru’s cheeks hollow when he sucks on your sensitive little nub - hard. “Sweeter than I even imagined, shit-”

Every pump of his merciless fingers in and out of your cunt drags along your gummy walls. Deftly curling to prey at those hidden sweet spots of yours he just knew would wrench out such throaty moans from you - and fuck, Satoru thinks- no, he knows that the sound is is favorite song. 

“You’re makin’ me- hah making me fall in love all over again.” he gruffs out into your cunt. The pads of his fingers pressing into the cushiony ends of your pussy. “Because look how messy you are- how loud.”

You didn’t know if he had mind-control powers on top of mind-reading, because it’s as if you’re on auto-pilot when your lolling head is whirling down to look at the absolute sin made of you below. Satoru - running his mouth a mile a minute to send white-hot vibrations along your clit. His milky fingers buried knuckle-deep to stretch out your poor cunt. Your sweet sweet juices drooling all over them in such an obscene sheen down his palm, his wrist. 

He whines, “Makin’ me wanna-” You jolt when he’s biting down so dangerously around your clit. “Wanna-”

Satoru doesn’t end up finishing his sentence - and he doesn’t have to. 

Because he’s pausing his make-out with your clit to spit once. Twice. A thick thumb swiping at the intentional splatter of saliva marking your skin, before surging forwards even deeper - you didn’t even think that was possible. But Satoru has the tip of his nose rubbing methodical circles against your clit, jaw grinding at the base of your pussy, tongue flattening out your pussy lips.

Messy. Harsh. 

“Oh- oh my god, Toru-” you’re keening at the feeling of his wet muscle trying to squeeze in past the fingers still continuing their assault on your entrance. “It- it won’t fit–”

“Shhh shhh, s’okay, princess.” he hushes, letting another round glob of spit wet your clingy pussy. “You can take it. You will - otherwise how are you gonna take your husband, hm?”

That little comment has connotations that make your plushy walls clamp down vice-like around his fingers - his tongue. And you’re angling your head just right, blinking away the lustful haze in your eyes to spy down at the rapid, jerky movements of his other hand. Devouring gaze dropping down to-

Oh. 

Oh fuck.

It was difficult to even look at the sight below - your panties, soaked and completely see-through with slick and precum, wrapped prettily around what you could make out to be Satoru’s aching cock. Standing proud, twitching wildly with every drag of his fist up and down his glistening length. 

“Fuck-” he groans, taking the opportunity to devilishly slip his tongue past your feeble entrance. “Fuck fuck fuck fuck- y’like this, huh?” Drawled out little praises now muffled as he fucks you on his tongue the way he wished he could with his cock. In and out in and out in and out. Pulling back to eye your gaping hole, “I can feel y’getting wetter for me is it because-” Before surging back forwards, as if he’s addicted. “Because-” Again.“Fuck don’t clench around me that way. Was hard enough trying not to fuck you stupid right there in the middle of the ballroom.” 

You whine, tears flowing down freely at the sheer pleasure at this point. “Y-you-” you gasp, your five fingers splaying out over Satoru’s head. Pushing even harsher, “You hngh- talk too much- m’so close-”

Partially because you really needed those pretty lips back at your heated core, partially because every word tumbling from his mouth had you throbbing embarrassingly, your slick spreading a glossy sheen on the sheets underneath you. 

“Oh yeah? Heh, anything for you, flower.” Satoru grins such a sly, sultry grin and you feel it against one set of your swollen lips. “Absolutely anything.”

In and out in and out. He has his brows furrowed now, concentrated on having every flick and divot of movement pushing you closer and closer towards the edge. Faster. Sloppier. You have half the mind to wonder whether it didn’t hurt - whether Satoru’s tongue wasn’t cramping up from how fast he was going, whether his fingers weren’t tired already.

Out of the corner of your spotty vision, you can see those stuttering squeezes of Satoru’s hand speed up. Trying desperately to match each bullying push of his tongue and his fingers into your overstuffed pussy. 

The thought makes you whine, “Oh my god- Toru, m’gonna cum.” And shit, at this point it’s too much. You couldn’t think - you couldn’t even breathe. “M’so close please.” Barely able to even register anything but Satoru Satoru Satoru-

It’s why you don’t even realize at first when you’re finally cumming - Satoru does, though. He feels it in the way your heavenly walls are closing down on his fingers, clenching around him so tight that it was almost difficult to fuck you through your orgasm. Waves of electric pleasure crashing into you and you think you’re drowning.

“Tha’s it.” he rasps. “Cum f’me like that, tha’s it- thaaat’s it, such a good lil’ wife- a perfect mate.” 

The fingers stuffed deep inside your pussy are being pulled out in a flash - not letting you waste a moment of your heady high before he’s toying ravenously with your swollen clit. Pinching, and rolling between two soft fingers. 

“O-oh fuck, m’-cumming? M’cumming m’cumming-” you moan deliriously, mind just now catching up. Your hips drag your sloppy pussy all over Satoru’s pretty face. Just drenching his noble features with your gushing mess. “Feels too ah- good, Toru.”

And he takes it like it’s everything he needs - everything he’s ever wanted. 

Jaw falling slack to let your juices slide down his throat, tongue lolling out flick your spasming cunt through your high. Unstopping. Unwavering. 

Even when your vision stops tingeing with black at the edges, even when you think you’re sane enough to form a coherent thought. Even when your climax is bating enough that every flick of Satoru’s tongue only sends almost painful thrums of pleasure down your spine.

“W-wait m’done-” you sob, tasting the salty stream of tears splashing down your face now. “S’too sensitive- ngh-”

When he doesn’t show any signs of stopping anytime soon, you try again - this time thinking the embarrassing thought out loud. I…I really want you inside me now, Toru. Please?

And he pauses - jolting, as if some dark, primal part of him had just been called back to life. Tongue still hot on your cunt, fist still greedy around his rock-hard shaft. 

“F-fuck you’re gonna be the death of me, flower.”

And before, you couldn’t get enough of those striking blue eyes, but now you couldn’t escape them.

With inhuman speed, he’s shuffling up the soaked sheets. “An absolute fuckin-” Slick-glossed lips meet yours, smearing along the combination of juices till the lower half of your face was as dripping wet as Satoru’s. “-minx, y’know that?”

“Wh-what can I say?” you tilt your head with a smirk, lips a bit too loose than you’d like - but it didn’t matter anyway, he was in your thoughts. Your mind. “I’m your mate, after all.”

He falls back onto his knees at that sinful little sentence of yours, throwing his head back in a guttural groan. “Fuck- you’re mine alright. See what you hah- do to me? See how this is all your fault?” 

If Satoru expected an answer, then he doesn’t receive it. Because every snippy little retort on the tip of your tongue melts when you get a long, hard look at the angry shaft in his hand. So red and angry. Thick enough that you felt your cunt quiver already.

Delicate with prominent veins that glistened and throbbed down his long, long length with each slew of his vigorous fist. And his tip- fuck, blushed your favorite shade of weepy pink, slobbering a sheen of precum all down his wrist, his tufts of cloudy white. 

And you realize with a jolt that he still had your panties wrapped around him - looking so tiny around Satoru’s massive cock. 

Wordlessly, your hand replaces his.

“W-woah- fuck-” His toned waist flexes with the effort to fuck up into the soft cushion of your palm. “How the- ngh how the fuck does your fuckin’ hand feel this good?”

“You’re so big- fuck, don’t know how I’d- Wait you never imagined this?” you bat your eyes up with faux innocence. A thumb gliding over that deep divot on the very tip of his fat head. “Because I sure have, Toru.” 

Satoru’s heavy balls smack against your arm when he shuffles down his pants even further, now fully letting you go ahead with your agonizing torture. “Shit-” he yelps, eyes screwing shut at the image. “Don’t- don’t say that, holy shit.”

You toy with your scrap of panties, massaging every ridge and curve with it. Just dragging your hand up and down. “Would you rather I think it instead?”

Within milliseconds, two sharp fangs are poised right above your rapid pulse, a hand around your throat. “No- no no no no-” Satoru gasps, sounding like he was at the end of his rope. And it takes him a few blinks to realize his position, immediately moving his lips up to nip at your jaw. “Fuckin’ no.” Hard enough that another red pearl of blood drips out, instantly being sucked up greedily by your fiancé. “Gonna make me lose it before I-I ngh-”

With a pained growl, he suddenly has you sitting so prettily on his muscular lap. Your legs splayed out like such a slut, needy cunt slobbering all over where you were sat right on his demanding erection. 

By the time you’re realizing your helpless position, it’s too late - and Satoru’s already shrugging off the rest of his pants. Buttons hitting the floor when he just tears his flowing dress shirt off. 

“Sh-show off.” you breathe, hands mapping out every dip and curve of the plane of defined muscles displayed before you. So mouthwatering. 

“Can tell that you- ngh think m’mouthwatering, flower.” he grins. One hand kneading and groping the flesh of your ass to steady your drooling cunt to kiss at his thick tip. The other keeping one of your palms stuck to his washboard abs, up, up, up to press at his sculpted left pec. “N’ I know m’heart’s not beating, but I’m much the same. Very- much the- same.”

And Satoru’s spent years waiting, yearning - so he doesn’t waste even a second more when stuffing his cock inside your snug cunt. 

“O-oh. Satoru- Satoru please oh-”

The stretch - fuck, the stretch. The stretch is so much that it feels like you’re being split apart. Just the bare tip of his fat cock being bullied in short, determined half-thrusts. 

And it takes only one, lucky collision into the bullseye of your g-spot and you’re already falling apart. 

“Wait- wait wait wait m’gonna-” you gasp, your nails running down his broad, milky back in jagged red lines when you’re cumming once more. Toes curling, hips convulsing wildly on top of a smug Satoru. “Oh my god, ngh- what’ve you done to me, Toru?”

“Now, let me ngh- let me tell you a little secret, hah- princess.” His hand comes up to cup your jaw, gifting a sweet kiss on your swollen lips. “The best thing about mates?” Sharp fangs catch onto your delicate skin, “They feel sex on a whole other level.”

And then he’s bringing down both hands to spread apart the globes of your ass. Your puffy folds are stretched to their limits when he thrusts up once. Muscled thighs flexing underneath yours. Harsh. 

Ignoring your pleading keens and the slight resistance at the intrusion of his intimidating size, “Hold on, princess- hold- fuuuuck.” Lips latch onto yours, drinking up every heady whine when your poor cunt is being fed every inch by fucking inch. “You’re taking me so well.”

And that you were - your pussy lips bulging and struggling to accommodate Satoru’s monstrous size, but still taking him in so greedily. 

“There we go.” he grunts out, punctuated with heavy rams of hips. Up, up, up until you could feel Satoru’s sobbing tip graze against your cervix - your lungs. “Theeere we fuckin’-” Pushing and pushing until there was no more, until your neglected clit was scratching against his snowy pubic hair. Ass coming to rest at his twitching balls. “-go.”

“You’re in so deep-” you’re blabbering, cockdrunk already. The last few dredges of your high still not wearing off, it takes you a few seconds of Satoru still trying to squeeze his cock even deeper to manage to raise a hand about midway up your stomach. Feeling for that vertical bulge that was him, “-can feel you right here.”

“Oh yeah?”

And like he was testing your theory, Satoru fucks up into your gummy hole in another bullying slam. Watching in wonder at the way that little divot in your stomach crashes around the same spongy cervix he was. 

“Fuck- you’re right.” he hisses. Addicted now. Immediately rocking into you with reeling, long rolls of his hips. “You’re so- fuckin’ right.”

You can’t find the energy in yourself to even yelp in surprise when Satoru immediately changes your positions so that you’re now laying fucked-out on the mattress. His domineering hips pinning you down to use you like some little cocksleeve. 

“God-” he pants into your open mouth, tongue swirling with your weighty one. “God- fuck fuck fuck if heaven is real then this is it.” Each little profanity is decorated with a smoldering crash of his tip into your sweet spot. “You’re the heaven I don’t ngh- deserve, flower.”

That neat bitemark on your thigh is being jostled with the amount of ragged movement, and you wince with pain when it starts flowing again. 

“Oh- oh.” 

Satoru’s like a predator that has cornered his prey, and is spending hours tediously unraveling every single bit of you. 

Sliding two smooth palms underneath your legs, they’re urgently thrown over his large shoulders to fold you down, down, down into the meanest mating press you think you could handle - handle without fucking breaking, that is. 

“So good t’me.” he breathes, long tongue easily licking up that sweet nectar of your blood. “Y’know your cute lil’ brain s’too scrambled to even read right now.”

“H-how can I think when you’re ah! Like- like this, Toru?”

The sudden change in angle makes you scream. It makes you clamor for the headboard, the sheets, your husband when that obscenely perfect upwards curve of his dick is massaging every nook and cranny of your cunt. 

“Yeah? Feels good? Now now- don’t run- away” he’s dragging you down those drenched sheets by the legs like some ragdoll, stuffing you more and more with his painful cock. Fucking you so relentless, like he was trying to worship every little hidden sweet spot inside your dripping cunt. “Say it- no no no, not in your head. Say it.”

And you do - a little over fifteen times when his thick hilt pecks your pussy lips over and over with each thrust when Satoru bottoms out, hitting all the way into the back of your cunt - your cervix, your g-spot - like he couldn’t decide which one to bruise more. 

“S’too good-” you’re gasping. Your overstimulated pussy being molded like clay to the girthy shaft kissing down your cunt. Stretching out your elastic walls until you could almost feel them take shape to his swollen cock. Feel every sensitive spot inside you being overstimulated at once with every burning massage against them. “You’re fuckin’ me way too- too good- ngh- can’t even think.”

But that wasn’t enough for him.

Dipping a thumb down to circle around your clit, white-hot pleasure shoots up your spine when he lets out a deep rumble, “Think I fell in love with you when I- fuck, right then and there when I first- hah saw you all those years back.” speeding up with the sloppy staccato of his rude cock. Satoru’s words slurring now, messed up and half-prepared like the accelerating half-thrusts being bestowed upon your ravaged cunt. Like he couldn’t bear to pull out completely. “The first time you saw me, you were so afraid. Look at you- fuck, jus’ look at you now, princess.”

Each word is like a brand onto your sticky skin, accompanied by harsh smacks of Satoru’s balls against your ass, his sharp hip bones digging into your thighs. Him.

“Toru–” is all you can manage to whine out, a limp hand pulling his face closer to yours. You’re jumping with each swipe at your poor clit. “Toru m’here.”

“And- and yet-” he’s still blabbering, still pussydrunk while he fucks you so menacingly. Fingers sopping wet with their assault on your sensitive nub, “And yet I just- fuck-” He cuts himself off to give your messy hole another thick stream of spit. Coating his long, raw shaft - rubbed red with the way your gripping walls were massaging him so right - making it easier to slide in and out. “And yet, I just had to see you, to see the gorgeous mate I don’t deserve. I couldn’t live without you.”

A single overstimulated tear glistens a track down Satoru’s pretty face - one you kiss away as quickly as it appeared. Nudging open those teary, blue gaze to bore down on you. 

Oh, he looked an absolute wreck - white hair mussed up, stray strands sticking to his forehead. Glossy lips parted, drool pooling at the corner, broken grunts leaving him with each smash of his tip back into your cunt. So blissed out. 

Jolting at your eyes on him, Satoru feels his balls tighten so painfully. Abs burning when his pace stutters with need. 

“You’re haunting me, just as much as I was haunting you, Toru.”

The candles go out. Instantly. 

And shit you’re feeling it first when when hé’s cumming and cumming so hard that it almost hurts. Flashes of white startling behind his closed, glassy eyes. “Shit- shit shit shit shit-” Hairs on your body raising as Satoru’s fingers draw circles on your clit so aggressively. Dragging out your high. Forcing it. “Take it- take it all, my flower. Let me paint this pretty pussy all white.” Violent, almost.

So, really, it makes sense that your third orgasm of the night was the same. 

Just shivering, sinful tingles running from your overstimulated mind right down to where Satoru was stuffing thick white ropes of potent seed deeper and deeper down your tight channel. 

Overspilling with each calculated ram, his cum is oozing out of the corners of your puffy lips with each furious clench of his balls. Too much. 

And it’s all you can do to sit there and take it, feeling the sloppy dredges of cum make a mess slobbering down your thighs and his. Starting up blearily at the blurry paintings on the ceilings. The paintings of you - of a still Satoru that looked down at you with only half as much intensity and pure swirling emotion as he was right now.

Something that couldn’t be painted - but would make such a pretty picture, when his fangs bite into that racing junction at your neck.

You scream a soundless scream of his name, eyes rolling to the back of your head as something warm fills your entire body. 

Leaving your words unheard, your ravaged hole loose to let out slobbering squelches of Satoru’s cum. Blood racing and flowing right into Satoru’s greedy mouth. 

“Princess-” he gulps. Tongue licking up every crimson bead his crazed eyes could spot, body aching when he dares pull away from that heavenly taste. More. “Princess princess princess- you- hngh you’re mine. All mine now.”

And he’s letting out more thick globs of cum straight into your waiting cunt. Body bowing even harder to let it seep into your elastic walls, your womb. So much more than you can take and he just keeps giving. 

It seems like forever when Satoru finally pulls away - and within the glowing blue of his eyes, you can see the red staining his lips, dripping down those fangs, his chin. Staining the silk sheets below - staining you with so much more. 

Before you can stop yourself, you’re reaching up to catch his lips in a bloodied kiss. Your own elongated canines catching amateurishly on his lips. 

Satoru hisses - but he likes it. And you can tell. 

You can read every single hypnotizing thought whirling behind those crystal blue eyes - how he wants to ravish you again, how he wants to worship you. To make you his all over, to have you make him yours. The thought makes you smile as you whisper, “I’m onto you, Toru.”

“You’re onto me, flower.” Catching your lips in a sweet, sweet red kiss. “Forever.”

A/N. This was SOOO fun to write omg y’all have no idea. If you made it this far then you get a sloppy smooch from me mwahhhh.

Plagiarism of work not authorized.

[haetero]

all mine.

PAIRING: aemond targaryen x afab!reader. WORDCOUNT: 1.9k

CW: jealous sex, mating press (hehe), unprotected sex, breeding kink!!, creampie, kind of angsty but its porn w a little bit of plot. use of high valyrian + a sprinkle of aegon bashing! mdni <3

AUTHOR’S NOTE: this was originally a 500 word drabble and then... i went a bit nuts.. if you enjoyed the fic, pls lmk! not proofread we die like literally everyone lol.

ABSTRACT:

aemond gets caught up with his royal duties and finds himself spending less time with his precious lady wife. determined to take matters in your hands, you make some silly choices involving another prince, which only makes things worse. till it gets better :)

this time, you think you deserved it.

what begun as a harmless jest to get aemond to pay attention to you quickly led to letting aegon drunkenly sweet talk you at supper. and yes, pretending to flirt with your husband’s brother in front of him might not have been the best decision, but you were just having fun right?

wrong.

you were perhaps the stupidest woman in all the seven kingdoms. really, there was no rationale for choosing to engage with aegon for more than ten minutes at a time and yet here you were, ‘giggling’ at his piss poor jokes and pretending to listen to his made up tales of something you couldn’t care to remember.

you could only chastise your past self for your poor decision making skills as aegon whispered into your ear, far too close to your liking. he stunk of the rich, dornish wine served earlier in the evening and his eyes lazily stared at the expanse of your chest. but regardless of whether he was drunk or not, aegon had enough wits about him to realise his brother was furious.

a sly grin on aegon’s face, he seemed to understand the predicament you were in and leaned in to plant a wet kiss on your cheek, before loudly announcing his exit with a parting “my lady”, to further enrage aemond.

internally groaning, you waited till aegon left before daring to take a peek at aemond. but he wasn’t even looking at you.

the complete lack of response terrified you. in fact, you’d almost convinced yourself he didn’t care at all, until you noticed his blanching knuckles gripping his silverware. “aemond, i-," you begun.

in an instant, aemond had gotten up out of his seat and finally looked at you with a look in his eyes that only meant one thing. he mumbled out a quick excusal for the pair of you, before extending his arm towards you with a pointed stare.

you were well and truly fucked.

⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪

before you can realise what’s happened, aemond’s dragged you to your shared chambers at a pace you’re struggling to keep up with. quickly dismissing your maids, he shuts the doors firmly, before turning his back to you and shucking off his outer clothing. you dejectedly do the same, struggling out of your dress. you leave them in a heap on the floor, stripping down till you’re in your underthings.

the sounds of aemond changing have quietened down, spurring you to take a peek at him. he’s left in his pants; his broad shoulders and back on display for you to admire. maybe he'll listen to you if you explain yourself, you delude yourself. tiptoeing over to where he stands, you attempt a sheepish half smile, grabbing onto his bare arm to direct his attention to you.

“please, i’m sorry, i wasn’t thinking, i just missed you,” you start, attempting to make eye contact with aemond. he’s yet to talk to you, pointedly ignoring you. he simply stands there, jaw clenched, refusing to acknowledge you any further.

you feel stupid, really. doing all this to gain the attention of the man standing in front of you and even then, he doesn’t even spare you a glance. you wait for a few more seconds before deciding to save yourself the embarrassment. with a sigh, you turn back to your shared bed and sit yourself down.

you rush to unpin your hair, readying yourself for sleep. the dull throb of want in your stomach has you frowning but you know the only person who could satisfy you is aemond. in your distracted state, you don’t see that aemond’s turned back to face you.

“do you take me for a fool?” you freeze, not expecting that of all questions. you start to respond when he cuts you off with a glare. aemond huffs out a curse and walks over to stand in between your legs. a part of you think he looks majestic from this view, but you’re quick to silence your thoughts as he slightly lowers himself till he’s level with you.

“you missed me, so you thought it best to what? throw yourself at my brother?” the affronted look in your eyes tells aemond he’s wrong but he’s not feeling very charitable as you try to come up with right thing to say. “and you thought i’d just let him have you?”

“no! i swear, i was being childish aemond,” you try to reason with him. the longer you think about it, the faster you realise how childish you really were. but it doesn’t change your intentions. you were unsatisfied and tired. but you also hadn’t been this close to aemond without someone else being nearby in a while. the dull throbbing sensation in your cunt was starting to spread and you fought the urge to rip your underthings off and let aemond have his way with you.

“if you wanted something, all you had to do was tell me, not run off to aegon,” he muses, his right arm coming up to trace the veins in your neck. aemond can feel the way your breath stutters; he takes note of the way your lips quiver and fingers curl up slightly at his words. you not-so-subtly push your thighs together, trying to alleviate some of your lust by yourself.

a satisfied grin curls at his lips and aemond, finally, leans into the slope of your neck. you shiver at the feather-like sensation of his lips pressing into your skin, grabbing onto his arm to steady yourself before he pushes you onto your back. “aemond, i need only you,” you shyly mumble, before reaching up on your elbows to undo the clasp of his eye patch.

aemond lets you do as much before throwing it behind him, fixing you with a lust-filled gaze that has you whimpering within a second. he leans over you, and makes a show out of dragging the fabric of your underthings down till he’s rid of them, throwing them to the side. you’re shaking as you watch him eye your cunt with a starving look.

calloused hands grab at the fat of your thighs, kneading the soft skin there before pushing them to your chest. you mewl as cold air fans over your wet cunt, catching the way aemond eyes your hole greedily twitching around nothing. “this is what you wanted, right?”

“yes, yes, please,” you beg. if you weren’t so desperate already, you would have gagged at the sound of your whiny tone. but aemond seems to like your desperation. aemond undoes the string of his pants, before palming himself with a squeeze that has him sighing in relief. your mouth waters at the sight before you.

aemond gives himself a moment before he climbs over you, his frame gently pushing onto your knees in the position you’re in. your eyes flutter shut at the sensation of his warmth enveloping you.

“no, look at me, ābrazȳrys,” your silver haired lover grunts, as he goes to drag his cockhead over your slit. “i should get aegon to pleasure your whorish cunt instead.”

your immediate protests brings a smug grin to aemond’s face. of course, he would never let his brother anywhere near the ethereal sight beneath him, but seeing the tortured look on your face brings him a sick sense of pride. he plays with you like this for a moment, rubbing his cockhead over and over your clit till you’re nearly crying out in want.

after what feels like a lifetime, he decides to push into you. aemond intently watches the way his cock catches at the rim of your pussy before he slams into you. your resulting gasp has aemond’s chest tightening as he loses himself to the feeling of your walls clenching around him immediately.

letting out a strangled moan of your name, he sets a brutal pace from the get-go, ploughing forward until you’re clawing at his neck and shoulders for a reprieve. you’re a quivering mess under him, a mix of moans and cries escaping you. you can feel him everywhere.

a light flush rises on aemond’s cheeks and upper chest, a pink hue that matches the fine dresses you might wear to a banquet or a tourney. your teary eyes trace the faint red lines peaking up on his broad shoulders, evidence of your passion that has your core clenching tighter around him. aemond catches your stare, mouth agape in a euphoric state of mind and pushes your knees down even further, if it was possible.

his wife, his lover, his, his, only his.

"it's okay, sweetling," he vows, fat cock bullying your walls as he moulds himself into you. he bends down to leave a path of kisses trailing down your neck, assuming a steady yet punishing pace into your sopping core. "for me, remember? you can take it for me, right?" aemond groans, drunk on the way your pussy sucks him in, eyes squeezed shut in the pleasure you both share.

leaning back, aemond watches you grip the sheets tightly, he feels the way you soak his cock every time he rocks into your pussy. you've gone half mad, tongue lolling out as you chant his name as a mindless mantra. he drags your knees down to instead wrap around his hips, bringing you closer to plant wet kisses down your neck, nipping at the salty skin. you keen into his ear at the change of position, untangling your hands from the sheets to cling tightly to aemond.

"feel good, love?" he murmurs, trailing his arm down till it lights presses onto your stomach as he drives his cock back into you. "tonight's the night i'm filling you up. that way, my fool of a brother will know to stay away from you.”

you don’t even think you’re making sense as you blabber your agreement. you want, no, you need him to give you his heir. you need him to drive himself further into you till you feel him in your chest, in your heart.

the thought of a miniature aemond targaryen running around has your heart swelling in your chest; the life you’ve always wanted but never let yourself dream of for too long. your lives were far too cruel for such a precious being to be born into it, yet aemond seems hellbent on making it come true as he bullies his cock further and further into your cunt.

aemond slows to a dangerous grind and bends down to capture your lips, his lean torso catches on your clit as you arch up into his mouth. "aemond pl-please, i want it," you whine, your hips buck as his languid thrusts reach a spot deeper than you thought possible. "you're mine," he groans into the heat of your mouth, skilled fingers come down to rub taut circles on your aching clit. he feels the telltale signs of your trembling walls and your greedy eyes beg him for release.

“fuc-fuck, nyke’m bē konīr,” aemond huffs, feeling your cunt swell around his cock as he rams deeper into you. you’re scrambling to hold onto anything; his shoulders, his wrists, the pillow, the sheets.

when you start twitching around his cock, walls fluttering at a pace aemond can't keep up with, he thinks you're the most divine creature in all the seven kingdoms.

and as you cream around his cock, aemond finds himself pushing himself into you one more time, filling you with his hot seed and the unspoken promise to cherish you for as long as you'd have him.

⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪

high valyrian translations:

ābrazȳrys - wife. nyke’m bē konīr - i’m almost there.

[chaosandmarigolds]

Dad!Simon who insisted you go on the vacation, because of course he can handle his baby girl and his six year old (almost six, but Ollie rounds up)

Simon who knew he had it in the bag....

for about two hours

Simon who made bagels for dinner; wassss this close 🤏to making Ollie eat dirt because WHAT DO YOU MEAN you don't like bagels now you were begging for them in the store!

Simon who made it about forty hours before he gave him and called Johnny

Simon who had no idea why Ollie was being so gosh darn annoying

Simon who had previously made a bet with Price that he wouldn't need help so therefore he would rather die than call Price even though Ollie idolizes his 'grandfather'

''s Johnny, missed ya but leave a message at the lil' beep."

"John MacTavish I swear to god if you don' call me back in ten minutes I will personally post thos' pictures of ya in Afgan."

two minutes later-

"ya know that's a real low blow-"

"I need you to take Oliver to th' park- Tessie isn't goin to sleep with him 'roun."

"Call the capn, he's closer to ya."

"I will not do that."

"Ugh, fine- lemme tell my girl then'll be there in twenty."

Simon who told Oliver to behave for his uncle and then happily sent them away- which finally he would be able to put the exhausted newborn to sleep

Simon was finally able to doze off on the sofa, the baby happily snoozing away on his chest and everything seemed perfect with the world

"MISTER RILEY UNCLE JOHNNY IS IS-HES-" The thundering slam of the door being swung open not only woke up Simon but the baby who aptly began to sob to the sudden change of pace, Oliver however did not care "UNCLE JOHNNY SUCKS."

Uncle Johnny told Ollie not to kick the ball into the river

Simon who is flabbergasted because even Johnny looked shook to his core, sure they had been at the park for about five hours but like-???

John MacTavish...brought down .... by Simon's six year old

Simon who, after ten minutes of the baby screaming for their mother and refusing to take their bottle with disgruntled wails of pain and Ollie so tired he can't think straight so he's also a sobbing and angry disaster and Johnny's just standing there by the door waiting for answers and everything is so loud-

"Capn?"

"Oh! Hi, sweetheart," John's wife answered the landline and he could hear her voice call for her husband, "Hi, how are you and lil' ones?"

Simon looked at Ollie who was currently in time out for stealing his sisters binkie for the tenth time, "Not great."

"O-"

"Simon." Price's voice cut in and it took about five seconds to get everything account for, "Ya already called Johnny right?"

"Yessir."

"Did you try Kyle?"

"No sir, he's on his honeymoon."

'"Ah-that's right, that's right."

Silence

"Sir I would like your help."

"Ha! Knew it! Alrighty, missus and I'll be there in...i dunno- you boys hungry? She made that-honey whatcha make?" indistinct conversation, "Ma'am said it didn't matter, she'll bring it anyway. Forty minutes?"

Simon looked at Johnny, who was on 'keep ollie in said time out' picking up the kid whenever he would try and run off. "Can you make it twenty, sir?"

Simon and Johnny who, out of habit, stood at attention as soon at the captain let himself into the house

Simon who looked a bit worse for wear, even with his non existant sleep scheulde in the military he had never looked so fatigued

Simon who had the baby out of his arms by Price's wife within two minutes of them being there

Simon who loves his son, he loves him (internal mantra) but he is making him look bad to his captain so the little twerp better get his act together.

"Riley."

"Yessir."

"How long is your block?"

"Two kilometers around."

"Two laps."

faltering silence through the house, Simon stared at the captain as he helped Ollie tie his sneakers by the door. The silence did mean Tessie had finally fallen asleep but he was- "I'm sorry?"

"Two laps, you, Johnny, and Oliver." Price looked to the kid, who looked more angry at the world than anything else, "Go. Dinner will be ready when you get back."

Simon was about to argue but Ollie beat him to it, "I don't want to run."

"You don't want to run?"

Oliver seemed a bit taken back, "No. So I'm not going to."

"Okay. You can clean the entire house- including your sisters nappy's, for a week, yeah?"

A pause.

"Fine, i'll go on the stupid run."

Simon who might as well be walking with the pace Oliver chose to keep

Johnny who took off sprinting because lord knew that man was starving and Mrs. Price's food was heaven on earth

Simon who sat down on the side of the road when the little guy was out of breath

Simon that mostly ran in silence until Ollie broke it

"Why did mom leave?"

huh?

"What?"

"Mom she-she just...she left us, wh-"

"Whoa-whoa whoa, mum didn't leave-mum didn't leave us wh-whoa, Olls," he had collapsed to his knee when the boy started to speak just to look at him in the eyes and he tried to read the boys expression, "Mum would never leave you, she loves you so much."

"Then where did she go?? Why didn't she say goodbye?"

"She's with her friends, and her flight left 'fore you woke up, Olls. Laddie, she wouldn't leave you."

Simon who had called you, even though there was time difference as everyone was sitting down to eat dinner

"oh...wow the gang's back together," You grumble as you rub your eyes, having been dead asleep, only for the camera angle to change suddenly and it was just a close up angle of your son's face, "Hi baby."

"Mom guess what Uncle Johnny did."

"EY, LET'S NOT TELL YER MOM BOUT THAT."

"Hey mom?" The boy was easily distracted and then looked down at the phone again.

"Yeah baby?"

"Never go on away again, dad said so."

You stay silent for a moment, blinking, because in all three years you and Simon had been together Ollie had never referred to him as 'dad' or anything remotely close. "Your...right, yeah-I'm pretty bored here anyway."

Simon, who was fine with you going on little getaways just not anymore how dare you try and leave him alone

"You sure it's okay if I stay a few more days?"

With a short laugh he looks over the living room, where Johnny and Olls were fast asleep watching some cartoon he didn't know the name of while John and His wife had chosen to stay in the guest room for the night. It would hell if you stayed for a few more days.

"Of course, luv, I got the boys an' Tessie needs to learn who they are anyway."

"I guess. Okay, the ride is here. I love you."

"I love you more."

(annnnway that's it <333 any comments you wanna leave or anything like that makes my day!)

[dearsnow]

12:29 AM

- your normally sober husband comes home drunk out of his mind after a party, and you can’t say that he’s any less sweet. (robert “bob” floyd x wife!reader, fluff, honestly one of the cutest things i’ve ever written, ⚠️ obviously heavy themes of alcohol and being drunk, sexual innuendos but nothing graphic)

word count: 1,502

a/n - i haven’t written a fic with a timestamp as the title in… (checks old blog) over three years?!? in any case, i hope you guys like drunk!bobby as much as i do <3 he’s definitely an emotional/clingy drunk imo.

It’s not often that your husband stays out late, and it’s not often that he doesn’t text you while he’s out, but you trust him. He’s not the type to get blackout drunk or come home stumbling through the doorframe. Robert Floyd is a clearheaded and strong man.

Well, he looks neither right now, as he’s supported by Jake and Javy’s arms, glasses slipping off the bridge of his nose and a dopey smile brightening his face. Jake looks at you apologetically— as apologetic as he can get for a situation that’s likely his fault. “Sorry, hun.” He huffs, shifting around Bob’s weight. “There were a few too many fruity drinks ordered, and I guess he didn’t realize they were full of alcohol.”

“You guess?” You ask, rubbing the space between your eyebrows with your fingers. The two more sober men lead Bob into your bedroom, half-dragging him. They lay him down on your shared bed with a softened thump that has him groaning on top of the sheets. “I can’t believe you guys.”

Bob went out with the rest of the squad for some coworker’s promotion celebration, and he promised to come home perfectly sober, as always. He doesn’t even need to promise, if you’re being honest, because that’s just how he is; the most levelheaded person in the room. He would stay until it was socially acceptable for an acquaintance to leave, then he would head home and help you cook dinner to your favorite old school tunes. You never expected to see him shitfaced at 12:29 AM.

Javy shakes his head as he steps around you, taking Jake for a clean escape. “We tried to warn him. I hope he feels better in the morning, but until then, we’re gonna have to leave him with you.”

You sigh, eyebrows just as pinched as they were before. For the first time ever, you’re scared that Bob is going to die in his sleep, and the thought frustrates you to no end. “Thanks. It’s so great that he’s drunk out of his mind, but I have to give you credit for getting him here in one piece.” Your tone is sarcastic enough to get the two men cringing in shame, but you also know that without them, he might still be at that party.

Jake pats you on the shoulder. “Good luck, soldier. You’ll need it.”

With that, Javy and Jake walk out of your bedroom, past your living room, and out of your house like they couldn’t wait to leave. As you hear them close the door, you look down at your husband.

He’s still conscious, thankfully. His eyes are slightly unfocused, he’s blushing like a madman, and he’s groaning lightly, but he’s not completely gone yet. You brush the damp hair away from his forehead and he whines just a bit.

“Wife.”

You quirk your eyebrow in confusion. “Yes?”

“I… have a wife. Y’ can’t touch me like that.” He mumbles. It feels like he’s looking past you. Despite everything, you feel like laughing.

You adjust his glasses on his face and lean over him a little more, fully in his field of vision. “I am your wife.”

His eyes widen like he’s seeing you for the first time, and he smiles crookedly. He tries to sit up, but only manages to prop himself up on one arm as he takes in the sight of your face. “S’ pretty. You’re really my wife? My girl?” In combination with the slurred words of someone down in the cups, the slight southern accent he took so much time to push away is coming back as he speaks to you.

“Yes.” You confirm, kissing him on the cheek. He somehow smiles even wider and reaches out to touch the apples of your cheeks.

“Love you. I missed you.” He mumbles. “Spent that whole party wonderin’ when I could see you again.” He flops back down onto the springy mattress, throwing his arms up. He moves with the precision of a toddler, his limbs seemingly coated in lead. He almost smacks the glasses off his face as he motions to you with grabby hands.

“I missed you too, honey. Can we get you into your pajamas? I’m sure you don’t want to sleep in jeans and a polo.” As you ask that question, his fingers are already attempting to pull the shirt off of his body. It doesn’t work very well, considering he’s still laying down, but you appreciate the effort. “Sit up, my love.”

He sits up, winking at you heavily. It’s more like a slow blink with how long it takes him to do it. “Can’t wait to get me naked?”

A laugh escapes your mouth, and you smother the rest of your giggles with the heel of your palm as you gaze at his slightly crestfallen face. He’s funny when drunk, apparently, even when he isn’t trying to be. It’s like seeing him completely unhinged with none of his usual, careful filters. “Sure. You need to be in some state of undress to get your pajamas on, anyways.”

His face falls into a slight pout as you help him unbutton the top of his polo and slide it up his chest. He seems to notice how your hands hesitate when meeting the warm, taut skin of his abs, and the pout fades instantly. “Like it?”

“I always do.” You hum. He does have a great body, one that you’ve found to be extraordinarily hot. Strong arms, tight muscles, and yet a gentleness in the way his hands hold yours. Right now, though, it’s a bit of a problem as you’re attempting to get his jeans off. He’s still sitting, and you think you could lift weights for ten years and not be able to pull them out from under him. “Can you stand, Bobby?”

“Gladly.” He sings. You help him stand, supporting a bit of his weight. He seems to find a little bit of his footing as his other arm presses into the wall, allowing the both of you to shimmy his pants down his legs and kick them to some unknown corner of the room.

You gather his neatly folded pajamas, a soft shirt and some plaid flannel pants, and help him put them on. Luckily for you, he’s been revitalized by your touch and is a little more helpful now. He’s still moving awkwardly and shifting around like he’s constantly trying to get his balance straightened out, but it’s better than nothing. It would be hell to get him to do anything other than dress, though, so you settle for just getting him in bed. His dental hygiene routine will have to wait.

You lay him back down after he’s dressed and pull the blankets up to his chin, kissing his forehead gently and tucking his glasses in your dresser drawer. You’re already ready for the night (the perks of thinking he would come home three hours ago), so you slip in bed next to him. He immediately pulls you into his arms, his body comfortingly warm. He’s always run just a little hot, which is amazing on cooler nights like this.

He sighs contentedly before moving to stare directly into your eyes. “Y’know,” he starts, “I can’t sleep without your arms ‘round me, and your legs ‘round me, and you breathing all sweet on my neck. ‘M up all night when I’m deployed, at first anyways. My carrier roommates hate it.”

You shift just enough as to where your body is clutching on to him as tight as possible, and he hums in relief. It’s like the little tension that he was holding dissipated entirely. “I’m sorry, baby. That must be hard.” You soothe.

“Payback gave me his pillow once so I could wrap it in my arms, but it didn’t help. He threatened to ‘come up there n’ cuddle me himself’ if I didn’t stop moving.” He scrunches his eyes closed at the memory. You do your best to suppress another bout of laughter, but he makes it even harder when he shivers like he isn’t covered in three layers of blankets and you.

“Did he ever follow through?” You ask, pressing your lips together to stop from smiling. Bob shakes his head.

“Thank god he didn’t.” He utters. You turn to shove your face into your pillow to muffle your expressions. He just keeps his eyes closed, completely unaware of the fact that you’re losing it next to him.

When you finally come up for air, he is drifting in and out of sleep. “Love ya. G’night.” He whispers. It’s so soft that you almost start laughing again.

“Good night, Bobby. Love you too.” You say, kissing his cheek. You click off the lamp on your bedside table and snuggle deeper into his grasp.

He’s going to have one hell of a hangover in the morning. At least he’ll have his wife, breakfast in bed, and an aspirin to take care of him.

Taglist: @seitmai

[weebsinstash]

I'm not typically a fan of pregnancy au stuff for hazbin because it introduces a hell lotta new questions, but anyways, I DO find it absolutely entertaining thinking about a Reader who did the nasty with Alastor and had kind of a friends-with-benefits situation with him and he does his whole 7 year disappearing act without warning you or telling you anything at all (assumedly because he did not have a choice or opportunity) and he comes back, knocking on your front door, "say, doll! What's say we mosey on over to our old favorite jazz club to catch up on old times?"

and suddenly peeking out from behind your back is just the cutest little fawn with a head full of curls who is very clearly Alastor's son, clutching at your apron, "Mama, isn't he the man you listen to those old recordings of? He sounds the same"

Alastor feeling this, this WARMTH in his chest as you invite him inside your home and it's completely different from the last time he was there, filled with everything your son could need, his drawings and report cards from that nice school you break your back to afford stuck lovingly on the fridge and a hot home-cooked meal currently cooling on the stove as Alastor's invited for some food... if he feels comfortable. You and him discuss privately where your son can't hear as you get all weepy, "I'm sorry, but when you disappeared, I couldn't... ASK you what you would have wanted... I didn't want to have some kind of, of PROCEDURE and you hate me for it... and even from the very first scan, I loved him so much... he's my entire world... I couldn't even CONSIDER... getting rid of him. He's my beautiful smart baby boy and i would die for him"

Genuinely I think it would be real funny if Alastor is initially quite jealous actually for having to share you with a CHILD, but the more time he spends around the young boy, the more he realizes, oh, this is quite the upstanding young fellow! His mama raised him right and he likes to help around the house, likes to read lots of books, loves all kinds of music, helps his mother on all the crosswords and word searches and puzzle books, and he's smart enough to suss out pretty quickly, "sir are you my father"

and the second your son receives an answer, just, KICKING THE RADIO DEMON IN THE SHIN, "You're a horrible man!! You call yourself a gentleman but you left my mama to raise a baby all by herself!! You're terrible! Incorrigible! Disrespectful! Untoward!--" Your young son is breaking out the goddamn dictionary and synonyms on this man, "you lying, deceitful, devious, DEPLORABLE--"

And Alastor is watching this little kid threaten to beat his ass and not even caring that he's up against The Infamous Radio Demon, just shouting at Alastor until the young boy is absolutely changing colors in the face, getting SO SO upset for his mama that he's ready to FIGHT OVER IT, and Alastor is just, essentially, breaking out into laughter, "oh, so you ARE my son!! Aren't you a gutsy one!! Put JUST a little force behind that next one and it might actually sting a bit!" and pats the boy on the head. That settles it; he's accepted as Alastor's son like THAT

Of course, Alastor now caring for this boy does not come without its... complications. There might be some 'incidents' if you, for example, have other positive role models for your son, other men who are regularly coming around, making Alastor's new position as the boy's father and your not-quite-husband (yet) feel threatened and unstable and encouraging the Radio Demon to 'act out'. You're so happy to have Alastor back in your life that you don't even notice things are a little off until your son starts mentioning things like "Mama where did Mr Thomas go? He used to come by every Thursday to play chess but I don't remember seeing him for a while?" "Mama I know Benson has bullied me and pushed me down and stolen my things but I saw his mom crying outside the bookstore earlier saying he's gone missing and I think we should help look for him" "Mama I know Mr Alastor said we don't need her and he can teach me but I also like my old piano teacher. Could I have some lessons with her and some with Mr Alastor instead of just all of them with him? I miss Ms. Mason"

But like... you don't want to deny Alastor a relationship with his child after they both have already lost so much time and you don't want to deprive your son of his father without a good reason, so you stifle some of your suspicions. It's all for your son's sake, isn't it? And you can't help but, get a little selfish when Alastor insists on taking you and your boy out, going to see live bands, going to local events, taking your son to the county fair and you feeling tears in your eyes as, your boy finally gets to spend time with his father. It's like... it's like you're a real family... you've always wanted something like this, for him, for them, for yourself--

But... Alastor doesn't... see you THAT way, does he? He displays his emotions much differently than you, and there were even times in the past where Alastor himself drew the line in the sand that, oh yes you two were quite close friends, he has such a deep affection for you, but... romantically? Sorry, sweetheart, but no

... or so he thought. Now that he's back, he sees how deeply you love his son and sacrifice so much for him amd how much your son absolutely adores you and how, completely by yourself, without any of Alastor's help, you raised him into a fine young man that... the Radio Demon could see himself helping raise, a boy he can't help but feel a little pride in helping make and, can't help but feel a little sad he missed all sorts of important milestones for. And of course, of course of course of course, he missed YOU ever so much, and when Alastor looks up from his paper to see you at the stove, hair all out of place and your hands messy as you cook a meal for your son and his father, your little boy dutifully helping clean as you go, he can't help wish that THIS was how he spent his last 7 years.

Lucifer have mercy on anyone who tries to disrupt his new utopia of peace and tranquility. Could you even imagine, could you even fucking imagine you and Alastor are walking with your son and nearby TVs snap on and it's fucking Vox, showing your family on TV, talking shit to Alastor, using HORRIBLE language in front of your son--

And Alastor feels his love for you grow all the more as you use your own magic to surge through the television and begin strangling the newscaster right on the air, "DONT YOU DARE SHOW MY SON'S FACE ON TV YOU FUCKING--" and Alastor starts lovingly conversing with his son about how important it is to stand up for your family and your values as the pair of them watch you throw Vox around his recording studio in a frenzied rage, "You and your disgusting Vees always trying to peddle your worthless garbage to kids, you CREEPS!! BABIES DON'T NEED IPADS, RETINOL CREAMS, SKEEYEE DANCE ROUTINES, AND ATHLEISUREWEAR LEGGINGS THAT GO UP THEIR ASS, YOU CONSUMERIST IMMORAL SHELL OF A HUMAN BEING--"

Snapcut to you rejoining your family on the sidewalk with your hair a mess and visible blood on you while Vox is facedown on the floor in his broadcast unable to move before it cuts to a "technical difficulties, please stand by" screen. Alastor is oh so genuinely joyfully smiling, "Now who wants to go and get some waffles? I say we should celebrate any victory over our enemies with some tasty grub!!" and he takes you and your son's hands and is all but skipping down the sidewalk while his hated rival is bleeding out in his tower somewhere. Oh, Alastor will give the Television Demon his own revenge for daring to try and shame the lovely beautiful mother of his child and his beloved boy on that disgusting show. What kind of degenerate uses children for content, let alone threatens their safety? Alastor will be back for him later and do much, MUCH worse than you did.

For now, though? Alastor just wants to enjoy the sight of you and his son sitting in a booth with him while you all scarf down some hotcakes. A family of his very own, huh? How wonderful. If only his own mom were here to see it...

[arminsumi]

SAKURA.

𝐆. 𝐒𝐀𝐓𝐎𝐑𝐔 — 五条悟 ⋅ fem reader

NOTE: i really liked this idea and merged it with my little daydream of Gojo being in his clan and meeting you in a small village (like before he moved to the city or something) and tweaked it just a lil bit if that's ok!! i hope i delivered, and mwa ty for your request lovely anon i hope i got it all right, enjoyyy 💐

REQUEST: Can you pls write gojo who gets the Hanahaki disease cause of reader and gojos condition worsens so to keep the strongest alive the higher ups set up an arranged marriage with reader (her mission is to love gojo so he doesn’t die but she is defensive and uncooperative at first) but then she warms up to gojo (he does everything to make her happy) and they both live happily ever after 😭💕

SUMMARY — you meet a boy on a Taiko-bashi as a child. Little did you know, he was the prodigal son of the Gojo clan, and you would be married into that family to save his life.

WARNINGS — heavy angst to fluffy fluff, he steals ur first kiss, domestic life with ur kid Megumi at the end <3 😭, unrequited -> requited love, arranged marriage, quite a lot of blood/bloody flower mentions, disease/afflicted with coughing spells (see about the fictional Hanahaki disease here. Basically u cough up flowers and/or throw up full flowers if it gets life-threatening), poor boy almost dies, there’s a scene where it’s insinuated that he throws up a full flower, some teasing/playfulness yk the usual you'd expect from gojo, lmk if i have missed a warning thank u

WORDCOUNT ≈ 4.3k

PLAY ME ♪ bouquet — Ichiko Aoba

🍒 𝐉𝐚𝐲 — サクランボ ⋅ 𝐑𝐞𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐬/𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬 𝐡𝐞𝐥𝐩 𝐚 𝐥𝐨𝐭 !

When you were seven, a boy a few years older than you – perhaps two or three – passed you by on a Taiko-bashi in a small village. You remember him as the boy with peculiar eyes and white hair who looked back at you on the bridge. In your eyes, it was a very ordinary encounter with a very extraordinary looking stranger.

But in his infinitely blue eyes, there was ingrained a more meaningful and vivid memory of that encounter. He held it very close to his heart. When you and he made that brief eye contact as he looked behind his shoulder, slowing at his mother’s side, he felt a windswept, lovestruck feeling come over him. He batted his pretty lashes at you and stopped walking for a fleeting moment, as if captivated, and then went his separate way with the image of your face burned into the forefront of his mind. His kimono fluttered as he tended to walk in a gliding manner.

When you were fourteen, the same encounter happened again. A familiarly pale face with barely grown-in features looked back at you – his whole body felt a twinge of excitement. He only took one small moment to look at you and yet knew you were the same girl he saw as a child on this very same bridge.

Years went by, and the two of you kept encountering each other at peculiar times in your lives at that same bridge. Neither of you spoke to each other once, well, you didn’t say a word – but he uttered a few boyishly desperate greetings and even bowed as he glided past you to try and get your attention. If only you would have stopped for a chat, the poor boy would have given anything for that.

In some way, it felt like the two of you knew each other, though it was only your eyes that ever talked.

Come your eighteenth birthday, you were burdened with awful news. You were to be married to a man you had never met – someone from the Gojo clan. That person was apparently fatally sick with a disease you had scarce knowledge on. You asked your friend at the time, her name you’ve long forgotten by now, about Hanahaki and all she said was;

“Your lover is going to spit flowers in your face.”

You scrunched your nose up in disgust and confusion at this. A very silly image formed in your mind about the disease ever since your old friend had said that – all you could imagine was your future husband spitting saliva-wettened, half-destroyed flowers at your face.

The Gojo family and your family had always distantly known each other, hence all the visits to the village that they resided in. Your marriage to Gojo was long-debated throughout the years – yet neither you nor him knew anything about it. Neither of you prospected marriage, you were just the two strangers that passed each other on the Taiko-bashi every time the Sakura was in bloom.

The first time you and the son of the Gojo clan were introduced, it had already begun with a rocky start. You walked in when he had been overwhelmed with a coughing fit, and you were hushed back outside. The shoji door smacked shut behind you, and you heard sickly coughs piercing through the translucent sheets. When your future husband stopped coughing, and the blood and petals were cleaned up, you were brought back into the room. There were both your families and some important-looking officials in the large room, all formally sat on the tatami mats with mixed expressions. His mother seemed delighted at the sight of your face – but not more than her son.

Gojo Satoru, an eighteen-year-old at the time, with usually such a loud mouth and good joke up his sleeve, was rendered speechless when you had walked into the room. He analysed and absorbed every feature that made up the image of what he thought was the most charming and alluring creature ever to exist. Definitely a creature, he thought as you formally bowed with him, because no human could possess such an ethereal beauty.

Satoru was intrigued by you from your encounter on the Taiko-bashi, but when he was finally introduced to you he was utterly captivated.

The reasons and conditions for your marriage with the Gojo clan’s prodigal son conflicted with your strong beliefs in love and romance. You had rather aggressively told the poor boy your opinions in the days leading up to your wedding.

“I always thought,” you emphasized with a snotty tone, yet he listened to you like one would listen to the tranquil flow of the river under the Taiko-bashi, “that I would marry someone I loved, and not be forced to love…” you seemed so disappointed with how your life was turning out, that he couldn’t help but feel a bit bad for you.

“I’m a positive person, I have faith that you’ll fall in love with me in no time.” He said cheekily and winked at you. You felt very taken aback by such straight-forward flirting – you must understand, no boys in your village ever did that. They were very proper, even reserved.

He was almost charming in that instant, but then he added; “Who wouldn’t fall in love with me?”

At the time he was so full of himself that you could hardly believe there was space for any petals in his body. But there certainly was – when you left him alone in that room and stormed off, appalled by his conceit, he clutched the side of the door frame and coughed up little pink petals – enough to comprise three whole flowers.

It started worrying him, a few days before the wedding, when he started coughing more often. And not just that, but he started coughing up more petals than he had ever in his life. The peculiar disease had started during a time in his childhood that was coincidentally very close to the time he first passed you by on the bridge.

The night before the wedding, he laid in bed and brooded. And he was never the type to brood – he let life happen and moved on relatively easily. But he brooded, and brooded until it felt like he sunk so deep into his futon that he became one with it. The ceiling blurred.

What was going to happen if you didn’t fall in love?

That thought scared him so much that he violently drove it out of his mind and replaced it with an ideal daydream; he envisioned you and him cuddled up, bracing each other’s bodies, and melting into each other like real lovers do. He imagined you would be warmer than him, with that cool touch he had, and you would also stroke his hair. It was very fluffy, he made sure to point that out to you several times – but you never took a hint.

On the day of your wedding, he snuck to meet you just before the ceremony. He was crouched in the garden outside the room that you were preparing in. It’s then when he heard you voice your feelings to whoever it was helping you get ready.

“How can I love a stranger? And anyways, he is so full of himself, I can hardly believe there’s space for any flowers in there. There’s nothing I like about him.”

“Oh, Y/n, you have yet to learn about him. I’m sure you will find he’s rather charming. He is the pride of the Gojo clan, after all – he has the Six Eyes and Limitless. He’s the strongest, he’ll always be able to protect you – ”

It sounded like the woman talking about him was your mother, with how she praised him so much. She was right, Gojo thought; he could protect you from anything.

His expression was grave after hearing your thoughts. But he put on a lightened smile and masked his slight heartbrokenness when the rituals and main ceremony commenced.

It was a very formal, rigid ceremony. Gojo looked up at you sadly a few times, wishing you would spare a glance. He brooded on the idea that you’ll never love him like he loves you, and then a sickening, ticklish feeling spread in his throat and just as the closing ritual ended, he burst into a coughing fit – one of his worst yet. A bit of blood dribbled out his flushed lips, contrasting against his pale skin. Of course you were concerned – and of course you felt the urge to help and comfort him. But those feelings were purely out of the goodness of your heart.

Friends share love. But even when you and Gojo developed something resembling a friendship, it didn’t alleviate his disease. It was embarrassing sometimes, to realize that you were failing at the one thing you had to do; and that was keep him alive.

He was quite genuinely dying for you to love him.

Yet you refused to be in the same room as him for too long. Your mother had to encourage you. Eventually, both his family and your family worked together to make sure you and Gojo spent adequate time with each other. They organized meetups ranging from fancy nights-out to long voyages to weekend sleepovers. It was comical, how your families got along more smoothly than you and Gojo.

It’s the spring of his nineteenth birthday when the thought of kissing you becomes a reality. Well, it doesn’t go as he planned it. See, Gojo envisioned that kissing you would solve all his problems – he thought he could infect you with his love, somehow worm into your heart through a passionate kiss.

So when you and him sat for tea in a spacious room, kneeled side by side on the tatami mats, he went in for a kiss. You were distractedly straightening out your kimono when suddenly a pair of inexperienced, boyish lips crashed onto yours.

“Mmf!” you reacted with sheer shock – why on earth was he kissing you? The audacity, he had just insulted and made a mockery of you with a cheeky, playful attitude.

“Satoru!” you whined into his mouth.

He cupped the back of your neck and partly entangled his hands in your hair. White lashes sat pretty as he closed his eyes and glided his wettened lips over yours. For the briefest moment, you let yourself enjoy his kiss. But suddenly, as if your principles of love kicked back in and stomped on the moment, you shoved him away.

And a hard shove that was, he fell out of balance and landed on the mats with his elbows, a look of shock and surprise twisting into comedy.

“Playing hard to get?” he joked. His heart sunk ever so slightly at your rejection.

“You can’t just kiss a girl!”

“Come on, I’m your husband – if I can’t kiss you, then who is allowed to?” he asked.

You looked furious, like you were about to bite him, so he slowly started backtracking.

“I just wanted to see if kissing you would – ”

“How dare you, that was my first kiss! I thought I would have a cute first kiss, not a hasty one shared over… over a cup of tea!” you complained.

His expression changed and he started sputtering apologies. “I’m sorry, I didn’t know – I – ahuh!” he started lightly coughing.

And now it was your turn to feel apologetic, because all the bad tension between you and him brought on another violent coughing fit for him.

“I’m okay.” He choked out, eyes water and face reddened – some blood pooled at the corners of his lips, he instinctually brought his hand up to his mouth to catch any that dripped.

You rushed and kneeled over him, placing a much-needed soothing hand on his shoulder. “Satoru, I’m sorry.”

He tried to muster up a joke to lighten your worry, “H-hey, since when d’you call me S-Satoru? I thought it was strictly Go-jo.” he was interrupted by more coughing.

You comforted him, until his parents came into the room. They seemed disappointed with you, but masked it.

The night fell heavy all around the Gojo home. The barren Sakura trees’ branches subtly shook in the wind. A storm was approaching.

“Hey, sweetlips.” Gojo slipped into your room as you were in the middle of preparing for bed. “There’s a big storm comin’, if you get scared you can sleep with me.”

“Are you out of your mi-” you shut up when a sudden, extraordinary crack of lightning sounded and shocked you right out of your skin.

Gojo had a little laughing fit at your overreaction. He was completely calm at such a loud noise. Of course he was.

“I’m not sleeping with you!” you muttered angrily, but then you saw the dejection on his face – no, rather, you saw the way he tried to conceal it, and you felt bad.

Maybe tonight is the night you’ll try harder, you thought.

“Okay, well, don’t cry like a wimp if the thunder scares you ‘cause I won’t come running to soothe you.” He said and left you alone.

When he walked down the hall, his fingers grazed over his lips. All he could think about was how blissful it felt to kiss you, even if you did reject him. And he was your first kiss – maybe it was wrong to smile over that, but he couldn’t help himself as he climbed into the comforts of his bed.

A violent rainstorm engulfed the village.

As the lightning got more frequent and more terrifying, Gojo scrunched up his shoulders and half-hid his face under his blanket. He felt like a boy again, as scared of the thunderstorms as he was when he was seven years old. His pretty upturned nose peaked over the blanket, eyes glistening with tears as he recalled the fateful day you and him encountered each other at the Taiko-bashi.

He held onto that memory with a death grip. No one else ever had the honor of being so close to his heart, not even his best friend who he had made at Jujutsu high when he was seventeen. No, that heart of his he kept reserved for you. He thought to himself that night, while curling up on his side in pain, that even if he dies, at least he would die having been able to love you – albeit without reciprocation.

And then it happened. He shot up and let out a violent cough, and began spluttering over his white blanket. The thunderstorm was so violent that it muffled even the violent coughing in his room. His head felt like a dense ball of tension.

Unrequited love for many boys his age was heartbreaking, but not deadly. He morbidly laughed at that fact, observing the flower that he had thrown up onto his blanket, soaked in his blood.

He was dying.

He defeatedly closed his eyes, breathing through his blood-glistening mouth. His chest lightly heaved. “Y/n, you’re really gonna be the death of me… ah, oh well. That’s okay.” He muttered madly to himself and fell back onto his bed, too weak to stay awake any longer.

It was probably the work of the universe, but you floated down the unlit hall and tapped at Gojo’s doorframe. “Are you awake? Satoru?” you called his name in a gentle murmur.

There was an eerie silence. You slid open the door and caught a glimpse of bloodied sheets and a mangled-looking flower.

“Satoru!” you rushed over to him, stirring him awake with a harsh shake on his arm. “Satoru? Are you okay? Can you hear me?”

He groaned weakly – you felt a small relief. He wasn’t dead, though he really looked pale enough to be. His cheeks were flushed, his lips cracked and dry with residual blood.

Not a word you spoke sounded coherent to him though it was, all he heard was the soothing qualities in your voice. Though his vision was blurred, he knew it was you, because he felt the familiar air and scent of you.

He felt a strange sort of alleviation when you cupped his cheeks, murmuring something. Oh, when did he end up in a doctor’s room, laid on a patient’s cot? Weren’t you and him just in his bedroom at night, during a loud thunderstorm?

All he recalled was that you held his hand and squeezed it for a long time, while you were travelling somewhere. He remembered feeling your comforting presence each time his consciousness stirred.

“Have I died and gone to heaven?” he chuckled jokingly, feeling your lips press to his forehead.

“Huh?”

“Probably dreaming…” he muttered to himself.

“Satoru, you’re not in heaven you’re at Doctor Tanaka’s home.” You told him.

He pinched his eyes shut, overwhelmed by his afflicting sickness and Six Eyes.

“I’m so sorry…” he heard you speaking in a more tender voice to him than you ever had before. He felt the pressure in his chest lessen as you spoke, “… I was going to come to you because the thunderstorm scared me… no, actually, because I wanted to be with you. I felt this overwhelming urge to be at your side, and I don’t know why. Satoru, I’ve been such a fool. I’ve been such a scared fool, fearful of loving a stranger. Or, no, I guess I’ve feared loving someone I’m not supposed to be loving. You’re so special I feel driven away by it. But I promise I won’t flee from your love anymore, Satoru – I love you, and I’ll express it as much as I can in this feeble human form. The rest of our love will happen in the stars, after we die, I guess.”

He opened his eyes. It felt like the burdening fog that had been plaguing him since he was a little boy on the Taiko-bashi finally cleared. Everything felt fresh and sharp, and good and properly comforting. It felt like he had woken up from a long dream or arrived home from a harrowing journey through the landscapes of his mind.

“So you can be good with your words.” Was the first thing he said, and that was such a Gojo response that you knew he was okay.

“How do you feel?” you asked him, peering down at him.

He groaned and stretched and shifted around, fussing dramatically.

“I feel…” he began, and looked over at your lips. “Like I deserve to be kissed.”

“Oh, shut up you…”

He pouted. “Okay, ‘guess the kissing can wai- mmf!”

You kissed him very quickly and recoiled from shyness. His lips were divine.

He shot up out of the bed like he couldn’t just believe what happened.

“Wow.” He blinked at you. “So gutsy, you know you’re not allowed to kiss your husband!” he joked.

“You are such a – ”

“ – good kisser?”

“An idiot!” you giggled, genuinely enjoying his company.

The two of you bantered, basking in the newfound feeling of shared love. When the doctor came back in, he was preparing to witness the worst – but he was utterly surprised and at a loss for words when he walked in on you two smiling and laughing.

And it was the talk of the village. Neighbors gossiped, “Did you hear that Gojo Satoru is cured?” they spoke amongst themselves, “I heard! Apparently it’s a very romantic love story, did you read the newspaper article?”

You and Gojo drifted down the Taiko-bashi, together. He squeezed your hand when you set foot on the bridge, the cool skin of his wrist tickling your inner wrist as they pressed together.

“What are we doing here?” you asked him confusedly.

“Don’t you know this place? It’s the place we met.”

“Ooh, you’re romantic, huh?” you smirked.

A small blush crowned his cheeks.

“I’ve been romantic since the start.” He defended.

“What d’you mean! You were so cheeky!” you kicked his leg.

“I was quite a menace, I’m sorry – not sorry – kidding, kidding, I am sorry.”

He looked at you with a cheeky smirk, knowing damn well what you were talking about.

“You know…” he began, looking over the bridge at the river flowing beneath and admiring how the stream carried the Sakura blossoms. “Whenever I used to get coughing fits – bad ones – I would soothe myself with the memory of when we first met here. I can still recall the kimono you wore, and the Sakura that got tangled in your hair – and I thought about…” he came closer to you, speaking with a charming allure, “How badly I wanted to pluck that flower from your hair.”

You blinked up at him. How could such romantic words come out of him? You didn’t know how to respond.

“Ooh, did I make you shy?” he teased.

“No…”

“I totally made you shy. That’s so sweet. Are you blushing?” he giggled, putting his cool palm up to your cheek to feel the heat, “Oh, you’re blushing blushing. You could burn my hand right off.”

“Satoru!” you giggled.

“Ah!” he clutched his chest dramatically when you said his name, “Don’t say my name like that! I have a wife.” He joked.

“You are ridiculous!”

He gave you a big, toothy smile. “But you love me for it.”

“I do.” You tell him, and though he’s heard it many times after that day, each time feels like the first time you’re saying you love him.

“Gimme a kiss.” He asks.

“Come get it.” You tease, slowly backing away off the bridge.

“Seriously? You’re gonna make me chase you for a kiss? I’ve coughed up petals because of you, ‘n you’re gonna do me like this – heyyy! Get back here!”

Running into the petal-littered streets like carefree kids felt so freeing and exhilarating. He felt like he was catching up on all the fun he missed, if only you would have lived in his village as a child or visited more often.

“Got you!”

“Ah! Jesus, you scared – mmmf!”

He didn’t hesitate to take a much-needed kiss from your quivering lips. He kissed you so hard that you felt dizzied, lost for breath, rendered speechless. And he relished the love pouring out from you.

You stood there being kissed by your husband in a quaint alley, standing tiptoed on the Sakura blossom-littered ground to meet him halfway. Gojo’s heart thumped at the smallest things, like the fact you were standing on your tiptoes – that was the cutest thing in the world to him.

The two of you took a break for breath, and silently admired the Sakura blossoms as they drifted, being swept away by the wind.

Gojo looked at them, and looked at you, and thought of everything that had happened up until now. He was about to say something lovey-dovey but blurted out a dumb joke instead just to hear your laugh.

“Damn, I used to cough up those things.”

You laughed, “Your jokes aren’t good, Satoru.”

“But you laughed.” He said cockily.

“Shut up or I will never kiss you again.” You playfully threatened.

“You don’t mean it.” He tilted his head at you. You cracked a smile.

On the walk home, he kept calling you various nicknames – all flowers.

That day became a cherished memory of the past as the two of you weaved your way into proper adulthood. And the nicknames followed; he went through the whole flower alphabet, even the bizarrely named ones, even the Latin root names. When he wanted to annoy you, he’d call you prunus subgenus cerasus.

Now Gojo fusses around the living room of his tiny Tokyo apartment, preparing food for a little boy of the name Megumi. The day is full and busy, but any second he can get with you, he relishes.

“My tulip, 'gimme a kiss.” He asks.

“Come get it.” You tease.

“Ew.” Megumi grimaces, hearing this exchange right as he walks into the kitchen. He walks right back out.

“Gumi, get back here, food is almost ready.” Gojo calls after him, then leans down to try and kiss you but you playfully dodge him.

It always happens like that – he asks for a kiss, you refuse jokingly, he chases after you for a kiss and you scamper away. Like a running joke that’s a callback to your past.

“C’mere, you – ” he finally snatches you up, too needy for a kiss to play around anymore. “Stay right there and let me kiss you.”

He enjoys every second of kissing you, embracing you tight like he’s never letting go. Just like when he first kissed you, Gojo cups the back of your neck and tilts his head to deepen the kiss. It has you breathless, gasping – he’s so alluring that you shudder.

“Satoru!” you scold, “The food will get cold…” you excuse.

“Okay, okay. But you owe me extra kisses tonight.” He winks.

“You’ll have to get them out of me yourself.” You tease.

“Oh, I will, don’t you worry. I’ll take every little kiss I can.” He says determinedly.

He pecks at your lips, savoring the sound and feeling of the act.

“Ew!” Megumi grimaces, and walks out the kitchen just as he walks in like earlier.

“Gumi! Food! Sit-your-silly-butt-and-eat! You rascal you.” Gojo lifts him by the armpits, and tickles him like a real dad.

Megumi is poker-faced at the tickling.

“Y/n, tell Gojo he’s being annoying.”

“Husband, you’re being annoying.” You murmur up at Gojo.

“Am I?” he smiles down at you, giving you another cheeky peck.

Megumi sighs.

“Stop spyin’ and start eating, little lotus.” Gojo threatens playfully.

“Dad. Save the flower nicknames for Y/n.” Megumi scrunches his nose up.

Gojo's face lit up. “Okay, okay. Enjoy eating, I'm gonna go see where she went off to.”

He hurried into the bedroom where you had wandered into and excitedly whisper-shouted “He called me dad!” he gushed like he was the happiest man alive.

© 𝐚𝐫𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐢 𝐃𝐎 𝐍𝐎𝐓 𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐀𝐋 𝐖𝐇𝐀𝐓 𝐈'𝐕𝐄 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐊𝐄𝐃 𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐃 𝐓𝐎 𝐂𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐓𝐄.

[zorobraun]

ex husband ghost at your kiddo’s football game part three

you want to die.

simon wants to die as well.

you both regret the night that theo told him about your wedding.

it’s been weeks. it’s been weeks that the two of you have been fighting over the stupidest things. the weather is cold and you sent theo to simon’s house without a sweatshirt? fight. simon brought theo back to your house ten minutes late? fight. you sneezed too loud in front of him? fight. simon rolled his eyes with something you said in front of you? fight. you’re both putting each other through hell. however, you’d rather have a stressful life with him, than live a peaceful life without him. you’d rather scream, fight, curse his name, than feel that excruciating distance between the two of you.

you’re both too worn out, though. you both know that one of you have to give in, let your guards down. you know he won’t do it. and that’s exactly why you’re standing in his doorstep, waiting for him to open the door. theo is at football practice, it’s already dark outside. it’s cold, just like simon’s gaze when he opens the door and stares at you. silence. silence. silence. “what are you doing here? theo is at football practice.” he says in a low, but secretly surprised tone. “i know my son’s schedule, thank you.” you reply in an annoyed one. simon sighs, gripping the door tightly with one hand, while the other runs through his hair. “it seems that you also know my schedule, since you’re bothering me during my day off of work.” he bites back mockingly, face serious.

“stop this madness, simon. i can’t take this anymore. we both can’t. we’re destroying each other, we both look like shit, look at us.” you point at yourself then at him. in his eyes, you look beautiful still. “we look exhausted. dark circles under our eyes, empty gaze, you’re still hitting the gym but i can tell you’re not eating enough. you’re too lean. i am too. so let’s just… stop.” you swallow hard, sighing. you look at the ground for a second, making simon lock his jaw, thinking about your statement. you’re right. but at the same time, he has this need to watch you tolerate it. just like he has been tolerating the fact that you’re marrying an idiot in three weeks.

“just tell me why you’re here, and i won’t put up another fight with you.” simon looks into your eyes. you know his eyes so well… you know they’re begging you to just say that you’re sorry for everything, and that you want him to take you back. that you regret replacing him. the funny thing is: you are sorry for everything. you want him to take you back. you regret replacing him. “i… i’m here because… i can’t hold back these words anymore. they’ve been stuck in my throat for so long now…” you swallow hard, your desperate voice matching his desperate eyes. simon keeps looking at you, analyzing your every move, your beautiful necklace — the one that he gave you in your last birthday, when the two of you were still together.

oh, simon knows you miss him. you miss his fingertips brushing over the back of your neck when he used to put this same necklace on you. he knows it. there’s no way you don’t miss him. he keeps repeating this thought over and over again, as if he’s trying to convince himself that he’s right. simon licks his lips, feeling out of his mind. “what are you waiting for? speak up.” he breaks the awkward silence with a surprisingly calm tone. you’re both looking into each other’s eyes, and the eye contact hurts. it hurts, until you look away from him to stare at the ground. you swallow hard, your hands shaking a bit. simon wants to put his fake hatred for you aside and just hug you tightly, to break your hesitation in tiny little pieces.

then, you look up at him to meet his eyes. you lick your lips nervously, placing your hand on the back of his neck. you kiss him. and nothing could’ve ever prepared simon to this unexpected kiss. he grabs your arm with his gentle touch, pulling away from you after a second or two, even though he was reluctant about it. he opens his eyes, his shallow breathing making little noise. simon clears his throat, jaw clenching from anxiety. “don’t.” he whispers, eyes locked with yours. god, he missed this. he missed the feeling of your soft, warm lips against his. he missed your sweet taste. your cheeks get red from embarrassment. what were you thinking, anyway? that he would kiss you back after everything that happened? you sigh heavily, shaking your head.

“i…” simon cuts you off with a kiss. you widen your eyes at first, getting caught off guard. he pulls you close by the hips, kissing you so slowly but so passionately. you kiss him back with the same affection. you kiss him back until you’re both breathless against each other’s lips. simon breaks the kiss to lean his forehead against yours, eyes closed, heavy breathing. “i broke up with him.” you break the silence, your voice is low and a bit breathy. simon pulls slightly away from you to make sure he heard it right, since your kiss got him too lightheaded. he’s looking into your eyes to find any hint of joke or lie. but you just keep looking at him with lovesick eyes, and suddenly he hates to love you so fucking much.

“how long have you been single?” simon asks in a serious tone, pretending to be nonchalant. his hand leaving your waist so he can focus on this conversation instead of your curves. “a month.” you sigh quietly, crossing your arms. he frowns slightly, making you look at the ground. “what? why didn’t you say a word?” simon’s tone is a but frustrated now. you look at him with a sad smile. you touch his arm. “c-can i come in?” you ask, squeezing his arm gently. he swallows hard, taking a step back to give you space to come in. he closes the door, leaning his back against it with crossed arms, waiting for you to start talking about something. anything. maybe an explanation. you turn your back to face him, standing in front of him, from a small distance. you swallow hard.

“i didn’t say a word because i didn’t want you to think that i broke up with him just because you said all of those things to me. i didn’t want you to feel guilty about it, because i know you would. you’re too kind-hearted.” you sigh with a sad smile, staring right into his eyes. simon clenches his jaw, his breathing growing a bit erratic. “i broke up with him because our relationship was a lie, and i was the liar.” you add, feeling a bit uncomfortable to say it out loud. truth really hurts. simon doesn’t move, feeling a bit nervous about this subject as well. something tells him that this conversation is about to get worse.

simon is staring at you as if he’s waiting for you to keep talking, since he vowed to not beg for your love anymore. you lick your lips nervously. “the reason why i asked for a divorce…” you start, making him swallow hard with the delicate topic. “was because i loved you way too much.” you look into his eyes before looking down to search for some courage. simon sighs impatiently with your unserious statement. “wait, simon. i’ll elaborate.” you say in a defensive tone, taking a step closer to him.

“remember when my mom died, right? so, when my mom died, i died too. i couldn’t see mysef getting over her death. meanwhile, we were also having a hard time in our marriage because i was so fucking depressed, we were fighting too much, i was treating you like shit, i wasn’t being a good mother to theo… i was just making the two of you suffer, basically.” you start tearing up, making simon let his guard down, too. you can feel his heart softening again. and it gives you strength, somehow. “and i’m so fucking sorry about everything. i… i hated myself for so long.” you admit it, trying to hide the shakiness in your voice. simon is looking at you with so much empathy in his eyes. so much love.

“i know that’s not an excuse, but i was young, immature, i didn’t know how to handle that situation. i was lost, and i felt so done with everything. you knew that, too. regardless of you being by my side always, telling me that it was okay, that we would get through that tough moment together, i felt guilty. i couldn’t accept the fact that i put the person i loved the most through hell during months and months. you did everything and more to help me, but i didn’t want to be helped, because i found comfort in depression, somehow. i didn’t want you to think that all of your efforts didn’t matter, because they did matter. but i was the problem. i was the only one holding me down. so then, i made the worst and hardest decision of my life…” you pause, looking at the ground for a second. “i asked for a divorce because you didn’t deserve to go through all of that. i thought i didn’t deserve you, and i really didn’t, back then.” you look into his eyes, a few tears running down your cheeks as he takes a step closer to you.

simon is speechless when he pulls you into a tight, comforting hug. he’s tearing up because he remembers everything — he remembers how hard it was for both of you. even for theo, regardless of simon’s efforts to separate his son of the marriage’s mess. it’s fair to say that he tried his best to be strong for his family, specially for you. “love, you can’t just carry the weight of the world on your shoulders and think that it’s okay.” simon mutters, stroking your back gently. “you shouldn’t have felt guilty for anything, there’s nothing i wouldn’t do for you, anyway.” he says in a low tone, placing a kiss on your forehead. he stares at you, holding your face on his hands. “why didn’t you say anything? you’ve kept it all to yourself all along, angel…” simon smiles sadly, in disbelief. “you’re stronger than you think, but you’re also an idiot.” he adds with a soft chuckle, kissing your nose. you chuckle quietly, too.

“it was so hard for me to open up about it… the last thing i wanted was to make you feel like you or your self-sacrifices weren’t enough. god knows i wouldn’t even be alive today if it wasn’t for you and theo.” you sob quietly, your tears wetting simon’s hands. he pulls you into another tight hug. “you gave me the two greatest gifts of my entire life, simon… our son and an opportunity to love you.” you place a sweet, grateful kiss on his neck. simon’s heart feels like it’s about to burst with your words. “your love keeps me gentle. your love listens with patience and empathy. thank you for asking ‘what do you need?’ or ‘how can i help you?’, and saying ‘we’re in this together’ instead of running away. thank you for staying, even when you didn’t have reasons to. i’m so, so sorry for pushing you away, baby.” you add in a low, shaky voice. your arms are still wrapped around his neck as you both feel each other’s heartbeats.

simon smiles softly, stroking your hair. “sweetheart… i will stay when it’s scary, when it’s hard, when we don’t see eye-to-eye. on all our good days and bad days, i’ll choose to love you, always. we’ll learn from each other, just like we always have.” he pulls slightly away from the hug to kiss your tears away. you nod with a soft smile, caressing the back of his neck. “simon, i just need to hear you say that you forgive me. i’m not even asking you to take me back or try to give us a chance of starting over again, even though i could wait for you and respect your time patiently. that is, if you still want me, by any chance. i would never pressure you, if you think it’s too soon…” you sound too desperate, too messy, too in love, and it’s embarrassing.

simon places one reassuring kiss on your lips and one daring kiss on your forehead. he sighs quietly, looking down at you. “i forgive you, even though you did nothing wrong.” simon caresses your cheek with his thumb. you shake your head, chuckling quietly. “and soon?” he holds back a laugh, raising an eyebrow. “do you even know how often i’ve wished to have you near me again?” simon puts a stray of hair behind your ear, staring at you with soft bright eyes. “i still want you in such a desperate way that i could just drive to the church we married and do my vows all over again, with empty seats and without the priest.” he holds your hand, interlocking his fingers with yours. he takes your hand to his lips to place a kiss on the top of it and on your palm. “i love you, idiot. i’m crazy about you, you know that.” simon smirks, grabbing you by the waist to pull you into a gentle kiss.

you don’t really know how to explain it, but kissing simon feels like a breath of fresh air. like something you’ll always need at the end of the day. like warm sweet tea during winter or sunday mornings in bed. you’ve missed this more than you could ever explain. he’s so special to you. “i love you more, but you won’t believe that.” you whisper jokingly against his lips, making him smile before breaking the kiss. he kisses your neck. “of course i won’t. my love for you… just reached neptune. maybe even a little bit further, to be honest.” he mutters playfully next to your ear, placing one last kiss on the soft, warm skin of your neck, breathing you in. “oh, is that so?” you raise an eyebrow, staring at him with a smile. “then… my love for you just exceeded the whole solar system.” you joke back, making him chuckle with a frown.

“since when we’re into astronomy?” simon laughs, realizing just now how random this whole cheesy interaction was. you shrug, laughing too. “all i know is that i’m into you since the day we met.” you wink playfully with a smirk. “you’re lucky i’ve been under your spell for years, otherwise you’d be single by now.” simon teases you with a laugh, picking you up from the floor as you wrap your legs around his waist. you kiss him between smiles and quiet laughs, your arms wrapped around him in a cozy hug, while you lay your face on the crook of his neck, breathing him in. “just so you know… you’ve never stopped being my love, even when i was with him. i’ve always been yours. my heart too.” you say next to his ear, in the same comfortable position. he carries you as if you were weightless.

“you know i feel the same. you’re so precious to me, love.” simon smiles softly before kissing your cheek. “god, ms. riley, i’m sorry if i’m being too forward, but… you’re so gorgeous.” he smirks while he lays you down on his bed, placing both of his hands on each side of your head to stay above you. “such a perfect body…” he glances down your body, biting his lip. “and i’ve missed you so much…” simon whispers next to your ear, kissing the area under it, nibbling on your earlobe. you sigh heavily with the tingling sensation, wrapping one leg around his waist. you kiss and lick his neck, leaving a few love bites on him. simon can’t help but press himself against you, kissing your lips until you’re needy enough to try to kiss him again when he pulls away. “you have fifteen minutes until we leave to pick theo up at his football practice.” you breathe out, staring into his lustful eyes. it sounds like a dare, and he’s not a man to back out.

“you know i only need seven minutes inside, sweetness.” he says in a low, cocky tone. you swallow hard when he leans down to get closer to your face, his lips almost touching yours. “but it’s been so long since the last time i fucked you, that you might be done in five.” simon’s voice is low and breathy, and he has a half smirk on his lips, almost as if he’s mocking you. well, it’s been so long since the last time you had him like this, that you had forgotten how talkative and dirty-mouthed your husband is during sex.

two months later…

you take a deep breath when you finish throwing up for the second time this morning. you frown in pain, placing your hand on your sensitive stomach. you brush your teeth again, staring at yourself in the bathroom’s mirror. you look beautiful and healthy, but your body feels too sore, specially your breasts, you can’t even breathe normally without wanting to throw up. and most importantly, your period is late. you hold back a smile when you realize that you’re pregnant. you’re a mother, so you know your pregnancy symptoms by personal experience. you bought a pregnancy test yesterday, because you were already suspecting it.

you do the test without thinking twice. now you’re waiting patiently for the result. your hands are shaking a bit, you lick your lips nervously. a few more seconds and you see the result: positive. you widen your eyes, smiling like an idiot. you want to scream and shout, but you can’t — you want to surprise simon, since he always dreamt about having more kids with you. your heart is beating so fast, you’re so happy, it’s overwhelming, even. you already know how to surprise him, it’s fair to say that you’ve been wanting this more than your husband. however, the surprise will have to wait until you find out if the baby is a girl or a boy.

you’re too anxious to wait, though, so you look at the result again. it says that you’ve been pregnant for more than three weeks, so it’s possible to know the baby’s sex if you’re at least eight weeks pregnant. you sigh quietly, excited. you’ve just decided that you’re going to the doctor right now, counting on your lucky stars. you also need to talk to theo about the surprise, since it involves flowers and the family’s tradition of buying you flowers every sunday — you never got tired of them, somehow. going to the floriculture at sundays was theo’s favorite hobby when his parents were still together. now that you and simon got back together, theo is more than excited to finally buy you flowers again, today, a warm sunday.

“love, what the fuck are you doing in there? it’s been ten hours.” simon says in a joking tone as he knocks at the bathroom door. you quickly clean the test and hide it on the back of the drawer. you open the door with an innocent smile, staring at a sleepy simon who’s wearing nothing but black sweatpants. “oh my god, you really can’t stay a minute without me, can you?” you tease your husband, crossing your arms against your chest, trying your best to hide the euphoria. simon sighs with a chuckle. “i was just worried. are you okay? you look pale.” he stares at your face with a certain concern, placing a kiss on your temple. he wraps his arms around you, squeezing you gently to his chest, comforting you. the action makes you forget about the sickness for a few minutes.

“i’m okay.” you reply with a soft smile, caressing his arm. all you want to do is kiss him and tell him that he’s going to be a father again, but you need to control yourself. “do you need something? a glass of water, maybe?” he’s still worried about you, gently brushing some hair off your face with his fingers. “no, babe. i need to go to the grocery store, though.” you lie, smiling genuinely at him. simon frowns, chuckling. “okay? out of a sudden?” he keeps laughing quietly, glancing at you. “yes. don’t worry, i’ll be back quickly.” you kiss his cheek before walking towards your wardrobe to start getting ready to go to the doctor. “oh, you’re in a hurry, love.” simon raises an eyebrow, looking at you from afar with an awkward smile on his lips. “do you want me to go with you?” he asks, running his fingers through his hair lazily.

“there’s no need to. i’ll just buy a few things, but thank you. wait for me, okay? we’re going to the floriculture today, theo is driving me crazy about it.” you look at him briefly with a smile. simon nods, smiling back at you. “y-yeah, sure.” he replies, still finding your behavior a bit weird, but it’s fine. you grab your purse and walk towards simon to kiss him goodbye. he kisses you back, smiling softly as he watches you leave the bedroom.

before leaving the house, you go to theo’s bedroom to tell him about the news, alongside with your plan to surprise simon. “mom! congratulations! i-i’m so happy, i’ll take care of her or him, i promise!” theo gives you a surprised smile, hugging you tightly. “i know you will.” you smile, kissing the top of his head. “just don’t tell your father, baby. deal?” you smile at him, stroking his hair. “yes, of course. then i’ll have to choose only pink flowers or blue flowers, right?” theo needs your reassurance, smiling. “exactly, my love. okay, see you later! i’m in a rush, i’m sorry.” you squeeze his hand gently. he nods, excited. you chuckle quietly before leaving the house for good.

(…)

you’re holding a gorgeous bouquet of flowers in all shades of pink, with a small card on top of it. you and theo can’t seem to stop smiling, and simon notices it — this extreme happiness. he doesn’t say a thing, though. he feels the same, so it’s probably normal. your family is finally back together, he couldn’t ask for anything more. simon’s hand is on your thigh as he drives back home, brushing his thumb against your soft skin. you place your hand above his, squeezing it gently. theo is on the backseat, smiling and daydreaming about his little sister. he’s so happy. it’s almost like he feels complete now, with his other half being generated inside you.

when the three of you get home, you walk towards the table, holding theo’s hand. simon is on his phone as you both look at him with a quiet laugh. “dad, come help us with the flowers. we need to put them on the vase.” theo tries to not sound suspicious as he grins like the happiest person in the world. simon raises an eyebrow with a chuckle. “alright, alright.” he mutters with a soft smile, walking towards the two of you. simon starts taking the flowers out of the bouquet while you and theo puts them in the vase. “what is this?” simon frowns curiously, taking the pink card between his fingers. “what, babe?” you fake confusion, staring at him. theo is already smiling when simon opens the small card.

‘congratulations, girl dad!’

simon’s eyes widen as his mouth opens in surprise. he looks at you, then at theo, then at you again. “shut up, y/n.” he mutters with a shaky voice, still too shocked to move. you start tearing up while you laugh softly, nodding. theo watches his parents in silence, happiness plastered all over his face. simon chuckles in disbelief as the card falls from his fingers. his smile grows bigger as he picks you up in an excited hug, making you wrap your arms around his neck and your legs around his waist with a happy chuckle. simon squeezes you against him carefully, just enough to not hurt you. he places sweet kisses all over your face before speaking. “do you have any ideia of how happy i am right now? my heart is about to explode, love. thank you so much for making me the happiest man alive.” simon’s gaze softens with a genuine smile, making you kiss him again.

he stands you up to carry theo. simon hugs his son so tightly that the kid feels like being smashed, making the three of you laugh. “you have a sister now, buddy!” simon chuckles in excitement, kissing theo’s forehead. “i’m so happy, dad. i’ll be her hero!” he replies, hugging simon’s neck again. you wipe your happy tears away to wrap your arms around them both. just like a family hug should be. “that’s right, you’ll look after her and i’ll look after the three of you.” simon smiles softly at him before kissing your temple. you stroke his back gently, kissing theo’s cheek. this is pure happiness. it feels like you’ve been dreaming about this for a long time now.

“the three of you are my purpose.” you say, smiling softly, stroking both of their faces with bright eyes. simon starts tearing up from joy, from the feeling of an enormous sensation of being complete. you feel the same, he can tell by the way you’re crying again, just like the time you discovered about theo’s pregnancy. you always get too emotional and he doesn’t blame you at all. simon laughs softly, stroking your hair to comfort you. “i’m sorry!” you laugh too, fanning yourself to try to stop crying. “it’s just that… i’ve never been happier.” you add in all honesty, taking a deep breath. simon’s heart just melted completely.

he puts theo back on the ground to cup your face and give you a sweet kiss on the lips, to show you how much you and the kids will always be safe and live well under his responsibility. simon strokes your belly gently, before crouching in front of you, with theo by his side. they’re both admiring your belly, even though it’s not that grown yet. “i can’t believe i’ll have the privilege to have a mini you running around the house with theo. our little princess will be so cute, love.” simon looks up at you with an infatuated chuckle, placing a sweet kiss on your belly. you laugh softly, caressing his hair. “now we have a mini simon and a mini me.” you smile wholeheartedly. he grins while standing up, his hand placed on your belly.

“give me a daughter with your delicate beautiful face, your enchanting smile, your dark-bright eyes, your stubborn heart and your even temper…” he smiles, giving you another kiss. you wrap your arm around him to feel him closer to you. “…so that even when we’re gone, the world will find within her all of the reasons why i loved you.” he places a sweet kiss on your shoulder before kissing you quickly again. “everything feels better when shared with you.” simon whispers against your lips, pulling you impossibly closer by the waist. you both smile.

so this is it — you got your happy ending, after all. your heart is completely full. this overwhelming love was meant to be. it was meant to be shared with simon, and simon only. you’re drowning in the purest form of love and happiness and you don’t want to see the surface ever again. with simon, theo and mia by your side, you intend to stay that way.

[sunlightmurdock]

Ashes, Ashes | One | Bradley Bradshaw

masterlist | prologue | next chapter

Synopsis: In which Maverick didn’t make it home after the Uranium mission. He’s missing, presumed dead. There are things that have to be done — someone has to take care of the house, the bills.

So, Maverick’s daughter is back in Fightertown for the first time since she was in elementary school. There’s a gaping hole in both of their lives now, and somehow, the world’s supposed to just keep on turning without him.

Warnings: bradley bradshaw x minimally descriptive oc avery mitchell, age gap (23/33), smut, angst, hurt / comfort, mentions of character death, mourning, military inaccuracies. This entire fic and my blog is an 18+ space, minors do not interact. Do not repost.

…

Crossing the threshold into Maverick’s home doesn’t come naturally to either one of them. This place is something that they had both left behind. Outgrown. It’s solely his. It’s not their home and it has never been, until now. Now, Avery, at least, is stuck here until things are figured out.

On that fourteen hour drive down to San Diego, she’d had a lot of time to think. How long is a person supposed to wait for a body to turn up before they go ahead and throw the funeral without it?

Three paces into the hallway, brown wood floors and white walls, she is met with a smiling family picture. Only, she’s not in it. 

Because, it’s not a picture of Pete’s family. Pete doesn’t have a family. Pete Mitchell has a daughter from a one night stand with a married woman.

This picture is of a real family. Hung on the wall opposite the front door is a picture of Nick and Carole Bradshaw holding their infant son. He’s bald and gummy. They’re grinning and showing him off like a prize trophy — so proud of him even though all he did in those days was drool and pee himself. 

These days, their infant son is up to more important things. Their infant son grew to an upsettingly grand height and is carrying two of her bags in one hand behind her today.

“C’mon, Mitchell — these are heavy.” Bradley huffs softly from behind her, reminding her that she’s standing stationary and blocking his path. 

The nickname stings. Avery’s last name isn’t Mitchell because her biological father had wanted it to be. It’s Mitchell solely because her mother’s husband knew she wasn’t his and would rather die before letting her take his name.

She shrugs her duffel bag closer to her body and turns left. Bradley huffs under the weight of her luggage, watching her walk her cute butt in completely the wrong direction. “Wait, where are you going?”

Not struggling at all under the weight of her single duffel bag, she turns slowly to face him and frowns slightly. “My room.” 

Avery doesn’t remember Bradley. Not in her own memories, anyway. She knows he was around, she’s seen him in pictures but the image in her head doesn’t match. Not quite right. Like puzzle pieces bent and forced together.

He’s taller than he looked at his high school graduation, which sits pictured and framed above Mav’s mantle. Older, but that’s to be expected. Up close, he looks more like his mother than his father. A slight bump in his nose and scars, nicely healed, but jagged and raised nonetheless dusted his cheek and his throat. 

Even with all those differences, there’s a very slight familiarity to him that makes this all feel a little bit less suffocating.

Bradley’s brows draw together. He gives a small nod in the direction of the spare room. “That’s… I usually stayed in that room.”

“Oh.” Avery realises with a hum. With Bradley being ten years your senior, the room was his long before it was hers. With him growing up so close by, it was probably his much more frequently than it was hers, too. It’s not like she had ever kept anything here anyway. It’s just a guest room that she would occupy every now and again.

There’s a brief quiet between the two of them. 

“I just figured you could take the big room. ‘Til you get settled. I’ll go home once your car is fixed, if that’s what you want.” Bradley adds on. That sad little look on her face, right in front of him, is killing him. 

The big room. The loft room upstairs. Avery thinks about it and finds herself pretty sure that she’s never even been upstairs in this house.

“You’re staying too?” 

Oh. Yeah. He hadn’t addressed that point yet. Truthfully, he hadn’t even been planning to stay. He hasn’t even packed an overnight bag. But, from the second that she had stepped out of the car and looked up at the house with that look on her face, he hadn’t even considered leaving her here alone.

“Just ‘til we get your car fixed,” He offers with a small shrug. “I’ll be here to run you around until then.”

Like he’s doing this for her sake. Natasha has her own life to get back to and Bradley can’t stand the thought of going back to his apartment alone. 

“Okay,” Avery agrees, turning to peer down the hall towards the spare room. It’s nothing special — it really never felt like hers, anyway. “Alright, I’ll take Pete’s room.”

Pete. She calls Maverick ‘Pete’ now. 

Bradley just nods, shifting the weight of her bags and nodding for her to head for the stairs. All the floors in this house are tan oak. The entryway is now herringbone. With the help of a friend, Pete had done the entire thing himself. 

Of course, as they walk silently across it, neither one of them would know that. Neither one of them was speaking to him last May, which was why he had needed a project in the first place.

Natasha’s outside on the phone. Bradley’s footsteps thud on the wood of the stairs behind her, following her up. She stops at the top, leaving just enough room for Bradley to stand there behind her.

The door to Maverick’s room is open. His bed is made. There’s a book thrown on top of it, the spine cracked and used, the pages yellow from years out in the sun.

“No way is he still trying to fucking finish War and Peace.” Bradley steps around her and heads straight for the book. Pete started this book before Bradley finished elementary school. Bradley twists and looks back at her. “He always gets bored and stops reading, then forgets his page and starts again.”

Another slow nod. One foot in front of the other, her shoes along the tan oak floors. Her fingers trail the white walls. Maverick wouldn’t have minded. This place was always messy before. It’s not now. 

This house is vacant and quiet, but it’s far from empty. It’s filled to the brim, practically pulling apart at the seams with everything that Maverick was and planned to be. He was finishing War and Peace — he made it to chapter 253 this time; further than he had ever made it before. 

Suddenly, Avery’s throat is thick with the knowledge that all she knew Maverick to be, is now all that he’ll ever be. An absent father, a fantastic pilot, a lousy cook. A thousand more things that she’ll never know.

Four days of knowing, a fourteen hour drive down here, and it’s a book that stings like a cold slap to the face, reminding her of why exactly it is that she’s here.

Fire burns behind her eyes, blistering and stinging as Bradley sets her bags on the floor with a soft thud.

He turns with his attention completely on the book, his fingers extending towards the peeling cover of the paperback. His fingers curl around its weathered pages and he lifts it tenderly, examining the front at first.

It’s too early to start this process bawling her eyes out, and Avery refuses to let Russian Literature be your downfall, again.

That thick feeling sits in her throat like a stack of weights as she sits down on the end of Maverick’s bed. The mattress is soft, taking her weight without a squeak of complaint. Maybe he finally listened to her and got a bed that wasn’t so harsh on his back.

It’s been almost two years since she had even set foot in this house last. If she had known that Maverick was going to be gone this soon… she sits and thinks to herself about if she would have maybe visited more. Probably not.

“I’ll change the sheets and stuff, then I’ll get out of your hair for a bit.”

Lifting her head, she blinks at him. He has already started to pull back the comforter and strip the bottom sheet from the bed, awkwardly forcing her onto her feet again. 

Mobile once more, Avery turns slowly to take in her surroundings. This is Maverick’s room. It’s his house, she was prepared for that much — but this is his room. The last thing she wants is to be alone in it all night.

“Oh. Sure,” She nods, setting into motion to help take the sheets off.

He’s so methodical about it, like none of this phases him at all. But then, she hasn’t seen how he has been for the past few days.

“I was thinking of just ordering food tonight, since I’m kinda tired — and Pete never had groceries. Would you want… to maybe join?”

“Sure.” Bradley nods, tugging the pillows out of the cases. He glances up to her with a strictly polite, neutral smile. Quiet settles between the two of them until the bed is just a bare mattress and uncovered pillows. 

Then, there’s a moment of total stillness between the two of them. Her gaze flickers up, meeting his, and the realization settles between the two of them.

Maverick’s favourite cologne was a French thing that some woman in the eighties had liked. Citrus in the shade of cypress wood. The scent fills the room like he’s standing between the two of them.

Bradley glances down at the white sheets in his hands. The snowy white peaks of those mountains, Maverick’s aircraft spiralling into them, engulfed in flames. In a sick way, Bradley hopes that he didn’t manage to eject. At least then, it would have been instant. Maverick wouldn’t have felt anything.

Avery watches his adam’s apple bob in his throat from the other side of the bed. The last you had heard, Mav and Bradley weren’t on speaking terms. She wonders if this is as weird for him as it is for you.

“I’ll put these in the washer. You can… unpack, or whatever.” He decides finally, already taking one step backwards, headed for the door. She stands there, blinking at him. Even with those steeped, broad shoulders, he makes it through the doorframe unscathed before he turns to check where he’s going.

He probably knows this house inside and out, just like he knew her dad. Once. 

When it comes to wracking her brain and trying to remember Bradley Bradshaw, Avery can’t ever come up with anything. Maybe a glimpse, here and there. A blue t-shirt with green stripes. His school backpack accidentally left in the backseat of Maverick’s convertible beside her shoddily installed car seat. 

Truthfully, her experience with Bradley Bradshaw is limited. He’s just as real to her as any of the other guys in the stories she grew up hearing about. Her very own Peter Pan is downstairs right now, trying to figure out Maverick’s ancient washing machine, just so that he doesn’t have to stand up here and stare across at her.

He can’t hide from her forever, though. Evening comes, and so does hunger. 

He stares down at the pizza between the two of them as he chews through a bite, brows drawn together slightly. He hates thin crust pizza — it’s the worst kind of pizza. But, when she had suggested it, he had agreed with a tight-lipped smile.

Natasha has gone home. It’s just the two of them, now. Sitting in this unchanged, all too familiar kitchen. Avery has barely unpacked. She set up a couple of things in Maverick’s bathroom, but it doesn’t feel right to be in the big room upstairs. That wasn’t ever her space to claim.

She chews absentmindedly at the bite she had taken. The TV in the living room is off. The record player is coated in a layer of thin dust already. It’s dead quiet. The kitchen light is dim above their heads.

There’s a chip in the corner of the table on Bradley’s side. It’s there because Bradley was running through this kitchen when he was four years old and had tripped and knocked his front tooth out right here. His thumb trails the tiny mark, wondering how his teeth had ever been that small.

Wondering why she isn’t angry with him, too.

Maverick had picked him up that day, turned him around and held Bradley while he cried, stemming the blood and quickly introducing the concept of the tooth fairy. He had done all that he could, and Bradley still found a way to resent him for what had happened to his own father.

Bradley hasn’t ever done a thing for Avery. Except maybe pay for this pizza. And here she is, calm as can be. 

The sauce base feels tangy and coppery, and the cheese makes him want to puke. He sets the slice down on his plate and wipes his hands on the paper towel beside him.

Finally, he lifts his head and looks at her. Her hair is up differently now, tucked out of your way after an afternoon of manual labour upstairs, tidier than it had been earlier. She’s wearing a stretched out old t-shirt. Bradley assumes she got it from a boyfriend.

Really, he doesn’t think she looks that much like her old man. He would really have to search for the resemblance. But, briefly, when she offers him a polite smile across the table, he knows that you’re Mav’s kid.

“I’m sorry.” Bradley blurts out. They both look across at each other, equally surprised that he has spoken.

“…For what?” Avery asks quietly, lips tugging into a small frown.

“I’m sorry that I’m here and he’s not.” He’s just got to say it. He knows she probably wouldn’t bring it up on your own, but there’s a big elephant in this room. Bradley knows what it’s like to sit in her spot, and not know how to talk about it.

It’s his fault that Maverick didn’t make it home.

She stops chewing. That last bite sits in her mouth, doughy and dry all of a sudden. She stares across at him, awkwardly making herself swallow down the last of her bite of pizza and picking up the paper towel to wipe at her mouth.

“We weren’t that close.” She tells him, like that’s supposed to make him feel better. It doesn’t. It’s like a blow to the chest. She’ll never get the opportunity to fix things, because of him.

But, he knows what it’s like to be told how to grieve. He just dips his head and nods awkwardly. “Right.” 

“I got a call from an admiral the other day,” She picks up the slice of pizza and pick at its toppings. There’s no one here now to tell her not to play with your food. Mav never really cared anyway. Bradley watches her, unhungry. “Invited me down to Miramar. He said he was a friend of Mav’s and that he could talk me through… this whole thing. How it works.”

Bradley rubs a hand over the neatly trimmed hair above his lip. It feels like he has swallowed a golf ball, sitting here like it’s normal to be discussing the measures.

He knows how it works. It won’t be as simple as it was with his own father. At least Maverick had afforded him something to bury. For her, there’s nothing.

“I’ll have to be there around eleven.” 

“Sure,” Bradley nods, scratching at the back of his neck. His legs tingle with stiffness. Clearing his throat, he shifts in the little wooden chair and stretches, knocking his foot into hers under the table. “Oh. Sorry. I’m sorry.”

Her teeth press into the inside of your cheek. Maverick hadn’t ever described Bradley as this nervous.

“It’s fine.” She hums, pushing back in her chair and standing up from the table. “Well, I’ve been up since like… four, so I might just hit the hay.”

“Sure.” Bradley breathes out, hands braced on his thighs, eyes focussed on that tiny chip in the corner of the table. “Yeah. Goodnight.”

The downstairs bedroom seemed bigger when he was a kid. The twin-sized bunks on the carrier feel bigger than the wooden-framed bed that Maverick put in here. Bradley’s shoulder is practically hanging off the side, and the old frame creaks with each movement he makes.

It’s not like he would be sleeping much anyway. When he closes his eyes, the only thing he can see is the fireball Maverick’s plane had turned into as it fell.

Bradley’s hunched over the coffee pot by the time that Avery wakes up. He hears her coming down the stairs and straightens up like he wasn’t three seconds from throwing the stupid thing at the wall, clearing his throat and turning around.

It occurs to him that he should have put a shirt on. This isn’t his place. It’s hers, now, he guesses — either way, he hadn’t considered making her uncomfortable. He folds his arms over his naked torso as she strolls into the kitchen, hair mussed and rubbing at her eyes.

She’s wearing big socks and the same big t-shirt she had worn to eat the pizza last night. He can’t tell if she’s wearing shorts or not.

“Morning,” He offers up, making her lift her gaze from busily tapping at her phone. Her gaze lands squarely on his navel — more so, how low his shorts sit on his hips and the way a soft trail of brown hair ventures from there to his bellybutton. 

Blinking, she finds his face.

“Coffee machine’s broken, we can stop somewhere on the way to base if you like.” He leans down a little bit, like an awkward teenager shrinking away from a family picture. She locks her gaze on his, trying not to glance back down at his muscles. 

“Oh. That’s not broken — if you hit it hard enough, it’ll work.” She heads right for him, fuzzy socks padding across the floor so softly that it really does startle him when she grabs the copy of War and Peace that now sits on the kitchen counter, and slam the book right into the side of the coffee machine.

He whips around as the machine whirs to life. Avery the book back down gently, and look up at him. He sets his jaw, brows knitted together, searching her face.

Maverick never taught Bradley anything like that. In fact — Bradley always, always was taught the opposite. You never take the easy way out; if something’s worth fixing, then you fix it right.

Then you, you on the other hand, beat the thing with the heaviest book you can find? He just doesn’t get it.

“Well. Thanks.” He guesses, turning his bemused expression back to the brewing coffee. 

He hadn’t been expecting you to do that. Doesn’t take a genius to figure that out, given the way he’s still glaring at the machine. That coffee pot is older than you are, and Mav never taught him that trick?

“So this guy, the one who called me,” Avery skims her fingers along the cool granite countertop, just to have something to do, “He was the guy calling the shots up there?”

Bradley blinks. He doesn’t know how much she knows about the way all of this works. He knew everything there is to know long before he ever enlisted, but that was because he wanted to know.

“Um,” Bradley grabs his mug and takes a step back for her to get herself one.  “He was our mission command so, kind of. He gives orders — but, y’know, everything happens fast, it’s… it’s hard to call the shots from back on the boat.” 

“Did he like Mav much?” She asks, head tucked inside the fridge door as you scan for anything to make her coffee a little less black. Nothing. A couple of beers and a block of good German cheese. She swings it shut with a resigned sigh, wondering if she’ll be here long enough to need groceries.

The thought flashes across her mind — what’ll happen to this place when she leaves it behind?

“Uh... No, not really.” After a routine training presentation at the very beginning of their attachment, Admiral Simpson had once become so agitated by Maverick that he snapped his own reading glasses in half. Mav got a good laugh out of it, at least.

“Great.” Agitation creeps into her tone as she curls her fingers around a plain white coffee mug. All of his kitchenware is plain white. 

“What?” Bradley tilts his head, trying to catch a glimpse at the look on her face, stuck between whether she’s sad or pissed off.

It’s an easy answer, rolling off of her tongue with a shrug of her shoulders and a deflated sigh. “People usually put us in the same boat — if they don’t like him, they don’t like me.”

That’s something that he thinks he can understand. There’s not an instant dislike, but there’s a pity that he finds in the eyes of people who once knew his father. 

He screws his mouth up, shaking his head and reaching for her without thought. His palm claps against her shoulder, platonic and soothing, but the first time he has touched you nonetheless. “I’ll be there. He won’t say a thing.”

Glancing upward, while his palm lingers on her shoulder, her eyes flit across his features. He doesn’t know quite what she’s searching for, or whether she finds it. His fingers squeeze softly against her skin before the touch is gone all together.

They drink their coffees in parallel, both subtly miserable in their silence but comfortable in it anyway. It’s difficult to prepare for a meeting like this — she doesn’t have a clue of what to expect. 

Bradley wears black jeans and boots with a plain white t-shirt, which convinces her not to wear the more formal dress she had thought she’d have to wear. She slips into his passenger seat in a skirt and Mary Janes.

He drives a loud, blue vintage Bronco. It sparkles inside and out, and makes her dusty old car look even worse. 

Bradley settles behind the wheel to the sound of chilled seventies music, the radio turned low. He drives with three fingers curled around the bottom of the wheel and the other hand resting absently on the stick shift.

Even though he seems calm enough behind the wheel, she watches him chew at the inside of his cheek for the duration of the drive. Gears tick away inside his head. His knee only stops bouncing nervously when it’s time to press his foot against the pedal.

He’s not as good at pretending as he thinks he is; she silently appreciates that he tries, either way.

Bradley, truthfully, spends the entire drive thinking about the last time he was face to face with Admiral Simpson. ‘Son, I’m doing this for you.’ He had sworn, face sullen, uttering the exact same words Pete Mitchell once had when delivering the words that had torn Bradley from him the first time.

Only, Admiral Simpson wasn’t pulling Bradley’s papers — he was just putting him on a month long bereavement leave. His protests had fallen on deaf ears once again, as they had fifteen years ago. He’s now a week into that leave, but it feels like longer.

It turns out that when sleep is cut from the equation, everything feels a lot longer. In his own apartment, his routine has been getting up at 2am after hours of tossing and turning, going for a run all the way down to the docks, coming back and showering, then waiting for the sun to rise.

Last night, he’d been awake in that creaky old twin bed, struck by the realisation that if he spent all night tossing and turning — one, he might actually break the old bed frame, and two, the squeaking of it would definitely keep Avery up. 

All it had taken was the focus of trying to sit still for so long to finally knock him out. It was the best that he’d slept since the mission.

He kind of hopes that it’ll take him a while to figure out something to do with her car; at least that way he’ll be able to sleep at night. 

“You ready?” His voice startles Avery from her daydream, the engine cutting out with a jingle of the keys as he stretches forwards in his seat to shove them into his pocket. “We’re headed just over there.”

“Yeah, let’s get this over with.” She’s stepping down and swinging the heavy door shut before she’s taking her next breath, leaving him to catch up to her. 

His long strides have him at her side before long, reaching ahead of her to pull open the glass door to the post headquarters. 

This process has already been easier with him at her side. He’d coolly handed over his service ID and greeted the guard at the gate by name, and he stops her from turning sharply down the wrong hallway with a soft bump of his shoulder against hers.

He catches her forearm as she tries to blow right past the front desk, his grip loose but firm. 

“Rooster.” The woman behind the desk stands up sharply, looking sharp in her service khakis, her entire face creased with a deep worry. She’s older, maybe around Mav’s age. “I heard, I’m so sorry.”

Rooster loosens his hold on her forearm, his lips flattening into a line. He stands up straight, his interaction with the woman nothing if not totally polite. His thumb trails across the bend of her wrist as he nods his head towards her.

“Thank you,” He says softly, seemingly unaware of the way Avery has stiffened in the presence of this woman. “We’re, uh… we’re just here to see Cyclone, Lynn.”

Her warm, brown eyes whip towards Avery, widening. Recognition floods her features as she pieces together who the girl at Bradley's side must be. 

Her boots hit the ground, Avery's lips parting slightly as she realises that this stranger is headed right for her. Bradley feels Avery's arm tug in his grip and turns his head, taking note of the way she's trying to shrink behind him.

Lynn is a hugger by nature, and she was a good friend of Mav’s for a long time. She means well, but Bradley isn’t going to let her touch Avery when he can see how unnerved it makes her.

“We’re a little late. I’ll catch you at the O-Bar this weekend?” His fingers uncurl from her forearm and his palm falls flat between her shoulder blades, giving her a gentle nudge and silent permission to avoid Lynn's hug.

The woman stops and there’s another polite, departing exchange between the two of them while Avery continues down the hall.

Bradley catches up to her as she raps her knuckles against the doorframe, fingers trembling when they come to settle back against her thighs.

“Miss Mitchell.” A chair scrapes along the tiled floor, Cyclone’s signature rumbling voice carrying out into the hallway. His boots tap across the ground, his face creased with sincerity and his hand outstretched when he notices Bradley standing behind the young woman he had arranged this meeting with. “Bradley Bradshaw.”

Avery checks back over her shoulder, glancing briefly at the man behind her, who has assumed his best bodyguard impression. 

Standing tall, his uniform crisp and his greying black hair combed neatly, Admiral Beau Simpson slips his palm into hers and shakes her hand curtly. The sunlight catches on his shining name badge, his face heavy with lines and sharp angles.

Letting her hand go, he then reaches to her right to shake Bradley’s. Bradley’s chest bumps her back as he leans into the handshake.

Avery steps away from him, angling yourself closer to the doorframe. “He just gave me a ride here. Is it okay if he comes in?”

“Of course,” Cyclone is far more polite to her than he has ever been to Bradley. “Anything you need. Please, take a seat.”

It feels a little bit wrong standing before his boss in jeans, and sitting before him. Everything about this feels a little bit wrong. Bradley rests his chin against his fist.

Avery sits in the chair beside him, shoving your trembling hands under your thighs, straightening up and trying to look as brave as you can. 

It shouldn’t be this stranger sitting beside you in this meeting — your mother should have come with you.

“Miss Mitchell,” The admiral takes his seat on the other side of his desk once again. “I want to first express my deepest condolences. Your father was a good man, and a… extremely skilled pilot.”

Bradley almost scoffs. Even now, Cyclone can’t manage to compliment him, not really.

“We are forever grateful for his service, and the sacrifices he made on behalf of our country. I understand that this is an extremely difficult time, and I’d just like to say that I’m going to personally make sure that this process is as easy as it can possibly be.”

Avery blinks at him. Jet engines rumble on outside of the window. People bustle on outside of the closed office door.

Cyclone glances towards Bradley. 

“When a man is lost in action, our resolve is to initiate a search and rescue effort as soon as possible,” The admiral explains, leaving out the part where that search and rescue effort had been delayed by seventy-two hours after Mav disappeared. “We’ve been working tirelessly, and our efforts to locate your father are ongoing.”

Her brows knit together, lips pursed, unimpressed.

“But— he’s dead.” She frowns abruptly, rendering Cyclone suddenly quiet. “He’s got to be. It’s been a week. No food, no water, sub-zero temperature. What’s the point in looking?”

Bradley grits his teeth. He looks across at her, her words like a jolt of ice-cold water, the muscle in his jaw ticking. There’s nothing in her expression, no fear or sadness. Pete deserved more than that.

“The point is to bring him home.” He bites from her side, staring straight ahead at Cyclone.

She shoots him a look. When it’s clear that she isn’t going to say anything else, Cyclone clears his throat to continue. 

“Miss Mitchell, we do have to prepare ourselves for the other outcome. If recovery efforts are unsuccessful, in two weeks time, he will be listed as formally ‘Missing in Action’. If that’s the case, we will honor him with a memorial service and all of his service records and personal effects are delivered to you.”

She drags her teeth across her plush bottom lip, swallowing hard and giving a small nod of her head. Closing her eyes for a moment, she pictures the moment that this is all over. She can get out of here and pretend it never happened.

“Okay. Two weeks?”

“This is going to be a longer process,” Cyclone warns her. He’d heard that she had come down specially for this, and he doesn’t want to mislead her about the time frame. “The recovery mission, if unsuccessful, will be suspended in two weeks’ time. After that, we’d like you to be local for the investigation.”

“Investigation?”

“Of ourselves. To ensure that the Navy had performed its due diligence, that kind of thing… I’d expect us to be here for a good few months.” He explains.

After that, it’s like Bradley can see a switch flip for her. 

She’s biting at the inside of her cheek so hard that she must be tasting copper, picking at the seam of her skirt and breathing like she’s trying not to cry.

He’s still confused when he’s all but chasing her across the parking lot, listening to her try to control her breathing.

“Hey, hey, hey,” He tries, approaching her cautiously as she crowds herself against the passenger side of his car. “It’s alright. We’ll get through it, it’s just a couple of months.”

“I— fuck. I don’t want to be here. I-I— I’m going to have to find a job, and I’ll have to call my mom, and— and my friends, and—“

“Hey,” Bradley mumbles, resisting the instinct to throw his arms around her. His brows draw together as he reaches out and squeezes her bicep, bending his knees so he can catch her eye. “It’s alright. I’ll take care of it.”

Avery knows that he’s just trying to be nice, but really, she’s sick of nice. It’s all that Maverick ever was and it left her with no idea of who he really is. “Of what? There’s so much that I have to—“

He nods, closing his mouth, swallowing dryly. Thinking of what he can, feasibly, take off of her plate for her. The idea sparks in him.

“You need a job. I can get you a job. Um, your friends, we can call them and bring them down for a weekend?” He squeezes again at her bicep, nodding his way through his plans, trying to will the tears in her eyes not to spill over.

She sniffs, turning her gaze towards the ground. The lump in Avery’s throat burns and bobs as she tries to swallow it away. 

Mav really is never coming back.

“I don’t want to go back to his house.” It comes out as a whimper, and really just reminds Bradley that she is in the same position that he was when he was just a little younger than her. It’s a scared kid type of feeling, being all alone in the world. Being in an empty house had made it even worse.

He licks his lips and glances towards the skies, watching the sun pass behind a cloud. 

“You could stay at my place, for a night or two.” 

…

[destinyisastar]

❤ Static Heart ❤

Summary: You land in heaven, but you suddenly hear static that no one else hears. You chose to follow the sound, where will it lead you?

Alastor x Wife Reader

(Read Static Death as a prequel to this story!)

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───  ─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Soft, everything felt soft and very …. heavy?

Why is everything white?

You grab your face feeling for anything different…. no, nothing wrong there.

But why does your back feel heavy.

You twist your head and are met with a pair of wings on your back. White, beautiful, large wings.

“What… what is this?” You stand up from your spot on the (fluffy?) ground.

You turn you head around and see a line of …people… yes people with wings.

Walking towards the end of the line you tap a woman’s shoulder, and she turns around.

“Um, I’m sorry but what exactly is going on?”

“Oh, dear haven’t you figured it out yet?” She says looking at you glumly.

“No, No I haven’t figured anything out!” You feel yourself start to shake. “One moment I was in bed and now I’m here!” You feel like crying.

The woman starts to rub your arms, “Its okay, your okay,” she looks around for a moment. “I just got here myself, but I do believe we are at the gates of heaven.”

The gates of heaven? Did I die? How did I die? Heavens real?!

You feel a sense of panic, you feel your breath running out of you. You place a hand on your chest.

“Deep breaths…. breath in……. breath out…that’s right everythings fine. You don’t have a thing to worry about anymore.” She tells you in a soothing voice.

Your breathing comes back at a normal pace. “Thank you, miss. I just don’t understand how I got here.”

“It’s all right, I was a bit shocked myself, with the wings and finally seeing heaven. My names Josephine Wright.”

“My names Y/n Hartfelt.”

Josephine smiles at you, “Can’t believe there’s actually a heaven, I mean you hear about it my never really expect to see it!”

You nod, your mind still not accepting the fact that you are in fact dead.

How am I dead?

Josephine continues to ramble on about her life, her children she hopes to see, wondering if her dogs, Brownie and Gravy, are in heaven too.

You cross your arms together slightly shuffling. Then you hear it.

Static.

It’s overcoming your ears, and you turn around to find the source.

“Hey, hey everything all right?”

You look back towards her, “Didn’t you hear that?”

“Hear what?”

“The static.”

Josephine looks around, “No, I haven’t heard a thing. Maybe it’s your ears still getting used to this place. I’m still getting use to how bright it is here.”

Maybe it is, but the static….

It’s getting louder.

“Hey, do you have anyone you’re waiting for?”

“Huh?”

“I mean I told you who I’m expecting to see but you haven’t told me much about you.”

You take a moment, “My husband… but I don’t think he’ll be here.” You mumble the last part, placing your hands over your heart.

“Hmm?”

“No, I just... my husband, he… he died before me.”

“Oh, don’t worry dear, he might just be waiting for your return beyond those gates.”

The static is louder than before.

“I think I’m going to walk around a bit…”

“Oh, I can save your spot while you walk, the line doesn’t look like it’ll get any shorter, specially since that little guy in the front keeps singing.”

“Yes... thank you, Josephine.”

You decided to walk towards the static.

With each step you take the static grows incredibly louder. You can hardly see Josephine anymore.

Static, why is there static in heaven?

You find a hole in the ground, but the hole is filled with red. Nothing like the bright shining light in heaven. It seems to be where the static is emitting from.

You kneel near the hole placing your hands around the edges.

“What is this?”

You stick your head in the hole, and it feels…. hot. There seems to be a whole city down there with darker colors compared to heaven’s light.

The static… it sends shivers through your body.

“It’s coming from down here…”

You push yourself closer into the hole.

“The static is louder down here.”

You push yourself more until... you fall.

You feel your wings flap rapidly.

You scream but the ground is still getting closer, covering your face with your hands.

Then you feel the ground on your feet.

Your breathing is uneven, and you feel your body for an injuries.

“Okay, okay, I’m okay, I’m alive…...well dead alive…. alive dead?” You shake your head.

The static now courses through your body sounding louder than ever before.

It doesn’t seem that far from where you landed.

You stick your head out from the alleyway, and you see …. creatures.

There seems to be two lizards bashing each other’s heads, there a fox fellow smashing glass, gunshots filling the air, and... and is that a blimp with a cannon?!

You back into the alley, what is this place. Wait… if up there was heaven does that mean… that… this is hell?

You still hear the static and feel the need to get there. Something is pulling towards the sound.

Your feet lead you through the twists and turns of the alleyway. It seems never ending.

It seems to be getting darker, you feel yourself shaking.

Why do I feel nervous?

“NO, NO NO NO NO NO PLEASE! I’LL DO ANYTHING YOU WANT!! FUCK!! DON’T KILL ME PLE—”

Blood splatters on your dress.

Dead. Someone’s dead.

Someone died in front of you, but you stand still.

They’re dead and you’re just standing.

Run, why don’t you RUN????

The static stills you.

“Well, I didn’t know I had an observer….” The voice sounds like a radio, it sounds… familiar.

You can’t see who’s talking but the static, you know it’s coming from the voice.

“Did you come for a free show? Hmmmm…” The voice is getting closer.

The voice comes from beneath you seemingly from the darkness below.

This being, it towers over you.

“Its not polite to not make eye contact with someone who is speaking to you.” He tilts your chin up to face him.

The static stops.

You both look into each other’s eyes.

The being has a monocle, a pair of horns on his dark red hair with fluffy ears.

Even with all the changes, he’s still the man you fell in love with.

“Alastor… is that you?” you quietly ask.

He places his hands on your face, “Y/n?” The radio tone in his voice stops as he rubs his thumb along your cheek.

“Yes… it’s me my love.” You take one of his hands holding your cheeks and kiss it softly.

“What, what are you doing here? How are you here?”

“I heard static noises from up there. I decided to follow the sound and…. it led me to you.” You look back up at your loving husband.

“Why did you… why did you kill them? Why did you leave me?” You begin to sob, your hands forming fist, and you begin to bash them into his chest.

“I never felt more lonely in my life, when you died if felt like I was being split into two.”

Alastor doesn’t stop you from hitting him.

“Why!?”

He starts to rub your back feeling your wings, caressing them softly.

Alastor faces you back towards him, wiping your tears.

“Dearest there are many things you don’t know about me. But one thing that I’ve never hid from you is my love.”

Your crying stops.

“You shouldn’t be down here and even so you shouldn’t be dead so soon.”

You don’t say anything.

He pulls you closer. “I love you more than anything.”

You wrap your arms around him, “I missed you so much.”

Alastor kisses your forehead. “Now my dear, let’s go home.”

Smiling you push yourself closer to his face and with understanding your actions Alastor moves forward.

A kiss so sweet death can no longer break you apart ever again.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───  ─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

I'm still working on the Vox and Alastor story so in the meantime have this. I'll try to post once a day:)

Word Count: 1342

[percyluvr]

sam winchester x fem!witch!reader summary: you're unaware of your witchy heritage, or even the existence of the supernatural, until two hunters come waltzing into your life claiming that you and your mother are witches wc: 9802 warning: pre-bunker era supernatural, violence (not a lot but enough to warrant a warning, i think), not proofread dedicated to my only (i think) pjo + spn moot, skye

“You’re up early, Sammy,” Dean says, looking into the doorway at his brother wiping sweat off his forehead. “And sweaty.”

“Yeah, I went for a jog. You should try it, it’s good for you. Plus, it’s nice outside.”

“Right, no thank you. Sleep is essential to keep looking this good.”

“Alright, man, if you say so,” Sam replies, disgust apparent on his face.

“Whatever. Listen to this,” Dean starts. “A middle-aged woman in Tupelo, Mississippi, was found dead last night with all of her teeth missing, and some freaky ass carving of some horned thing on her chest. Her husband came home and found her lying on the bathroom floor. Apparently she didn’t die until after she made it to the hospital, though, so whoever or whatever did this wanted it to be long and painful.”

“Huh. Sounds creepy.”

“Exactly. So what do you think? Our kind of gig?” Dean asks, fully knowing they were going to go find out either way.

“Yeah, definitely. Y’wanna head out now or get something to eat?”

“I’m hungry as hell. I need a burger before we deal with this.”

“I feel you. Well, not the burger part, but I’m definitely gonna need food before we head out.”

“Let’s hit the town then, see what there is to eat here,” Dean says, grabbing his jacket and shrugging it over his shoulders before walking out the door, Sam following after grabbing his laptop and jacket of his own.

****

After driving for a bit, they find a small, semi-trashy diner.

"I can't believe this is the only decent looking place in this whole town," Dean complains.

"I mean, what do you expect? We're in a town with a population below three thousand."

"Right. The food better be good or else I'll be pissed. Give me that menu," he grumpily demanded.

"Their salad looks good."

"Yeah, real funny. I'm gonna get that special edition deluxe baconator," Dean said excitedly, mood immediately improving at the sight of a greasy burger on the menu.

Sam makes a face, about to say something, but is interrupted by the waitress arriving at the table.

"You boys ready to order or do you need more time?" She asks, eyeing Dean.

"Oh, we're ready," Dean flirts.

Sam rolls his eyes. "I'll get the, uh, shake it up salad."

"Okay, and for you?" She asks Dean.

"I'll get that deluxe baconator."

"Got it, I'll be back in a sec."

She starts walking away, Dean eyeing her every step of the way.

"Seriously, dude?" Sam asks in disgust.

"Yeah, look at her, dude. Tell me you don't want a piece of that."

"Alright, man, enough. As soon as we finish we're getting right out of here, no flirting."

"Whatever. Don't be jealous you never get laid."

Sam rolls his eyes as the waitress walks over with a salad in one hand and Dean's burger in the other.

"Thank you," Dean says, giving her a wink. Sam sighs exasperatedly for what feels like the six hundredth time today.

"You've got to stop that."

"Stop what? I'm just appreciating the beauties of the world."

"Yeah, I'm ignoring you now. Eat your food so we can go."

"Who died and made you boss?" Dean mutters.

Sam ignores him, and proceeds to wolf down his salad.

"Little hungry there?" Dean asks.

"Last time I checked, I was the one that went for a three mile jog this morning, not you, so I'll eat all I want, thanks."

"Just asking, don't get your panties in a twist."

"Whatever, I'm done eating."

Dean wolfs down the rest of his greasy, and in Sam's opinion, disgusting burger, managing to nearly choke on it twice, then stands up and walks toward the counter. He turns around and mouths 'getting her number,' and raises his eyebrows twice at Sam, who just rolls his eyes in response.

Sam shakes his head and walks out to the Impala, assuming that Dean is flirting, with a side of paying for their breakfast.

He opens the shiny black door of his brother's 1967 Chevy Impala and sits down on the beige seat, looking out the window at the diner. Moments later, the door opens and Sam sees Dean’s smug smile and a small piece of paper being waved around in the air.

When Dean sits down in his car, he immediately looks at Sam. “And that is how it’s done by a true master of charm,” he boasts, putting the key in the ignition and shifting to reverse.

“Good for you. I can get girls’ numbers too, y’know. I’m not celibate, or whatever crap you call me.”

“Sure, Sammy. Whatever makes you feel better. But if you really think you can get a girl’s number instead of me, you’re mistaken. So, whoever gets the number of the hottest girl wins.”

“That’s stupid, I’m not doing that.”

“We’ll see.”

“No, we won’t see. I’m focusing on the case.”

Sam sees Dean smirk in response as they pull out of the parking lot. He clenches his jaw in annoyance.

****

Halfway on the way to Tupelo, Sam asks, “So what do you think we’re looking at here? ‘S not everyday we work a job like this.”

“Honestly? No idea. Not a big fan of the carving on the chest, either. Never seen a symbol like that before.” 

"Great," Sam grumbles, and for the rest of the car ride his thoughts were full of possibilities of what they could be hunting.

****

Four hours later, the Impala rolls into Tupelo, and the first building they see is a fairly decent looking motel, which they decide to spend the night in. After checking into the motel, they carry their bags into the room, immediately grabbing out their fake FBI badges and cheap costume suits.

After quickly changing, they head out to the Impala. “Ready to see every dentist’s nightmare?” Dean jokes.

“Actually, pretty sure that would be you. I can’t remember a day where you didn’t eat some kind of candy or tooth rotting food,” Sam says. “Or even brushed your teeth for that matter.”

“Dude, I brush my teeth.” Sam raises his eyebrow. “Sometimes.”

Sam scoffs. “Yeah, right. Your breath smells like a dead person.”

****

Dean parks the Impala in front of a white two-story house in some, as Dean says, stuffy suburban neighborhood. They get out of the car and walk over to the house, Sam knocking on the front door.

A man, the woman's husband, Sam assumes, opens the door.

“Mr. Feezerman, we'd like to talk to you about your wife,” Sam says, flashing his fake badge.

“Thank God the FBI is involved. The cops here have no idea what's going on. Come in,” Mr Feezerman says, gesturing for them to come in.

Dean sits down on the couch, leaving Sam standing next to it.

“Mr. Feezerman, do you mind if I use your bathroom?” Sam asks.

“Go right ahead. It’s upstairs, the second door on the left.”

“Thanks,” Sam says with a little nod of his head.

Upstairs in the bathroom, Sam searches through the drawers for a hex bag, but comes up empty. He moves onto checking the cabinet below the sink, but still nothing. He finally looks in the medicine cabinet and finds a small brown cloth tied together by a leather string.

"Damn it," he grumbles.

He grabs the bag and heads back downstairs after putting it in his pocket.

He reaches the bottom of the stairs and sees Dean turn to look at him. Sam gives him a nod indicating his search was successful.

"Alright, that's all, thank you, Mr. Feezerman," Dean says.

****

"Alright, so what are we thinking?" Dean asks.

"Well, based on the hex bag I found, I'm thinking witch. And not some beginner level witchcraft, either, dude. I'm talking ancient witchcraft, warts, wrinkles, and all."

"Awesome," Dean groans.

"Yeah. And I'm thinking it's not just one witch, either. Witches this strong usually form covens to protect themselves."

"Awesome times two," Dean says, furrowing his eyebrows and grimacing.

"Well, what did you get? She have any enemies?"

"Her husband said that her and some of the other prissy ladies were in some sort of book club or whatever he said, I wasn’t really listening. I was thinking about that waitress from before,” Dean says dreamily.

“Dude, focus.”

“Right, anyways. Apparently, he found out through some lady she was friends with that she was cheating on her husband with one of the other lady’s husbands. Say that five times fast.”

“Sounds complicated, but also like we have some clear suspects.”

“Right. The book club or wine club or whatever it is these trophy wives do with their free time.”

“Dude, chill with the ‘I hate cookie-cutter families’ thing.”

“My bad.”

“You wanna head to the morgue or talk to suspects?”

“I’ll go to the morgue, you talk to suspects. I can’t handle any more of these people.”

“Alright. Did you get any names or addresses?”

“Obviously. This isn’t my first hunt,” Dean says, rolling his eyes.

“Alright, man. Take me to the first house.”

****

When they reach the first house, Sam gets out of the car.

“Meet back here in 30?” Sam asks.

��Uhh, y’know what? I think I’ll come with.” 

“What happened to not being able to handle any more of these people today?”

“Well that is one cougar just begging to be tamed,” Dean says, eyeing up the woman sitting on the porch.

“Disgusting, seriously.”

“Don’t hate the player.”

“Shut up.”

They walk up the pathway and up the stairs. When they reach the porch, the blonde woman gets up from her spot on the swing.

“Hello, boys, how can I help you?” She asks.

“FBI, we have a few questions about Amelia Feezerman,” Dean says, holding up his fake badge.

“Oh, dear. Come inside, then,” she says, leading them inside to the living room.

“So, nice place you got here,” Sam says.

“Oh, thank you,” she says, and before she can continue, Sam hears the pitter-patter of feet on the floor. “Honey, the cookies look delicious. Hopefully you two like chocolate chocolate chip.”

“Oh, I’m not really a sugar pers-“ Sam starts to say, but when he sees the woman standing in front of him, he quickly changes his mind. “But it doesn’t hurt occasionally.”

“Good, it’d be a shame if these cookies went to waste,” you say, winking at him.

“Like mother like daughter, damn,” Dean says under his breath.

Sam elbows him. “Knock it off,” he hissed.

“Before you two leave, let me know how the cookies are,” you say, gaze lingering on Sam before you walk out of the living room and back into the kitchen.

“We will,” Sam says, making ‘goo-goo eyes’, as Dean later calls them, at you.

“Dude, go in there and talk to her, I’ll talk to the mom here,” Dean says lowly to Sam, who nods in response and follows you into the kitchen.

The unfamiliar sound of footsteps prompts you to turn around, surprised to see the, in your opinion, cuter agent following you into the kitchen.

“Hello, agent,” you say with a grin.

“Hey, I’m Sam,” he shyly responds.

“Well, Sam, what did you think of the cookies?” You ask eagerly.

“They were really good. I’m really a sweets type of person, but you surprised me,” he compliments, the crinkling of his eyes serving as an effect of the wide smile gracing his face. You think that his smile makes him at least five times cuter, but you decide to keep that to yourself, for now at least.

“Well, thank you. I’m glad to contribute to the conversion of you into a dessert lover,” you joke, earning another beautiful smile from him.

“So, I’m not exactly here to talk about your cookies, however delicious they may be,” he admits, albeit a bit nervously for someone in the FBI, you think.

You raise an eyebrow. “How can I help you, then?”

“Have you heard about the death of Amelia Feezerman?” Your eyes widen, and you nearly choke on the cookie you were eating.

“What? Oh my God, no, I had no idea.”

“Ah, so you wouldn’t happen to know anything about her death?” He questions.

“Um, no? Why would I know anything about that?” You wearily ask.

“We thought that maybe you would know if there was any reason that anyone would want to hurt her.”

“Well, I didn’t really know her all that well. I know that she was in some book club thing with my mom, but that’s about it,” you say, crossing your arms. “Actually, I did hear that she was getting it on with some of her friends’ husbands.”

“Yeah, we know that,” Sam begins, “wait, plural husbands?”

“Yep,” you say, popping the ‘p.’ “She’d get with anything that breathes.”

“I see. So do you think any of these women would want to get revenge on her for that?”

“Oh, definitely. Some of these women are vicious. Rich women are some of the craziest people I’ve ever met, so glad I’m only back for three months,” you snicker.

Sam laughs. “So, you in college, then?” 

“Yeah, I’m in my third year, just home for the summer,” you explained.

“Yeah? You enjoying college?”

“Partially, I mean sometimes I miss my mom, but then I remember that visiting her means having to come back here, and I’m over it immediately,” you sheepishly admit.

“Really? It doesn’t seem too bad here, other than the death,” he says.

“Yeah, well, I guess you haven’t seen how people really are here.”

“How do you mean?”

“I guess I just mean that people here are petty and would do anything to get back at anyone for the smallest stuff,” you say sadly. “Especially some of my mom’s friends.”

You take the look on Sam’s face as an incentive to continue, “her friends are like, money obsessed, and if any other woman gets close to their husbands, somehow they’re mysteriously gone within the month. It’s kind of freaky, to be honest.”

Sam clenches his jaw as Dean walks into the kitchen.

"You ready to go?"

"Uh, yeah, give me a second.”

Dean gives him a look, but nods and leaves the kitchen.

“Give me a call if you can think of anything else that might be relevant to the case,” Sam says, handing a card with his FBI phone number on it to you.

“Will do,” you say, winking at him.

****

“Alright, so, what do you got?” Dean asks.

“Well, apparently this isn’t the first time this has happened here. According to her, multiple women go missing every year, all women that have gotten too close to the husbands of these book club ladies.”

“So we’re looking at a coven full of snotty rich women?” Dean complains, shoulders sagging.

“Guess so.”

“Doesn’t seem so bad for you though, Sammy. Don’t think I didn’t see you laying down the nerdy charm in there,” he jokes.

“I wasn’t flirting,” Sam defends. “I was just getting information and she happened to be pretty and conversational.”

“Sure, Sammy, sure.”

****

Before heading back to the motel room, Sam and Dean decide to stop by a restaurant for dinner.

“Dude, don’t tell me you’re gonna get another salad. You need some real food.”

“Like what? ‘Cause I’m pretty sure what you eat wouldn’t be classified as ‘real food’ either.”

“It’d be closer to real food than the shit you eat. You eat rabbit food, I eat manly food,” Dean argues.

“‘Manly food?’ How is it manly? It’s just greasy and disgusting. You’re gonna get a clogged artery in like 3 months because of it.”

“Whatever, I’m here for a good time, not a long time.”

Sam shakes his head and goes back to looking at the menu.

Sam’s menu browsing is interrupted by a familiar voice. “Can I get you two started with a drink?” 

He looks up to find you looking somehow just as beautiful in a waitress uniform, looking at him with stars in your eyes and a grin gracing your features.

“Well, hello again, agent. If I didn’t know better I’d think you were stalking me,” you playfully say, earning a chuckle from Sam.

“Hey, again. And yeah, I’ll just have a water,” he says.

“Alright, but honestly, I’d get the strawberry lemonade. It’s way better.”

“If you say it’s good, then I’ll give it a try,” he says, smiling coyly.

“Good, so a strawberry lemonade for you,” you start, turning to Dean, “and for you?”

Dean orders his drink, and while they wait for you to return with their drinks, they look at the food on the menus, at least Sam does, until he realizes that Dean is looking at him over his menu with a smirk on his face.

“Dude, what’s up with you and the waitress?”

“Nothing,” Sam says hesitantly. “I mean, she’s pretty, but I don’t know.”

“What do you mean you don’t know? If a hot girl is hitting on you, take that as a blessing. How long has it been since you’ve gotten laid?” Dean reminds him, and for once Sam thinks he’s right, only a little bit, though. It had been a while since he even flirted with a girl, and it really couldn’t hurt, could it?

However, his train of thought is interrupted by your presence at the table again. You place each drink in front of them, being extra careful with Sam’s. 

“So, are we ready to order?” You ask.

The boys order, and you jot it down on your notepad before walking away from their table. This time, Sam takes the time to watch the way your hips swing from side to side every time you take a step. All he can think is that you have the most graceful walk he has ever seen in his life, which he then thinks is a little weird, but it’s just like him to notice these small, weird, and typically brushed over details of people.

When you back out of the kitchen doors, a plate in each hand, Sam is still staring. He can’t help thinking how beautiful you are, and how cute the smirk you always seem to have on your face is.

You place the plates down on the table. “Let me know if I can get you anything else.” You give Sam a smile that could just as easily be for both him and Dean, but he chooses to believe it was just for him.

Dean smirks. “She’s one hell of a beauty. If you aren’t gonna do anything with that blessing, I will.”

Sam gives him a dramatic look of disgust, but otherwise ignores his comment in favor of eating his sandwich. 

After they finish, Dean heads out to the car, insisting that Sam goes and talks to you. 

He walks up to the counter, money in hand. “Hey.”

You give him a grin. “Hey, there. Enjoy the food?”

“Yeah, it was really good,” he says, sliding you a twenty dollar bill. “That enough?”

You nod. “So, I get off in two hours. If you care, that is.”

He smirks. “What makes you think that?”

“Well, if my charms are still working, I would assume that you care. I’m quite pretty, after all.”

“And humble,” he jokes, earning an, in his definitely not biased opinion, adorable giggle from you. “But, yeah. You’re right, I do care.”

“Good, then meet me at the bar across the street. And don’t be late, otherwise I might find another man willing to fall under my spell.” You lean on the counter and give his hand a pat.

“Well, we wouldn’t want that to happen, so I’ll be there.” He smiles and heads out the door, leaving you leaning your head into your palm, grinning like a teenage girl that just made plans with her first boyfriend.

**** 

When Dean sees Sam walking out the door with a smug smile on his face, he can’t help but don a smile of his own. 

Sam opens the car door, greeted by Dean’s all-knowing grin. “So, you got a date tonight?”

“It’s not a date, we’re just going to the bar after she gets off work.” 

“Well, whatever, we finally got you a lady. Make the most of it, but don’t have too much fun. Still have to get rid of these witches.” Sam finds Dean’s advice very out of character, because typically he would tell him to have the time of his life, but he’s too elated to make much out of it.

“I know, man.”

Dean pats him on the shoulder. “Let’s head to the bar, get you a head start to your night of fun. I’ll look into this witch coven.”

“Dude, since when do you want to do the research?” Sam questions.

“Ever since you started getting chicks instead of me.”

Sam rolls his eyes. “You were hitting on a waitress this morning.”

“Can’t do anything with her number now, so it doesn’t count.”

“You could call it.”

“Nah, not in the area. Not worth driving all the way back for a waitress.” Sam raises an eyebrow but decides not to say anything.

**** 

In the bar, Sam and Dean are sitting at a small round table. Sam is drinking a bottle of beer while sitting across from Dean, who for once for once is not trying to get laid, but is actually researching the case at hand.

“Alright, so get this. These moms meet up at your new girlfriend’s house every Tuesday and Thursday and are there until, like, four in the morning.”

“Where are you getting this information?” Sam asks, using his years of enduring Dean’s teasing to skilfully avoid giving into Dean’s provocation.

“Some noise complaints that have been filed over the past few years.”

“So these are for sure our witches, then,” Sam observes.

“Seems like it,” Dean agrees.

Sam finishes his second beer of the night and grabs one of the files in front of Dean. 

“Alright, so there are four witches in this coven,” Sam reads from the file.

“Do you think the chick you’re meeting is also in it?” Dean asks.

Sam rests his chin on his palm, giving it some thought. He knew that some witches were born with their abilities, and since your mother was a witch, it was likely that you were born as one, but that didn’t necessarily mean that you were in on the killing, or that you even knew that you had powers. He hoped that you weren’t, but he thinks that he also wouldn’t mind it too much if you were. He would never admit it to Dean, but he thought that if you were a witch, it might be pretty cool.

“I don’t think so, she seemed really concerned about the killings and disappearances,” he defends.

“You’re just saying that because you’ve got the hots for her.”

Sam makes a face. “Yes, I like her, but I’m serious. I don’t think she is.”

“Alright.” Dean puts his hands up as if to say ‘Sorry, please don’t kill me now.’ 

Sam sees you walk in the door, heading straight for the bar. After taking a few more sips out of his new bottle of beer, he gets up out of his chair. Dean gives him a ‘go get ‘em tiger’ look, which he gracefully ignores in favor of sitting on the stool next to you.

“Hey there, stranger,” you say, batting your eyelashes at him.

“Hey,” he says giddily, causing you to come to the realization that he’s already at least a bit drunk. 

“So you’re a happy drunk,” you observe.

“Whaaat? I’m not drunk,” he argues.

You give him a knowing smile, but indulge him anyway. “Alright, fine. How’s the case going?”

“‘S good, we have suspects now,” he boasts.

“Yeah? I assume that’s all thanks to your hard work here,” you tease.

He gives you a toothy grin. “You know it.”

The bartender comes over and you order some fruity drink that Sam doesn’t catch the name of. When you get it, Sam asks to try it, which you oblige, of course.

“Wow, that’s good. I want one, too.”

“It is, but is that really a good idea? How many beers have you had already?” You ask, furrowing your eyebrows.

“Two, but I started on my third.”

“Oh. Well, I guess you can have some more of mine, but don’t drink too much. It’s pretty strong, and we wouldn’t want your partner over there to have to deal with you being too drunk,” you tease.

He frowns. “Who cares what he thinks? He’s bossy,” he groans. “And annoying,” he adds for safe measures.

You give him a comforting smile and a pat on his arm, causing you to realize just how muscular it is, along with the rest of his body. You somehow didn’t notice before, but now that you have, it’s all that’s on your mind.

“Sounds like I’ll have to take you off his hands for the night then, huh?” 

He notices that your hand is still on his arm, causing a light pink to dust his cheeks. “Sounds like a plan.”

“So, once you’re done with this case, how long until you leave?”

“It depends. Could be a week, could be the same day we finish the case. For you, though, I’m sure I can arrange staying around for a bit longer,” he suggests.

“That sounds nice,” you admit.

“Good, I’ll work it out then,” he states. “You look beautiful, sorry for not saying it earlier.”

“Well, thank you.” You grin, slightly shocked at how bluntly he says it, but you’re definitely not complaining. Looking over Sam’s outfit, you can’t help notice how good he looks in jeans and a flannel. The way the sleeves of his flannel tighten around his arms doesn’t go unnoticed by you. Now that you’ve seen how he looks in the basic combination, you don’t think you’ll ever be able to think another man looks good in it. “You don’t look half bad yourself. Casual is your look, agent. Not to mention that shirt is doing wonders for your arms,” you compliment, causing a dark blush to appear on his face for the second time tonight.

“Thanks,” he mumbles in embarrassment, clearly not expecting you to have flirted back, and if he did, he definitely didn’t expect you to flirt so blatantly. He’s flustered, and so, he decides to shift the conversation topic off of himself. “So, where do you go to college?”

“Last year I transferred to Stanford, but I went to an in-state college that was far enough away from here before.”

Sam raises his eyebrows, giving you a small smile. “I went to Stanford, too.”

“Really?” You ask.

“Yeah, I was studying to be a lawyer. Until my brother came to my apartment and told me he needed my help looking for our dad, at least” he admits.

“You didn’t finish school?”

“No, but it turned out to be a good thing,” he says, his voice sounding like he was trying to convince not only you, but himself as well. You raise an eyebrow, but in hopes of not upsetting the cute puppy-eyed boy you’d met only hours earlier, ultimately decide against saying anything to contradict his statement. Luckily, he doesn’t seem to notice your hesitance to accept his statement.

“I’m glad. Although, I’m sure you could still finish school if you ever wanted to. It wouldn’t hurt to have a back-up plan,” you suggest, laughing internally at the fact that being a Stanford educated lawyer would be his ‘back-up plan.’

“I guess. But I don’t think I could let Dean work all by himself.” The crestfallen expression he has on his face after imagining leaving Dean, paired with his puppy dog eyes is almost too much for you to handle. 

You put your hand on his arm, rubbing your thumb across the flannel he was wearing. “You’re a good partner, Sam. He’s lucky to have you.”

A perplexed look flashes across his face until he realizes that you meant they were FBI partners, and he quickly recovers by giving you a small smile. You find yourself unable to think about anything but his gorgeous eyes, sweet smile, and silky hair, causing you to get that warm fuzzy feeling that all your friends describe when talking about their boyfriends, and you feel yourself returning a smile without even trying. It felt almost like a reflex, and you realized that you were developing a crush on the tall, sweet, doe-eyed man. This thought is even further confirmed after Sam puts his large hand over yours, curling his fingers around your significantly smaller ones, causing your heart-rate to pick up.

You don’t even notice the blush appear on your face until you hear Sam’s teasing voice. “Now who’s the one blushing?”

“It’s just the lighting, don’t get all cocky,” you try to defend, to no avail, though, since Sam’s mischievous grin does not falter after hearing your defense.

“If you say so,” Sam says, doing his best not to let a doubtful expression cross his face.

“I do,” you firmly state. A small lull of silence overcomes the conversation, and you search through your brain to search for a new topic to discuss. “You said you have a brother? What’s his name?”

“Uh, about that. Dean is my brother.” Your eyebrows lift slightly.

“No way. You guys are brothers and work together? That’s pretty cool,” you observe.

“Yeah, sometimes. Other times he’s a real dick, though.”

“I bet. But he seems pretty nice for the most part.”

“He’s a good guy, he just thinks he has to protect everyone, especially me. He doesn’t realize I can do things on my own. I mean I was in college without him and I did just fine.”

You nod sympathetically, understanding how complex family relationships can be. From there, the conversation flowed smoothly and you felt like you could tell Sam anything without any judgment, leading you to ask, “Would you, uh, want to come over to my house for the night? My mom isn’t going to be home tonight.” As you say it, you feel like you’re in high school all over again, and you start to regret the words as soon as your lips stop moving.

Sam’s eyes widen and he stays quiet, further fueling your regret. For those brief few seconds, your mind races and you worry if you came off too strong or if he simply isn’t interested in you past a drunk conversation and flirting. Luckily, he realizes the look on your face and saves you from any further anxiety. 

“Sure, that sounds good.” Once again, the infamous smile graces his features, cheeks puffing up causing his eyes to crinkle and because not only is his face beautiful, of course his eyes have to be, too. You swear, even if no one else in the whole world agrees, his eyes are so beautiful in that moment that they glimmer.

You beam at him and slip off your stool, grabbing his hand and leading him off to the door. He looks back at Dean to find him already smirking at him. Dean gives him a wink, and for what is probably the millionth time in his life, Sam completely ignores him, focusing on the way you’re eagerly dragging him out of the place and to your car.

****

The next morning, Sam wakes up in a room that is far too nice to be the hotel that he and Dean were staying at, even though they always got the best room. He quickly remembers the events of last night and smiles. Although, his smile fades when he looks next to him to find you nowhere in sight. He rubs his eyes, looking around the room at the posters and decorations that let him peer into a tiny part of your life without worrying if he was overstepping any boundaries. 

He gets out from under the blanket and slips off the side of the bed, walking over to your desk that holds a curious collection of trinkets and a book full of pictures. He’s in the middle of flipping through the book when he hears the creaking of a door opening, and his reflexes have him whipping his head to see where the noise came from. You let out a little giggle when you find his face looking like a little kid that just got caught doing something he wasn’t supposed to. He tilts his head as if asking what you were laughing at, but you just shrug, a cheeky grin still on your face.

“Whatcha doin’ there, Sam?” 

For a moment, Sam is at a loss of words. “Uh, I was just….” He trails off.

“Don’t worry, I’m not mad. Just wondering what you’re looking at.” Your words clearly ease his mind, as he picks up the open photobook and points at the picture he was looking at. You smile as you look at a highschool version of you with some of your friends at a festival. 

“It’s a cute picture. You dyed your hair, though. I almost didn’t realize you were in it at first.”

“Yeah, I figured since I was going to college I should switch it up a bit.”

You sit on the edge of the bed, watching as Sam continues to flip through the pages. You carefully watch his expression change as his eyes move around the pages looking at different moments of your life. He was glad to get even more of a glance into who you were. 

Eventually, he reaches the end of the book and closes it, setting it back down on its rightful place on your desk. He joins you on the bed, sitting an awkward distance away from you, causing you to let out a small chuckle.

“What?” He questions, his puppy-dog eyes in full effect again.

“You can come closer, y’know. I don’t bite,” you tease. He blushes, as even more memories of last night flood into his brain. You definitely bit, but apparently only during certain hours of the day.

He scoots closer to you until your shoulders are comfortably pressed together. You take advantage of the proximity and lean your head on his shoulder.

“So, any plans for today?” You ask him.

“Not really. Just stuff for the case. I should probably check my phone.” You nod, and Sam thinks that the divine beauty of the slight raise at the corners of your mouth is unrivaled by any other sight Sam has ever seen, and he has seen almost too much in his short life.

He reaches over to the table next to your bed, trying his best not to move away from you and disturb your peaceful state of simple existence. He turns on his phone, seeing a few texts from Dean with more details on the case. He turns his phone off and decides that it wouldn’t hurt to stay here with you for another hour. You’re surprised by the weight of his head resting on top of yours, but who are you to complain? 

****

Unfortunately, an hour can go by very fast when you’re, as they say, having fun. Watching Sam walk out of your house pulled on a part of your heart that you wish it hadn’t, knowing that Sam would soon be leaving your not so small town and you would more than likely never see him again. You don’t think you would be able to handle not seeing him again, even though the two of you have known each other for less than a mere day. With these thoughts swirling around in your brain, all you can do is give him a small wave when he turns around to look at you one last time before getting into his brother’s ‘67 Impala.

****

“Dude, tell me about your night. Was it the craziest sex you’ve ever had? Is she freaky? Waitresses always are, man.” Dean’s rambles fill Sam’s ears as soon as he closes the door to the old, black car.

“Really? You couldn’t even wait five seconds before you start with this?” Sam complains.

“You haven’t gotten laid in centuries, Sammy, excuse me if I want to know if my little brother had a good time.”

“Shut up.” 

As usual, Dean completely ignores Sam’s protests and continues asking graphic questions about the ‘hot witch waitress’ until they arrive at the house of one of the witches in the coven.

****

Dean knocks on the door of the white two-story house, and within seconds is met with the face of a standard looking middle-aged woman.

“Hello, ma’am, FBI,” Dean says, flashing his fake badge, actions in sync with that of his younger brother.

The woman’s eyes widen slightly, but she schools her face back into neutrality quite quickly. “Come on in.” She motions for them to step into the house.

Dean sits down on the large couch in the living room, leaving Sam to remain standing next to it. “Do you mind if I use your bathroom?” Sam asks.

“Of course, go right ahead. Up the stairs and two doors to the right.”

Sam gives her a grateful smile before he walks out of the living room and heads up the stairs. When he began his search, he had expected to find one hex bag, or maybe even zero, but what he hadn’t expected was three. He raised an eyebrow, assuming that all the others in the coven would have at least coordinated this better, but here he was, looking at three different hex bags.

He quickly grabs them before flushing the toilet to avoid suspicion or potential disgust on the woman’s part if she realized that he hadn’t flushed the toilet. 

Heading back down the stairs, he gives Dean a small nod to indicate his findings and to signal Dean to wrap up his investigation.

“You boys have a good day, good luck with your investigation,” the woman says, closing the door behind them as they walk down the stairs connected to the front porch.

“Dude, there were three hex bags in her bathroom,” Sam says, pulling the bags out of his pocket.

“I thought they only needed one? What’s the point of having more?” Dean inquired.

“I don’t know. Maybe it’s more powerful or something.”

Dean made a sound of acknowledgement but said nothing in return. Sam took it as a cue to continue talking.

“So, I was thinking we just wait until a night that they meet up and then ambush.”

“Sounds like a plan,” Dean agreed.

****

Back at the hotel room, Sam is researching more for the case, just to be safe, while Dean is out grabbing something for them to eat. Sam assumes that he’s gone back to the restaurant you work at so he can grab another glance at you.

Sam is deep into a passage on witchly powers when his phone rings, he assumes it’s Dean, but the small screen shows an unknown number. His eyebrows raise, but he answers the phone nonetheless. 

“Hello? Sam?” A familiar, but shaky voice asks from the phone.

He says your name as if it were a question, to which you quickly say, “Yes, um, sorry to be calling this late but I think there’s someone in my house.”

Sam’s jaw clenches, his whole face tensing up before quickly relaxing again as he prepares to defend the woman that he now found lingering in every crevice of his mind.

“I’ll be there in 5 minutes. Just lock your door and stay in your room, alright?” 

“Okay. Please stay on the phone with me, I’m really scared,” you admit.

“Yeah, yeah, you got it,” he says, rushing out the door of the hotel room before realizing that Dean was still out getting food. “Shit,” he breathed. However, now he could finally reap the benefits of his daily morning runs.

“What?” 

“Nothing, just a slight change of plans. Just stay calm.” His voice was slightly strained and now sounded more like a moan than actual words, and if you weren’t so damn scared you might have found it sexy.

****

About seven minutes and lots of heavy breaths from Sam’s end of the phone later, Sam was at the front door of your house, gun full of witch-killing bullets ready in one hand, and his small phone in the other. 

“I’m here, you’ll be good if I get off the phone?” He asks, fully ready to somehow manage to find a way to stay on the phone while fighting if you need him to.

“Yeah, I’m okay. Do what you need to do, please,” you say, but he hears the fear in your voice.

“I’ll be done and up there as soon as possible, alright? Don’t worry.”

He hears a small sound of acknowledgement from the other end of the phone before he finally ends the call and goes into the house. He heads straight for the door to the basement that, luckily, he had found when he made his journey to the bathroom the first time he was over at your house. He opens the door and grabs a second gun out of his pocket for safe measures, especially since Dean was nowhere to be found despite Sam’s multiple texts.

He slowly creeps down the stairs, doing his best not to let his weight cause the stairs to creek. Fortunately, he makes it down soundlessly, but is now stuck with the task of creeping through the abnormally large basement without getting cornered by witches.

It takes a few minutes before he finally hears the loud chanting start back up again, and while he knows that he’s probably free to walk as loudly as he wants to, he still keeps up the stealth.

The chanting slowly gets louder, and Sam steadies his arms to shoot both guns. As soon as he sees two figures in the door frame, he pulls the trigger on both, not wanting to risk the chances of them performing some spell on him before he gets a chance to get them first.

Unfortunately, he’d forgotten that there was still a third member of the coven, and as soon as he turns around, he’s met with the face of your mother, as well as a book harshly hitting his head and rendering him unconscious. 

The next thing he knows, he’s tied up in the same room that he shot the two witches.

“You’re not FBI, you’re hunters,” your mother says, disgust obvious in her voice.

“Like you’re any better. You kill innocent people,” Sam grunts, starting to discreetly rub the rope he was tied up with against the chair to cut it.

“Innocent? Oh, please, no one in this world is innocent, especially not you, and even more so since you’ve involved yourself with my daughter,” she spat.

Sam grimaces. “Oh, yes, I know all about that.” She smirks.

Sam is about to speak, but is interrupted by your voice calling out for him. As your voice grows closer and closer, Sam realizes his progress on the rope is not as fast as he hoped, and if he didn’t hurry up, you’d be in the room before he was free. 

However, to his dismay, you enter the room before he can free his arms, and all that he can think about is how awful it would be to watch you die, especially by the hands of your own mother. The nauseating thought is interrupted by a loud smashing sound that Sam immediately recognizes as a bat to the head. His head shoots up and he sees you, eyebrows furrowed with your eyes glazes over as you realize what you’ve done. 

He finally manages to get the rope holding his hands behind his back cut as you sink down onto your knees and start sobbing. His first reaction is to run over and hold you, asking if you’re okay, but he isn’t sure if that’s what you would want, and there’s no way in hell that he would want to upset you even more.

He settles for walking over to you and kneeling down with one hand on your back rubbing what he hopes are soothing circles on it.

“It’s gonna be okay, I promise,” he comforts. “It’ll get better. Just know you had to do this, alright?”

“I know, Sam, but it doesn’t make it any easier. I didn’t even think about it, I just saw you tied up, and that was my first reaction. Am I insane?”

“Hey, hey, don’t say that. It’s fine, you’re fine.”

Finally, you turn towards him and collapse into his arms, and though he’s surprised, he catches you and holds you closely and firmly to his chest. The hand that was once on your back is now on your head, comfortingly playing with your hair, and the other is wrapped around your waist as you sob into his shoulder.

****

Hours later, you’ve finally calmed down, and you and Sam are in your living room sitting on your couch, along with Dean, the other FBI agent that had arrived while you were still sobbing, much to your later embarrassment. However, Sam had reassured you that it wasn’t embarrassing, and Dean definitely wouldn’t find it so.

After his reassurance, you could find no trace of embarrassment still lingering in your mind. It was surprising that someone you’d only met a few days ago was able to not only understand you like that, but also manage to diminish your insecurities so easily. You found yourself thinking about how much you and Sam seem to have in common and how easy it is to talk to him. 

You lean your head on his shoulder, and out of the corner of your eye you see a small smile on his face. He wraps his arm around your shoulder and brings you closer to him.

“Oh, get a room,” Dean grumbles in annoyance, but Sam knows that he’s just faking it. He knows Dean too well to not realize that he really is happy for him.

****

When you wake up the next day you feel a warm presence next to you in your bed. You quickly recognize the presence as Sam, leading you to snuggle closer, resting your head on his chest.

“Good morning,” Sam says groggily, his voice breaking you out of the peaceful trance you were in.

“Good morning,” you reply.

Sam gives your arm a small squeeze before sitting up. You mirror his actions, ready to start a conversation, but are interrupted by the loud sound of his phone.

He gives you an apologetic look and grabs his phone to presumably read a text.

“It’s Dean. He has a lead on the case,” he states, to your annoyance.

“That’s good, I think. Would it be wrong for me to ask if I could come with?”

Sam’s eyebrows raise at your unexpected request. He stays quiet for a few seconds before replying, “I won’t say no, but I also don’t want you to get hurt. So, I have to be honest with you.”

You tilt your head, encouraging him to continue.

“My brother and I aren’t FBI, we’re hunters.”

You furrow your eyebrows. “What?” 

Sam swallows as if to prepare for the words about to leave his mouth.

“Monsters are real. Vampires, ghosts, all of it. My brother and I hunt them.” As the words are leaving his mouth, Sam is suddenly hit with a wave of regret. What if you don’t believe him? What if you think he’s crazy and tell him to leave?

You, on the other hand, were thinking about how happy you were that Sam was comfortable enough with you to tell you about his real life. In the future, Sam would probably laugh about how vast the difference of what was going on in each of your minds, but now, he was taking your silence as negative.

When you saw the worry on Sam’s face, you immediately realized that you’d been sitting in complete silence since he’d admitted the truth about him and his brother. 

“Really?” The one simple word brought Sam joy and relief like no other moment in his life.

“You actually believe me?” He asks in disbelief.

“Yeah, I mean what reason do I have not to? It does sound kind of insane, but I also bashed my mom’s head in with a bat yesterday, so…” You trail off, realizing that once again you’d been using humor as a coping mechanism instead of dealing with your problems.

Sam clears his throat, now feeling very awkward. “Right… About that, are you sure you want to come with? You’ve already been through a lot.”

“It would probably help to get my mind off of it, even if more traumatizing shit ends up happening, too.”

He pursed his lips, deep in thought. “Yeah, alright. If that’s what you want, I won’t stop you.”

You smile. “Yeah, it is.”

**** 

Half an hour later, you’re sitting in the back seat of the infamous black Impala with some old rock song that Dean picked playing.

“Sam, are you sure about bringing her?” Dean asks lowly, as if you couldn’t hear him from your spot right behind him. 

“Yes, Dean. It’s not like we’re leaving her to fend for her own while we go together,” he says exasperatedly.

“If you say so.”

You clear your throat, prompting Sam to turn around and give you an apologetic smile. You return the smile, but the annoyance you feel towards Dean does not dissipate. If anything, you feel it even more so after Sam apologized instead of him.

You decide to ignore it and stay quiet for the rest of the drive.

A few minutes and one rock song later, the Impala pulls into a driveway that you recognize as one of your mom’s friend’s house. You furrow your eyebrows.

“Why are we here?”

Dean clicks his tongue. “You didn’t tell her?”

“Well, Dean, I’m sorry that I didn’t want to overwhelm her,” he sasses.

“It’s a little late for that, don’t you think? You brought her on a damn hunt.”

The air in the car suddenly felt awkward and you felt as though you shouldn’t be listening to their conversation. 

“I’m just gonna get out and let you two finish your discussion,” you said quickly before opening the door and walking over to the porch of the house.

As you walked up the stairs, the front door opened, and the face of your old best friend from high school appeared in the doorway. 

She called your name, a big smile adorning her face.

“Lily, hey!” You said, feigning excitement to see the girl after three years.

“It’s been so long! Come inside. My mom is downstairs,” she exclaims, ushering you into the house and nearly slamming the door shut once you’ve entered her house. As soon as you enter the house, a chill runs down your spine and you can’t help but feel nervous about what’s about to happen.

****

You’d been in the house for a few minutes before Sam and Dean had even realized you hadn’t been sitting on the porch the whole time they’d been arguing, and when Sam looked over to see what you were doing, a wave of panic rushed through his whole body.

“Dean, she’s gone.”

“What the hell? See, this is why we shouldn’t have even brought her with us.”

“Dude, whatever, it doesn’t matter, we gotta go find her right now.”

Sam quickly opened the passenger door and rushed out of the car and through the front door.

He opens the door, quickly checking the living room. Nothing. He checks the kitchen and the dining room. Nothing and nothing. He checks all the rooms on the first floor and the second floor, then goes back to the first floor to check again, when he hears Dean calling out to him.

“Sam? Come here, I found a door to a basement or somethin’,” he calls out.

Sam follows the sound of his brother’s gruff voice and finds a door he doesn’t know how he missed. He’s usually thorough about searching, but he finds himself extremely on-edge this time. He thinks it might somehow, maybe, have something to do with his not-so-subtle crush on you, and maybe the thought that losing you would be one of the worst things that has happened to him even though he’s barely known you for five days.

He quickly pushes the thought to the back of his mind, at least for now, in favor of pushing ahead of Dean and heading down the stairs into the basement.

His mind is now absent of any “lovey-dovey” thoughts of you, but chock full of thoughts about how you could be dead right now. He never should have let you get out of the car and go inside without him. If you were dead, it would be all his fault, and he would never be able to escape the guilt of having another death on his conscience. 

However, with all of these thoughts, the thought that you could actually hold your own against the witches had somehow never crossed his mind. It definitely should have, though, because when he finally reaches you, you’re standing over two feminine figures that are lying still on the ground. 

He sees your chest rising and falling as the iron tight grip you have on the knife in your hand begins to falter. The knife clatters onto the floor as you look over to see Sam.

“Sam,” you pant, and he immediately rushes over to you and takes your tired figure into his arms. He immediately feels blood that he isn’t sure of the origins beginning to soak into his jacket, but he can’t bring himself to care about that right now. The only thing he cares about is your safety, and preserving that safety for as long as he possibly can from here on out.

“Are you okay?” He whispers next to your ear.

“No, Sam, I killed my mom and then my best friend from high school and her mom in the span of not even twenty-four hours. I feel horrible.”

“You had to, okay? They were killing people. Maybe that doesn’t help you feel better right now, but eventually it will. Don’t beat yourself up over it, or you’ll end up hating yourself for the rest of your life. This is how it is to be a hunter, and I understand if after now you never want to do it again,” he rambles, trying to somehow make you feel better, which he knows is nearly impossible right now, but he can’t stop himself from trying. To him, it almost feels like someone is taking control of his body and making him do everything in his power to help you.

He realizes very quickly, though, that it’s not a person taking control of his body, but an emotion: love. The realization is scary for him, to say the least, especially because of his track record with girlfriends dying, but he thinks that he would be okay with overcoming this fear if it means you would be his.

A few seconds later, Dean walks into the room and finds himself met with the sight of your shorter figure being held, in his opinion, disgustingly lovingly by his brother. He’s happy that his brother has found someone that seems like a good person from what he can tell.

Dean whistles, eyebrows raising in approval at the sight of the two witches’ bodies behind your back. “Damn, and you didn’t even need my help. You’re getting better, Sammy.”

Sam shakes his head. “I didn’t do this. She did,” he replies, turning around and giving Dean a smug look. Dean gives him a look of annoyance at being proven wrong when it comes to your ability to fight, but ultimately decides to give it a rest, for today at least. He could tell you were shaken up, and he felt that he could sympathize, only a bit, though.

When he realizes that you had taken out the two witches on your own, he couldn’t help but feel impressed, and he confidently feels that you and Sam are right for each other. It’s funny that it isn’t your loving personality or quirky teasing that tells him that you’re right for Sam, but instead the fact that you can hold your own in a battle. That really is a more valuable asset in their lives than any regular person, so Dean is glad that his brother has been lucky enough to find someone like that.

****

Later that day, you’re all standing outside your house that now feels very empty without your mother. You never realized how much of a presence she really had until now, and admittedly, it makes you sad to think about, no matter how much you disliked her.

Unfortunately, it’s about to get a whole lot emptier with Sam and Dean ready to head out to their next case. However, Dean’s voice shakes you out of your thoughts, and his words shock you even more.

“Kid, how would you feel about joining us for a few more hunts, see how you feel? Who knows, maybe you’ll become a permanent member of our group here.” 

Sam gives him a look of pure astonishment, but all he receives in return is a smug look and a little shrug.

“Well, I don’t know. I don’t want to be a burden to you guys with all the teaching me how to hunt and all that.”

“I don’t think we’d have to do too much teaching. You’re a natural,” Sam compliments, causing a deep blush to appear on your cheeks.

“Alright, Sammy. We’re gonna have to work on all that flirting,” Dean teases. “I’ll admit, I do agree, though. That was impressive. I probably couldn’t have done that on my first hunt,” he admits.

His unexpected words of praise make you smile, and your annoyance from earlier fades away. Dean could be a pain in the ass from what you’ve learned, but he could also be nice. You figured he was usually a pain in the ass, though, but you figured that you would be able to learn how to deal with it, or at least ignore it like Sam seems to be able to do.

“Alright. To be honest, it was kind of exhilarating, but also scary. I think it could be something I could learn to love, though.”

Sam gives you a warm smile, and gestures for you to go over there to give him a hug, which you excitedly accept, falling into his larger frame as his long arms wrap around you.

Dean grumbles. “Really? Again?”

All you and Sam do in response is laugh, much to Dean’s annoyance.

a/n: would yall be interested in this being a series or something ?? idk i feel like that would be fun to do

tags: @kozumesphone

[juanarc-thethird]

Be My House Husband p3

At the Vale Summer Fair

Jaune is participating in a cooking competition. This year's theme is barbecue. So he brought along his famous pork ribs covered in a special siracha and barbecue sauce. Plus a few secret ingredients that are valid in the competition rules.

Jaune: *Shaking a little*

Coco: Nervous?

Jaune: Hm? Oh! Coco, I didn't expect to see you here.

Coco: And miss out on a chance to see you, hottie? Not even in dreams.

Normally Jaune would blush at this point and tell her to stop, but he doesn't say anything. Coco stares at him and she can see that he's distracted. His mind is elsewhere.

Coco: Jaune?

Jaune: Oh sorry! Yes?

Coco: Are you okay? *She asks concerned*

Jaune: Y-Yes, I'm totally fine.

Coco: Jaune....

She stares into Jaune's eyes and he sighs.

Jaune: This isn't my first time doing this, actually. I really put a lot of effort into my dish. But I don't think it's enough. I mean, look at the guy over there. He brought a whole pig, the guy over there brought three-meat sausages, and the guy over there…

At that moment Coco took his hand and he stops. He then looks at her and Coco starts talking.

Coco: Jaune, I've eaten your food and I can safely say that you are the best chef I know. There's no way you're going to lose this competition.

Jaune: But the others...

Coco: Forget about the others. In the end, what will decide the winner is not how complicated the dish was, but how tasty it is. So believe in yourself the same way I believe in you, okay?

Jaune stares at her for a few seconds, absorbing every word she said. That calmed him down a bit and with a smile he answers back.

Jaune: You're right, I have to trust in my abilities. Thanks Coco.

Coco: You're welcome, tiger. *She winks at him* Now where are the rest of your friends? I thought I'd run into your team or team RWBY by now.

Jaune: They couldn't come.

Coco: What? Why?

Jaune: They had plans, but that's okay.

Coco: If you say so. Oh! I think the judges are coming. Good luck!

She then gives him two thumbs up and walks away.

Jaune: *Looking at her walk away* Thank you.

The competition continued and after a couple of hours, the judges finally came to a decision. All the contestants are standing on the podium as they await the results. While spectators watch attentively from the stands.

The master of ceremonies together with the judges are in front of the podium. Two of them hold a trophy and a plaque while the other holds the envelope with the winner.

Master of ceremonies: Ladies and Gentlemen's. After a long discussion, the judges came to a decision.

Judge 1: *gives him the envelope*

Master of ceremonies: *He takes an envelope and starts to open it* This year's winner is… *He pulls out the paper and…* Jaune Arc!

Jaune: *Shock* What?

Coco: Heck Yeah!! That's my future husband! WOOHOO!!!

Jaune walks to the center of the podium and receives his first place plaque and trophy.

Judge 1: *Shakes his hand* Congratulations, young man.

The crowd applauds in excitement. People then approach him to congratulate him and talk a little more about his dish. It was a great day for him. As time went by the celebration began to die down and he stepped away from everyone to get some air. He finds an empty bench and sits down.

Jaune: *Sighs*

Coco: I told you you'd win.

Jaune turned to see Coco giving her famous smile. But this time she looked different, Jaune could see how the warm light of the festival made her skin shine like the sunset. Her eyes were so beautiful; dark brown like wood. And her hair, was her hair always looked this nice?

Coco: Hello~ Jaune are you there?

Jaune: *Blushing* Huh?! Oh! Sorry! I was thinking on something else.

Coco: Was it about me?~💕

Jaune: *Red* Huh?!!

Coco: Hahaha, I'm just messing with you. Can I sit beside you?

Jaune: *Looks away* S-Sure.

She sits beside him and looks at the starry sky.

Coco: Today the stars look beautiful, don't you think?

Jaune: *Looks at Coco* I... I think so

Coco: *Looks at him* So how do you plan to celebrate your victory?

Jaune: Um... well, I never thought about that.

Coco: That's what I thought, that's why I took the liberty of calling everyone to tell them about your victory and preparing a table for us at Imos Pizza, your favorite pizzeria. My treat.

Jaune: *Smiles* Thank you, Coco.

Coco: Don't even mention it. Now get up and let's eat.

She stands up but jaune grabs her hand.

Jaune: Wait

Coco: Hm?

Jaune: Before we go I just want to say that… Well… Thank you very much for your help.

Coco: It was nothing.

Jaune: It was something!

Coco was a little surprised by Jaune's raised voice. So she looks at him intently, paying attention to every word.

Jaune: I was so nervous about this competition and I thought my friends would be here to support me. But they couldn't come. But you came and not only helped me with my nerves, but you also trusted me. And that's why I… I…

Coco: *Nervous* (Is he... Is he about to....)

At that moment Coco's phone started ringing.

Coco: Sorry! *She immediately grabs her phone and puts it on silent* Sorry about that. You were saying…

Jaune: I... I want to thank you.

Coco: Just that?

Jaune: Y-Yes...

Coco: O-Ok, so should we go now?

Jaune: After you.

Coco: Ok

As she takes the lead while Jaune walks beside her, Jaune can't stop glancing at Coco and a crazy idea pops into his head.

Coco: By the way, Jaune. *She turns to look at him* What kind of pizza do you wan-!!!

At that moment Coco is kissed by Jaune on the lips. She freezes and a few seconds later Jaune realizes what he did.

Jaune: Sorry! I just wanted to kiss you on the cheek! I didn't mean to kiss you on the lips! Um…! I'll see you at the restaurant!

Jaune ran away, leaving Coco behind. Coco can't believe what just happened, and slowly a huge smile fills her face. Jaune just kissed her.

Coco: *giggling like a school girl* Jaune just kissed me. He freaking kiss me! Today is the best day of my life!!

[wh0reforcoriolanussnow]

Hey can I do a daemon x velaryon!reader where she is his wife instead of laena and he comes to genuine love her through the years more than anyone they decide to come back to kings landing for laena funeral and the reader start to notice how rhaenyra starts at daemon through the entire funeral. Reader go to talk with her kids ( maegor, rhaegar, and baelon) to introduce to their cousin and she notice that daemon has left and she can’t find rhaenyra. Reader brush off her worries because she trust daemon. Later through the accident with the kid she is in the hall when she sees daemon and rhaenyra walk through she notice rhaenyra looks a bit messed up like her hair and clothes and looks at daemon. Daemon can’t even look at the readers eyes because he knows she will figure out. After everyone goes to bed she want to ask the truth but finds out that’s her brother laenor has died, reader out of grief and sadness decide to stay at driftmark for few days with her parent and tells daemon she will meet him and the children at dragonstone. Daemon and rhaenyra marry each other at dragonstone and readers children literally fly out to driftmark all three of them and tell her what happened. Readers feels angry disgusted humiliated sadness , and she decide to stay at driftmark with her children and nieces and writes to daemon that if he comes and inch close to her or her children she will gladly feed him to her dragon( the cannibal), daemon still tries but her mother tells him to leave while he still can before she does something she won’t regret and how she regrets even letter her children marry daemon and rhaenyra. Couple years the kids has grown up her sons dragon are (greys ghost vervimathior and seasmoke her youngest claimed him after laenor death) and they go back to kings landing for luke positions and daemon sees her and immediately goes to talk with her ( he still loves her and want to work things out) rhaenyra doesn’t like this at all and follows him only for them to sees the reader talking to a little girl who is spit image of reader and daemon and daemon ask who the child is only to find out its their child (reader find out she was pregnant few days after founding out daemon and rhaenyra) daemon is angry that he misses his daughter birth but accept it since he deserve it. Rhaenyra ask for the girls name and reader smirks and says visenya

And some more angst please

Fire & Blood || D. Targaryen x Velaryon!reader

GIF by @redbelles DIVIDERS by @straywords

a/n: I absolutely love this thank u for the request!! p.s this is the longest piece of ff i’ve written 😭 also keep in mind some of the events from hotd don’t happen in this and the the timings are different! And for the sake of my tiktok acc i’m making Elys as fc for the reader to make it easier for me to make tiktoks abt this!

Your darling sister. She is dead. You broke down in your bedchambers as Daemon came up to you, engulfing you in a comforting hug as you continued sobbing. “Shh” Your husband ushered, trying to calm you down.

It absolutely broke Daemon’s heart seeing the person he loved most in his entire life so broken. He wiped the tears away as he planted a kiss on your forehead.

“Her funeral is to be held tomorrow, so rest my love” He whispers against your hair as you sniffle, moving your legs to your bed, Daemon soon following.

“She wanted to die a dragon rider’s death, not on her birthing bed” You quietly spoke, your back turned to Daemon, his hand laid rest on your hip drawing circles. “I know sweet girl” He replied. Your hand coming to his to squeeze it before moving closer to him.

~

She was gone. The emotions started rolling in as her casket submerged in the water. You sobbed as Daemon pulled you in to his chest, kissing your forehead.

You wrapped your arms around his torso as your three children clung to your dress. “Stay strong” He rubbed your back as you wipe your tears and face the front again.

Your heart broke seeing your nieces, Baela and Rhaena comforted by your mother. You also saw Rhaenyra and her two boys, Her eyes seemed to be fixated on the man beside you before she gives a small smile to you.

~

“Have you seen the children?” You walk up to Daemon, his eyes somewhere else. He doesn’t reply making you furrow your eyebrows. “Daemon.” You call out again, his eyes moving from the side to your eyes.

Your gaze follows where his eyes were and you lock eyes with Rhaenyra. Turning back around, Daemon looks down at his cup. “Do you know where our children are Daemon” You repeat, “They’re over there” He gently moves your shoulders towards the direction of the boys.

He wraps his arms around your waist and gives you a kiss, “I want to introduce them to their cousins,” You say, holding his hand on your shoulder as he smiles sweetly to you. “That’s a great idea.”

Walking up to your boys, Maegor, Rhaegar, and Baelon, you hug them all giving them kisses on their forheads. “My sweet boys, I want you to meet your cousins” You say to them as you lead them to Rhaena and Baela. You look around to find Daemon but he was no longer where he was.

“Auntie,” A voice calls out as you turn your head and spot Lucerys. Confused, you still give a smile and crouch to his level. “What is it Luke?” You question, “Have you seen my mother? She’s not here” At his words, you look around and he was right. Rhaenyra was nowhere to be found.

“Uh, I’m sure she is somewhere close by. Stay with me if you’d like” You kindly smile to the dark haired boy as he nods. You completely trusted Daemon. Though not the same could be said about Rhaenyra.

~

Your eyes take in the sight infront of you. Aemond infront of a maester as he stitched up his eye, Luke with a bloody nose and the disheveled appearance of your nieces who were in the arms of your mother Rhaenys.

You were accompanied by your three boys, Daemon was still nowhere to be found and you had been waiting in your bedchambers for him but he never returned.

The big doors suddenly open as Rhaenyra came into view. Her hair messy and her clothes untidy. What shocked you the most was Daemon who appeared behind her. He leaned against the door, his eyes looked around but they never met with yours.

You felt a string pull your heart, a pull of sadness. No, that wasn’t right. Daemon wouldn’t do that to you, or his children who he dearly loves.

You had no doubt of his loyalty. But you did remember how in the early years of your marriage that he was always cold to you. That was when you found out he was in love with his then 18 year old niece.

You were no stranger to the Targaryen’s customs in keeping their blood pure. But as the years went on and you produced heirs for Daemon and created a family, he no longer longed for Rhaenyra, but you instead.

A loud gasp escapes your lips as Alicent charges at Rhaenyra with a blade. Your eyes couldn’t help but notice how Daemon slightly moved, like he was contemplating in stepping in but stayed.

After the whole ordeal, Viserys ordered everyone back into their rooms. Your eyes tried to find Daemon but it was too crowded to see where he was. “Where’s father?” Your youngest, Baelon, questioned as you caress his cheek.

“I will find him, go with your brothers to your rooms” You say as they nod and leave. Before you could move further, you were pulled by the hand.

“Father-“ “Your brother is dead” You blink a few times, processing Corlys’ words. “I-“ You were shocked to say the least. How could this day get worse. Losing both your siblings in a span of a day. “H-how?” You stutter as you hug your father.

“We found him in the fireplace, a quarrel of some sort we believe” He says quietly. You knew he was trying his best to keep his composure. “Where’s mother?” You say looking up at him as he looks away.

“Your mother is not in great condition-“ “I will stay here,” You interrupt him, “for a few days atleast” You were both in shock and grief and wanted to stay in the comforts of your home with your parents.

Corlys gives a sad smile and nods his head, “Your mother would like that very much.” He says before a tear drops and he is once again in your embrace.

~

“The boys will go with you back to Dragonstone where I will meet you in a couple of days” You sadly smile, your hands locked with Daemon’s as he nods giving a quick peck on your lips.

Maegor, Rhaegar, and Baelon rush towards you engulfing you in a hug as Daemon watches. “Be good as always” You whisper to them as they nod and you watch as their boat leaves, Daemon on Caraxes as he soars in the sky.

~

After a few days at home in Driftmark, you had yet recieved any letters from your husband, Daemon. Usually he would write to you when you were apart but nothing had arrived.

“Princess, your sons are here” A handmaiden knocks on the door as you look towards your mother, you had not been expecting them. You hurriedly walk outside, Rhaenys close behind as your boys come running to you.

Worried and confused, you hug all three of them. “What is it? Where is your father?” You ask them as they exchange looks at one another. “Father married Rhaenyra!” Baelon lets out as your eyes widen.

“W-what?” You couldn’t believe your ears. Daemon, your loving husband marrying his niece Rhaenyra. No. “It is true mother, we watched father marry Rhaenyra” Your eldest, Maegor quietly said as tears started forming in your eyes.

You couldn’t help but feel a sense of betrayal and disgust. How dare Rhaenyra marry your husband after your brother died not long ago. “They killed my son, your brother y/n, so that they could marry” Your mother said through gritted teeth. A few tears roll down your cheeks as you hug your boys. They were your everything.

“We will be staying here from now on” You could tell your sons felt a sense of betrayal and hurt, as much as you did. They watched their own father marry their second cousin. Later that day, you decided to write a letter to Daemon. In the letter, you wrote that if he dared to come anywhere close to you or your children, you would not be afraid to feed him to your dragon, the Cannibal.

Not even a week later, the man had the nerve to show up at Driftmark. You had to ensure your dragon wasn’t anywhere close as he would have killed Daemon right there and then. You refused to go out and talk to him so your mother did.

You listened and watched from an open window, “I commend you for your bravery Daemon for showing up here. Though this will be your last time you ever set foot here at Driftmark or anywhere close to my daughter. I deeply regret letting my children marry you and Rhaenyra!” Rhaenys fumed as Daemon listened.

He continued to say nothing before nodding and turning around, making eye contact with you as you stare at him with no emotion. His eyes however, showed regret and sadness but you brushed it off.

~

6 years later…

You scoff at your mother’s words. “Luke is no true Velaryon and everyone knows that,” You stand up from your seat as Maegor looks at you. “My eldest, Maegor, is the rightful heir to the Driftmark throne, he is of my blood, true Velaryon blood”

As much as you liked the young boy, the matter of your son’s righteous title was on the line. You knew everyone would be on your side, apart from of course Rhaneyra. “Daemon would be an idiot to deny that his own flesh and blood is the heir to the Driftmark throne”

His name in your mouth was odd. You say his name with such disgust. “I would agree but he seems to be blinded by Rhaenyra now” Rhaenys gives a knowing look to her daughter.

You roll your eyes. Daemon had infact two sons with Rhaenyra and one still born daughter. Rumours had spread around saying that she gave birth to a half dragon.

“Viserys is dead, I hear Alicent and her father now rule before her son is crowned King. I dislike her truly, but she only has the right mind when it comes to birthrights” You smirk as your mother nods.

“We will travel to King’s Landing to take back what is rightfully yours Maegor” You place your hands on his shoulders as he nods at you.

“Prepare the dragons, we leave in the morrow.”

~

“My sweet girl!” You beam as you run up to your daughter, scooping her up in your arms. You had found out you were expecting a couple days after Daemon left Driftmark for good.

It saddened you at the same time as Daemon had always wished for a daughter and here she was, but he was in no position to be able to call her his daughter.

You gave your dragon, the Cannibal, pets as you had your daughter in front of you, gripping on the saddle. You take off and you smile at the sight beside you, Maegor on Vermithor, Rhaegar on Grey Ghost, and Baelon on Seasmoke, you late brothers’ dragon.

The sight was menacing and frightened everyone at Kings Landing. You smirk at the sight of all the dragon keepers scrambling around as you and your boys land your dragons.

“Touch any of them and my dragon will feed on you” You call out as Baelon snickers. “Ah, Princess, what a lovely delight to see you” Alicent acknowledges you and your children with a smile.

“Like wise, I am here to discuss my eldest Maegor’s birthright claim to Driftmark” You say as the Queen nods, “Of course, an audience is held today on that matter” “Thank you” You bow at her before you and your children walk into the Red Keep.

How dull the place was. It was cold and grey, definitely not fit for raising a family. You valued your years at Driftmark with your family. It was filled with nothing but happy memories after you completed your family. You often remembered how much Daemon disliked this place, saying that it was more of a prison than a castle.

~

“Who’s side are you on Daemon?” Rhaenyra shouts at him, Daemon was sat on a chair with his left hand massaging his temple. “I’m on no one’s side!” He yells frustratedly.

“But you know deep down Rhaenyra that your boy is no Velaryon, having him sit on the Driftmark throne is nothing but disrespectful and wrong. And you know that” He points at her.

Baffled at his husband’s words she spoke up, “It’s because he’s your son isn’t it?” She spat out. Daemon does nothing but groan and stand up.

His marriage with Rhaenyra was crumbling. At first it was perfect, an uncle who once longed for his niece was nothing but a memory. He was not happy as he used to be during his marriage with Rhaenyra, quite the opposite with you, he soon found out.

He remembers how he used to lust for Rhaenyra when she was all but a maiden, but now, she was a mother who birthed 5 children. She was different to what he wanted to believe.

He thought he could chase his younger days when Rhaenyra was in her late teens. But he was wrong. They were both dragons who clash all the time. He missed you. The simpler and happy days unlike the days he was going through in King’s Landing.

Constant fighting and being at each others throats. They both knew they were out of love for each other. “He is of Velaryon blood, is he not? His mother is a true blood making him heir” He retaliates, this argument going on for far too long.

“And you forget that Luke’s father is of true blood too!” Rhaenyra fires back, knowing her words were lies. This made Daemon laugh, “Lucerys is no son of Laenor, nor is Jacaerys or Joffrey. How long are you going to keep up this facade Rhaenyra?” The princess said nothing, she was infuriated with Daemon, as always.

~

You walk through the halls of the Red Keep with only your boys with you. The people who walked past awkwardly stare at you and your sons, some handmaidens of Rhaenyra most likely.

You wore a deep blue dress that cinched your waist and was a square neck exposing your collarbones. Your boys grew up into spitting images of Daemon, and so was your daughter.

The doors to the throne room opened infront of you as everyone turned their heads to your direction. You spot Alicent and her father infront of the Iron throne, her children to the left. Your mother had also arrived and brought along your nieces.

Your eyes then lock with Daemon’s for the first time in 6 years. You quickly look away from him and look at Rhaenyra who was throwing daggers your way. Maegor stares at Lucerys who shifts closer to his mother making him chuckle.

You stop in between the greens and blacks. Ever since you stepped into the room, Daemon’s eyes never left yours. You looked happy, and more alive than he felt. He then looks towards his three boy, all grown up and taller than you.

He adored them, they were his first children after all. “We gather today to discuss the rightful heir to the Driftmark Throne-“ Otto loudly says before interrupted Rhaenyra.

“Which is obviously Lucerys” She butted in making you look at her, “Speak when spoken to Princess,” Alicent calmly says making her look back to the front. “Princess y/n, state your case” Otto nodded to you.

All eyes were on you as you speak up, “If my son, Maegor was to cut his veins, pure Velaryon blood would spill out. If I was to cut Lucerys’, all but Velaryon blood would spill” You turn your head to Rhaenyra.

“Is that a threat Princess?” She sneered, holding her arm out infront of Luke as Daemon stood back without saying anything. “Would you like it to be? Your son is no Velaryon, everyone in this audience can agree. I will not have a fucking bastard sitting on my ancestral throne” You raise your voice, your body now facing hers.

“My brother would be ashamed of what is happening right now, he too knows that Maegor is the legitimate heir to the Driftmark throne. Not Lucerys.” You finish before turning back to the front, not before looking at Daemon who held a small smile.

“And to add to that, I have preposed a marriage between Maegor and Baela and Rhaegar and Rhaena” You smile towards your nieces as they smile back. Anger filled Rhaenyra. Ever since she saw your youthful looking face again, she couldn’t keep a scowl off her face.

Jealousy radiated off of her as she watched you walk down the stairs, you weren’t thickened in the waist unlike her even after birthing nearly the same amount of children, you didn’t have eyebags under your eyes and most of all, you seemed happy. Something she sought out from Daemon.

Rhaenyra also noticed the look Daemon gave her as she appeared, a look he hadn’t give her in a very long time. “Princess Rhaenyra, you may state your case”

And so she did, but it was filled with nothing but lies that she continued on. Everyone wore a bored expression as she defended her illegitimate son. A final ruling was put down, one that made Maegor heir to the Driftmark Throne.

After the crowds started filling out, Daemon had the urge to follow you and talk to you. He was no doubt still deeply in love with you. He thought marrying his niece would bring back the younger days he thoroughly enjoyed but no.

Instead, when he married her, only the days with you clouded his mind. Rhaenyra followed Daemon before they both stopped infront of an ajar door where their eyes widen in shock.

“Darling, come here” You crouched to meet her level as she wrapped her arms around your neck making soft giggles leave your mouth.

You were interrupted by the door opening. “Y/n…” Daemon started, his eyes on the little girl who looked too much like him. “What are you doing here” You questioned, placing your daughter back on the ground.

Before Daemon could speak up, Rhaenyra beat him to it, moving past him. “Who is she?” Rhaenyra questioned, you could have sworn you saw a glint of jealousy in her eyes as she looked at your daughter. “My daughter, Visenya” You proudly smirk.

You knew Rhaenyra had always wanted to name her daughter Visenya but the gods has other plans for her. “What a nice name” She shakily says before giving a tight lipped smile and rushing out of the room.

Your eyes then flicker towards Daemon who had an unreadable look on his face. “When did you find out” He questions calmly, closing the door.

“A couple days after you left Driftmark” You say in a monotone voice as Visenya busies herself with a toy. The two of you watch her as a small smile made itself on Daemon’s lips.

He hated himself so much. He hated how instead of being a faithful and loyal husband to the most beautiful soul, he decided to run after a childish dream.

“And you didn’t tell me? You didn’t think to inform your husband that you were pregnant with my child-“ “Don’t.” Your lips quiver as tears began to form. “You were not my husband. You were already married to Rhaenyra so why would I tell you?” You yell at him, your handmaiden quickly walking in to take Visenya.

“I know I made a stupid decision but she’s my child too! And you know how much I love our boys-“ He points to you, “You left them fucking traumatised! They had to watch their own father marry their second cousin. How fucked up is that?” Daemon stayed quiet at this.

You sigh before sitting down on the edge of your bed, “Does she even know who I am?” He quietly said, taking a seat beside you. “Of course not. She’s too young to understand and I don’t think I’ll ever be ready to tell her the truth” You look over to him.

He gulps but nods his head. “I understand” Daemon quietly says as you stand up. Smoothing out your dress, you start walking to the door. You give a final look towards Daemon, a single tear dropped before you quickly wipe it off and leave.

[endless-ineffabilities]

your heart's serrated edges are much like mine own (18+)

dark!Aemond Targaryen x dark!fem!reader

synopsis: Prince Aemond Targaryen and his Lady wife may just be the biggest assets of the Greens. Two ruthless, determined and cunning lovers, who are crazy about each other and will stop at nothing to get what they want.

themes/warnings: violence, language, torture, f*cking, choking, it's a slightly dark romance so be warned! - strictly 18+!!!!

recommended listening: angel - massive attack // mad - echos // bottom of the deep blue sea - MISSIO // daydream in blue - I Monster

word count: 2k ▪︎ masterlist

a/n: this delicious little thing had been sitting in my drafts for far too long, so I just had the sudden urge to feed into my Aemond fantasies and finish it! Enjoy.

Aemond twists the knife in further, deeper, causing the spy's eyes to roll back in his skull.

This imbecile, this apparent whisperer, had been caught attempting to lace Queen Alicent's wine with poison. Luckily, you had been there to catch him in the act. You were quick to incapacitate the man with a blow to the head, rendering him unconscious. You never had much patience for the White Worm's lackeys, and this distaste heightened significantly after the atrocities committed by Blood and Cheese.

Aemond found you, sitting prettily in your chambers, a picture of perfect calm. As if you did not have a man gagged and unconscious by the hearth.

"What is this, my darling?" He crooned. "Having a bit of fun?"

"You will find that this is justified, my love. And you will want to take this cunt's head off yourself."

"Is that so?" He questioned, amused at his Lady wife's brazenness.

"Mhmm," you purred, pulling him closer by the lapels of his leather tunic, "I missed you today."

"Council business," His eyes rake over your figure - the only prize that makes everything worth it. "I missed you as well, as always. Come here." He jutted his chin out to you once, beckoning.

His hands wound tightly around your hips, as he kissed you. His tongue found yours, melding against each other. The kiss grew rough, teeth nearly grinding against teeth. He pushed you back onto the table, making you hold onto it with palms outstretched, as he assaulted your neck with peppered bites.

The moment was divine, up until the man regained consciousness, squealing like a wild boar upon taking in his surroundings.

"Fuck's sake," Aemond cursed at the intrusion, still keeping hands on you.

"Well, my love?" You pressed a kiss to the corner of his mouth, and dragged a finger along his sharp cheekbone, your query hanging in the air. Will you feed into your darkness with me?

"Hmm," he smirked slightly, lips pursed, "shall we amuse ourselves then, ñuha ābrar?"

My life. It tugged at your very soul when he called you that.

"Let us go play, dear husband."

Which brings us here in this damp cell, poorly lit by a few torches, with Aemond's precious knife buried deep in the thigh of the man who calls himself Bane.

Bane's skin has become so pallid and colourless. Having lost a significant amount of blood, it is only a matter of time before he fully loses consciousness. Or he might die. What difference does it make? Another used-up pawn in this fucked up war.

"Tell us what you know," Aemond growls, his voice dripping with malice, as he crouches in front of the snivelling man, "and we might just let you live." A mere embellishment, you know that Aemond would never let him live either way.

You stand behind Aemond, your left hand stained with Bane's blood. You are responsible for the first incision done on his skin, and that had been many moments ago.

Now, the man is but a husk of what he used to be, but much to your annoyance, he remains defiant, haughtily turning his cheek to you and Aemond when bombarded with questions.

Evidently, he knows more than what he is letting on. He could reveal the identities of the rest of White Worm's spies, the whole lot of them having infiltrated the castle under the guise of regular employment.

You did not know who to trust. Not truly. Except for your husband, and him alone.

"Fuck you." The man spits, blood spilling from his lips. "Fuck all of you. The Blacks are coming for all of you. All of your women and your children. Especially that traitorous cunt of a false King." He should have stopped there, but he makes a grevious error and continues, glaring right at you, "Even you, whore. You think your prince can save you? No. No. You're going to-"

Aemond's fist clashes once again with the remnants of Bane's teeth. Blood splatters on his beautiful, taut face.

The one-eyed prince, your one-eyed prince, with crimson smeared across his enraged face, and his sapphire eye exposed, would be able to strike fear in anyone's heart.

But not yours. The sight of him, unhinged, exhilirates you.

He growls, "You will never speak to my lady again. You will never even so much as glance at her, because I will gouge your eyes out. Then, I will rip you apart, and send the pieces of your mangled corpse to those Blacks whom you are so blindly loyal to."

"It seems that we have no further use for this worm, my love." You crouch beside him, gazing at him in admiration and reaching forward to push a stray strand of silver hair away from his face.

Bane freezes, realizing that he may just be speaking his final words, "I have heard talk about the pair of you... how... how absolutely fucking besotted you are with one another. And now I see why. You both are insane!"

"Oh?" You smile "If loving my Aemond renders me insane then so be it, little worm."

"Hmm," Aemond stands and pulls you with him. He then wastes no time in capturing your lips, snaking his tongue inside, wanting more. Always more of you.

You moan against him, feeling pumped with adrenaline. Reaching down to his breeches, you quickly find out that your dear husband has grown quite hard.

He bites your lip when you squeeze his length, making you groan against his mouth.

"My beautiful, beautiful, wife." He pulls back to look at you, his sapphire eye glinting in the firelight.

"Let me go!!" Bane screams again, unable to stomach what he sees, "Fucking let me go, you cunts!"

Bane continues squirming, his wrists twisting against his metal shackles. Right outside, Ser Criston Cole stands guard, although the need has never arisen before. Aemond and Lady Y/n always knew how to handle themselves. They were skilled in keeping their prey subdued.

Not many knew of the true extent of yours and Aemond's shared madness. The methods you both employ could rival that of Maegor the Cruel.

But the Blacks have forced your hand. At every turn, they have picked and plucked off important people in your lives. Without any shred of clemency.

Sure, it is a war. And it is only fair that you and Aemond would seek to retaliate.

Only you and Aemond could do things so methodical, and so wicked. Aegon does not have the stomach to do all that is necessary, even with him being King.

"Let me go, and I won't tell anyone what happened here." Bane grows desperate. "I... I swear on the Seven!"

Aemond makes a clicking sound of disapproval with his tongue, as if scolding a child. "But as it stands, Bane, we have no reason to trust you."

When Aemond carves Bane's eyes out, he screams his throat bloody, the grating sound echoing mercilessly in the darkness of night.

Until all is quiet, save for the sound of hungry lips devouring each other. Until the final blade has been pushed into Bane's heart, and you and Aemond - two lovers soaked in blood - practically attempt to carve a piece out of each other, with groping hands, biting kisses, his manhood pressed against your covered core.

Tempting, torturing, trembling.

"I need you," he whispers. "I need you now. And forever."

"Then have me."

You blindly find your way through your chambers, only focused on each other. Hurriedly taking off every piece of clothing, every damned hindrance, until skin only meets skin.

Finally, you are both uncovered. You take a few steps back until your ass meets the cold surface of the wooden desk, upon which you sit on the edge haphazardly.

Leaning back, and spreading your legs, every inch of you is bared for Aemond. The lips of your cunt drip with liquid pleasure, aching for only what he can give you.

"Mm." A hundred years could pass of just this, a thousand, forever, and Aemond would never tire of the sight in front of him. His lady, his love, offering herself up to him for the taking.

He takes his time in walking towards you, savouring the sight, as you do him. Your eyes are near pitch-black with desire as you drink him in, the sharp planes of his figure, his endless silver hair, his sapphire eye.

And his long, girthy cock glistening translucent-white at the end. You bite your lip, and whine, "Hurry now, Aemond."

He laughs deeply as he finally reaches you. He licks a stripe on your chest and your collarbones, cleaning off dried streaks of blood. When he kisses you, his tongue tastes of rust. Of the man whose life you just ended.

"Your skin tastes divine," he purrs, as his cock grazes the edges of your folds. He grips your back with one hand, urging you closer, steadying you, and his nails dig into your flesh in their intensity.

"Do not torture me, husband." You plea, for fear that you might explode, and you just might push him down to the floor and ride him until dawn.

He laughs again, almost tauntingly, "Why, dear wife, what is it that you want?" He whispers close to your ear, "Do you wish for me to fuck you? Do you want my cock inside you, my lady?"

You grip his hips and urge him forward until his cock breaches your entrance, only just.

"What the fuck do you think I want?" you growl at your husband. "Fuck me."

"As my lady commands." And with that, and no other word of warning, he enters you to the hilt, the sting of his size only a slight tinge compared to the maddening pleasure.

"Is this what you want?" His voice is deeper now, thick with need. He leans over you as you prop yourself up on your elbows, his pelvis moving relentlessly. His thrusts quickly grew sloppy and unhinged. His palms brace themselves on your back, as he lowers and takes a nipple between his teeth.

"Agh!" You squeal, and he sucks your breast soothingly. "Don't stop."

He buries his face in your neck, breathing you in. He slows the assault of his length inside your increasingly sore pussy. But the thrusts remain deep, his balls slapping wet against your ass each time.

"Can I... shall I...?" He pants, knowing you will understand.

You stare at your lover. Your dark, breathtaking other half. You respond, without a doubt, excitement taking a hold of you. "Yes. Do it, my love."

He seems a tad apprehensive, but equally wanting, so you guide his hand to your neck, gingerly splaying his fingers on your skin.

"Do it," you repeat.

"I love you," he swears, his fingers beginning to tighten, his cock burying deep inside your dripping cunt again and again. "I love you forever."

You feel the familiar pressure on your windpipe. Bearable, with only the mildest hint of discomfort. Aemond would never dare hurt you badly. This serves to spur you on even more, and you grip his forearm.

You tighten your legs around his torso, and use your heels to help propel him forward. Deeper, if that were even possible.

"Harder," you say. "Fuck me, Aemond."

He moans, his lips pulling back from his teeth, eyes glazed over as he looks down upon his love. His hand clenches your neck even tighter, and you welcome it, feeling lightheaded.

"I love you," you gasp with utmost sincerity.

Two deranged lovers, glistening with sweat and cum. Deep maroon patches of dried blood from an hour before, melting on their skin. Writhing, squirming, whimpering against each other as moonlight filters through the sheer forest green curtains.

With strangled cries, they spasm into each other near simultaneously. Prince Aemond Targaryen collapses on top of his wife in bliss. He looks up at her and finds her in the same state.

He rights himself, reaching to the faint impressions of his fingers on her neck. "Are you alright, my love?"

"Am I alright?" She grins, then plants a soft kiss on his lips. "Shall we go again?"

[metalomagnetic]

Missing scene from 'It runs in the blood'

It takes place after Arcturus' death, but before Helix is born.

This was not supposed to ever be published, but people on discord convinced me, so forgive me if it's a bit rough! Just a fun little scene with the kids.

***

“Father?” Orion comes barreling into the office, and the rest trail after him.

“Knock, first,” Sirius reminds him.

“Yes, Draco. Knock.” Lucius fixes Draco with a stern look.

“Alright,” both boys agree, but judging by their tone, they don’t take it seriously.

“I tried to stop them,” Harry offers, but his grin suggests otherwise.

“Father,” Orion goes on. “When you die, I’ll get all the gold and the houses, right?”

Lucius chokes on his firewhiskey.

Sirius blinks. “Where is this coming from?”

“Daddy!” Marvolo looks so upset. “Orion says I’ll be poor! That I won’t get anything, because I’m just the spare.”

Lucius is trying hard not to laugh beside Sirius.

“What is going on?”

“I’m picking a husband,” Elara explains. “And I want to marry the rich one.”

“That’s me, not Marvolo,” Orion shouts. “Tell her, Father!”

Sirius opens his mouth, closes it again, then glares at Lucius, who starts laughing. 

“That’s why Malfoys stop at one son,” he whispers.

“You didn’t even want to play with her,” Sirius reminds his sons. Just an hour earlier, they were all having tantrums that they don’t want to pay with the girls.

“Well, no, but if we are forced to play, then I’ll be the husband, obviously,” Orion says. “It’s the most important position in the game, so I’ll have it.”

“No, stupid, the bride is the most important,” Elara tells him, rolling her eyes. “It’s my big day, I’m the most important.”

"Why don’t you go ask Astrid, yeah? She’ll sort you out,” Sirius says, trying to shoo them away.

“She doesn't know about gold,” Orion dismisses the idea. “So, tell her I’m the richest one.”

“I’m the richest one,” Draco intervenes. “When Father dies, I’ll be richer than Orion.”

“That’s lovely, Draco,” Lucius says.

Draco shrugs. “And,” he adds, looking at Elara. “I’m also the oldest. And the tallest. You should marry me.”

“Just you wait, Draco! I’ll grow up taller!” Orion hisses, enraged. 

“I’m already rich,” Harry points out. “I don’t have to wait for anyone to die. I already own my vault, right, Sirius?”

“That’s right,” Sirius agrees. 

“Father, why does Harry already have a vault?” Draco whines. “That’s not fair!”

“It doesn’t matter,” Orion snaps. “I’ll be Head of house Black, that trumps everything.”

All the boys start fighting.

“I am the Head of House Black,” Sirius says, loudly. “I’m the tallest, the oldest, and the richest-”

“Actually,” Lucius says. “I’m the oldest and the richest.”

Elara glances between them. “Are you?”

“I am,” Lucius assures her, with a smile.

“Hmm.” She tilts her head, but then she shrugs. “You’re not a Black, though.”

Lucius rolls his eyes, mutters something about incest.

“So,” she adds, turning to Sirius. “You’re right, Uncle. You’re the best choice- I’ll marry you.”

“NO! ME!” Orion stomps his foot on the ground.

“I’m flattered,” Sirius says, “but I’m already married, sweetheart.”

Elara waves it away. “It’s only pretend wedding. For the day. I’m only doing it so my new husband can buy me a wedding gift. And I bet you can buy more stuff than Orion and the rest. It’s settled. I’ll marry you. Come, we’ll have the ceremony and then you can give me the gifts.”

“Wait, wait!” Lucius says. “You need to negotiate first. Make sure you get a good deal.”

“Oh,” Elara falls pensive. “But I don’t know how to do that- contracts. And Daddy is at work-”

“I’ll help you,” Lucius offers.

“Fine. Uncle Sirius, I want one Abraxan pony, three dresses, and a baby dragon. Oh and two dolls! One of those new ones we saw in Rome, that can talk!”

“How about ten dolls, and six dresses, but you drop the dragon and the pony?” Sirius suggests, lifting her into his arms.

“Alright,” she agrees.

“And that is why you should never get married without your father’s approval,” Lucius says. “Sirius is ripping you off.”

“Regina,” Orion yells, when they all reach the living room. “Regina, I’ll marry you. Father stole Elara.”

“I don’t want to get married,” Regina says. “It’s Elara’s wedding, not mine!”

“You’ll get dolls out of it,” Orion says, impatient. “Here.” He takes off his necklace and gives it to Regina. “I’m sure it’s expensive, at least it would buy you a doll.”

“Fine, then,” Regina agrees, tossing her red hair over her shoulder.

“Found a husband,” Elara announces from Sirius’ arms. “Don’t worry, Astrid, I’ll give him back after he gives me the gifts.”

“I thought the plan was to get one of the boys,” Evy says with a laugh.

“Someone,” Sirius glares at Narcissa, “taught her she has to pick the richest.”

“You picked badly, in that case,” Narcissa says, shamelessly. “Lucius is the richest, Elara.”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake!”

“Sirius, language!”

“Apparently, I am worth nothing because I’m not a Black,” Lucius says, sitting beside his wife.

“Then you should have picked Draco,” Narcissa admonishes, when Sirius hands Elara over, so she can have her dress charmed. “He’s part Black and he will be very rich, indeed.”

“I’ll marry Draco next year,” Elara decides, trying to twist her hair around her finger.

Orion makes an infuriating sound.

“What?” Elara glares at him. “You picked Regina!”

“Alright,” Sirius says, loudly, when another fight is about to start. “Who is going to be my best man? Harry?”

“Yes, please!”

“Marvolo, you are mine,” Orion orders.

“No way! You told me you’ll disown me and I’ll have to live under a bridge when you’ll be Head of House.”

“You told him that?” Sirius smacks Orion over the head. “You are going to get it, boy!”

“Not now, Sirius,” Regina begs. “I want to get my dolls, so after the wedding, please.”

Eventually, after Elara gets her play wedding and she makes Sirius dance with her, and then all the boys, too, everyone calms down, though Orion is still snappy with Marvolo for a while. Harry intervenes between them often, trying to placate them both.

“You best be nice and quiet,” he tells the baby, a hand over Astrid's stomach. The baby kicks. “Please, be good. I can’t take another crazy one.”

When Regulus finally returns from the Ministry, all the children have calmed down, and Evy already took her little demons back to their home.

“I got married,” Elara says, running to Regulus. “My gifts are coming tomorrow.”

“Who did you marry?” Regulus asks, letting her climb on his lap.

“Uncle Sirius. He could buy me more dolls than the others.”

Regulus snorts. “You should have consulted me first. I’d have gotten something better than dolls.”

Elara giggles. “It’s fine, next year I’ll marry Draco. You can do the contract thing and get me more stuff, then.”

Eventually, everyone but Regulus retires to bed, and Sirius enjoys the first minutes of silence in what had been a long day, even if he can hear the faint fight Orion is having with Marvolo upstairs.

“Your daughter is a menace,” he informs Regulus.“I pity the poor soul who’ll end up with her.”

Regulus frowns. “Orion can handle her.”

Sirius blinks at him. “What?”

“Well, they are getting married, aren’t they?" Regulus looks surprised that Sirius is surprised. “It’s what grandfather wanted. Everyone knows it. I thought it was settled.”

“Merlin’s cock!” Sirius stands. “You’re all fucking crazy. Stop it with the incest already! And grandfather changed his mind before he died!”

“You’re spending too much time with Lucius; you sound like him!”

“They’re not getting married, don’t be an idiot!”

“Why not?”

“Why not? For- Regulus, they’re kids!”

“Well, not now, obviously. Eventually. Where are you going?”

“Somewhere where I can find sane people!” Sirius snarls at him. “So, a muggle bar!” 

[jamespotterismydaddy]

Lord Husband (Chapter 5)

cregan x reader

word count: 1,606 words

series masterlist

A private carriage. You thank the gods for small victories. Being locked in a small box for a month with nobody but Cregan Stark for company would’ve been the thing that pushed you over the edge of insanity. Or, you likely would have killed him.

Perhaps it was more his safety they are concerned over rather than my comfort. You think to yourself.

The preparations for your departure have been immensely extravagant and your mother has already commissioned ten new dresses and five nightgowns just to tie you over until the royal family flies in for the wedding. You’ll spend another whole month courting Cregan (in Winterfell this time) before the ceremony and you don’t know if you want the spectacle to be drawn out more to prolong your unmarried freedom or if you just want it to be over with.

You ignore the thoughts as you make your way down to the courtyard with Baela and Rhaena on each arm and Ser Robert trailing after you.

“I’m going to miss you awfully.” Rhaena says sentimentally. 

“You’ll have to write to me with every bit of court gossip. Gods know that the boys won’t do a very good job at keeping me filled in.” You roll your eyes dramatically, trying to keep it all lighthearted.

“You’ll write to us plenty as well, tell us all about the joys of marriage.” Baela says with a little smirk.

“I hardly believe there’ll be many joys to rave about.” You say with a scoff.

“I wouldn’t be so sure. From what i’ve heard, northern men are very good with… their tongues.” The elder twin says scandalously. You think you hear Ser Robert choke on water from behind you.

“Baela!” Rhaena scolds but she giggles too.

“I don’t want his tongue anywhere near me.” You say as you shoot her a glare.

“Then you are as dumb as you are pretty.” You roll your eyes at this.

“His assumed skills don’t matter if I do not like him.” You say primly.

“You don’t have to like him to appreciate the look of him.” Baela says as she lifts a hand to inspect her nails.

“I agree. You know what they say about men with large hands…” Rhaena trails off and you glare at her as well.

“Do not team up against me.” You say.

“We are only trying to help you to look on the bright side. You’ll be with him for the rest of your lives.” Rhaena says softly. It’s a thought that you don’t really want to think about.

“Perhaps after I give him a son, we will become estranged and he will allow me to retire to Dragonstone.” You reply wistfully. The twins exchange a look.

“And what of your son?” 

You sigh and say, “Any child I have will be his, not mine.”

“But they will also be Valyrians. They could be dragonriders. They will need a Valyrian to teach them.” Baela says. The idea of a child with a dragon, not knowing its history, not knowing how to care for it, is a sad thought.

“Motherhood is as noble a path as any.” Rhaena says, in an attempt to make you feel better.

“Not if it’s forced.”

There is an awkward silence after that and you feel bad, being the one who caused it. Your closest friends, your sisters, they only wanted to comfort you, to make you excited about the journey and you’ve made them feel bad for trying.

“I do quite like some of the dresses her Grace commissioned for me, though.” You say with a little grin and both of the girls light up.

“Oh yes, they’re all so beautiful. I don't know if I could even pick a favourite.” Rhaena gushes.

“I can.” Baela says. “The deep maroon velvet one. Ugh, the sleeves on it are to die for. It’s far too hot to be wearing such fashion in King’s Landing. We’d be sweltering.” Baela pouts a little at that but then grins. “You’ll be the icon of the North when it comes to gowns.”

“I intend to be the icon of the North when it comes to everything.” You say with a faux level of superiority as you come around to the stairs that go down to the courtyard.

There are many nobles waiting to see you off and Cregan Stark stands right at the front, waiting for you and looking as disgustingly handsome as ever. You ignore him and make your way to the ladies who won’t be accompanying you first, hugging them and trying not to tear up. You hope Cregan is offended by how you brush by him. Then, you reach your siblings. Your goodbyes to your family are short and proper, you’ll see them at the wedding anyhow. Your goodbye with your mother is… tense if nothing else. 

You turn to Cregan at this point, knowing that you need to have a public interaction before you get into your carriage. Even if you enjoy being the centre of attention, you don’t want to waste the creation of gossip if you’re not there to see how it all goes down.

Lord Stark bows deeply. “Princess, I am glad to be accompanying you to your new home.”

“I thank you for your protection on the long trip that lies ahead of us.” You say in response, your voice cordial and dripping with charisma. 

“It is my honour.” He holds out a hand and you take it, allowing him to help you up the steps, into the carriage. Your two handmaidens follow after you. When the door shuts, you sigh, ready for the long trip to be over already.

~~~

As the trip properly starts, you begin to remember how much you hate carriage rides. Short ones are usually fine but you’ve been sitting in the wheeled contraption for hours now and it's making you awfully dizzy.

“Your Grace? Are you well?” Rose, your handmaiden, speaks up. She looks concerned for your state.

“I am fine. I perhaps just need to rest for a moment.” You say, a bit breathlessly, as you shift to lay down, resting your head in your other handmaiden’s lap.

“Are you sure, princess? You look a little green.” Safia speaks up as she begins to stroke your hair.

“It’s this stupid carriage. And the road for seven hells. How can it be so uneven?” You groan and Safia starts to rub your temples.

“It is awful, I know.” She soothes but her kind words don’t help. You just feel more and more nauseous.

“Oh gods.” You groan.

“Princess, are you going to be sick?” Rose asks, and to your dismay, you believe you are about to be sick.

You nod a little and she stands, banging on the roof. “Stop the carriage!” She calls out to the driver.

Before you’re even fully stopped, Rose pushes open the door and Safia helps you to your feet. You stumble out of the carriage and unceremoniously, onto the grass. You fall to your hands and knees, breathing heavily. You thank the gods when you don’t actually throw up and the churning of your stomach begins to slow with the help of a stationary position and fresh air.

“What is happening? Is the princess alright?” 

Oh gods why does he have to see this? You think to yourself as the young Lord Stark’s voice rings through the air.

“The movement of the carriage makes her unwell, my lord.” Safia says.

“Oh of course.” He murmurs and wanders off for a moment. You feel hopeful that he just decided to leave you but he’s back before you know it and kneeling by your side. “Here, eat this.” He says and gives you a gentle smile as he holds out ginger for you.

“Why would I eat tha-” He seems to know that you were going to kick up a fuss so as you are mid-sentence, he puts the piece of ginger in your mouth.

“Chew.” He says simply. Your eyes are wide and you want to refuse but you also don’t necessarily want to spit it out like a spoiled child. So, you apprehensively begin to chew the root, trying not to make a face at the peppery flavour. “Good.” He speaks again. “You’ll feel better now.” You think he looks far too pleased as he stands up in front of you and offers you his hand. You begrudgingly take it and he pulls you up with so much ease that you hardly even had to try and stand.

You brush your skirts off, feeling spiteful even if Cregan just helped you.

He just looked far too smug about it. You assure yourself as you make your way back into your carriage. 

Before the door is closed, your betrothed speaks up, “Perhaps I could join you, princess. Just to make sure you’re feeling better.” The smile he gives you is almost sneaky, as if there is some sort of hidden innuendo in there. You feel that he enjoys toying with you.

“That would be terribly improper.” You speak only loud enough for him to hear.

“Yes, of course.” He says but the cheeky grin never fades, even as he walks to his horse.

“Strange.” Rose says. “Most lords would enjoy the comforts of a carriage themselves.”

“Perhaps it would be an excuse to sneak into here.” Safia says scandalously. 

“Then he shall be perpetually disappointed.” You say as you settle into your seat.

The procession begins to move again and through all the bumps and uneven roads, and as more time passes, the nausea that plagued you never returns. 

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[captainjonnitkessler]

I think I've identified the reason I get so worked up about anarchism in relation to labor rights and safety in particular.

Three years ago I watched my coworker almost die when a piece of machinery we were moving unsafely fell on him. It missed his head by an inch and snapped his leg in half instead. It took months of recovery and multiple surgeries for him to walk again and he will be disabled for the rest of his life. And it didn't happen because of Capitalism or profit motive or because our evil bosses were forcing us to work unsafely. It happened because he'd done similar things a hundred times before and it had always been fine, and because I didn't know enough to clock just how dangerous what we were doing was, and just because of some plain shitty luck. Mentally it fucked me up for months in ways I didn't recognize until well after the fact.

And the thing is, almost every construction worker can tell you about the time they saw a fatal or near-fatal accident. An apprentice younger than me had a heart attack and was out of work for over a year after shocking himself on a live circuit. The woman who runs our apprenticeship program has a husband who had his arm blown off in an arc flash incident. One of my teachers had a coworker die after getting hung up on a live circuit and he wasn't found until the end of the day.

Construction is one of the single most dangerous industries to work in, and I believe this is why rates of drug and alcohol abuse and suicide are sky-high in the industry. I think many construction workers are low-key traumatized by knowing constantly that they could die or be permanently disabled due to a very simple mistake or oversight. It is simply inherently unsafe when you are working with live electricity, power tools, heights, thousands of pounds of machinery, cranes, etc. And so yes, I do believe that safety protocols and the ability to enforce them are absolutely necessary to preventing a massive amount of death. The number of worker deaths in the US has been slashed by 60% since OSHA was instated.

And so to get online and have someone who has never set foot on a jobsite in their life condescendingly explain to me that actually, we don't need OSHA or the ability to enforce safety standards because in a perfect world everyone will just suddenly start working perfectly safely, and I'm just too stupid or brainwashed to realize that The Real Villain Is Capitalism, and if we just get rid of that it will somehow also get rid of the inherent safety issues involved in the entire construction industry - well it turns out it pisses me off a little bit!