#in a time of CANONICAL RESPITE

[ast3ri]

"FFXIV is dying" says people who do all the latest content on patch day, min max casual content to finish them day 1, and wont do older content they havent even touched at all what-so-ever.

"The new relics are so boring" says the people who complained very loudly about the grind of Bozja, cant be bothered to level crafters to do crafting relics, ect.

I dunno man, maybe you're just burnt out because you're trying too hard, or mad the dev team is listening to you. just a thought.

[anne-is-confused]

Inquisitor Lavellan's first time in the Hinterlands (colorized)

[the-goddess-of-mischief-writing]

Concentrate

summary: You've been engrossed in work lately and Price decides to take it into his own hands to make you relax.

pairing: cpt. John Price x reader (sunshine universe)

tags/tw: afab!reader, mention of canon related injury, NSFW, mdni 18+ please and thank you, p in v, teasing, unprotected sex, creampie, d/s themes, captain!kink, implied age-gap

a/n: god, it's been too long since I've updated this series, but considrings it's summer now, I actually have may aims set on finishing it<3

Sunshine universe MASTERLIST & John Price MASTERLIST

Despite the blue-light glasses dimming your already yellowed screen, your laptop's light strains your eyes.

They sting as you blink, tears occasionally wetting your lash line. You don't want to continue working, the whole day has had you glued to the screen. But, you'd signed a contract with a bigger firm, and the first checkpoint in that partnership was scheduled to be presented in two weeks.

Despite so much time left, it felt like you were already behind.

You sighed, your forehead finding solace between your arms as you rested it against the bed. You felt the mattress shift beneath you, not too surprised you caught the attention of the bed's other occupant, who had been engrossed in his book for the better part of an hour.

"Not time to let it rest for tonight?" You sighed again, catching the sound of an open book being placed down.

"I know I should, but there's still so much left undone." You turn to face John, your head finding a temporary respite on your shoulder, relieving some of the tension in your neck. 

Compared to you, he lies on his back, one hand resting along the book's spine, his index and middle finger hooked between the pages. His brows are drawn together, and the creases between them are more visible than otherwise. 

"Mhm, know it is, but you've done quite some work for the last half an hour." Right, this isn't the first time he's asked if it's time to put aside work for tonight. The knowing look John sends you makes you break away from his gaze. 

You know he is right. But, as soon as you stare at the unwelcomingly bright screen again, the unpleasant tingle in your nerves of work left half-done and the heaps of it left to finish forces your fingers to flex before settling on the keyboard again.

"And yet I've come nowhere", you mutter. The clicking of keys ceases when John's hand enters your vision, and a heavy paw is placed upon one of yours to halt your typing. Your eyes flick to him, noticing how he's

discarded the book and rolled onto his side, watching you with raised brows and sincere eyes. 

"Wrap it up, love. You've done enough for tonight." His voice is steady, and his gaze is heavy. 

Letting out a breath of combined compliance and relief, you nod. "Alright, let me just wrap these few sentences up so I'll know where I should pick up tomorrow".

"Good choice." John catches your chuckle with a kiss as he leans close to peck your lips before standing from the bed. "I'll be in the shower when you're done," he says, withdrawing to the en suite.

You follow him as he departs, leaving the invite dangling in the empty space he leaves you alone in. The water from the shower reaches you as a soft pour through the door, making it even harder to turn back to face the screen. It's light stabbing your sore eyes just a bit more viciously.

And you do plan to join him sooner rather than later. Yet the concluding sentence seems impossible to wrap up, going on forever as you attempt to put down all the thoughts on the screen for your well-rested self to probably frown at tomorrow morning.

The sound of the shower fades to a white noise as you simply can't take the step and cut yourself off, close the screen, and join John in a warm shower your sore body and exhausted mind needs.

***

Price waits for you. He didn't anticipate you to come running after him before the door shut, but he did expect you to join him soon after he stepped beneath the shower-head. But he sighs heavily when he's stood beneath the stream of water for long enough that he's finished washing and even stretched the time if you would join him in a minute. 

Turning off the shower, Price steps out to dry off. He'd looked forward to spending some time with you, no less seeing you relax for the first time since after breakfast. That project you're working on has taken much of your time the last few days, rendering you basically motionless in front of your laptop if it wasn't to eat or take a minuscule pause.

Despite knowing it was he who was on med-leave and not you, Price still felt that the days on which he had no paperwork to fill his time while you worked dragged on particularly slowly. And with his shoulder barely impairing him from any movement, sitting about the whole day made his leg bounce from restlessness.

Neither did he want to disturb you too much, noticing how you noted his presence each time he passed within your view with a flick of your eyes before they fell to your laptop again. 

While never saying anything, Price, in return, noticed how you often slowed your pace momentarily after he'd passed you, often with a swift kiss. Likewise, if he stayed in your vicinity, your attention strayed towards him more than once.

He tried to keep clear so as not to impair your workflow. But your workplace is much more fluid than his, and you often placed yourself in areas he passed through when moving through... practically anywhere in the house.

With the tally he kept, you favoured the couch in the living room downstairs and the bed later in the evenings.

Dropping the towel from his head, Price looked at his reflection before it fell to the side. Some little part in his chest hoped to see you suddenly appear behind him, but the door remained as shut as a few minutes prior. 

Price wasn't surprised to find you right where he left you once he exited the bathroom with the towel tied around his hips.

He called your name, but you barely moved. You remained on your stomach, propped on your elbows, occasionally scrolling on the computer before you. He catches you mumbling a 'mhm, soon done' much later than his call for you and only shakes his head, the response more autogenerated than anything else.

Even from this angle, Price notices how the light from the screen illuminates your tired features. When he moves around the bed and towards your side, he catches your furrowed brows.

You're so engrossed in your work and whatever is going on inside that head of yours you don't notice when he steps up beside you. Instead, your head falls to your hands, your thumbs pressing into the roots of your eyebrows.

A low groan escapes you, stirring something in the pit of his stomach. 

You'd been out like a light the last two nights, barely able to put away your computer and mosey your way for your skin-care routine before falling asleep. He'd caught you standing with your eyes closed as you massaged your products into your skin, only to offer him that sweet, tired smile once they fluttered open.

To say he hadn't been aching to touch you more than fleetingly the past three days was an understatement. But the day you announced you'd gotten the deal for this collaboration, you also said in your ecstatic state how you needed to work. So he'd let you, settling for the warmth of your body against his right before sleep took you both, and the day started in the mornings.

Price knew your jobs were different, awfully so. However, he recognised you were in that initial bubble of concentration that was hard to break out of, and you could bring in the rest of the world again.

While Price didn't blame you for working while you stayed here. After all, he'd thumbed on his non-working practice while on medical leave. He found that you had difficulty relaxing; your shoulders pulled tighter each day, your remote work smudging the line between work and home. Even now, you hadn't stopped massaging the pressure points in your face, the blue-light glasses discarded to make it easier.

He wanted to see you wind down, not only for tonight but also to allow yourself to not overwork so early on in this project. Take it from him about knowing that planning and prepping could only take you so far. Yet Price knew you wouldn't take that step yourself. He'd waited to see if you would since yesterday when the exhaustion of your mental workload slowly started to make itself noticeable.

Maybe that's why he found himself suddenly resting a knee on the bed beside your hip, the mattress dipping beneath his weight as he pushed himself over your laying form until he kneeled on either side of you. Or so he told himself, dismissing how he slowly felt himself grow hard standing there, watching your form resting prone on the bed, craving to hold your body.

***

The mattress shifts and a sudden weight settles atop your thighs. You start from whatever brain fog has momentarily overtaken you. 

You smell John's shower gel, the slight dampness of what must be a towel separating your naked legs from his as he sits behind you.

Fuck, right, you were supposed to join him.

You attempt to glance over your shoulder to apologise but only catch a glimpse of John, towel around his waist and hair still wet from his shower, before a hand lands on your neck and directs your face forward. The firm grip makes you feel a bit like a kitten being grabbed by the scruff, yet John's voice makes another feeling come to life.

"Just concentrate on your work, love." His voice is smooth and gravelly deep, but he doesn't let up on your neck, forcing you to continue facing your screen with the blinking marker not far from your face. 

"What-"

"And let me take care of you", he continues, disregarding you completely. 

You're about to ask him again what he's doing, but upon the fingers resting on either side of your neck pressing, your words escape as a rushed exhale. His thumb and index finger repeatedly knead the base of your skull, making your eyes fall shut. 

Yeah, you could need a massage. That's also how you interpret John's action, as his hand slides with equal pressure further along your spine. The pressure is firm, but oh, it is needed on the sore muscles along your back that you let out a shaky breath when some of the tension is relieved. 

However, your shaky breaths turn into a sharp inhale once one of his hands that has been kneading the worst of the tension points in your back slips down your spine, not stopping at your last vertebrate but continuing over the globe of your ass.

One calloused hand turns to two, both grabbing at you from behind, groping your cheeks in each palm, squeezing until flesh spills between fingers and an appreciative noise sounds from the man doing so. And then, he pulls you apart just a little, the oversized shirt of his that you're wearing riding up until you practically can feel his eyes on your scantily covered core.

"John-" His name is cut off by a sharp inhale as one of his hands slides between your legs, and he runs his thumb the length of your thong-covered pussy from behind. In the aftermath of your involuntary jerk, his other hand settles heavily on your hip, pressing you down into the bed with the help of his weight pinning you.

"Hush, don't mind me." His voice is remarkably even despite gently rubbing up and down your cunt like he is currently doing.

"Hard not to mind you." You let out a soft moan, clenching around nothing but the phantom feel of his thumb against your entrance as he presses just a tad bit more.

"You wanted to work, love, don't let me stop you". It's sweet, even considerate, the way he says it. Contrasting so deviously the way he's petting you with repeated motions of his thumb.

Your mouth opens and closes, your eyes fluttering in an attempt to stay open and watch the keyboard and screen you're meant to type on. However, the computer you only minutes before couldn't tear your attention from remains untouched. 

Your fingers hover, and your chest heaves as your total concentration falls on John. 

Hyper-vigilance overtakes your body as you follow every tiny thing the man pinning you against the bed does. John keeps the pace of his fingers the same, the prodding remaining frustratingly consistent. You try to wriggle your hips, but the hand on your waist only tightens its hold as he clicks his tongue. A simple but effective warning.

You fall still, letting him touch you at the pace he wants despite your breaths now turning to soft whimpers. 

A flush rushes through your body when John shuffles. You feel him rise onto his knees for a second, and then the fingers playing with your pussy leave your body, only for the sensation of fabric to sweep over your legs and be thrown to the side.

Once he retakes his position, it's his naked thighs that connect with yours. But the stuttering breath escapes when you catch a low groan spilling into the air.

Your head whips around, catching John admiring you with lidded eyes, hand fisted and stroking his rapidly swelling cock to full hardness.

Mouth salivating, your lip catches between your teeth upon the scene. You can't help the way your thighs clench together when your pussy flutters. John notices, eyes trailing upwards until his gaze locks with yours. He tsks the moment they do, stopping his fisting of himself as if to depreve you of the hot scene.

"Thought you wanted to work, eh?" He leans forward, shifting his hand to rest by your shoulder instead of your hip. It lets you arch against his hardened cock when it falls against your backside. John grunts, jaws tightening as his free hand curls around your head, gripping your jaw to force you to look at him by craning your head backwards. "Now, don't let me fuckin' this pretty pussy of yours distract you." He directs your head forward slowly as the words drip from his tongue. 

But, rather than your hands resuming the typing you'd given up on since he started touching you, they fall to the sides of your godforsaken computer, fisting the covers. "I-I won't be able-"

"M'no, no backtalk, or else I'll go an wank off rather than help you relax, love." Your mouth snaps shut, breathing turning shallow as your heart thrums in the hollow of your throat. "Understood?"

"Yes". There are a few beats of silence as John lets go of your jaw. You wait for his next move, but so does he, apparently, as suddenly his palm connects with your ass, the spank reverberating in the air together with your gasp.

You know what he wants, then. "Yes, Captain." His title sends a shudder down your spine, the implications of its use telling what's to come.

"Good girl", is the low-muttered response you get against the shell of your ear as John settles into his previous position again.

His hand glide over the globe of your ass, soon joined by his other one. You can only imagine the sight he's greeted with when he rucks down your panties and spreads your cheeks enough to bare you for him.

You feel how wet you are. The crotch of your panties tying your legs together is damp against your inner thighs. The uncomfortable feeling of being soaked between your legs makes you squirm beneath John's gaze.

"Squirmin' already, and I've barely touched you", he hums, letting his thumb fall to your entrance again. When he curls the digit, it disappears inside you, forcing a stutter moan out of you.

He toyed with you, teasingly stretching you over his thumb as he wiggled it at the entrance. Sometimes, John let it slide deeper, which had your thighs clenching beneath his thicker ones straddled over you. 

You whimpered, head falling to the bed when he used the slick you'd coated him in to rub your clit. The stutter of your hips was impossible to stop, but rather than a swat to your ass and a disappointed sound, the one you could've presumed would leave John. His tut was filled with remorse, the way he kneaded your ass almost caringly.

"So strung tight, ain't you, love?" You whined in response when his thumb left your clit, sliding up and down the seam of your pussy. "Poor thing", he hummed, low and gravelly in his chest. If not for your body already vibrating, you bet you could've felt the same bone-deep rumble of his voice through your back.

"Yeah-oh!" A moan cut off your sentence, John's thumb swapped to the head of his cock in the middle of it. It was a slow push inside, having your mouth falling open, another moan forced into the bed.

The familiar burn of his thick cock stretching you wider made your eyes screw shut and your breathing heavy. With little to no prep, apart from your slick and John's teasing, the delicious stretch around him was slower than usual.

"Oh my-", you whimpered, feeling John move and his weight settles against your back.

A hand beneath your throat is what forces your head up. With a slight bend backwards, you met with blue eyes gazing down at you. The picture of John was upside down, but the evident lust in his features as his hips met your ass shone no less clearly.

"How's that work goin' for you?" His voice was thick, dripping from his mouth into yours from how your lips brushed.

You opened your mouth, intent on replying. Though, John had another idea. Before your words could more than begin as a deep inhale, he started to fuck into you, torturously slow but deep, rocking your body from how tightly he pressed himself against your rear.

Intended words escaped as nothing more than a moan he swallowed with a messy kiss, your sound of pleasure urging a deep groan from John in response.

Your eyes fluttered when John shifted just right and hit that bundle of nerves inside you that made silvery stars dance across your vision. He must have felt your walls contract as he picked up his pace. And basically rutted into the bed, your eyes fluttered and your neck going loose, forcing John to let you down so you would not bend it at an awkward angle. 

With your cheek pressed against the bed, you followed the large man sitting straight again through your peripheral. He appeared larger when he grabbed your hips, pushing those big pecs of his together, puffing his chest up. 

His bicep flexed, and his head tipped back a notch when he pushed your legs together more firmly with his thighs, feeling you tighten around him. The fit was snug, urging him to push firmer into you, lifting your hips the slightest bit to meet each thrust. 

You could drool at the sight of him huffing and groaning as the muscles in his stomach and arms flexed. Some wetness probably escaping along the constant strings of moans and whimpers flooding your mouth. The burly bulk of him working you closer to orgasm with each tug of your body and snap of his hips. Fuck did he look good.

"C-captain", you moaned wantonly, earning his attention as he haunched forward, sneaking a hand beneath your front to strum at your clit.

"Fuck me, love." John couldn't help but stutter through his words when your goaded groan stoked his primal pride at having you look so utterly dishevelled. "Lookin' so fuckin' cockdrunk."

You nodded absentmindedly, earning another grunt from the man shoving his cock possibly deeper as his finger toyed quicker over your sensitive bud. It was impossible to keep your eyes open, your mouth hanging open without a sound but heady exhales escaping. Your fingers were cramping, clutching and unclutching the rucked-up duvet around your face.

"Can feel you flutterin' around me. You needed this, didn't you? Already close." Fingers dug into your hipbones, and your body jolted when John switched the pace to agonisingly drag his cock out before slamming home. "Yeah, yeah? Are you goin' to cum for your Captain? Cream my cock while you work?"

Work was nothing but a memory now as you could only muster a moan in response.

You twitched beneath him, coming nowhere despite arching your back as you came, and John continued sliding over your clit with his finger. It was violent, ripping through all those frayed and tense nerves that had pulled tight through over the last few days.

You cried into the bed, shuddering when John kept pumping into you, prolonging the blessedly painful high he forced you into by the end. His rumbling grunts and mumbled praise spread goosebumps over your skin as you lay there, taking whatever he needed to spill inside you through the overstimulation.

Then John stilled, shoving himself deep as his thighs quivered and he pulsed inside you, the warmth and stickiness spilt inside you, making you weakly moan in satisfaction.

It was blessedly silent as you felt him push incredibly lazy into you once, twice, before he pulled out and settled on his haunches, pulling your cheeks apart to probably look at the white dribble of cum that oozed out of you. He hummed contentedly, smoothing his palm over your bottom before he wedged a hand beneath your hips, helping you lift them as he pulled your panties up your legs again.

You whined at the uncomfortable coldness but stopped once John's thumb ran soothing circles into your spine.

Your eyes had fallen shut, the fatigue from earlier creeping violently close. The only thing making your lashes flutter was once John leans over your body, closing the laptop that switched to standby long ago. 

His hand is kept on the device as he leans down, his head notching on your shoulder and his lips resting against the shell of your ear as he falls to his elbow.

"You're done". This time around, it wasn't a suggestion. 

You can't argue this time, only hum and tip your head in an attempted nod. Your head is silent for the first time in three days, and the pleasant buzz makes your body completely lax. John takes it as an agreement as he leans down and kisses your shoulder blade. 

One press off his lips turns into two, and then a question breaks the pattern, "You feelin' alright?"

"Mhm" is all you can muster in return. You receive a last kiss against your clothes-covered skin before John stands from the bed while you remain put. 

You feel the laptop disappear, presuming John puts it away to charge for the night.

"Come on now, love, up you get". Your head twists to watch John as he stands beside the bed in his naked glory. A tension was lost in his shoulders now.

"M'too tired", you mumble.

"Now it suits you", he laughs softly, a quirk tugging in the corner of his lip as he bends down. 

You move easily when he pushes you over to your back, enjoying the view John offers above you. When he inserts his hand behind your knees and your back to scoop you into his arms, you sober up quickly as you release a squeal, eyes widening as your arms shoot to wrap around his neck. 

His chuckle vibrates against your ribcage as he readjusts his grip on you before he sets off to the en suite. 

"Waited for you to take that shower with me, but looks like I had to take it into my own hands".

"So you're kidnapping me to take another?"

"Yes", he says, shifting his eyes to yours before stopping to push the door open with his foot.

"What a gentleman", you giggle, craning your neck to kiss his beard-covered jaw quickly.

"Didn't leave me with any gentlemanly options", John fixes you with a look as he lets you down.

"Guess the both of us can get stuck in work sometimes," you shrug, blinking up at him with innocent eyes and giving him an apologetic smile.

His arms circle your waist, accepting your regretful gesture by pulling you close to him. All the while, John huffs to playfully deflect your accusation towards him. 

"Don't know what you're talkin' about".

"Don't know what I'm talking about, huh?" You question with a cocked brow, a smile pulling at the edge of your mouth. "Says the man who would rate his study a close second behind being in bed with me".

"Surfaces to fuck you in both places." He shrugs. Your mouth drops open, your spluttering making him let out a short laugh, a boyish smile now tugging at his lips. "And... it's not my fault you consider one of your offices the most fuckable surfaces in the house, nor your work attire this", he defends himself half-heartedly while slipping a hand beneath his oversized tee covering your body.

You lightheartedly swat his chest, chuckling as you detangle yourself from his arms. 

You feel John's eyes rove over your body while you pull the shirt over your head, catching his gaze once you drop it to the floor. You lift a brow once his eyes rise to yours, only briefly, however, as they soon drop again when you step out of your sticky panties.

You feel the wetness left behind between your legs; no doubt that John also sees it from how his chest expands when you step backwards through the open shower doors and onto the still, slightly wet ground from his previous shower.

When he follows you, he instantly pulls your naked body against his as if he hadn't just held you.

Just before the water hits your front, John huddles close, bending slightly forward so the water cascades over the back of his head instead. 

He runs a hand through his hair to push his drenched locks backwards. Droplets fly and hit you in the face, and you raise a hand to swipe most of them from your lashes.

You stand in comfortable silence as you stare at each other. John's hands wander up and down your sides, your hands no better as they slide over his wet torso. He can't take his eyes off of you, gaze slowly dipping, mapping your body as if he hasn't seen it naked countless times.

"You're touchy tonight", you hum, following his gaze as it settles on your breasts, hands soon moving to the same place.

"Have barely felt you for days." He fondles you in his hands, much gentler in all his touches now compared to earlier, simply feeling you up. 

"Could've just asked if you wanted to have some time for us without my laptop present", you jokingly offer.

John only raises a brow as his eyes lock with yours, his hands stilling and ultimately sliding down your ribs to rest on your hips.

"With how you've buried that nose in the screen, I didn't know if you fancied if I would come and cop a feel". You tip your head side to side. "You're probably right." John only cocks his brows, a silent dig at the probably you threw in there. "But I didn't mind it now".

He shakes his head, reaching down to plan a swift kiss on your lips. "'Course you didn't when bein' so wound up. Know a good fuck makes you relax".

"Oh, shut up," you say, pushing his face away with your hand and bashfully dipping your head. He laughs lowly through the shower stream you'd moved him into. 

He shook his head as he exited the water, his arms wrapping around your waist to pull you flush against his chest.

[beneathashadytree]

The condom in their wallets is brilliant 😭 I love it a lot. I want to ask in your head canon, what sizes are they and which types they prefer? 🫣

Sorry to disappoint, nonnie, but I wouldn’t know the first thing about condom types‼️💔 Howeverrrrrr, as for my general (human) dick headcanons, they were already in my drafts a while back, so here you go!! NSFW warning, obviously🙏🏽

To anyone else reading this, my requests are still closed!! These are just my ramblings, or old requests I had🫶🏽

Tip jar!

Masterlist

Zayne: I’m sorry but this man needs a prayer and intense foreplay before anyone can take him. He’s an (unsurprisingly massive) 7 inches long, and his girth is no joke either. A pretty straightforward cock, no curves to be found, but the nicest thing about him is the two veins running down the sides. Dark tip too, if you ask me. He cums a lot all in one go (poor pent up guy), and it’s of average consistency and practically no taste. He’s pretty healthy, after all, even despite his sweets intake. Carpets perfectly match the drapes, but no one knows because he regularly—and canonically, btw!—shaves all the time and doesn’t let it grow out.

Rafayel: More length than there is girth, actually. I’d say a perfect 6 inches, with a slight upwards and right curve that hits the spot perfectly. His tip gets SO red when he’s aroused, and it’s what you can call “pretty” imo. No prominent veins, and his skin is SO soft too. His cum is a little on the thin side, and he doesn’t cum a lot, but it does taste a bit salty. I firmly believe he trims regularly. I wouldn’t say he shaves completely, but he likes keeping things neat and tidy. Carpets are only slightly darker than the drapes; think of a darker shade of purple. All the above changes if we’re talking about his Lemurian form, though.

Xavier: Coke can dick truther🙏🏽 This man is GIRTHY. Like, stretch-you-out-so-well-you-can-cum-from-that-alone girthy. In terms of length, I’d give him a lovely 6.5 maybe, but nothing will ever beat how full he makes his lover feel. One vein at his base, and a fat tip to match his cock too <3 Very thick cum I believe, considering his diet, and is the absolute king of creampies because he loves seeing it spill out. It’s pretty bitter though, fair warning. Carpet doesn’t match the drapes at all; his curls are a rich brown and he usually doesn’t do much about them. If his lover dislikes it though, he’d shave or trim or whatever they like.

Taglist: @angry-and-yandere @nxx-jordiepord @honestlyjustablog @dawnbreakersgaze @tartartagliaboo @lucis-noctiana @mushriiin @flurrina @reika-desu @randomidk-123 @tikitsune @cofijelli @roll-of-royces @lemonsupernova @loveyoutodeep @belovedof @obiwanmcprobie @hawtlineblingz @kalatipunan @eurekazz @bifedebruxa @thescribeswife @mysticangel123 @xenasolos @jvnluvr @dann-acalle @rosariymchapter @rin-sv14 @yololesgo @an-ever-angry-bi @semi-orangeapple @lavanderbliss @myturnwhen @winterlvod @carsonology @deepzombieyouth @respitable @stellisangelicus-world @kvsqkiii @bitchynightmarepost @snoozeflare @spotted-salamander @cindywasneverhere @ladyparamount @sncrly0urs @huntersmoon1 @musiclover2119 @girl-who-lives-in-delusion @milktsukii @sartorialcannibal @hrhmimieucliffe @icedunderwaterroom @granddearduck @skriblobz @honeyshoney149 (more in replies!)

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[basketonthedoorstepofthefbi]

"concrete" - hotch x fem!bau!reader

your crush on your boss is so nearly at its breaking point; based on the request found here

cw: canonical violence, mutual pining, mild miscommunication, not a happy ending but not an unhappy ending lmao sorry luv ya

word count: 1.4k

------

You’ve been crushing on your boss for exactly ten months and nine days. You’ve known him for close to a year, but when you think about it, that two month difference in time is just about what it takes to warm up to Aaron Hotchner. 

He was a statue when you first met him. Unwavering, stoic, and maybe even a little strict (definitely very strict). He didn’t crack a smile around you until the first case you ever worked with the BAU was wrapped up, and he definitely didn’t make any jokes until much later on. You discovered underneath the stalwart, brick wall you met was the same man, only softer. Like one of those hard-shell candies with a jelly center. He was incredibly kind, patient, observant, and honorable. 

And he would do anything for anyone on his team at the drop of a hat. 

You also got to see the more playful side of him as you got to know him, as your caseload with the BAU only grew. Sure, he was a stickler for paperwork and procedure, but was he though? 

You once saw him take over a report JJ was supposed to finish so she could make it to Henry’s t-ball game. You definitely witnessed him reassuring Penelope that it was okay that she hacked into the Interpol database for info on an UnSub, and when Derek needed help tracking down his cousin in Chicago, Hotch had the whole team pitch in, which was certainly some kind of ethics violation. 

Little did you know that Aaron was crushing on you, too. He didn’t word it that way in his head, of course, but the second he watched you stride into the conference room to consult on a case, he knew he was in trouble. He expedited the transfer paperwork himself, even followed Strauss in the elevator on her way out one night to make her sign it. 

He grew fond of you quickly, of your insights, your compassion with victims’ families, your quick wit. You always bring homemade cookies or cupcakes for the entire team when it’s someone’s birthday, and you always have a different perspective to offer on cases. He especially loves when you are clearly thinking hard about something, so you cross your ankles - sitting or standing, he’s noticed - and tap your toes against the floor. 

Aaron’s ways of showing affection were not lost on you. He brought you coffee on more than one occasion, but he also brought coffee to the rest of the team. He straddles the invisible line between Caring Boss and More Than That so well. You’re not exactly sure what his actions mean.

Like today, for example. The team is in a small town in Kentucky, and you’re deep into a case - a spree, four murders in four days. You have been awake for about twenty straight hours, give or take, and the world around you has turned hazy. 

You are combing through a suspect’s letters with Spencer, your eyes growing heavier by the second. Your chin is propped up by your arm, and you finally close your eyes, just for one second of respite. Your arm gives out and your head whacks against the table, a wake-up call no amount of espresso could ever provide. 

“Shit, Y/N. Are you okay?” Spencer’s out of his chair in an instant as you lift your head, rubbing the already-formed welt on your forehead. 

The spot is tender and red and you’re dizzy, the wheels on your chair not helping matters. Why are there three Reids hovering over you? They meld back into one Reid after you blink a few times, and as you’re nodding to reassure Spencer you’re okay, you hear Hotch walk in. “I heard a thud. What happened?” 

The conference room in the police precinct is teeny and already cramped, so Spencer has to move out of the way for Hotch to get to you. 

“She smacked her head on the table,” Spencer explains hurriedly. “I’ll get you an ice pack,” he scurries off, likely to ask one of the local officers, leaving you alone with Hotch. 

You’re still reeling and a bit disoriented from the contact with the solid oak table. Hotch takes the rolling desk chair beside yours, previously occupied by Spencer, and is hunching to meet your eye line. “You should really go back to the hotel and sleep for a little bit,” he says.

“Nobody else is,” you protest just as Hotch squares up to you to examine the welt on your forehead. You see him visibly grimace, his lips pressing deep into his face.

His thumb is suddenly on your forehead, padding around the bruise. It’s tender, and you know it would hurt if he touched you even a centimeter to the left, but he’s hitting it at just the right spot. You can see the lines on his palm.

“Yeah, well, no one else just concussed themselves,” he points out. You can tell just by looking at him that he’s tired, too. His eyes are heavy, the bags under them puffier than usual. 

“If I’m concussed, then I really shouldn’t go to sleep,” you point out, and Hotch’s expression tightens. 

“What day is it today?” He asks, retracting his hand and pulling back into his own space. 

“Wednesday,” you reply, then your eyes dart to the clock on the wall. 12:17 AM. “Thursday,” you correct. 

Hotch releases a pressure-cooker sigh and narrows his eyes at you scrupulously. You lean forward in your chair in a challenge. “I’m fine,” you insist. 

“I just wish you’d take care of yourself so I wouldn’t have to.” 

This catches you off guard. Your brows furrow and you frown at Hotchner, crossing your arms over your chest. “Excuse me?” you ask, feeling offended. What the hell was that supposed to mean? “You don’t think I take care of myself?”

Hotch’s mouth is hanging open just slightly, and he’s shaking his head. “No, Y/N, that’s not what I-” 

“You and I both know you would tell me if my performance was inadequate,” you decide in that moment - maybe it’s the potential concussion, or maybe it’s the exhaustion - to rip into him. “I don’t need a babysitter, Aaron.” 

Hotchner shakes his head again. “I know you don’t need a babysitter,” he says calmly. Irritatingly calmly. “I just meant that there are many other things I’d rather be doing…” 

Your mouth goes dry. Obnoxiously, with the cadence of a confused basset hound, you say, “huh?” 

Aaron’s cheeks are pink now, and he swallows hard. “I’d better go check on Reid and that ice pack,” he murmurs, but before he can roll away, you grab the arm of his chair.  

“Aaron,” you breathe out, and suddenly he’s looking at you like you’re the only person in the world, like there’s a spotlight shining down on you from the ceiling of a little police precinct in Middle of Nowhere, Kentucky. 

His brown eyes are so soft at this moment. His eyebrows have softened from their usual piercing, investigative furrow. He knees press into yours, and you want so badly to bridge that gap between his face and yours. His mouth is hanging open, only slightly, and you watch with bated breath as his tongue juts out - just barely - to moisten his lips. 

The door flies open at that moment, and Spencer’s shifting three different ice packs among his hands. “I’ve got gel, I’ve got water-based, and they also had one of those beaded eye masks that people put in the freezer for self-care at home,” he laughs at this, stopping at the head of the table when he realizes he very clearly interrupted something. “Should… should I go?” 

You’re rolling back from Hotch, crossing your ankles and shaking your head. “No, you’re fine, Spence,” you say hurriedly and squeakily, just as Hotch clears his throat and rises from his seat. He lingers in the door on his way out. As you’re taking the gel ice pack from Spencer and placing it gingerly against your forehead, your gaze meets Hotch’s. 

He’s boring into you with those beautiful molten chocolate eyes, and he purses his lips pensively for one fleeting moment, as if to say, to be continued. 

“What was all that about?” Spencer asks as he sits back down. You shake your head. 

“Nothing,” you feel concrete tension in your jaw that radiates all the way down to your toes. You grab the next pile of letters and open one. The fact that you have to pretend like nothing just happened, like you didn’t just share an absurd amount of tension with your boss? It feels like your entire body is on pins and needles. “Let’s just keep going.”

[rinniessance]

FAITH ༊*·˚ - suguru geto x fem!reader

suguru geto has been slipping further into darkness every day since amanai riko's death. now with yu haibara's dead body in front of you, you think suguru might sink even deeper. so you offer him a respite between your legs.

꒰ warnings: nsfw - mdni .ᐟ.ᐟ hurt/comfort, porn with plot. established relationship, sex as unhealthy coping mechanism, co-dependency, oral sex (f! receiving), unprotected sex. canon compliant but you forgive geto all his crimes ♡ // word count: 6k ꒱ ꒰ notes: this is a repost from my old blog .ᐟ.ᐟ this was originally written for a collab and i love this piece so much, i want it on my new blog꒱

for a second, the world has finally gone silent. suguru doesn’t remember when was the last time it was this quiet inside his head. ever since that day, he’s been haunted by the creeping thoughts of the next time he’s going to fail; plagued by the thoughts of which friend he will have to bury next just because they were lucky (or unlucky) to be born with the gift to be special, to be stronger, to protect. but suguru should’ve known better than to trust his own mind not to play the cruel trick.

clap… clap.. clap. clap.clap.clap

raven-haired sorcerer keeps staring at the wall, paralyzed by the memories, the echoes that still breath down his spine and make the goosebumps dance across his skin. the clapping always follows the silence. same way a kid would pick on a just healed wound, making it bleed with the renewed vigor, suguru’s mind keeps tearing his never-healing soul apart and making it bleed all over again.

the water has gone cold, but geto doesn’t notice. in the end, the coldness that’s been spreading somewhere deep around his heart is harder to ignore. he has not noticed yet, but he’s been slowly losing himself to the darkness brewing inside. and if what they say about the eyes being windows to the soul is true, then suguru’s are sign of no good (you’ve been trying to find the reflection of the suguru you knew but he’s been slipping away further every day).

he knows you’ve been worried; he knows you’ve been asking him to open up and talk; whispering so softly please baby let me help you. and you’re so soft, so sweet, so willing to do anything, he tries to forget the burden he’ll always be carrying by losing himself between your legs. water droplets keep falling down his wet hair, and he thinks he’ll allow his inner demons to be satiated by the thoughts of you. he thinks of your soft lips that he yearns to kiss after a mission because the taste of the strawberry lipstick and green tea mochi you had for desert chases away the taste of vomit from the curses he had to swallow. suguru is sure he will do anything for you. he just has to make sure that you will do anything for him as well.

yu haibara is seventeen years old when he dies. you think you should be crying but the shock of the news has not worn off yet; you’re not able to comprehend yet that it’s another friend gone. you move your gaze to nanami who is sitting in the corner hiding his face behind the towel. he reminds you awfully of the suguru a year and some ago when he trailed behind satoru who was carrying the body of amanai riko. you wonder if nanami is hiding his eyes on purpose; you wonder if he's been crying and feeling guilty and blaming the villagers for what happened. you wonder because that's what you’ve been through with suguru.

you slowly turn to look at your lover: his under-eye bags have become even darker, his face appeared to be more sunken, and he looks even more disheveled than he’s been looking lately. you’ve been trying to persuade him to talk to you about the demons that are pulling him away from you but he doesn’t want to discuss this – that’s not what he wants you for. but you’re so helplessly in love with him, you’re not sure what you would do if he stops coming back to bury himself to the hilt in your pussy as means of coping. so if he wants to chase his demons away by fucking you like his life depends on it, you will allow him to do it every time.

“it was supposed to be an easy mission to exterminate a second-grade cursed spirit… fuck!” nanami feels bubbling frustration and exhaustion mix together, so he tiredly exhales. “their faith in ubusunagami... that was a local deity. that was a first-grade case.”

suguru sighs. “you need to rest for now, nanami. satoru has taken up your mission.”

“can't we just leave everything up to him alone at this point?”

the question hangs heavy in the air. satoru was becoming the strongest sorcerer, he didn’t need you or suguru accompanying him on missions anymore. you wonder if satoru really didn’t notice the changes happening with suguru, or if he just decided to ignore all the signs. maybe you should’ve brought your concerns to him but if your partner did not want to talk to his best friend about it, then you would not get in the mix.

you gently took geto’s hand and intertwined your fingers.

“i’ll wait for you in your room, my love. come find me when you’re ready.”

this has become a routine for you. whenever you would see suguru start slipping, you would offer him the oasis he seeks in your cunt. so you leave the morgue and let suguru come to you.

geto wanders around school before he makes his way to you. he thinks about the conversation he had with yu and yuki right before his mission. he thinks about yu’s sweet innocence and naïve desire to protect everything and everyone. what did he say to geto? it feels really good to be able to give my all to something i can actually do. should suguru have said something to him about how easy it is to slip and fall? how fragile human lives are and how unfair it was that the only lives that the non-sorcerer world was not scared of breaking were theirs?

and then he thinks about what yuki asked him. do you hate non-sorcerers, geto-kun? he makes a turn into a garden behind the school contemplating the question. did he really want to fight and reject the part that makes him grow hot with contempt, burning him from the inside? if the failure of the last year’s mission, if the death of yu haibara, if the thought of you bloody and dead in his arms makes his insides run cold, crippling him to the point of total numbness, then the thoughts of letting the weak and the pathetic live while the people closest to him only keep piling up as corpses make his blood boil. maybe that’s exactly what he was looking for.

suguru makes another turn to walk towards the dorm. he lets his thoughts run their own course while he’s trying to concentrate on the only person who matters to him right now. he knows you’re waiting for him in the room, and he cannot wait to slip into a blissful ignorance about everything, even if it’s just for a second. as he expects, you’re waiting for him on his bed, laying on your side facing the wall. he strips of his jacket and lays next to you snaking his arms around your waist and hugging you so close, you think he would never let you go again.

“need you right now, baby,” geto whispers so quietly and then places the first kiss in the crook of your neck. you turn to face him now instead, and gently cup his face into your hands. it always starts like this. suguru would come to you at the ungodly hour of the night, and you accept him with no hesitation.

“tell me what exactly you need, my love,” you respond and then place a careful kiss on his lips. he doesn’t respond, just lets you move your lips to the other parts of his face, pecking everything you can get your lips on.

“need to have you, to be in you.”

“then you have me. you know i’m yours, now and forever.”

with that, suguru pushes you onto your back and then climbs on top. he captures your lips in the kiss that can only be described as desperate: one of his hands comes up behind your neck and he pulls your face even closer to him, while other slowly trails down your body. he’s invading your mouth with his tongue, stealing all your oxygen for himself as if he’s to decide when you can breathe, teeth clashing. it’s messy, it’s violent in its intensity, and it makes the wetness pool between your legs. suguru pushes his knee between your thighs, spreading them further, and breaks the kiss. his gaze follows the outline of your body all the way to your clothes cunt, and the wet stain on your underwear gets him excited, and makes you blush.

“someone’s been waiting for this, huh?” geto teases and takes off your underwear. he gathers the slick dripping out of you onto his long fingers by circling them around your weeping entrance but doesn’t insert them yet.

“can you take me without any prep?” you can see his is frantic to the point of impatience. you can see how ragged his breathing already is, how heavy his eyelids are and how dilated his pupils became. suguru is a drug addict looking for his next fix, and only your pussy can offer him the relief he needs.

“anything you need, you can take from me,” is the only thing you can respond with, and suguru does not need any other confirmations. he shimmers out of his pants and boxers, takes off his shirt and his naked physic makes your breath hitch. you run your fingers on his pectoral muscles and down his pecks. you want to lick geto’s happy trail, all the way down his hard cock and then gag yourself to the point of tears. but that will possibly come later. for now, you just let him get situated between your thighs, grab your legs and bring them over his shoulders.

“you ready, pretty thing?” suguru knows that he doesn’t need to ask as if you will give any other answer but positive, but you still nod your head. geto knows that he is being selfish – there is no foreplay on nights like this, just pure desire and desperation. he will make sure he will pay you back later. now he takes his pulsating dick in his hand, strokes himself twice and lines himself with your needy hole. and when suguru pushes himself inside, he doesn’t give you any time to adjust to his size and buries himself to the hilt. the stretch is painful, you can feel your walls flatter around him trying to accommodate his cock. geto doesn’t give you any time to even think about adjusting when he suddenly pulls away and then bottoms out again. this has been rehearsed so many times that when the tip of his dick kisses your cervix, you forget all about the pain and let out a wanton moan. it’s in the moments like this that dark-haired sorcerer thinks your moans is the only melody that can sooth his troubled mind.

the pace he sets is unforgiving. it’s fast, it’s bruising, it’s almost maddening in the way he pushes himself in and out. and every time his cock leaves your dripping hole, your body just sucks him right back in. suguru’s hair is disheveled, perfect bun he likes to keep his hair in is unkempt and loose hair strands frame his face making him look like pure sin. he’s still holding onto your ankles, turning his head and placing timid kisses there when he pushes inside you especially rough.

“you’re so tight, angel. you’re always so fucking good to me. i’ve molded your cunt to take me so well, huh?” he’s babbling, and you’re drinking up every dirty thing he says to you. “open your mouth.” you do it without a second delay, and take out your tongue too, just like he’s trained you. geto grabs the back of your knees and pushes them onto your body, bringing you into a mating press. this allows him to reach an even deeper angle inside you (you didn’t think it was even possible), and you moan again through your opened mouth. he brings his face close to yours.

“god, you really are ready to take whatever i give you,” geto says through panting breaths and then spits on your tongue. your boyfriend forces your mouth closed, and you swallow without any further instructions. now that suguru is pressed against your chest, he feels so close, that you’re start losing yourself in the warmth his body provides. he speeds up even more, and with the changed position, he now hits the spot inside that makes your whole world spiral. you want to close your eyes but you cannot tear your gaze away from the devil above you – geto’s strands are now stuck to his forehead, sweat is dripping down the sides of his face, and you want to lick him clean. your breathing is shallow as you feel the orgasm starting to build up inside your belly – suguru can feel your walls flatter around him even tighter, and you know it forces him to go over the edge too.

“just like that, baby, it feels so good,” you cry out and suguru kisses you hard and rough. you know it’s because he’s trying not to come so he is distracting himself by your lips; but when you moan again into his mouth like your life depends on the orgasm he is holding off, he knows he cannot edge himself anymore. so he brings thumb to your clit to add the extra stimulation. as soon as you feel his finger on your sensitive nub, you’re grabbing onto the first thing that comes across your hands – suguru’s shoulders, his biceps, the sheet underneath you. the coil inside your tummy snaps, and your orgasm gushes down geto’s cock. your pussy becomes so tight, it’s impossible to hold back anymore so suguru follows right behind you. he keeps fucking you through your orgasm feeling your tight gummy walls suck him dry. your legs are shaking from the overwhelming feeling of pleasure and the position you're in, and you try to pull yourself away from being overstimulated.

"baby, 's too much..." you try to let him know but he just kisses you again and keeps circling his thumb on your clit.

"aw, are you saying my girl can't take it anymore?" he hits the gummy spot inside of you again and that almost brings you to tears. you know that it must be almost painful for him as well, his softening dick still throbbing inside you but geto does not seem to care. only once he sees the tears running down the sides of your face that he finally slows down.

you’re trying to catch your breath, slow inhales and exhales to bring yourself back to earth. sorcerer hovers above you, and you can still feel him twitching inside. he brings his gaze to where your bodies connect, the intimacy of vulnerability of this moment making him dizzy. suguru starts pulling out and looks at the mess leaking out of you, the combined releases slowly dripping from your hole and down between your ass cheeks. you whine at the sudden emptiness, and despite the shaking legs, overstimulation and the aftershocks of your first orgasm, you already yearn for another. you flutter your eyelids open and pleadingly look at geto, praying he would know exactly what you need right now. he clearly sees the hunger swimming in your eyes but he loves nothing more but to hear you beg.

“what happened, angel? you’ve been fucked so stupid, you can’t even use your words anymore? i bet that’s true, my dick got you so dumb.” you squirm at his words because no matter how hard you try, his mocking tone makes your pussy tighten around nothing and you whimper. "weren't you the one just crying that you can't take it anymore? dick so good you can't even decide if you want more or not?"

“please sugu…” you ask breathlessly, and suguru chuckles darkly. he doesn’t give in into a simple plea and starts kissing down your neck, making his way in between your boobs and licking the sweat that pooled there. he knows you can do better than this.

“you have to give me more than that, pretty girl. what do you need?” he gathers the dripping cum with his two fingers and pushes them back inside you. at the same time, he takes your nipple into his mouth and gently sucks on it. the combined feeling of his fingers going in and out your throbbing core and tongue leisurely licking and sucking on your hardened nipple makes you quiver with anticipation. “still not talking, huh?”

suguru draws a circle around your nipple and then bites on it, making you gasp. he releases it and then blows on the wet skin and that sends shivers down your spine. the juxtaposition of hot skin and cold air makes you wetter and you can’t take it anymore. you finally give your lover what he’s been waiting for.

“i want you to clean me, sugu.”

“and how do you want me to do it?”

“with your tongue. please please please, i need it so bad, i really really need, please clean me up 'guru,” you say through tearful voice. it’s not good enough of begging, he will have to teach you (again) better later, but geto is also running out of patience. he wants to taste the sweet mess between your legs, and he wants you to fall apart around his tongue again. so he languidly trails kisses between your breasts, on your stomach and all the way down to your cunt while still pumping his fingers in and out of you. he only stops once he’s face to face with your wanting hole.

“so beautiful, my girl is always so beautiful and ready for me,” and you’re not sure if he’s talking to you or your pussy. he kisses the inside of your thighs first, tickling you with the locks that left his manbun. he didn’t slow his fingers once, adding more speed, curling them so he can reach the spot that makes you lose you breath and wonder if you were made to always be in this position, for him only. he finally brings his mouth to your puffy lips and spreads your folds so he can see the clit dying for his attention. he lightly slaps it, which earns a surprised gasp from you, and then finally licks up from your hole to you clit sucking on your sensitive nub.

the whole world could collapse now and both of you would not care. geto groans from the taste he’s been dying to have ever since he walked through the doors, and you’re sure moans that escape your throat will make the devil blush if he wasn't present in the room with you. suguru starts lapping at your clit: he’s fully in control of long languid strokes of his tongue that makes your ears ring. he adds now a third finger into you, and the stretch is almost painful again even if you took him raw not even 10 minutes ago. raven-haired sorcerer can feel your walls tighten around his fingers again so he keeps abusing that gummy spot inside, curling them just at the right angle, while he’s licking up your lower lips and sucking your pearl.

you grab the hair tie that holds his almost non-existent bun and take it out of his hair letting the long locks drape all over your thighs and frame his face. you glance down and you think he looks absolutely mesmerizing like this – eating you out like it's his life line, your hand in his hair massaging his scalp, suguru’s moans vibrating against your clit. you grind on his face, bringing yourself even closer, desperate to get to the top of the orgasm you started climbing again.

“someone’s so needy,” geto chuckles.

“yes, baby, please, i need to come, please let me come again,” you plead with him, and he finally gives you what you want. suguru speeds up his fingers once again, swirling his tongue near your entrance to catch your release and then up the inner lips back to the clit where he keeps sucking on your almost overstimulated bud. you weave your fingers through his hair and tug, just enough to let geto know you’re very close. your breathing becomes shallow and you want to continue looking at your lover performing his magic but the orgasm waves are threatening to drown you, so you close your eyes and let go.

suguru feels your cunt tighten around his fingers and he withdraws them from your hole so he can drink up your juices instead. he is pushing his tongue inside you, tasting your sweet release, and he can swear he can taste his own cum that he pushed back into you before. you moan out his name over and over again, repeating it like mantra with “please don’t stop” and “this feel so so good” sprinkled in between your incoherent babbling. geto is unrelenting and he fucks you with his tongue through your second orgasm, not missing a single drop you have to offer him.

once he can feel you start to relax, he withdraws from your abused pussy to admire his work: the mess of your combined releases and his spit on your cunt glistens in the moonlight peaking through the curtains, and suguru thinks he’s never seen as anything as beautiful as this. he reaches for the phone in his pants and opens up a camera.

“i would submit a photo of your pussy like this to a modern museum of art if only anyone else was worthy enough to look at it,” geto says as he snaps couple of pictures of your spread legs. the blush creeps up your cheeks and you hide behind your hands (suguru thinks it’s cute he can still manage to make you blush). once he’s satisfied with the results, he climbs back on top of you. geto looks at your fucked out face and thinks this is the only thing worth to be alive for right now. so he kisses you deep and hard hoping you can feel all of him in the kiss. you softly cup his face and kiss him back, tasting yourself on his lips.

suguru pushes himself back to sit down on his knees and takes in your naked body. you look up at him with the gaze full of adoration, hunger, longing and ache, and he is falling in love all over again. geto stands up from the bed and walks over to the bathroom to grab the towel, leaving the room for a minute shortly after to grab you a bottle of water you keep in your mini fridge. you whine lightly at the loss of his body near you but you’re not even given time to complain before suguru is back by your side in a record time.

“drink this, angel.”

“thank you, my love.”

“anything for you.”

he brings the cup to your lips and carefully tips it so you’re not choking on the water. once you down the full glass, he spreads your legs and cleans everything by gently swiping away the residual liquids. you let him take care of you in a way that’s comforting to him, turning you and cleaning you like a porcelain doll he’s scared of breaking.

suguru is always so gentle after sex. no matter how hard he fucks you or how overstimulated he may make you at times, the absolute tenderness in the way he treats you after never fails to tug at your heartstrings. once he determines you’re clean enough to go to sleep now, he throws the towel into your laundry basket and lies down besides you. you turn to face him and press a soothing kiss to his lips.

“i love you.”

“i love you too, sugu. now go to sleep, you need to rest.”

and with that, geto throws his arms around your waist, traps your legs with his legs and brings you so close as if he’s scared you will slip away.

sleep tight, princess. i will see you again in a new world.

“huh?”

“don’t make me repeat myself. suguru killed everyone in the village and…”

“i heard you the first time. that's why i said, "huh?"

you could see satoru was angry and in denial. and you cannot blame him, after all, he didn’t notice (or didn't want to notice) the abyss that was pulling suguru deeper and deeper every day, it’s no wonder he is in denial of what geto has done, what he has been contemplating of doing for the past year. sure, you wouldn’t have guessed he would take things this far but you saw the darkness slowly seeping through the broken crevices of his façade, you knew it was only a matter of time before he snaps. satoru kept saying something about how this cannot be true but his words sound as if they are coming through a vacuum.

your lack of response makes yaga turn to you. you can see his mouth moving but no words can be distinguished. he calls your name, and you try harder to concentrate on the next question.

“can you hear me? did you know about this?”

“are you asking me if i knew suguru would massacre 112 people?” you snap at him. taking a deep breath, you try controlling the bubbling emotions inside. geto has been on a radio silence for a full week now, and you can’t help but feel hurt and betrayed; and deep down you know that you would never be able to leave him, even if you knew about what he was going to do from the very beginning.

“that’s exactly what i’m asking.”

“no, i didn’t know that. i’d think you have more faith in me that just letting my boyfriend to go on a murder spree.” liar, you think to yourself, you’re such a fucking liar. faith does not mean anything to either of you anymore, and if suguru wanted you to open your chest and give him your heart for his amusement, or if he asked you to drench yourself in the blood of the people he murdered, you would do it in a heartbeat. “and before you ask, i don’t know where he is. he’s been ignoring my calls and messages ever since he took that mission.”

both satoru and yaga let out a deep exhale: satoru’s sounds defeated and almost broken (you think he might be trying to hold back tears); yaga’s is resigned and exhausted. no one speaks anymore, and the silent agreement is made to go separate ways for the day.

you don’t know how to feel about this whole situation. you think you feel hurt, betrayed, shocked. and you know that you’re the only person who feels this way not because suguru committed a crime worthy of death penalty but because he didn’t trust you enough to let you know about his plans in the first place. didn’t the past year two of you spent together show him the depth of your loyalty? did all of the nights spent tangled in sheets meant nothing? when you would let him do whatever he wanted to your body because being lost in the feeling of earthly pleasure was the only way he could feel grounded? you wanted to believe that all of that meant more than just him fucking you to oblivion to forget about the pain tearing him apart. should have you done it differently? maybe made him talk, open up, let you see inside his troubled mind? you’ve been trying to call him and message him every day ever since he ghosted you, and today’s discovery just made the pit inside your heart grow even bigger.

you finally reach your dorm room. you drop on your bed as soon as you step inside, clothes be damned, and grab suguru’s sweater he left on your chair, deeply inhaling his scent. you think about “i love you” he told you the last night you saw him a week ago; you think about all the times he kissed you so deeply, it felt like he was trying to carve out a home somewhere between your teeth. you think about his eyes, and the way they glistened with that special spark every time he looked at you. and you wonder if all of the significant memories of you together were only significant to you.

you body and mind feels heavy so you close your eyes and curl yourself into a fetal position, hugging suguru’s sweater even tighter. the tears start pooling in the corners of your eyes, and you don’t remember when was the last time that you cried yourself to sleep.

4:35pm

im sorry i haven’t said anything

4:35pm

but this was something i needed to do on my own

4:36pm

pls come to this address ill explain everything

4:36pm

[sent location]

suguru keeps staring at his phone screen. ever since he disappeared a week ago, he’s been ignoring your attempts to contact him. he wanted to make sure that the coast is clear, and all of the ties are cut off before he can contact you again. leaving his best friend behind was painful; but geto is not a child, and he understands that him and satoru will never see eye-to-eye on this matter. that’s why he had to say goodbye to him today the way he did. but leaving you behind? unimaginable. so he feels his anxiety bubbling up when he hasn’t received a response back to the messages he sent you 8 hours ago.

he feels a small tug on his sleeve.

“geto-sama?” a small voice is unsure and almost scared. he looks down at the dark-haired girl. mimiko. her big doe eyes glistening with tears and face is covered with bruises that still haven’t faded: his heart breaks at the sight and he is wondering about how long the abuse was going on for before he discovered them in a cage, locked away like animals. the mere thought of that place fills him with burning rage.

“yes?”

“when will we leave this place? nanako says it reminds her of our old house, and it’s scaring her,” mimiko whispers back. and it’s so quiet, it saddens geto again thinking how many times their little voices were never heard.

“we will leave soon, i promise.”

suguru looks out of the window of this abandoned building. he had to take a temporary cover here before he can figure out what happens next. his thoughts drift back to you. he’s wondering if you’ve been interrogated about his whereabouts yet, if they used any techniques on making you talk. he swears if any of the higher-ups got to you before he could figure out how to leave jujutsu high behind, the massacred village will be the least of their worries.

he wonders if he misread your constant acceptance in the past year. he wonders if you’ll come screaming at him too, asking why he did it and that maybe it’s not too late to come back. but what he is scared of the most is to see the fear in your eyes when you see him again: they should be scared of him, but not you, never you.

suguru thinks about the last night you spent together, and the i love yous exchanged in the darkness of the night. he knows he meant it, he’s sure you meant it too, so what is this sinking feeling growing deeper somewhere inside his ribcage? he thinks it’s fear but a different kind this time – he dreamt of building his new world with you by his side so now that he’s on the silent end of the phone, he fears he was wrong, yet again.

but before geto can drown any deeper in the overwhelming feeling of possible loss, he senses your cursed energy. he springs to his feet, and the very next minute, the door to the room where they are now creaks opened.

“suguru?” your voice pierces through the oppressive silence, and geto releases the breath he didn’t realize he was holding in. he crosses the room in three big steps and hugs you so tight, all the air from your lungs is immediately pushed out.

“god, i am so happy you’re here. i was worried you wouldn’t come when you didn’t respond to my messages.”

“baby, i had to get all of your stuff first, didn’t know if you needed anything, and i had to time when i sneak out without leaving any traces, higher-ups are on high alert now and… wait, you were worried i didn’t respond to your messages?” you point an accusatory finger at him. “what about all the messages and calls you ignored from me for the last week? what about the fact that i am finding out about whatever you’ve been doing from yaga out of all people? i thought you left me, i thought…” you stop yourself as your lips start trembling and you bite down on your lower lip to prevent the tears threatening to fall.

suguru looks at you in shock. he didn’t even consider the fact that this could be a sign of him abandoning you. because how could he? after everything you’ve done for him, unconditionally? after everything he's done for you? didn’t he make it clear that you’re stuck with him, for better or for worse, and that he does not intend on letting you go?

“i’m sorry, i should’ve thought about how things looked from your perspective. i am really glad you’re here now, i will never do something like this to you ever again, i promise,” and he cradles your face in his hands so gently, you really wonder if these are the same hands that are capable of murdering 112 people. “i love you, always and forever.”

“i love you too," he softly whispers. "by the way, i want you to meet someone,” he takes your hand in his and leads you further to the middle of the room. you're just now noticing another presence and then you see them: two little girls huddled together on a couch. they move their gaze from suguru to you as if confirming you're safe to approach.

"mimiko, nanako, this is my girlfriend," geto says your name and the girl slowly repeat it back. you squad down to bring yourself to their face level and gently smile.

"it's very nice to meet you, mimiko and nanako," you ruffle their hair, and suguru realizes that that's exactly the same thing that he did to them the first time he saw them. a warm feeling spreads inside his chest at this thought, something he hasn't felt in a while. "i hope we can be good friends soon!"

the girls are still shy and don't say anything back but they don't look as scared anymore. you bring yourself back to your full height and turn to suguru. he responds to your silent question.

"i saved them during the mission i went on last week. they were locked away in the cage, like goddamn animals," you can see the anger babbling up again so you just put your head in his chest and hug him. geto visibly relaxes and kisses the crown of your head.

"you're my new family now, i don't need anyone else," suguru says, and he fully means it. you don't bring up the real family he killed, or the friends he massacred in his village. you don't bring it up because it won't change a thing for you.

suguru cups your face again, leans down and kisses you on the lips like he has never kissed you before, or like he will never have a chance to kiss you again. it knocks the wind out of you, and your knees go weak so suguru needs to hold you upright. and no matter what anyone else might think or say, this feels right, being here enveloped in his arms, pressed against his chest, tasting nicotine on his tongue. you know this is exactly where you belong – in his arms, between his lips, in his heart, always and forever.

© rinniessance do not steal, plagiarize or translate my works. do not recommend me on tiktok, thank you

[professorcalculusstanaccount]

he’s the adult supervision, he’s the voice of reason, he’s a cringefail king, it’s Captain Haddock! Quite a few people asked for a timeline post for Haddock after I posted one of Tintin.

I found the whole idea of the Haddock family curse to be very interesting, and the implications behind it to be pretty dark... cw for alcoholism and childhood abuse. Let me know if you need anything tagged.

To figure out the timeline the evidence for Haddock’s age I found was in an animated adaptation of Explorers on the Moon where Haddock mentions he has around forty years of sailing experience. I doubt he was running around on ships as a newborn so that places his age during the canon comics at around 60ish, give or take a few years, which in my timeline places his childhood during the late Victorian era!

Left to right, top to bottom:

Child - Archibald Haddock had a pretty rough childhood and family life. The legacy of the “Haddock family curse” weighs heavily on him, and so does the alcoholism that runs generationally. His father is often drunk, taking his anger and frustration out on Archibald. Fully believing the family curse, Archibald’s father drills the idea that he is destined for failure into his head. 

Archibald’s only respite is his grandfather, who tells him stories of Sir Francis Haddock and other tall tales from the sea. His grandfather also would take him out on fishing trips, the lochs and the sea being his refuge. 

Teenager - It’s the 1880s and Archibald is left aimless after his grandfather passes away, passing the time by hiding from his father and drinking during the day. He fully believes he has no real future and lets himself get swept up by whatever will come along next.

Young Adult - Archibald decides to follow in his grandfather’s footsteps and becomes a sailor, feeling at home at sea. He cleans up somewhat after befriending George Chester as the two train on the same merchant vessel. Chester drags a reluctant Archibald along into all kinds of crazy antics, with Archibald wanting to stay on the straight and narrow.

Archibald is drafted during the First World War, serving in the Grand Fleet. He is stationed at the Orkney and Shetland Islands with Chester.

Canon - After the war Archibald relapses on his addiction again, but is able to hold onto work in the merchant fleet. He eventually becomes a captain of a merchant vessel where his mental health issues are taken advantage of in the Crab with the Golden Claws. 

Seeing his crew mutiny, kidnap (and attempt to murder) a boy on his ship was a major wake up call - Haddock is now imbued with a sense of responsibility for Tintin (even if Tintin seems to handle things better than Haddock!). He doesn’t understand what Tintin sees in him but he’ll be damned if he proves him wrong. He’s not above calling him an idiot when the time is right though.

Post Canon - After Tintin loses his job Haddock does his best to support him.  He uses his wealth to further causes he believes in, donating money to artist collectives and scientific research that was repressed by fascist governments. Before Belgium even joins the Second World War he and the Marlinspike team proactively go out and foil various Nazi plots. Marlinspike Hall is firebombed by the Nazis in retaliation, but after the war Haddock funds various housing cooperative projects. Coming from a working class background he hasn’t forgotten the hardships a lot of people face.

Elderly - At this point Haddock is secure in his found family. He’s been living with his partner Ramo Nash, and has taken up various arts and crafts as hobbies. Looking back, he never expected to be a father, but is incredibly proud of Tintin. He never officially adopts him as a part of him still fears the family curse (plus they both agree “Haddock” as a name definitely does not suit Tintin)!

[aclassitag]

Announcing Krem Week!

#kremweek2024 — 22-28 July 2024

background art credit: @xfreischutz [link to original post]

*text prompt list under the readmore

This year will mark 10 years since the release of Dragon Age: Inquisition! In celebration of that anniversary and the game that gave us our first trans character, here is a prompt list - and dates - for any who would like to participate! All sorts of creative content is accepted so long as they are not A/I generated. (See examples below)

*If you want to portray Maevaris Tilani instead, that is also fine!

Please read the guidelines!

If you have any questions, reply to this post and I will do my best to answer :)

Prompt list:

1 — Anniversary 2 — Euphoria / Expression 3 — Casual / Formal 4 — Family / Love 5 — Respite / Fight 6 — Play / Satiate 7 — (Free space!)

Guidelines:

Use the tag: #kremweek2024 (@ this blog is fine too) — If you want to portray Maevaris Tilani instead of Krem, that is also welcome! Please @ me so I can rb :) For non-Tumblr folks that somehow got here: You may post submissions, please link your socials. You may choose one of two prompts in a day or do both. You may also combine as many prompts as you want from any or all of the days into a single work, just mention it somewhere.

Types of content allowed:

Illustration and writing are the most obvious forms of art allowed, but they're not the only ones! Literary arts fanfics, drabbles, poetry, plays, lengthy headcanon/meta posts (for headcanon and meta posts, minimum of 100 words+) Visual arts doodles, paintings, graphic design, photoshop memes, photography, animation, tiktok skits, abstract, fiber arts (embroidery, knitting, etc), ceramics Audio art fanmixes(curated playlists), original or cover songs Other crafts are also welcome! e.g. culinary, resin, woodworking, etc etc ..essentially, whatever type of art it is, I'll accept it so long as it falls within rules and is related to Krem or Maevaris :) For things that are more abstract, do include an explanation of your thought process on how it relates to Krem. E.g. you made Krem's Seheron Fish Wrap or Rice Pudding, take photos of your cooking, and post that (with the explanation that it is Krem's recipes) - that's an acceptable submission! You're allowed to explore different mediums everyday! You don't have to stick to one form of art for the whole week. I will be attempting to schedule reblogs in the 'prime time' for engagement, and in the interest of fairness, things like headcanon posts, fanmixes, and WIPs will not take priority in that time slot over fully rendered illustrations or complete fanfics. They will still be reblogged, but scheduled for other time slots.

Content Rules:

No A/I generated content. (Specifically GenAI content) As above, any and all forms of art is welcome. It must be human made, and by you. The whole point of working off a prompt is to explore a creative process, anyway - do yourself a favour and just enjoy making something! It doesn't have to be pretty! No reposting of other people's works. This must be your own creation. Obviously, no transphobic content. No harrassing others over their specific headcanons - be it in regards to any trait or quirks that come with being a person. People come in all sorts of wonderful variety, please respect that. In addition to above: No whitewashing, racism etc. Please note that Krem is not pale-skinned in canon, and I will not be reblogging content of him being portrayed as pale. 18+ works need to be labelled. On this blog, its tagged as "#adult art". Please add content warnings as appropriate. (E.g. portrayal of binding with bandages should have a warning label of "cw: unsafe binding", etc.) If your post/submission is lengthy, please insert a read more. This helps readability on the dashboard. Progress / WIPs are fine too!

General tips:

First and foremost, do what you are able to! Don't feel pressured to complete a full week if you need to take care of yourself first. Some people work on the prompts before the week even begins, and only post it day of. You are not required to do this, but if you really want to fill something for each day, this helps reduce stress day of.

Mod things:

The mod isn't from the Americas, so due to timezone differences, there may be a delay in reblogging people's works. Either way I will not reblog the moment that it's posted in order to screen properly. Posts will be queued between 30mins-1hr apart, if there are multiple entries being submitted at the same time. All submissions will also be requeued after a week for later perusal :)

[angel-of-the-moons]

Reversal

Miguel O'Hara x Fem!Reader

TW/CW: NSFW, Smut, Sex, Sex toys, Top(?) Reader, Bottom(?) Miguel, Reader being Nasty, Size Kink, Height Difference, Overstimulation (almost), Edging(?), Canon event: Miguel likes it up the ass from time to time

MINORS DNI: I AM NOT RESPONSIBLE FOR CONTENT YOU CONSUME

A/N: Blame thank @oharaludes for this (Also I lied I should be asleep but I stayed up to write this now instead of tomorrow because akhdlhslhflhohofnsondlndlnc I couldn't afford to lose the spark™)

(Any Spanish spoken is in italics and is largely translated by Google. Header does not indicate reader's race. I really need to get more creative at making these asdfghjkl)

🍷🍷🍷🍷🍷🍷🍷🍷🍷🍷

Miguel O'Hara was a man who had to be in control at all times. He had to oversee who went on what mission, who to let into the Society, who to hunt down, what universes to monitor, which anomalies threatened the safety of the multiverse...

He was not known for willingly relinquishing his control.

But, being in control all the time, bearing all that weight had limitations. Sometimes, it just became too much and you would need to let it go for a bit, get the weight off your back and relax.

But then... Miguel had you.

You were probably the only respite Miguel had in the multiverse. And you were right under his nose the entire time. He convinced himself to go back to his universe, to visit his brother. He missed him.

But... he went back...

Just to find you. You were spunky, playful, and annoyingly gorgeous. And you happened to be one of Gabriel's newest best friends.

Poor Gabriel had a heart attack when he swung by your apartment to drop off the computer he was fixing for you, just to walk in and see you and Miguel on the couch in a rather compromising position.

You told Miguel you swore that his brother's brain exploded when he almost fainted.

But hey! Your computer worked again!

Not too long after, you decided to make it official. Official as in "he told you everything" official.

Gabriel just made you two swear you'd lock your front door next time.

Right now however, the nostalgia of that day lost its novelty as exhaustion and frustration crept into his body as he dragged his feet into your apartment, unlocking the door with your security code and letting himself in.

There you were. Gorgeous as the day he first saw you

One of his shirts hung off your shoulder, and down past your thighs. He couldn't resist the smile that snaked its way onto his face when he smelled you.

"Ah, Miguel! How is your universe saving thingy going, amor?" You said, flinging your arms around him as he gripped you tight, burying his nose in your hair to inhale the soft scent of you.

Coffee, chocolate, and strawberries. That's what you always smelled like.

"Exhausting." He sighed loosing his grip on you just enough to look down at you. You were so goddamn short.

It was cute, honestly.

You frowned up at him, those gorgeous lips of yours quirking down. "Ven y siéntate?"

Miguel let you pull him by the hand to the couch, where you sat down first and patted your lap.

Miguel smiled again as he accepted your silent request, lying on your couch (though mostly curled up due to his sheer size alone) and laid his head in your lap.

Your fingers dove into the soft chocolate locks on his head, massaging his scalp with your nails and he made a soft groan of contentment at the sensation.

"Now, tell me about it?" You hummed.

"Later... right now I want to relax. Olvida todas esas cosas." He mumbled softly, closing his eyes, his thumb caressing your knee softly.

"Just want to relax." He repeated, turning his face into the plus of your thighs.

He could smell you. And he knew that you knew it.

And you were never one for subtlety.

But you were one for playing coy when it suited you.

"Aw... Miggy." You purr, combing through his hair softly. "You really do need to relax, honey."

"I can think of a way." He growled, turning his head again, so he can place a kiss to the top of your thigh, making you giggle.

"Nuh-uh. How about we switch things up today, hm?" You grin.

He looked up at you.

"¿Qué quieres decir?"

🍷🍷🍷🍷🍷🍷🍷🍷🍷🍷

He should have known.

Of course.

Of course you were waiting for the right moment to breach this subject.

And of course you knew he'd say yes, he almost always said yes to you.

It was... odd. Not unpleasant. But odd. Normally he tops in bed, pinning you down, biting marks into your skin, sucking hickeys here and there as he pounded you into the mattress until your eyes crossed and you were a babbling incoherent mess.

And of course, you also had everything planned out.

Because when you had a plan, you had all your bases covered.

Like right now.

Somehow, you talked him into letting you top him for the night. Taking control from him and just helping him enjoy it. And you assured him he would.

You anticipated the holes he'd tear into your bed with his talons, the curses he'd spit...

What you weren't expecting though, was the soft whimpers and deep groans coming from him. How absolutely pliant he became while you fucked him with the strap-on you had secured to your waist.

You would continue to apply more lube as you fucked him here and there, stopping to grip his hips for stability, the pillow under him helping keep him angled for you.

You half wanted to have him get on all fours so you could fuck him that way, but it would ruin the other part of your plan.

"So good for me." You purr, running your fingers up his abs, tracing the small scars he's picked up over the years.

You jerked your hips upwards, not hitting his prostate but enough to make his eyes roll and him snarl through hissed teeth.

When he cursed, he wanted it to come out harsher. He meant for it to sound more... authoritative.

But all that came out was a whiny, breathy gasp.

"¡Mierda!"

You giggled, and stilled your hips just a moment to grab the bottle of lube, squirting some onto your hand as you wrapped around his throbbing length.

Not that you ever needed to use lube when you jerked him off, the man leaked so much precum that he could just use it on its own.

But, you liked the lewd sounds it helped make when you drag your fist up and down his cock.

He was so big you could barely wrap your hand around him.

You dragged your hand up his shaft slowly, leisurely tracing each vein as you rolled your hips in a consistent pace, not quite giving him the relief he wanted, but edging him just enough that he slowly just became undone under you, like you had so many times under him.

"Awww, cariño..." You tut, jerking him slowly, twisting your hand as you went to the angry and weeping head of his cock, rubbing your thumb over the slit and applying a bit of pressure there.

"Tell me what you want, baby." You grin, giving another sharp thrust, sending a sharp bolt of pleasure up his spine that hit him so hard he audibly gasped and you could hear it as his talons shredded your bedsheets.

"¡Mierda!" He groaned, the noise deep and rumbling and oh so needy that the very sound sent a fresh wave of heat straight to your cunt.

"Use your words, honey." You hum, arching your hips again as his thighs flexed, the muscles taut as he let out a shaky exhale, one arm going to drape over his face.

You clicked your tongue and reached up, swatting his arm aside so you could see that gorgeous face of his.

"Let me see you, mi amor." You say to him, making one long stroke, followed by a few short, hard ones, making him cry out again.

"Again, use your words, baby. What d'you want?"

"Fucking--" He growled. "I want to cum! Mierda I want to--"

You frowned again and let his cock go, slowing your pace to an agonizing crawl.

"Miguel..." You scold.

"P-Por favor." He whined, tipping his head back so you could see his Adams apple bob as he swallowed.

"Thaaaaat's it. I have something for you..." You say, reaching for the small velvet bag that rolled to your knee thanks to the weight dipping the bed.

He looked up at you, his pupils blown wide and his irises glowing a gorgeous crimson as you pulled out a small vibrator.

You smirked with satisfaction when you saw his cock jump, a new bead of precum dripping down onto his abs, adding to the rivulets that flowed down his sides already.

You turned it on and it buzzed to life in your hand, surprisingly loud for such a tiny thing. But damn, did you get your money's worth. You turned it off again and pressed it at the base of his cock, where the shaft met his taut and heavy balls.

"All right, since you asked nicely, I'll allow it."

The moment you turned it back on he dropped his head back with a sound that you swore would shred any other man's vocal chords, especially when you started thrusting where you knew he so desperately wanted it.

You grinned and bit your lip, thrusting up and hard, guiding the toy up and down his bobbing length, not giving him any relief.

You could tell by how tense his abs were and how desperately his hands pawed at your bedsheets that he was close.

"Go on and cum for me, cariño." You purr seductively; you punctuated every word with a thrust.

"Just." Smack!

"Like." Smack!

"This." Smack!

You dragged the small vibrator up to the tip of his cock, and thrust hard one last time, as he practically bellowed out your name as he came, hot ropes shooting out of his dick and coating his abs, parts of his chest, and completely coating the head of the vibrator.

You giggle and switch it off, and pull the strap out of him slowly, amused at how badly he was twitching for you.

"My idea was a good one, huh?" You say smugly.

Without looking at you, he sticks up his index finger.

"This time." He said, his eyes still closed as he came down from his high, his belly painted white.

"Pff. Hey, hey Miguel. Miguel. Hey. Heyyy!" You giggle, looking down at him, tapping his thigh to get him to answer you.

When Miguel finally looked at you, he had a soft scowl on his face, which immediately melted away when he watched you wrap your lips around the head of that damned toy, and lick every bit of his cum off the tip, making direct eye contact the whole time, humming like you were simply sucking on a piece of candy.

"¡Mierda!"

You shrieked and giggled when he pinned you down, spreading your legs with his thighs as he bit down on your shoulder, growling.

"My turn now, chica."

[meyousing]

𝐑𝐚𝐩𝐡𝐚𝐞𝐥, 𝐇𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐥𝐨𝐜𝐤; 𝐈 𝐂𝐚𝐧 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐞

FOR MY POOKIEWOOKIE @moongreenlight !! who i adore sososo much I HOPE U ENJOY !! 𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬: after realizing what raphael could do for you before; ridding your mind of the emperor for the briefest moment, you wanted to know how that could feel for a second time, no matter the cost. 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬: -> sneaky HUMAN raphael, non-con, deception and lies its raphael what else did you expect. probably a little ooc since this is for pookie so fk canon :D. as always all sexual nsfw will be under the cut!

I'm walking, you've been hiding,

And you look half-dead half the time.

Monitoring you, like machines do,

You've still got it, I'm just keeping an eye

You told yourself that you’d do anything for answers, that the cost didn’t matter–you wanted a solution, a cure to your tadpole infliction, and despite knowing better than to trust a devil, you were growing hopeless and running low on any other options. Yes, you knew the magic that Halsin told you about, the same words later spoken by the Emperor; their proclamation of impossibility regarding the worm’s extraction no matter which method you attempted, from whomever. But there was one time, and only one, when you remembered what mental quietude could sound like amidst such circumstances.

So, veiled by the darkness of the night sky en route, you navigated through Sharess’ Caress to the upper floors, intent on finding Raphael–even though he was hardly the paragon of trust–and experiencing solace in silence once again, something that, unfortunately, only he could provide. Gale was always going on about the benefits of respite, and this one you craved like a drug, now that you could remember how solitude felt after so long without it. What a crime to wish for independence within one’s own mind these days. 

You didn’t bother knocking, he likely sensed you at some point or another on your way here, what with his attentiveness to you and all that implied your involvement. You didn’t care about being the intrusive one for once, careening the door open and briskly sending it shut behind you.

“Surely you didn’t think that little disguise would work?”

“It wasn’t meant for you.” You tugged your hood down easily and shrugged the rest of your cloak off, balling it up and tossing it aside carelessly. You spotted Raphael standing a few feet away, in the first doorway of the den, his back to you. Yet he knew what you were wearing. 

He turned and lifted a brow at you, but the rest of his expression showed obvious disinterest in speaking about this any further than the short exchange. 

“Have you come to make the right choice?”

“Bold assumption,” you said quickly, not yet ready to fully admit why you sought him out in your situation; in the dark, on your own. “Shouldn’t you ask why I’m here first?”

“All I needed was a look at you to know.”

You didn’t respond, and he grinned, his lids low as he watched you.

“But I’ll let you tell me anyway, I wouldn’t want to spoil your fun. What troubles you, little mouse? What is it that’s brought you right into the cat’s paw?” he approached slowly, hands interlocked behind him as he subtly looked you up and down–knowingly–like you were the subject of an experiment. That wasn’t entirely wrong. 

“I want you to do… whatever you did for me before, again.” You kept your eyes on him, speaking somewhat hesitant but remaining strong in your stance, your gaze unwavering. You noted the way he subtly mouthed along when you spoke the word ‘again’, tauntingly, like he already had you figured out. Perhaps he did. 

“You don’t mean this?” He murmured, and with a snap of his fingers, your mind was yours again; that insistent, idle static now fizzled out. 

Your eyes widened, brows uplifting alongside your lips as you nodded; it was just like the last time, pure silence aside from your own little conscience as it came to the same giddy realization that it was alone once more. Raphael only chuckled, and after a too-short moment, your mind was back to its newly but usually muddled state. The Emperor had nothing to say yet, which you were grateful for, as it saved you the need to seek an excuse for his inability to communicate with you in a second instance that shouldn’t have been possible the first time around.  

“Are you expecting me to do you a favour like that for nothing?” he laughed dryly, mockingly; it made you feel like the vermin that was about to be squashed beneath a dirty boot sole. “You may be the brightest, most shimmering jewel in my crown, but something so deliciously close to free will in a time like this cannot come without charge. What’s more, it is most costly when one chooses selfishness over the common good.” 

You should have expected this. You must’ve known deep down that it wouldn’t be so easy, that Raphael wouldn’t be a one-time good samaritan–a saint–and do you this favour, even in spite of all the honeyed names that’d roll off of his tongue when he sought you out, making it seem as though you were a little more special than his usual clientele. Stepping forward with a frown, you scoffed:

“How am I being selfish?” Was he just toying with you for his entertainment now? You hadn’t been here for long, but the trip would be cut off even sooner if this continued. You craved relief, but not enough to get tangled up in the deep end with a devil, to a point of no return.  

“Why do you deserve the fix before anyone else? Do you think I’m a good-willed cleric made to provide relief to all those with your affliction?” Despite how incredulously he spoke, you could tell now that he was merely testing you. Testing you for what exactly, you couldn’t tell; your will, your determination?

“Who are you to be the dictator of right and wrong?” you countered him with a question of your own, stepping up closer once he stopped in his tracks. He hardly raised his brows in his fullest reaction to your bravery, a low chuckle rumbling in his chest. 

“I’m not. But I’m the only one who can provide a moment of respite to you, and I don’t work for free. Is that not fair? You are asking for quite a privilege.” He smirked like he knew what you would say next.

“You’ve already done it for me once before, what makes it different now? It’s temporary anyway, is it not? Am I wrong?”

“It is. But last time was just a… sample if you will. For a second taste, a true dealing between us, you’ll need to do something for me too.”

You grimaced, and he looked too pleased with himself. You’d managed to avoid getting involved with him this far along, rejecting most ultimatums he offered, and you’d been fine without his assistance–or obstacles, rather. Yet now, something initiated completely of your own accord was creating a conflict that you could’ve avoided if not for your greed and its insistence; you weren’t done yet.

“Fine” you conceded, rather quickly too. His smirk widened, he looked so smug.

“Good, good” he purred. You blinked a few times, your body having an unexpected reaction to the bassy sound as you averted your gaze, refusing to recognize it.

“What do you want from me, then?” you mumbled.

“What do you think I would like from you–my dearest–” he drew out, “in exchange for my services?” He tilted his head, and he seemed a lot closer than you last remembered. He was much more visible in your periphery even as you forced your eyes aside. Were you supposed to answer that question and know what to say, what he wanted?

“I-I don’t know. Do you want me to take the deal with you and promise you the cro–actually, no, that is way too much in exchange for a few minutes of sile–”

“No” he cut you off sharply, his expression falling flat. “That, I can wait for. Your choice will be even sweeter to hear the longer you hold out on me. But considering our current circumstances…” he trailed off, and when you didn’t look at him during that pause, you felt hands slide up your waist. 

You blinked at the same time that your body jolted–a millisecond–and your surroundings changed. You still stood in Raphael’s grasp, just before the dining hall’s grand table within the House of Hope. Your eyes darted around warily, but you still felt an odd sense of… calm. Raphael, so tenderly that your heart thrummed a little off-beat, slid his fingers up your body and down your arms, grasping your wrists as he led you to one of the seats; facing the flames that so ironically burned in the fireplace. He walked slowly, dare you say methodically, striding to take a spot across from you.

"Indulge yourself” he muttered, looking utterly observant. He placed his chin atop his hands, fingers interlocked into a fist. He didn’t touch the food, but you expected as much.

“I’d rather not” you garbled, your gaze careful while you studied him and tried not to overreact, still settling into the new environment. You didn’t have an appetite per se, not for the deceptive refreshments that were too perfectly laid out before you anyway. Raphael may have been worming his way into your routine so often, just like the godsdamned tadpole itself, but his presence lingering for so long didn’t equate to trust yet. 

“Then indulge me.”

You watched him reach for and open a bottle of wine, one you didn’t recognize as common among those you’d scraped together from wooden boxes and crates on your way to the gate. It looked more prestigious, the bottle was embellished with what you could only assume to be real gold melted within the glass, and it caught the light so intriguingly each time he tilted it to pour some out; a drink for him, a drink for you. You looked away when he stood and took the chalices in his hands, placing one before you and promptly returning to his seat. When you looked to him again he had elevated the goblet in his hand, his chin lifting.

“To a new era.”

Your fingers approached the table, tips dancing towards the stoup’s base, the entirety of which could have been crafted by Gond and polished by Moradin. You wondered, despite how aged everything throughout the House was by the natural processes of time; cracked tile, buffered but helplessly dull stone… the stemware looked so new; untouched. He didn’t save it just for you, surely? Flitting your eyes back to Raphael as you thought about it, you noted how he finished taking a slow sip, lowering his cup back to the tablecloth. You couldn’t stop yourself from watching his tongue dart out to get some more of the taste, from what lingered on his lips. He noted your longer-than-usual silence, and those same lips turned up. 

“Your insistence, or stubbornness, rather, is very endearing in more… suitable circumstances. For once, you should try to act less like the illithid you’re bound to become and let go of those inhibitions. Look where you are” His head swayed slightly to his left, to the room, fingers drumming mutely on the tabletop. 

The wine was tempting, and his taking a first sip did comfort you in some way. You spared him a final glance before zeroing in on your goblet, staring down the dark liquid inside, watching the warm candlelight rippling reflectively on its surface. Perhaps it couldn’t hurt to indulge just this once, you thought, as you took the cup into your hand.

Raphael nodded along, encouragingly. Uncharacteristically. 

You figured there was no harm in it, especially if he was as fond of you as he claimed, then he wouldn’t want you to meet a preemptive demise. Not yet. 

You bit the bullet, raising the chilled gold to your lips. You did feel rather parched, and the substance slid down your throat so smoothly, so soothingly.  

“You know, I poisoned one of our goblets.” 

Exhaustion was sent over you like a wave, and not because of the poison immediately having an effect–had it been your substance that was tampered with–but because of course he did. You sighed, your eyes falling closed to console that Raphael-induced fatigue. 

“Gods, I hope it’s mine,” you muttered beneath your breath.

He let out what you may have heard as, amidst all of your quarrels, his first genuine laugh. His face was delighted as he shook his head. 

“Are you so displeased at the prospect of dining with me?” he leaned back in his seat, grinning and crossing a leg over the other. Getting comfortable. Settling in. You were tense in opposition, knees tight together as you kept yourself at the edge of your chair.  

“This clearly isn’t all that you want from me, Raphael. Either get on with it, or let the toxins do their job and let me off easy” You put the goblet down, pushing it forward and away as you inhaled sharply, now on higher alert considering the circumstances. 

“It’s only a bit of fun. The dose isn’t lethal, I couldn’t rid Faerûn of such a treasure in that crude of a way.”

At least you were right about that. 

Raphael said nothing else as he took in your silence, and his expression didn’t say much either. He stood slowly, his eyes remaining on you as he dragged his fingers along the tabletop until he landed at your side.

“If you’d like to experience mental solitude again, then I’ll only ask for one, small thing from you.”

You certainly felt a touch drowsier than before, your limbs a little more numb and tingly, like they had fallen asleep on you in a too-short duration. You turned your head to look up at him, and even at a neutral pace, the motion made you nauseous. You let out a soft groan of displeasure, closing your eyes and moving to drop your head down. Raphael caught your chin and forced your eyes to remain on him, his voice barely above a whisper as he proposed: 

“Solitude, for a kiss.”

“The least isolating ask,” you muttered bitterly, eyelids heavy as the sight of him became a degree blurrier than what you knew as typical. Yet you could still make out his smirk, and he leaned closer.

“But not a very weighted one. Don’t you miss being able to think without the added badgering of the Emperor’s two cents?” 

Truthfully, you did, if this last-resort decision wasn’t enough of an indicator. A kiss also wasn’t a huge deal, but Raphael was the cambion equivalent to the poison coursing through your veins. You didn’t want to give him the satisfaction, but you also weren’t in much of a position to deny him. Would you even be able to enjoy the seclusion if this didn’t wear off after he did this favour?

“That’s really all you want?”

“It is. Perhaps if you wished for something more permanent it would be a different story, but alas. It doesn’t need to be written contractually either, nothing so serious.”

“Fine, then.” 

You chose to take the initiative, the leap of faith, pressing your weight into the armrests of the chair so you could stand up and lean in. Your resistance was, helplessly, nonexistent when Raphael pushed you back down; the side effect of his poison making it too easy.

He grabbed your jaw, fingers firm but the motion gentle as he turned your face towards his. Your eyes were already half-closed, but you didn’t miss the intensity on his features. He hovered over you, his mere presence so imposing as he kept you right where he wanted; under his thumb. He moved closer until his cupid’s bow brushed over yours, ever-so-tender, so close yet so far. Your heart nearly skipped a beat once he tilted his head a little further, his lips parting in the slightest as they touched yours, but it wasn’t yet a kiss. Yes, you had expected him to draw this out considering the circumstances of the required affection pertaining to a deal, but what you hadn’t expected was your subsequent anticipation and eventual impatience. 

“Just do it–” you managed to murmur out against his mouth, some natural venom lacing the words without the help of the poison. You were surprised that he closed the gap properly right after by pulling your head up to him, his fingertips pressing deeper into your cheeks as he did, fingernails scraping the thin skin. 

He kissed you hard but without much aggression. You were taken aback by his normalcy, but it appeared that he was just getting started, as he soon used the leverage of his hand on your face to bring you to your feet. You winced, the motion pulled at your neck, but you weren’t given time to dwell on it when he jerked you to the table and tore his lips from yours. 

“Not going to put up a fight? How unlike you” he smirked. You could only glare at him because if he wasn’t sharp enough to nullify any resistance efforts, you both knew who would be pinned down right now. He chuckled once, appraisingly, before pushing his body into you again, his lips finding your neck instead. 

He started with nipping at the skin, then tasting it with a languid lick that made you squirm, and moving to hold your hands down against the table–as if you’d be able to move them on your own anyway. 

“More than a kiss–” you managed to state, your voice containing a hint of matter-of-factness, but was a little raspier as his closeness certainly affected your fortitude. 

“You knew better” was all he had to respond with, the words muffled as they were kissed into the horripilation on your skin. He remained content here for a while, bringing a finger up to your jaw to turn your head in the opposite direction of where he had already ridden your skin with his lips and hot saliva; making you shiver when the wetness caught the air and consequently cooled, regardless of how hot it was in the hells and logically shouldn’t have been possible. 

You were equivalent to a ragdoll by now, simply letting it happen when he grabbed your arms and flipped you around, your loose-limbed body immediately tipping over so your front was flat against the table; your hips perfectly positioned for your ass to press into his hips. He laughed and didn’t even try to create space, pressing himself into you so you could feel how hard he was, and it made you grimace at the realization of just how far this was going to go.

“You’re the only person worth this,” he breathed, his fingers snaking up to wrap around the column of your neck and force your head up. “The only one who deserves to experience this privilege.”

Unable to suppress your snicker when he said that, you almost whined aloud when his fingers tightened in response, and began rutting his hips into you steadily but with enough force to shift your body against the tabletop each time, your shirt getting caught up in the tablecloth and pushing it up so the cool surface touching your heated flesh made you tremble. The strong scents of all the lavish foods surrounding your immediate proximity almost drowned out Raphael’s scent, but it wasn’t enough, especially not as he leaned down so his front was against you completely, his face next to yours. 

“So amusing, is it?” he rumbled, subtly bringing his free hand up the side of your limp thigh, finding your hip, and reaching to tug at your panties. You couldn’t even feel shock anymore, simply letting out a strained exhale the material shifted when he slid it down your skin; off. “We’ll see for how much longer you feel that way.”

How much had you missed within those few seconds, to be surprised when he was already playing with his cock against your entrance? You felt a lot hotter then, your skin crawling with pleasure-induced chills as he moved his tip slowly, heavily up and down, prodding so slightly into your warmth and making your muscles tense each time he slid it away and down to your clit. He never lingered against one spot or the other long enough for any long-term sensations to last, and you couldn’t stop yourself from releasing a disgruntled groan. His chuckle reverberated through you, making your breaths shake as they became increasingly rapid. 

“I wonder if any of your devotees across the realms know that you can be reduced to this–if they think about it,” he pressed the tip of his cock into you now, making your hastened breaths hitch, your lungs burn, “if they imagine you beneath them, or maybe even above them–but you only deserve to be here,” he pushed his hips forward and slid in deeper, with ease, the motion so precise it made your thighs twitch, “beneath me.”

He set a slower rhythm to start, but the way that his movements bumped you further into the table each time made it so that you could feel all of him so perfectly. You felt so open, so exposed–

“Y-You seriously want to do this right here?” you whispered, only because your voice was so strained under his palm, and his cheek went taut in a grin next to you.

“My bed is still busy being warmed, this will do for now. You deserve better than mediocre; the real thing, not my copy. Feel fortunate” he sighed, pressing deeply into you for a moment and staying there, enjoying you, nearly pushing into your cervix–distracting you from the tongue-in-cheek response you wished to give to his words. You instinctively squirmed away, the intensity of it being too much too quickly with how teasingly he had been going thus far. But he wasn’t having any of your resistance despite how it was impulsive and not of your volition; pushing his body down heavier upon yours until you were trapped entirely, forced to take what he gave. Then he resumed movement, and he was moving faster now. 

You fisted the tablecloth before you with the weakest grip; the strongest you could muster, physically fighting every part of yourself so as to not give into him too quickly by carelessly moaning out and letting him know that he was actually making you feel something good. It didn’t matter though. Hoarse, uncontrollable whines vibrated in your throat, locked behind your canines as they sunk into your bottom lip in a further attempt at deceiving him. You were shocked that somehow, throughout the numbness in the rest of your body, each stroke and deep tingle of pleasure could be felt in its most intense form. You continued to amuse him, making him laugh as if this were something wholesome and wholly reciprocated. 

“What do you hear?” he whispered to you, the closeness and low volume of his voice making you writhe, igniting prickles of delight inside of you, making your pussy squeeze around him and pull him in deeper; even shocking yourself as your jaw dropped open from the sensation. All that you could audibly make out were your breaths and his, accompanied by the slick sound of his cock pistoning in and out of you with ease by how wet he made you in such a short time. 

“Just you–” you lied, “–mumbling in my fucking ear,” you tried to chuckle, but when the hand that wasn’t on your neck squeezed your hip tightly enough for you to actually feel it amidst all of the numbness, you gasped quietly, the dry laugh devolving into a whimper. 

“You shouldn’t hear anything,” he said slowly, but in a tone that was maybe one pitch higher than normal, like he was concluding another one of his awful riddles. You’d have taken time to cringe if he hadn’t grabbed a fistful of your hair and yanked you up at the same time that he moved, pulling you flush against him and continuing to fuck you like you were nothing more than a toy fulfilling its purpose. 

He favoured intensity over speed, ensuring that you couldn’t escape him as his cock never fully left your sex; only sliding back to quickly grind deeply inside once more, making you see stars each time–you didn’t care about whatever else he had to mumble to you now, all you cared about was engrossing yourself in the feeling of him. It made your stomach churn deliciously too, and that familiar warmth of finality was beginning to stir within as he bit down on your neck, sliding his fingers out of the way so he could hold you still by a shoulder. If your body wasn’t essentially dead you’d have regretfully reached back to hold onto him for support, grasping at the material of his intricately designed garments which would probably irritate him; perhaps your situational debilitation was for the better. 

“You’re not about to come for me, are you? Tut tut” he purred, and you couldn’t discern whether the way your eyes rolled was from annoyance or pleasure. Despite the degradation he didn’t relent, encouraging you above all else. His body encapsulated yours as he held you how he liked, keeping your back arched just slightly enough for your hips to perch nicely off of him as he pounded into you; had you seeing stars. “Don’t keep me waiting, then~”

When a sneaky hand left your shoulder and made its way to your front, pinching your clit, you came undone with a sharp whine; you could barely feel the way your thighs clenched, tightening alongside your pussy as you ground back into him to experience the sensation in its fullest, whimpering his name so weakly as your head lulled back to rest against his chest. You hardly caught the sight of him smirking down at you, so self-satisfied as his hand in your hair tightened, and only a smidge of embarrassment crept into your overall feelings of elation because you knew that he had every reason to feel that way. 

Soon enough the waves of bliss calmed, to your dismay, and Raphael pulled out of you with a soft groan, releasing your body carelessly and stepping back out of your sight, making you rush to reach out and have your palms land against the table rather than your face. 

As you turned around slowly and panted to catch your breath, you watched while he adjusted what minimal undressing he’d partaken in, and only then did you notice the feeling of something wet and thick sliding down the inside of your thigh. You looked down, your eyes widening a bit as you rushed to pull your panties back up to be rid of the sight of it; when did he cum?? You also wondered about how much control he must’ve had over the poison as you could feel the toxins wearing off now that it was all over; the ability to perceive and to touch returning to your body again, albeit weakly. 

“Good, don’t let my gift go to waste. So intuitive.”

You shuddered in disgust and swallowed the lump in your throat, ignoring his stupid, contented face and even happier statement. Now that you were approaching a state where you held a semblance of control again, you cleared your throat and redressed fully, smoothing over your clothes and standing taller after giving a quick shake of your head. 

“Okay–you got what you wanted, give me my end of the deal now.”

Raphael grinned, his brows lifting in feigned surprise.

“Oh, darling, that was it. Couldn’t you tell? Surely you didn’t want your dearest Emperor to know about our fornication?”

You stood there, stunned, slowly but surely feeling hot rage seep into your bones. No fucking way was he being serious.

“Bullshit.”

He laughed at you in a falsely taken-aback way, even raising a ridiculous hand to his chest.

“That’s no way for a lady such as yourself to speak–you chose to jest when I asked what you could hear, that was your chance to tune in and tell. Regardless, we both fulfilled our ends of the bargain.”

“Oh that’s rich,” you started, not knowing what to do with your hands as they fidgeted at your sides, itching to reach up to him and–

“If you wish to experience this again, you know where to find me. Hopefully next time you’ll have come to a decision about the crown, too.” he chuckled in a muted way, to himself, like he was considering some inside joke that only he was part of, not you. Perhaps you were the joke to him, after doing something like this; surrendering to him. The thought made your face twist in anger and you began to approach him, your arms raising.

You only caught the split-second motion of his hand reaching out, and then… nothing. Moments of black, of unconsciousness… and then you were standing outside the den again. You lurched for the doorknob, tugging at it to no avail for the first time ever. After cursing aloud you hit the wood with your fists, letting out a long, deep sigh, shutting your eyes as you realized what a mistake this was to begin with. 

You turned shamefully after a few more seconds of basking in exhaustion, your feet heavy and still feeling abnormal to use after so much time spent being dead weight. You trudged along to the exit of the brothel, cloakless, having left it in Raphael’s room and now being forced to endure the rain that had started. At least it was still dark outside, and you could return to camp innocently beneath the moonlight; be unheard beyond the pattering of the condensation while everyone else rested, acting as though nothing had happened at all, that you’d been there all night. 

You kept your head down, blinking away the raindrops that slid from your hair and into your eyes. Only once you were alone, past the business outside of the Caress, that familiar bustling moved from the ambiance of the bordello to the innards of your brain, and a question was posed by the voice that’d been with you since the beginning of this life you had grown accustomed to:

“Where were you just now?”

© meyousing 2024. do not share/export my work onto any other platforms. do not translate my work.

[chiqelatasblog]

In the Middle of the Night🌙

-> Ao3 link is here.

-> Part Two is here.

Pairings : Bi-Han/ Sub-Zero x You, Kuai Liang/ Scorpion x You, Tomas Vrbada/ Smoke x You

Tropes : Slavery, Past Sexual Abuse, Canon-Typical Violance, Emotional Hurt Comfort, Strangers to Lovers, True Love, Foursome, F/M/M/M, Dark Magic, Eventual Smut

Summary : After a mission gone wrong, Bi-Han, Kuai Liang, and Tomas find themselves sealed inside a book as love slaves. Whoever discovers the book and utters the incantations within will not only become its owner but also the master of the Lin Kuei’s three deadliest assassins.

For you, grappling with the weight of a solitary life and enduring a particularly rough day, stumbling upon this mysterious book was an unforeseen twist. As you bring the book home, unaware of its contents or the events that led to its creation, the ensuing chain of events will shatter the tranquility of your world, forever altering the course of your life.

Title and work inspired by the “Elley Duhe-Middle Of The Night” song

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CHAPTER ONE : (READER)

You were enduring one of the worst days of your life.

Your alarm didn’t sound in the morning because you were too fatigued to remember to charge your phone the night before. With its poor battery life, it ran out quickly. Living forty-five minutes away from the city center, you should have caught the subway at least an hour ago to make it to work on time. Despite the pressing need for money, uncertainty loomed as you grappled with the inevitability of firing. The job, despite its dreadful conditions and an insufferable boss, stood as your best opportunity in months - too valuable to risk losing.

Although you had graduated from college with a commendable degree, the job market proved bleaker than anticipated. Your once-bright dreams faded as the harsh reality of post-graduation life set in. Most desirable positions demanded experience, yet securing experience required entry into these very positions. While a diploma opened a few doors, the conditions were often as harsh as modern-day servitude, albeit with insurance and a predictable late salary.

Your current role as a programmer at a gaming company offered no respite. Long hours in front of the screen left your eyes bloodshot, encircled by dark rings, and your neck perpetually aching. Despite the hardships, a promise to your distant family fueled your determination to stand on your own. Abandoning everything and returning home was not an option after coming this far. You had shed too many tears to surrender now, enduring the suffocating loneliness of solitary dinners in your cramped kitchen as you pursued your dreams.

Thus, with a reminder of your purpose, you hurriedly left your apartment. Despite the packed subway and the frenzied rush, you managed to trim your commute from fifteen minutes to a mere seven and a half. Yet, upon arrival, your efforts were futile. Summoned to your boss’s office, you were promptly instructed to collect your belongings and leave the company, denied even the opportunity to provide an explanation.

You were keenly aware of the disdain your boss and coworkers held for you; it was an open secret. They resembled vultures, poised to oust you at any moment. As the lone rookie, you were perceived as nothing more than a liability. Despite your efforts to avoid seeking their assistance by tackling most tasks independently, being in your first year of the profession meant there were occasions when you needed guidance or support. Yet, camaraderie was a foreign concept in this office. Compared to other workplaces, the only semblance of unity stemmed from shared breaks and lunches.

A part of you felt relief at the prospect of bidding farewell to a workplace where you found no joy. However, the dominant part, fueled by anxiety, fretted over how you would cover rent and expenses. Although you had a modest emergency fund tucked away, it would only sustain you for about a month. Urgency gnawed at you as you roamed the streets with a cardboard box containing your few office belongings, scouring for job advertisements. Picky was a luxury you couldn’t afford; you were prepared to take on any role, even as a barista or waitress, until you secured a position closer to your aspirations. Survival necessitated prioritizing money above all else.

As the day wore on, you lost track of time. With the setting sun casting a dim glow and street lamps flickering to life, tiny raindrops began to graze your cheeks and nose, soon escalating into a downpour. Despite the onslaught, you mustered the strength to suppress the curses threatening to spill forth. Rushing back to the subway, you braved the rain without an umbrella or proper clothes, mindful of the looming threat of illness. With no funds to spare for hospital bills or medication, resuming your job hunt from the shelter of your laptop seemed the safer option.

Arriving at the subway, drenched from head to toe, you collapsed onto the nearest available seat, your legs barely able to support you. With a heavy sigh, you closed your eyes, feeling the weight of the day’s exhaustion bearing down on your body. The simple act of sitting down was a luxury, a stark reminder of just how fatigued and stressed you had become over the course of the day. You rubbed your weary legs in an attempt to generate some warmth, soothing the cramps and chasing away the chill brought on by the rain.

As the subway doors slid open with a ding, a wave of commuters flooded in, filling the once-empty seats around you. Seizing the opportunity to rest your eyes until reaching home, you leaned back against the seat with the cardboard box resting on your lap. Tired, cold, and hungry, the numbing effect of the rain provided a brief respite from the stress, deserving of a well-earned nap.

When the ache in your neck became unbearable, you reluctantly opened your eyes, realizing that your stop was approaching. Glancing down, you noticed a book lying on the seat beside you, as your grip on the box was dangerously close to slipping from your grasp. Picking it up, you scanned the faces around you, expecting someone to claim the book or acknowledge its presence, but no one seemed to react. Confirmation dawned upon you, the book had been left behind, seemingly forgotten by its owner.

Although the book appeared hefty, its weathered cover hinted at years of use and handling. Despite its age, it felt surprisingly light in your hands, its once vibrant hues faded to muted tones. Adorned with a pale gold cover devoid of any text on the back, the book bore the scars of countless readings and journeys. Turning the book over to avoid catching your tired reflection on its worn and shiny surface, your lips parted in mild surprise. Three striking male figures graced the cover, their details rendered with such realism that they almost seemed tangible, despite the signs of wear and tear. Your finger traced over the hyper-realistic features with impulsive curiosity, only to retract abruptly as if scalded, suddenly aware of your surroundings.

As a sweet ache pulsed between your thighs, you found yourself unexpectedly aroused by a mere image, prompting you to shift uncomfortably in an attempt to quell the throbbing sensation. It had been quite a while since you last shared intimate moments with someone, but even that didn’t entirely account for the sudden surge of desire sparked by a simple picture. Stirring memories long buried within you, igniting a hunger you hadn't realized existed until now.

A blush warmed your cheeks as you examined the figures once more. The trio bore the semblance of warriors or assassins, albeit clad in scant attire. The man on the left possessed a sun-kissed tan, his muscular frame adorned with a large scorpion tattoo on his left arm. His black hair was artfully swept across his face, his golden mask veiling a stern gaze as he brandished a flaming kunai, its rope end poised for action.

Your attention shifted to the figure at the center, whose face remained partially obscured by a silvery black mask. Despite the concealment, a strange sense of familiarity emanated from his features, mirroring those of his companion. His complexion was pale, revealing blue-green veins beneath the surface, while his dark eyes emanated cold, dominating arrogance. Black hair, tied in a low bun with a few tufts escaping to frame his strong features. Massive biceps framed his imposing stature as he wielded a sword of ice, poised to strike with lethal precision.

In stark contrast, the figure on the right differed greatly from his counterparts. Towering slightly above them, he bore little resemblance to an Asian individual, exuding a distinctly European air. His skin was also light, and he wore a grey-colored mask covering half of his face. A thin, light grey smoke emanated from his body. His short gray hair and softer gray-blue eyes lent him a gentler appearance, juxtaposed by the lethal aura exuded by the carambite adorning his finger. Despite his softer features, his lethal prowess was undeniable.

As you scrutinized the cover, a perplexing question lingered: why would the illustrator depict warriors in such a manner if not for a romantic context? Their barely dressed and provocative poses hinted at a fantasy narrative, reinforced only by the presence of their weapons. Without them, the figures might have appeared more akin to love slaves than skilled warriors. “An intriguing choice,” you murmured to yourself, pondering the illustrator’s intentions behind such a depiction.

As you opened the book to look at the chipped pages, curiosity piqued about the contents within, you suddenly realized that your stop had arrived. Hastily tucking the book into your box, you sprang to your feet with a muttered exclamation.

“Oh, shoot!” With a swift maneuver, you barely managed to slip through the closing doors of the crowded subway. Amidst the post-work rush, the mingled scents of sweat and cigarettes engulfed you as you navigated through the throng. Minutes later, emerging from the subway, you drew a deep breath, filling your lungs with the scent of rain-soaked earth.

Your journey to home passed in a blur, your body moving on autopilot along familiar streets and corners. Before you knew it, you stood before your fifth-floor apartment, a small abode consisting of two rooms and an American kitchen. Its most prized feature was the balcony, a sanctuary where you relished summer evenings, savoring the view with a glass of wine by candlelight.

When you arrived home, it was already nine o’clock in the evening. Leaving the box in your hand at the entrance of the door, you went straight into the shower to wash away the fatigue and grime of the day, and to replenish the warmth your drenched body had lost. You lingered under the hot water until it thoroughly enveloped your body, and finally, when the steam filled the small bathroom and you felt like you might faint from the heat, you emerged, clad in your well-worn and hardened bathrobe, with a towel wrapped around your head.

Pouring the last remnants of the red wine you opened days ago into a glass, you placed it in the microwave to heat up the leftover Chinese food you ordered a day ago. As you waited for your meal to warm, your gaze wandered to the box in the corner, reigniting your curiosity about the mysterious book. Crossing the room in a few strides, you retrieved the book and placed it on the kitchen island, settling into your chair with wine and warmed food. “I’ll worry about unemployment later,” you declared, raising your glass in a toast. “Today was stressful enough, and I definitely deserve this wine.” With a sip of wine and a mouthful of noodles, you flipped open the book’s cover with your free hand, eager to have a look at what it held.

‘’What…?” You stared at the glossy golden pages, brows furrowed in confusion, surprised to find them empty. “What kind of book is this? I don’t understand the purpose.” you muttered in disbelief. The worn-out appearance of the book added to your confusion, making you question whether something had happened before it was finished.

As you reached the middle of the book, a shocking revelation left you speechless. Lines, equivalent to about a paragraph, materialized on the previously blank pages before your eyes, causing your entire body to freeze in shock. Tremors coursed through you, as if jolted by electricity, and you grasped desperately for reality, unsure if what you were witnessing was a dream. Gasping for breath, you struggled to comprehend the surreal sight before you.

“I haven’t even had that much wine—I just took a sip.” you mumbled, your voice strained with the effort to contain your rising panic. “I’ve seen enough movies to know where this is going. I’m not reading whatever’s written here,” you declared, the thin timbre of your voice betraying your attempt to stifle a scream.

You closed the cover of the book hard and attempted to get up from your chair, but found yourself unable to move. It was as if an unseen force held you in place. The cover of the book opened again, and as the pages flickered before your eyes, the one you had just turned to was laid out in front of you once more, sending shivers of fear down your spine.

“Read it,” a demanding male voice echoed in your mind, freezing you in terror. Despite your frantic desire to flee, you remained immobilized, unable to move a muscle.

“I-I was just curious about what it says. I didn’t mean any harm,” you pleaded weakly, few tears streaming down your cheeks due to the immense fear you felt at the moment. Another voice, speaking in a foreign tongue filled the air, his tone scolding but directed elsewhere, not at you.

“We won’t harm you, master,” another voice reassured, offering a glimmer of hope amidst the fear.

“Say the words aloud, and we will serve you,” urged yet another voice, prompting a realization of the three distinct voices corresponding to the figures depicted on the book’s cover.

“W-What the…! Are they…”

“Yes, that’s us you see on the cover. We’ve been trapped in this book for a long time. You have to say the words to get us out of here,” one of the voices explained.

“You’re talking as if I had a choice,” you replied in a timid, low voice.

“Read the words, woman,” another voice commanded. It was the coldest and harshest of them all. Despite lacking a physical form, his dominant aura was unmistakable in the way he emphasized his words. His voice resonated with a deep, chilling tone, unlike anything you had ever heard before. You attempted to steady yourself, swallowing hard and clenching your trembling hands into fists on your legs.

“How do I know you won’t hurt me? Each of you had a weapon on the cover; it’s clear you’re some kind of warriors.”

“We are bound to the master of the book,” another voice interjected, his tone notably more welcoming and kind than the others. “We cannot harm you.”

“God, I must be losing my mind. I’m talking to a book,” you muttered, glancing at the pages with audible trepidation. Fear and panic constricted your throat, rendering you speechless.

“This is no illusion—it is the truth,” the same younger voice asserted after a brief silence. “Read what is written, master, and we shall pledge our service to you.”

“I-I’m not anyone’s master. Don’t call me that; this situation is already too surreal for me,” you protested weakly.

“As you wish, master,” came the compliant response.

“You won’t hurt me, will you? I’m too young to die; I haven’t even begun to fulfill my dreams…” you pleaded, your words abruptly cut off by a snarl. If not for the invisible force holding you down, you might have leaped in fear.

“Read these damn sentences!” the voice commanded, his tone harsh.

“Bi-Han, don’t frighten her!” another voice intervened.

“Fine, fine, I’ll read it!” Tears continued to trickle down your cheeks as you began to recite the words aloud, hoping to end the ordeal. And as you prayed to the god or whatever deity might be watching over you, you couldn’t shake the dread that you might be leading yourself to your own demise. “Rise, my servants, from the depths of slumber and bind yourselves to me with your souls, revealing your names. Embrace your new purpose ensnared by passion.’’

As you finished speaking, a powerful gust of wind whipped through the room, causing the towel around your shoulders to unravel and fall. Soon after, you heard the voices of three men speaking in unison, their words echoing loudly.

‘’We rise, Bi-Han, Kuai Liang, and Tomas of the Lin Kuei, bound to your will, for in your presence, we find solace and purpose. We protect and we please, however you see right, however you seem fit. We’re your slaves, and you’re our master, surrendered to your every command, body and soul.’’

With a surge of energy, the wind intensified, knocking over the glass on the counter, spilling wine onto the robe and floor. The glass shattered at your feet, scattering shards across the kitchen. A brilliant light emanated from the book, forcing you to shut your eyes against its intensity.

Then, as suddenly as it began, everything fell silent and still. The wind vanished as if it had never been, and the light that had filled the room dimmed into darkness. Summoning the courage to open your eyes, you were met with the sight of three imposing, completely naked men standing a short distance away.

“Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God!” You attempted to gather your thoughts, tearing your gaze away from the men to focus on the scattered glass on the kitchen floor. “There are three naked men in my living room. And—and they emerged from the book? I must be losing my mind. I really must be losing my mind.”

As the words tumbled from your lips, sounding like utter madness to your own ears, you tried to take deep breaths to calm yourself. But when you attempted to rise from your seat, your numbed feet betrayed you, causing you to stumble and fall to the ground. The impact sent a jolt of pain through your knees and feet as shards of glass embedded themselves into your flesh, stealing the breath from your lungs.

“Shh, it’s okay. Calm down, you’re only hurting yourself,” came a gentle voice.

Your gaze was drawn to a towering, bronzed figure looming over you, his powerful physique making you feel small and vulnerable. Sensing your escalating panic, he gently cupped your face in his large hands, the touch of his calloused fingers both rough and tender. With each contact, warmth spread through your body in soothing waves.

“Look at me. Take deep breaths and exhale, just like I do,” he instructed in a soothing tone.

“I can’t,” your voice broken with fear.

“Of course you can. Follow my lead, I’ll show you,” he reassured. As you turned your gaze to his face, you were met with a pair of slanted light brown eyes, framed by long black eyelashes. His gaze exuded warmth and understanding, matching the sensitivity of his touch. “Breathe with me. Now.”

As your brain somehow focused on his instructions, you found yourself synchronizing your breaths with the mighty man before you. With each inhale and exhale, you felt a wave of calm wash over you, dissipating the last shreds of your strength. He effortlessly supported you, preventing you from collapsing to the floor, his touch gentle yet firm. Despite the pain throbbing in your flesh and the warmth of blood trickling down your skin, you remained in a state of confusion and fear, unable to muster the will to move from his grasp.

“Tomas, find something to clean the wound,” commanded the one with the authoritative voice, resonating with incredible depth. The man who held you gently lowered himself onto one of the double seats in the living room, maintaining his firm grasp on you. A faint warmth spread across your face, but you remained ensnared in his hold, feeling as if your mouth were filled with dry cotton.

Your gaze shifted to the man cradling you, his expression clouded with concern as his amber eyes scrutinized you closely as if he feared you might suffer another attack. Despite his gray hair, you were taken aback when a youthful visage suddenly filled your vision. The man was tall and imposing, his large build casting a formidable shadow over you. Feeling intimidated between these two towering figures, a timid whimper escaped your lips as your body instinctively recoiled, yearning to escape despite its weakened state.

“Calm down, master. We won’t hurt you. Let me tend to your wounds; you’ve cut your knees and feet badly. I can ease your pain,” reassured the silver-haired man, his voice carrying a surprisingly gentle tone given his imposing stature. As you swallowed and tried to shift again, a cold sound from across the room froze you in place.

“If you move again, I’ll—” began the menacing voice.

“Bi-Han, enough! She’s already frightened, no need to add to it.” Intervened the man holding you, his voice commanding authority. Though Bi-Han’s threat remained unfinished, its effect lingered, rendering you motionless, afraid to even breathe. As the silver-haired man tended to your wounds while taking advantage of your stillness, the man holding you attempted to comfort you with gentle pats, drawing soothing circles on your back.

Gritting your teeth against the pain as the glass shards were removed, you fought the urge to appear weak and helpless in their eyes. Though you couldn’t see yourself from their perspective, a sense of self-consciousness gnawed at you. In an attempt to shift your focus from the pain, the man holding you soflty interjected, “I am Kuai Liang,” he introduced. “May we know your name?

Struggling to articulate your name through clenched teeth, you managed to utter it in one breath. A faint smile graced Kuai Liang’s face. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, (y/n).”

“Speak for yourself,” growled Bi-Han from across the living room. “Just another fucking master we’re bound to serve.’’

‘‘I thought you wanted to get out of the book.’’

Kuai Liang’s sharp retort silenced Bi-Han, prompting Tomas, who was tending to your wounds, to interject. “And so am I, Tomas. Thank you for calling us into your service.” he said with a small smile that seemed forced, his dull greyish blue eyes lacking genuine emotion. As he carefully tended to your wounds and wrapped them in bandages, a sense of unease washed over you, causing you to squirm away from Kuai Liang’s grasp and retreat to the corner of the seat, eyeing the three men with a mix of confusion and discomfort.

“Can someone please tell me what’s going on?” you croaked, avoiding their look as your gaze involuntarily dropped to their lower parts for a second before you could prevent it, your cheeks burned with embarrassment. “And please cover up your bottoms. You can use the cushions.”

Complying with your request, all three men concealed their private parts with cushions. Tomas took a seat in the opposite double seat, while Bi-Han settled into the single seat. Despite your small apartment being already cramped, the presence of the three burly men made the space feel even more claustrophobic.

“Where would you like us to start?”

“From the beginning,” you replied, addressing Kuai Liang. “Who are you? How did you end up in that book? And why are you here now… Please, tell me everything from the beginning so that I can understand.”

“We are members of a clan called Lin Kuei, known for training assassins, and we are brothers,” he began. “Bi-Han is the eldest, serving as the grandmaster of our clan in the past. I, on the other hand, am the middle one, and Tomas and I served as his second-in-commands.’’

The revelation that they were assassins drained the color from your face, confirming your suspicions from the book cover. A shiver ran down your spine as you realized the chilling reality of being in the presence of trained killers.

“Many years ago, we encountered a demon named Quan Chi on a mission. As you can imagine, the mission went awry, and he sealed us inside this book. Whoever owns the book and says the words becomes our master, and we are compelled to fulfill their wishes and desires.”

Even if you sensed that the information was being presented with some omissions, you refrained from voicing your suspicions. They were strangers to you, and you to them, so expecting complete transparency without trust seemed unreasonable. While you had the authority as their master to demand the truth, approaching the situation in this manner didn’t sit well with you—it didn’t feel right, nor did it feel humane.

For God’s sake, the idea of being anyone’s master was abhorrent. The twenty-first century had arrived, and the notion of a master-slave relationship had long since vanished. It felt nauseating and profoundly unsettling.

“I am not your master. I can’t—I can’t be. No.” You attempted to stand up in panic, desperate to escape the situation, but your injuries held you back. Kuai Liang gently grabbed your arm, urging you to calm down.

“Calm down (y/n), your wounds are very fresh. You’ll make them bleed again.” You clung to his wrist, pleading with your eyes for assistance.

“Is there no way to set you free? I can’t accept this. This is—this is against humanity!”

With your words, a deep silence enveloped the room. As you observed their stunned reactions, it became evident that this sentiment was new to them. Your heart ached at the thought of witnessing these powerful men stripped of their freedom. Despite your fear, the realization knotted your stomach. They appeared intimidating and deadly, yet the severity of their situation suggested that past experiences had shattered them and stripped away their dignity. You couldn’t fathom how long they had endured as slaves within the confines of the book, but the outcome seemed all too predictable, casting a somber shadow over the room.

“Set us free?” Tomas’s voice echoed with longing, his desire palpable.

“Such a thing is possible, isn’t it? If you tell me what I should do I—”

“Why would you do that? What do you want from us in return?” Bi-Han’s voice sliced through your words, sharp and menacing. You fought to maintain your composure, avoiding freezing in your spot as his icy demeanor chilled the room. As your agitated gaze shifted to his pale, muscular arms, you were astonished to see a thin layer of ice extending from his hands. Were they truly made of ice?

“As I said just now, I can’t be anyone’s master, it’s in defiance of human ethics. If there’s any way I can help you, I’d like to do it. I don’t want anything in return except for this situation to end as soon as possible, I’m sure you want the same.”

“Do you expect us to believe that you are just a fairy godmother?” Bi-Han’s mocking half smile sent waves of unease through you. “You are not convincing at all, woman. Favors are done with an expectation of something in return.’’

“Favors are done for nothing; you don’t expect anything in return. That’s why it’s called a favor.” Emboldened by a hint of defiance, you met Bi-Han’s stern gaze head-on. “I can understand why you don’t trust me after what you’ve been through—”

‘’Don’t you dare,” Bi-Han shot up from his seat, his movement swift as a shadow. Suddenly, he was close enough for his breath, cold as winter air, to brush against your face. “Don’t try to empathize with what we went through. Do you think you know us now just because you’ve learned a few things?”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to offend,” you said quickly.

“Brother, please sit down. If you talk like that, we won’t get anywhere.” Kuai Liang intervened, putting one arm between you and Bi-Han. Bi-Han glared at you intensely, his eyes slanted like those of a predator, then he took a deep breath. Watching the mist of his cold breath in the air, everything still felt like an endless dream—or nightmare. When he finally returned to his seat, Kuai Liang’s gaze turned to you.

“Thank you for offering to help, but unfortunately, we don’t know how to undo this dark magic.”

You ventured a suggestion that you hoped wouldn’t sound foolish. “We could try burning the book. I’ve seen it work in some movies.”

“We’ve tried that,” Tomas chimed in, joining Kuai Liang. “Several times. Whatever we’ve done, the book has never been destroyed. It’s protected by some kind of magic, just as it protects its master from us.”

“You spoke as if you had tested the last part before.”

In response, silence enveloped the room. Despite your efforts to stave off panic, the realization that they were assassins and the precariousness of your situation made you feel threatened.

“We have tried to kill several masters before,” Kuai Liang admitted frankly. “But there’s some kind of seal that protects them—you can think of it as a shield. It renders any attack ineffective. That’s why we were telling the truth when we said we wouldn’t hurt you.”

“Of course, if things were different, it wouldn’t mean you wouldn’t try,” you said, averting your gaze and clasping your hands in your lap. Another solution came to mind, prompting you to straighten your shoulders and take a deep breath before continuing.

‘’ If I can’t set you free, then you’re free to do as you please, go where you want. You don’t have to be stuck here.” you offered.

“You won’t give us orders? Isn’t there something you want us to do?” Tomas asked, surprised.

“No, as long as you don’t start killing people, you’re free to do whatever you want.”

“We’re not mindless killers,” said Bi-Han harshly, sounding offended that you would even think of them in that way. Kuai Liang interjected, softening his brother’s tone.

“We serve a noble purpose. We were, until we were sealed in the book… Our clan has been dedicated to protecting Earthrealm from dangers for centuries,” he explained, his gaze softening slightly as he made eye contact with you. “Thank you for the opportunity you’ve given us, but we can’t be away from you for more than a few hours. We have to get back here, to you.”

Your eyebrows furrowed in confusion. “How so? Why? Do I have to say something else?”

“No, it’s part of the magic. It was designed to prevent us from escaping. When we’re away from our master—you, and this period becomes longer, we become weaker and weaker.”

“So at the end of the day… God, what cruel magic this is,” Gulping, you scanned all three men with a heavy heart. It must have been torture for them to endure this existence. Even as you spoke, your heart ached with empathy, imagining what they had been subjected to. Anger and sadness gripped your body as you contemplated their plight. “Is there anything else I can do for you? My house isn’t too big, but I want you to be comfortable during your stay here.”

It was Bi-Han who responded, his narrowed gaze resembling two thin lines, as if he were dissecting your sincerity. You couldn’t help but feel a pang as you tried to discern whether he believed you. While you understood his skepticism, winning their trust seemed like a daunting task.

“You can start by finding us clothes.”

[chibsandchill]

Your little Hatchling

Pairing: Aemond x GN!Reader

Warnings: Incest (Aemond is reader’s uncle), death, blood, canon-typical violence

Summary: The greens won the war and Aemond has taken you captive, though nothing he does goes according to plan. 

Masterlist

:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:

If it wasn't for the way his hair shone in the pale moonlight, you'd never know he was there. He moved within the shadows as if he was one himself, always watching but never venturing out of their reach. Sometimes his leather jerkin would creak as he shifted, but it was so faint it might as well have been the wind. Or so you wished for that would be far more comforting than the truth. 

Perhaps that is why instead of staring at the outline of your uncle, you looked to the fluttering drapes as they swayed in the gentle ocean breeze. 

But then after weeks of silence, Aemond stepped forth into the light and broke his unspoken vow of silence. You imagined he would say something profound, maybe even a honey-coated apology with hissed terms of affection and a burning gaze, but instead he looked you in the eye and asked: 

"Do you like the ocean?" 

"What?" You croaked, for while the evening breeze was a welcome change from the stifling heat, it did nothing to soothe the burn in your throat. "After everything you've done-" 

"Do you like it?" He interrupted harshly. 

"No." You said. 

He seemed surprised by your answer; a brief widening of his eye, but with an ease gained only by growing up in a nest of vipers, he schooled himself. 

"You told me once, when we were still children," his voice was no louder than a whisper, almost overshadowed by the wind, "that you had never felt as at peace as when your father took you with him on Caraxes and flew over the ocean to Dragonstone." 

"That was before you murdered my brother." 

His jaw clenched but didn't speak whatever words his wicked mind had thought up. Aemond returned to his realm of darkness, and the next day you were given a new cell far away from the ocean and its haunted melodies. 

But even when you no longer heard the waves crashing against your prison, or smelled the salt, Lucerys' scream of terror lingered.

:-:-:-:-:-:

Constant heat and a sun that never fell reddened your face within hours of being placed in your new room. 

Dorne. 

He brought you to fucking Dorne. 

Dorne was where dragons went to die, where even the tiniest of vipers had enough venom to slay even the largest of beasts. Sprinkled in the sand dunes were the remains of Targaryen heroes and conquerors, as well as their dragons. Age turned everything to dust, and before long you would be strewn across the closest dune, forgotten beneath the waves of those who came before you. 

A speck of dirt in an altogether indifferent universe. Perhaps the Dornish would dance across the dune, celebrate another dragon pest removed, and another piece of justice served. 

The Dornish desert didn't allow for the dragons to hide themselves, it left no dark corners for him to stare at you from. It left him exposed and vulnerable, like a raw nerve or a wound left to fester. 

"Do you like sand?" He dared ask one night when the sun gave them a brief respite.

You ignored him. 

"You told me once in our garden-" 

"They were never our gardens," you were the one to interrupt this time. Age old bitterness barely scabbed over with forced indifference burned at the word our, as if anything in the Keep had ever been yours. For a brief time, that little corner of an overgrown garden in the eastern wing had been yours. Every morning you’d meet there, under the shade of the apple tree and you’d tend to your garden. But like all things, even that small piece of heaven was eventually discovered and it was no longer ‘yours’. 

'Bastard' the court whispered as you walked past. 'Whore' or 'whore's child' if they were feeling kind. 

"They were to me." 

You scoffed. 

"It was never the sand," you found yourself saying even as you wished you'd have ignored him, "I wanted to see the people brave enough to defy us." 

:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:

You were moved again, but this time Aemond gifted you with a bronze-skinned woman from one of the nearby villages. Her name was Ela, and she brought colorful desert flowers that she ground into pastes which she slathered on your burnt shoulders, and with potent smelling leaves she fashioned into exotic teas and with what remained she managed to make sweet smelling perfume. The fragrance was dabbed onto your throat every day before Aemond’s visits. 

"Why are you doing this?" 

His one eye blinked in surprise. You had yet to initiate your rare and rather brief talks. 

"I don't know." He lied. 

"The truth, Aemond, is the least I deserve." 

"'Tis a sin to lie." 

"Murder is also a sin, but you still slaughtered thousands. Why do you insist on dragging this out? It won't make a difference in the end." 

Aemond looked away. "It will."

"It won't." You spat. "This changes nothing but the hatred in my face as I watch you die." 

"Hm." He angled his face away from you. His beautiful face took on a haunted expression."Yes, I suppose that's right. Do you remember when I was born? The few times father spoke to us, he regaled us with tales of how happy you were, how you claimed me. I was your little hatchling, the dragon your father never allowed you to have. Yours was the first face I saw, the warmth of your arms the first I ever felt. I dreamed of your smile when you were gone." 

"It was your father," you corrected with no small amount of venom, "that denied me my birthright." 

"You still defend him," he mused, "even after all his lies. I wonder, why do you not grant me that same kindness? Everything I have done, I did for us." 

Disgust twists your face into something you barely recognize. When did you go from the little child who always smiled despite the insults, who would trail after their lord father with a tattered dragon toy, and who dotted on their hatchling, to this being driven by nothing but hatred and  never-ending lust for blood he'd gladly give if you but only asked. 

Perhaps that's why you didn't ask. You feared the truth of his answer as much as you feared the day when his face no longer made your stomach turn. 

"We could have ran." You argued. "You had the largest dragon alive, who would dare oppose you? We could have flown East and conquered whatever lands our ancestors forgot. No, Aemond. You can blame only yourself for this." 

 "Your father would follow." 

"I understand the concept is wholly unfamiliar to you, Aemond, but that is what a good father does. Care. And you stabbed him in the back for it. Aemond the one-eyed Coward, slaying his uncle in the streets whilst he was unarmed and escorting a child of three summers, struck him down as if he was nothing and left him to die surrounded by people who hated him." You taunted him, enjoying every layer of self-hatred and anger that flashed over his face. You knew not if it was the mention of the neglect he suffered at the hands of his father that broke his mask, or that he had stooped so low as to become a kinslayer. No longer was he Aemond the one-eyed Prince, Aemond the studious and quiet prince. Now he donned new titles, none of them flattering. Years spent in the gardens together had taught you every single one of his insecurities, his fears and every aspect of his pain. 

He moved closer with cat-like grace but with none of their caution, swiping away your tears with a caress of his finger. The promise ring felt cold against your rosy cheeks, the hand-carved rose and thorns curling around the digit was an unwelcome reminder of your affection for him. 

"I had no choice." He whispered, voice thick. 

"There is always a choice." You muttered. 

"My life was not his to claim." Aemond moved closer, fingers threading through your hair. He pulled, forcing you to look up at him. You grit your teeth at the sharp sting, but you welcomed the pain, it burned away at the ember of love that sparked in the depths of your burnt heart. "It has always been yours. My love, my eye, my life." 

"Then you know how this ends." 

"I've always known," he pressed the side of his face against yours, his breath fanned over the shell of your ear. "Do you know why I killed your brothers?”

“Because you’re craven.”

Aemond stood to his full height before removing the leather patch covering the precious stone he had instead of an eye. The sapphire sparkled in the candlelight. He shook his head. “Because he took something that didn’t belong to him. I tried to forgive him, my mother told me he couldn’t possibly understand the consequences of his actions, but I couldn’t, wouldn’t forgive.”

The memory of Vhagar emerging from the clouds was burnt into your eyelids. Everytime you closed your eyes you saw it. Heard the cracks of her wings as she flew closer, the snapping of her jaws as Aemond taunted you, and the look in Lucerys’ eyes as he pushed you off Arrax. You had never seen such terror in a person’s eyes before, or heard someone scream like he did. Parts of him and Arrax washed up on the beach for weeks.

You averted your eyes. “And Jace?”

“When you ran to me, you fell and cut your hand on Lucerys’ blade.” His voice was soft, the softest it had been since Blood and Cheese tore the last chance you two had of a shared future. “Do you remember what Harrold Westerling begged of you?”

‘We have to stop the bleeding,’ he urged you, heavy armor clanging together as he fell to his knees next to you and Aemond. His voice sounded as if it was underwater, distant. Not there. Not with you and Aemond. ‘The maester is on his way but you have to stop the bleeding or he will die. Press here, your highness.’

“Yes.” You whispered. 

Aemond kept a vial of the blood the Maester removed from his face on dark twine around his neck. There was some solution in it that kept it from drying. He used to show it to you when you were younger, and when he was anxious he’d trace the glass with his fingers. His mother hated it. She didn’t understand it, didn’t understand the significance of what you had done to save her son. 

“Then you already know why, raqiarzy. And Daemon,” despite the vile things your father had done for your family, Aemond’s voice had yet to lose the admiration that clung to them, the childish idollation he had never quite managed to shake, “was plotting my murder. I had already lost my eye, I would not allow him to steal what little I had left to offer you.”

You laughed, but it’s twisted, broken in a way you had never heard a human laugh before. It rattled deep in your chest, and despite the pain and the tears brimming in your eyes you were unable to stop.

“You’re pathetic, Aemond,” you managed to force out. 

The hurt in his eyes was impossible to miss. “I only ask that you grant me my one last wish before I go." 

Disgust marred your face. Aemond had taken everything and yet he came to you with demands, conditions for a death that was long overdue. Where was your father’s wish when Aemond ordered common thugs to hold him down whilst he snuck up behind, when he drove Vhagar’s tooth into his lungs? 

"What's that?" 

"A kiss." 

"You disgust me.” You spat.  

His one eye met yours again and his lips curled into a crooked grin.You tried to think of your father, of Rhaenyra and Syrax, Lucerys and Arrax, Jacerys and Vermax, of the hundreds, if not thousands of soldiers, burnt by Vhagar before you managed to slay the old beast, of the smell of burning flesh and screaming children as their mother’s were ripped from them, instead of how beautiful he looked in the moonlight. As Aemond leaned in, pressing his forehead against yours in a motion so heartbreakingly familiar you dreamt of a world where you had died with your family. Still, your heart raced as his skin met yours, warmth spreading from the spot as fire met fire. He had taken everything from you, and yet you could not stop yourself from returning the gesture, leaning into his touch and were your hands not bound you would trace the sharpness of his jaw, and he would do the same. 

“Liar,” he whispered. 

Aemond closed his eyes, leaning in, about to press his lips against yours when he gasped and froze. Over his shoulder you spotted sun-kissed skin and dark hair. Ela. Crimson covered the black blade in her hand.

In a poetic sense of justice, Aemond falls to the ground, a steady puddle of blood growing under him. Horror is clear on his face and he tries to reach for you, but he has grown weak since the war ended and so he falls limp. You fall to your knees next to him just like that day in Driftmark, wrists easily slipping out of the bonds. Aemond stutters out your name, a thin line of blood running down his chin. 

“Shh,” you coo to him before flattening your hand against his face. “It’s okay, valzȳrys.”

He managed a weak smile. 

“I thought I’d never hear you say it.” 

It was always going to end this way, but that does not lessen the pain wrecking through your body, or the sobs you let out as he started fading away. Your fingers shook as you traced his face, wiping away his tears like he did yours. 

You chuckled. “Neither did I.”

You didn’t plead with the gods that they save him, you wished only that they take you with him. In life you could never be, but in death perhaps you could find peace. 

“I love you.” He said, and then his eyes fluttered close. 

In a flurry of panicked moves, you press your lips to his. Your first kiss. Your last kiss. You felt his lips twitch against yours but he was too weak to respond. There was nothing romantic about the way you moved against him, of the desperation you poured into the kiss, or the tears that fell from your eyes like waterfalls. 

His hold on your hands slacken and that’s when you know he’s gone. Aemond would never let go of you. 

Ela stands in front of you as fierce as her ancestors, and you have never loved them more than at this moment. Weeks of serving you had not killed her spirit. She had robbed Aemond of the last thing he had, but you could not fault her. She saw what you couldn’t admit even to yourself. No matter what he did or how he hurt you, you’d never be able to kill him. His death was never meant to be at your hands. 

“In the front please,” you ask of her, your one last request, though your eyes never left Aemond's face.

Ela nodded and walked over. Her dark eyes met yours and you nodded in response. A flash of pain, and then your blood mixed with Aemond’s again. There was nothing personal in how she stabbed you. The dagger tore through you with ease and it’s over in seconds. She then ran out of the chambers, leaving the dagger still in you. You waited until you didn’t hear her rushed steps anymore before you laid down next to Aemond, lifting his still warm hands to entwine with yours in the way your family never allowed.

“I love you.” You whispered.

Dying was peaceful in the way life never was. 

[joelalorian]

Lost Cause

Joel Miller x f!reader

Summary: Joel thinks you shouldn’t waste your time on him. You disagree.

Warnings: Explicit MDNI; Jackson-era Joel; canon-ish but also not; drinking; mentions of cigarettes, drugs, dark thoughts, and death; unprotected p in v; oral (m and f receiving); interesting use of red wine; unspecified age gap; despair and hope.

Inspired by the song Save Me by Jelly Roll. Some of the lyrics have been woven into the story.

Word count: 2,594 oneshot

The hits just kept coming. Time after time, year after year, life just beat Joel Miller down. It started when he was young, always taken down a peg by someone who was supposed to love him unconditionally, no matter how hard he tried to build himself up. There was a brief respite when he had Sarah – those fourteen years were the happiest of his life, despite the sudden and unexpected nature of becoming a father so young, until it was all ripped away in the blink of an eye on that one horrific day.

Since then, he’d given up hoping for more. Life had completely shattered his hopes and dreams. He couldn’t even put himself out of his own misery, for fuck’s sake. Life hated him that much it wouldn’t even release its grasp on him. He was so damaged beyond repair, and he could do fuck all about it.

His latest hit was a sucker punch to the gut, though.

Just when he finally opened up his heart again, when he allowed himself to feel something other than misery again, that’s precisely when the hit came.

Ellie – sweet, feral child that she was – wanted nothing to do with him after finding out the truth of what happened to the Fireflies in Salt Lake City.

The fracture in his relationship with Ellie sent him spiraling out of control, resorting to old behaviors and vices – drinking too much at the Tipsy Bison, smoking pilfered cigarettes out back behind the bar, taking pills on the rare occasions he could get his hands on them. The nightmares returned no matter how blasted he got to chase them away and he was often moody from lack of sleep.

Joel still contributed to society in Jackson, but he did it in ways that he could keep to himself. Fixing things around town, building stuff in his workshop, taking the odd patrol shift with his brother. He avoided everyone but Tommy and Maria, and Ellie, if she didn’t flee from the very sight of him.

“Jesus Christ, Joel. What the fuck? Were you trying to get yourself killed? Because it almost worked!” Tommy was worked up, laying into Joel at the tail end of their patrol shift. He didn’t know if his older brother had a death wish or was just too hungover to pay proper attention, but Joel was nearly taken out by a clicker while they cleared their route. A clicker that he normally would have dispatched without much effort or thought. Joel cut it way too close this time.

Joel gazed at his brother with baleful eyes. He had nothing to say for himself. He did have a death wish, but how could he tell Tommy that?

Tommy knew Joel was struggling – his behavior was similar to what it had been after Sarah died, when he became a fraction of the man he had been. “Come on, let’s grab a drink at the Bison,” Tommy sighed. At a loss on how else to help him, Tommy often accompanied Joel to the bar despite already thinking his brother drank too much.  At least he could keep an eye on him that way.

They made small talk on the way, Joel’s responses little more that grumbles and grunts. Something needed to give, but what? Tommy didn’t know, but he sent up silent prayers for a miracle to save his brother.

Once they were seated at one end of the bar, Tommy ordered a round. “Joel, brother, what is going on, really? Is it just the thing with Ellie or something more?”

Two sets of deep brown eyes stared at each other for long moments, each waiting for the other to flinch or look away. Joel gave in first, clearing his throat, unable to meet his brother’s eyes as he spoke. “It’s… everythin’, Tommy. It feels like somethin’ inside me is broken, somethin’ that was just starting to repair itself until this thing with Ellie shattered it again.”

Tommy’s heart clenched. Life had done Joel dirty, even before the outbreak, and it seemed like it finally broke him beyond repair. “I know it ain’t been easy, not with… well, everything. Do you… would you ever consider talking to someone about it all? Like a professional, I mean. I know we got someone here who used to be a counselor.”

Brows pinched together, Joel’s stormy eyes glared at the bar top, avoiding Tommy’s searching gaze. “Fuck, no! I don’t want a stranger diggin’ into my psyche or whatever the hell they do, just so they can tell me I have daddy issues or some such shit. And talkin’ ‘bout it don’t help none, either. I’m talking to you and it ain’t doing shit but pissin’ me the hell off!”

“Damn, alright! Don’t gotta get all caveman on me.” Tommy held his hands up with a blatant roll of his eyes. His brother never did like the touchy feely shit and he should have known better than to bring it up. “Maybe you just need a sweet lil’ thing to take your mind off shit.”

That got Joel to laugh for the first time in a long while. “Oh yeah? You think getting my dick wet will solve everythin’?”

Tommy smirked. “Well, not everything. You’ll still be you afterwards. I’d pity whatever poor girl got stuck with you, honestly. But it couldn’t hurt none, right?” It was good to see his brother grin, nose and corners of eyes crinkling with the broadness of it, and they fell into a comfortable silence while people watching. Sudden movement at the entrance caught Tommy’s attention and Joel followed his eyeline.

You walked in with Maria, the pair of you had your heads tilted toward each other giggling madly about something. While Tommy only had eyes for Maria, Joel drank in the sight of you. New to Jackson, you arrived with a small group a few weeks ago and, while you were still settling in, you were eager to meet people and get involved in helping around town. Maria took an instant liking to you, and you spent a lot of time with her, quickly becoming part of the Miller group.

Catching a glimpse of his brother staring at you, Tommy slapped Joel’s back. “Speaking of a sweet lil’ thing. Maybe this is your chance, brother.” Joel scoffed in return. Girls like you don’t go for guys like him, at least not the guy he was now. It was the law of nature or some shit.

“Hey boys,” Maria greeted, taking a seat next to Tommy. With a knowing glint in her eye and an exaggerated wink, she gestured for you to sit next to Joel. You never should have mentioned to her how handsome you found Joel. She was becoming a menace with her not-so-subtle methods of teasing and pushing the two of you closer at every opportunity.

“Hi Joel.” You slipped onto the stool next to him, one hand placed on his shoulder for balance as you did so.

“Hey darlin’. Whatcha drinking?” he grunted, fighting to ignore the burning heat of your touch. When was the last time a woman touched him? It must have been Tess and that was… a long time ago.

“I’ll take a red wine. Cabernet or pinot noir, whichever kind is available, please.”

After relaying your request to the bartender, and with his brother’s attention focused solely on Maria, Joel turned his attention back to you. He was a miserable sod, but you were a beautiful woman – he’d be a fool to ignore the attention you paid him. “How are you settlin’ in?”

“Pretty good. This is some community.” You launched into a few stories about mishaps and people you’ve met so far, drawing a few chuckles from Joel with your interpretation of some of the townsfolk. You had a way about you that drew him out of shell of melancholy.

One drink quickly became two, then three, and before either of you knew it, Maria and Tommy left and the two of you were alone at the bar. The wine buzz left you feeling bold and brave, making a move you would not have normally.

“Do you want to go back to my place for a nightcap?”

“Darlin’,” Joel sighed, brows pinched, at once drifting back under the dark cloud of hopelessness and unable to meet your heated gaze. “You don’t want to waste your time on me. I’m a lost cause.”

“Why don’t you let me decide what and who I waste my time on,” you challenged.

Joel’s eyebrows lifted in surprise at your tenacity. You were a beautiful young woman and for some unfathomable reason you were interested in him. He had absolutely nothing to offer someone like you, except for a one-night stand, at best. He was good at those – they didn’t require deep connections or feelings, two things he was avoiding like the plague. Maybe Tommy was on to something though – sex would take his mind off his miserable existence for a bit.

“Okay then. Let’s get outta here,” he replied, downing the last of the amber liquid in his glass, and leading you out of the bar with a large, warm hand at your lower back.

The journey to your house was cold and quiet and you began to wonder if you’d made a huge error in judgement. You weren’t a one-night stand kind of girl, preferring the comfort and security of relationships instead, but something told you that this would be the only way you’d get to have Joel. There was a darkness about him, a deep residing mass of regret and remorse, and you felt a burning need to fix him, to be his sunshine, even if only for a little bit.

Your hands fumbled with the latch when you finally reached your house. The warmth of Joel’s large hands suddenly overwhelmed your senses as he helped you, and you were flinging yourself at him before the door even closed behind you.

His kisses were anything but tender, all harsh presses of his lips, teeth, and tongue, like he was a man starved. There would be marks left on your tender skin come morning, but you didn’t mind, giving him the same treatment as you sucked at his neck, soothing your tongue over the spots you just sunk your teeth into.

“I have a bottle of wine. Do you want some?” you breathed against his lips, taking a moment to slow the momentum before the pair of you spontaneously combusted.

A smirk crossed Joel’s lips as an idea struck him. “Sure, why not.” He watched you open the bottle and pour two glasses before returning to him. Accepting one of the stemless glasses, he clinked it against yours before taking a sip. The momentum picked right back up after that first taste of the dark liquid.

Fingers frantically working to undo the buttons on Joel’s flannel with one hand, you walked backwards up the stairs to your bedroom, pulling him along with you without a spare thought about the wine spilled on the wood flooring as you went. Patience wearing thin, he tore your clothes from your body with his free hand, leaving you naked and yearning as you continued working on his shirt. Placing his glass of wine on the nightstand, his hands were everywhere, he could not get enough of your smooth, soft skin.

You were the antithesis of him, bright and bubbly where he was dark and brooding, soft where he was hard, adaptable and happy where he was rigid and sad. You were ripe like fresh fruit ready for plucking. You were everything he wish he could still be. Perhaps he could get just a brief taste of happiness being with you, inside you.

Once his jeans and boots were shed, Joel tossed you onto the bed, watching with hungry eyes as your tits bounced with the movement. He was on you in a flash, hands and mouth exploring every inch of your body. Sharp teeth scraped against your puckered nipples, making them impossibly harder, and the sensation shot a bolt of pleasure right down to your core, where the weight of his hardened cock rested, twitching for attention.

Nails scraped down his chest and belly until you reached his cock, slipping your slender hand around the heft of him. He was huge – both long and thick, a combination you’d not experienced before, and your mouth watered with the desire to taste him. If you only had one night together, you wanted to make it a memorable experience.

It took great effort to get Joel to detach his lips from your breasts, the whine that emanated from him as you did so had you downright aching for him.

“What are you doin’, darlin’?” his deep voice rumbled, dark eyes rolling back in his head when you moved down his body and slipped your plush lips around the head of his cock. “Oh, fuck!”

After spending so long living in hell, your mouth felt like heaven as you licked and sucked on his length.

“Wait, doll, I wanna try somethin’.”

Sitting up against the aged headboard, Joel grasped the wine glass and brought it down to rest on his belly. Two thick fingers dipped into the dark red liquid and swirled, coating every bit of surface area from fingertip to second knuckle before he brought his drenched fingers down towards you. His hand hovered over his cock and you both watched as droplets of translucent ruby red liquid dripped onto his hardened flesh.

Your mouth watered as you watched him repeat the process, eager to taste the heady mix of the bitter tang of wine and his salty pre-cum. Ravenous, you slurped at the liquid trails running down the length of his cock before lapping at the bulbous head, leaving no hint of wine behind as you wrapped your lips around him.

Joel was a panting mess when you took him as far as you could, his weeping head hitting the back of your throat. The glass of wine was forgotten, slipping from his hand to stain the hardwood floor next to the bed. That was a tomorrow problem as you focused on devouring his beautiful cock. He was close to the edge within minutes, the sensations too much, and he pushed you off him none too gently, flipping you onto your back like you weighed nothing.

“My turn, darlin’,” Joel murmured, nestling his face between your legs. He’d been told that his current lifestyle was bad for his health, that all the drinking and smoking was hopeless. They weren’t wrong, but it felt like that was all he needed, the only thing that set him free from his sorrows. Now that he’d tasted you, he knew that was utter bullshit. You could so easily set him free if he got to have you, taste you every day. You were enough to change a man like him.

“Joel,” you mewled his name between long moans as his tongue teased at your clit, thick fingers exploring your folds before dipping inside you. He drew an orgasm from you effortlessly and you clawed at his back as the blinding flash of pleasure washed over you. “I need you inside me. Now. Please.”

He could refuse you nothing, shifting to hover over you. “Save me from myself,” he murmured against your lips as he sheathed himself inside your tight warmth. “You’re the only one who can.”

“Always,” you replied breathlessly, rocking your hips against his. Your mouths met in a kiss full of promise.

[basketonthedoorstepofthefbi]

"burden" - aaron hotchner x fem!reader

you comfort aaron after a particularly tough case

cw: canonical violence, brief mentions of a child's death (no details), sad hotch, hurt/comfort but you're the one doing the comforting

wc: 1.2k

You moved in with your boyfriend, Aaron, about a year ago, and yet, your routine remained fairly independent of him. You woke up in the same bed sometimes, but most of the time, he was away on a case. You always missed the warmth and protection he provided, but you understood that his job was important. You never wanted to get in the way of that. 

You come home from work that afternoon, surprised to see Aaron’s car in its parking spot. Last time you checked in, he wasn’t going to be home until tomorrow. 

You’re eagerly bounding up the steps to your floor, unlocking the door in a swift movement and grinning to see him on the sofa. 

Your grin falls when you see the expression on his face. 

Crestfallen might be the most appropriate description. Heartbroken would also be apt. 

You punch in the code for the security system, and lock the door hastily. You drop your bag by the door and are at his side in an instant, perching yourself next to him on the sofa. He’s got this far-off look in his eyes, and they’re red and puffy. He’s been crying? 

“Aaron?” You speak delicately to announce your arrival, feeling your stomach roller-coaster drop and a massive lump materialize in your throat. You tuck your foot under your rear and touch his shoulder gently. 

Aaron’s next inhale is shaky. His eyelids flutter and he looks at you, finally, like he's just now realized you're there, and shakes his head softly, subtly, numbly. “We lost a child,” he says. His voice is low and raspy, crackling as if someone is snapping ten glow sticks at once. 

Your lips form a straight line, and you press your hands into his shoulder. “Aaron,” you breathe out, tugging his shoulder a little, willing him to let you hold him. He doesn’t budge, so instead you rub his shoulder with your hand, perhaps a little awkwardly. But you are desperate to comfort him somehow, to make it all go away. 

“He’s Jack’s age - he was Jack’s age,” Aaron explains. He leans forward, cradling his face in his hands. “And we caught the guy, but we were too late to save the boy. Logan.” 

You don’t know what to say, so you stay silent, moving your hand to rub the vast plain between Aaron’s shoulders. “I kept it together at the police station,” Aaron continues. He never talks about work this much. You hate the reason why, but you feel honored that he is revealing all of this to you. 

You have a VIP membership to all of Aaron, whereas everyone else just gets that put-together, statue-esque version of him. The marble cracks when he finally finds a moment of respite around you. “On the plane, I kept it together. And I usually go straight into my office after we land. I usually get my reports done before I come home.” 

“Yeah,” you whisper, so he knows you’re actively listening. Your hand travels up to the nape of his neck, and you press your thumb into the fatty tissue there. You swipe your thumb across his hairline. 

“I couldn’t do it this time. I needed a moment of relief. Longer than a moment, I guess. I got in my car and I drove straight here.” Aaron continues. He doesn’t usually talk this long. But you let him get it all out. Sometimes rambling and spewing every thought in one’s head is the best way to get all of the hurt out. 

“How long have you been home?” You ask. Your eyes travel to the glass tumbler on the coffee table, with a brown ring around the bottom. Whiskey. 

“Maybe an hour,” Aaron guesses, his hands still blanketing his face. You gently push his shoulder so he’ll lean back against the sofa, and he does. You see now that he has started to cry again. His hands drop to his side.

He refuses to look at you, but you grab his chin with your thumb and your forefinger, tilting his head so he has to. Tears glisten those obsidian eyes like miniature diamonds. “I’m sure you and the team did everything you could,” you say. Aaron nods. He’s heard this before. You know he has, but you thought maybe saying it again wouldn’t hurt. 

“Yeah,” he croaks. You are genuinely at a loss for words. 

You want to offer solutions, distractions, anything, but you know it would only act as a band-aid for the situation. There is no solving something like this. Helplessness washes over you like a crushing tidal wave. Watching him crumble like this makes your stomach ache. 

He closes his eyes, leaning his head back defeated against the couch cushion. You watch a few silent tears fall down his cheeks. Your thumb swipes one away. It hurts to see him like this - so sad and numbed and broken. He’s your honey, he’s your rock, your superhero, and it humanizes him in a way you can’t stand. 

You know that if the positions were reversed, Aaron would be doing whatever he could, somehow riding that line perfectly of being attentive without coddling. So you pull yourself together with one deep breath and stand from the couch. Your hand extends to Aaron’s and he looks up at you with a confused expression. “Let me give you a proper hug, Aaron,” you debate calling him a pet name - angel or honey usually roll off your tongue like a second language, but this moment feels too heavy. 

He nods like he agrees and takes your hand. You haul him to his feet and envelope him into your arms. You wish you were larger than him at this moment, that you could cover him with your entire body and he wouldn’t have to feel anything else. 

Instead, Aaron hunches down a little so you can wrap your arms around him. His head buries into the crook of your neck, his hands at your waist, and he’s shaking as he pulls you so impossibly close you think he’s trying to absorb your body into his. 

Giving him the space to purge his emotions seems to help, and you embrace him like that for a long moment. It should be illegal for this wonderful man to feel so terrible, to be so ridden with guilt. After everything that has happened with his ex-wife, with the members of his team. You know Aaron carries it all on his shoulders. 

You want so badly to rip it all away from him. 

Like coaxing a stray puppy from the rain, you guide your boyfriend through the apartment. You take a shower with him - a slow, intimate act where you do most, if not all, of the work. After, when you’re running the towel through his hair, he’s still hanging his head, but the tears have finally stopped. “Thank you,” he rasps tiredly. 

“I can’t make it go away,” you sniffle a bit. You’ve been crying this whole time, yourself. “I want to, so badly.” 

“It’s not your burden to carry,” Aaron insists, and you freeze. The towel over your hands cups his cheeks and you make him look at you. 

“Actually, that’s where you’re wrong,” you correct him. “It’s not your burden to carry alone.”

[scoobyrooster1]

"But to Qimir it also unearthed how little he truly knew you. And something he couldn't predict or control... that probably terrified him."

Their relationship is so realistically tense and terrible i LoVe it. Because YEAH Qimir having 'killed my last teacher <3 ' in their resume doesn't really mean anything good for YOU does it.

I agree! Thats something that Qimir might want to consider haha! Glad you like it!

She's Mine [Part 2]

Qimir x (she/her)!reader

Summary: You and Qimir travel with the crew to Corinth where you pose as a high class bidder at a black market auction. However, a few unexpected events complicates your mission leaving you wounded and with more questions than answers about the nature of the job. Warnings: Angst, cursing, violence Notes: This is a slow burn story between you and Qimir. I've been researching high republic history and I'm really excited for the next chapters!

*Im trying my best to use canon history but high republic era is a little difficult so there will be discrepancies and times where I have to improvise... bear with me!

She's Mine Masterlist

She's Mine [Intro] She's Mine [Part 1]

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

One month ago...

Under the thick canopy of trees, the clearing was small, just enough space for the two of you to move without constraint.

You and Qimir had stopped on this planet for a brief respite, also provding one of the few places you could train without drawing unwanted attention.

"Again," Qimir instructed, his voice steady and commanding.

You tightened your grip on the wooden stick in your hand. The makeshift training weapon was a far cry from a lightsaber, but it would have to do. You squared your stance, bringing the stick up in a defensive position.

Qimir moved fluidly as he swung his own stick toward you. You managed to block the first strike, the wood clashing with a sharp crack. But Qimir was relentless. His next move was faster, a low sweep aimed at your legs. You jumped back just in time, narrowly avoiding the strike. You were able to catch your breath if only for a moment as he spoke.

“Keep your elbow up,” he reminded you. “Or else I'll catch you before you can block.”

You nodded, trying to focus on his advice even as your muscles burned from the exertion. It had been a long time since you trained like this. Your heart beat inside your chest so rapidly and with such force that you thought it would burst. You had to remember to control you breathing, only letting air pass through your nose, and conserve what little stamina you had left.

Qimir lunged again. You lifted your arm to block, but your elbow dropped just a fraction of an inch too low. His stick slipped past your defense, tapping your ribs with just enough force to sting. Your torso buckled over in response.

Stepping back to give you a moment to recover, he didn't need to tell you what you had done wrong.

"I get it." You said sternly.

"You need to anticipate the next move. Don't just react—predict."

You clenched your jaw in frustration, wiping the sweat from your face with the back of your hand.

You took a deep breath and adjusted your stance, raising your arm higher this time. Qimir watched you carefully, nodding in approval before launching into another series of attacks. You parried each one, your movements more precise now, more controlled.

The two of you moved in a deadly dance, sticks clashing and feet shifting on the soft earth. You began to lose yourself in the rhythm of it, your mind clearing as your body took over.

It was just you and Qimir, the world narrowed down to the space between your bodies.

Until his stick found your ribs again.

Qimir stepped back, lowering his weapon. "Better," he said, his voice softer now, less harsh. "Still a lot to learn."

You made a face about to mock him for saying a high and mighty master line.

He caught you before you could. "Don't start."

You just laughed, then nodded, panting from the effort. Your arms felt like lead, but there was a sense of satisfaction in knowing you had improved, even if just a little.

"Thats enough for today," he said, tucking his stick under his arm.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------

You jolted awake shaking off the memory that overcame your senses.

You had been traveling for a few hours and had fallen asleep regret-tingly straining your neck in the process. Qimir sat on the other side of the cargo hold.

After the heated discussion you both had… yeah it was probably for the best.

You had both taken precautions to hide any personal items that wouldn’t classify as civilian.

I.E. one cortosis helmet, vambrace, and lightsaber.

You remembered tracing your fingers over the embedded scars of the metal. It was terrifyingly beautiful.

Try it on.

Those words sent shivers through your entire body.

You wondered if when you returned to Qimirs little backwater planet, you too would craft something made of the precious metal.

Would we ever be able to return?

"Put these on"

Ian had thrown a duffle at your feet. You unzipped the bag to find far nicer clothes than the ones you were wearing.

"What happened to drawing less attention?"

“You’ll be bidding with some serious credits, you need to look as though you didn’t just crawl out of a bantha pit.”

You didn’t bother to scowl at Ian for his cruel joke.

“And who will I be today?”

“Bidder 79.”

“Lovely.”

The outfit was formal, modest, a suit-like ensemble made from breathable fabric in dark hues of blue and gray. You took one of the scarves from the bag and wrapped it around your head and hair. The less recognizable you were, the better.

“Don’t look at anyone, don’t talk to anyone, don’t answer any questions you don’t have to—”

“I think she gets it” Qimir interrupted, his voice curt.

“Don’t do anything stupid.” Ian finished.

You gave Ian all the confirmation he deserved. "Don't do anything you would do... got it."

You were dropped at the nearest corner with Rod following closely behind.

The coordinates Ian had provided led you to a rough, gritty part of the city, where the streets were narrow and the air thick with the scent of smoke and decay. The towering buildings around you were a patchwork of cracked concrete, rusted metal, and flickering neon signs, casting eerie glows onto the damp pavement. You approached the entrance of a large, nondescript building, its facade faded and crumbling, blending seamlessly into its surroundings.

Pushing through the heavy, rusted door, you stepped into a dimly lit lobby. The few figures loitering in the shadows eyed you with suspicion. You made your way to an elevator at the far end of the room, its grated door screeching as you pulled it open.

The elevator groaned to life, descending into the depths below the city. As you felt the air grow cooler and the hum of the city above fade into silence, your pulse quickened. When the doors finally slid open, you were greeted by a stark contrast.

Before you lay the Corinth black market, a sprawling underground bazaar hidden beneath the city. The space was vast, its ceiling arched and lined with cables and dim, industrial lights casting a dull glow over the scene. The market was alive with activity—merchants hawking their illicit wares from makeshift stalls, the air buzzing with whispered deals and low, guttural conversations in a dozen different languages. The scent of exotic spices, machinery, and lawlessness filled your nose.

The Corinth black market was a place where laws were only mere suggestions.

Rules, Rules, Rules... If you don't follow them, you never have to break them.

Minutes later, you found yourself seated in an uncomfortable chair, dark lenses shielding your eyes as you scanned the stage ahead. You were in a small room dimly lit but far richer than the bazaar outside. The items up for auction you guessed based on size and weight was a mix of trinkets and far more dangerous contraband, all locked away in secure containers.

Your client had provided you with only a number, leaving you in the dark about what you were actually bidding on. Your job was to outbid everyone else. Rod, as Ian assured you, would make sure you had the funds to back up whatever figure you landed on. How they’d managed that was another mystery, but one you didn’t need to solve.

“Item number XN2187”

Your eyes tracked the stage.

This was it.

What the staff placed on the table next made absolutely no sense to you.

It was a book... or... a journal?

"Let’s start the bid at 100,000 credits."

Maker.

You had to withhold your gasp.

Two people had already called out raising the bid to 250,000 within 3 seconds.

You threw your card up.

“300,000.”

You saw another card go up near the front.

“350,000”

Maker how could a journal be worth this much.

You raised your card again with no hesitation.

“400,000.”

They matched it again. "4500,000."

“500,000”

It was all fake credits and Ian had given you your instructions... attain that item at whatever price... better to end it right here.

You waited for their response, but there was none.

Got it.

“Sold...to number 79.”

Small claps ensued.

You headed to the back of the stage where the transactions were being held.

Suddenly your path was blocked, now inches away from a hooded figure.

"Whatever your being paid, we can double it." They hissed in your ear.

Rod glanced at the human stranger with his fixed glowing pinpoint eyes that seemed to show concern even for a droid.

"I don’t know what you’re talking about." You continued to walk past them.

They grabbed your forearm. Their grip was strong.

“You take it and you’re a dead woman walking.”

You could now see their face. A male human with rusty brown hair and dark eyes.

You shook off the strangers hand and stated with cold indifference, "I already am."

Your response seemed to catch him off guard.

You shrugged him off turning away, finally reaching the desk behind the curtains.

"Bidder 79?" the attendant confirmed.

"That's right. Item XN2187."

"Please have your droid exchange the credits for your purchase."

Rod stepped forward, inserting his chip into the computer. A moment later, a man presented the box.

The attendee looked at the screen, seeming pleased. "Thank you madam. Have a wonderful evening."

Your breath resumed as you smoothly took the box and gave the courtier a smile. What ever Rod had done it had worked. You cracked it open checking that the item was inside.

Rodney turned in the other direction taking a different route to meet back up at the rendezvous.

That had been surprisingly easy.

"See you back at the ship." You whistled as you turned into the crowd behind.

Something struck your mind. The force had shifted near you and you could feel it. You started scanning your surroundings more carefully.

Watch out.

You unholstered your gun but it was too late.

It was all of 2 seconds before you felt the box knocked out from under your forearm. The force of a back kick to your chest sent you crashing to the ground. Dirt filled your mouth as you hit the earth, the impact reverberating through your body. Your blaster had been sent flying across the ground.

Damn it had been a while since you were hit that hard.

Gritting your teeth, you turned to face your assailant— female Twi'lek with green skin, her imposing figure casting a shadow over you. Her face sheathed in fabric and some manner of breathing apparatuses. Time seemed to slow, the sounds of the chaotic crowd fading into the background.

The journal had fallen out of the box now laying between you and your attacker.

It was too valuable to lose. You couldn't just run.

You pushed yourself off the ground, moving faster than you had fallen. As the warrior lunged for the book, you reacted instinctively, snapping your leg out to kick their hand away. The clash of metal and bone echoed in your ears as you simultaneously snatched journal, pulling it close to your chest. The adrenaline surged through your veins as you regained your footing, your breath coming in short, sharp bursts.

She charged at you closing the distance swiftly. You dodged to the side, narrowly avoiding her grasp. She swung her arm in a wide arc that forced you to duck, the wind from her strike grazing the top of your head.

With the book still clutched tightly to your chest, you spun around, using your momentum to drive your elbow into the Twi'leks side. The impact caused her to stagger.

She recovered swiftly, raising her arm to strike again this time brandishing a small blade. You heaved your body from left to right to dodge, the knife dancing centimeters away from your chest.

You dodged another stab. But she was smart. The Twi'lek flipped the blade through the air catching it with her left hand. You felt a sharp pain spread in your chest. Too distracted with the wound in your right side, you failed to notice her right hand swinging towards you head.

Your brain rattled inside your skull as you hit the earth. Applying pressure to the bleed you turned your pounding head upwards. She picked up the journal from the floor, her other hand now brandishing a blaster pointed directly at your forehead.

"Should've taken the deal"

You only stared down the barrel of her gun. This couldn't be the end.

You wouldn't let it be the end. You blinked. She pulled the trigger. A shot rang out.

You weren't dead.

You stared at the gun.

The blaster shot hung suspended in mid-air, glowing red just inches from your nose.

It floated there, trembling as if struggling against an invisible force, caught between you and the barrel.

Qimir.

You almost couldn't breathe and realized it could only last for so long. You ducked your head before the shot could continue its intended path, piercing the dirt behind you, leaving a small scorched black hole in its wake.

Your breathing was rapid and deep as stared at the hole in the ground that was intended for your head.

The Twi'leks eyes widened. Baffled by what she had just witnessed.

"You... you're a jedi." She sounded as disgusted as she was surprised.

“Not quite.”

In a fluid motion, you kicked a cloud of dust up towards her face. She loosen her grip on the journal stumbling back. Sprinting past her you grabbed the book, the pain of the stab wound luckily numbed by the adrenaline coursing through you. She roared in frustration, but you were already several paces ahead.

You could hear her quick footsteps behind you, but you didn't look back. Your only thought was to put as much distance between you and her as possible.

You ducked into an alleyway once you thought it was safe to stop, determined to sacrifice just a moment to see what you were truly risking your life for.

You opened the book.

Scribbles you couldn't understand filled page after page. Flipping through it all you couldn't make any sense of it.

You stopped at the back of the last page.

Written then carved delicately into the leather near the binding was a name.

Mari San Tekka.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------

The plan had gone off without a hitch... if you hadn't included the unknown assailant that almost put a blaster hole through your skull.

Closing the blast doors, you buckled over, heart still racing. You ran your fingers over your cheek which was tender to the touch. It had to be badly bruised and you could better feel the one developing across your chest now that the adrenaline was wearing off. Not to mention the blood dribbling down your side.

"That went well."

Qimir had caught you off guard. You didn't think he'd be back to the ship by now with how much of a crowd that stood between you and the ship.

You inhaled deeply resting against the cold metal wall your right hand still pressing the right side of your ribs.

“You had me worried.”

You paused for a moment. You had him… worried?

"I thought I'd have to find a new acolyte after today."

You relaxed your shoulders dropping your hands into fists.

"You son of a bitch."

He smiled with his teeth, his eyes taunting, but his smile faltered when he saw your now exposed lower chest wound.

"That looks serious." You couldn't tell if he was still joking or being earnest. "And what a foul name to call with your mas--"

The ship doors hissed open.

In walked Ian and Rod.

Qimir went quiet not daring to finish his sentence. They didn't need to know what you and Qimir were. If they did, they'd all be dead.

The Jedi say I can't exist. They see my face... They all die.

If that's what it took for Qimir to shut his mouth then fine.

You snapped back to reality reapplying pressure to your side and took the opportunity to interrogate Ian.

"What the hell was that." You yelled.

Ian look disgruntled. "Seems like this cargo is more high priority than I thought."

"Ya think?" You only gave him a pleading look in response.

"Look nothing has changed. You knew what you signed up for."

"I didn't sign up for this... remember?"

"Rod, signal Shaun and Kiro. Prep the hyperdrive, set a course for Canto Bight... You might wanna take care of that." He motioned to the wound that was still leaking blood at your side. "Theres a med bay. Two rights and left."

"Thanks." You started walking towards the doors slightly lightheaded from the blood loss.

He extended a hand. "Here let me help. That looks bad."

You waved him off. "I've got it." Before disappearing down the hall to the med bay.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Luckily, Ian had the sense to keep a decent med droid on board. With how sketchy most of his jobs were, it would be foolish not to. The droid had effectively stopped the bleeding, stitched it close, applied bacta fluid, and recommended a pressure dressing before shutting down.

Okay, so not a fully functional droid.

You pulled out the rolls of gauze and compression wraps. The droid had cut through your bloody shirt to access the wound, leaving the tattered fabric hanging from your shoulders. In the mirror, you could see the damage--your chest was mildly bruised, the skin slowly turning a deep purple, especially closer to the wound. You applied a generous amount of gauze and began wrapping the bandage around your chest.

You managed 6 tight loops before a sharp pain made you wince, the movement of extending your torso and raising your arms too much to bear. Breathing deeply, you tried to steady both your head and your heart.

Then, a sudden movement caught your eye, and you nearly reopened the wound as you jumped—Qimir was standing in the now open doorway, silently watching you.

"Maker, you scared me... How long have you been standing there?"

"Not long enough."

"Ha. Ha." You mocked, still guarding your chest, covered but only by a sheer wrap.

"Need help?"

"I got it."

He gave you a look that said, Yeah, sure you do.

You sighed deeply. Every breath was painful. "Fine."

He walked up to where you sat on the med table, glancing at the now deactivated med droid.

"The droid couldn’t do it?"

You tilted your head in response.

"I can call Ian to wrap the rest. He seemed pretty eager," you teased.

Qimir clenched his jaw, clearly not amused, and quickly seized the large roll of gauze from your hand.

"Put your arms around me."

You shot him an incredulous look.

"Maker, you're difficult," he muttered, rolling his eyes dramatically. With a gentle touch, he grabbed your hands and placed them on his shoulders. Then, he took the roll and began wrapping it around the rest of your chest.

You let your hands move closer to his neck, lacing your fingers together and allowing your arms to sag, finding a small amount of relief.

"It's a faulty piece of equipment," you continued. "Leave it to Ian to have a semi-working med droid on a risky job."

Qimir's eyes were only focused on his hands, meticulously layering the bandaging over your wound, making sure it was secure.

"Hey, my eyes are up here," you quipped.

His focus remained unwavering, but you noticed a small smile tug at the corners of his lips.

You allowed yourself to dissolve into this moment. It was innocent, and it was yours.

He finished the last length of the bandage, gently tucking it into the top wrap. His fingers brushed against your skin, and your breath hitched slightly. If he noticed, he pretended not to. Both his hands now rested softly against your ribs, checking the stability of his work. Your hands remained on his shoulders.

He looked up at you.

You met his gaze.

"If you let someone get that close, you must make every decision with confidence and conviction. Remember—"

"Don't react, predict," you repeated the mantra.

"There's no room for error in a fight that close."

"Yes, master," you added with a touch of sarcasm.

He only nodded, still getting accustomed to your use of the title.

"Thank you," you said, recalling what had happened only hours ago.

"For the wrap?"

"No. For saving me."

"Saving you?"

"The blaster shot."

"... You're welcome."

He released you, making you remove your arms from his shoulders.

The moment was gone... and something in you would've done anything to get it back.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The sound of the ship rattling against the void of space ripped you from sleep. The walls trembled, and a deep, ominous roar echoed from the rear of the ship, filling you with an immediate sense of dread. You ducked out of your cot.

Qimir was already on his feet.

Before you could fully grasp what was happening, he was out the door, and you were right behind him. The cold, metallic floor vibrated beneath your bare feet as you both sprinted down the dimly lit corridor.

Suddenly, the ship lurched violently, a brutal force that sent both of you stumbling. You felt yourself losing balance, your body careening toward the metal wall. But before you could brace for impact, Qimir’s hand shot out, grabbing you by the waist. He swiftly twisted his body, pulling you against him, sending himself backwards.

His back slammed into the wall with a sickening thud. You felt the force of it reverberate through him as he grunted, but his grip on you remained firm.

For a second your chin rested on his collar bone. His mouth grazing your forehead and hair. The heat of his body was a stark contrast to the cold metal wall you were expecting moments ago. You were pressed against his chest, your breath catching as you looked up at him. His expression unreadable.

"Your stitches." He questioned.

"Fine." You assured him.

He only scanned you for a moment then let go of you continuing to walk down the corridor. You hesitated for one second, your heart still racing, before following him.

When you had finally reached the cockpit you found Ian walking toward you and through the doorway before grunting. "Might be a problem with the hyperdrive. We have to make a pit stop."

Any thoughts of Qimirs skin against yours was gone.

You followed him back down the hall.

"Qimir."

He stopped.

You gave him a look.

-----------------------

"Mari San Tekka” he repeated the name you had given.

“Do you know that name?”

“Not the person, but the San Tekkas were a great dynasty, closely affiliated with the Republic as hypersurveyors”

"Hypersurveyors?"

"Mappers who worked for the clan, charting new hyperspace routes."

"The writing, I didn't see it at first but they could've been notes or calculations."

"Could you read any of it."

"I've seen hyperspace calculations before, but I didn't recognize the figures in this book. Why would someone risk so much to retrieve it?"

Qimir took a long pause. "I don't know."

The uncertainty laced in Qimirs voice irked you more than you'd like to admit.

———————————————

Thanks for reading! Let me know what you think!

[mononijikayu]

lonely in gorgeous – ryomen sukuna.

In that small moment, you allowed yourself to indulge in a bit of nostalgia, thinking about the paths you both had taken. You hoped he was happy and successful, thriving in the world he had always been so passionate about. And though you doubted you would ever hear from him again, you couldn't help but wonder if he ever thought about you, if he ever missed the days when you were his muse, and he was your world.

GENRE: alternate universe - fashion au!

WARNING/S: alternate universe - canon convergence, modern au, fashion au!, rated 18 and above, age gap (reader is in 20s and sukuna is in his 30s), explicit content, smut, p to v sex, flirting, romance, humor, strangers to lovers, lovers to strangers, break up, time skip (ten years later);

LISTEN: lonely in gorgeous by tommy february6

NOTE: this is probably my second favorite so far. because i keep thinking of hiromi and sukuna throughout but modern au??? i loved this a lot because its based on paradise kiss, which i think is one of the stories i loved in a long time. it makes me wanna rewatch paradise kiss. i'm very happy with this one. i hope you enjoy it as much as i do <3333

masterlist

kayu's playlist — side 700;

IT STARTED OUT IN A WAY YOU DIDN’T EXPECT. The setting sun painted the sky in hues of orange and pink, casting long shadows across the grassy expanse of the park. You sat on the bench, surrounded by the cacophony of rustling leaves and distant chatter, the weight of your textbooks heavy on your lap. Each page seemed to blur together, the words melding into an incomprehensible jumble as exhaustion gnawed at the edges of your mind.

As you stared at the pages before you, the thought of continuing down this path weighed heavily on your shoulders. This degree, chosen by your mother, felt more like a burden than a choice. It was her dream, her unfinished journey that you were expected to fulfill. Yet, with each passing day, the realization grew stronger within you that it wasn't your dream at all. It was a legacy you were expected to carry, a path laid out for you by someone else's ambitions.

The thought left you feeling adrift, caught between the expectations of others and the yearning for something more. The park, with its tranquil beauty, offered a brief respite from the chaos of your thoughts. Here, amidst the gentle sway of the trees and the soft rustle of leaves, you found a fleeting sense of peace, a momentary escape from the pressures of academia and familial expectations.

The figure at the nearby table commanded attention, his presence as enigmatic as it was compelling. Ryomen Sukuna, renowned fashion designer, his reputation preceded him like a shadow cast by the setting sun. His tall, imposing frame was a stark contrast to the tranquil surroundings of the park, yet there was an undeniable magnetism to his presence.

As he sat hunched over his sketchbook, his expression was one of intense concentration, his fingers moving deftly across the page in a frenzied dance. The lines he etched upon the paper seemed to materialize effortlessly, each stroke a testament to his skill and creativity. But beneath the surface, there was a simmering frustration, a sense of discontent that lingered like a shadow in the corners of his mind.

For Sukuna, the park had become an unlikely refuge, a sanctuary of sorts where he could retreat from the relentless demands of his craft. Here, amidst the gentle rustle of leaves and the distant murmur of city life, he sought solace in the simplicity of nature, hoping to unearth the spark of inspiration that had eluded him for so long.

Intrigued by the sight of you, Ryomen Sukuna couldn't tear his gaze away. The exhaustion etched into your features, mingled with an unmistakable determination, spoke volumes to him, drawing him in like a moth to a flame. With a sense of curiosity piqued by the contrast of your presence against the backdrop of the park, he found himself compelled to approach you.

With confident strides, he closed the distance between you, his sketchpad clutched in one hand as though it were a precious treasure. There was a magnetic pull in his demeanor, an air of authority and intrigue that seemed to precede him like a gentle breeze, stirring the stillness of the evening air.

As he neared, his gaze never wavered from you, his eyes scanning your form with a keen sense of observation. It was as though he were studying a masterpiece, seeking to unravel the secrets hidden within the intricate tapestry of your being. And when he finally reached your side, there was a subtle shift in the atmosphere, a tension that crackled between you like electricity waiting to ignite.

“Hey,” he said, his voice a mix of curiosity and determination. You looked up, startled by the sudden interruption. “Would you like to model for me?”

Confused, you furrowed your brows. “Model? I’m not a model. I’m just a student.”

Sukuna’s eyes glinted with a hint of amusement. “Doesn’t matter. I want you to be my model.”

You stared at him, still trying to process the odd request. “But… Why me?”

He shrugged, a small smile playing on his lips. “I don’t know yet. But there’s something about you. I can’t explain it. Just think about it.”

Your mind buzzed with confusion as you watched Ryomen Sukuna retreat, leaving you to grapple with the unexpected encounter. His enigmatic demeanor left you feeling both intrigued and bewildered, as though you had stumbled into a world of mysteries waiting to be unraveled.

His simple yet cryptic words lingered in the air, echoing in your mind like an elusive melody. "There's something about you," he had said, a statement that sparked a flurry of questions within you. What did he see in you that prompted such a request? What hidden depths did he perceive beneath the surface of your tired facade?

As you held his business card in your hand, its sleek surface cool against your skin, you couldn't help but feel a surge of curiosity stirring within you. What harm could come from entertaining the idea, if only for a moment? With a sense of hesitancy tinged with intrigue, you tucked the card into your pocket, a silent promise to explore the mysterious invitation further.

The sun hung low in the sky as you made your way back to the park, the familiar sight of Ryomen Sukuna sketching under the shade of a tree drawing you closer. With each step, your heart quickened, a mixture of apprehension and excitement swirling within you.

As you approached him, Sukuna glanced up from his sketchpad, a small smile gracing his lips. "Back again, I see," he remarked, his voice smooth and confident.

You nodded, unable to suppress the curiosity that burned within you. "I couldn't stay away," you admitted, your tone tinged with a hint of uncertainty.

Sukuna's gaze softened, a flicker of amusement dancing in his eyes. "I thought as much," he replied, his attention returning to his sketch. "Have you given any more thought to my offer?"

You hesitated, the memory of his cryptic request still fresh in your mind. "I'm not sure I understand what you see in me," you confessed, your voice tinged with a mixture of curiosity and self-doubt.

Sukuna looked up, his gaze meeting yours with a piercing intensity. "Sometimes, it's not about understanding," he replied cryptically. "It's about embracing the unknown. You won’t be able to live a life like this without embracing what makes life so hard, you know.”

“Why do you keep asking me?” you demanded of him. “I’m just a burnt out college student. What do I have to offer?”

Sukuna looked up from his sketchpad, his expression serious. “Because you’re my muse.”

The words hung in the air, and you felt a strange thrill at the idea. Despite your initial reluctance, you found yourself agreeing to his request. 

"I suppose……I could give it a try." you finally conceded, a hint of uncertainty still lingering in your voice. “What do I have to lose at this point?”

Sukuna's smile widened, a spark of satisfaction flickering in his eyes. "Excellent." he replied, a note of excitement creeping into his tone. "Trust me, you won't regret it."

“I hope not.”

“Little muse, you should pose on the other side.” He says to you. “I need to get your hair right for this one.”

You nodded at him. You  couldn’t help but ponder at his words for a moment, the weight of their meaning sinking in. He called you his muse. He needed you as his muse. You didn’t know why you agreed, but you knew you really had nothing to lose. And this gives you something to do, other than being miserable about your college life. 

There was something about Sukuna, you  couldn’t point it out even if you tried. But you knew that there was an air of mystery surrounding Sukuna that both intrigued and unnerved you. But despite your reservations, you found yourself drawn to him like a moth to a flame. 

Because it was quite easy to see for you.

You think he was about to change your life.

And little did you know, you were right.

The following weeks were quite a hurricane storm. You were quite the spectator to Sukuna’s creativity. Everything about how he worked was something you had never seen before. He was always so full of passion, everything about it was electric. His energy was infectious, and you found yourself caught up in his world. 

You posed for him in various outfits he made each and every week, each one more daring and unconventional than the last. Despite his notorious reputation, Sukuna was surprisingly patient with you. He encouraged you, challenged you, and celebrated your progress. 

At first, it was hard adjusting to it all. You didn’t know if you actually had it in you to pull these clothes off. But he kept talking to you about each and every story the dress made and more and more, each piece of clothing he made for you to try and model in was clothes that slowly became your friend.

He pushed you out of your comfort zone, and you discovered slowly but surely, you came to realize that there was passion in you too, as much as there was the bounty of potential and confidence that was just waiting to be nurtured and waiting to blossom. 

The connection between you two grew stronger, and you began to understand why he had chosen you. Your exhaustion and determination, your raw, unpolished presence, was exactly what he needed to reignite his creativity. One evening, after a particularly intense session, you found yourself sitting beside him over glasses of wine, watching the city lights flicker in the distance. 

As you sat beside Sukuna, watching him sketch with newfound clarity, you couldn't help but feel a sense of validation wash over you. You watch him pour another glass on your glass and then his.

"I think I'm starting to get it," you admitted, breaking the comfortable silence between you.

Sukuna glanced up from his sketchpad, a pleased smile gracing his lips. "Told you, little muse." he replied, his voice tinged with satisfaction. "There's something about you that's just... captivating."

“Oh don’t flatter me that way.”

His words echoed in the dimly lit room, punctuated by the clinking of glasses and the soft hum of conversation. Sukuna's eyes held a glimmer of sincerity as he spoke, his grin genuine as he savored the moment.

"You've brought something back to life in me," he repeated, his voice carrying a weight of truth. It was a confession, raw and unguarded, revealing a vulnerability that belied his usual stoic demeanor. “I’m thankful.”

As you watched him, a warmth spread through your chest, your heart swelling with a mixture of pride and affection. To know that you had played a part in rekindling Sukuna's passion, in breathing life into his creativity, filled you with a sense of purpose unlike anything you had ever felt before.

You chuckled softly, feeling a warmth spread through you at his words. "Well, I'm glad I could help," you said, sincerity lacing your tone. "And who knows, maybe this could be the start of something great."

Sukuna's gaze softened, a glimmer of gratitude shining in his eyes. "I have a feeling it will be," he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. “Well, it already is, if I’m being honest.”

“Why me, really?” you asked softly as you take in the image of him. “Why did you choose me?”

Sukuna turned to you, his eyes reflecting the lights of the city. “Because you’re real. You’re not polished or perfect, and that’s what makes you beautiful. You remind me that inspiration can come from the most unexpected places.”

His words touched you deeply, and you realized that this experience had changed you. You were no longer just a burnt-out college student. You had become a muse, a source of inspiration, and in turn, you had found your own spark of creativity and passion. You were his muse, you were the essence of his wonder.  As you looked at Sukuna, you could see he was looking at you.

In that moment, as Sukuna's gaze met yours, you felt a surge of emotion welling up inside you. It was as if the air between you crackled with an unspoken understanding, a shared connection that transcended words.

Without a word, Sukuna reached out, his hand gently cupping your cheek as he leaned in closer. The warmth of his touch sent shivers down your spine, igniting a fire within you that burned brighter with each passing second.

And then, his lips met yours in a soft, tender kiss. It was a kiss filled with unspoken promises, a silent vow to cherish each other and the bond you shared. In that fleeting moment, time seemed to stand still as you lost yourself in the warmth of his embrace, the world around you fading into the background.

As you pulled away, breathless and flushed, you locked eyes with Sukuna once more, a smile tugging at the corners of your lips. In that simple gesture, you both knew that this was just the beginning of something extraordinary, a journey filled with endless possibilities and boundless love.

"Wow," you whispered, your heart racing as you gazed into Sukuna's eyes. "I never knew..."

Sukuna's smirk was tinged with affection as he brushed his thumb lightly over your cheek. "You never knew what, my dear muse?"

"That you could make me feel this way," you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. "That you could make me feel... alive."

Sukuna's expression softened, his eyes reflecting the depth of his feelings for you. "You've brought out something in me that I thought was lost forever," he confessed. "And for that, I'll always be grateful, little muse.”

You could feel yourself echo in the shade of scarlet as you leaned in to press another gentle kiss to his lips, savoring the warmth and intimacy of the moment. He kissed you back, his hands encroaching against your jaw as he pulled you closer to him. In Sukuna's embrace, you felt a sense of belonging, a sense of completeness that you had never experienced before.

As you pulled away, a smile graced Sukuna's lips, his gaze filled with warmth and adoration. "Shall we continue to inspire each other, my dear muse?" he murmured, his voice low and husky. 

With a nod and a smile, you intertwined your fingers with his, knowing that together, you were destined to create something truly extraordinary.

When you look at him, the city lights seem dull.

Ryomen Sukuna was brighter than everything else.

And you fell in love with everything in him more.

IT WAS ALL AN INTENSE WHIRLWIND. At every turn, Sukuna flaunted your presence, introducing you to his acquaintances and peers as his muse, the source of his inspiration. Your relationship with him flourished amidst the glamorous backdrop of high-profile parties and events, where you were the center of attention, admired for your natural allure and captivating presence.

In the eyes of Sukuna, you were not just a model or a companion; you were the embodiment of his artistic vision, the muse who breathed life into his designs and fueled his creativity. Together, you navigated the intricacies of the fashion world, of his world as you basked in the spotlight and forging a bond that transcended mere admiration.

As your connection with Sukuna deepened, the lines between your worlds began to blur. He used his extensive network to secure opportunities for you, arranging magazine features where you modeled the clothes he had painstakingly crafted. With each photoshoot and editorial spread, you became the living embodiment of his artistic vision, seamlessly blending into the world he had created.

As your career flourished under his guidance, you found yourself spending more and more time in Sukuna's presence. He became not just your mentor, but your confidant and companion, guiding you through the intricacies of the fashion industry with unwavering support and encouragement.

With Sukuna's help, you acquired your own manager and began to take on more jobs, each one bringing you further into the spotlight. You reveled in the attention, basking in the glow of success that seemed to follow wherever you went.

As the days turned into weeks and the weeks into months, the lines between both of your lives blurred almost imperceptibly. What began as occasional visits to his apartment soon transformed into a routine, with more nights spent in his space than in your own college dorm.

His apartment became a sanctuary of sorts, a place where you could escape the pressures and expectations of the outside world and simply be yourself. The familiar surroundings, infused with Sukuna's presence, offered a sense of comfort and security that you found nowhere else.

In Sukuna's world, time seemed to slow down, allowing you to savor each moment spent together. Whether it was cooking dinner together in the cozy kitchen, lounging on the couch as you watched movies late into the night, or simply sharing quiet conversations in the dim glow of lamplight, every experience felt like a precious gift.

And as you became more deeply entwined in Sukuna's life, you found yourself embracing aspects of his world that were once foreign to you. You attended glamorous parties and events by his side, proudly adorned with everything he made to fit only you. You enjoyed standing beside him as he spoke to other fashion connoisseurs, while you ended up mingling with fashion elites and modeling industry insiders who passed around their business cards to you one after the other.

But amidst the glitz and glamor, there were moments of vulnerability and intimacy that bound you together even more tightly. You realized that not everyone saw this part of the world Ryomen Sukuna orbited. You enjoyed his company, you enjoyed watching him pick apart fabrics all day. 

You’ve seen him be frustrated with his work each and every day. You’ve seen him rush to you with delight when he thinks that it’s perfect enough for you to wear. In that whole two years,  you found yourself sharing your hopes and dreams, your fears and insecurities, laying bare your soul in a way you never thought possible.

In the midst of the glamor and passion, there were also moments of turmoil and discord that tested the strength of your relationship. Arguments erupted over trivial matters, escalating into heated exchanges that left you both feeling wounded and raw. Tears were shed, words were spoken in anger, and the once serene sanctuary of Sukuna's apartment became a battleground for your conflicting emotions.

At times, it felt as though your lover was a tempestuous storm, his moods shifting unpredictably from blazing intensity to icy detachment. His affectionate gestures were often overshadowed by moments of aloofness, leaving you feeling bewildered and uncertain of where you stood in his heart.

But Sukuna was a complicated man, and his feelings for you were just as complex. He could be warm and affectionate one moment, then distant and cold the next. His hot-and-cold behavior left you confused and exasperated. There were times he seemed to take pleasure in toying with your emotions, pushing your boundaries, and testing your naivete.

In the midst of these turbulent emotions, Sukuna's behavior sometimes bordered on manipulative. He had a knack for using subtle tactics to exert control over you, whether it was through guilt-tripping, emotional manipulation, or even resorting to underhanded methods like calling your friends to inquire about your whereabouts without your knowledge.

These manipulative tendencies only added to the strain on your relationship, fostering a sense of distrust and resentment that simmered beneath the surface. Despite your love for Sukuna, there were moments when you questioned whether the tumultuous nature of your connection was worth the emotional toll it took on you.

Yet, even in the midst of the storm, there were moments of tenderness and vulnerability that reminded you why you fell in love with Sukuna in the first place. In the quiet moments of reconciliation, when apologies were whispered and forgiveness granted, you found solace in the depths of your shared connection, clinging to the hope that love would ultimately prevail over the trials and tribulations that threatened to tear you apart.

Leaving behind the familiarity of your college dorms for the sanctuary of Sukuna's apartment marked a significant turning point in your life. Graduation loomed on the horizon, a milestone that signified the culmination of years of hard work and dedication. Yet, amidst the celebrations and anticipation of what lay ahead, it was the quiet moments spent in Sukuna's arms that held the greatest allure.

With each passing day, your bond with Sukuna deepened, weaving itself into the very fabric of your existence. His apartment, once a temporary escape from the demands of college life, had now become your sanctuary, a refuge from the chaos of the outside world. Within its walls, you found solace and strength, a sense of belonging that transcended words.

The allure of Sukuna's presence was undeniable, you needed him. You knew there was no one else. You wanted him, all his ugly and dirty. In all his magnetic charm drawing you ever closer with each passing moment. In his arms, you found respite from the uncertainties and anxieties that plagued your mind, basking in the warmth of his affection and the reassurance of his love. You burned for him, as you always do. 

Ryomen Sukuna could only smirk as you clenched around him. He was trying to be careful with you, it was your first time after all. He could see the way your face scrunched as he kissed you all over, trying to distract you from the pain. He lets himself coo at you as he gives your forehead a small kiss.

"There, there," he cooed softly, pressing a tender kiss to your forehead. "Just relax, sweetheart. I'll take care of you."

His words were like a balm to your nerves, calming you as you adjusted to the sensation. You nodded, allowing yourself to relax into his touch as the initial discomfort began to fade.

"I trust you.” you whispered, meeting his gaze with a mixture of vulnerability and affection.

“I know you do, baby.”

His harsh thrusts could only really make your head spin. You held tight to him, moaning against his shoulder, tears falling from your face. His throat let out low growls one after another as he pushes through the depths of you with each and every bottoming down into you. He feels like he is molding into you, as much as he’s molding you into him.

“Yer so good f’r me, aren’t you?” He groans against you, his body enveloping all around you, the sweat of you melting against his skin. “Go ‘n baby, keep making those sounds f’r me.”

You could feel overwhelmed as he changed your position, your belly resting on the bed, his cock still inside you. You felt your body rattle as much as the bed did as l his huge cock effortlessly bullies deep into your hole with vigorous excitement. You could not stop feeling your insides be like they’re on fire. You could feel yourself squeeze around him tightly. 

His strong calloused hands wander below your chest, holding onto you the way he does with his fabrics — a sense of desire for the things that are beautiful. Soon enough, you could feel them strongly encroach against the will of your hips, fingers leaving imprints as they pressed hard against your skin. You could only  squirm under his intense gaze. 

You couldn’t even focus anymore as drool fell from your lips. You cry as you shake and shake against his touch. His rough kisses hurt, but you didn’t care. You let him paint his lips all over your body, those brutally vain beauty of lips touching every sensitive part of you. He grins as he watches you lose all sense. He watches you apart from him.

“My little muse, uh, y’r so good f’r me, aren’t you?” He says against your ear, letting out a moan. “I’ll make a good dress f’r you, a sequenced one? No, no, it’s going to be the same color of your skin. I’ll feast on it. I’m pretty sure. But I’m the only one who gets to see it. I’m the only one that gets to see you that way.”

“Y–yeah,” You mewl against him, lost in everything but pleasure. ‘’kuna, I’m feeling something, it’s tooooooo good.”

“I know, baby. I can feel you, hm? I can feel you tightening up f’r me.” He leans forward, his body pressed against the small of your back. He thrusts, causing you to moan harshly. “Y’r about to come, hm? Give it to me, hm? Be my good little muse.”

Sukuna grabbed you by the hair, pulling you towards him with a fierce intensity. His lips crashed into yours, a passionate kiss that left you breathless as he pressed your bodies tightly together. You moaned into the kiss, your voice vibrating against his mouth as Sukuna trailed his lips down your neck, leaving a trail of bites and marks in his wake.

He pushed more into you as his head rested on the side of your neck with a predatory grace. His hips ground against yours, eliciting a gasp from your lips. The room filled with the sounds of your heavy breathing,tears pouring more and more as both of you closed the gates to pleasure

Sukuna's movements quickened, driven by a surge of pleasure and desire.. His mouth descended upon your collarbone, and neck — his free hand reaches breast, pinching it tightly as you cried. His tongue tracing patterns that sent shivers down your spine. You cried out, the mix of pain and pleasure overwhelming your senses as he marked you with his teeth.

The feeling of his warmth enveloping you was intoxicating, your eyes fluttering shut as you both lost yourselves in the sensation of being together. His thrusts grew harder and faster, each movement driving you both closer to the edge. You felt like your body was shutting down, with how cruelly deep he was getting into you.

Ryomen Sukuna  felt like he belonged inside of you. Here, in your arms, he was exactly where he wanted to be—lost in the embrace of someone he loved, sharing a connection that was raw, passionate, and undeniably real.

Your bodies moved together in a rhythm as old as time, each thrust bringing them closer to the peak of ecstasy. Sukuna's movements were swift as he moved you back on your back, arms pulling your legs upwards to him as he drilled his hips. 

You screamed in pleasure as you finally came, head pushing against the nook of the pillows.  But Sukuna was still waiting to get there. He kept pushing and pushing, as though he were driven by a primal need, a hunger that could only be sated by the touch of your skin, the sound of your voice, the taste of your lips.

You clung to him, your nails digging into his back as pleasure washed over you in waves. Every sensation was heightened, every touch electrifying as you surrendered yourself to the moment. The intensity of your connection was overwhelming, consuming you both in a fiery blaze of passion.

"I love you." you gasped, your voice strained with pleasure as Sukuna's movements quickened.

"I love you too," Sukuna whispered hoarsely, his breath hot against your ear. "More than anything in this world."

With each word, his thrusts grew more urgent, driving you both towards the edge of ecstasy. The air was thick with passion as you clung to each other, lost in a whirlwind of desire.

As the intensity reached its peak, you locked eyes, sharing a moment of perfect understanding. And in that moment, as you surrender yourself completely to each other, you knew that your love would endure, forever and always.

Nothing was coherent anymore, all you could see was the stars as everything  between you blurred until there was nothing left but the two of you. Nothing existed between the two of you but being lost in a world of pleasure and desire. Time seemed to stand still as you soared to new heights, your bodies intertwined in a dance of ecstasy.

And as you finally reached the pinnacle of your passion, Sukuna's name tumbled from your lips in a breathless cry, a testament to the depth of your desire for him. In that moment, you knew that nothing else mattered—only the two of you, bound together by an unbreakable bond that transcended time and space.

The realization that your love story with Sukuna had reached its final chapter weighed heavily on your heart as you sat across from him in the dimly lit restaurant. The flickering candlelight cast dancing shadows over the table, a poignant reminder of the fleeting nature of love and life itself.

You couldn't bear to see Sukuna sacrifice his dreams for the sake of your relationship. As much as you longed to hold onto him, to keep him by your side, you knew deep down that it wasn't fair to ask him to give up his ambitions for you. His talent deserved to be showcased on a global stage, and you couldn't stand in the way of his success, no matter how much it pained you to let him go.

With a heavy heart, you realized that sometimes, even the most beautiful love stories must come to an end. It was a bittersweet truth that echoed in the depths of your soul, a reminder that life was filled with moments of joy and sorrow, of love and loss.

As you gazed into Sukuna's eyes, you knew that it was time to say goodbye. It was a decision born out of love, a selfless act of letting go for the sake of both your happiness. And though it tore you apart inside, you found solace in the knowledge that you were setting him free to chase his dreams, even if it meant facing the pain of being apart.

“When were you going to tell me that you got an offer from Paris?”

As Sukuna's gaze lingered on you, his eyes held a depth of emotion that was difficult to decipher. It was a stark contrast to the man you had come to know so intimately, whose every thought and feeling had once been an open book to you. But now, as you sat across from him, you found yourself unable to read the nuances of his expression.

Your boyfriend had always been someone whose walls had gradually come down over time, allowing you to glimpse the vulnerability and truth behind his stoic facade. Yet, on this matter, his demeanor remained inscrutable, his thoughts veiled behind a mask of contemplation.

It was a disconcerting realization, to be faced with the uncertainty of Sukuna's intentions and emotions, especially in a moment as pivotal as this. You longed to understand his inner turmoil, to find some semblance of clarity amidst the swirling emotions that threatened to engulf you both.

But as you watched him take a sip of his wine, the silence between you stretching taut with unspoken words, you couldn't help but feel a sense of unease settle over you. Sukuna's unreadable expression left you feeling adrift, uncertain of where you stood in his heart and what the future held for your relationship.

"Why bring it up now?" he countered, his voice low and measured. "Would it have changed anything?"

You hesitated, grappling with the conflicting emotions swirling within you. On one hand, you understood Sukuna's desire to protect you from unnecessary worries and uncertainties. On the other hand, you couldn't shake the feeling of betrayal that gnawed at the edges of your consciousness.

"I guess I just wish you had been more open with me," you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. "We've been through so much together, Sukuna. I thought we could share everything."

Sukuna's expression softened, a trace of regret flickering in his eyes. "I'm sorry," he murmured, reaching across the table to gently grasp your hand. "I didn't mean to keep it from you. I just... I wanted to figure things out first, before I said anything."

You sighed, the tension in your shoulders easing slightly at his words. Despite the hurt and confusion that lingered between you, there was an underlying sense of understanding and acceptance that anchored you to each other.

"I know," you replied, offering him a small, sad tentative smile. "I just wish we could have talked about it sooner."

“I don’t plan on taking it.”

“Why not?” 

“I’m planning to stay here and be with you.” He admits to you. “I already have a name for myself here.”

“But you would make a bigger name for yourself, if you go out into the world.”

Sukuna's gaze softened as he reached across the table to cup your face gently in his hand. "I don't need a bigger name," he said earnestly, his thumb brushing against your cheek. "Not if it means being apart from you."

You felt a lump form in your throat at his words, touched by his unwavering devotion. "But Sukuna, I don't want to hold you back from your dreams," you replied, your voice tinged with concern.

He shook his head, his eyes never leaving yours. "You could never hold me back, baby.” he said softly. "Being with you is the greatest dream I could ever imagine."

"Are you sure?” You mumble at him. 

“I am. I wouldn’t say this to you if I wasn’t.”

“But what if you resent me?” You whisper to him. “What ended up deciding I ruined your life? I won’t do that to you.”

Sukuna's heart clenched at the sight of your distress, his own emotions swirling in turmoil. He watched as you bit your lower lip, a telltale sign of your efforts to hold back tears. In that moment, he felt a wave of guilt wash over him, knowing that his decision was causing you such pain.

"I'm sorry," he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. "I never wanted to hurt you."

You shook your head slightly, a silent acknowledgment of his apology. But the hurt in your eyes remained, a silent testament to the depth of your pain.

"It's okay," you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper. "I'll be okay."

But Sukuna knew that the road ahead would be anything but easy for you. And as he reached out to gently wipe away a tear from your cheek, he silently vowed to do everything in his power to ease your pain, even if it meant walking away from the one person he loved more than anything in the world.

He reached across the table, taking your hand in his. "You’re letting me go, aren’t you?”

“I can’t join you in Paris.” You mumble to him as you purse your lips at him. “You know that.”

“That’s why I don’t want to go. I don’t want to leave you.”

“But at the cost of your dreams? Sukuna, this is not good for you.”

“I know what’s good for me, and it's you.” His intense gaze burned you. “I’m not leaving you. Baby, I’m nothing without you. I can’t just leave you—”

Your eyes shone with bitter tears pouring down. “I can’t let you leave your dreams because of me. Not when you told me to follow my dreams no matter what.”

“But its not going to hinder me.”

“Those are easy words to say.” You whisper to him. “But one day, I know you’ll look at me and you’ll wake up and not feel happy anymore.”

“I love you.” 

As Sukuna's words sank in, you couldn't help but feel a pang of sadness in your chest. You knew deep down that he was right—that staying together might ultimately lead to resentment and regret. But the thought of being apart from him was almost unbearable.

"I love you too, more than anything." you murmured, squeezing his hand gently. "But maybe...maybe it's time for us to part ways."

Sukuna's expression mirrored your own conflicted emotions, his gaze soft yet troubled. “We don’t have to do this.”

“It’s not going to make us happy.”

“But we’d be together.”

“But that’s not fair.”

Your words hung heavy in the air, weighted with the sorrow of an impending farewell. Sukuna's heart ached at the thought of letting you go, the idea of a life without you seeming almost unbearable. He longed to hold onto you, to defy the inevitable and cling to the love you shared.

"We don't have to do this," he echoed, his voice barely above a whisper. His hand tightened around yours, as if seeking reassurance in the warmth of your touch. "We can find a way to make it work. We can fight for us."

Your heart clenched at his words, torn between the love you felt for Sukuna and the harsh reality of your situation. You knew that as much as you wanted to stay, to fight for your relationship, there were forces at play beyond your control.

With a trembling breath, you leaned forward and pressed a tender kiss to Sukuna's lips, savoring the bittersweet taste of goodbye. It was a kiss filled with all the love and longing that had defined your relationship, a silent farewell to the life you had built together.

As you pulled away, tears glistened in your eyes, reflecting the pain of your decision. "I'm sorry," you whispered, your voice choked with emotion. "I love you, but I have to go."

With one last lingering look, you turned and walked away, each step a painful reminder of the love you were leaving behind. Sukuna watched you go, his heart heavy with sorrow, knowing that this was the right choice even as it tore him apart inside.

Leaving Sukuna's apartment that night was one of the hardest things you had ever done. As you gathered your belongings and made your way to the door, each step felt heavier than the last, weighed down by the gravity of your decision. It was a choice born out of love and sacrifice, a painful acknowledgment that staying by his side would only serve to hinder both of your paths forward.

In the days that followed, you found yourself grappling with a profound sense of loss and longing. The absence of Sukuna's presence in your life left a void that seemed impossible to fill, a gaping emptiness that echoed with the memories of your time together. Yet, despite the ache in your heart, you knew that staying away was the only way to truly move forward.

You avoided places where you knew Sukuna frequented, unwilling to risk the temptation of running into him and reopening old wounds. The thought of seeing him again filled you with a mixture of longing and fear, knowing that even the briefest encounter could reignite the flame of your feelings for him.

Deep down, you knew that if you allowed yourself to see him again, you would be drawn back into his orbit, unable to resist the pull of his magnetic presence. But you also knew that returning to him would only perpetuate the cycle of heartache and uncertainty that had plagued your relationship from the start.

And so, you made a conscious decision to stay away, to give yourself the space and time to heal. It was a choice driven by a desire for self-preservation, a recognition that true love sometimes means letting go, even when every fiber of your being longs to hold on.

Your manager told you when he was leaving.

You booked a shoot that same day, to keep busy.

Because you knew you would cry your eyes out.

You knew you’d go to the airport and see him off.

You didn’t want to break your hearts even more.

YOU THINK YOU’LL NEVER GET OVER HIM. Years later, you stood at the pinnacle of your career, having fulfilled your dream of becoming a successful model. Your name was well-known in the fashion world, and as you neared the age of retirement from modeling, you smoothly transitioned into acting, where you were already making a significant impact. 

Sukuna lingered in your thoughts like a haunting melody, an ever-present refrain that played in the background of your daily life. Despite the passage of time and the distance that now separated you, his presence continued to echo through the corridors of your mind, a constant reminder of the love you had shared and the dreams you had once dared to chase together.

In the quiet moments of solitude, his memory would surface like a ghost from the past, flooding your thoughts with bittersweet nostalgia. You would find yourself reminiscing about the moments you had shared, the laughter and tears, the whispered confessions and stolen kisses. Each memory was etched into the fabric of your being, an indelible mark that refused to fade with time.

Even amidst the hustle and bustle of your busy life, Sukuna's presence lingered like a shadow, casting a subtle but palpable weight upon your heart. His absence was a constant ache, a void that no amount of success or distraction could ever hope to fill. You would catch yourself reaching for your phone to text him, only to remember that he was no longer there to answer.

Each morning, you carefully selected an outfit from the collection of clothes Sukuna had designed for you. He left them to you to find in his apartment, one he also left you. He left the letter saying that he wants you to continue using it until the lease is up. That everything he had was always going to be for you — it was always going to be with the thought of you.

Each and everyday, you knew that there was always a happy feeling in you when you wore them. You still feel like you had a  connection with him through the fabric and cuts that had once been a part of his creative vision. His presence was woven into the very threads you wore, a constant reminder of the man who had once called you his muse. Somehow, you think, this was the only way that you could still love him — even when you both aren’t together anymore.

You often wondered where Sukuna was now, how he was thriving in the ever-evolving fashion world. Sometimes, when nostalgia struck, you would visit the store of his fashion house in Tokyo, browsing through the latest collections. Each piece you bought reminded you of him, a tangible connection to the past that you cherished dearly.

Despite your lingering feelings, you hadn't heard from Sukuna since he left for Paris. From what you heard from your mutual friends, he still keeps up to date with you. He buys your magazines, he watches your interviews, your shows. When you heard it, you could feel your heart break over and over. He still looks after you, from afar. 

You didn't expect him to call you now. That’s just not his style. Even back then when you were dating. But you think that he understands. You look at your ring, that butterfly ring that he made you. You purse your lips as you feel how it still fits after all this time. How it fits so much better than your engagement ring.

You didn’t know how it happened, but it just did. You don’t think that he’ll ever measure how Ryomen Sukuna shaped your life. How Sukuna had loved you. But you couldn’t expect anything less. But life had moved on, and so had you, or so you told yourself. You were getting married in a couple of months. To a man that has become a stability in your life for the longest of times.

Yet, there were moments when the memories would flood back—the nights spent at glamorous parties, the intimate conversations, and the way he had looked at you as if you were his entire world. The warmth in the way he said your name, the tenderness of his fingertips against your own. Those memories were bittersweet, a blend of happiness and longing that you carried with you.

In that small moment, you allowed yourself to indulge in a bit of nostalgia, thinking about the paths you both had taken. You hoped he was happy and successful, thriving in the world he had always been so passionate about. And though you doubted you would ever hear from him again, you couldn't help but wonder if he ever thought about you, if he ever missed the days when you were his muse, and he was your world.

You were going to see a show in the Paris Opera while you both were on your honeymoon in France. Your fiance procured them for you. He’d always known that you liked opera. But you’ve never said out loud how and why. Because you knew that if you told him that you cling to him because of your first great love, you knew it wouldn’t be fair to him.

Still, you were going to go enjoy the show. He told you it was a romantic drama with comedy in the middle. But you knew that you probably wouldn’t be able to focus on enjoying the show as well as you want to. After all, it would be hard. You would be looking at those familiar passionate stitches and threads, knowing they were specifically made by request of the Paris Opera by the one you had loved the most — Ryomen Sukuna.

You think that this was the only ending.

But perhaps if there would be another one,

In all the alternate universes, all the next lives;

You’d wish that you and Sukuna were happy.

You’d wish you both would end up together.