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kooktrash · 5 months

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TEMPEST ☆ jeon jungkook

summary: you’ve always considered your life to be more mundane than you would like to admit. it was a constant cycle of the same things over and over again that when you meet jeon jungkook at a bar, of all places, you didn’t expect to see just how much he would change your life and those around you. he’s got an air of mystery around him with his charming good looks and a violent past that you slowly begun to unravel when it feels like everything is going perfect.

☆ genre/au: obsessed!jungkook x college student!y/n [afab, she/her]

☆ 31k words [😭]

warnings: soft yandere. smut. jk is a little delulu. toxic. manipulation. gaslighting. underground streetfighter by night, gym owner by day. he’s intimidating and a huge asshole to everyone but y/n—hes aggressive but he hides it. calvin klein jk. spoiler: he slutshames oc’s bff but she’s snakey. depictions of violence [streetfighter, aggressive, he beats a man with a brick deadass, and physically assaults someone]. He’s not a good guy. dom/sub/switch themes but not intense. rough sëx. multiple rounds. oral [both recieving]. missionary. riding. needy and clingy jk. possessive jk. jk is good at pretending. jk has familial problems. severe abandonment issues. unprotected smüt but also only for one round [they go for two]. oc is aware of his red flags but does oc care?

tempest by deftones

There was something about someone seeming unattainable that always seemed to draw him in the most. It’s almost like he enjoyed making things harder for himself, like he wanted to make a game of it. Of course it wasn’t a good thing for him to do this especially not when it was at the expense of another person’s emotions but he couldn’t help it. When someone as beautiful and bright as the person across the bar from him catches his attention, how was he not supposed to want them for himself?

You didn’t look shy, maybe just quiet, or mysterious would suit you better. There was a sense of wariness around you that he could spot from a mile away with the gaze you used to eye the crowded bar. Everyone here looked more rugged, a mix of band tees, leather jackets, motorcycle boots and smoke clouding the air. Even the women around were more fit for a place like this with their deep shades of red lipsticks, low-cut tops and tight jeans whereas you seemed to illuminate in a different light.

“When you said you wanted to get a few drinks, this isn’t what I thought you meant,” you said with distaste as you spotted a reddish-brown stain on the cement flooring of the bar looking eerily similar to washed up blood. It made your fingers tighten around your small handbag and the pink pepper spray you had inside it. You pressed your legs more firmly together, deeply regretting the satin miniskirt you wore and how little it covered you from behind. In your defense, you thought you would be going to a relaxing lounge bar with expensive champagne and servers dressed in suit and tie… not some run-down bar on the wrong side of the tracks.

“It isn’t? I could’ve sworn I specified,” your best friend lied with a grin as she took your hand in hers and directed you to the bar, “And it’s fine, we’re meeting some guys here tonight and you’ll start feeling comfortable soon. Just don’t look so prissy, Y/n, you might get robbed.”

“Or worse than that,” you mumbled to yourself as she leaned over the counter without a care of how her tight dress raised from the back and smiled flirtatiously at the bartender. You circled your arms around yourself in an attempt to appear smaller and more closed off—also hoping to hide the exposed parts of your torso. While she did most of the talking, you took in more of the area with a faint scrunch of your nose, clearly displeased by it all.

It was somewhat small, beer posters and neon signs on the wall. The bar was a long strip filled with scary men with tattoos all looking at you and your friend. There were a few tables here and there, dart boards on one side and a couple pool tables scattered around too. It was technically a one-story building aside from the lofted area that only seemed big enough for another pool table or two and a line of slot machines. The lighting was dim but not dark and maybe that’s what made it so easy for you to notice the eye contact you made with someone else.

He was… intense. He had the structure of someone you would find attractive but the look in his eyes nearly drew you away with just that. It was hard to pull away from it and it made your heart race. It wasn’t the look you gave someone on accident, it was purposeful and long, one that demanded to be noticed. He held a pool cue in his hands and was with a group of men you could barely make out but there was no denying he was more focused on you than whatever happened around him.

“You made it!” A voice cut into the blur of noise that you had tuned out, and suddenly your attention was taken away from the stranger. You looked at the two guys in front of you, brows scrunched with confusion as you studied them. They couldn’t have been more opposite from the man you just looked at with their pastel colored button-ups that screamed of years spent in a Fraternity. Still, not the type who would come to a place like this.

“Sorry we’re late, I take full blame since I forgot my wallet and had to drive back for it but I’m here now and I’m hoping I haven’t missed anything,” one of them said to your friend, as he pulled her into a hug and his hand slid down to her waist. Sieun smiled, “No worries, we haven’t been here long anyway.”

She turned to you with her hand pinned to his toned chest and pressed to his side, “Y/n, this is Rowoon.”

“Hey,” the guy said with a cocky nod of his head before looking at his friend, “That’s Jisoo, he’s a good buddy of mine.”

You raised an impressed brow but looked at his friend who seemed to have a quieter, more toned down nature that made you feel a fraction less uncomfortable. Maybe he didn’t care to be here either.

A familiar whooshing sound followed the movement of his pool cue as he aimed for a solid green number six and watched the ball sink into one of the holes. He couldn’t help but smile knowing how close he was to winning and only two more to go. With careful calculation to how he could make it in, he rounded the table looking for the best angle.

Facing the same direction as another earlier occurrence, he looked up for a second, searching the crowd below him with a quick sweep. The light he had found earlier was dimly lit behind a pair of lean shoulders that had his eyes narrowing. The guy’s back was to him and he towered over you obnoxiously that he could barely make you out. You weren’t at the bar anymore, now you were tucked away at some far table, smiling at whoever you talked to and he quickly did the math. Your friend and you had suddenly become four, two noticeable pairings that had him wondering if the pretty girl from earlier was taken. If so, how does he go about that obstacle? Does he still take his chances for a little bit of fun?

“Hurry it up man, I’m gonna piss myself already,” his friend, Hoseok, nearly cried as he shook his leg, tightening his grip on his pool cue. Jungkook didn’t say anything as he looked at you one more time, eying suspiciously at the sight of your smile disappearing and an awkward glance toward your friend replacing it.

He angled himself with the cue and aimed for a yellow number two before looking over, hardening his gaze as he watched you hold a hand up to the guy as if asking for some distance. He shot the cue without meaning to, and failed to notice how he pocketed the 8 ball too soon and lost.

“Well that was shit,” Namjoon sneered as he pushed off the high table he was leaning against and took Jungkook’s cue from him, “I thought you were better than this.”

Hoseok practically ran to the nearest bathroom as he won the round and Yoongi took his place, “Wow, he really is about to pee himself.”

“Whatever,” Jungkook huffed as he looked toward the staircase, “I think I’m gonna get another drink, go on without me.”

“Bring me one,” Yoongi called out but Jungkook was already heading down the steps, shouting back a quick, ‘Get it yourself’, and disappearing.

“Brat,” Yoongi muttered under his breath as he took the small chalk square and rubbed it on the tip of his cue.

“No, I don’t think I owe you anything, actually,” you said with an annoyed sigh as you looked up at Jisoo. What you had hoped would be a somewhat comfortable night quickly turned left when you realized the two guys Sieun invited were nothing but entitled law students wanting to get their dick wet. You should have recognized it sooner, it would have saved you all this time if you just went home instead of following along with your best friend’s ploy.

It had been alright at first but then the drinks became a couple too many and suddenly the nice guy you thought Jisoo was became an arrogant manchild who’s upset you won’t let him grind against you for a song.

“Come on, don’t be such a bitch about it, it’s just dancing,” Rowoon said, apparently attempting to play matchmaker for his best friend to get some tonight too. Your brows raised in disbelief before looking down at Sieun who seemed stunned. She was leaning against him with his arm secured around her waist and she made no move to pull away from him either.

“Y/n,” she bit her lip nervously, “You are acting kind of stuck up, they’ve been buying us drinks all night.”

A scoff left your lips, “Because they wanted to, Sieun. I never asked nor did I promise anything.”

“Whatever man, it’s not even worth it,” Jisoo said as he looked at his friend, “I knew you were going to have us hang out with spoiled bitches tonight.”

“Is that a way to talk about a someone standing right in front of you?” A deep voice cut in from a couple feet away and it took you all a moment to realize they were talking to Jisoo. You looked behind him at the man from upstairs, throat tightening in surprise by his darker aura up close. He was attractive, godly, and you couldn’t deny it when he stood near you now. He looked down at you with that familiar gaze from earlier and only looked away when Jisoo processed his intrusion.

“Hey, why don’t you turn around and mind your business, bro,” Jisoo said with a scoff. You looked at Sieun with worry but her eyes were trained on the stranger as he glared at Jisoo.

“I can’t when you’re shouting out your business for anyone to hear,” Jungkook said with a tight smile, “It just sounds like you can’t handle rejection, bro.”

“Is this guy bothering you?” He asked you in a gentle tone, not caring for the eyes on him as he grew closer to you, “I was just at the bar and I heard some of what he was saying and… well, I just couldn’t stand by when he disrespected you. I didn’t feel like it was right.”

“Yo, why don’t you fuck off already?” Rowoon asked as he pushed Jungkook by the shoulder, “Don’t create a problem where there isn’t or I swear I’ll—“

“You’ll what?” Jungkook asked as he stood straighter, “You’ll stick up for your buddy here? Because if that’s the case I can call a couple of my friends down too and make it a little more fair.”

As if called upon, they looked up to where Jungkook pointed and met Namjoon’s glare. The three were still playing pool but found what was taking Jungkook so long and looked down. You looked up too, mouth dry with anxiety as you turned to Sieun but she seemed intent on sticking to Rowoon’s side. The safest thing to do was to get away from a suddenly messy situation and take your friend home but she was more interested in talking Rowoon down instead.

Jungkook just smiled as he took a step back, “But that’s not necessary, I really just wanted to check on if she was alright or not so I can leave you guys alone now.”

You waited for the stranger to head back to the bar to speak and all you could do was call out to your friend. “Sie—“

“Whatever, fuck this shit is lame,” Jisoo huffed once the stranger was too far for earshot, “You guys do what you want I’m going somewhere else.”

“Yeah,” Rowoon said, trying to pry Sieun’s hands off him, “It’s gotten dead here anyway. I got what I wanted so let’s have fun somewhere else.”

“Wait for me,” she said giddily and you scoffed. She still wanted to go with them? “Sieu—“

“Look, if you don’t want to come out with us that’s fine but I’m not going to be rejected just because you aren’t into your guy,” she rushed to say as she began to walk away from you, “Call Jin, or an Uber and text me when you’re home.”

You looked taken back, surprised by her tone and it had your eyes narrowing with a sense of annoyance. You watched her walk off without you, completely surprised by her audacity to just leave you alone at a place you were clearly already uncomfortable at. You assumed you would be meeting up with others tonight but not somewhere like and not people like those guys. Sieun knew all along what she was dragging you into and wanted to paint you like the problem when you didn’t follow along to everything. They called you a bitch for fuck’s sake.

It was obvious what she said had been somewhat of a bluff considering she looked back at you like she still expected you to follow after her. Instead, you stood back looking indifferent to her departure and waited till she was out of sight to let yourself worry.

The spring night air was still chilly, too cold to be outside waiting for an Uber in the clothes you wore and you didn’t want to stand out there alone anyway. Your best bet was to wait at the crowded bar and pray no one put anything in your drink or something.

Jungkook was evidently surprised to see you alone out of the blue and sitting on the stool next to his, not bothering to even look his way as you focused on your cell phone. He couldn’t help but bite back a smile, thinking of what he should say and how he should say it. You barely reacted to him earlier but that wouldn’t stop him from trying. It was all about timing and patience.

“I’m sorry for butting in earlier,” Jungkook said in a gentle tone that drew your attention toward him, “It wasn’t my place at all and I should have just ignored it but I heard them go on for a while and no one was doing anything to stop it and I guess I just acted without thinking.”

You didn’t say anything for a moment, simply looked at him as if debating if it was even worth your time to respond. With a polite smile you said, “It’s fine, but thank you.”

“No problem,” he cleared his throat, “But uh, you shouldn’t surround yourself with guys like that.”

“Trust me I don’t,” you sighed, “It’s the first time I’m meeting them and it’ll also be the last. Sorry you got dragged into it.”

“I didn’t,” Jungkook said as he looked down at his drink thinking of what to say, “I uh… well, I saw you earlier and I guess it was the perfect excuse to talk to you. Does that make me seem like a hypocrite? Here I go trying to save you from being hit on while I wanted to do the same, shit.”

His suddenly shy and flustered demeanor amused you in a way you hadn’t expected. His exterior was rough with his tattoos, dark clothing and obvious chiseled body underneath. He also sported facial piercings you rarely get to see in person and he didn’t seem like the type to blush yet here he was with red cheeks and a nervous smile. It made you more keen on talking to him, made you feel flattered to leave him in such a state if you were being honest.

“I think I would have preferred if it was you instead,” You confessed, remembering back to the eye content you two held with each other when you first got to the bar. He had definitely taken notice of you from the beginning.

Your response caught him off guard and he had to stop his eyes from trailing down to your lips just to see how they looked when you said it. A smirk threatened to show as he sat straighter, “You’re making me blush. I’m Jungkook, Jeon Jungkook, I mean.”

“Y/n,” you said shortly as you looked at his soft rounded eyes that stared back into your own with curiosity. They were focused entirely on you again, “L/n.”

Y/n.

“So Y/n…” he swallowed dryly, “I see your… friends are gone, what are you going to do?” He sucked in his cheek to keep his expression still as he watched you crane your neck out with an exaggerated sigh. In all honesty, it was the perfect amount of exposure for him to press his lips to your delicate skin and leave a soft trail of kisses in their wake.

He wasn’t sure how to explain it, but you were so appetizing like he wanted to have a taste. Just one.

“I’m not sure,” you admitted as you looked down at your phone, “I’ve just been waiting for my ride to get here, but I should probably get going now.”

“Can I walk you out?” He asked. All it took was a simple nod of your head for him to be getting off the stool, stretching a hand out to you and helping you down. You took a moment to adjust your skirt that had risen when you were sitting and let him take your hand once more as you walked out.

It’s so strange knowing that if Jisoo had acted better, there was a chance you would be walking hand and hand with him instead. What was stranger was how your eyes had been on Jungkook at first too.

Eyes followed behind you like they had when you arrived and it made you nervous all over again. There was one thing to know people were looking at you, it was another to know people were glaring at you. Even if it wasn’t maliciously it felt like a lot to be stared at in a room you had never been in. Not to mention half of the men here gave you the serious creeps and now that you weren’t distracted by conversation, their wandering eyes were more noticeable.

“I’ve never seen you here before,” Jungkook stepped back to say into your ear over the loud music, essentially pulling you closer to him, “You don’t look like the type to hang around these parts.”

“Is it that obvious?” You asked, walking a little bit quicker to stay close. He slowed his walk to match yours better and cleared room for you to walk ahead of him as you went on, “Are you?”

“Am I?” He asked with slight confusion before he could fully process what you said and in an attempt to brush it off, he simply said, “Every now and then if I want something more lowkey.”

The two of you made it out in one piece but the red tesla Uber X that was supposed to pick you up was still a couple minutes away and it was cold. You wrapped your arms around yourself immediately after the cold hit and your teeth chattered loudly that he couldn’t help but look down at you. He didn’t want to grab you but he didn’t want you to freeze either, so he stepped closer so that you nearly touched and tried blocking you from the direction the chilly night air was blowing.

“You don’t have to wait with me, you’re probably cold too,” you said between trembling teeth, nearly jumping in place to warm yourself up. Jungkook just smiled as he looked down at you, “And leave you out here all by yourself? No thanks, I’m feeling fine, you’re the one who looks like you could use some more warmth.”

“I’m fine,” you lied, leaning into him without meaning to and feeling the body heat radiate off of him and cast you with a hint of warmth you desperately needed. If you had forgotten about Sieun ditching you for two guys, you remembered now and very clearly at that. She was probably off having fun and doing what they want while you practically froze outside.

“Come here,” he whispered gently, taking the initiative to just go for it and pull you into his arms. You were hesitant to let a stranger touch you — no matter how attractive he was — but it was just for a short moment while your Uber was a couple blocks away. You tucked yourself into him feeling his hands run up and down your arms as if to offer you further warmth and hugged you close.

You stayed against him for as long as you needed to until your ride was finally pulling up to where you stood and confirming you were their customer.

“Get home safe,” Jungkook told you and without thinking, you pressed your lips to his cheek in a goodbye before getting in the car with a quick ‘thank you’ thrown his way like it was nothing.

It took Jungkook a moment to bounce back. His face felt flushed and warmer than necessary and he stood at the end of the street watching the red Tesla drive off with his newest infatuation inside it.

“See, he didn’t leave.”

“Aye, Jungkook, mind telling us where you’re headed?” Hoseok asked as his friends from upstairs followed him out the club, “They thought you were ditching us for some chick.”

“Where’d she go anyway?” Yoongi asked, staring down the direction Jungkook was still facing, “And where’s her little friend? She was cute too.”

He thought about you for days. The very little amount of information he learned the other night played on a loop in his mind and he tried to dissect every little thing as if it’d help get closer to you. He hoped for anything that could fill the space of deep regret. How stupid could he be to not ask for your number?

It was such a rookie mistake and it made him want to gnaw at his skin. He had the chance to try and pursue it further and he had been too distracted by your innocent kiss to think properly. There were so many chances where he could’ve asked for your number but instead he just blanked. And how could he let himself be so distracted?

He’s hyper aware of his looks and how easy it was for him to charm someone but he never did anything about it. Every now and then he might indulge in time spent with someone else but anytime it started feeling a little too intense for his liking, he would end it quickly. Usually, he didn’t have to make the first move and people come to him. It makes it easier to turn them down that way too but he acted on impulse when he cut in. He wanted to get closer and once he’d done that he forgot how to act apparently.

How could he not ask for your number?

“You nervous?” Namjoon asked as he helped Jungkook wrap his hands with gauze. He was silent while Namjoon worked around him and it’s rare to not see him readying himself for a match. Jungkook could barely hear him speak as he listened to some rock song on full blast through his headphones. His mouth was practically sewn shut with how tight he held his jaw in place and his leg bounced with adrenaline.

When Namjoon freed one of his hands, he knocked the headphones off and looked at his friend, “What?”

“Are you nervous?” Namjoon asked again with a smirk this time, “You’re zoning out on me more than usual.”

“I’m trying to concentrate,” Jungkook said as he looked at his reflection in the dirty mirror of the locker room. The room was ugly green from old fluorescent lights and it reeked of sweaty gym equipment making it feel gloomy. It made him feel dirty.

He thought about you and your pretty outfit, the way it hugged your shape promiscuously in all the right places but also felt shy. Maybe that was part of your charm aside from your strong eye contact. You presented yourself shyly but he had a feeling that wasn’t the full truth of it. As if underneath your worrisome exterior, you had enough confidence to not need attention on you—even when you already have it. At least that’s what he thought when he saw you down in the crowd for the first time.

You had gone from someone attractive he had caught a glimpse of to someone he wanted to talk to. All you had to do was catch his eyes with yours and you had him thinking about you for days. When you willingly stepped into his arms and kissed his cheek, it had actually made him flustered. It was unexpected and cute, made his heart race just a little. Is that why he couldn’t let you be? Was it because his heart raced annoyingly while his head told him to let it go?

Stupid.

He was so stupid to let you go.

“It’s time.”

Namjoon gave him a reassuring pat on his shoulder and the two left the room ready to start. He played with the tape over his eyebrow piercing as he began to feel the slight rush set in when he was readying for a fight. The crowd was loud and cheering on whoever they were betting and most had a tendency to bet on him.

The opponent across from him was taller with broader shoulders and bleached blond spiky hair. He was glaring at Jungkook like he was trying to intimidate him but he just walked onto the mat calmly. The cheers around him grew louder, all chanting his name knowing he’d be taking home another win tonight.

The fight was going to be simple tonight, no eye gouging specifically but aside from that, no rules. He preferred them that way, he could practically do anything he wanted to win and he used everything he had, every time.

Just one, simple round.

”Look, I swear I didn't invite those guys again, plus Jimin is already here,” Sieun promised for the third time tonight as she pulled you closer to the front of the line where security was checking ID’s and taking fees. After nearly a week of ignoring her because of how she ditched you the past weekend, you grew bored of it and when she reached out to you, you responded. She does a lot of things to annoy you but you never care much to stay mad especially after knowing her for a couple years now. You were originally roommates your first year and developed into friends quickly after that.

She's more of a party girl than you are but it’s never bothered you before, even when some of the men she chooses to surround herself around are questionable. In all honesty, you don’t know how many friends she has aside from you and Jimin.

“I thought you guys were gonna cancel on me,” your friend said as he met with you two at the front. It was loud with flashing club lights and music that blared through your eardrums. He looked uncomfortable with everyone around but he tried to mask it with a smile.

Like yourself, Jimin rarely chose to go out so you would often find yourselves hanging out while scrolling through Sieun’s many posts of how great her night was. It was a choice and that’s why he was so hesitant to agree this time around. You practically had to beg him to join after Sieun begged you to come along too. There was some sort of underground ‘rave’ tonight at some abandoned warehouse not far from downtown and she had been buzzing about it for days.

You don’t even know where she heard of a place like this and when she waved the pink flier in front of your face, you were worried and curious. Now you find yourself surrounded by sweaty bodies drunk and high off who knows what while you try to anchor your worrying thoughts on your friend.

“I got you drinks,” he said, handing you both a cup, looking you up and down quickly and shifting his gaze away nervously. Sieun took hers and looked around, “Oh my god it’s so loud in here. There’s so many people, isn’t it fun?”

“Just don't run off like last time, we can’t afford to go looking for you again,” Jimin added, remembering back to the last time she got the two of you to come out with her. It was around Halloween and she left to go take shots with someone and before you knew it, she was gone. Her phone was in your purse after whining that she didn’t have pockets and it wasn’t until the next day you found out she made out with some guy before he paid for her cab to go home telling you how she blacked out.

“Jimin, don’t act like my dad and let’s just have fun,” she said, taking his hand in hers, trying to get his limp fingers to lace with her own, “I’ve got my two favorite people tonight.”

“Let’s take a shot then,” Jimin said with a sigh, letting go of her hand and turning toward you, flustered. You couldn’t help but laugh, “You’re such a pushover, y’know.”

“Yeah, whatever, it’s hard not to be when I’m friends with you two,” he joked as the three of you walked to the bar, “And just for clarification, I’m more of a pushover when it comes to you.”

“And what’s that supposed to mean?” You asked playfully as you got to the bar first, leaning against it as you waited for the bartender to notice you.

“Last weekend when you showed up at my door and crashed on my bed,” Jimin reminded you of the Saturday before. In a slightly tipsy mistake, you had been too annoyed with Sieun to do anything thoroughly and when you scheduled an Uber it was to Jimin’s place not yours. It had been the last saved address put into the app and you hadn’t cared to notice your mistake until you were so close to his apartment that there was nothing you really thought to do. It didn’t help that you had been distracted by the events of that night and the small moments with a handsome stranger.

“You let me in, you could’ve turned me away,” you joked knowing that he never would. You woke him up out of his sleep with a phone call asking to be let up and he tiredly let you kick him off his bed making him sleep in the living room. The next day you told him what happened [leaving out certain parts ] and he ignored Sieun because you did and he forgave her when you did.

A scoff left his lips, “Like I ever could.”

“What can I get you guys?”

You looked away from Jimin quickly, unsure how to feel after his mumbled words and quickly told the bartender what you wanted. An audible sigh was heard from his lips as he turned to Sieun, ready to feel her prying eyes mocking him silently like she usually did when the three were together. She seems to think he’s just your little shadow but he’s not.

“Where’s Sieun?” He asked suddenly, shifting his gaze back to you, “Did she go to the restroom?”

“I don’t know,” you said with a shrug, grabbing your card out of your wallet to pay, “She didn’t say anything?”

“Oh my god,” Jimin huffed, “I’m gonna look around real quick, just stay there.”

In all honesty, Jimin was kind of thankful for Sieun’s disappearance. He could take a moment and rethink what was on his mind. Tonight was not the night to ask you out, especially not at a place like this and not with Sieun who he was sure had already drank a little bit before getting here. She was a good girl but sometimes she was reckless and he cared about her too so he left to find her and escape you.

The warehouse was in decent condition for being turned into a club like this and big enough to get lost in. It was shameful to admit how easy it was for Jimin to get lost.

After the fight, Jungkook had a heavy sense of adrenaline still coursing through his veins. His win was a given and with a promise to buy his friends drinks tonight, he went out to celebrate, landing himself at the same place as you for the second time in his life.

One might think it was just coincidental that they both attended the same place a second week in a row or you could look at it from a different perspective. Once again, Jungkook was given a second chance. You had been on his mind for days and it must’ve worked some string of fate to bring you together again and he couldn’t let that go.

You haven’t noticed him yet but he doesn’t blame you. The place was huge and dark so even if he sat across the squared bar counter, you couldn’t see him past the bottles at the center and the bartenders checking each side. He could only see you because of one of the strobe lights that kept casting you in a green glow. He recognized your features quickly and was reminded all over again of the strange trance you seemed to put him in.

Jungkook wasn’t oblivious to the guy you had been talking to for a while and unlike last time, you didn’t seem uncomfortable at all. You seemed to enjoy his company and when he left in the same direction your bitch of a friend did, you looked sad. He watched and waited while you did, the minutes passing by and still standing alone he couldn’t take the sight of it any longer.

Jimin and Sieun took forever and the longer you stayed hogging the bar while people tried to order, the more uncomfortable you got being alone. It’s the only reason why you chose to go and find your friends yourself, hoping they weren’t off arguing somewhere.

The last thing you wanted to do was get through the thick crowds to find your friends when you could barely see through strobe lights and random flashes of blue or red. Faces blurred together with deep shadows that barely let you see anyone clearly and your cell service was awful right now. It left you at a stand still, unsure which direction to take and annoyed by it.

In the mix of unfamiliar faces, one began to change and it didn’t take long for you to recognize him. Jungkook didn’t shy away from your soft glare, looking at you with a glint of adrenaline. His heart was pounding in his chest making his mouth feel dry in surprise. He closed the space between you, taking in your appearance in front of him and with an urge to smile, and shyly pointed out, “You again.”

“Me?” You questioned dumbly, still trying to wrap your mind around this coincidence. How is it that you’ve run into this stranger twice and so suddenly? Sure, you thought about him briefly and you assumed that was the end of it.

“I didn’t think I’d see you again,” Jungkook said. Your brows furrowed together and he’ll admit your look of confusion hurt him a little. Had you already forgotten all about him and was he just making a fool of himself this time? As he waited for you to respond, his nails pushed into his palm in a closed fist trying to ease his nerves.

“Why?” You asked, barely giving him any sort of response before it was his turn again. You too thought you’d never see him again yet you asked because you wanted to know his reasoning.

Despite his growing anxiety that he was the only one who couldn’t get you out of his head, he smoothed his tone and said, “Because you make me nervous.”

“You’re lying,” you said with the hint of a smile that encouraged him to keep going.

“I’m not,” Jungkook admitted truthfully, a soft look in his eyes as he said, “And you have no idea how mad I was that I didn’t get your number.”

When you didn’t say anything it made his smile falter, “Or did you already forget all about me?”

With a roll of your eyes, you released a small sigh and shook your head no. If anything you were forgetting your search for your friends because he was too distracting. A new smile spread across his features and he looked down at your full hands, “You plan on drinking all that yourself?”

It’s obvious they were for you and your bitch of a friend [who he remembers clearly ditching you for guys who insulted you], and some guy. Something inside him is asking who the guy was and if it was someone he should worry about being in his way but he’s decided to ignore it. Until you make it known that you don’t like his interest in you, he’s not planning on stopping.

You looked down at the drinks he was referring to and without thinking, you thrusted one toward him, “No, why don’t you take one?” As you juggled the three drinks in your hands, he was so close to grabbing one when a group of drunken people pushed past you to the bar, pressing you toward him.

His focus was on keeping you upright and in his arms rather than the three red cups that were crushed between you, or the cold liquid that spilled down the front of your dress. A soft gasp left your lips, stumbling into him as he held you up but locked eyes with one of the people who bumped into you. The guy didn’t even bother apologizing and that annoyed Jungkook even more. He looked up at Jungkook, feeling his glare on him that you didn’t even seem to notice as you worried more about the front of your dress being drenched in alcohol.

“Hey” Jungkook said over the loud music and the guy scoffed, rolling his eyes and attempting to follow his group. He moved to stand in front of him, same height but bigger build and said, “Don’t you think you should apologize?”

The guy tried to ignore him but Jungkook made it hard. He stood in front of him, little space between them and it was so obvious he was intimidating him. Jungkook watched the guy look back at you as you tried to dry off the front of your dress, he muttered a useless apology. You rolled your eyes, turning to Jungkook instead as you said, “I’m gonna go dry off.”

He let you walk off without much of a worry as he looked around. Your friends were nowhere to be seen and you left to the bathroom so he had a moment to think of what to do. He wanted to be somewhere you could easily find him, or that he could easily find you. At his feet, a bright screen lit up on the floor capturing his attention and without hesitating, he leant down to pick up the phone, recognizing the familiar wallpaper he had seen nights ago when you sat at the bar with him. Two notifications were stacked at the top and he couldn’t help but read them.

jimin: we’re upstairs

jimin: come

The phone has a passcode but he could still read the messages and without thinking, he cleared the notification away and followed after you.

He was not going to miss his chance again.

It took you minutes to dry off alone in the washroom, annoyed by the entire thing. Aside from getting soaked with the stench of alcohol, you were once again reminded that you’ve got no idea where your friends are. You liked seeing Jungkook but you’re still feeling alone somewhere you’re not used to. You need to call either Jimin or Sieun and bitch them out for leaving. Once you finished dabbing dry as much of it as possible, you felt around for your phone.

Your eyes widened suddenly, realizing it wasn’t with you and you felt the unbelievable weight of fear making its way into your fear wondering where it went. You rushed out of the packed washroom to start your search and came to a full stop as you stepped into the dark hallway.

A smile spread across Jungkook’s face, holding your phone up and waiting down the hall for you to find him. Your hands circled his as you took it from his hand, “Oh my god, thank you.”

You quickly checked your notifications screen for any sign that your friends were still alive and rolled your eyes when you found it blank. If they weren’t going to reach out to you then whatever, you were just going to do what you want. You tilted your head to the side in thought, looking up at him and asking, “Dance with me.”

“Okay,” he smiled warmly, holding your hand and letting you lead him to the music, already swaying your hips to the sound of the music. He let his free hand find the curve of your waist and pulled you toward him happily.

“You’re so pretty,” he said against your neck, soft touch tracing along your hips as they molded against his to the rhythm of the song playing. When your hands touched his all he could think about is how soft they felt. His fingers were rough and bruised from all the fighting he’s done while yours felt more delicate.

“Do I still make you nervous?” You asked playfully, turning to face him, your chest against his as he kept his arms secure on your sides.

“Extremely,” he looked into your eyes, “Especially right now that I’ve got you here with me again.”

Now, before anyone pegs you as the type, you’ve never been one to do things on such a whim. Usually, it took more to get you to show interest in a guy enough to want to sleep with him and that’s why this was so confusing. All you wanted to do was act out and get your hands on Jungkook.

Your decision was sudden and the only reason why you had the courage to tilt his chin down and press your lips against his. Jungkook was quick to respond, eager and hungry to taste you on his tongue. His arms circled around your waist, pulling you so close that it felt suffocating.

“Mm,” you hummed, pushing against him to catch your breath, “Was that too much?”

You both had shaky breaths that left you panting for air. Jungkook didn’t bother to respond as he leaned in for another kiss. This time around, Jungkook kissed you with more purpose.

The first one was on impulse, you kissed but did you really feel anything? He was too rushed and nervous to kiss you right that it felt shallow. Of course it still left him breathless with excitement but he wanted to feel it. When he kissed you the second time, you couldn’t help but gasp in surprise. Jungkook was a good kisser, his lips were surprisingly soft and once you got used to the feel of his lip rings, you kinda liked them. You didn’t even think about everyone around you.

Your friends were so far out of your mind and all you could think about is Jungkook. He was intoxicating in a way. You know nothing about him but you want him and you can’t seem to get enough.

“It’s crowded in here,” You gasped for breath as he kissed down your jaw toward your neck. He was unbothered by the people who watched him, more interested in the way your body seemed to whither against his with each kiss he trailed lower. Your words nearly went past him but they registered enough for him to stop and catch his breath. He looked at you with a dark gaze that reeked of desire.

“Do you want to get out of here then?” He asked, sliding his hand down to yours and pulling you through the thick crow. He made his way through the dark warehouse with ease, not once thinking of the friends he was supposed to be celebrating with tonight. He found a better way to celebrate his win and it was with you and him standing outside with his lips on yours.

He wished he could say he remembers how everything happened but he can’t. He doesn’t want to remember the agony of driving to your place without the need to feel you again. He couldn’t keep his hand off you, driving with one hand on the steering wheel and the other on your thigh. It wasn’t enough and he had to bite on his bottom lip to keep from jumping over to kiss you at every stop light. You were too distracted telling him directions to notice the way he itched for more but you couldn’t get the thought out of your head either.

There was just something about Jungkook that you wanted at this moment and you don’t even know why. He was attractive, so attractive that it was hard to believe him when he says you make him nervous. A guy like Jungkook is nervous because of you? You wanted, no, needed to know why.

“Do you want a drink?” You asked him shyly once you were in the comfort of your apartment. It was big for one person and littered with things he wanted to learn more about.

“Sure,” Jungkook said with his back to you as he took it all in. There was a backpack on a chair in the corner of the living room and beside it were a stack of textbooks telling him you were most likely in school. He assumed you’d be somewhere in your twenties, possibly younger than him or even around his age.

There was a wall of framed photos of you with friends, some where you looked obviously younger than now and others that seemed more recent. He found the two people you were with tonight in a couple of them and his eyes lingered a little longer on the guy.

He wasn’t in a lot of pictures but he was in enough for Jungkook to notice. In one of them, it was you, Jimin, and some other guy to your side. It looked like a group dinner and if he goes based off the numerous college apparel he found sported by the group, he assumed it was some sort of class gathering. You looked cute with glasses and it took him by surprise to see how different you looked tonight. You looked good either way but he didn’t know the side to you that these pictures showed and he wanted to.

Like this pretty one where you laid in bed with a cat on your stomach, resting casually and effortlessly stunning. Is that what you looked like in the morning?

“Here,” you came up behind him and handed him a glass of wine. Jungkook took it with thanks and turned to face you, “Wow.”

“What?” You asked with a slight scoff. Jungkook shrugged as he tipped back his glass for a drink, “Is it my pictures? Ignore them, I look horrendous in some of them but I need them for the memories.”

“Wow, as in I’m with a pretty girl who’s been on my mind since the first time we met and I can’t believe it,” Jungkook said, taking a step closer to you.

You couldn’t help but smirk when you watched him set the glass down on the coffee table and walk toward you, “You’re a little too good with your words, yknow.”

“Really?” Jungkook asked, circling your waist with his hands, dipping his head to meet yours, “You think it’s because I’m telling the truth?”

“Is that it?” You wrapped your arms around his neck and let him pull you into him, “I take it you’re not nervous anymore.”

“Terrifyingly nervous, actually,” he whispered, lips brushing against yours teasingly, “Because I still want to kiss you.”

You kissed him suddenly but he was ready for it and crushed you against him. His fingers were shaking to unzip the back of your dress and he had to remind himself to be patient. He doesn’t know what’s going on with him, just that he wants you.

He pressed himself closer to you, tongue slipping past his lips and to yours. Somewhere between the way your tongues danced for control, he had gotten the top of your zipper unhooked and was letting it fall apart along your back. It happened so quickly you gasped and circled your arms around his neck hoping to keep the dress from falling and exposing the expanse of your naked body too soon. He distracted you with his mouth along your jaw while his hands roamed your smooth back, feeling you without a barrier and letting his fingertips buzz with want.

He circled his hands down to your hips, tightening his grip and you got the hint quickly, throwing your legs around his waist as he carried you, not once breaking the kiss. You panted, out of breath, and a little shocked by the pace of it all. You weren’t complaining but you also weren’t expecting him to unzip your dress and hoist you up so easily.

He followed where you pointed and kicked your bedroom door open without a care to how hard it slammed against the wall or how hard he shut it back before he was throwing you onto your bed.

“I usually have more patience,” Jungkook spoke in a low, raspy tone as he reached for the back of his shirt and pulled it off, “But you have to understand, I haven’t been able to get you off my mind.”

You would’ve responded back about how he has been on your mind too if you hadn’t been so distracted by the veins running down his V-line. His abdomen was nothing but solid muscle and his tattoos went farther that you had first originally thought. He had a pretty body, and you were staring at it too hard to articulate a response. He unbutton his jeans, kicking them off and looked at you with a darkened gaze.

As if moving mechanically, you pulled at the straps of your dress, letting it fall off your shoulders and pulled it the rest of the way thanks to his earlier help. It slipped to your feet and he knelt on the bed to help you remove it completely, hovering over your now naked body and staring down at it.

“Now I’m the one feeling nervous,” you admitted in a teasing tone as you pressed your thighs together knowing the only things separated his manhood from your heat was your thin lace underwear and his Calvin Klein’s. Jungkook heard what you said but he couldn’t understand it. How could you feel nervous? why do you close your thighs and try to hide your bare chest from his eyes?

Do you not realize how perfect you are to him? From the length of your legs to the figure he liked to trace with his hands. He found you beautiful from head to toe and with you laying bare beneath him, he could really appreciate it.

Jungkook couldn’t think of the right words for you to know how lovely you looked to him, so instead he kissed your neck, practically pushing your head into the pillows. His hands traced along your sides, caressing teasingly whenever he got too close to your breasts and made a move to touch them but trailing down the last second. It made you arch your back off the bed wanting to feel more and he took it as his sign to keep going.

“Pretty, Angel,” he whispered softly, kissing your neck down to your collarbone, moving down toward your chest. He pressed teasing kisses to the soft mounds, his hands circling the underside and squeezing lightly as he kissed over one of your buds, “So fucking pretty.”

You gasped in surprise when his teeth ghosted over your hardened nipples and soothed the rough feeling with his tongue while his other hand pinched your bud between his index finger and thumb.

His hair tickled your chin and collarbone and you couldn’t help but run your fingers through it, feeling him smirk against your skin and scoot down more. He kissed down your stomach, annoyingly skipped over where you craved him most, and kissed your thighs. When you felt the urge to hurry him along, he knew exactly when to slip his fingers under your lace underwear and pulled them down.

“Fuck,” you gasped ever so lightly when he spread your thighs apart giving you absolutely no way to conceal your obvious arousal. Jungkook loved it, he loved the sight of your exposed pussy to his hungry eyes. He liked that he could see your clit and the slick that huddled at your center, wondering how it would taste when he ran his tongue along it. And he’s never been one for much self control when he really wanted something, so he went for it.

Your legs threatened to shut the moment his tongue made contact with your clit in a long, teasing lick but he held the open. Your immediate reaction to his touch made his dick harden in his briefs and he pressed it into the mattress for some pressure as he wrapped his lips around your clit in a kiss while his tongue swiped over it. It was obvious to you now that Jungkook was highly experienced in pleasuring someone and it showed in how he licked down your folds, collecting arousal on his tongue and coating your clit with it.

Your head sunk into the pillows as you stared up at the ceiling trying to contain the small whimpers that nearly slipped past your lips but it was hard. He was so attentive with his mouth, making sure to tease all of your cunt but making sure to go back to your clit because that’s where you would respond the most. When he looked up at you and found you looking elsewhere with your bottom lip between your teeth, he hadn’t liked it. He released one of your thighs letting it fall over his shoulder while his hand snaked its way along your body, running over your tits and dragged along your neck.

He felt the way your breath caught in your throat when he pulled at your bottom lip, tracing the curve of it with his fingers before pushing them into your open mouth. You curled your tongue around his middle and index fingers, coating them in saliva and gagging lightly when he pressed them a little too deep. All the while, his mouth worked tricks on your pussy.

When Jungkook felt that his fingers were wet enough, he pulled them out of your mouth and felt you pant at the release. He brought his hand down by his face, pulling at your labia and teasing the folds with his fingertips. It was all you got for warning when his lips sucked at your clit and he pressed his middle finger into your wet cunt. Even with just one, you felt tight and he didn’t have to patience to wait before the second one joined.

“Oh,” you moaned helplessly, hand blindly searching the sheets for something to hold before trailing over your thighs until you found purchase in Jungkook’s hair. It was all the guidance he needed to thrust his fingers in and out in rhythm with the way his tongue circled patterns into your clit. You shook your head with pleasure, “I can’t.”

Jungkook didn’t pull back when you squeezed your thighs around his head. Your grip in his hair didn’t ease and he knew you wouldn’t want him to stop now matter what you said so he didn’t. He hooked his fingers into the soft tissue inside your walls, knowing it was your pleasure spot by the way your moans grew.

It was now while he ate out your pussy and fingered you to bliss, that you called bluff on his so-called nervousness around you. No man he claimed to be nervous around you had ever pleasured you the way he has, not this conf

“Jungkook,” you whined, tugging at his hair and dragging a groan from his lips at the sudden pull, “Can’t wait anymore.”

He heard you clearly but he kept going, he kissed your clit harder and fingered you deeper until your walls tightened around them so much that he couldn’t pull them out. He could practically feel the knot forming in your stomach and when he felt as though it could fall apart, he stopped.

An impatient whine slipped past your lips as your legs shook with anticipation for what had been coming and you glared up at him. He was pulling his briefs off, reaching for a condom packet that had been tucked away in his car that he grabbed while you weren’t looking.

“What, baby? Thought you said you couldn’t wait anymore,” He teased as he tore into the packaging with his teeth and brought a hand down to his hard member. You wished you were being dramatic when you thought it was the prettiest cock you’ve ever seen, but it was. It was long, not too thin with just the right amount of girth and he was around average in length. Just the right amount to reach that spot that made your toes curl. He was also clean shaven, the veins down his V-line led straight to his cock and their prominence was mouth watering when he stroked himself for friction.

And Jungkook was well aware of the way your eyes traced down his naked body and it only made him smirk. He worked out so often he probably lived at the gym, he ate an appropriate diet, he was fit and healthy. He worked hard to look the way he did and it was obvious you liked it all. He slipped the condom on slowly, letting you imagine how your own hands would feel curled around him and moaned.

“You can touch if you want,” once again he was teasing you, smirking as he said it and crawled onto the bed.

“You’re kind of cocky for someone who claims to be nervous around me,” you groaned against his lips as you sat up to kiss him, following his lead as he laid down on his back and pulled you onto his lap.

He grinned, guiding your hips to align with his and he could practically feel your pussy take him in. His cock stood straight at attention, directly pointed to your entrance and you teased his tip by softly grinding in it. He took a deep breath, feeling it catch at your hole and without warning, pressed your thighs down and made you take him in.

“Fuck,” you both moaned softly as you sank down his length. You pressed your hands to his chest for support as you adjusted to the intrusion and lifted your hips slowly, feeling the stretch and forcing it away. Jungkook kept his hands on your hips, not moving you but keeping you in place when you began to fuck yourself with his cock. You were hesitant at first, shy as you dragged your hips up but after a while, you began bouncing. Your pace had picked up and you weren’t as careful taking him in when you came down on his cock.

“That’s it,” he moaned, fingers digging into your hips, “Keep going.”

You tossed your head back in pleasure, doing as told and letting him walk you through it as you went faster. You never expected him to be someone who liked when the other was on top but damn did he look good beneath you.

Jungkook’s hair was coated in sweat and he had the arm with the tattoos holding your waist. His lip piercing was pulled between his teeth to hold back his moans and his cock felt so big inside you. The muscles in his abdomen flexed everytime your walls squeezed around him and after a while you didn’t notice that he began to take over.

His hands were now moving your hips for you setting it at a quicker and rough pace for his liking. His hips met yours every time you went down and his dick reached a deeper part inside you when he did so. It prodded at your pleasure spot like it knew exactly where it was each time and when it felt like your arms couldn’t support your weight anymore, he pulled you down.

“So good,” you slurred on your words as you fell against his chest, feeling him fuck you roughly from below and move your hips for you while you hugged him.

“Mhm, baby, you feel so good,” he grunted.m, bouncing you on his cock feeling his orgasm build up intensely, “So fucking tight.”

“Jungkook,” you moaned, “Kiss me.”

He did.

He rolled you onto your back, tired of being stuck below you and nearly folded you in half when he raised your legs up. He kissed you harshly, thrusting back into you with more vigor when you moaned for him.

He can’t remember the last time sex ever felt this good—if it ever felt this way, and he couldn’t control himself. He knew he was close already, his cock was now fucking your pussy with more rhythm and determination to make you cum.

Jungkook’s back flex with each buck of his hips and he trapped you below him leaving you with nothing but pleasure and making you take every second of it. Your jaw fell slack, fucked into nothing but a moaning mess and you clawed at his back, “I’m close.”

Those were the right words to egg him on. He was close to cumming too, and he fucked you like he’ll never get a chance again. He fucked you good and hard like you never had before and your pussy walls tightened around him with anticipation. The feeling had built up from earlier and now there was no holding back anymore. You physically couldn’t stop the crash of your orgasm that wrecked your entire body. Goosebumps rose on your skin, your throat went dry and your thighs shook dramatically around him.

The intensity of your arousal knocked his into action when he felt your slick coat his covered cock in your cum and he fell apart. His body crushed yours under its weight as he pushed into the hilt and held it there, cumming into the comment with a long, drawn out groan in your ear, “Fuck.”

It felt like forever before the feeling of being high left your body and when he rolled off of you to lay beside you instead, you took your first real and steady breath of the night. He laid on his back, pulling you into him and tried to catch his breath, “You felt so good.”

“You’re so hot,” you admitted to his face, looking up at him and how he began to absentmindedly play with his brow piercing as he looked down at you.

The one round had tired him out if he were being honest, maybe it was how you tightened around him heavenly so it simply because it was you he was sleeping with of all people, but he was tired.

He hadn’t expected to feel your hand trace down his lean stomach toward his cock that was still semi-hard and covered in his own cum from when he pulled the condom off.

“We’re not done, are we?” You asked teasingly, pressing a light kiss against his abs, hand finding his dick and circling around it.

Jungkook couldn’t bite back the groan that escaped his lips when you began to jerk him back to hardness, “Not even close, baby.”

5AM

“You’re leaving?” You asked in a tired tone as you watched him sit up from the bed. It’s been hours since you slept with him and you both must have fallen asleep when you were snuggling and now you’ve woken up to him wrestling his jeans back on.

“That depends, do you want me to stay?” He asked and he wanted you to say yes. When you fell asleep in his arms he couldn’t help but to also and it was so peaceful. His usual soreness after a fight hadn’t kicked in yet and he was able to relax. The only reason he woke up at all was because of his annoying phone that lit up from inside the pocket of his jeans.

It was his friend asking for a place to crash. He was going to go home and let Hobi in but instead you woke up with a pout asking if he was leaving. You shrugged, “I mean… I get it if you want to leave, I was just asking.”

Your response kind of hurt him and made him wonder if that’s what you wanted. He looked back at you and the way you laid on your side to look at him. The street lamp hit your window directly and rows of orange light filtered through your blinds and on the edge of your bed. He didn’t actually want to leave but he didn’t want to overstay his welcome. Some people don’t like the morning after and he was going to save himself from getting hurt by someone who might not be too interested too soon.

“I don’t want to,” Jungkook admitted with acknowledgement to the way you looked at the thought of him leaving. It didn’t take more convincing for him to be pulling the covers over him once more so he could lay beside you.

As the days passed, Jungkook stayed on your mind. It didn’t help that your friends felt the need to know everything that happened over the weekend including how you didn’t see their texts. You swore up and down that you hadn’t received anything from them but the next day after Jungkook finally left your place, you called Jimin who scolded you over the phone.

Even now he’s intent on reminding you how you ditched them for some guy. Sieun was more lenient on the matter, “There’s nothing like hooking up with a hot stranger on a Saturday night. I didn’t think Y/n had it in her but from what I remember, her savior was hot.”

The three of you huddled inside a study room that you booked in the library a few days ago. There was supposed to be actual studying going on but instead the three of you were more interested in discussing the events from the weekend. Apparently, Sieun had spotted someone she knew and that’s why she ditched you two so fast. It took Jimin a while to find her but once he did, he appreciated the lack of people on the second floor and deemed it safer and probably more enjoyable than where he had left you. He sent you texts that you never read and with bad connection, his calls wouldn’t go through.

It wasn’t until the morning after that you told them what you had been up to and with who. Sieun remembered Jungkook from what happened with Jisoo and Rowoon and even she could admit he was attractive—making sure to tell you she would have happily jumped his bones too. Usually you’re not as vocal about who you choose to spend a night with but considering the three of you separated on Saturday, it felt like you owed them that much.

“Do you think you’ll see him again?” Jimin asked as he mindlessly jotted down notes from a seminar he missed this morning.

“We're supposed to meet up later for dinner,”you admitted, scrolling aimlessly through your online textbook to find the short questionnaire.

“Ooh, you’re already going for round two? Look at you, you little slut. First you sleep with a stranger and now you plan on hitting him up for more. I didn’t think you had it in you,” Sieun joked obnoxiously.

“It’s not like that,” you tried to say, “It’s just a quick meal… nothing serious.”

Jimin pursed his lips, “Hm, just be careful alright. When’s the last time you dated someone?”

“Oh my god, it’s really not like that, nobody is talking about dating anyone. We’re just going to hang out, that’s it. We don’t even know each other that well,” you told him but he only shared a look with Sieun.

“Was he at least good in bed?” She asked and Jimin covered his ears instantly. Your studying had been long forgotten as you talk about quite literally anything else going on in your life and in a weird way, it felt good.

Usually, you’re locked up in a room studying for the next big exam but lately you’ve been trying to loosen up. You weren’t super big into going out but ever since you ran into Jungkook for the first time it made you wonder why you weren't out having fun like everyone else. You forced yourself out this past weekend and you had the luck to run into Jungkook again, so why shouldn’t you let yourself have fun with someone new? That’s what this was all about, why you’re going out with Jungkook.

Your day went by in a blur probably due to nerves as you anxiously waited for Jungkook. Your last lecture finished late and the sun had already begun to set when you left the auditorium with Jimin who waited outside for you.

“So he’s picking you up?” Jimin asked, taking your backpack off your shoulders so he could carry it. The walk was short to the gate entrance but he did it out of habit and you never argued against it. Jimin has been a good friend to you for some time now and he’s been this way with you. When he gets curious about who you’re potentially seeing, you never think too much about it and always answer honestly.

“Yeah, but I’ll text you later about the project,” You told him, staring out to the entrance trying to see if he was here yet. In an attempt to put yourself out there more, you met Jungkook and it’s been the most exciting thing to happen in a while.

It’s not that you weren’t hit on before or had past ‘relationships’ but none made you feel as giddy as Jungkook does. Usually you’re on your own studying or going to your part time job so making time for someone else wasn’t on your radar until Jungkook. How strange it is that you could quickly change and act interested in someone else. Jimin felt pushed aside as your friend but he didn’t want to think about it. He’s seen you ignore guys so often that it’s taken him by complete surprise to see you show interest in someone who wasn’t him and he’s still not sure how he should feel.

“He’s here,” you turned to Jimin, taking your backpack off his shoulders and wrapping your arms around his neck in an embrace. Jimin didn’t hesitate to hug you back, quickly looking up to find the guy you’ve been talking about. His hold on you didn’t ease as he locked eyes with the guy with shock.

Jungkook was nothing like the kind of guys Jimin pictured you with. He was rugged, rough around the edges and in all honesty, intimidating. How else was he supposed to take Jungkook’s appearance as? He stood against a black Yamaha with his arms crossed in front of his chest staring Jimin down.

He wore a black compression shirt with his tattooed arms on display, black jeans, and shoes. The only color on him was the flash of silver from the shining chain around his neck, his piercings, and the silver Rolex on his wrist. He matched the motorcycle behind him with its silver, chrome rims and a clean engine.

Jimin thought about himself and the other guys you hang around. He tends to wear softer colors and he’s heard too many times how approachable he looks. Jin, who you’ve been close to since you started Uni, was your senior and he always evoked a welcoming smile on his face. He was buff from working out but not scary. Not even the last guy he remembers you talking to wore this much black or drove a motorcycle. What was this about?

“Be safe,” Jimin mumbled as he finally let you go and broke his gaze away from the guy.

“I will,” You waved goodbye and looked at Jungkook, unable to stop the bite on your lip as you looked at him.

Jungkook waited until your friend walked away for his glare to soften, only able to think about the way he hugged you tightly and watched him as he did it. You didn’t fight off his touch either, you enabled it and he wished you wouldn’t. You shouldn’t need to be so affectionate with anyone else now he’s here, especially not another man. He tried to smile when you approached him but all he could think about was where the guy’s hands had been.

They touched your waist, sliding under your cropped knitted sweater just slightly and touching your bare skin. When he let go, his hand had gone down to your hip, one final attempt to keep his hand on you and that meant he knew how soft the denim of your jeans was.

Why did he get to touch you first?

A smile spread across his lips as he eased the lines of irritation off his face the closer you got. Pushing off his bike, he uncrossed his arms and opened them wide, waiting for you to come to him, “Come here, Angel.”

You nearly jumped in his arms, and it made it easy for Jungkook to lift you off the ground in a tight embrace, taking in the soft and familiar smell of your perfume. Jungkook didn’t shy away from showing affection as he left soft kisses against your neck while you tried to keep yourself from losing your footing and with a small laugh, you pushed him back, “Thanks for waiting.”

“Of course,” Jungkook said as he released you, only keeping your hand in his, leading you toward his bike, “I’ve missed you.”

“Liar,” you teased, eyeing the motorcycle before you, “This is yours?”

His muscles tensed when you said he was lying but he tried to let it go and answer your question, “Yeah, why? Are you scared?”

“No,” you shook your head looking over at him, “I’m excited.”

A smirk pulled at the corner of his lips and he lifted up a black helmet with light pink detail around the framing, “Good, because you’ll be riding it more often. This is yours.”

“What?” You touched the helmet as he helped you put it on, “The helmet?”

He nodded with a bite of his lip, “Can’t have you riding around without proper safety. I picked it up this morning, it’s custom.”

You didn’t stop to think about what he said, too excited to get on your first motorcycle. Jungkook had your helmet ordered a few days ago with some added detail he thought you might like. In all honesty, when he left your place the next morning, he submitted the order and began to think of what else you might like. He’s surprised you weren’t nervous and he had thought the helmet would ease you into the idea of letting him drive you around but you didn’t even hesitate to get on. It was cute how excited you seemed and it did things to him.

“Hold me around here,” He said, adjusting your legs to straddle him as moving your arms around his waist, “How does it feel?”

As he waited for you to answer, he felt your hand press against his abdomen, sliding over the ridges of muscle he’s gained in training and toward his taut stomach, fingertips brushing against the belt around his waist. He looked down at your ringed hand catching a feel of him with a crooked smile that you couldn’t see under the helmet. Your head rested against the back as you brought your hands back to where he had them first and said, “Feels fine.”

Tease.

You’re a fucking tease.

Here you are, straddling his bike, feeling him up but hugging another guy. He wants to enjoy it but Jimin is on the back of his mind and it was annoying the shit out of him. He just wanted to be with the person he has feelings for without thinking of anyone else. He has to remind himself you’ve only just started seeing each other, there’s still some things to learn for the both of you.

For him, it was to slow down. He couldn’t jump into it and expect you to give him the same energy, this is why he was hesitant to approach you. He knew he wouldn’t be able to take things slow.

Your first ride on a motorbike had been exhilarating. When you first found Jungkook standing beside it, your heart raced with worry but then you remembered what you told yourself. You were going to try new things and you liked it. Jungkook knew what he was doing and he made you feel safe when he would run a soothing hand along your thigh at a stoplight.

He was a gentleman too. He took your helmet off you when you got to the restaurant and held the door open for you. He pulled your chair out, let you order first and kept his eyes on you and only you. You’ve never met a guy who acts the way he does and it’s a shame.

“Tell me about yourself,” you asked after it felt like ages of him listening to you rant about one of your professors. Jungkook had such a look of patience as he listened but you were tired of talking, and scared you were secretly boring him. You needed to know something about him.

Your food arrived at the table and Jungkook unwrapped your silverware for you, cleared the table and made sure you were taken care of first before saying anything. When he finally did decide to speak, it started with a clear throat, “What do you want to know?”

“Are you in school?” You asked, remembering the night in bed when you figured out your ages through late night cuddles and superficial conversation. You could barely remember what i you talked about because your mind was so clouded and there was still so much to know about him aside from his name and age.

“No, I never went to college,” Jungkook admitted, shifting his gaze toward the other end of the restaurant, “I own a gym.”

“Really?” You asked with surprise, trailing your eyes down to his shoulder muscles, “But you’re so young.”

Underneath the table, Jungkook’s leg had stretched out toward you, foot hitting yours teasingly as he went on, “Yeah, I worked a lot and saved up enough to put a deposit down on a studio. The equipment is old and it’s usually used for kickboxing so there needs to be open space without bulky new machines in the way. I make do with what I got. What are you studying again?”

“Uh uh,” you waved a finger at him, “I’ve been going on and on about myself already, I want to hear more about you.”

“But I could listen to you all day, Angel,” Jungkook said with a smooth tone. You smirked and rolled your eyes, “Nice try but keep going.”

He stayed silent for a moment as you waited for him to keep going, looking down at your plate. A small smile spread across his lips as he said, “There’s not much to know, I’m a boring guy. I've got two loving parents, an older brother I’m close to, and a son named Bam, he’s a Doberman. That’s it.”

”Do they live around here?” You asked, trying to get him to open up more. Jungkook just shook his head no and said, “They live in Busan. What about you? Are you close with your family?”

”Um, not really, they think I’m always too busy so they stopped checking on how I was doing,” You told him honestly, “But they pay for my schooling so I guess that’s a plus.”

The two of you stayed and talked long after the plates were cleared from your table and you couldn’t remember the last time you had a good conversation with someone. Jungkook was a lot softer than his appearance let off. He was sweet and caring and he seemed to listen to every word you said intently your first impression of him as someone tough and intimidating was slowly beginning to dissipate. Jungkook only allowed himself to come off this way but he was into you. He wanted you to know he can be a good guy and so far he thinks he’s done a good job. You’ve been all smiles this entire time and he’s loved every second of it.

If he could, he would stay here all night just listening to you go on and on about anything that interested you. You had his full attention, nearly making him miss the person behind you. He recognized him right away and his lips curled in a knowing smirk when the guy spotted him.

“Looks like they forgot to take out the trash,” the guy mumbled under his breath as he passed by the table you occupied with Jungkook. You couldn’t help but turn at those words, wondering who said that and locked eyes with a tall, good looking guy. Your brows furrowed with confusion, unable to tell if he was talking about you and Jungkook but as you looked up at Jungkook, he was watching the guy closely.

“Do you know him?” You asked under your breath as Jungkook motioned for the waiter to bring the check now. He shook his head, “No.”

”Good for nothing, I’m telling you, and he doesn’t fight fair,” the guy spoke from a table not too far from where you two were, ‘I bet the next time, I’ll take him and he won't be running his mouth like he did last time.”

Jungkook couldn’t help back the scoff that left his lips and he tried to hide his annoyance from showing on his face. All he wanted was to have a good night with you and now someone from his past has decided to unexpectedly rui it. It wasn’t even anyone who mattered, just some guy he fought against a couuple years ago. The guy is still bitter that his trash talking left him with a broken nose and dislocated shoulder. It’s obvious he hasn’t learned his lesson and now that he’s seeing Jungkook again, he’s reminded all over again of the physical pain he put them through and thins this time would be different.

If jungkook really wants to, he would show the guy that time hasn’t changed anything and that he could easily still wring his neck if he chose to. The guy should feel lucky that Jungkook is here with you and doesn’t feel the need to cause a scene.

“Ready to go, angel? It’s getting a little crowded here,” Jungkook’s tone was strained as he tried to sound unaffected by the guy’s remarks but in reality, he was pissed. It was one thing for the guy to run his mouth but to do it when Jungkook is clearly trying to enjoy himself with someone?

“Sure,” your energy was down as you looked back to the guy and the people he was with. They were staring over at you with dark gazes that send a shiver down your back.

“One chance and I’ll knock his fucking teeth in,” the guy said, “Then I’ll take his bitch while I’m at it.”

The last comment seemed to have Jungkook frozen in place. You watched him turn back to the guy with a tense jaw and dead eyes as if in warning and it left you feeling worried and confused. It’s obvious he does know this guy or else why would he be saying those things just to get a reaction out of him? What were you supposed to do in this situation?

“Kook?” The nickname slipped from your lips before you could stop yourself and for a second you thought it had gone unheard until he turned to you with a gentle smile. Jungkook completely switched out of his hardened expression as he walked to your side, sliding his arm around your waist and said, “Let’s go.”

”You okay?” You asked as the two of you made it out of the restaurant in one piece. Jungkook’s motorcycle sat perfectly in the parking lot, waiting for you two to get on it and Jungkook pressed you against it.

Your arms went around his neck without question as he leaned in to plant a soft kiss against your lips, “Of course.”

He pulled away shortly, meeting your gaze, “Let’s get you home.”

In the back of your mind you knew something was off about the entire thing that happened at the restaurant but you weren’t sure how to bring it up—if you even could. The guy was talking about him, and you, and what he said raised questions that you wanted answers to but Jungkook wasn't going to give them to you, especially not tonight. His entire demeanor changed even if he tried to pretend like it didn’t but you saw right through his tense face and deep, jagged breaths. It was messing with his head but you couldn’t ask him about other things so soon. For all you know, that guy did Jungkook dirty and he had no desire to open up old wounds.

Plus, you’ve only known him for a short time so why bring it up? Over time if it mattered, he’ll tell you, you think.

Jungkook dropped you off at your apartment with a kiss goodbye and a promise to call. You didn’t even have time to stall and see if he would come up to stay the night before he was speeding off with a roar of his engine. You went upstairs to unwind, wondering what had bothered Jungkook so much about the guy. He seemed to have good restraint or else he would have acted out at the restaurant but he also could’ve been acting calmer because you were there. What would have happened if the guy caught him alone?

It took him hours to get over it, and even then, he wasn’t actually. If anything he was just pleased to know he could do something about it without putting you in the middle and that’s why when he pulled up to the address he scribbled, he couldn’t help but grin with excitement.

“You found it?” Yoongi asked through his car’s Bluetooth. He switched out his bike earlier to look less suspicious and began his search for that lowlife.

“Yeah, he just got home,” Jungkook muttered quietly as he watched the shittalker, Minho, get out of his red Nissan. He left his garage open and gave Jungkook a good view of the garage door opening and closing behind him as he entered the house alone.

“You should’ve heard what he said about Y/n, hyung,” Jungkook said, pulling on a pair of black leather gloves. He called you a bitch just to see if it’ll rule him up and if there’s one thing he hates, is disrespect someone he’s with. He was supposed to ask you to be his girlfriend tonight, officially, yet here he was pulling his black hood over his beanie clad head and sliding on a black face mask.

Yoongi released a sigh, once again being reminded of you. Jungkook had been going on and on about you like a lovesick puppy for some time now and Yoongi was just waiting to see when he would act up. In truth, Jungkook’s never been in a real relationship, only short flings but he never fully gave anytime the time of day. He was always distracted and uncaring so when he started talking about you and how he wanted to be with you, it was hard for Yoongi or the others to believe it.

Now here’s Jungkook more bothered by the fact Minho referred to you as a bitch than all the trash talking he had been doing. He was about to do something reckless and Yoongi couldn’t help but support it, knowing how much his friend needed to get out of his system before something worse could happen?

What could be worse than Jungkook tracing the guy’s footsteps into his house with a brick in hand?

Who knows.

“One more minute,” his voice was low and gentle, as he whispered against your neck. His cold hand traced along your exposed waist and pulled you closer to his embrace.

“Jungkook,” you said with a sigh, reluctant to leave your side of his bed, “I’ve got a presentation at nine that I have to prepare for.”

After dinner with him, you had been home trying to unwind and call up your friend to work on the project together. You stayed up past midnight trying to finish it and when you received a call from Jungkook asking to be let up, you had debated saying no. Whatever happened at the restaurant had raised some questions but in the end, his smooth talking got him in your bed for the rest of the night.

Your words held little sway against the relaxation of your body against his and feeling the light warmth of his kisses lingering on your skin. His lips trailed down your collarbone, bunching the small top you wore to bed and to your exposed navel. The touches there wouldn’t last long before he was back to your shoulder, soft kisses decorating your skin. It felt so intimate even if it was so harmless. You turned your head to face him better and he took it as a chance to kiss the corner of your mouth gently, “We’ve got plenty of time.”

He wasn’t even asking for sex, he just didn’t want to leave your bed yet knowing he wouldn’t be able to see you all day. He locked his fingers around yours as you shook your head no, “I’m meeting my partner early so we could run through lines one more time.”

“Do I know them?” Jungkook asked, eyes looking down at yours as you laid beside him. Despite still sounding calm and relaxed, there was something off about his tone. You thought about his question for a second, debating if you should tell him or not.

“Yeah, Jimin, he was with me when you picked me up earlier,” you said as he finally loosened his hold on you enough for you to get up. He watched you leave the bed in nothing but your top and a lacy pair of underwear, making your way to your closet as he made himself comfortable on your bed.

He watched in awe as you came back out and dropped the clothes down on the foot of the bed while beginning to undress what little you wore. You carried on your usual morning routine and turned the TV on to the first thing that played for some background noise.

“Last night around 11:00pm, a neighbor heard strange noises coming from a residential area in __ district.”

“Y/n,” Jungkook called your name as he stared at the remote you tossed onto your vanity. You were slipping on a skirt you deemed appropriate for your presentation and looked at him, attempting to zip up the back on your own.

“Help me?” You asked before he could say anything else and he sat up to just that, listening to the news playing quietly.

“It wasn’t until this morning that the brave neighbor knocked on the door of Kim Minho’s place early at 6:00am, checking to see what the noise was.”

“I’ve been meaning to ask,” He cleared his throat awkwardly, “Would you um, w-well, I want you to— go out with me? Like, maybe start dating, officially.”

“Officially?” You turned to him with a playful grin, shoving him back on the bed softly, “As in?”

“The 24 year old was found unconscious lying in a pile of what appears to be his own blood with blunt force wounds on multiple parts of his body.”

You made an attempt to turn to the television, finally feeling it pique your interest but Jungkook pulled you onto him with one swift tug of your skirt and said, “Girlfriend, I want you to be mine.”

“Kim has been transported to the local hospital where they attempt to bring him back to a stable condition. That is all the news we have as of now but we’ll get back to you as soon as more becomes available.”

“Okay,” you smiled, straddling his lap now in nothing but your skirt and bra, “But I should finish getting dressed.”

Your now boyfriend had an evident pout on his face as you quickly kissed him on the lips before pulling yourself off him. He watched you finish getting ready, making himself comfortable on your bed before saying, “Change the channel or something.”

The room he locked himself into was filled with gloom. There were no family pictures on the wall or any sign of a happy childhood like yours. Instead there were empty picture frames nearly identical to the ones that adorned your apartment that he soon planned to fill with pictures of the two of you together. So far he’s only got one picture and it’s of you laying in bed together.

Your head was resting on his bare chest as he kissed your hair and took the selfie. You looked so cute to him and every time he looked at it, it would make something bubble in his chest. There’s no way for him to truly explain the depths of his feelings for you and where they sprouted from and they only seemed to grow stronger the more he thought about you.

You’re just everything he’s ever imagined and he’s not being dramatic at all. Whenever he thought about the perfect person for him he always imagined someone like you. You were the craving for his sweet tooth. If he were coffee, you’d be the sweetener.

His world has been so black and blue and finally explosions of other colors were clouding his life. No longer was he just thinking in the negative, he was thinking about the positive and how that was you. He’s decided he’ll become a better man for you, someone who truly deserves you even if he already thinks nobody else does but him.

Life has been so unfair to him and you have been the only upside to it so how could he not want to keep you for himself? You understand him, or at least the version of him he’s told you and he’s sure that over time you’ll understand the real him.

Yes, he’s been hiding things but it’s been for the best. He can’t just introduce his full self to you and expect you to be alright with everything he’s done. He has to ease you into his faults and hope that you’ll love him for him.

The first night when you asked him how often he goes to that shitty bar, he was passive. He answered your question without telling the full truth and he thinks that lately that’s all he’s been doing. When you asked him about his family… he was truthful.

His parents were loving, and he does have an older brother. Were they loving to him necessarily? He would have to say no, but you didn’t ask him for clarification. You simply asked about his family and he answered. Of course he left out the part where he was kicked out when he was 15 for getting into too many school fights. In his defense, thinking about that still hurts him.

It was obvious he’s always been a troubled kid but for his parents to just turn him away the second it gets too hard? They were fine with all those times he would steal the car or smoke behind the school building. What difference did it make when he put his hands on someone? Maybe they were upset he wasn’t more like his brother, his perfect brother.

Student council president.

Top of his class.

Accepted into the best schools.

Caring.

Jungkook could be caring. He’s proven it with you. He stepped in when you needed help, he offered you company when you were ditched by your so-called friends, he listened to every word you said with such devotion.

In the back of his mind he imagined his family, and how they would feel to know he’s finally found someone who cares about him. And yes, he’s aware his hyungs care about him but even then it feels superficial at times. Hoseok was partially at fault he got ran out of home. He was the one always helping Jungkook train and start problems when he felt like it.

But Hoseok was also the one to take him in. He’s the one to put clothes on his back and all Jungkook had to do was release all the pent up anger from over the years and win a fight for him. That’s it.

And he can’t act like it’s a burden. It’s gotten him money, and his gym studio [which wasn’t a lie], it’s gotten him opportunities he couldn’t imagine before. Plus, he’s an angry guy and it helps get it out of his system. Now all he can be is loving and sweet to the person that matters to him, you.

You were just so perfect to him and he can’t explain why.

There was a chance he wouldn’t get to see you today and it was eating at him. When he got home from some of his boxing lessons, the first thing he had done was call you to see what you were up to. You couldn’t even answer the phone because you were studying and only promised to call him when you were done. It’s been an hour now and he’s finding it hard to believe you’re still at the campus library.

As if the thought of you had magically made you reach out to him, his phone rang and he answered so quickly, “Hey.”

“Hey,” your voice sounded airy like you were exhausted, “I just got done and I’m about to leave now.”

“Really?” Jungkook shot out of bed, looking over at his dog, who lifted their head up with piqued interest, “Should I come over? Have you had dinner? I could pick something up on the way.”

“My place is a mess right now,” you admitted as you walked to the exit, “How about I come to your place this time? I’ve never been there and I want to see how my boyfriend lives.”

Jungkook looked around at his bedroom, “You want to come to mine?”

“Sure, why not, I’ll get to meet Bam and maybe get more of that homecoming of yours,” you were smiling, your playful tone making his heart flutter, “I mean it’s only fair.”

“I—okay,” Jungkook stood up, searching around for where to start, “But it’s nothing special. Are you going to spend the night?”

“I can, I just need to stop home and pack some things,” You told him, taking a right to the closest train station.

With the promise of you finally seeing his place, Jungkook grew frantic. It’s not like he lived in a dump, he was decently well off but… he doesn’t pay attention to it at all. He’s overly clean but it’s so spotless it doesn’t even look lived in. Your place was filled with things that reminded him of you. Books, vinyls, posters, even your choice in culinary set seemed exactly like you.

His place looked like a blank slate. All he had was the punching bag in the corner of his living room, the matching motorcycle helmets, and the now framed picture of you on his bedside.

When you were dropped off in front of the duplex, you weren’t sure what you were getting yourself into. The place was big with a garage below the main floor you could only assume had his motorcycle and car parked. It was clean and well kept so when he answered the door, you hadn't expected anything less. Of course you didn’t expect it to be so bare either.

“Am I getting a tour?” You asked looking around the living room to a plain black couch, flat screen tv, dog bed, and punching bag. On the entrance table were your helmets but aside from that it felt pretty gloomy. Jungkook scratched the back of his head, “Sure, uh, well you’ve seen the living room…”

He led you down an empty hall toward the master bedroom and stood at the doorway as you looked around. His lip was pulled between his teeth and he was worrying away at it the longer you looked around.

“Wait,” You walked off, sitting on the edge of his bed as you looked down at the frame, “This is cute. You need to get a look at me before falling asleep?”

“Obviously,” Jungkook tried to say with a relaxed chuckle as he joined you on the bed, “When I can’t get the real thing.”

“Well it’s nice to see I’ve made it as one of the very few essentials in your home design,” You joked, pulling him closer to the collar of his shirt, “It’s cute.”

“You're one of the few people who have ever said that to me,” Jungkook said with a chuckle, leaning into your touch and brushing his lips against yours.

“Good, let’s keep it that way,” you pressed your lips to his, kissing him softly, “It sounds so cringy to say, but I missed you.”

“I missed you too,” he said. He took you to your classes before leaving to the gym earlier but it felt so long ago. He really did miss you and to hear you say the same things to him, it did things.

“So, I actually wanted to talk to you,” you mumbled between kisses, sitting up in his bed, “I’m going out with Sieun this weekend, but I just wanted to let you know.”

You waited to see how he’d respond, if he would act upset or annoyed. Most guys tend to get jealous and possessive but you were hoping he was different. You weren’t doing anything behind his back so it’s better to know where you stand now. If he asks to go out with his friends, you wouldn’t get upset, you’re only hoping he’ll feel the same.

“Sieun?” He questioned, looking away from you for a moment. The same bitch who chooses a guy over you? The one who seems boy crazy? “It’ll be fun, and just call me if you need anything.”

His response caught you by surprise but you tried not to dwell on it, a smile spreading on your lips as you hugged him, “Thank god, I thought you were going to be one of those guys that throws a fit whenever their girlfriend goes out without them. Can we take Bam for a walk now?”

Jungkook didn’t say anything, simply smiled a tight smile and hugged you back.

He had been dreading the weekend. His friends were all on his line asking him to go out and get drunk with them but he was too nervous. He was too scared thinking about you and what you were doing to try and relax. Yoongi had to try and physically drag Jungkook out of his apartment and even that hadn’t been enough for him to ease up.

He loved going out with the guys, it usually entailed drinking, money, and some random girl to occupy his interest. Now all he could think about is where you were and what you were doing.

“Kook, come on you’re better than this,” Namjoon said as he tried to hand Jungkook back his darts, “What’s on your mind?”

“Y/n is out drinking with a friend of hers,” Jungkook said, checking his phone for any notification, “And she hasn’t called or texted me since she left.”

“Isn’t that good?” Hoseok asked with a chuckle, “She’s off doing her own thing and you’re doing your own. I’d kill to be with someone who wasn’t blowing up my phone anytime I’m out.”

“Seriously, I get about five texts from Jia everytime I’m out with you guys,” Yoongi said as he took a drink of his beer, “But I gotta say, I’m surprised you let her off her leash. I feel like lately, you’re latched to her side.”

Jungkook looked up from his phone with hardened eyes as he looked at his friend. He’s not sure what Yoongi meant by that but he didn’t like what he was possibly referring to you as.

“Whoa, careful there. Jungkook’s got actual feelings for Y/n, you can’t go calling her a bitch or anything,” Hoseok said jokingly. The two never held much respect for anyone but themselves but it never bothered Jungkook this much.

“Now I didn’t say that,” Yoongi responded with a laugh.

Namjoon watched as Jungkook’s jaw tensed and he was quick to try and intervene, “So how long has she been out? I feel like we just barely got you out of your house.”

“A couple hours now,” Jungkook said, choosing to ignore his other two friends, “She left long before I did.”

“Who knows, maybe she’ll be calling you up soon,” Namjoon said as he tapped his beer bottle against Jungkook’s, “Until then just try and let loose.”

Just as the sigh in agreement left Jungkook’s lips, his phone began to ring.

When you called him, telling him how much you wanted to see him, you hadn’t expected him to answer so quickly. All it took was for you to tell him the address of the club you were at before he was showing up in search for you. It was cute how quick he was to see you.

“You okay?” Was the first thing Jungkook asked when he found you among the mix of people. His arms circled your waist and you threw yours around his neck in greeting, taking in the musky smell of his cologne and nearly growing weak in the knees. He held you up with a strong arm as he looked around to who you were with.

“Yeah, I’m great, do you want a drink?” You asked, already trying to lead him to the bar but he shook his head no.

“I’m not drinking,” he said. He had barely drank half of one beer when you called and now that he’s seeing you, he’s decided it’s better he stays sober. You were very obviously intoxicated but not to the point where you were making a mess of yourself. He could just tell from the way your eyes glossed over and your slurred words. You called him to take care of you.

“Y/n,” Sieun called to you as she held up another shot, “One more.”

He watched you take it from her hands and down it back, scrunching your face in disgust as the warmth traveled down your throat. You chased it down with soda to wash away the taste and he held you upright. He didn’t want to sound pushy but he had to ask, “How much have you had already?”

“Not too much,” you said, leaning against him, “Five, maybe six drinks, Sieun?”

“And two shots,” Sieun said with a laugh as she looked up to Jungkook with curiosity in her gaze, “But come on Y/n, isn’t it time to finally introduce me to your new guy?”

You smiled, pulling Jungkook closer, “Right. Jungkook this is my best friend, Sieun. You might remember her from that first place we met and… Sieun, this is my boyfriend. Isn’t he so cute?”

“The cutest,” Sieun said looking at him, “You said I could sleep over right?”

You nodded your head, sniffling slightly as you blinked away your blurred vision. Jungkook held you tighter as he turned to look at you, “Are you ready to go?”

“Maybe,” you admitted, feeling the sense of nausea begin to set in.

“We’ve been drinking for a while, she might have had one too many at this point,” Sieun said to him but he wasn’t listening to her. Instead he was reading your face to see how you felt, “You want to go home baby?”

You gave a weak nod and it was all it took for Jungkook to step up. He led you out with your friend close on his trail and helped you into the front seat. He buckled you in and kept your head from rolling to the side while your friend got in the backseat.

“Thanks for picking us up,” Sieun said as Jungkook drove off, “You seem like a good guy.”

Jungkook just nodded in acknowledgment, silently driving to your place and taking your hand in his. Now that you weren’t standing and actively moving, your energy seemed to have died down. You looked tired now and he wondered if you were starting to get a headache.

“Was it just you two all night or did someone else join you?” Jungkook decided to ask. You were half asleep and he wanted to ask you instead but he was too impatient to wait. Plus, he didn’t want you thinking he was worried.

“Just us two, you should’ve joined us,” Sieun said from the backseat, “It would’ve probably been more fun.”

No it wouldn’t have. All Jungkook would be able to think about is how annoying he thought she was and it would be evident on his face.

“Next time,” Jungkook lied as he pulled up to your building. He turned the car off and walked to your side, opening your door and helping you up. When you raised your arms to him, he couldn’t help but lift you all the way to your apartment. He took your keys and unlocked your door, leaving it open for your friend to follow as he led you to your room.

“Kooky,” you whined, falling onto the bed and lifting your leg. Jungkook didn’t hesitate to help you out of your heels and get you into something else to sleep in.

He kind of liked that he was getting the chance to take care of you.

“Can you get me some water?” You asked, making yourself comfortable in your bed.

“Of course, Angel, I’ll be right back,” Jungkook said, softly caressing the side of your face before making his way out of the room. In all honesty, he had nearly forgotten Sieun was over until he was in the kitchen. She seemed to know where the extra blankets and pillows were and made her bed on the couch. She was in a skimpy dress and too tall of heels which she was struggling to get out of and looking at Jungkook, “Once again, thanks for picking us up.”

“Well I wasn’t just going to let Y/n find another way home,” Jungkook mumbled to himself as he opened your cabinet for a glass. He had already assumed he’d be picking you up if Sieun ditched you.

“You know, you’re a lot cuter than I remember,” she said with a laugh as she kicked her heels off. She got up from her spot and made her way to the kitchen as Jungkook filled your glass, “It’s a shame, Y/n found you first.”

Jungkook couldn’t stop the curl of his lips in disgust as he processed what she was saying. He looked over at her, “Meaning?”

“I just mean… you’re not usually Y/n’s type,” Sieun tried to say, her drunken speech more prominent, “I saw you that first night too.”

He couldn’t help but roll his eyes, “Was that before or after you laughed when those guys called her a bitch?”

“They were joking, and I told them off after,” Sieun said, invading his space to grab a cup for herself, “But it was kind of hot how quick you were to jump in.”

Jungkook couldn’t help but stare at her in disbelief. He couldn’t believe she was trying to hit on him while you were in the other room. He was finding her more and more disgusting.

“You’re kind of a slut, aren’t you?” Jungkook asked with a slight chuckle, seeing her taken back expression.

“Excuse me?” She asked, her cocky smile gone as he insulted her suddenly.

“You. You’re a slut, right? I mean that’s what I’ve picked up,” Jungkook said with a shrug, “Why else would you be trying to hit on your friend’s boyfriend in her house?”

“I wasn’t h-hi—“

“You weren’t?” Jungkook asked, “So should I just get Y/n out here so she could listen to you too?”

Sieun had nothing to say at this point. She had in fact been hitting on him, or at least trying to see how far her teasing could go before he stopped it but she didn’t expect to be called out like this. Jungkook didn’t seem to care that she stopped and had begun to think about what was going on as he continued, “Now, if you ask me, I can’t tell you why she would want to be friends with a trashy whore like you but I guess that’s not for me to figure out. All I can really tell you is to stay out of my fucking way and don’t bother talking to me again.”

With that, he left her alone in the kitchen trying to process what had just happened.

“I think I drank too much,” you whined tiredly when your boyfriend made his way back into your bedroom. An amused smile pulled at his lips as he handed you the glass of water and sat on your side of the bed, “I’m never drinking again.”

“Okay,” he whispered, only half-believing you and smoothing his hand down your side when you groaned about a headache, “Did you at least have fun?”

Jungkook just seemed to be too good to be true. You had never met, much less been with, a guy who seemed to have everything together the way he did and it was still hard for you to understand it. Not to mention the fact that he treated you so well and always has since you first met, it’s just hard to believe. What was his deal?

Maybe you were being paranoid and thinking that something bad was bound to happen soon but that had to be the case. Never once has anything ever worked out for you as well as your relationship with Jungkook has and you can’t let it go. You’ve been with him for weeks and he hasn’t made a single slip up.

He always texts back fast, and calls you when he’s free. He’s always putting effort to see you and just takes care of you over all. He does a bunch of little things that make your heart flutter like bringing home whatever sweet you told him was your favorite, or cooking you something for dinner when you’re not in the mood to do it yourself. He lets you pick the movie or song and rarely makes you pay unless you beg him to and he’s always showing how much of his attention he has.

He's too perfect, sure there’s still some things you don’t know about him but he’ll tell you over time, hopefully.

“Are you coming to dinner tonight?” Jimin asked over lunch on Friday. The cafeteria was full with college students and the two of you occupied a small table close to a window.

“I have to work but if I can get off early then I might,” You admitted, mindlessly scrolling through your Instagram. You looked up at the third chair beside you and asked, “Where’s Sieun? I feel like she’s been M.I.A for the last couple of days.”

“I don’t know, she probably forgot she had a project due and is doing some last minute work on it,” Jimin said with a shrug, noting her absence, “Or she’s tired of seeing you all lovey dovey when she can’t keep a guy around.”

“Don’t start with your little remarks, Chimmy,” you waved a playful finger at him, “Sieun is happy doing what she wants.”

“Yeah but that’s because it’s her only choice. Do you think if someone showed actual interest, she wouldn’t want to settle down?” Jimin asked, making you look at him skeptically. You didn’t want to talk about Sieun behind her back but he made you think.

“I don’t know, it’s not in her character, I don’t even know what kind of guy she likes,” you admitted, slightly embarrassed to say. Assholes.

She usually likes the bad guys.

“Do you think she’ll go later?” You asked, attempting to change the subject.

“Probably, Jin’s gonna be there and some other guys she’ll want to flirt with so I don’t see why she’d miss it,” Jimin said, watching you begin to pack up your things as you finished eating. He followed suit and the two of you carried your trays to the drop-off station.

You rolled your eyes at what he said but didn’t deny any of it and looked at the time on your screen, “I’ve gotta get to my lecture but I’ll see you later?”

Jimin waved you off with a goodbye, letting you run off in one direction while he took the other and left the lunch room alone.

“Where’s Y/n?”

The scream he let out was high-pitched and squeamish, he had a hand supporting his beating heart as he looked at Sieun with widened eyes, “Don’t sneak up on people like that. She left to her next class, why? You avoiding her?”

He meant it as a joke, not caring much if the two of you talked either way. He can’t count the amount of times he has to pick sides between your arguments. He usually bounces between you until one of you says something he agrees with and waits for everything to be square for the three of you to talk again. Sieun bit her lip instead of responding and that was a clear give away that you were.

“Why?”

“I mean, I’m not avoiding Y/n, like I’m not mad at her or anything,” Sieun said as she walked with Jimin, “I just… I don’t know ever since she started dating Jungkook—“

“Oh, fuck no, I don’t want to hear it,” Jimin said with a laugh, “Don’t tell me you’re jealous.”

“I’m not! I mean I was, but I’m not. I swear,” Sieun confessed, “He creeps me out.”

“What do you mean?” He asked with piqued interest. Sieun let out a sigh as she shook her head, “I don’t know he just seems… intense.”

And cruel.

And brutally honest.

And aggressive.

Jimin couldn’t help but let his eyebrows knit together with confusion as he looked at her, tempted to ask her to elaborate. Before he could even think to ask her to explain, she was quick to say, “I just want to know if he’s coming tonight.”

“I don’t think so,” Jimin said, stopping in his tracks, “What’s up with you? Did something happen?”

“No,” Sieun rushed, “But I’ve gotta get going. I’ll see you later?”

Jungkook had canceled his plans tonight for your sake. He had decided to tell Namjoon he wouldn’t be fighting so that the two of you can spend time together and he could possibly bring up the thought of his fights to you. He needed to think about what he could lie about still and what you should know. If you handled the idea of these ‘sanctioned events’ then maybe you’d be fine with him doing them. Maybe you’ll want to see one live and clean up his wounds after. He was trying to think of every possible outcome before bringing them up to you.

What he hadn’t expected was for you to tell him you have plans that didn’t involve him at all.

“So you’re going out?” Jungkook asked as you talked over FaceTime. You had him set up on the computer as you sat around your part time job doing nothing but talking to him.

“Not really, I’m just meeting up with some seniors for dinner. We’re all good friends, you can come if you want. I’m sure they wouldn’t mind,” You told him, flipping through some magazine you pretended to browse. You weren’t paying close attention to his facial expression and the way it hardened.

“Are there gonna be guys there?” He tried to sound casual like he didn’t care either way but his nails dug into his palm the longer it took you to answer. Usually, he doesn’t ask you these sort of things. He always quietly accepts whatever you tell him so you’re a bit surprised.

“A few, but Sieun is going, and there’s a few seniors who aren’t guys going too,” You told him honestly, waiting for him to say something but he just stayed silent. It made you pay closer attention to him and his tensed jaw.

“Didn’t you go out last weekend?” Jungkook asked with a clear of his throat, “I was kind of hoping we could do something together later.”

“I mean, you can come along,” You tried to reason with him but his tone was slightly different. He seemed annoyed that you had plans and now you’re trying to avoid making him upset.

“Maybe I don’t want to tag along with your friends, maybe I just want to spend the night with you and no one else,” Jungkook said, his tone sounding harsher than earlier, “I didn’t realize I’d have to schedule time to see my girlfriend.”

A light scoff left your lips as you took in what he said, “You don’t, and we saw each other last night and this morning so why are you making it such a big deal that I want to go out with my friends? I haven’t seen some of them in months.”

Jungkook didn’t say anything for a moment and the longer he stayed silent, the more anxious you got. You didn’t want him upset with you but at the same time it's not like you’re constantly leaving him for someone else. He’s with you nearly every night. You talk to him at nearly every point of the day so what's the big deal that you have plans tonight? Finally, you heard him release a sigh through the phone, and muttered out, “Whatever, have fun.”

The call ended abruptly and for the first time since you started seeing him, he seemed to be upset with you.

He threw his phone down on his bed trying his hardest to not seem as bothered as he clearly was. To him it was complete bullshit and he couldn’t understand you at all. Why did it feel like he was the only one putting effort to be in a relationship? Was it his lack of true experience because he seriously thought he was doing fine. He treated you well and never got mad at you but you’re making it hard for him to keep playing nice. He doesn't give a shit about your friends and who you haven’t seen in how long. You haven’t made a single effort to meet his friends or know what he likes to do so it all just seems really fucking unfair.

Here he is trying to be a better person for you and you don’t even seem to care. Instead you would rather go be with anyone but him and. He was not just going to let that happen.

With shaky fingers, he made a call to Namjoon, and retracted his previous statement because he changed his mind. He will go and fight tonight since clearly there’s no reason for him to try and be better for you when you couldn’t care less about him.

It’s not like you could forget the fact that he was most likely upset with you now but you also weren’t going to miss out with your friends. It made you feel selfish but at the same time… you were with him this morning. He slept in your bed and maybe you should have told him you had plans that had been set for some time now but you didn’t think it mattered. He had seemed alright with every other time you were out so why was he so bothered this time around? Plus, you didn’t lie to him. You really are just going to get dinner with some old classmates of yours so is there any real reason for him to be upset by it?

“So I’ve heard you’re seeing someone, have I ever met him?” Your friend, Jin, asked over dinner. You were quiet for the most part, still thinking about Jungkook that when you finally got to the restaurant where everyone else had been waiting for you, you hadn’t made any talk with anyone. You didn’t want to be one of those people that brings your relationship problems out for everyone else to have to go through and maybe you were already overthinking it, but you didn’t want to talk about Jungkook right now.

“No, he’s uh, we met at a bar,” You said simply, stuffing your face with whatever was in front of you. Jin let his brows furrow and asked, “Is he good to you?”

”Yeah,” You said honestly. Jungkook really was good to you and its making you realize that you were probably in the wrong tonight. You should have canceled on your friend because it was so obvious that he wanted to do something together but instead you chose to be stubborn and have it your way, “He’s amazing.”

Jin looked surprised, and turned to Jimin and Sieun, “And what do you guys think about him?”

He’s always been like this, probably because he met you when you were new to the area and showed you around. He’s always had a tendency to act like an older brother with you which you were thankful for until it came to whoever you chose to date. He rarely took your word for it like you’d lie to save face of whatever asshole you’re seeing.

Jimin looked at Sieun, remembering the way she acted with you earlier. She said she’s not avoiding you but she’s made it a point to talk to everyone but you tonight and now that Jin’s looking to her, she can't ignore it any longer. He, himself, does not have much of an opinion on your boyfriend. He knows that he looked pissed off when Jimin hugged you goodbye that one time, but he might’ve dragged it on to push his button too. He doesn't have anything to say about the guy but Sieun made him question if there was something going on there.

She’s been acting strange and he wonders if Jungkook has something to do with it, but his mind goes to the wrong thing. He has to tell himself that Sieun would never do anything that could put you in a bad spot like going after your boyfriend but he cant help and wonder if that’s why she’s been stand-offish with you all day. He doesn't know Jungkook but is he the kind of guy to fool around with his girlfriend’s best friend?

Jimin looked at Sieun expectantly, waiting for her to respond and she shifted her gaze away nervously, “H-He’s cool. He seems to care a lot about Y/n.”

”So are we going out after this or what?” Someone asked from across the table, “It’s a Friday night, we should be out getting shitfaced already.”

”Let us at least finish our food, Tae, not everyone wants to drink more on an empty stomach,” Jin said with a laugh as he pushed your full plate close to you, “Right, Y/n?”

“Oh, I don’t know, I might call it a night when we get done here,” You said, checking your phone to see if you had any missed call or text from your boyfriend.

“Y/n, you can’t,” Another senior classmate, Yuna, said as she called for you, “I haven’t seen you in so long and Jinnie has been hogging up all your attention. Just one drink, yeah?”

“Her boyfriend wont let her, I bet, does he always tell you what to do?” Cai asked with a laugh making you roll your eyes. Once dinner came to an end, you tried calling Jungkook but he didn’t answer, instead the call went straight to voicemail and you were dragged out to another bar.

Jungkook hadn’t been in the mood when he got onto the fighting mats. It was obvious on his face that he didn’t care much for how to fight fair, he cared more about getting his hands on someone and that made him scarier. It’s kind of alarming how one person can affect his mood for everyone else to deal with, especially when it meant fighting someone till he felt like stopping or was dragged off of them.

That’s evidently what had to have happened. His opponent was on the ground, coughing up blood and tapping on the mat wanting it to end but Jungkook just grabbed him by the back of his head and pulled him up once more. The guy made a gurgling sound, surprise making him choke on his words and fell hard with a thud when Jungkook pushed him down once more. He kept him down with his hands in tight fists until the bell rang and Hoseok was hopping over to pull him up. Once again, Jungkook was a winner.

“Atta boy,” Hoseok said with a grin as he was made winner and followed after him and Namjoo to the locker room. Jungkook was tired and annoyed that he couldn’t even celebrate his win, even if Namjoon held the stack of money he won from not only the match but the betting too.

“Are you taking us out to celebrate, big winner,” Yoongi asked, the three oblivious to how silent Jungkook has been all night.

“No,” Jungkook said as he threw on a hoodie, feeling a tinge of paid on his shoulder from one of the times the guy was lucky enough to land a hit on him. He would surely raise but it wasn’t dislocated—he doesn't think.

“He’s probably tired of us and wants to go see his girl,” Namjoon said with a chuckle, handing Jungkook his portion of the money and letting him walk off on his own. Jungkook ignored the crowds of people congratulating him and got on his bike, slipped on his helmet and drove home.

He connected his dead phone to its charger before heading to shower and wash off the grime of fighting, the sweat and blood that came with it and try to rid himself of anger too. The whole time he was fighting, he couldn’t seem to let the thought of you go. It really did annoy the shit out of him how it felt like he wasn’t a priority in your life. How it seemed like he was the last one you think about while you’re at the front and center of his. It was unfair. You were probably off sitting at a table with your friends, not even caring about him at all.

When he got in bed he hoped you’d be calling him some time soon. He didn’t want to end the night without talking to you but he didn’t want to call you either. If he called you, then once again he would be the one putting effort into talking and you wouldn’t even care. So instead, he laid in bed with his feet hanging off the bed and his bruised arm thrown across his chest.

He thought about sleeping it off and just talking to you in the morning instead. That way he wasn’t annoyed by your absence anymore and he could talk to you when he was more level-headed but that thought head been instantly thrown out the window by what he found out.

At first, Jungkook didn’t want to believe the picture that was on his screen. If he believed it then he would have to come to accept that you lied to him and that was hard for him to swallow. Maybe he was overreacting, but then he thought about the way his chest tightened, his ribs squeezed around his heart, and his insides churned uncomfortably the longer he looked at it. The veins around his forearm protrude with the force he was applying on his phone, worried the screen would crack or he’d do something to make it stop working.

He needed it to work if he wanted his questions answered. Sliding his thumb across the screen, he went back to his messages, fingers trembling as he typed with urgency.

jungkook: y/n said she was just going to dinner.

hoseok: 😬looks like she lied to u

He had to read over the words twice, three times almost as he tried to think about what Hoseok was saying. You had no reason to lie to him and you both knew it. The two of you were supposed to be working on your relationship and it isn’t good for one of you to lie to the other. It was wrong, very wrong and he did not like being lied to.

Especially not when he couldn’t understand why you would want to lie to him. Even if he had been annoyed you were going out, you didn’t have to lie. You said you were going to dinner but you said nothing about going to the club, especially not with guys around you. Is that why you lied to him? Is that why you told him you would just be grabbing dinner? So that he wouldn’t have to think about the guys you would be drinking with and laughing with like you didn’t care about the boyfriend you ditched?

You were such a fucking liar. He sent one final text to Hoseok, asking where this was and it was the last thing he did before he got out of bed to find out for himself what you were up to.

“How come we’re always the last one’s to know you’re seeing someone?” Cai asked with a chuckle as he stood with you to the side while the others talked loudly about some old professor everyone shared, “Is it because I’m old? Be honest.”

“Oh my god, no, plus you’re still younger than Jin,” You laughed, “And because it kind of just happened. I don’t know, I haven’t been seeing Jungkook for long but he’s honestly great. When you meet him you’ll like him.”

”Well why didn’t you drag him out tonight?” Cai asked, slurring on his words a bit, “It would’ve been nice to meet my competition.”

“Oh shut up,” you rolled your eyes playfully. It isn’t the first time Cai has made comments like that but you always brush them off. He was talking to talk, he never meant anything by it and everyone knew it, “I should probably get going soon though, I've been gone longer than I told him I’d be.”

“Who cares, you’re with your friends its not like you’re doing anything wrong,” Cai said pulling at your arm to keep you next to him, “We haven’t had a chance to catch up in forever, he’ll be fine.”

A sigh left your lips as you looked down at your phone to see if he’s messaged you yet but there was nothing. It made you wonder just how upset he was with you and in the end, all you wanted to do was leave and go find him, “I think I should go.”

”Y/n,” Cai drunkenly whined as you began walking away but something stopped you and it wasn’t the arm Cai was holding onto you with. Just a couple yards away, your boyfriend’s familiar cold stare was directed to the person at your side and you couldn’t think fast enough. How did he know where you were? Ours not sure, everything happened so fast and that had been the last thing on your mind.

”Jungkook,” you called out to him as he stormed past you and with a closed fist, hit Cai straight on the jaw. The punch had him stumbling back into the bar table behind him and falling to the floor with a hand on his bleeding face. You cringed with shock as Jungkook kicked his side making Cai curl his body into a ball to stop the hitting but Jungkook didn’t stop.

“Stop!” You cried out, wanting it to end but unsure how to make that happen when Jungkook got on top of him and delivered clear blows to your friend’s face with a relentless amount of strength that not even Jin could put a stop to. A crowd had begun to crowd and bouncer’s were trying to make their way through but some guys you faintly remember hanging around Jungkook got to him first. It took both Namjoon and Hoseok to pull Jungkook off and even then he was fighting against their hold.

You were shaking with worry as you watched Yuna crouch down next to Cai who was covered in blood, you looked at Jungkook who was just seeing red and without thinking, you followed him out, uttering out apologies to all your friends as you did so.

”What the hell is wrong with you?” You asked him as Hoseok dragged him all the way outside.

“Get in your car and go before the cops show up,” He told him, speaking over you like what you said didn’t matter but Jungkook wasn’t listening to him.

“I thought you were just going to dinner!” Jungkook said angrily, sweat coating his hair as he yelled angrily, “Instead I find out you’re getting close with some other guy as if you don’t have a fucking boyfriend!”

“What are you talking about?” You felt like crying as you watched his friends keep him from getting too close to you, “He’s my frien—“

”Right, everyone is just your fucking friend, Y/n. So explain this,” Jungkook showed you his phone screen and your heart nearly dropped. It was a picture of you from inside the club with Cai’s arms around your waist. It had been two seconds of hi trying to get you to dance with him before everyone told him to keep his hands to himself but of course th picture made it look a hundred times worse than it was. You would never cheat on Jungkook nor give anyone the wrong idea and before this mess had happened, you were planning on leaving them and going to him.

“I tried to call you,” you attempted to say but Jungkook wasn’t listening, “Jungkook, you just attacked my friend, do you get that?”

”Oh fuck off, Y/n, why is your friend all over you when you have a boyfriend? Do you think I’m fucking stupid? You lied to me, you ditched me for all of them—“

”That doesn't mean you put your hands on someone!” You yelled back in anger, “It feels like I don't even know you.”

You thought he was sweet. He was calm and caring and although you had wondered if he was scary, you never believed it. He was always so soft it’s you but right now… right now you watched him beat your friend to a pulp and h didn’t look sorry at all. If anything he looked ready for more.

Sirens were going off in the distance, surely coming in this direction and you took a step back from him,”We’re done.”

“What?” Jungkook asked, genuinely surprised, “Y/n—“

”Jungkook come on man, you can't get arrested again,” Namjoon said trying to pull his friend back and you didn’t miss what he implied. This wouldn’t be the first time he would get arrested and it just solidified how little you thought you knew about him.

“Get off me,” Jungkook pushed at his best friend as you began to walk away from him, “Y/n!”

You couldn’t bring yourself to turn around as you headed back inside, ignoring the way he yelled out for you and looked for your friends.

It took two days for him to do something. You left him alone outside some nightclub while he called out for you and you never turned back. You didn’t answer his calls or texts and he waited. He waited two entire days for you to cool off and talk to him. In reality, he felt as though he should’ve been the one ignoring you. This happened because you didn’t prioritize him.

Now, you’ve tried to toss him aside like he didn’t matter to begin with and that is what bothered him the most.

He doesn’t give a fuck about your friends or the guy he left to bleed out on the ground. He cared about you and how you comforted someone else while he was dragged home by his friends. And even with how angry he was at you for trying to end it with him he still gave you time to get over it. He let you ignore him. He gave you the choice and now you’re taking advantage of it. Why are you doing this to him?

“I don’t know man, it was bad, you kind of went crazy,” Yoongi tried to tell him as he watched Jungkook bench press over his weight. The two were at the gym with Yoongi trying to get Jungkook out of this mood he’s been stuck in since Friday. He had this anger in him that wouldn’t disappear and the other night he was so mad, not only at the fighting match but at the club too and he should’ve stopped him. It’s not like none of them saw the signs, it had been so obvious before the fight that Jungkook was upset. Hoseok should’ve never shown him that picture.

“I was fine,” Jungkook muttered under his breath between counting his set, “Do I not have a right to be upset when another guy is grabbing at my girlfriend?”

Ex girlfriend, Yoongi thought but he pushed it aside as he spotted for Jungkook and made sure the barbell was put back into its holder when he sat up, “I didn’t say that but… don’t you think you’ve been taking things too far lately? What happened to that Minho guy?”

“Who cares? I’m tired of these people trying so hard to ruin what I’ve built with Y/n,” Jungkook huffed, “I love Y/n and she loves me too, alright? I’ve never felt this way for anyone else and I’m not going to let these fucking… pieces of shit take away the one thing I have ever wanted. You think I want Y/n to be scared of what I’ll do? Do you think I want her to push me away? No! She has to know that I love her so much I’ll do anything to make sure no one hurts her or gets in our way. That’s it.”

Yoongi wasn’t sure what to say anymore. He would never do anything to go against his friend, he’s known him too long and knows too much about what the kid has gone through to ever turn against him but… for the first time, he truly believed something was seriously wrong with Jungkook.

“Is he really okay?” You asked Jin as he joined you for lunch on Monday.

“He’s alright, just a broken nose I guess,” Jin said to the three, “He said he’s not mad, y’know.”

“I know, but I just can’t look at him without feeling guilty,” You admitted, Cai had texted you he was alright after your dozen apologies but you haven’t gone to see him yet.

When you had gotten back inside, everyone was gone and off helping Cai up. Jin took him to the hospital because he didn’t want to deal with the cops either and Yuna and Sieun went with. The only one that had stayed behind was Jimin, hoping you’d be back and away from Jungkook. He took you home and you haven’t been able to see Cai since.

You just couldn’t wrap your mind around it. Jungkook was… he was like a stranger to you. The nice guy you had met was gone and replaced with some monster and it was hard for you to grasp.

Was this the same guy who stuck up for you when Jisoo was upset you rejected him?

The same guy who made you a custom helmet and whined whenever you left bed? He carried you home after a night drinking and took care of you without complaint. Was this really the same guy you saw ignoring the obvious egging of that stranger at the restaurant?

“I swear I’ve never seen Jungkook act like that,” you sighed, biting your bottom lip with worry, “I don’t know what happened.”

“Have you talked to him?” Jimin asked from your side.

“No,” you gasped in shock, “Obviously not, I— he’s tried contacting me but I’m not responding. He broke Cai’s nose.”

“I was just asking,” Jimin said with a shoulder shrug, “The guy’s a psychopath the way he just showed up and did that. He’s dangerous.”

Part of you wanted to deny that and say that Jungkook wasn’t dangerous at all but you can’t. You’re aware something is off about the way he acted and you couldn’t ignore it.

But he reacted so calmly when that guy at the restaurant was trash talking him. He didn’t even look at him and when you asked if he was alright, he said he was fine. How could he assault Cai without wasting a second to think it over? What made this instance different from the other guy? The other guy was actually saying things to get under Jungkook’s while Cai was just being his usual self but photographed in the wrong moment.

“Does anyone remember the news a couple weeks ago? Some guy was hurt in his own home?” You suddenly asked, “Who knows his name?”

“What?” Jin asked with confusion at the change of subject. He wondered if you were still uncomfortable talking about Jungkook and wanted an escape, “Kim Minho or something.”

Don’t ask why you suddenly thought of that but it had been at such an odd time. You had just been having dinner around that neighborhood and suddenly from somewhere around there someone was attacked. You didn’t think of it much back then but now with the way Jungkook had acted with Cai, it made you wonder.

“Alright, well I told Yuna I’d pick her up from work so I should probably get going,” Jin said as he stood up looking at you, “Are you gonna be okay?”

You gave him a brief nod as Jimin stood up too, asking for a quick ride with and it left you alone with Sieun faster than either of you realized. You talked a little during the dinner on Friday but it feels different lately, like she doesn’t want to be around you. Even when Jungkook attacked Cai, she didn’t message you and only tagged along when Jimin made her. It was strange.

“So are you mad at me?” You asked her. Sieun wasn’t looking at you but at the front of the cafe window trying to avoid your stare when you caught her off guard.

“No.”

“Really? It just feels like you’ve been acting different with me lately,” you said, “Is it because of Jungkook? Because of what happened on Friday?”

“It’s not tha—well, I don’t know Y/n. Jungkook seems… he seems like a violent person,” she said to you, “A-nd he doesn’t deserve you and neither do I.”

You looked at her with a sudden racing heart, “Neither do you? What do you mean?”

Her silence alarmed you and it was hard for you to ignore the nervous bite of her bottom lip and shifty eyes, “Did something happen between you guys?”

Now was the time to tell you, while you were still bothered by Jungkook. You had no idea what would come out of her mouth but knowing your friend and her history, it made you worried to find out. You already didn’t want to see him but if something happened between the two of them you can’t imagine it wouldn’t hurt you.

Sieun shook her head, “No. No—I mean, not what you think, but I was drunk and—“

“You slept with him?” You asked, tired of the way she kept stumbling over her words. She needed to just spit it out at this point. What was she trying to say?

“No, but I… Y/n, you’re my best friend and I know what I did was wrong but I did try and flirt with him—he turned me down fast! B-but, I don’t know, he just said some really hurtful shit,” Sieun said with her head down like she was too embarrassed to admit her wrongs.

“So… you were hitting on my boyfriend while sleeping over at my house and he said something that hurt your feelings?” Your tone was cold and distant like you want to sympathize with her but you couldn’t bring yourself to do it, “What did he say?”

“Nothing, I mean, he called me a slut and a trashy whore and basically told me to fuck off—understandable! I’m really sorry, Y/n, I was drunk,” she practically cried, “I don’t know, he was kind of scary and then seeing what he did to Cai…”

You didn’t say anything and it scared her. Obviously she’s well aware she made a mistake the night she slept over at your place and she seriously regrets it. She wished she wasn’t like this and she doesn’t want you to think you can’t trust her but Jungkook is intense and she doesn’t want you around him.

“Y/n—“

“I should go, I’m gonna be late to my last class,” you finally said with a sigh, raising from the table with your things and ignoring the way she called for your name. To be honest, you just weren’t sure how to take that. Part of you doesn’t want to care because of what Jungkook did to Cai and how it’s better that you just don’t talk to him again… but at the same time, you did have feelings for Jungkook. You wish you could say they disappeared the second he acted like someone you didn’t know but that wouldn’t be the truth at all.

You still want to be with Jungkook and that’s why it hurts you that he put his hands on someone you consider a friend. Not to mention what Sieun said hurt you more than you would like to admit. She’s supposed to be your friend and you know her habits but to find out she would do something behind your back to try and get with your then boyfriend… it doesn’t sit right with you at all.

And it’s annoying how much you missed Jungkook.

jungkook: can we talk

jungkook: ik u don’t want to see me but I miss u

jungkook: u haven’t talked to me in days

jungkook: im sorry

jungkook: can i come over to talk?

Days.

He watched days go past him and you still wouldn’t talk to him. It was getting ridiculous at this point and it was harder for him to be patient. Did you seriously mean it when you said it was over? Did you think he’d just let you walk away from him and have to suffer knowing you won’t talk to him ever again?

Not once since the two of you have met did he think he gave you any reason to want to end things with him and it’s hard for him to believe you’ll end it over something like this. He was upset that you lied to him after knowing he was already upset about you going out and then you dump him like he was in the wrong?

Frankly, he doesn’t give a fuck about what happened to your friend. He doesn’t care if the two of you were close or if he beat him on the floor till he was dragged off him. He doesn’t care if the guy is suffering or if your relationship with him is cut. You are with Jungkook, he should’ve been your first priority the same way you are his. He shouldn’t have to worry about other guys wanting to get with you. He’s loyal to you and he deserves the same so how is it his fault that he reacted in such a way? The picture was enough proof that you didn’t have boundaries with the people around you and all he did was help you set them. Why are you so upset with him because of it?

And it wasn’t fair for you to ignore him and not want to hear his side of things, it bothered him more than anything. He tried being patient, tried giving you time and not show up at your door every hour but he was left with no other option. It’s been hours since he pulled up to your apartment, waiting to see what time you would get home and it’s beginning to get to him.

To be clear, Jungkook doesn’t think there’s anything wrong with what he’s doing. He’s just decided that he’s going to make sure you have no choice but to talk to him. That’s why he’s been in his car across the street waiting to see what time you’ll be home so he could knock on the door.

What he hadn’t expected was to see you walk to the entrance with a guy at your side.

He told himself not to react. All he needed to do was sit back and wait for you to be alone. He didn’t want to think about who this person was and judging by the work attire—a coworker, he assumed—nor did he want to overthink it. You weren’t standing too close to him or looking too happy talking to him and Jungkook had to remind himself that the longer the two of you stood at your door talking. He was not jealous.

Seriously.

You can talk to whoever you want but while he can’t sleep over the fact that you tried breaking up with him, you seem completely fine. Maybe his vision is skewed but why don’t you seem as affected as he does? Why is he the one feeling tossed aside? Is it because he’s always put in more effort? He continues to put in more effort. And despite it all, you would rather spend your time talking and with literally anyone but him. That’s what he was mad about.

So he sat in his car and waited for the guy to leave and all he could think about was how he would storm over there and make you talk to him and try to work things out. He was going to make you forgive him because he can’t stand being away from you or seeing you with anyone else.

When the moment was right, he got out of his car, crossed the street to enter your building, and knocked on your door.

Your vision of him through the peephole was warped but there was no denying that was your ex boyfriend and you couldn’t contain the drop in your face. For some reason, since Jungkook hadn’t shown up at your place crying for you back, you hadn’t taken him as the type but now here he was, leaning his hand against the door looking through the peephole and waiting for you to let him in.

You were stuck between inviting him in or ignoring him further but you were too curious. You haven’t wanted to even think about Jungkook because you knew you would struggle being around him but you also wanted to see him. You missed him and everything you’ve heard should make you run but you can’t just forget he exists. You don’t want to and he’s tired of letting you.

“It’s late,” you said, using little effort to turn him away.

“I just want to talk,” Jungkook said, looking down the hall with worry, “You’ve been ignoring me.”

He said it so nonchalantly like he didn’t care either way and you couldn’t help but roll your eyes, “Because we’re not together anym—“

“Says who? You didn’t even give me a chance to defend myself, baby,” Jungkook said, circling the door handle and testing to see if it was locked.

You bit back a scoff in disbelief, swinging the door open in anger and barking back, “Defend yourself against what? I literally watched you attack my friend for no reason.”

“I know, I was out of line,” Jungkook pushed the door open, stepping in quickly before you could regret opening it and closing it behind him, “But… you lied to me. You knew I wanted us together that night and you chose your friends and then you lied about what you would be doing. I even told you how uncomfortable I felt for you to be with other guys when I’m not around and you lied and did it behind my back anyway. Do I not have a reason to be upset?”

“Then, you want to ignore me and act like I don’t matter at all and you expect me to just be okay with that?” He went on, his tone growing harsher the longer he went on, “I’m just supposed to stand back and let you throw me away when I’ve done nothing but try and show you how I’ve felt about you since the very beginning? How is that fair, Y/n?”

“Jungkook,” you sighed, hand touching your forehead to ease an approaching headache as you tried to wrap your mind around everything he was saying. You also didn’t expect to suddenly be put on blast and have to deal with the mess that happened.

“I… you broke his nose—how did you even—how’d you know where I wa—you were so angry! It was scary, I’m sorry for lying but I was going to tell you. I tried calling you and you didn’t pick up!” You stumbled over your words, pacing your living room as you tried to talk, “And either way it doesn’t mean you put your hands on someone.”

He wanted to just scream at you and tell you to forget that. Forget your stupid fucking friend.

“Y/n, please, it was a mistake,” he tried to even out his tone and sound calmer, trying a different route to talk to you and get you to sit with him at least, “And I’ll apologize everyday if I have to but please don’t leave me because of it. I—I wasn’t thinking and all I saw was some guy talking to my girlfriend and trying to get touchy.”

“It was scary,” you admitted, warily as he sat down, taking your hand and trying to guide you to sit too, “I’ve never seen you like that before.”

“I know, and you don’t know how much I regret acting that way but I can’t deal with you ignoring me either, sit down please,” he said in a soft, calming tone. You reluctantly let him pull you down, sitting about a foot away from him.

Honestly, Cai had been acting a little too touchy that night but he was supposed to be one of your good friends and you were just going to move on and play it off like his usual self. It is one of those moments where you could understand why Jungkook was bothered, you do have a lot of guy friends and clearly not all have the best intentions. Does that still give him a right to do what he did? No, but… maybe Cai deserved it a little.

He’s the one who insisted on going out for a drink after dinner. He’s the one who stayed by your side majority of the night and begged you to stay. You’re still not sure how Jungkook knew exactly where you were or what picture but now you could only assume someone he knew spotted you. Maybe it looked like you were playing him for another guy and it sucks that you can understand why that would bother him.

Cai isn’t even mad still, of course he thinks you broke it off with Jungkook [which you did!] but how would he feel to know you’re sitting so close to him after feeling so sorry for your friend?

A sigh escaped your lips as you felt yourself slowly giving in to Jungkook and felt his arms down at your waist trying to pull you even close. You were being stubborn and making it hard for him to move you but he didn’t mind putting in the extra effort, he can just see your walls beginning to break down again, “Y/n, please baby, just stop ignoring me.”

You let him pull you onto his lap and even went as far as circling your arm around his shoulders for support as you said, “Why do you know how to fight so well?”

Your question took him off guard but he wasn’t going to act phased by it, instead he took a deep breath and decided he should be honest, “I box, remember? At the gym, a-and make a little money on the side from it.”

“Is that what you do when you hang with your friends?” You asked and he shook his head no.

“No, I wanted to put it behind me but the other night I went to fight because you wanted to go get dinner,” Jungkook cleared his throat awkwardly, “Y/n, I will put it all in the past if you take me back.”

“And what about what your friend said? About how you can’t go to jail again?” You asked abruptly, shifting away from him just slightly and his arms tightened at your waist, “Why are you keeping things from me but expecting me to be honest?”

“Because it’s different,” Jungkook answered bitterly, “I’m keeping things that I’m embarrassed of from you. There’s parts of me I’m too scared to show you and I don’t want you to run away from me, please. I know I have to work on things but I’ve been trying. I’ve been nothing but caring to you and I don’t think it’s fair that my past, of all things, is what pushes you away. I can’t change the things I’ve done but please, Y/n, I’ll be better. I swear it.”

You debated bringing up the Sieun part now that you’ve thought about it better but honestly, there’s nothing to mention. Obviously you hate any sort of slut shaming but she tried to get with your boyfriend. Jungkook chose questionable wording to turn her down but she shouldn’t have thrown herself at him in the first place, right? You decided you won’t stop talking to Sieun over it because as it seems, your boyfriend turned her down pretty fine on his own and it makes you want to trust him so it’s only right he’s able to trust you when you’re with guys, right? You’re going to continue to talk to Sieun but for now on you’re gonna keep her far from whoever you’re seeing because clearly she doesn’t respect you enough to stay away in her own. There’s just too many factors into being her friend or not and you don’t want to jeopardize your friendship with others because of it.

At some point throughout your rampant thoughts, Jungkook’s soft touch on your thigh hadn’t been enough to snap you out of your daze until you felt it travel higher than before.

“Think about it baby,” Jungkook said, thankful that today was like every other day where you wore your pretty little skirts that made it so easy for his hand to find where it wanted to go. Now, his rough fingers were grazing along the softness of your thigh teasingly, “How good are we together? Have I ever treated you wrong?”

You didn’t say anything, quite literally feeling where this was going and stuck between putting a stop to it and letting it go on. He placed a soft kiss against your shoulder blade, “And you’ve missed me too, I know you have so why act like we don’t belong together?”

He felt the way a gasp caught in your throat as his hand disappeared just under your skirt, teasing your inner thighs now. Your hand fell over his as though you’d push him away if he took it too far but you didn’t. You let the tip of his middle finger press against your pantie clad heat testing to see how far he could go before you stopped him. He just can’t help it, he really had missed you so much and he hasn’t been able to see or touch you in so long. How was he supposed to hold himself back when you’re sitting on his lap? If you were still upset with him, you wouldn’t even want him around you but instead he’s managed to get you exactly where he wants you and that’s in his arms.

“Because we barely know anything about each other,” you said bitterly, your back stiffening with anticipation as he teased your covered cunt under your skirt. You really should push him away.

“That’s not true,” Jungkook whispered against your neck, his other hand joined the one under your skirt and moved your underwear to the side making you let out a gasp at the sudden exposure, “I know where you grew up, what you’re studying, what you look like in the morning, what makes you upset, how you like your breakfast and… and I know the sounds you make when I touch you right here.”

To further his point along, he pressed a gentle touch to where your clit is hidden under its hood. He was pulling reactions from your body that you didn’t expect to give him anymore. There was a slight wetness between your folds now that he teased a finger into, sliding it between your labia until his finger was soaked in it. Then, he brought the same coated finger to your clit, softly pressing circles around it as it hardened with his touch. As he did all this, he kissed along your neck nearly making you forget whatever went wrong.

“But what do I really know about you?” You tried to ask between panting breaths, unable to stop your hips from slowly gyrating against his lap when he touched you with both hands, “You’re the one who has been lying, you never told me about your fighting.”

“I planned to,” he admitted, his hand sliding down your folds gently, middle finger pressing into the puddle of slick he knew your entrance was located at. With the added stimulation to your clit, he could feel your body begin to squirm on his lap and it was making his jeans tighten around his groin as he felt arousal begin to seep into his own body. “I was going to tell you everything when the right time came along, you know that.”

“Jungkook,” you sighed, either in a moan or warning but you couldn’t tell anymore and let your head fall back against his shoulder, bucking your hips to meet his hand. His touch was gentle but firm, his caress along your thigh was teasing and when his lips pressed against your neck, you couldn’t help but spread your legs just a little further.

“Yes, baby?” The length of his finger fit perfectly between your folds, massaging them each time he pulled his finger out of your wet pussy. You had begun to grind against his hardened bulge, dragging your hips against his cock while he fingered you. A low groan bubbled in his chest as he looked at your pretty face, lips parted softly and fucking yourself on his fingers, “Did you miss me too?”

You nodded your head, breathing heavily when you felt him dig his stiff cock against your sensitive cunt. The rough material of his jeans felt surprisingly good against your thighs and couldn’t help but hump against it. His lips brushed against yours, “Say it.”

“I missed you,” the words barely made it past your lips before he was kissing you, making you try and twist your upper body to reach him better and moaned into his mouth when he pushed another finger into your cunt, fucking you with both while his tongue made out with yours.

You didn’t receive much warning to the knot that tightened in your stomach the deeper his fingers felt like they could go, and with the sudden adrenaline coursing through your veins, you couldn’t control the wave of orgasm that hit you. Jungkook knew just how to curl his fingers, tease your clit and kiss your neck. It was unfair to come undone by him so easily. Embarrassing even.

Jungkook was left to think the complete opposite. He felt the way your body gave itself to pleasure, felt your thighs twitch and threaten to close. Felt the way your breath hitched between kisses and how you arch your back off him to fight against the feeling he brought to you. It made his cock jump to know he so easily pulled such responses from you, made you feel good and relaxed. Since the first time, he’s been obsessed with making you feel good.

“Let’s take these off,” Jungkook mumbled in a groggy voice laced with arousal. He tugged at the hem of your ruined panties, finally annoyed by them and pulled them down your thighs, “They’re in my way.”

You helped take them off as he began to unbutton his jeans, kicking them off along with his tight briefs that did a poor job of hiding his erect dick. It nearly peaked out from the hem and he got rid of them as fast as he could. His cock stood at attention, watching the way you had leant forward to toss your underwear aside and he couldn’t help but touch it. His hand was still covered in some of your release but it created a soft glide as he jerked his cock teasingly, “Can you sit on it?”

Jungkook had a strange way of sounding demanding while gentle, he had a way of getting what he wanted. Although you were the one to be so hesitant to even let him inside, the thought has completely left your body as you did as told. You didn’t care for protection or anything in the way, in truth you were beyond turned on and you forgot how good Jungkook made you feel.

All that talk about being done, not knowing anything about him and being scared was for nothing because you took his cock all the same. You both moaned at the raw feel of your walls tightening around his dick. You weren’t at all crazy about sex, but you had it with him often and going without it the past week and a half felt too long. Jungkook knew how to please you, he was a good boyfriend and so fucking attractive it was hard for you to care about his other red flags.

And as if someone knew you were succumbing to your supposed ex boyfriend and how his walls stretched you out, the table lit up with a call displayed on your phone. Your hands supported yourself on his knees as you sunk down on his cock, feeling the way his hands inched up your torso, yanking on your shirt to get it off you.

“Good girl,” Jungkook sighed out when you took him fully, swaying your hips to adjust to his size and giving his cock a squeeze, “Just ignore them, alright?”

You bit your lip, looking at the screen where a group call was waiting for you. It was like a wake-up call about your friends and how intimidating Jungkook was to them. He was aggressive and cruel, but was he? He apologizes for what happened with Cai, and he doesn’t care for Sieun because he’s loyal to you so where’s the real problem? It’s definitely not where he groped at your tits, bucking into your cunt with his thick cock, knowing just what pace you liked.

“Fuck,” you let out a soft gasp when it felt like his dick was reaching deeper inside you as he leant forward, making you hold onto the end of the coffee table for support. Your knees hit the ground and he knelt behind you, arching your back just a little more to feel the way your walls rubbed around his dick during every thrust.

“Unless you want them to know who’s fucking you right now,” Jungkook said, his free hand gripping at your hips under your skirt and fucking you on his cock from behind. At some point he hand flung his t-shirt off and he had a clear view of your ass under the skirt. His V-line seemed more pronounced everytime he bucked his hips into you and the veins leading down his navel seemed to throb to life with all the blood flowing to where he fucked you.

He was clearly bluffing [you think] and it made your eyes roll to the back with pleasure, arching back into him and pushing your phone further away before he got any ideas. You clicked for it to stop, struggling with the way your body seemed to jump with each thrust, and flipped it to face down.

“Fuck,” you repeated, dropping your head down, “No.”

Jungkook couldn’t hide the way his face hardened at your whispered no, surely implying that you didn’t want them to know who you were with. He, personally, didn’t seem to care if they knew he was fucking you so well that you could barely stand. What did they expect? He was patient, he was persistent and he was the only one you should be with at the end of the day. Was it the thought of your friends knowing you were having sex or the thought of them knowing it was with him that you didn’t want?”

Didn’t you want him?

“No? Why not?” He asked, hunching over your back to reach your neck, speaking in your ear, “You don’t want anyone knowing you’re with your boyfriend?”

Boyfriend.

Did you decide to take him back and forget everything else? You could fight back and tell him that he’s not your boyfriend but what if that made him stop fucking you?

Did it make you a bad friend to still be with the one guy who makes you feel things and treats you in ways you’re not used to? Jungkook knew you were close again, and he knew it would be hard to get any real response from you but he tried it anyway, knowing just what he wanted you to say, how he wanted you to say it.

“Right, baby, you’re not leaving me,” Jungkook said bluntly, fingers tracing down your side knowing how sensitive you were to any touch, “You and I aren’t breaking up.”

“Jungkook—“

“You’re not going to try and leave me again, are you?” Jungkook asked with a harsh thrust that had your head falling forward with a moan. He brought his hand to the back of your neck, trying to drag your head up to look at him. “I love you.”

Your hand tapped against the coffee table as if asking for a tap-out but he kept going, feeling how you tightened and recoiled against his cock. You were so close. So very close to cumming all over him and he couldn’t wait.

“Say you love me,” he begged, teasing you with open mouth kisses.

“I love you,” you gasped the quicker he went, feeling yourself close to snapping.

“Say it again,” he thrusted into you deeply, giving your hips no room to move as he trapped you against the coffee table.

“I love you,” you repeated with a moan you couldn’t control.

“Again,” he begged, hands falling to the edge of the table and stuffing you with as much of himself as you could take, your sudden high hitting you like before.

The words could barely form on your lips as you let go, feeling your orgasm reach your entire body. Jungkook waited, clenching his jaw the tighter your walls clamped down on him and before he knew it, he was cumming. His eyes squeezed shut with pleasure as he fell limp against your back, “I love you so fucking much, please don’t ever leave me again.”

You would think that by the way he was acting it was like you were broken up for years, not days, and it reminded you of just how obsessed it felt like he was. His need to talk to you all day, visit you all night, and get jealous whenever your attention wasn’t on him.

He was possessive and a liar but why did he care for you so gently? Why was he so harsh with everyone but you and how could you not want to give in to him?

Even as you felt his cum drip out of you when he pulled out, you weren’t worried about the failure to use protection. In truth you were a little dazed by the entire evening to process what had just happened. Your ex suddenly showed up to your place begging for you back with his dick in your pussy and stars in your eyes. Were you not supposed to give in after all of that?

“Angel,” Jungkook touched your naked back softly, “Are you alright?”

“Yes,” you said looking back at him and the way he still struggled to catch his breath, clearly as equally affected by it as you.

“Come here,” he said lovingly as he helped you to your feet, “You look tired.”

He was smug too, a smile showing as he led you to your bedroom like everything was back to normal and you let him. He washed up with you, joined you in your bed and held you while you slept the night away.

All his hard work had paid off and he was back with you in his arms and no one in the way. Whatever you might have thought about him, about him and the guy from the restaurant, or his secret fighting and how he attacked Cai went out the window. You didn’t care about any of it when you were with him.

Everything had gone back to what he considered normal. He was spending practically every night he desired over at your place and you weren’t pushing him away. You gave up on trying to push him away and you’ve been happier ever since.

You haven’t been honest with your friends about him though, they don’t know how you’re back together and frankly, you would rather keep it that way. Cai is finally doing better but things are still awkward between you even if he says he isn’t mad. At the end of the day, he was assaulted just for being around you, even if he had been too touchy. You’re lucky he isn’t pressing charges on Jungkook and you really don’t want anyone to know how easily you took him back. It made you feel shitty but you couldn’t help yourself. Jungkook does make you feel things you’ve never felt before.

“Are you going to go get it?” Jimin asked as you searched inside your backpack for the sixth time in search of your laptop. You forgot it at home and you only knew this because Jungkook had so kindly sent you a text asking if you didn’t need it today. You were running late this morning due to your boyfriend who wouldn’t let you out of bed fast enough and left it on the counter on your way out the door. You had an online exam in less than an hour and you really didn’t want to have to borrow one from the campus library.

“Yeah, if I run I can make it back in time,” you said with a sigh as your two friends followed behind you.

“Want me to come with?” Sieun asked, clearing her throat awkwardly. Since you found out about how she threw herself at Jungkook, she’s made it her mission to get on your good side again. You could’ve easily ended your friendship with her but then you thought about how funny the situation was. As annoying and absurd as it was that she would even try to get at Jungkook, there was something satisfying to know he didn’t succumb to her flirting. Plus, she apologized and you enjoyed making her have to beg for your friendship again.

“Not really, you’ve got another class soon, don’t you?” You said, brushing it off like you were thinking about the trouble it would cause her. In reality, you knew your boyfriend was probably home early from work, probably video gaming on your couch with Bam at his feet and no shirt on. You really didn’t need that to be what she walked into. They walked you to the bus stop but you found yourself wanting to turn away when you looked ahead. You were too nervous to look at either of them but you could read it in the way that they slowed their pace, they were looking at Jungkook.

Just at the entrance gates stood your boyfriend with his signature motorcycle behind him and a baseball cap lowered over his eyes. He smiled at you, opening his backpack and pulling out your laptop.

You couldn’t hold back the sigh of relief you felt as you walked up to him still feeling nervous. You took your laptop and stuffed it into your backpack, “What are you doing here?”

“What do you mean?” He asked with a laugh, taking your hand in his and pulling you closer, “I brought it so you wouldn’t have to go back home for it. I thought you’d be a little more thankful.”

“I am, thank you,” you confessed, unable to help the way you looked back at Jimin and Sieun who stood there surprised at the sight. They couldn’t wrap their mind around the idea of you taking your violent boyfriend back.

“What’s wrong?” Jungkook asked, lifting his head to look behind you but his vision was slightly obscured by the rim of his hat. He didn’t have to see more to understand what the problem was and he couldn't help but let his jaw clench with annoyance. He had growing suspicions and what it might be and he’s not liking it. It’s as if you didn’t want your friends to see you with him.

“Nothing, but seriously, thanks for bringing it to me. I was just about to start walking home,” you said, hoping to ease some of the tension, “I should probably go and study for this exam because I have a strong gut feeling I’m going to fail. Are you staying over again?”

“Can I?” Jungkook questioned, arm tightening around your waist, “Or are you tired of me yet?”

You rolled your eyes playfully, “You can come over whenever you want, you know that. But okay—I should get going.”

He caught you before you could let go of him and smiled sweetly, teasingly, “Can I get a kiss first?”

It was such a small favor but it felt deeper than that. His smile barely reached his eyes and he was strongly aware of the audience behind you that stared at him with worry. You haven’t told your friends and it bothers him to know you want to keep him a secret. After everything he’s done to get back with you, you want to hide it from your friends? You thought he wouldn’t find out?

“Your hat is in the way,” you said awkwardly trying to pry his arm off you so you could disappear into the library where your friends wouldn’t ask what was going on. You could feel their eyes glaring at the back of your head and seeing Jungkook was surprising enough, watching you kiss him would be unspeakable.

Jungkook grabbed his ballcap by the bill and turned it around on his head, flipping it so the bill was facing the back and the back was in the front, “Better?”

Your lips parted in a small gasp, practically drooling at how he looked. He made it so incredibly hard to resist him. This time around, he grinned, loving the way your cheeks flushed when he riled you up and without asking, leant down to catch your lips with his.

You immediately kissed him back, forgetting about the people who would soon be interrogating you and enjoyed it. When you pulled back, Jungkook was biting on his bottom lip to keep himself from groaning at the taste of you on his tongue, “I’ll pick you up after?”

“Sure,” you said breathlessly, “But I should really go now.”

“Mhm,” Jungkook chuckled looking back at Sieun and Jimin, not caring about the glares they sent him, “Text me when you’re done.”

He watched you walk away with him satisfied by the look of disgust in their faces. When he looked at Sieun, she looked a little scared, and self conscious. She wrapped her arms around herself as if to hide from the hurt his words made her feel still to this day and looked away quickly. Jimin seemed more annoyed than anything, he couldn’t stand the sight of you with Jungkook and it brought him a sort of smugness. He couldn’t take his smirk as he threw a leg over his bike and put his helmet on.

It never bothered Jungkook what anyone else thought about him anyway. He was always going to do and act the way he wanted and at the end of the day, it didn’t change a thing. You saw how violent he could be, you’ve heard what he’s said and yet you still choose him. You chose him over everyone else and that’s all he’s ever wanted.

::.

gahdamn this shit is so long 😭😭😭 damn near two months worth of writing so bare with me

NO PART TWO cause look how long this hoe is. to clarify, jk is not a good person in this fic but he’s hot and it’s fiction so who cares. I was going for something that radiated romantic dreams and fighting hearts so I’m hoping it landed 🤞

PSA: I will be posting a new Google form for my taglist soon bc I can’t access my old one and ik some of the users are inactive now but who knows when I’ll be able to do that sooooo

permanent taglist: @notmyfaultbutours @rerefundslocals @fandems @guvgguk @kimyishin @libra04 @kooromiwrld @classycreationcupcake-blog @cherrymonlightt @nikkiordonez12 @asking4-sanity @thvlover @saweetspoiled @shaybts-blog @babycandy111 @jeonninja @yellowcupid08 @02010802faves @skzthinker @beautywine @lilliankoo @annenakamura @lesoleile @burnahtsw @kooloveys @ku-ku @chaelvrx @minnie-mouser22 @whoa-jo @marvelbun @sunnikthv @kochycooky @acielelyseen @giselleswifeee @ilikeitlikethatt @bangmechanpls @lvr2seok @badbyeyoongi @jaerisdiction @watermelonjuice15 @artmsmaid @xyahrinx @angeleen777 @jooniesxbby @dream-cvtcher @jksjx @kissyfacekoo @joyjunk @caro134340lina @hyunjinswifeee @oldermenluverrr @caro134340lina @olivialeesstuff [taglist is too long so I’ll have to make two versions

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rockingbytheseaside · 5 days

Text

✦ When someone tries to imitate you or take your place

Pierro, Capitano, Dottore, Pantalone

(tw: general mentions of violence and intimacy, swf. Old ask suggested by the lovely @pandaquick, better late than never)

Your position in the Fatui is a much more personal and delicate matter. You are not just some high-rank advisor or soldier idling within the Zapolyarny Palace, nor can you be defined as another Fatuus. You are someone of a different echelon - a Harbinger’s beloved, safeguarded with the utmost honor conferred by Her Majesty the Tsaritsa. It is no secret your significant other would utilize a whole army to protect you, but what happens when someone, in their foolishness, forgets that?

✧ Pierro was the first to notice that someone tried to imitate you. An individual of high status endeavored to emulate your work and areas of expertise. Subsequently, this individual began to adopt aspects of your appearance, from hairstyle to clothing. However, the breaking point occurred when this foolish person attempted to purchase an identical jewelry brooch to the one you frequently wore. It was a similar piece, one gifted to you by Pierro.

Except that imitator missed one important clue - Pierro orders you custom-made silver adorned with deep-cut sapphires that would put the Tsaritsa’s crown into shame. A one of a kind piece.

This cheap attempt to imitate you and usurp your spot was what forced The Jester to abandon his silent observation. His gaze has long caught the envious glances directed towards you whenever you accompanied him on meetings, whenever he linked his arm with yours, whenever he generously kneeled beside you to put his coat over your shoulder and keep you warm from Snezhnaya’s cold - the same individual, always seething with resentment. Thus, it was time for the Director to silently act.

He kept tabs on this person via a network of spies, gathering intel on their behavior and intentions. And with the most skilled spies raised from the House of the Hearth, it didn't take long to have a whole pile of evidence right on his desk. And with the simple snap of his fingers, he effortlessly orchestrated the apprehension and subsequent banishment of the culprit, sparing no unnecessary words. Hearsay will not be tolerated in the Fatui, but to see some lowly scum tarnish your reputation by cheap mimicry then it’ll be his responsibility to weed out.

“Pierro, dearest, What's wrong? You seem so deep in thought.” - Your gentle murmur broke The Jester's train of thought. As he lay in bed, your head resting on his chest and his arm draped over you, he reminded himself that he was in the comfort of your love. He doesn't have to mull over the bloodied ordinances when he feels the warmth of your skin underneath the covers.

“Apologize, my divine. It seems my mind was drifting to troubling thoughts. But it no longer matters when you're here.” - Thus, he gently planted a kiss on your forehead and tucked the covers around your body which harbored marks of his devotion earlier that night.

✧ Il Capitano clutched the hilt of his sword in resolution. Something was wrong and he could see it. The Harbinger was in the middle of his morning spar with you, a regular training session where you and the Captain warm up as a routine. He stood in a defensive stance, his movements fluid yet measured as his sword received blow after blow from your weapon. You, on the other hand, moved like a silent tempest, your strikes precise yet frustratingly urgent.

It was unlike you to be so unsteady, noted Capitano to himself, especially when fighting. Despite the unspoken patience, an undercurrent of concealed despondency and anger laced your body language.

“Alright, my dear, I can feel your unease. What troubles your heart?”

You shook your head, panting as you almost faltered. You insisted on continuing the training session, but it was clear your brave facade was almost crumbling.

“It would be foolish to continue. And I care about your well-being. Please, confide in me, my beloved.”

You tried, you really did. But before you know it, your lips pursed into a thin line and a flood of tears escaped the moment you shakily lowered your weapon. Now the Captain was on full alert, rushing towards you and gently supporting you before you could hide your tearful face in shame. With an arm around your trembling form and much persuasion - you relented and shared the source of your frustration. A newly enlisted soldier had undergone thorough training under the tutelage of Il Capitano, and their impressive advancement was unmistakably evident in their unwavering dedication. However, this individual began to devote more time to the Captain, delving into military intelligence and climbing the ranks. You genuinely felt joy for the new recruit, truly. Yet in timid humiliation, you had to confess you felt obsolete as if your power alone wasn’t enough for a harbinger of his caliber and ranks.

“Ah, my dear, you are far from weak. My time with the trainees is merely a duty, a part of my job as the 1st Harbinger. But when it comes to you, my dear, your might and wisdom are incomparable. You don’t deserve my ranks, you deserve my life laid before you.”

But whatever gentle words of affection were coming out of the Captain, your next words of truth made him halt at once. “... At least, that’s what the recruit told me when we spoke. That I'm weak.”

“...What did you say?”

The gentle armored hand on your shoulder now tightened in restrained anger, fury flaring within his chest. Capitano now understood: your tears, your sudden insecurity, your doubt, your silence… It wasn’t coincidental. This recruit who was so conveniently rising in the ranks made sure to aim not just for the Harbinger. Specifically, you; to sow self-doubt onto you and hinder your precious relationship. Someone was deliberately bullying you.

You looked up at Capitano’s dreadful silence, asking him what was wrong.

“It… seems, my dear, someone has crossed an unforgivable line. One that would cost them their life dearly. And I am to blame for not noticing when harm and doubt came your way. I must amend this transgression for your forgiveness.”

You blinked in response, not having time to comprehend the severity of his words; It’s hard to respond when your beloved suddenly kneels and bows like a knight on duty. In the end, Capitano ushered you to take a day off and let your mind rest easy.

The next day, Capitano returned home early but was eerily silent once more. He stayed with you the whole day, like a hawk overlooking his nest, his arms crossed but his touch gentle. Although he claimed nothing was wrong, you received news that certain recruits were gone, and any upcoming soldiers that would come into his care would receive even stricter training from now on. That day, you wondered why some Fatui soldiers feared talking to you. Not to mention the armor around Capitano’s knuckles seemed faintly red-tinted.

The Fatui organization was a constant battle of powers and ranks. But to climb the ladder and meddle with the life of The Captain was a personal offense, one that would result in quick and unapologetic bloodshed. Nevertheless, he made sure to remind his soldiers about that.

✧ When one of the folks working under Il Dottore as a lab analyst approached you, you didn’t expect them to call you names so suddenly. You stood there, confused and apprehensive at the sudden barrage of insults from the stranger. But they explained:

“You don’t do anything when helping during research, you know! I don’t even know how The 2nd tolerates you when you’re this useless. I’ll tell you what, quit your special-treatment act, and don’t come back to the lab. The Doctor is better off with someone of his level of intellect.”

You didn’t fight or defend yourself, you didn’t even insult the assistant. Instead, you smiled simply - “Very well, I won’t. Good luck.”

That day, you turned and left. The frustrated lab analyst was left in confusion but thought they succeeded in eliminating the only obstacle left to get closer to the elusive yet powerful Harbinger. After all, what the hell do you even do at his lab? You exchange a few words with Dottore, maybe sporadically point at what to do, and remain seated in the back, resting as if you were the Tsaritsa herself. The audacity. How come Il Dottore never kicked you out?

Well, it didn't take long for this person to find out.

The next day, naturally, Dottore couldn’t find you when he proceeded with work. You were neither at his study, nor at the lab, nor at your favorite corner of the library. It was barely noon, and receiving your warm greetings was his routine. And the Doctor always follows the agenda.

“Where are they?”

His question was brief but pointed, and his subordinates knew exactly who he was referring to. They could sense the tension in his voice. The only individual privy to the reason for your absence smirked smugly and responded.

“Hmph. It seems they decided not to come, Lord Harbinger Dottore.”

That was their first mistake because The Doctor caught on to the haughty smirk coming from his new analyst.

“And you know so certainly how?” - he quickly gestured to a nearby Fatui servant with a flick of his wrist. “Send in servants to check in on my behalf. I wasn’t informed. If my darling is feeling tired or unwell, bring their preferred refreshment immediately, and ensure it is warm.”

However, this displeased the new lab assistant, as even while you were away, Dottore was still dotting on you as if it was his second nature to do so while he was busy with work. Thus, they cleared their throat and spoke up:

“They… barely accomplished anything in your presence, doctor. So I advised them to leave, to which they agreed. Pretty straightforward, s-sir.”

“Oh? Did you, now” - A burning rage, like never before, flared up within Il Dottore. With clenched teeth and a rigid jaw, his voice oozed with venom. But any seasoned lackey working under Dottore knew that this was the calm before the storm. Because soon, an echo of shattering vials and slammed objects would ring out from the laboratory. And in your absence, nothing would prevent the doctor from showing a bit of despotism.

Much later that evening, after everything was set and done, the servants informed him of your whereabouts. Il Dottore briskly made his way through the Zapolyarny Palace to find you. Spotting you tucked away in a secluded nook of the palace, he hastened over, anxious to ensure your well-being, fearing you might’ve withdrawn due to the influence of some blabbering lowlife.

“Dear! There you are… No one has the right to speak to you like that ever. Are you alright? My dearest, why did you not tell me immediately?! I would’ve-”

Dottore’s frustrated rambles come to a halt when you place a finger on his lips to shush him. You didn’t look despaired, in fact, you looked calm - “Zandik? Did you have another tantrum in your lab while I was absent?”

The doctor gulped, remembering his place. Calming his senses, he placed his hands on your waist and ushered you closer to his arms.

“... Perhaps. But I had to. How could I be certain that no one had harmed you? Why did you comply with that impudent fool? You should’ve gone to me first.”

“Well, it was unpleasant to hear the insults, sure. But…" - you glanced apologetically and a knowing smile returned to your lips. "I knew you'd find out and deal with the issue very quickly."

✧ You and Pantalone were an odd couple. You didn't hail from a rich background, nor were you well-versed in the art of business and finance. You were more proficient in adventuring, your travels taking you to all sorts of journeys and commissions, a polar opposite from your beloved Pantalone. This led to raised eyebrows among the aristocrats of Snezhnaya. How can the richest man of Teyvat, who lives and works in prestige, be associated with such a simple person as you? For some, this gave the impression that they had a better chance of winning him over.

Thus, once upon a night, Pantalone was invited to a luxurious soirée. Here he was, clad in his finest suit, silver rings complementing his equally expensive optics. But to the Regrator, the jewelry adorning him was the least of his concerns - because you were the most precious gem in this gala. You accompanied him, although reluctantly, feeling out of place amidst the grand assembly of extravagant guests and the languid orchestra.

“Pantalone, do we have to…? I know you said this is not a business party, but there are so many guests already lining up to talk to you.”

“Oh do not fret, my sweet. Evening galas like these are where the real negotiation and connections entail. But I know the details bore you, so I promise we won't stick here for too long. Besides, I get to introduce you as my one and only!”

That's exactly what you were afraid of. As a company of some esteemed noble ladies adorning elegant gowns, you had difficulties matching Pantalone’s polite smile. Overwhelmed by the scrutinizing gazes of some guests, you politely excused yourself to the bathroom. Pantalone was concerned, thinking of following you, but that was exactly what the guests wanted.

You spent a long while by the hallway alone, trying to stabilize your breathing. The muttering of guests enjoying drinks and strolling was faint, but you could hear some people nearby:

“How can the 9th be with someone like them…? Surely it’s a joke.”

“A charming, rich man like him, and he can have anyone he desires. Yet he wastes his time on a simpleton?”

“Someone was definitely in it for the Mora, maybe he hasn’t seen real class. Quick, let’s go talk to him while he is alone.”

You stood with your back to a wall, and for the first time, uncertainty crept in. With fists clenched by your side, you reprimanded yourself that you are not alone. You came here with your significant other - and he, above all else, knows that gossip has no place in your shared private life. Hence, gathering up your courage, you raise your head high and strode back into the gala.

Pantalone, unfortunately yet expectedly, was surrounded by the same foul-mouthed nobles who wished to impress him. They prattled on about his financial success, while ladies fanned their folding fans and stood too close for his comfort. While they humored him, The Regrator cast hurried glances around the gala in search of you. Where are you?

“Lord Harbinger, may we offer you more champagne? I am sure this expensive bottle is up to your taste.”

The 9th attempted to hide his frown at the woman's tone, his stomach unwilling to ingest any drink some excessively elaborate name. “No thank you, I’d rather decline. I am waiting for my dear. I promised her a dance later this evening.”

“Oh, please sir, I insist. The night is young and there is plenty more for-”

Before the woman could continue, your voice cut through the air; calm, yet unmistakably firm. “He said no. Simple enough to understand.”

A hush fell over the gathered guests, the weight of your words settling like a sudden gust. Only Pantalone beamed with a genuine smile. “Ah, dear! There you are,”. The Harbinger was about to step back towards you, when the same lady suddenly blocked his path, her back facing him while her tone edged with defiance.

“I beg your pardon, but I’m afraid the question is directed towards Lord Harbinger Pantalone. I am sure you wouldn't know the pleasure of tasting a 500,000 Mora champagne from Fontaine.”

You recognized the snark in her tone directed towards you, and you couldn’t deny the anxiety twisting in your gut as eyes narrowed in your direction. However, with a shake of your head, you reminded yourself who you truly are and simply said: “Sheesh, lady, you spend that much on a drink that tastes worse than sparkling water? To each their own, I presume”

Her smile vanished. The guests stared in stunned silence, but it was Pantalone’s genuine laughter that pierced the tension. The sound was rich and real—because only he knew how adept you were at humbling an overconfident aristocrat with a dose of blunt truth. That’s how Pantalone managed to push through the crowd and circle his arm back around your waist, leaving the astonished onlookers behind.

“Ah dear, you’re a savior. I apologize I dragged us into this unpleasant company…” - he confined to you apologetically as you two walked away. “You always knew how to be sincere in your honest way.”

“It’s not like I meant to pick up a fight…" - you sighed. "I simply couldn't bear the humiliation, Pantalone. I'm aware that some people give me strange looks when I'm with you. They regard me as if I'm some peasant standing next to a powerful Fatui harbinger. That I'm nothing. That's why I couldn’t just hide, I had to step up to defend myself.”

“Oh, darling… My sweet, precious darling.” - The two of you left the manor that hosted the soiree, the chill night breeze muting the faint sound of guests and replacing it with a symphony of cricket noise from the garden nearby. Pantalone's fingers intertwined with yours.

"You are not just 'nothing' - you're my everything. You did not come from riches, and neither did I. You of all people know that. Would I really hold respect for some rich fool who didn't know an ounce of hardship when Mora was all they had since birth? No, dear, I wouldn't."

With a tender hand, he rested his palm on your waist, gently guiding you along the cobblestone path as if leading you into a slow waltz by garden roses in the night.

"Besides, you should never be ashamed to seek out my help. Although I must admit... Your tone earlier - oh my. Use it on me more often, darling. I wouldn't mind."

1K notes · View notes

lola-writes · 2 months

Text

A Dragon's Lullaby

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x wife!reader

Word Count: 7.1k

Synopsis: Aemond’s fury is a challenge to contain, but it withers beneath the touch of his wife.

Themes & Warnings: 18+ (MDNI), pov first person (reader), foul language, hotd s2 spoilers, s2x06 inspired, dark/soft Aemond, SMUT, titty sucking, angst, fingering, fluff, feet, p in v, bath sex, oral (fem receiving), orgasms, slight voyeurism

Song: Made of Gold - Ibeyi, Pa Salieu

a/n: Inspired by this. His expression in this scene is everythiiing

Masterlist | Add yourself to my taglist | Playlist

Likes, reblogs and comments are greatly appreciated ❤️

Enjoy the read!

[gif @hoosbandewan]

[divider @targaryen-dynasty]

The chamber doors slammed shut, jarring me from my needlework.

Aemond erupted into the room, his voice a venomous hiss that chilled me to the bone.

“Cravens. Lickspittles.” The words ripped from his throat with a guttural growl, filling the apartment with lethal fury, instilling a deep sense of unease in my gut, as he paced the room like a caged beast, his hands clenching and unclenching at his sides. “A nest of fucking vipers.” His features were warped with hatred, his eye sparking rage and his scar appeared to burn hot red in his skin.

I set my needlework aside, bracing myself for the inevitable storm.

My husband had grown increasingly volatile of late. Temperamental. Volcanic, ever at the brink of eruption. Long convinced that his knowledge of history, swordsmanship, and his ancestral ties to Valyria of old – that was his dragon – destined him for the crown, he chafed under the regency. Yet, with the weight of governance upon him, I’d realized these qualities hardly made for a wise ruler.

Aemond was tyrannical, impulsive, and possessed a relentless thirst for vengeance I’d thought long sated, but now burned fiercer than ever.

I’d learned to tread carefully, supporting him rather than opposing him. Questions were rare, acquiescence plentiful, regardless of my true feelings.

“The Lannisters,” he snarled, hurling a crumpled piece of parchment into the fire. “Balls deep in their lions and their gold that they believe they can command me.” His eye blazed with ire. “Me!” His voice was a startling growl, and I schooled my racing heart.

Adopting my role as the submissive, doting wife, I folded my hands in my lap and eased reverence into my gaze, “That was their first mistake,” I offered, feigning confidence, as though I had the briefest idea of what they had done.

Crossing Aemond was a path none would willingly tread, though the Lannisters were hardly known to be the brightest of the noble houses in the realm.

“They mock me,” he snapped. “My word is law.”

“And they’d be wise to abide by them,” I replied.

“I tire of being compared with my father,” he spat. “The man was weak. Pliable.”

“You are his opposite, Your Grace.”

“Mother believes she can mind me like a puppet, as she did Aegon. She clings to what little power remains to her.” He stilled, his fingers fidgeting at his sides. “I sense her heart still lies with Rhaenyra.” All of his thoughts materialized into words like a surging flood. “I can no longer trust her counsel,” he said. “So, I dismissed her.”

A mistake, I feared. “I’m sure it was a wise decision, Your Grace.”

“Cole addles me,” Aemond proceeded. “The man, once so commanding and fierce, now carved out into a pitiful husk.” He started through the room again. “Aegon was a fool to name him Hand.”

“You are the Prince Regent, Your Grace,” I voiced softly. “You may name a new one as you wish.”

With his rant, his tempest began to subside. The honeyed tone I knew so well sank back into his voice and replaced his rage. His pacing ceased, and his anxious fingers relaxed at his sides, before he sank into his chair beside me.

“The Lannister coward wish me to fly out to the Tooth to secure their safe passage to Harrenhal,” he spat, his fingers twisting together, venom seeping back into his voice, “’With haste’, he says!”

I stood, my voice steady. “Your regency is green, Your Grace, and your subjects forgetful of their places.”

Aemond’s hands gripped the arm rests, his whole body contracting beneath his leathers in readied ambush.

“It is your duty to remind them,” I continued, rounding his chair, my hands settling on his shoulders. He was rigid beneath my touch, his muscles bulging with tension.

He glanced over his shoulder, his eye a mix of softness and lethal intent. “You are correct,” he said, his fingers tightening around the hilt of Blackfyre. “A public execution would persuade them.”

My heart hammered against my ribs, and my grip on his shoulders tightened instinctively.

“Perhaps a less bloodied approach, my love,” I suggested, coating my words in honey. “Escalating the mislike of the smallfolk would be unwise,” I said, willing my touch to send a calming current into his bones. “We cannot risk provoking the hungry masses.”

“I do not wish to be liked,” he hissed, his voice laced with malice. “I wish to be feared.”

Yet, when I leaned down over him, wrapping my arms over his chest, nuzzling my face into his cheek, he unraveled in my embrace, melting like wax exposed to flame.

A deep exhale of relief escaped his lips, as though my touch pulled the string of tension from his muscles like cloth, a deep satisfied hum reverberating in his chest. All of his anger disintegrated into dust, and he leaned into me, closing his eye, his face pressing against mine, his delicious heat seeping into my skin.

I breathed in the scent of him.

Musk and leather.

I filled my senses with it, a heady intoxication.

“Husband…?” I whispered against his skin.

“Wife,” he sighed with rapture, his arm reaching up, his fingers tangling into my hair, pulling me closer. He buried his nose in my neck and inhaled. He sighed once more with entrance, his breath warm against my ear. “You smell divine,” he whispered.

His fury was a tempest, his tenderness a balm. Once crossed, he was a force to be reckoned with.

But when he was soft… he was so very soft.

“Thank you, husband,” I smiled. The matter of the Lannister’s defiance was as good as wind. “My maids put lavender and rose in my bath earlier.”

“Hmm,” he hummed appreciatively. “I commend them.”

My heart swelled in my chest. In these moments, I felt a love that transcended fear. I could endure his tirades for hours if they always ended like this, with him so vulnerable, and soft, his fury crumbling under my touch, like a fortress breached.

His complexity was a bottomless well, an endless enigma, each layer revealing a new facet of his being. A mystery I could not begin to fathom, only sit back and enjoy. I was utterly captivated, desperate to remain in his favor. His trust in me was profound, and I knew the weight of my words carried uncommon power. My devotion and loyalty were absolute. Anything he’d ask of me would be his, a fact he understood completely.

My hair cascaded down his chest, mingling with his silver, a cosmic tapestry against the leather. I burrowed deeper into his skin, making him softer, my kisses trailing across his cheek until they met his lips, to which he groaned softly, deepening the union, his grip tightening around the back of my neck.

The kiss was a consuming inferno, leaving me breathless and light-headed.

“Hmm,” he hummed with delight. “Your lips alone could end this war.”

He possessed my whole heart in the palm of his hand.

“They are your servants, Your Grace,” I whispered against his cheek.

He chuckled low, a comforting melody, the muscles in his face plumping, his lips pursing to his contented smile.

But the looming threat of Rhaenyra’s forces intruded on my thoughts. Despite my misgivings about the way the succession had been handled, my husband’s victory was paramount. Many believed him consumed by darkness, a prisoner of his own demons. His mother, among others, shared this bleak view. Yet, here in my arms, I held undeniable proof to the contrary. I knew in my heart that he did not need to be feared, when he was capable of such profound love. So much more than he probably knew himself.

“Aemond,” I began, feeling his attention shift to me. “These weeks past I’ve been witnessing the plight of the smallfolk from our window-”

“You should not submit your eyes to such vile scenes,” he interrupted, snarling.

“Nevertheless,” I countered gently. “It has been impossible to turn a blind eye. Famine stalks the city. Sickness is surging. Blame is placed on those who rule over them.” His head rested heavier against me as he listened, his gaze flickering with thought. “Do not underestimate the influence of the common people,” I said.

His jaw clenched.

“Their numbers far outstrip ours. Capable of turning the tide if discontented,” I pressed on.

A silence filled our chambers, and I sent a silent prayer to the Mother that he would be malleable enough to receive my words in the way they were intended.

“What do you suggest?” he said finally.

I exhaled a silent breath.

“Open the gates. Spare them imprisonment,” I replied.

“They will spread their slanders across the Crownlands,” he countered, his voice like liquid.

“But you cannot control them. A good King does not earn the love of his people through fear. Neither does he command loyalty. He must earn it. Fear breeds nothing but resentment.”

He seemed to consider my words, his expression unreadable.

Then, he inhaled deeply, and took my hand, guiding me around his chair, pulling me into his lap.

“My wise counsellor,” he purred, his arms tightening around my waist. “You would make a formidable queen.” His lips brushed against my ear as his fingers began to trail a path down my neck, hooking into the laces of my dress, which he undid with expert grace, his arm pulling with long strokes as the laces fell out, and opened my bosom. A shiver ran down my spine and desire ignited in my blood. My breasts fell heavy, and he caught them in his hands, humming with delight. I shuddered beneath his touch, a pulse starting between my thighs.

“Aemond,” I whispered, my voice barely a breath.

“Hm?” he murmured absently, his fingers already slipping beneath the delicate fabric.

“Did you hear what I said?” I uttered, trembling.

He leaned in, his eye dark with desire. “Yes,” he rasped, his voice husky, his tongue darting out to taste the peak of my breast, softly grazing across my nipple in a hot, wet motion.

Fog infiltrated my mind faster than I dared to acknowledge.

He retreated slightly, and watched as my peak hardened under his subtle provocation. With practiced ease, he repeated the torment on the other breast, his gaze appraising, his eye a dark blue.

“You suggest I please the smallfolk,” he said, his voice low and sultry, lifting my heavy breast in his hand. “Though I’d much rather please my wife,” he groaned, and a sharp intake of breath escaped my lips as he took my nipple into the delicious heat of his mouth, a fierce pleasure igniting within me. I gasped, my hands instinctively cradling his head as I arched into him, keeping him latched. He released me with a wet pop, his eye gleaming with satisfaction at the pink swelling. He captured the other nipple in his mouth. A feverish heat pulsed through me, an insatiable craving consuming me.

This nightly ritual was a torment and a salvation. He could have his hands and mouth on me for hours, days, until I was raw and throbbing, and I would still yearn for his touch, his taste, his complete possession.

He was a poison and a cure, a fire that consumed me entirely. An addictive draught, coursing through my veins, blurring my reason.

His hands, the weapons of a killer, ravaged my body and tore at my dress, twisting it down until my torso was exposed to his predatory gaze. They delved beneath the fabric, their touch a fiery brand igniting my skin. Hungry fingers tore at me, exploring up my thighs, setting my nerves ablaze. With a swift movement, he claimed me, switching me in his lap until my back pressed against his hard chest, my legs propped up on the edge of his seat, cradled on either side of him. His hands swept the inner curve of my thighs, a path of fire, a delicate torment reaching higher, until they found the tender juncture. His face pressed against mine, ragged breaths fanning my face. A shiver coursed through me, a strange blend of warmth and dread from the volatile energy emanating from him. His hands remained right where they were, squeezing softly, tickling gently. My gown bunched around my hips, my exposed core throbbing for his touch, pulsing with eager longing, my body yearning for the release his touch promised.

My mind was immersed in an impossible fog, and I clawed for clarity. “Will you do me this one favor?” I panted, my breath mingling with his.

“What is this favor?” His growl was a low rumble as his tongue wet his fingers, a slow, erotic swipe as he held my gaze, a prelude to torment, setting my blood aflame. They found my clit, dampening it in a circular dance of fire. I whined and shuddered beneath his touch, and his eye sparked with gratification. My body bucked, a helpless rhythm to his masterful control.

Senses blurred. Words tangled. Yet, I clung to the fading remnants of reason, forcing myself while he was still open to receive counsel.

“To open the gates,” I pleaded, my voice trembling. “If we cannot feed them, let them leave.”

“Hmm.” His throaty hum, a low, primal sound, vibrated through me, promising both ecstasy and torment. Goosebumps erupted down my skin. I gasped as his fingers slid downward, parting my slick lips, until they delved into me, the invasion equal agony and pleasure. I gasped, my head tilting back.

He wrapped an arm around my chest, steadying me. “I’ll think on it,” he growled into the flesh of my neck, his teeth a fleeting brushfire on my skin.

“Name a-,” my words dissolved as he curled his fingers up into my sweet spot. “-new Hand.” I gripped the armrests, desperately anchoring myself to reality amidst the tempest of his touch, his fingers pumping me slowly. “He was never suited,” I managed between ragged breaths.

“No more politics, my love,” he groaned, salacious noises of my pleasure filling the room. His focus, a burning intensity, was solely on me, on the spectacle of my pleasure.

And with a ragged, throaty breath, he uttered, “I want to watch you come.”

Water cascaded into the tub, steam licking across the water’s surface. The intoxicating blend of lavender and rose filled the apartment, a scent I’d commissioned for my husband’s return from the morning’s small council meeting. As I inhaled the sweet, warming air, my mind sought tranquility amidst the looming war. Yet, the illusion of peace shattered with the abrupt crash of heavy footsteps and a violent wrenching of the chamber door.

Aemond stormed in, a frenzied tempest.

“Fucking eunuch,” he hissed, raging past me, barely acknowledging my presence.

The allure of the bath, once a soothing sanctuary, evaporated.

Once more, his turmoil was a tempest I yearned to calm.

My mind raced as I strained to decipher the subject of his rage.

“That toad, Larys Strong,” he growled.

That was all the confirmation I needed.

“Did he truly believe I would bestow the title of Hand upon a Strong cripple such as himself?” he spat, his eye ablaze with malice. “I didn’t like the way he fucking looked at me. I’ll have his eyes out.”

“Come, Your Grace, join me,” I invited softly, swishing my hand through the water.

Aemond snarled, as if the water was poison. “I have no time for such indulgences,” he said, and with a dismissive gesture, turned to his books, his one eye scanning the pages with fierce concentration.

“It’s still warm,” I coaxed, but he paid me no mind, his focus remaining on the text.

I was not foolish enough to press his boundaries. Even though he was susceptible to my words and counsel, I understood when his wall had grown impenetrable.

I left him to his studies, a certain comfort arising at the thought that perhaps this bath would be mine after all. I loosened my robe, letting it puddle at my feet before stepping into the inviting water. As I submerged myself, the heat seeped into my blood, tranquilizing my tense bones, and a soft sigh of pleasure escaped my lips. I tipped my head back and allowed the water to filter into my hair, prickling my scalp with its alluring fingers. As I straightened, coiling the water out of my hair, I stole a glance at Aemond, who devoured the pages with predatory intensity, my nakedness seeming to hold no allure at present.

I sat up, my breasts rising above the water’s surface. I grabbed the soapy sponge and began painting my body in foam. I moved slowly, the rich lather coating my arms, my collar bones, my neck, my chest, my breasts… They became slick with it, my nipples tightening under the stimulation.

Aemond’s gaze flickered.

As I cradled one breast, kneading and pinching the soft flesh, his nostrils flared and his eye narrowed, a predatory glint darkening its depths as if though I was his next kill, watching my cleansing ritual. Yet, he continued to feign indifference, his fingers turning the pages absently.

A surge of triumph coursed through me and nerves danced beneath my skin. I’d captured his attention, a prize hard won.

“Do you find something of interest?” I asked coyly, nodding towards his books.

His jaw ticked. “More than you can imagine,” he drawled, his gaze burning me, and I knew he was not referring to the histories.

I continued my provocative play, flicking my nipples, lathering them, until they ached with longing for his mouth.

His fingers twitched, a silent confession of his growing need. “Are you in need of assistance, my lady?” His voice, low and husky, was an enticing promise.

“I believe so,” I purred.

He shut the book and sauntered over, his approach slow and deliberate, sending the anticipation boiling within me. Kneeling behind me, he claimed the sponge, his touch a masterful blend of tenderness and command as he assumed his duties of cleansing me. Water beaded on the cloth before he inched it towards me, a cascade of soapy liquid descending upon my breasts at the clench of his delicate fingers. His hand followed, a caress that ignited a wildfire within.

A throaty sigh escaped him, which sent heat lower.

“What of your Hand?” I purred, my voice laced with invitation. “Who will assume the duties?”

“I need someone steadfast to advance my cause,” he murmured, his gaze dark and distant. “Someone unyielding in the face of dragonfire. Someone fiercely loyal,” he drawled, his voice drifting with shifted focus. His hand came up around my throat, squeezing gently, a playful threat that sent shivers prickling my spine. It descended then, down over my collarbones, tracing a fiery trail to my breasts, and a flick of his thumb over my hardened nipple sent me into orbit. A low whimper escaped my lips. His frame loomed over me, his scent, a heady mix of leather and desire, filled my senses, intoxicating me.

“Perhaps the candidate of choice is closer than we think,” he continued, his voice a low rumble.

I perked up through the fog. “Enlighten me,” I murmured, my voice barely a whisper. His lips came down to my ear, his hot breath setting my blood on fire. His hand slipped beneath the water until his leather sleeve was submerged above his elbow.

“You, wife,” he breathed, his voice a charged current that ignited my every nerve, further elevated by the caress of his fingers over my core.

I scoffed, the absurdity of the notion hitting me like a cold wave.

“Why do you laugh?” he asked, his voice velvet and steel.

“A woman as Hand?” I ridiculed. “Unheard of.”

“You are no ordinary woman,” he countered, his words a molten caress. “You are my wife. And you guide me better than anyone.”

His words washed over me, dissolving my resistance in a tide of desire.

“Perhaps in our chambers,” I said, a hint of amusement coloring my voice. “But around a council table? Holding the second most powerful position in the realm? It is laughable.”

A dangerous silence stretched between us as he considered my words. “Nothing about you is laughable,” he finally said, his voice low and intense.

I turned to face him, the water rippling around me. I stacked my arms on the edge of the tub, my head tilting as I studied his sharp features.

His fingers traced patterns along my jaw, his eye filling with shimmering emotion. I smiled, reveling in the raw intensity he displayed only around me.

“Won’t you join me, husband?” I invited.

A dangerous glint sparked in his eye, and without a word, he stood, unclasping his doublet from his center with slow, deliberate motions of his fingers. Heat rose within me with each layer that he shed. His body was a masterpiece of muscle and sinew.

He was all smooth lines and clean edges, that anything remotely carnal felt so much more unchaste with him.

His muscles rippled beneath taut skin, a living sculpture of power. Every part of him was so incredibly hard and defined, shadows playing around each tissue.

He sank into the water opposite me, his silver hair melting in the water like liquid moonlight.

I walked my feet up his taut stomach, up his chest, and wiggled my toes in his face playfully. He retaliated with mock ferocity, snapping at them with his teeth, his predatory gaze fixed on me, his eye alight with rare mischief. I giggled and retreated, but he captured one foot, his lips trailing soft kisses up my sole to my toes, sending a strangely pleasurable feeling through my core.

I scrunched my nose at him. “You’re filthy,” I complained with feigned revolt.

“Indeed,” he drawled, his fingers kneading tension from my foot. A wave of pleasure washed over me, and I leaned back, sighing in contentment. His gaze was intense, his eye a fathomless blue. He knew, as always, how to soothe my soul.

“If I asked it of you,” he began, and my breath grew shallow. “Would you take on the responsibility?”

The responsibility as Hand?

A wave of incredulity washed over me and I wanted to laugh again, though his features were etched with such seriousness that I felt as though I would be lynched if I as much as quirked the corners of my mouth.

Anything he’d ask of me, I would do with pleasure, though a sudden reservation coiled in my gut this time.

He had meant it in earnest. Dread sought its way around my throat.

I swallowed; my mind unable to even contemplate the weight of this looming task. I opened my mouth to respond, but no words formed.

He hummed with understanding, his eye softening and his mouth drawing up into a tender smile. “You needn’t give an answer now,” he said, placing a kiss to the bottom of my toe. “Consider it.”

Then, he tugged on me until I straddled his lap, the water splashing onto the floors from our shifting bodies. I steadied myself on his firm chest as his hand snaked around my back, the other around my neck, pulling me into him. His desire, already throbbing and insistent, was pressing eagerly against my opening.

“Imagining you,” he whispered against my lips. “Around the council table… At my side.” A shiver ran through me as I felt his dick pulse beneath me, and his breath shuddered on my skin. “It’s making me hard at the mere thought.” His grip tightened around the back of my neck, his fingers delving into my wet hair before he claimed my mouth, forcing my lips onto his in a clash of teeth and mess. I whimpered at the sudden collide, at the urgency of it, my body molding to his, while a heavy blend of lavender, rose, and dragon consumed my senses.

His hands came down and grabbed two handfuls of my ass and guided me onto his length. The water resisted our movements, making the intrusion slow and straining, and I sawed my bottom lip between my teeth. He filled me slowly, a throaty groan rumbling in his chest as I sank onto him, his eye locked onto the union, his lips parted in admiration.

He seized my hips, setting a relentless pace. His muscles rippled with exertion in the most attractive way imaginable, as he forced me to fuck him, the water spraying around us. The apartment echoed with the sounds of our passion, a lascivious ambiance of violent splashes, our breathless moans, and the primal growl in his throat.

The small council had convened hours hence when I was called upon from my chambers by the King’s Guard, my breakfast still steaming on the table.

“The Prince Regent requests an audience, my lady,” they announced.

The lords sat huddled around the council table upon my entry, engrossed in earnest discussion. My gaze flickered briefly over Alicent’s and Cole’s empty seats.

Aemond occupied the head of the table, his gaze distant and hostile, his fingers steepled beneath his chin.

“You called on me, Your Grace?” I inquired.

“Be seated,” he commanded, his voice carrying an unfamiliar chill that sent unease coursing through me.

I moved towards the table’s end with the intention to seat myself opposite him, but halted at his disapproving hum.

“Closer,” he insisted.

I hesitated, confusion washing through me and the rest of the council. A tense air descended, and I swallowed, before smoothing my dress and circumnavigated the table, the empty seats beside Aemond my only two options. His eye fixed me with a venomous intensity, as though I were a mere adversary, and not his good wife whom he was buried deep inside only last night.

Reluctantly, I claimed his mother’s old seat.

His displeasure was palpable, but unvoiced.

A tense silence filled the room before he broke it. “Lord Larys,” he began, with a challenging tilt to his head as his gaze ripped from me and pinned the crippled man at my side. “What has come of the summons of my grandsire back to court?”

Larys Strong shifted uneasily in his chair, the action of a man on the verge of delivering some bad tidings, and I noted that his eyes remained in their sockets.

“My messages have been to no avail, Your Grace,” he mumbled. “Ser Otto seems preoccupied in Old Town for the time being.”

A low, contemplative “hmm,” reverberated in Aemond’s chest. “Well then,” he mused. “It seems I must consider…” His visage softened into a strangely content expression, “…other candidates.” He leaned back, propping his foot up on the edge of his chair, idly turning the king’s marble between his fingers. His gaze flickered to me, carrying a weight of unspoken intent.

“Do you have someone in mind, Your Grace?” Jasper Wylde inquired, his voice laced with curiosity.

A slow, predatory smile crept across Aemond’s features. “As it happens, I do,” he lulled as he observed me.

Dread pulsed through me, and I shook my head at him; a silent plea for him to abandon this reckless idea died unspoken on my lips. Instead, a spark ignited in his eye, a dangerous glint promising a storm, his head nodding gently.

“There is only one here whose counsel I trust implicitly,” he declared, his voice carrying a conviction that both warmed and terrified me in equal measure.

Lord Larys, ever the opportunist, perked up beside me. “And who might that be, Your Grace?”

A flicker of annoyance crossed Aemond’s face. He sat up straight in his chair and pinned Lord Larys with such venom that the cripple must have abandoned all hope before Aemond even spoke. “My wife,” he pronounced, his tone final.

A stunned silence descended upon the council as the weight of his words sunk in, and an ominous shudder coiled up my spine.

“Go on,” Aemond urged, ice in his voice. “Voice your disputes.” He dared them, his fingers resting adroitly atop the hilt of the catspaw dagger at his waist.

“Your Grace is free to choose his Hand as he sees fit,” Maester Orwyle offered, his voice carefully neutral.

“There has never been a female Hand,” Lord Larys ventured, his tone hesitant and laced with poison.

“Then it’s high time there was one,” Aemond countered, leaning closer, his voice a velvet threat.

“In these times of war and turmoil, you need a strong Hand at your side, Your Grace.”

A venomous glint sparked in Aemond’s eye. “Like you?” he sneered. “Lord Strong.”

Larys recoiled. “I would never presume, Your Grace,” he stammered. “But if duty called, I would serve you without question.”

“Lady Y/N,” Aemond’s voice, cold and deliberate, jolted me from my thoughts, sending a gnawing chill up my spine. “Should I make Lord Strong my Hand in your stead?”

The question was a seismic shift, leaving me teetering on the precipice of disaster.

To deny Larys was to accept the mantle of Hand myself, a role I was woefully unprepared for to be sure. To elevate Larys was to gamble the stability of the realm on a man whose loyalty was as fickle as the tide.

The latter choice was a chasm of peril.

I straightened in the chair, meeting my husband’s gaze. “Lord Larys is a man of expedient measures, his loyalty as fleeting as the wind,” I declared, my eyes locking with cripple’s next to me. “To name him Hand would be to plunge the realm deeper into chaos.”

Larys returned my gaze with a venomous glare, and I understood the depth of Aemond’s earlier words.

The way he looked upon you when crossed demanded his eyes out.

A pleased smile curved Aemond’s lips. “Then it is decided,” he said, rising from his seat. He crossed the chamber to a central plinth and selected one of the smooth marbles. Returning to me, he placed it reverently in the hollow before me, his air lingering briefly. When he sat back down, he fixed Lord Larys with an unwavering glare, his eye narrowing and his nostrils flaring with contempt.

“You heard her, Lord Strong,” he hissed. “Off you limp.”

The cripple offered no further protest, rising with evident reluctance despite the provocation. He leaned heavily on his cane and hobbled from the room, as commanded.

“Now,” said Aemond, splaying his hands on top of the table. “Where were we?”

Remaining to Aemond’s small council were now Jasper Wylde, Maester Orwyle, and myself. This apparent oversight did not seem to trouble my husband. If given the choice, he would likely rule alone, with me as his sole companion, a prospect I would swiftly dispute.

Lord Wylde reported that Ser Criston had finally departed for Harrenhal with the Hightower army. Intelligence suggested Daemon’s position at Harrenhal appeared weakened, presenting a prime opportunity to strike. Moreover, Daeron, along with his dragon, was expected to join the fighting soon, and the Lannister fleet was closing in.

“King Aegon makes slow but steady progress, Your Grace,” Maester Orwyle reported. “He grows stronger each day. He even managed to stand up for a shirt time this morn’.”

Aemond hummed thoughtfully. “A long recovery lies ahead, Grand Maester.”

Maester Orwyle dipped his head in agreement.

“If there is nothing further, we will reconvene on the morrow, my Lords,” Aemond declared. “You are dismissed.”

We rose from our seats.

“Not you,” he said, halting me, knowing he was addressing me without having to look at him. Maester Orwyle and Lord Wylde placed their marbles back onto the platform before filing out, the heavy doors closing behind them.

I turned to him, his air exuding incontrovertible autocracy. There was something so unfamiliar about this man. He wasn’t my husband, but someone else entirely. A stranger inhabited his body, a man of iron will and cold fury. Someone that would let the world burn beneath the rage of his dragon and find it a triviality.

I wished to pacify him. To quell the fire and take my soft husband from the ashes. If this man in black leather and silver edges would deign to let me near him.

“I understand now the burdens you carry,” I said cautiously, making my careful approach. “Surrounded as you are by a council of deceitful lords with a reluctance to serve you fully.”

His jaw ticked, a tempest of emotions raging within his eye, fury and vulnerability warring with each other.

His father was dead, his mother ridden with guilt and misplaced allegiances, his brother burnt and broken, and his sister consumed by grief.

He was a Targaryen, left to face the horrors of this war alone. A most terrible fate. The weight of his house rested solely on his shoulders, and violence had become his banner.

“I have it under control,” he growled, though his dancing fingers upon the stone betrayed his words. The burden upon him was a festering wound, threatening to consume him.

“I’m sure you do,” I replied, looming over him. “But that does not mean you must stand alone.”

His eye pinned me with pure venom, sending a sharp chill coursing through my veins. But I willed myself to touch him, as I had so many times before to quiet his rage. My hand instinctively came up to his cheek, my thumb tracing the familiar scar on his cheek, and as I’d thought – this time were no different. He surrendered to my touch like a storm subsiding, his eye a deep pool, welling with the shimmer of unspoken emotion.

“I’m always at your side,” I promised, and his hand came up to cup mine, squeezing lightly with subtle desperation, a silent acceptance of my solace. “Whatever happens,” I assured him.

He averted his gaze, as if holding mine would cause the pool to flood.

“Sometimes,” he began, pursing his lips to the side, considering his next words for a moment. “It feels like you’re the only one who is.”

“I don’t believe that’s true,” I said.

“Even so,” he said. “It would be enough for me.”

A smile crept up the corners of my lips

My sweet Aemond.

I straddled him in his chair, and he took me into his arms, burying his chin in the crook of my neck. Once weapons of war, his hands now cradled me with a desperate tenderness. That’s how we remained for a while, his hands splaying across my back, gripping me with a possessive ferocity, as if he’d never known touch.

He yearned to be seen, accepted, loved, flaws and all.

I returned his embrace with equal fervor, our bodies igniting in a conflagration of warmth and desire. I held him so tightly that my arms began to ache, and the heat radiating from our fusion made me perspire.

But it was more than his body which heated me. A potent warmth radiated from him, igniting a fire deep within me. The desperation in his embrace had softened into something gentler. His hands rubbed me tenderly, his breath grew shallower, and his lips began to place soft kisses along my neck, which sent want pulsing through me.

He had solidified beneath me, his arousal pressing against my groin, demanding adjustment. Meeting his gaze, his features were no longer etched with heartbreaking peril, but had instead darkened with lust.

I pressed myself against his erection, and he let out a rough breath, watching me with languid appreciation as my hands roamed his chest, ran up his neck, into his thick hair, and then delved into the rich fabric of his doublet. I was infatuated with every inch of him. A heady warmth emanated from him, and I was utterly consumed.

A slick heat pooled between my thighs. The insistent pressure of his arousal against my dampened undergarment, a wave of lust blurring my vision. I couldn’t resist the urge to grind against him. Our eyes met, hazy, heavy-lidded, urgent. His thumb traced my lower lip, and I didn’t hesitate to press my mouth to his. I surrendered to him, his kiss, sweet and lazy at first, then deepened into a demanding exploration of my mouth. His hand searched beneath the pool of my dress. It fisted the fabric of my undergarment and I gasped as he tore it from my hip, revealing my wetness. A low growl rumbled in his chest as he deepened the kiss, his tongue plundering my mouth.

My palm caressed his arousal, a reckless abandon consumed me as I stroked him. He drew in a sharp breath, his gaze fixed on my ministrations as I moved my hand up and down his length. His body throbbed beneath my hand, his breathing growing shallow and ragged.

“Perhaps we should retire to our chambers?” I whispered, a shiver of apprehension running through me as the precariousness of our position struck me with a chilling clarity.

I was sitting astride him in the council chambers where anyone could enter.

“What for?” he demanded, his voice a rough growl. His hands claimed my body, swiping up my abdomen, kneading and bruising with a primal force. They squeezed my breasts, his eye admiring them nearly bulging out of my dress. His mouth devoured the valley between them, his tongue and teeth an exhilarating assault.

My breath shuddered as I watched him devour my skin with hungry kisses. Words suddenly failed me, and I was unable to articulate a reason.

“I am the prince regent,” he growled, his words muffled against my skin. “I will fuck my wife wherever I please.” With that, he rose, sweeping his hands beneath my thighs to place me on top of the council table.

“Spread your legs,” he commanded, his tone icy and menacing.

Lust constricted my breath as I obeyed.

His palms caressed my legs upward, his thumbs pressing into my inner thighs with a brutal intensity that unraveled me. As my legs parted, a cold draft swept across my core, and I became acutely aware of my dampness. His gaze lingered there, a mix of heat and corruption that electrified me.

He yanked me closer, his grip on the back of my neck forcing my breasts against his chest as his lips grazed my ear.

“The Hand is dripping all over the council table,” he growled and nipped my neck.

The sharp pain lanced my neck as his teeth grazed it. I gasped, but the discomfort transformed into a moan when his thumb found my clit. His hold tightened in my hair, pulling my head back as he lowered my dress, exposing my breasts. His mouth closed over my nipple, sucking on it, igniting a wildfire of desire that consumed me.

His thumb traced delicate patterns over my clit, a cadent dance that sent shivers through me. His grip on my hair tightened. A deep groan reverberated in his chest and his attention shifted to my other breast, his tongue and teeth teasing and tormenting me.

I leaned back on my hands and arched into his touch, my hips involuntarily bucking under the dance of his fingers. His mouth was a fiery brand on my skin, and I felt as though I were drowning in sensation.

When his hands left me, I was left aching for their return.

His gaze, dark and intense, held me captive as he grabbed my hips and jerked me to the edge of the table. My legs parted instinctively, and I was lost in a world of heightened senses. His eye followed the curve of my body, falling between my thighs, my core completely exposed to him, and he shook his head in disbelief, running his hands down my calves.

“Fuck,” the single word, uttered with raw desire, escaped his lips. His strong arms cradled my thighs, before his mouth descended between them.

The first hot, wet swipe of his tongue sent a violent shiver through me. A storm of sensation erupted within me as his tongue explored every inch of my damp folds. I was consumed by a primal urge, a reckless abandon that clouded my judgement. A rush of pleasure flooded me, the waves rolling stronger and stronger at every slow lap of his tongue.

My fingers tangled in his thick hair as he licked me from entrance to clit. “Oh, Gods,” I moaned, digging my hands into his silver, my blunt nails tugging at his scalp.

My gaze skittered toward the chamber doors and my mind surged with anxiety at the prospect of someone coming through them, but I found the thought slipping from my mind when Aemond swirled his tongue over my clit before sucking gently. My eyes rolled back in my head and my hips wound beneath his mouth.

The introduction of his fingers was a spark that ignited a conflagration, a feeling of fullness descending a hazy veil over my mind and body, oil torching through my bloodstream.

A tremor convulsed and a shuddering gasp escaped me as his tongue flicked my clit, a cadenced dance foregrounded by the insistent thrust of his fingers. Each of his strokes were a calculated torment, deep, guttural noises of satisfaction escaping him as the sweet nectar of my pleasure ran down his chin. He teased the precipice, slowing when the pressure built, igniting a desperate plea within me.

“Please,” I breathed desperately. His fingers deepened their invasion, intensifying the fire within me. When he slowed again, panic seized me, and I clawed at his hair. Words failed me, reduced to a desperate repetition of a single syllable. “Please, please, please,” I begged.

Finally, he answered my silent demands. His digits quickened and curled, his laps ran steady and drenched my core, until a relentless, hot pressure built.

His gaze locked onto mine, his blue eye transformed into a storm-laden ocean. As the world narrowed to a blinding white, I cried out my final plea, his name, obscenities; before the tempest of release engulfed me, my whole body clenching and shuddering beneath him.

In its aftermath, a languorous warmth spread through me. I trembled against the table, a puppet on invisible strings as his fingers continued their soothing rhythm.

My body, spent and quivering, collapsed onto the cold table, my chest heaving, my eyes closing as the last waves of ecstasy rolled through me.

As the fog began to lift, I opened my eyes to find Aemond reclined in his chair, his face flushed, his lips parted from exertion, his chin glistening from my slick desire.

He was a sight, to be sure.

His gaze, dark and rapacious, held me captive. A flicker of hunger danced in his eye, as though he was ready to eat me whole.

“Welcome to the small council, my love,” he smirked.

Tag list: @plovas69 @quinquinwuincy @lumerstar

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muntitled · 5 months

Text

𝐀 𝐁𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐝 𝐃𝐞𝐯𝐢𝐥

Aegon Targaryen x Fem!reader

Summary: You were the only one who truly saw the tortured king. Not his mother, not his brother, and certainly not his wife.

Warning: Language, Infidelity, Humiliation, Toxicity, King Complex, Slight Angst, Smut (+18) Minors DNI, Canon typical Incest, Grinding, Forced orgasm, King Kink?, Dom/Sub Themes, Controlled Orgasm, Ownership Kink, Dub/Con, Groping, Humping, Pussy rubbing, Exhibition Kink

This isn't very good, I admit. I just needed to get it out of my head.

Despite your eye following the pathway of High Valyrian ink splashed on the weathered pages of your book, your brain takes forever to process the words.. It is a story you had enjoyed since the days of your wetnurse but now you are focused on the utter injustices occurring by the dinner table before you. You always found your nose nestled in a book throughout dinner, all save for this one.

The Queen mother is bent over her plate, forgetting her table manners in the vehemence of her passions, while Aemond assumes a hostile glare from his perch at the head of the table. Aegon sits slumped in between you and Helena, with his half lidded eyes so painfully tedious as he prods at his food, while these fake gods scold him from above.

"And to make matters impossibly worse, you failed to display even a shred of sympathy towards his condition-" Despite the nature of his mother's tone, it does not stop Aegon from rebutting where necessary, with a quick, sharpness on his tongue.

"This 'condition' you speak of, being the imprisonment of a wealthy merchant's stupid son." Aegon releases a short, winded chuckle, one that you share behind the concealment of your book. "Perhaps he shouldn't have gotten himself captured."

"He is apart of your battalion, Aegon- fighting your war-"

"I am not at war. As I sit here, I am not harbouring any ill feelings towards any party-"

Aemond interrupts, "All you think about is fucking and drinking-"

"Precisely brother!" Aegon proceeds to turn to his mother, with his hands splayed outwards he reiterates, "All I think about is fucking and drinking,"

A loud, unladylike snort escapes the confines of your throat which you attempt to sheath with a cough as you study the words in your book. Aemond rolls his eyes while Aegon throws a blatant smirk beside you- "See Mother! Now our dear cousin has fallen ill as a result of the animosity stirred by your incessant scolding!” Aegon’s voice is doused in sarcasm as he rubs his hand into your shoulder, “All because of your nagging, mother," Alicent’s eyes darken as her voice descends into caution "Aegon. Tomorrow you are to formally apologise to that Knight. He is a seasoned member of your Kingsguard-" The politics was becoming far too much on him. His grip has yet to leave your shoulder.

"Why the complete and utter fuck should I be pandering to my subjects?"

Aemond is the first to inject "Have you not a shred of Diplomacy, you fucking imbecile?" You eye Aemond from above your book, and you cannot begin to imagine the younger brother would ever inject himself into Aegon's business, no reason except perhaps, jealousy?

Aegon promptly ignores Aegon, and, with his eyes on Alicent, he leans over the table and whispers:

"If Rhaenyra wishes to have the crown, she may gladly take it-"

"AEGON!" The queen's thunderous voice settles over the table like a tempest, injecting all those present with a sharp, instinctive flinch, all except Aegon, who remains lax and unaffected by her outburst, only fueling the Queen's anger to first born tenfold.

"I cannot rely on you for anything, Aegon, NOTHING! For a mother to be so utterly embarrassed by her son- her eldest son," there is venom in her incredulity, one that has your brows curving as you send a sympathetic gaze at the Usurper. You lower your novel and lean slightly closer to the battlefield that has befallen the dinner table. Aegon’s hand drops from your shoulder, landing in your lap. You clasp his trembling hand in both of yours.

How a simple visit to see your cousins in King's Landing had turned into a public execution of Aegon's dignity, is utterly beyond you. You decide that you simply will not allow it, you cannot allow it, and solidarity is all you hope Aegon feels radiating from your clasped hands under the table.. You look up at him, thinking you might look up to find anguish in Aegon's eyes, but all you find there is a sly, almost secretive smirk dancing along his visage.

"You govern this country like a child-" Aemond begins but you're quick to snip back,

"Perhaps we should be mindful, cousin of the fact that Aegon still is a child. He is but 20 years in age!" You exclaim, with your own incredulity coating your laughter, "Aegon's destiny was pre-written when you were barely able to wipe your own shit, Cousin." Aegon fails to conceal his crass bought of laughter.

"I've no time for this," Alicent says, pushing herself out of her chair before rising in silent anger, "Helena, come," she commands before leading a slightly aloof Helena out the dining hall without another word. Helena mumbles something about broken unions in iron castings before disappearing.

The silence is deafening as Aemond's one eye studies the two of you - he is not able to see your hand underneath the table, you don’t think…

"Before you think about fucking our cousin, at least think about fucking your wife." Aemond announces, to an amused Aegon who keeps his amused gaze lowered to the table. It is then that Aegon squeezes your hand, still seated on your lap. His fingers encircle yours in what you initially deduce is acknowledgement of your solidarity, but what you quickly realise is something much more sinister.

"I cannot say I will heed your counsel, brother," It is then that Aegon grabs ahold of your hand, guiding you until your palm is cupping his hardened cock. "But you can trust that your council is solemnly heard."

Aemond watches you from above the rim of his chalice as he empties the final traces of his wine before placing his chalice back on the table. His exit is a slow one, one that has your anticipation expanding and Aegon's patience waning. In all honesty, hearing your valiant defence to preserve his dignity raised an intense feeling of desire in Aegon. Even though Aegon's only feeling ever, always seemed to be desire.

"Come here," He says once Aemond footsteps have echoed away, "I need your mouth," Despite his command, Aegon is already leaning in with his hand cupping the back of your skull. Soon, all you can smell is him. All you can feel is him. All you can taste is the drunken and sunken taste of him.

His tongue forces its way into your mouth, ripping a fresh groan from inside you as he twirls you into his lap. He has you arrested on him, his front to your back, with your arse pressed on his crotch. His hand on your face cranes your neck backwards and forces his mouth on yours, promising that even if you wanted to free yourself, you may never be able to.

"I love how you see me," He whispers, never breaking away too far, in fear of you disappearing, "How utterly pleased I am with the version of myself I see living in your eyes," His words spill out of him and slip inside your mouth bridged by your shared saliva.

"He is not useless. He is not pitiful," Aegon breaks away from the kiss, to lay a palm on your cheek.

As one hand lovingly strokes the side of your face, Aegon’s other hand is ravenous, as it palms your sensitive breasts through the bodice of your dress.

"Thank you for not judging me," He all but whimpers as he buries his face in the crook of your neck. He breathes you in until his hips attempt to grind into you like a touch starved adolescent boy, while he ventures under your soft skirts.

"You don't have to thank me, Aegon." Your hands reach backwards to cradle his head into the crook of neck just as Aegon's fingers reach around to hook into the seat of your underwear. You aren't nearly as aroused as him, but somehow that fact has Aegon spiralling even further into arousal. His eyes are squeezed shut as he leans into you, smelling you, while his fingers drift over your pussy, searching desperately for a reaction.

"It is very rare that I find myself wanting to give any woman pleasure," Aegon's admits, with a low, dense drawl. His actions steal the breath from your very lungs as you feel the first sign of wetness begin to coat your underwear. He is in utter awe when he feels it. Quickly descending into a level of pleasure that he was not even sure existed, "I fucking love your cunt," He murmurs in his desperate drunken haze, "I wish to play with it and taste it and fuck it until you’re barely able to speak-"

"God's, Aegon!" Your voice is hoarse and your cries reach the highest rafter of the dining hall. Despite your degenerate wails, Aegon does little to stop them, in fact he encourages them, as his fingers push your underwear aside.

"When did you get so fucking wet?" The warmth of his breath fans against your cheeks, as he presses his front against your behind, "Did I get you this wet?" He asks, before getting the strongest surge of arousal as he whispers, "Did your King get you this wet?"

All you are able to accomplish is a nod as your mind explodes with vibrant visions of your near release. Soon, you're moving your hips in tandem with Aegon's fingers squeezing sloppily at your clit before rubbing with vicious surety.

"Please-"

"Call me by my title," He whispers, completely stripped from his sensibilities. "Tell your King to make you come," Aegon's brain is filled with what he suspects is determination. He is determined to see the most lecherous parts of you crack, and have it done by his design. He rubs your cunt with furious passion while he pushes up from underneath you, utterly destroyed by the idea of having a monopolised control over the workings of your body.

"Fuck- please my King!" The ache between your legs is as warm and erratic as Aegon's hands. "Please let me cum-"

"Tis only I, who can get My Lady this wet and needy," He murmurs, quite literally to himself, as he pushes his hips against your arse.

"Only you, My King." You decide to humour him, seeking the quickest way to your release, "Only you can make me cum," Throughout his tirade, Aegon's other, unoccupied hand has reached around and clasped itself against your throat. He is violent in his actions, squeezing deliriously until your throat is vacuumed of all its air. It's an utterly depraved situation you have both found yourselves in.

Anyone could decide to walk in at any moment and Aegon affirms as much. "You're such a pretty little whore, making a mess on my fingers like this. Fuck, The servants could decide to walk through at any moment," His grip on your throat relaxes, allowing you gasp hungrily for air while the first spots of your organs threaten to surge through you.

"P-Please, My King-"

"What would they think if they find you humping my hand like such a needy, little whore?" He is rubbing rough circles against your cunt until finally, you're unable to resist teetering on the edge much longer. As your orgasm washes over you, and your body shudders above him, Aegon's own orgasm is triggered as he forces your hips further onto the seat of his pants.

"My Lord," your voice is shallow but a restless tremor settles on your limbs, "Have you no shame," you're partially jesting, as you try to come back from your previous delirium.

"I've already been branded a devil," He says, "There is no Grace left to fall from."

#house of the dragon #house of the dragon x reader #hotd #hotd x reader #hotd x you #hotd aegon #aegon ii targaryen #aegon targaryen x reader #aegon x reader #aemond x reader #aegon targaryen smut #hotd smut #aegon smut

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dolcettamagica · 7 months

Text

𐙚˙⋆.˚ 𝐁𝐚𝐝 𝐆𝐢𝐫𝐥

ceo!sukuna x secretary!reader, modern au

tags: degradation, daddy kink, dirty talk, fingering, spanking, true form sukuna notes: minors dni, one sequel to "𝘠𝘰𝘶 𝘊𝘢𝘯 𝘉𝘦 𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘉𝘰𝘴𝘴" - you decided to not text your boss Sukuna wc: 1.3k

Sukuna was fuming with rage as he sat at his work desk, eyes glued on his door waiting for you to finally come in. He gave you his private number, a number no one got (since he mainly fucked women at work anyway) and you didn’t call him? Not even bother to sent a message? Did you even save his number? Sukuna's rage was a tempest, a storm swirling within him, threatening to burst forth and consume everything in its path. His fists clenched so tight that his knuckles turned bone-white, his jaw tensed, muscles coiling like springs ready to snap. Each breath he took felt like fire searing his lungs, fueling the inferno of his fury.

It wasn't just anger; it was a primal force, raw and unbridled. How could you crawl over to him like a slut and then just ghost him. After he left the bar he couldn’t even get his cock soft – it waited to be buried deep inside your cunt. Suddenly (and finally) his door opened and you walked into the room, your eyes staring at the floor.

“Good morning, sir”, you greeted him sheepishly.

“Lock the fucking door and come over here, now.”

Your boss didn’t even bother to hide his anger and you were smart enough not to question his mood. Without a word you walked over to his desk. His red eyes were burning holes into your skin.

“Why didn’t you text me? I told you to do that”, Sukuna stood up, his fingers tapping on his wooden desk as he moved closer to you.

“I don’t think that would have been appropriate, sir.”

As the words hit his ears, a surge of anger coursed through Sukuna's veins like a bolt of lightning. The sentence struck him with the force of a physical blow. His jaw clenched so tight it felt as though his teeth might shatter under the pressure. A torrent of emotions roiled within him, a turbulent sea of indignation and frustration threatening to engulf him entirely. How could you dare utter such words, he seethed inwardly, feeling his temper flare hotter with each passing moment. Every fiber of his being screamed for retribution, for a release of the pent-up rage festering within him. Yet, beneath the anger, there simmered a sense of hurt, a wounded pride that stoked the flames of his fury even higher.

“Inappropriate, huh?” Sukuna's heart pounded with an adrenaline-fueled rhythm as he pressed you against his workdesk, his palm firmly planted beside you, caging you in. The suddenness of his action caught you off guard, your eyes widening in surprise before a flicker of excitement danced within you. His gaze bore into yours with an intensity that sent a shiver down your spine, a silent declaration of desire. The scent of your perfume filled his senses, intoxicating him further as he leaned in.

“You know what’s inappropriate? All the times you went on break just to rub your little pussy after I praised you. The way you press your legs together in an attempt to not cum all over the place after I yell at colleagues who fuck up their work. You think I’m dumb, little one?”

Sukuna's lips grazed your neck, his warm breath sending shivers down your spine. The faintest touch of his lips against your skin ignited a fire within you, a wave of sensation coursing through your body like electricity. His kisses were rough and urgent, each one leaving a trail of heat in its wake. His grip tightened on your arm, a rough urgency in his movements as he spun you around, your back now pressed firmly against Sukuna’s chest. The suddenness of his action caused your breath to catch in your throat, your heart racing with a mixture of anticipation and apprehension. His touch was possessive yet intoxicating, sending a jolt of desire coursing through your veins. With your back against him, you could feel the heat of his body, the strength of his embrace and his hard cock pressing against your ass.

“You need to be punished, baby, Was waiting for you the night to text me”, he whispered into your ears before taking a step back, “Bend over the desk, slut.”

As you leaned over your boss's desk, the air seemed to crackle with tension. Your movements were graceful, yet purposeful, the lines of your silhouette casting a spell of allure. With each subtle shift, the fabric of your blouse hugged your curves, your skirt rocking up, teasingly revealing hints of the allure beneath. Sukuna, momentarily captivated by the sight before him, struggled to maintain his composure and not just fuck you right there and then.

“You’ve been a bad girl”, all of sudden, without any kind of warning, his hand smacked down on your ass, earning a small squeal, “You a little cocktease, huh? Knew damn well how fucking soaked you got after our simple kiss and then you decided to not text me after?”

“I-I’m sorry, sir”, he whimpered as another blow hit your ass. Sukuna pulled your skirt down to the ground, exposing your behind. Now it would start to hurt.

“Sorry doesn’t fucking cut it, baby. I wanted to fill you up real good last night. I would have come over just to let you bounce on my cock. Beg for forgiveness, slut.” And once again he smacked your ass.

“I’m sorry” Another blow. “Pl-please…Please forgive me, Mr. Sukuna.” Another blow. Your ass was turning red at this point. “I’m begging you pl–please…ahh.” That moan was everything Sukuna needed to hear – so needy and eager, he imagined you would love for him to manhandle you like this. Such a dirty whore.

You were a begging, trembling mess before him and he loved every inch of the view. Grinning he reached his hand out, his finger grazing over your thong covered slit. “Soaked through your panties already, baby? That’s all it got? Some dirty talk and spanking? Want daddy to help you out?”

Self-respect? Professionalism? Everything left your body as soon as he called himself daddy. “Yes, please help me out, daddy.”

“Now you’re a good girl.” Sukuna pulled your thong down and you groaned as you felt him use his finger to circle your clit. Seemed like daddy knew your body well, knew the pressure and the patterns that could turn you into a stuttering and groaning mess. When he dipped his fingers inside of you, you shifted slightly to make him go deeper. His fingers fucked you open so well, deepening his strokes to rub your g-spot and draw you closer to the edge. You felt yourself give in to him, becoming more wet as he continued touching your clit and pumping his fingers into your sloppy cunt as well.

“You’re so fucking wet for me. Can you hear it? How my fingers ram in and out of your slutty hole, huh? Clenching me so well, sucking me in. Tell daddy what you want, little one, tell me.”

“D–daddy…please, please fuck me”, Sukuna never stopped fingering your hole and restarted spanking your ass, “I need your cock, daddy, ahh– I’m begging you to fill me up.”

You heard Sukuna unzipping his pants, something warm now pushing against your entrance about to replace his fingers.

“I’m going to fuck you so good, you’ll call me your god.”

Maybe you were way too horny and desperate, losing touch with reality because suddenly you felt two hands grabbing your waist while two other hands wrapped around your body and cupped your tits. Sukuna rammed his cock into your pussy but you could feel something even thicker and bigger laying on your ass.

“You’re my favorite human, little one.”

#𓂃⊹ ִֶָ 𝐒𝐔𝐊𝐔𝐍𝐀 #jjk #jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu sorcerer #jjk smut #jujutsu kaisen smut #jjk x y/n #jjk x you #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen x you #sukuna jjk #sukuna ryomen #ryomen sukuna #sukuna x reader #sukuna x y/n #sukuna x you

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dirtytomatoedwrites · 1 year

Text

INDEBTED

Summary: When your father's scandal threatens your family's legacy, Rafe makes you an offer you can't refuse.

Paring: Rafe Cameron x KookFem!Reader

Strictly 18+ No Minors to Interact

Warnings: Dark!Rafe, Dub-Con/Non-Con, Coercive Behaviour, Choking, Graphic Scenes / Smut.

Word Count: 4.8k words

Author's Note: 1000 followers! Wow, I never thought I'd reach 1000 followers. A part of me believes that half of these are bots, but regardless, to those who are real and have decided to join me in my little corner of the Tumblr woods, thank you. Your love and support, especially during these trying times, means a lot. I had this one shot sitting in my drafts for a while and thought I'd finish the damn thing and share it as a thank you. But heed those warnings : it's a dark one. Much love to you all ❤️

Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Please don’t steal or copy bits of my writing or any writing from other writers cause karma will get ya.

Embezzlement.

What a weird word.

It rolls off the tongue with an unfamiliar bitterness. It's the kind of term you'd see in a crossword puzzle, nestled between "clandestine" and "malevolent." You never imagined it would be splashed across news headlines with your family's name and the face of your father in the centre.

For years, your family was among the shining stars of Figure 8, leaders in hospitality, prestige, and wealth. Your home was the epicenter of elegance, the heartbeat of social galas. But now, news vans line the perimeter of your estate, their cameras hungry for a glimpse of the fallen dynasty. While online vultures, under the guise of investigative websites, sift through every chapter of your family's history.

Naturally, it caused a ripple, and as the waves of the scandal crashed onto the shores of Figure 8 with relentless force, family friends who once sought your company now wrestled with their association to yours. The 'friends' who once envied your galas and soirées now whisper behind closed doors.

It was the talk of every gathering. At lunches, tennis courts, even the marina; your family’s name was whispered with a mix of pity and sensationalism. Every disclosed detail, every leaked piece of evidence, threatens to shatter the glass pedestal upon which your family once stood unchallenged.

Yet, amidst the tempest of rumors and glares, your mother remains the eye of the storm. Resolute and graceful, she doesn't waver. The titan of Figure 8's social scene, she's always known how to command a room, and this scandal won't rob her of that gift.

Tonight, at the Midsummer ball, she's an emblem of defiance against the rising tide of whispers. And she does it so effortlessly. She glides through the crowd with that same charismatic charm. She smiles warmly, asking about children and recent vacations, pets, and passion projects, extending olive branches even when met with frosty receptions and curt replies.

You, however, are not as composed. The weight of judgmental gazes is too suffocating, the murmurs too piercing. The confines of the ball, with its glittering chandeliers and faux smiles, become a prison. With each passing moment, the walls seem to close in further. You need air. A moment of solitude. An escape from the suffocating pretense.

Whispering a quick excuse to your mother about needing the powder room, you slip away. The soft hum of the party fades behind you as you venture down a paved stone path, leading to the beach. The cool breeze and rhythmic waves provide solace, a stark contrast to the stifling ambiance of the party.

You had taken off the flower crown your mother had insisted you wear and were about to remove your shoes when you heard it: the soft crunch of footsteps on sand, drawing closer.

Hesitantly, you turned, finding him. The one whose eyes often sought yours in a crowd. Whose lingering gazes you'd always felt but habitually ignored. The same person who continually asked you out, oftentimes rudely and crudely. The one you had rejected, rebuffed, and shut down more times than you could count.

Rafe Cameron.

"Came to rub salt in my wounds?" you asked, unable to mask the bitterness in your voice.

"Now why would I want to do such a thing?" Rafe murmured. He pulled a joint from his pocket, placing it between his lips. The soft flicker of the lighter momentarily illuminated his face, revealing a brief smirk before the darkness cloaked him again. "I thought you might appreciate some company instead."

The word 'appreciate' ricocheted around your mind, sounding almost absurd in this situation. Company? From Rafe Cameron? The notorious Kook King of Figure 8, a classic case book narcissist who, you were certain, had probably raised a toast to the scandal engulfing your family. At this moment, you'd rather eat glass than accept his sympathy. Rolling your eyes, you turned back to the sea, barely acknowledging his presence.

“I'm not in the mood to talk, Rafe," your voice steady but seething with restrained frustration. Your eyes remained locked onto the undulating waves before you. The smell of sea-salt filled your nostrils, and for a fleeting moment, you felt at peace. It lasts all of two seconds before Rafe opens his mouth again.

"Fine, I'll talk. You listen," he asserts, as he settles against a rock. He leisurely inhales from his joint before blowing out a plume of smoke into the night air. You can feel his contemplative gaze on you; it becomes evident in the softened timbre of his voice when he speaks again. “You know, it's downright shitty what they're doing to your dad. To your family. To you... I can't stand by and watch."

A scornful laugh escapes you as you finally meet his gaze. "Well, life's not exactly handing out fairness certificates, is it?"

He shook his head, "No, it isn’t. But, it still doesn't make it right. It doesn’t make it fair when your dad claims he’s innocent—”

“My dad is innocent,” you assert fiercely, standing tall, arms crossed defiantly over your chest.

“Oh, I believe he is. But the world? Not so much. Your dad’s always been good to my family. My old man took it hard when he heard. I mean, of all the people on Figure 8 to be arrested for embezzlement, your dad was the last person anyone would suspect—”

“What's your point, Rafe?” You snapped, clearly about to lose the last shred of patience you had.

"I’ve been thinking about it alot, and maybe my family can help.”

Skepticism etched itself clear as day on your face. It seemed ironic that Rafe felt his family could help when Rose and Ward shunned your parents the moment the news broke.

“And how do you propose to do that?" you asked, your voice tinged with mistrust.

Rafe shrugged, a casual gesture that contradicted the gravity of the situation. "My dad, he's got connections—”

“So do mine,” you shot back.

“But did yours play golf with Senator Whitfield every Saturday? Rain or shine? Nah, didn’t think so.”

You felt a moment of silence envelop you both, the distant murmurs of the sea a constant reminder of the world moving around you.

"Alright, I'll bite," you said with a lick of your lips. "What do you want in return? You're clearly not doing this out of the goodness of your heart."

Rafe flicked his joint onto the sand, extinguishing it with a deliberate twist of his shoe. As he stepped closer, moonlight illuminated his eyes, giving them an almost predatory glow.

“You've got me," he admitted, his smirk devoid of warmth. “I do want something in return. Something that has been on my mind. Something I’ve wanted for a long time now. You."

A shiver raced down your spine, a cocktail of revulsion and trepidation. Retreating a step, your voice quivered but remained defiant.

"So, you're after a date?" You clarified, eyes narrowing. The same date he'd pestered you for, relentlessly, over the past year. The same date you'd denied him repeatedly, because despite being handsome, Rafe Cameron's moral compass seemed nonexistent.

Rafe scratched his ear as he moved slowly toward you, his expression pained as though what he was about to reveal would hurt him far more than it would hurt you.

"Yeah, see, a date won't begin to cover what I'm risking for your old man, given his rap sheet is longer than my arm. No, what I want is far more... rewarding," his voice sank to a sultry whisper as he towered over you.

"And what would that be?" you asked, tension crackling in the air between you.

"I want to be able to fuck you whenever and however I want—for a month, maybe two, perhaps even a year..." he shrugged slowly, "The specifics are negotiable, but doesn't that sound fair? A little pussy in exchange for your dad's freedom?”

The slap was instinctual. Swift. The sting on your palm matched only by the shock on Rafe's face. For a split second, everything was still.

Rafe's eyes turned to steel, his demeanor shifting chillingly in a heartbeat. He closed in, his voice a venomous whisper slicing through the salty sea air. "You must have a death wish" he hissed, an unmistakable dangerous edge to his words. His hand gingerly brushed his reddening jaw, his piercing gaze never leaving yours. "Your dad's freedom? It's dangling by the thinnest thread... The right words from a senator could decide whether he walks free or becomes someone's bitch behind bars."

He paused, his gaze falling to the flower crown in your hand. Slowly, deliberately, he reached out to touch it, his fingers lightly tracing the delicate petals, an almost gentle gesture that was jarringly at odds with the tension of the moment.

"If you want to help your dad, having a friend like me might be your best bet." he murmured. "Think it over, yeah?" His gaze lifted back to yours, a sly grin tugging at the corners of his mouth.

"Fuck you, Rafe," you whispered, disgust fueled your retreat as you stormed away, his chilling laugh echoing ominously in the night air.

"You will, princess. When you come to your senses, you will."

Rafe's lingering words pressed on you, growing heavier with each breath. The looming possibility of your father's life behind bars became ever more ominous as Rafe presented a potential solution—a solution with an inconceivable price tag.

How could he even insinuate such a thing? The mere suggestion repulsed you, igniting a fury at Rafe's audacity. Yet the unease gnawing at your belly made you question: to what lengths would you go to save your dad? With your family facing disgrace and teetering on the brink of bankruptcy, Rafe's proposal offered a faint glimmer of hope, even if it took the ugliest of forms.

In the solitude of your bedroom, the pristine walls seemed to close in, just like the midsummer ball. Picking up your phone, you stared at the screen, the bright white light harsh against the dim setting. The contacts list stared back, an overwhelming list of names, none of whom had reached out during your family's time of need.

You scrolled, hesitating briefly before landing on Rafe's name. A whirlwind of emotions — from anger to desperation — consumed you as you pressed on it. Trembling fingers typed, deleted, and retyped a message multiple times, finally settling on the simplest of words.

"We need to talk."

Almost immediately, three dots danced on the screen.

"Tomorrow 7pm, Tannyhill.”

Was Rafe’s curt response.

You could barely sleep that night, as your mind raced, forming what you hoped was a semblance of a plan. You needed to negotiate on your terms, to retain some shred of dignity. It wasn't a detailed strategy, but it was enough to at least get through Rafe's offer with your sanity.

The next day as you approached Tannyhill, you whispered silent affirmations to yourself, reaffirming your resolve, your worth, and the necessity of your mission.

And then, there he was. Rafe Cameron, leaning casually against the frame of the ornate door, a picture of wealth and arrogance, a stark contrast to the turmoil raging within you. His eyes met yours, and for a moment, the world seemed to fall away, leaving only the two of you in the impending darkness of the evening.

Rafe opened the door for you, his face betraying a flicker of something you couldn't quite read, but there was no turning back now. You stepped in, ready to negotiate with the devil himself if it meant saving your family.

"Where's everyone?" you asked, there was no point in exchanging pleasantries. Nothing about the situation was remotely pleasant.

"Movies. You know, I hadn't expected a text from you so soon." his voice dripped with condescension, "I was betting on at least a week or two."

"Yeah well, it is my dad's life on the line," your footsteps echoed with purpose as you followed him into the living room, eyes steeling for the battle ahead. "The sooner we finalize our agreement, the quicker you can pull whatever strings you have, right?"

Rafe spun around, his gaze locking onto yours. The sly curve of his lips unsettling. "Sure, I’ll make a few calls,” he stated, voice dark and sardonic, "but it'll depend on the terms we agree to."

"Alright…” you braced yourself, your arms folded trying to regain control. "Let's start with how lon--"

“A year,” Rafe cut in, not breaking eye contact.

"That's out of the question. A month," you shot back.

His chuckle resonated with an underlying seriousness, his eyes narrowing in focus "Sure, we can say a month. You willing to fuck me at least twice a day? No? Then eleven."

You straightened your back, your resolve hardening. "Two months, tops."

His eyes gleamed as he considered your counteroffer. "How about this, we keep our little arrangement going until your dad's free. It could be a month, maybe two…” he shrugged nonchalantly “It might even be a year. It depends on how soon he’s out. What do you think?"

You hesitated, visibly weighing the implications of such an open-ended commitment. Your dad’s charges were serious. The chances of those charges disappearing and him being released in a month seemed like a miracle. "What if it drags on for years?" you whispered.

Rafe’s grin grew more pronounced, relishing your distress. "Well, princess, that's for you to decide. You can always walk away whenever you think it’s unbearable. Does that seem fair?"

"Okay, fine. Now about condoms--”

“Not using them--”

“Oh, we’re using them. I’m not interested in having your kid, Rafe, and I’m certainly not interested in catching anything from you.”

“While I should be fucking insulted” he said dryly “I always glove up and get tested regularly too.”

“Okay, so why are you suddenly against using condoms with me, then?”

“Because I promised myself…” he said slowly, his voice lowering as he made his way towards you, “If I ever got the chance to fuck you, I'd do it raw.”

Your jaw clicked, your hands itching to slap him again. “Weren’t you fooling around with Letizia a couple of weeks back?”

“Yeah, so? I was gloved up.”

“I don't care. You've slept with half the girls on figure 8. I want you fully tested before we even think about doing anything. Condoms every time, no excuses.”

“Alright. I’ll get tested. Condoms while fucking, no condoms for blowjobs.”

"Yeah, about that, I'm not doing oral.'” you said folding your arms in resignation.

Rafe's eyes bore into yours, annoyance coloring his features.

"No. No. You don’t get to dictate how I fuck you." he snapped, his voice taking on edge of authority. "Look, i’m willing to let you negotiate a few terms, give you some semblance of control but it’s got to be worth my while, and for it to be worth it, I get to fuck you how I want, when I want.”

You swallowed, feeling your resolve waver.

"Now, here's what I want to make this deal work: when I call, you answer. No matter the place, no matter the time. You show up. Clear?" Rafe said.

You paused before giving a hesitant nod, the magnitude of your agreement dawning on you.

"And if I ask you to wear something specific, you will. No questions. We have a deal?"

Your throat tightened as his demands began to overwhelm you, but you managed a brief nod in response.

"Remember, fail to meet my terms, and our deal ends. Understood?"

Another nod.

"Anything else?"

“When will you make the call?” you asked quickly.

“After our first session,” he proposed, his smile revealing a hint of anticipation. “After that I’ll do whatever I can to make sure your dad’s free”

" I want proof. I want proof that you’d stick to your part of the deal.”

“Don’t worry, you’ll get it.”

“Good." you said as you took a deep breath and released it slowly. "Get tested and send me the results," you responded, you're tone neutral, treating it as a standard business transaction. "I'll do the same. We can then choose a time and date."

Rafe nodded in agreement, his gaze intense and piercing.

You extended your hand towards him.

"What's that for?" he chuckled lowly.

"A handshake. To seal the deal."

Rafe reached out, his arms enveloping you in a firm yet tender grasp, pulling you against him. It took everything within you to not push him away.

"How about we seal this deal with a kiss, hmm?" he murmured, "Especially since we'll be doing a lot more than kissing very soon."

Rafe leaned in, letting his lips graze yours. But you stiffened, instinctively tilting your head so that his lips met your cheek instead. A soft chuckle escaped him as he retreated just a fraction.

“Ah ah” he chided. With his fingers gently but firmly cradling your jaw, he directed your face back to his, an unsettling tension growing palpable between you.

"Play. Nice.” he whispered, his voice considerably smug. "Kiss me. Like you mean it." It wasn't a mere request; it was a command that left you feeling completely cornered.

A battle of wills ensued; neither of you making the first move, both of you waiting for the other to blink first. Rafe's eyes never left your own as he leaned in once again, his determination clear.

His tongue gently pushed past your parted lips, and you allowed it, setting off a delicate yet conflicting dance between your tongues and lips.

Groaning into your mouth, his eyes shut as the kiss deepened, carrying an undeniable intensity. He sucked on your bottom lip, nipping at your tender flesh until his tongue lashed hungrily against yours sending a peculiar mix of tingles and dread coursing through you.

Finally, you pulled away from the kiss, catching your breath while your chest heaved. Rafe remained close, his lips just a whisper away from yours, his breathing matching your intensity.

"I'll get tested first thing tomorrow," he whispered, his voice thick with urgency and desire. "Make sure you do, too."

"All clear."

That was the message Rafe sent you two days after your heated conversation, accompanied by a screengrab of his test results. Without hesitation, you replied, sending him your own results in return.

As your fingers tapped across the screen, a surge of disgust washed over you. The very idea of being intimate with Rafe was anything but appealing; it fact, it made you feel sick.

You'd never choose Rafe of your own volition. Sure he was handsome but his excessive drinking and drug habits were repellant, and his disdain and bullying nature towards the Pogues was disturbing. None of his qualities were remotely attractive, let alone fuckable.

But then, the stern, resilient part of you asserted itself, urging you to focus on the goal at hand.

This was not about you or Rafe; it was about orchestrating your father's release from prison, a critical mission where failure wasn't an option. With this clear objective ingrained in your mind, you steeled your resolve, preparing yourself for what lay ahead.

When he proposed meeting up that same night, you didn't find it strange given Rafe's impulsive nature. However, the location he suggested did catch you off guard.

It wasn't Tannyhill, the somewhat familiar and comfortable place you had anticipated, but instead, an unfamiliar address. The randomness of the location set off tiny alarms in the back of your mind, making you wary but you took a deep breath, quickly typing out your response-

"I'll be there."

It wasn't just any random address, as you initially thought.

At the front of a gated tree-lined drive stood a prominent sign declaring, “Cameron Developments.” The freshly poured concrete and stacks of lumber clearly indicated that it was a home under renovation.

As you made your way along the winding path, unease gripped you, but the sight of Rafe’s truck haphazardly parked near the entrance reassured you that you had indeed reached the right place.

The estate was draped in an unsettling darkness, punctuated only by the soft chirping of crickets, the distant hoot of an owl, and the sporadic glow of work lights from inside, hinting at the ongoing renovations.

Exiting your car, you took a moment to absorb the scene before approaching the house. With each step towards the porch, your heart rate quickened. But before you could even announce your presence, the heavy door groaned open, revealing the looming presence of Rafe.

His expression, obscured by the shadows and dim work lights from within, gave away nothing. Without a word, he stepped aside, allowing you to enter, then closed the door and locked it.

A knot formed in your throat, a cocktail of dread and adrenaline. Pushing the mounting fear aside, you gathered your voice, attempting to sound braver than you felt. "Alright, let's get this over with," you said.

A wicked grin tugged at the corner of Rafe's lips. You felt an icy dread settle in your chest. "Oh, we will," he murmured, "But first, I want to play a game... to make things... interesting." The atmosphere grew heavy, oppressive.

"One minute" he said, as he cracked his neck from side to side, his eyes boring into you. "You get a one-minute head start and after that, after that--" he sighed happily "I'm coming for you. Run."

Panic gripped you. "Run? What? What the hell are you talking about? What do you mean run?" you stammered, your voice edged with rising panic.

But his eyes were cold, devoid of humor or empathy. He leaned closer, his voice a menacing hiss that left no room for interpretation. "Run."

A rush of adrenaline hit you, and without another word, you sprinted past him as if your very life depended on it.

You had no clear destination in mind, only the primal instinct to run and hide. Every fiber of your being was attuned to survival. Heart pounding in your chest, you sprinted up the grand staircase, taking the steps three at a time, feeling the weight of your own desperation in every leap.

At the top, a maze of doors and hallways stretched out before you. You lunged for the nearest one, finding yourself in a dimly lit bedroom freshly painted in white. Shadows danced on the walls from the solitary work light, and your gaze immediately snapped to a closet on your right.

Without hesitation, you slipped inside, gently closing the door behind you. The smell of paint and cedar filled your nostrils. Placing a trembling hand over your mouth, you tried to muffle the sound of your heavy, ragged breathing.

Gently, so as not to make a sound, you nudged the slatted shutter doors of the closet closed, leaving only thin slivers of the room visible – distorted, but enough to keep watch.

The ominous sound of footsteps reached your ears; they were methodical, unhurried. Rafe was searching, savoring the hunt. You watched in horror as his elongated shadow, cast by the work light, drifted across the closet. A cold sweat formed on your forehead, and you had to fight back the urge to gasp as the shadow paused momentarily by the closet doors.

After what felt like an eternity, the shadow moved away, and you heard his footsteps retreating. Letting out a silent sigh of relief, you gave yourself a moment to gather your bearings. But you knew all too well you couldn't remain hidden for long; he would inevitably retrace his steps and find you.

Gathering your courage, you carefully eased the closet doors open and quickly scanned the room for an escape route. Your heart pounded violently in your chest as you made your move. Taking a deep breath to steady your nerves, you tiptoed across the room, avoiding the creaky floorboards that might betray your presence. But the moment you stepped out of the bedroom, you collided with a solid mass.

Rafe's eyes pierced through to your soul, pure hunger reflected in them as he stared down at you. His hand clamped around your throat, pulling you close as the smell of your fear and his cologne filled your nostrils in a nauseating mix. His lips crushed against yours, ravaging your mouth with an intensity that nearly made you faint.

As your fight-or-flight instincts kicked in, you frantically writhed in his grip. Your fists relentlessly pounded against his arm, trying to get him to relinquish his hold on you, but it was no use. In one swift motion, Rafe backed you into the bedroom and forcefully dragged you to the floor, your fingers wildly clawing at his arm as you searched for any type of leverage you could find.

Rafe ravished your neck with unbridled hunger, his other hand violently tugged at your skirt and panties, scraping the skin of your thighs until finding your moist center—the slippery wetness signifying your surrender to pleasure. Rafe groaned as his fingertips slid through your slick folds and into you causing you to gasp at the white-hot jolts of pleasure.

"For someone who's only doing this to save their dad, you're soaked..." Rafe laughed breathlessly, trailing a line of wet kisses up your throat. "All that sanctimonious bullshit about what you will and won't do and look at you, fucking dripping for my cock—”

"Fuck you!" you screeched, a potent mixture of embarrassment and venomous rage coursing through you has you writhing beneath him, your determination to push him off almost frantic.

"That's it—fight back," he jeered, his voice dripping with dark amusement. "Fight back. It'll make this all the more satisfying."

You kicked and screamed, only for Rafe to capture your lips in a bruising kiss. His hands connected your wrists together over your head. In a single move, he flipped you onto your stomach and straddled you from behind, his erection pressing against your ass.

One of Rafe's hands tears off your panties, your screams in protest seize immediately as Rafe stuffed the flimsy cotton into your mouth.

"There" he taunted with a sinister chuckle, pressing you down further as you desperately attempted to wriggle free. You strained to let out a scream, your voice stifled by the makeshift gag.

That same hand worked feverishly to free himself from his pants. You could feel the throbbing heat of his erection at the cleft of your ass. Could hear him tearing open the condom packet with his teeth, the necessary prelude to satiating his ever-growing hunger.

Not too long after he was grinding the head of his cock against your wetness while you fought to express your protests through the gag.

"No, no, this is what we've agreed to. What you agreed to..." Rafe's breath hitched as his cock slid over your weeping slit. With one hard, raw thrust, barely allowing you time to adjust to his girth, he plunged himself deep inside you.

He wasted no time, immediately beginning his relentless thrusts, utterly indifferent to your muffled struggles behind the gag. Your body writhed beneath his weight, your movements punctuated by desperate grunts, the hardwood floor beneath you offering no mercy.

After a brief moment, Rafe released your wrists and drew you closer, his grip on your hips unwavering as he continued to drive into you with unrelenting force. Your head spun as you gradually surrendered to the powerful cadence of his movements. His hands clung to you possessively, guiding both of you in a desperate, synchronized dance. Every nerve in your body ignited, primal heat surging from deep within.

Your eyelids fluttered shut as your body succumbed to his unyielding force. Despite the freedom of your hands, you found yourself paralyzed, incapable of resisting or offering any form of resistance. Instead, you relinquished control, allowing Rafe to claim you entirely.

"I'm gonna fucking cum. I'm gonna cum. Cum with me," he growled through gritted teeth, his tempo increasing to a punishing pace.

You weakly shook your head, 'no,' your determination unwavering as you fought to maintain control over your desires. The mere thought of your pleasure becoming entangled with his, sullied and exploited for his depraved fantasies, was something you could not bear.

"Oh, you'll cum-" he sneered.

In a sudden, ominous gesture, he swiftly removed his leather belt from its loop around his pants and coiled it around your neck, pulling and winding it tightly around his fist.

"If you want to breathe, you'll cum," he snarled, pounding you with relentless force. The room was filled only with the sound of your choked gasps for air, Rafe's ragged breaths, the creak of the leather as he tightened his grip, and the rhythmic punishing slap of his hips against your flesh. You fought with every ounce of your being not to succumb to your impending orgasm, tears streaming uncontrollably from your eyes as you waged a futile battle.

The room reverberated with your agonised screams as your orgasm consumed you. Your muscles tensed and quivered beneath you, each wave of pleasure crashed over you like a violent tsunami drowning you. Your fingers clawed at the belt constricting your throat, the leather biting into your skin and to your abject horror, you were gushing around his cock as you climaxed.

Rafe fucked you harder, burying his face in the back of your neck. With a triumphant roar, Rafe's orgasm struck, and he shuddered against you, muffling his moans of pleasure into your skin as he stuffed his cock deep.

Sated and content, he collapsed on top of you, his breathing heavy and laboured, the condom filled with his cum. After a moment, he withdrew and shifted to lie beside you.

Summoning every ounce of strength you had left, you managed to free yourself from the tight confines of the belt and the stifling gag that had cruelly silenced you. Every fiber of your being, every muscle in your body, screamed with raw pain as you gulped in fresh air, each breath feeling like a hard-won victory. Tears of relief and anguish streamed down your face, and with a shaky hand, you hastily brushed them away.

The room seemed to sway, a disorienting blend of fear, relief, and vertigo threatening to drag you into terrifying darkness.

Yet, slicing through the fog of your distress was the haunting sound of Rafe's laughter. His voice was breathless, yet unmistakably gleeful. His fingers, dampened with sweat, raked through his messy hair, highlighting his heightened state of manic exhilaration.

"Next time," he grinned, a chilling promise lacing his words, "Next time, we'll use rope."

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

Thanks for reading x If you enjoyed it please like/reblog/drop a comment would love to know what you think. Until next time ❤️

#rafe cameron #rafe x reader #rafe cameron x you #rafe fanfiction #rafe imagine #rafe fic #rafe smut #rafe outer banks #outerbanks rafe #rafe obx #rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron smut #dark!rafe cameron #obx fanfiction #obx #18+ read #dirtytomatoedwrites #dark rafe cameron #smut warning

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misswynters · 2 months

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Winter’s Embrace — Chapter Two

Cregan Stark x targaryen!fem!reader

[warning: suggestive, cregan pinning the reader to the bed

[synopsis: You spend time with your husband, cregan. There’s a big snow storm happening outside, and you get caught in the middle.

[word count: 3.0k

[note | pls don’t just like, reblog & give me feedback. i don’t want to get shadowbanned

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Winterfell had never seemed so bleak. The walls, which were normally a sanctuary, felt like a prison with the storm raging outside. Snow fell like thick sheets, obscuring everything beyond the castle's stone walls. The wind howled like a wild beast, its icy breath seeping through every crack and crevice, chilling you to the bone.

Cregan Stark, the Warden of the North, stood by a window, his silhouette stark against the swirling snow outside. His presence was as commanding as ever, even with the tempest raging behind him. His grey eyes, the color of storm clouds, were fixed on the blizzard, a deep frown etched into his features.

"It's worse than I expected," he said, his voice a deep rumble that seemed to resonate through the very walls of Winterfell. "We might be stuck here for days."

You pulled your cloak tighter around yourself, feeling the cold despite the fire. "At least we're safe inside," you replied, stepping closer to the hearth. The warmth was a welcome reprieve from the chill that seemed to permeate everything.

Cregan turned to face you, his gaze softening as it settled on your form. "Are you alright? You seem... uneasy."

You met his eyes, feeling a jolt of something you couldn't quite name. There was a strength in his gaze, a reassurance that made you feel safer despite the storm. "I'm just not used to storms like this," you admitted. "It's... overwhelming."

He moved closer, his hand reaching out to gently touch your arm. The contact was electric, sending warmth coursing through you. "Winterfell can be a harsh place," he said softly. "But you're not alone."

The intimacy of the moment caught you off guard. You had always admired Cregan from afar, his strength and stoic nature a constant presence in the Stark household. But now, with the storm raging outside and the world reduced to the confines of Winterfell, you found yourself drawn to him in a way you hadn't anticipated.

"Thank you," you whispered, your voice barely audible over the crackling fire.

Cregan's hand lingered on your arm for a moment longer before he stepped back, a hesitant smile playing on his lips. "Come, let's check on the supplies. We need to make sure everyone is taken care of."

You followed him through the dimly lit halls of Winterfell, the flickering torchlight casting long shadows on the stone walls. The storm outside seemed distant now, the only sounds the echo of your footsteps and the occasional gust of wind rattling the windows.

As you worked together, checking the stores of food and ensuring the fires in the various hearths were well-fed, you found yourself stealing glances at Cregan. There was a gentleness to him you hadn't seen before, a side that he rarely showed to others. And in those moments, you felt a connection growing, a bond forged in the midst of the storm.

By the time you returned to the Great Hall, the storm had intensified, the wind howling like a wild beast. Cregan stoked the fire, adding another log to the flames, and you both settled down in front of the hearth, the warmth a welcome contrast to the cold outside.

"It's almost beautiful, in a way," you mused, staring into the dancing flames.

Cregan nodded, his gaze fixed on the fire. "Aye, there's a certain beauty to it. But it's also dangerous. We have to respect its power."

You turned to him, finding his eyes already on you. The intensity of his gaze made your breath catch in your throat. "Cregan, I..."

He leaned closer, his hand reaching up to gently cup your cheek. "Shh," he murmured. "No need for words."

The kiss that followed was like nothing you had ever experienced. It was tender and passionate, a release of all the emotions that had been building between you. The storm outside raged on, but in that moment, all you could feel was the warmth of his embrace, the taste of his lips, and the beating of his heart against yours. The fire crackled and popped, casting a warm, golden glow that danced across the stone walls. You and Cregan remained by the hearth, wrapped in a cocoon of warmth and intimacy.

Cregan's hand traced a path down your arm, leaving a trail of fire in its wake. "I've wanted to do that for a long time," he admitted, his voice a low murmur that sent shivers down your spine.

You looked up at him, your breath hitching at the intensity of his gaze. "So have I," you confessed, your voice barely above a whisper. "But I didn't think you felt the same."

His lips curved into a small, almost shy smile. "I've always felt it. I just... thought you didn’t like being betrothed to me."

You reached up, your fingers lightly brushing his cheek. "No…i was just scared. Everything here is new to me."

He leaned into your touch, his eyes closing briefly as if savoring the moment. When he opened them again, there was a fire in his gaze that matched the one burning in the hearth. "Come with me," he said, his voice husky with emotion.

You nodded, allowing him to take your hand and lead you through the dimly lit halls of Winterfell. The storm outside was a constant reminder of the world beyond, but here, within these ancient walls, you felt safe and cherished.

Cregan led you to his chambers, a place you had only ever seen in passing. The room was warm, the fire in the hearth casting flickering shadows on the walls. It was a reflection of its owner—strong, steadfast, and filled with a quiet intensity.

He closed the door behind you, the sound echoing in the quiet room. For a moment, you both stood there, the silence filled with unspoken words and a palpable tension. Then, Cregan stepped forward, his hands gently cradling your face as he kissed you again, this time with a hunger that took your breath away.

You melted into his embrace, your hands finding their way to his chest, feeling the strong, steady beat of his heart beneath your fingertips. The kiss deepened, a fire igniting between you that rivaled the one in the hearth.

The dim light of the hearth cast a warm, flickering glow across the stone walls of Cregan Stark's chambers. The winter chill was kept at bay by the roaring fire, but inside, a different kind of heat was building. Cregan's piercing eyes locked onto yours, and without a word, he closed the distance between you, his lips capturing yours in a searing kiss.

His hands found your waist, strong and sure, pulling you closer as he deepened the kiss. You melted into him, your fingers threading through his dark hair, tugging slightly as you tried to bring him even closer. His breath was hot against your lips, mingling with yours in a shared rhythm of desire and need.

Cregan's hands began to roam, exploring the curve of your waist and the small of your back. He lifted you effortlessly, guiding you towards the bed, never breaking the kiss. You could feel the strength in his arms, the controlled power that always made you feel safe and desired.

As your back met the soft mattress, Cregan's body pressed against yours, his weight a comforting presence. You wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him down with you, desperate to keep him close. His lips left yours, trailing a line of fire down your jaw to the sensitive skin of your neck.

You arched beneath him, a soft gasp escaping your lips as his teeth grazed your skin, followed by the soothing touch of his tongue. He was relentless, each kiss, each touch, sending waves of pleasure through your body. You clung to him, your fingers digging into his shoulders, urging him on.

Cregan's kisses grew more fervent, his mouth exploring the hollow of your throat, the curve of your collarbone. His hands moved with purpose, one sliding up to cup your face while the other held your hip, anchoring you to the bed. His body pressed you further into the mattress, and you welcomed the weight, the feeling of being completely enveloped by him.

He paused for a moment, lifting his head to look at you. His eyes were dark with desire, a smoldering intensity that made your heart race. "You are mine," he murmured, his voice husky and low. The possessiveness in his tone sent a thrill through you, and you nodded, your breath coming in shallow pants.

"Hmm…I am yours" you whispered, your voice barely audible over the crackling fire. The words seemed to ignite something in him, and he captured your lips once more in a kiss that was both fierce and tender.

His hands began to roam again, tracing the contours of your body, memorizing every curve and dip. He kissed his way down your neck, his lips and tongue working in tandem to drive you wild.

Each touch was electrifying, leaving a trail of heat in its wake. Your hands found their way under his tunic, exploring the hard planes of his back, feeling the muscles bunch and flex under your touch. He groaned into your neck, the sound vibrating through you, adding to the heady mix of sensations.

Cregan's kisses grew more insistent, his teeth scraping lightly against your skin, followed by the soothing caress of his tongue. He knew exactly how to drive you to the edge, and he was relentless in his pursuit. You were lost in him, in the feel of his lips, his hands, his body. With a growl of need, he claimed your mouth once more, his kiss demanding and consuming. You gave yourself over to him completely, reveling in the intensity of his passion, the depth of his desire. As he pressed you further into the mattress, you could feel him getting hard. You knew that this night would be one you would never forget, a night where he showed you just how much he loved you.

⠀⊹ ˑ ִ ֗ ִ ۫ ˑ

The next morning, the storm still showed no signs of abating. Snow piled high against the windows, and the wind continued to howl like a restless spirit. But the fire in Cregan's chambers kept the cold at bay, and the warmth of his embrace made you feel invincible.

You woke to find Cregan watching you, his grey eyes soft and filled with something you couldn't quite name. "Good morning," he said, his voice a low rumble that sent a pleasant shiver down your spine.

"Good morning," you replied, smiling up at him. "Did you sleep well?"

He nodded, his hand gently brushing a strand of hair from your face. "Better than I have in a long time," he admitted. "With you here... it feels right."

Your heart swelled at his words, and you reached up to cup his cheek. "It does," you agreed, your thumb tracing the line of his jaw. "I feel the same way."

He leaned into your touch, his eyes closing briefly as if savoring the moment. "I'm glad," he murmured. "Because I don't want this to be a one-time thing. I want... more."

You could hear the vulnerability in his voice, and it made you love him all the more. "So do I," you said softly. "I want to be with you, Cregan. Not just for now, but for always."

His eyes opened, a spark of hope and determination in their depths. "Then that's what we'll do," he said firmly. "We'll make this work. No matter what."

Hours passed by and what followed were a blur of snow and cold, but the warmth between you and Cregan never wavered.

Later that evening, as you sat together by the fire, Cregan took your hand in his, his thumb brushing over your knuckles. "I want to show you something," he said, his voice filled with a quiet intensity.

You looked at him curiously. "What is it?"

He stood, pulling you to your feet and leading you through the halls of Winterfell. The castle was quiet, the only sound the soft crunch of your footsteps on the stone floor.

He led you to a secluded part of the castle, a place you had never been before. It was a small garden, sheltered from the worst of the storm by high walls and ancient trees. The snow lay thick on the ground, sparkling in the moonlight.

Cregan turned to you, his eyes reflecting the light of the moon and stars. "This place... it's special to me," he said softly. "It's where I come to think, to find peace."

You looked around, taking in the serene beauty of the garden. "It's beautiful," you said, your breath misting in the cold air. "Thank you for showing me."

He smiled, his hand tightening around yours. "I wanted you to see it," he said. "Because you're special to me too. More than anyone or anything."

Your heart swelled at his words, and you stepped closer, your free hand resting on his chest. "And you mean everything to me, Cregan," you said, your voice filled with emotion. "I love you."

His eyes softened, and he leaned down to kiss you, a slow, tender kiss that spoke of all the love and devotion he felt for you. "I love you too," he murmured against your lips. "More than I can ever say."

You stayed in the garden for a while, wrapped in each other's arms, the world outside forgotten. The storm had brought you together, and now, as the snow gently fell around you, you knew that nothing could ever tear you apart.

⠀⊹ ˑ ִ ֗ ִ ۫ ˑ

That night, as the snowstorm outside intensified, you found yourself alone in the library, seeking solace among the ancient tomes. The fire crackled in the hearth, casting flickering shadows on the stone walls. You had just settled into a chair with a book when the door creaked open.

Cregan Stark stepped inside, his presence filling the room. He looked surprised to see you there but quickly masked it with his usual stoicism.

“My dear,” he greeted, his voice softer than usual. “I didn’t expect to find you here.”

You offered a small smile, trying to hide your nerves. “I find comfort in books, my lord. They offer an escape from reality when the weather gets horrible.”

He nodded, his eyes studying you intently. “Winterfell can be overwhelming, especially in the winter months. If you ever need anything to keep you warm, do not hesitate to ask.” He winked at you with a small smile.

Before you could respond, a sudden gust of wind howled through the hallways, rattling the windows and extinguishing the fire. The room plunged into darkness, save for the faint glow of the embers.

Cregan moved closer, his hand resting lightly on your shoulder. “Stay close. The storm is worse than I thought. We need to find shelter.”

As you followed him through the dimly lit corridors, the howling wind seemed to grow louder, echoing through the stone walls. The castle felt like a labyrinth, and you struggled to keep up with Cregan’s long strides.

Just as you reached a narrow stairway, a deafening crash resonated from above. The ceiling groaned under the weight of the snow, and you felt a sense of impending danger.

Cregan turned to you, his expression grim. “We need to hurry. Follow me.”

But before you could take another step, the ground beneath you shook, and a section of the ceiling began to collapse. The last thing you saw was Cregan’s outstretched hand, reaching for you as the darkness consumed everything.

tag list: @beebeechaos @benjicotblckwood

#house of the dragon #cregan x reader #cregan fanfiction #hotd cregan #cregan stark #cregan x you #hotd fanfic #hotd season 2 #hotd imagine #hotd x reader #cregan x y/n #cregan smut #house stark #house targaryen #winters embrace – mini series

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vagabond-umlaut · 1 year

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tryst, too tempest

Icarus fell for loving the Sun.

You will, for loving your lover.

▸ trueform!sukuna x wife!reader; 1.1k wc; comprises of elements inspired by the tale of 'hades and persephone' & 'fall of icarus'; warning: sukuna is sukuna, so expect the expected [mentions of violence, murder, cannibalism]; warning 2.0: the reader is not very keen to leave or not love her husband; uraume is the BEST WINGPERSON none of you two ever deserved but still got; FLUFF & ANGST & A MADLY DEVOTED LOVE YOU AND SUKUNA FEEL FOR EACH OTHER

▸ belongs to the series 'mine? yes, mine.' – same universe as the work 'six seeds, like rubies...' — but you can treat this as a stand-alone fic if you wanna!

▸ i don't own the characters, the image or the divider used. please don't plagiarize or translate or repost this. enjoy reading! ❤️

Foul winds howl through the land, the first year of your life as one Ryomen Sukuna's wife.

Servants cower before you the moment your shadow falls within their field of vision, yet their gaze stays steeped in pity and envy the entire time it remains trained on your feet. Grocers mumble to one another, eyes looking away when you move to look at the things in their shops. Even the very flora and fauna, you loved so much growing up, writing poems on them from the day you knew how to pen a poem– even the same flora and fauna feels so foreign to you—

"You do realize your importance to Master, don't you?"

Uraume's quiet question floats in through your thoughts, much akin a gentle breeze creating small ripples over the water surface. You smile. "Given how I haven't been eaten by him or sent to be murdered by his subordinate curses, I think I do."

Emotion, too similar to humor, flits across the mien of your husband's loyal follower — you decide not to think much of it. Too many days of having only them as someone to speak to, outside of requesting for a second serving of the soup or asking for the cost of yukata, has led to you imagining a smile on a person who is famous for their poker face. Shaking your head, you return to your poems, the quill fluttering over the roll of parchment you found lying at the breakfast today morning, and let out a content sigh — only for your peace of mind to be broken by the bursting of a guard into the garden, appearing too terrorstruck to utter a single coherent word.

It takes you nothing save one glance, moving from him to Uraume to your ink-stained fingers, before you find yourself keeping the papers on the ground beside and rising, feet breaking into a hasty giddy run down the corridors of the palace to the throne room where, certainly enough–

"I was under the impression you've run away in the extra while I spent sleeping, wife."

The world around you comes to a dead stop as the visage of Sukuna comes into your line of sight; you feel your heart skip two beats then begin a thundering rhythm against your ribcage.

Four years ago, if someone were to tell you there is someone who is going to free you from the gilded cage you were forced to call 'home', is going to share with you his name and is going to be the reason you will ponder the meaning of love, you would have given them a second of your time before walking away with a polite excuse.

One year before, if someone were to tell you there is someone who is going to free you from the gilded cage you were forced to call 'home', is going to share with you his name and is going to be the reason you will ponder the meaning of love, you would have huffed a quiet laugh. The first two have already come to pass (with too many lives lost and too many lives threatened) — yet the very last prediction? You would have considered it to be highly improbable, if not outright impossible.

Yet, now, if someone were to tell you the same three things, you think you wouldn't have shown much of a reaction. You would have simply turned to that 'someone' mentioned in the prediction, and gazed and gazed and gazed–

"I left the roll of parchment you bought for Mistress at the breakfast table, just as you asked, Master," Uraume's voice cuts your thoughts into half and you twist to catch them offer you both a very deep bow before hurrying out, to the left towards the kitchen, four baskets full of radishes in their arms.

You look back at your husband, only to find him seated stiffly on his throne, eyes landing anywhere but you. Stifling a giggle, you tilt your head to the side.

"Why do you act so embarrassed, my king?" you ask, stepping a timid step towards him, then another. Gleaming ruby eyes dart to your face then to your approaching feet. Something tingles through your veins. Climbing the stairs leading to him, you hum, smiling, "I don't think it's embarrassing – quite the opposite, in fact. To me, giving one's wife a thoughtful gift as that... it seems quite adorable to me."

"Be careful of your words, woman," the King of Curses growls, rising and taking a large menacing step in your direction; your smile grows intentionally too innocent, which does apparently nothing to quell his increasing fury: the precise outcome you've been wishing so fervently for.

He pulls you by the waist, flush to himself and lowers his lips close to yours, tantalizingly so. He smells very strongly of those bath salts you bought from a travelling merchant three moons back; faintly of blood and death, of the priest he diced last night after dinner — you wonder if you're worthy to be called a human, after finding the curse you have sworn yourself to forever, so terribly dear despite these.

Certainly not — but you reckon you're too far gone to care anyways, so you stop wondering such things – and lift yourself on your tiptoes to brush your lips with your husband's, then pull away a touch, words leaving your lips in a breathy whisper.

"What if I'm not careful with my words? What will you do then, hm? Will you devour me like the monster everyone says you are? Or, will you throw me away like everyone warns me you will one day– when you find someone prettier, smarter, better than me, huh?"

Two moments pass in pin-drop silence between the two of you.

Barking a noisy guffaw, Sukuna weaves his fingers through your hair, still damp from the bath you took a short time ago, and plants a deep kiss to your lips. Then parts his lips from yours, although a mere hair's breadth away, and grins, features teeming with that exotic species of malevolence you never saw yourself regarding to be charming.

Until your gaze met with his, one fated evening, that is.

Your nails dig crescents into the broad muscles of his shoulders.

Your lover's grin sharpens. "Let time tell the tale— yes, my queen?"

The next morning, you find a dozen or so heads waiting for you at the breakfast table, severed by a neat slice at the root of their neck– eyes and mouths which once looked down on your wedding with the King, frozen forever now in a scream of terror.

Forsaking the wonted theme of nature, you decide to pen a poem on scathing, soothing love, instead.

or... everyone: your husband is a despicable monster!!! you: uh-huh everyone: he might leave you for someone better!!! you: uh-huh everyone: you better not stay in this union anymore. you: nuh-nuh. i'm so gonna stay and love and fuck my hubby <3

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bleachification · 1 month

Text

⸻ THE PRINCE(SS) & THE PROTECTOR

pairing: zoro x reader

word count: 3.5k

synopsis: being in love with zoro is not for the weak, especially when such a love is unrequited. so it is all the more confusing when a certain pirate refuses to let you go when you decide to give your heart a break and leave the crew for good.

note: i really need to stop writing zoro fics with an arranged marriage and bodyguard/protector type premise. with that being said… enjoy xoxo

(also yes this is part ONE)

+ + + + + + + + + + + +

Thunderstorms are the perfect weather conditions for silent rumination. You isolate yourself in a corner of the ship, eyes closed as rainwater glides down your face in cool streams. With a smile, you breathe in the scent of salt and earth that mingles with the southern winds.

The crew is below deck, sheltered from the downpour and crackling lightning that splits the skies every so often. They’re all asleep and have been for a while now. You are the outlier. The strange one that decided to sit between a storm and the sea during the devil’s hours. Funnels of black clouds swirl angrily above you as it continues to pour. Your clothes, hair, everything is drenched. Soaked down to the very bones—some particularly weary ones.

You relish the feeling of the water against your skin for another moment, reviving yourself from the bleak reflections plaguing your mind. By the time you make it inside, a decision was made.

The next morning, faint sunlight filtered by sparse clouds light up the horizon in hues of soft orange and calm yellow. The water is still. Steady. Almost as if it had forgotten its role as a tempest’s plaything mere hours ago. It’s early. Much too early for most of the crew to be awake, but you can hear a faint tinkering from Usopp’s room and the steady footsteps of another member coming up the stairs to the upper deck.

A familiar silhouette appears in your vision.

“Morning, Robin,” you say.

The archaeologist comes to stand next to you and nods. “Good morning. You’re up early.”

“Had a lot on my mind. Doesn’t leave much room for sleep,” you point out.

“Did you get any?”

“Some.”

She raises a brow, unconvinced.

“About an hour's worth,” you shrug.

An arm sprouts up from the railing you’re leaning on. It holds out a mug of steaming coffee. You take the cup gratefully. The smooth liquid warms you up in the crisp autumn air. Robin takes a sip of her own drink before responding.

“What’s the verdict?” She asks.

“I’ve decided to go.”

She sighs. “That’s it then. I understand there’s no point in trying to change your mind?”

You shake your head sadly. The past few weeks of turmoil and trepidation cemented that certainty. You can’t stay. Not when the fate of a nation falls on your shoulders… and certainly not with feelings as forbidden as the ones you harbour.

“Is it because of him?”

“No. No,” you emphasize at Robin's doubtful expression.

“Don’t lie,” she chides.

You grimace. “Well, not entirely because of him.”

Robin scans the calm horizon with watchful eyes, a storm of thoughts whirling into action behind that piercing gaze of hers. The archaeologist has always been the most logical out of the crew, favouring rationality over emotion. It is the trait you admire most about Robin and the reason why you sought her counsel specifically, choosing to confide in her—and only her—about the decision you faced.

“He deserves to know,” she says softly.

You stiffen, the mere thought making your throat tighten up with anxiety. You shake your head, effectively ending the conversation. At the perfect time too, as one by one the rest of the crew pad up the stairs, ready to start the day.

Luffy first, bounding up the steps with a large grin. Nami follows, then everyone trickles through the doors. Zoro is last.

The swordsman yawns and stretches his arms behind his head, taut muscles glistening under the morning sun. He opens one eye, peeking at you from under sleepy lids. Your heart clenches at the lazy smile he greets you with.

This is going to be difficult.

“Mornin’,” Zoro mumbles, stifling another yawn behind his fist.

The rest of the crew bustles about, running around the deck in preparation for the day ahead. You hear Luffy’s excited laugh somewhere in the background followed by familiar shouts of concern and beratement from Nami, Sanji and Usopp, each taking turns to scold the captain’s latest—and no doubt foolish—idea. Whatever it may be.

The noise and chaos fades away the moment Zoro walks up to you, his warmth surrounding you despite the cold morning temperature. It makes it near impossible for you to focus on much else. Anything else.

“Hey,” you say.

He frowns, eyes scanning your face. You resist the urge to touch it, anxious. Was there something on your face? A pimple? An eyelash?

“What? What is it?” You ask, nerves alight.

“Did you stay up late?”

You blink, caught off guard. Did you really look that tired?

“Yes,” you answer plainly. There’s no point in trying to hide it from him. “I couldn’t sleep.”

Zoro arches a brow. “Why not?” Concern laces the question. You almost crumble, seconds away from confessing the truth you’ve been hiding for weeks, when someone barrels into Zoro, knocking him over and effectively ending your conversation.

Luffy, unfazed, pops up onto his feet and dusts himself off, his signature toothy smile never having left his face. Despite his right-hand man groaning on the ground next to him, Luffy seems as chipper as ever.

“Sorry, Zoro!” He apologizes, not sounding very sorry at all.

“I… hate… you…” Zoro grunts, still recovering from having the wind knocked out of him.

Luffy only laughs it off and runs back to the rest of the crew, chattering about some new adventure that is bound to be more effort than it is worth.

“You okay?” You press your lips together in an attempt to stifle a laugh.

Zoro takes the hand you offer, warm palm wrapping around your own. You can feel rough calluses against your skin—a testament to his training. You pull him up and watch him steady himself. He doesn’t let go of your hand. Nervous, you break contact first.

He shoots you a puzzled look, but decides against commenting on it.

“I will be once I knock him upside the head.”

“Let’s not give the poor boy brain damage.”

Zoro snorts. “You mean more than he already has?”

You laugh, the sound almost entirely concealed by a burst of raucous shouts coming from the other side of the deck. Curious, you begin walking over to the crew. Zoro follows suit with his hands in his pockets. As the two of you make your way across the ship’s expanse, the sight of Nami and Luffy arguing comes into view. The others stand off to the side, exasperation and amusement colouring their expressions.

“It’s too risky!”

“It’ll be fine, why are you being so boring?”

“I am trying to keep us from getting killed,” Nami seethes. Her face is set in a tight scowl that twists her features into something alarmingly frightening. You haven’t seen her this angry in quite some time.

“Not if we’re careful,” Luffy defends. The captain looks bored and irritated at the same time.

Nami’s right eye twitches.

Oh dear.

“And since when are you careful?”

“I’m not. But [name] is.” Your captain jerks a thumb in your direction.

All heads swivel to look at you.

You raise your palms up, placating. “I… just got here.”

Nami runs up to you, eyes pleading. The ginger-haired woman grabs your shoulders and gently shakes you.

“Please knock some sense into him!”

You tilt your head and lean to the left in order to peek at Luffy from behind Nami’s frame. The boy scratches the back of his head with a toothy grin.

“Would you care to explain, Captain?” You ask bemusedly.

Luffy’s eyes dance with mischief. “We’ve got a mission!”

It’s Zoro that steps in this time. “Just the two of you?”

“Well, yeah,” Luffy answers plainly.

You gently pry Nami’s hands off. “Why?”

“You’re the only one who knows the layout of the place,” he explains.

You frown. “What place?”

“Aracorn Palace,” Robin interjects. There’s a small smile on her face as she watches the situation unfold. Always assessing. Always dissecting.

Aracorn… such a familiar name. It takes a second before a sliver of memory tickles the edges of your mind. An image forms; one of a mighty castle built from silver and stone erected in the heart of a powerful city.

You used to travel there for important delegations and social banquets. Luffy is right. You do know the area well.

“We’re going there? What for?”

“And why only the two of you?” Zoro questions.

“To be stealthy,” Luffy grins.

“Right. Stealthy. You.” Zoro stares, unconvinced.

Luffy ignores his second-in-command. “We’re going to go rescue someone. He’s being kept in the dungeons.”

So many questions.

“Who is it?”

Robin, again, speaks up. “His name is not important. He may not even own such a thing. His role as an ex-member of an underground information guild named Kleios is what makes him useful to us. An execution date has been set for tomorrow evening, so if we are to save the man, we must do it soon.”

“Well? What do you say?” Luffy's enthusiasm is palpable.

The rest of the crew watches you, assuming that you would wave it off. The danger is obvious, and you are—among most instances—level headed enough to pull the plug when needed.

One last adventure.

You surprise them.

“I’m in.”

✧ ˚ 　· 　　 . 　

You should have known it wouldn’t be easy. In fact, you should have known that the entire plan would fall apart because of course it did. Nothing ever seems to go right for the crew. Right now you curse such rotten luck. Although… it isn’t even luck, not really. It’s the captain… Zoro… Nami… Sanji… the whole lot of them! No matter how organized—how meticulous—a plan was, it never actually fucking went to plan. You suppose you’ll miss it. That unmanned chaos. You suppose you’ll miss all of it. As for who you’ll miss most…

“Zoro!” You stare up at the swordsman in both relief and horror. He dangles from a rope ladder, cascaded off the side of a strange looking vehicle—one with wings and whirring motors that suspend its large metal body in the open air. Usopp sits in the pilot seat manning the impressive contraption. Sweat beads on his forehead from concentration. The others are likely protecting the ship from the nation’s naval cavalry.

You increase your pace despite the burning sensation in your lungs. Hot on your heels is a stretch of armed guards mixed with strange looking creatures that look to be a gruesome mismatch of different animals—both natural and mythological.

Chimeras.

Luffy, for once, listened and fled alongside you when shit hit the fan—albeit with extreme reluctance. The captain was able to deal with the first rush of soldiers and their Chimera, but the monster was vicious and even Luffy struggled. That was a mere one. The royal guard owned five. And all of them, snapping their fanged teeth and snarling in hunger, are quickly closing the distance between themselves and you—their prey.

The prisoner was long dead. The whole thing was a trap designed to ensnare the Straw Hats, and Luffy and you had walked straight into it. By the time you both realized you had been played, the cavalry had already surrounded you. Thankfully, Luffy was the master of creative escapes. He was not, however, a master of subtle ones. What was originally one guard unit and its accompanying Chimera quickly turned into all of them chasing after you in a vicious frenzy.

“Don’t engage! We’ll come to you!” You shout towards Zoro, urging him to stay aboard. You can see a sort of panic in his eyes, mottled by excitement. He’s itching to fight. But doing so would be his biggest mistake yet and likely his last as well if he does not heed your words.

The murderous soldiers are practically breathing down your necks, and even with Luffy trying to fend off as many as possible, you will quickly be overwhelmed by the strength of the Chimeras. The monsters growl and roar as their heavy steps thunder behind you, bloodlust practically soaking them through. If Zoro abandoned the ladder and tried to fight them off… it would be sheer suicide. You won’t let that happen.

Luffy manages to stretch out and grab hold of Zoro in the near distance. With a yell, he swings himself up and grabs you along the way. You yelp, the sudden movement catching you off guard. You shut your eyes as the wind whips you in the face. With a soft thud you land against a warm mass.

Zoro catches you, arms encircling your waist.

“Are you okay?” He murmurs into your ear.

You sag into him from relief. “Yes. Is Luffy…?”

“He’s completely fine,” Zoro smirks.

Luffy, who is sprawled across the floor, gives you two thumbs up in reassurance. You can’t help but laugh.

“Usopp! Take us away.”

The pilot gives you a smile and a salute before he presses a button and pulls the wheel up. Slowly, you feel the contraption tilt upwards. Smooth and steady.

CRASH!

Out of nowhere, you and the rest of the crew are violently thrown to the left as something punctures the metal wall of the vehicle and jerks the entire thing back. Before you go slamming into the wall, Zoro twists himself around and cushions the blow.

“What the hell?” Zoro’s grip on you tightens protectively.

A strange red pincer curls into the crumpled sheet that—just a moment ago—was the side hull. It looks to be the same sort of armour that is found upon the back of a crab, except it bears a darker color. Not unlike a deep pool of blood. Its shape is almost identical to that of a scorpion's tail but riddled with sharp ridges that cover its surface. The thing is the size of your head—a grotesque limb extended from one of the Chimeras, no doubt.

Zoro and Luffy both immediately jump into action, the former slicing at the pincer while Luffy tries brute force. Neither works. Solid and unbending, the pincer trembles then stills. The next second you are staring into the howling winds and open space. The army roars beneath you, fifty feet below. The ugly beast with the scorpion tail isn’t finished. It narrows its beady eyes and with astonishing speed, it whips its tail upwards, spearing the floor.

Usopp does his best to recenter, managing to keep everyone upright and away from the gaping hole left by the ripped wall.

“Shit,” Zoro hisses. “The damn thing is too tough. I can’t cut through.”

“I can’t rip it out!” Luffy frowns, throwing punch after fruitless punch at the immovable pincer.

Panic threatens to overwhelm you.

Shit, shit, shit. Shit!

Something glints in the corner of your vision. A solution strikes you and you scramble towards a device on the floor.

“The laser cutter! I can–” but your voice is lost to the bellowing winds as the monster yanks its tail once more, causing the entire machine to shake. You fumble with the device and clumsily clasp it in your trembling hands. Vertigo strikes you as you look down for a split second.

The ground is nearing at an alarming rate.

It’s too close. Too—

Zoro jumps.

“NO!” You reach out in an attempt to pull him back but you're too late. The fabric of his shirt slips out of your grasp and Zoro goes tumbling down—straight into the unhinged maw of the monster below.

You aren’t sure if the screams piercing the air are your own or if they belong to the dying men below. With fluid ease, Zoro manages to sidestep the beast. He dives into the mass, slashing through their ranks. It is beyond impressive.

But it is not enough.

The Chimeras have zoned in, their attention drawn to Zoro. Snarling and snapping, they circle their prey.

Its suicide.

“No…”

Luffy steps forward, ready to leap into the chaos, when familiar shouts sound from below.

The rest of the crew are here.

You collapse in relief, adrenaline draining from your body.

He’s okay.

✧ ˚ 　· 　　 . 　

“This is such a stupid fight,” you sigh.

“This isn’t a fight,” Zoro frowns, unnerved by the very idea of arguing with you.

Sanji pipes up. “It sounds like a fight.”

Nami pinches him by the ear and drags the chef out of the kitchen, scolding him as he protests and apologizes.

“But Nami! They’re in my workspace!”

You and Zoro both ignore him, too preoccupied with the argument at hand.

“I saved your life. His too. If anything, you should be thanking me.”

You scoff in disbelief. “I’m not going to thank you for your recklessness.”

“And I won’t apologize for it,” Zoro says firmly.

“You’re going to get yourself killed one day! I refuse to stick around and watch it happen.”

He freezes as he catches onto the underlying meaning behind your words. “What do you mean by that?”

“I…” you hesitate, unprepared for this conversation. You didn’t mean to let news of your departure slip out. This isn’t how it was supposed to go. You’re both too agitated. Too riled up.

“What do you mean by that?” He echoes. His voice is low and careful, tip toeing on the edge between urgency and trepidation.

You want to turn around. Walk away. Lie.

But this is Zoro. A man you entrust with your life and, occasionally, your heart as well. Secrets don’t belong in your relationship—as muddled as it is—and they will only consume what trust you have forged through the years.

It is time to bear the truth in front of the most terrifying witness.

With a rough swallow, you tell him everything. Your plan to leave the crew, to retain your birthright, and to finally settle your country’s score, once and for all, by bringing peace through union. A marriage between royal heirs. You and a foreign prince.

You can’t look at him as the secret you’ve been harbouring finally spills over your lips like oil. If you look at him, you’ll cry.

“…I leave in two weeks,” you finish. You’re still staring at the ground, heart racing a mile a minute.

There’s no answer. Silence stretches on for a while, so quiet a person’s breath could be mistaken for thunder. So cloying, it stains your lungs. Finally, you can’t take it anymore. You snap your head up, ready to demand a reply from the swordsman, but the look on Zoro’s face wipes anything you have to say from memory.

Shock, anger, disappointment, sadness. Those are all too shallow of description for the depth of what he is feeling. The best he settles on is desperation. An intensely unpleasant anxiety that borders on panic. That is what currently thrums in his veins.

You’re leaving…?

“You won’t change my mind Zoro.”

He doesn’t answer.

“Nothing will,” you add softly.

Especially not him.

This is your goal—your dream. He can’t take that away from you no matter how much he resents it. He simply can’t. But he can be angry, can’t he? He deserves that anger. Needs it to keep him sane. But before he can articulate it, you speak up again, turning the subject back to the argument before.

“The point is you’re too rash.”

He’s barely listening. “It’s my job.”

“No,” you reply firmly. “No it’s not. You put that title on yourself—placed that burden on your own shoulders, never asking for a hand. Not even when so many would offer.”

“I don’t need help. I protect my friends. That’s what I do,” he grits out.

“Even at your own expense?”

“Yes.”

You scoff in disbelief. “It's idiotic.”

“It’s my duty.”

“So you say!” You throw your hands up, exasperated and frustrated. “But that’s not all it is, is it? You fear losing that part of yourself—the protector, the bodyguard, the shield—because you would lose yourself in the process. Your entire life—your purpose—does not revolve around meaningless self-sacrifice and protecting us from a world we choose to exist in!”

He scoffs in sheer disbelief. “And you? What exactly is your role? Don’t you dare stand there and attempt to psychoanalyze me when you’re just a damn coward!”

You suck in a sharp breath, his words striking deep. “I am not a coward.”

“Then why the hell are you running away?!”

“Running? Running?!”

He nods, jaw clenched. He avoids looking straight at you—at the hurt in your eyes. “Yes. The only thing you know how to do.”

Anger replaces hurt. “You fucking hypocrite,” you spat out.

He shakes his head. “I’m just calling it like I see it.”

“You are nothing without your so-called duty,” you hiss. “So you do not get to judge mine.”

“Is that why you abandoned it in the first place? I wonder where this valiant change of heart came from.”

“You could never understand.”

He drops his gaze to the floor and takes a heavy step back. Zoro can barely look at you. “You’re right. I could never understand turning my back on people who needed me.”

Those are the last words he says to you. The next morning, you are gone. All of your things and belongings cleared from your room—like you had never existed on the ship in the first place.

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lizzyiii · 1 month

Note

just read “his lady love” and i’m completely obsessed with your writing, i definitely need a part 2 for that please 😭😭😭

His Lady Love (2)

pairing | aemond targaryen x vampire!mikaelson!reader

word count | 3.8k words

summary | you return to westeros, to find that the young prince has become a man and his burning infatuation with you has not died out and you reconnect with helaena

tags | no warnings? usual mention of targaryen incest (but let's be real, everyone who reads hotd fanfic has now normalised targcest), and child marriage (my poor bby Helaena), filler

note | oh my god, y'all 😭. idk what I was thinking with that dramatic ass mikaelson reveal. as we all know the reader is never described, but as we all also know the mikaelsons are white af. so I'm making it clear that the reader is NOT mikael's daughter, leaving the reader's description and race unknown, esther was busy getting her freak on and her real father will never be disclosed. because in my mind the reader or y/n is and will always be a curly-haired, brown-skinned baddie....so each to their own. AND I'm pretty sure this is going to be a series cause for the life of me I am unable to make a oneshot without further exploring a story.

likes, comments, reblogs are much appreciated ✨

𝐏𝐫𝐞𝐯𝐢𝐨𝐮𝐬 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 — 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 — 𝐍𝐞𝐱𝐭 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫

Five long years had stretched into nearly two thousand sunrises since Aemond Targaryen last laid eyes upon you. Each passing day weighed heavily on his soul, a slow burn of a thousand bitter memories. Some days, the tempest of his emotions roiled within him, bidding him to hate you—for your departure, for the way you had vanished from court like a wisp of smoke, leaving only echoes and shadows in your wake.

But the flames of that hate flickered and faded, giving rise to a deeper yearning, a gaping void where love had once flourished. Even now, after all this time, your spirit held his heart captive, stolen under the very nose of fate when you chose to forsake the realm.

In the wake of your absence, thirteen year old Aemond had become a specter haunting the hallowed halls of the library, pouring over tomes and scrolls in a frantic quest for knowledge of House Mikaelson—a house that seemed to dissolve into the mists of myth with each turn of the page. The histories were silent, and when he turned to his elders, the lords and ladies of the court, their ignorance stung deeper than any sword. Your name was but a whisper lost amongst the louder clamor of dragons and destinies.

Desperation guided his steps toward the Queen’s solar, where his mother resided. He pressed forth, demanding answers of her, yet it was peculiar; though he sought her wisdom and guidance, she seemed to have forgotten the very reason of why she had made you one of her ladies-in-waiting. Her brows knitted with confusion as he spoke your name, her big brown eyes clouded with a nostalgia she could not place.

Yet Aemond could see it in the gentle curve of her lips, in the way her gaze drifted past him, as if searching for a phantom. She missed you, that was clear. Her heart held a chamber of memories crafted from your offered comfort amidst the whispers of court intrigue, from the grace of your presence that had brightened the darker days.

The weight of five relentless years bore heavily upon Aemond Targaryen. Through trials of fire and blood, he had forged himself anew, emerging both mentally and physically formidable. He was now the most skilled swordsman within the keep’s sturdy walls, a warrior of such caliber that even the esteemed Ser Criston Cole would struggle to match his prowess. Secluded in the dim light of solitary training grounds, he immersed himself in the ancient tomes of philosophy and the illustrious history of House Targaryen, dedicated to honing his mind as keenly as his sword.

Yet in this relentless pursuit of strength and mastery, the warmth of his heart had withered, leaving behind only the chill of calculated ambition. His facade, meticulously crafted, rendered him cold and unyielding — a visage so fierce that even the bravest souls flinched at the thought of meeting his gaze directly.

Thus, it was with a jarring dissonance that Aemond entered his sister, Helaena's solar that day. It was a ritual he had come to cherish against the backdrop of his darkening spirit, visiting her and the twins for a fleeting moment of respite. However, as he stepped across the threshold, the air thickened and his breath caught in his throat.

Helaena sat with delicate artistry upon a chaise, embroidering threads of vibrant colors while keeping a watchful eye on her children. But it was not the familiar sight of his sister that seized him. No, there, in the heart of the chamber, stood his mother, Queen Alicent, holding the hands of a woman whose features were obscured from his view. However, even with your back turned, he recognized you and your unmistakable figure.

Alicent’s large, expressive eyes caught his, shimmering with an emotion he had not anticipated. “Aemond,” she uttered softly, the sound piercing through the tension-laden silence.

With the calling of his name, you turned, and the breath in his lungs faltered. The years stretched out like an endless tapestry between the two of you, but as he beheld you standing there after all this time, it felt as if no time had passed at all.

Five long years had passed, and in that span, Aemond had transformed. His once-boyish frame had hardened, each line of muscle now finely chiseled, his stature soaring to a height that eclipsed yours. He had shed the skin of youth and emerged a man forged by the fires of ambition and vengeance, yet he could feel a familiar tug at his heart as he stared at you.

But you… you had remained untouched by time’s relentless march. Your face, flawless and luminous, bore no marks of age; not a wrinkle nor blemish dared mar your smooth skin. Your form he remembered was preserved in perfection, your hair framing your figure in the same glorious waves that had enchanted him years ago.

You were the embodiment of memories he cherished, the same as ever.

For a fleeting heartbeat, Aemond dared to believe you were but a haunting mirage conjured by his yearning heart. If not for the watchful eyes of his mother and sister resting upon you, he would have thought himself lost to despair, ensnared by the fantasies of his own making.

An eternity seemed to stretch in the daunting silence that enveloped the two of you, the world around forgotten as each of you engaged in a quiet, yet profound examination. Your eyes sparkled like the night sky in the light of the day, and when you smiled—the same saccharine smile that had once filled his heart with joy during the innocence of his childhood—it left him breathless. “My prince,” you spoke softly, your voice dancing in the air, “how you’ve grown.”

In that moment, something within him shifted—a profound balm against the bitterness he had nurtured like a dark plant within his chest. All the resentment, the stinging remembrance of your abandonment, and the shadows of sadness that once clouded his thoughts dissipated at the mere sight of your smile. His throat was dry as a winter's night, thoughts scattered like ash on the wind, and yet, the corners of his mouth began to lift involuntarily, mirroring the warmth radiating from you.

Mikaelson.

A name that struck terror into the hearts of countless souls. Yet, here, in this strange realm of Westeros, where dragons soared and the icy dread of White Walkers loomed behind the walls, such fear was but a whisper lost to the winds. No, this land, though foreign and fierce, offered you sanctuary—not the kind woven from solace and warmth, but the kind fortified by distance and the absence of your cursed siblings.

Here, there were no vampires lurking in the cloaks of night, nor were there werewolves howling beneath the pale moonlight. Instead, there were dragons, fierce and resplendent, and direwolves, proud and wild. Most crucially, there was no Mikael—a freedom that tasted of hope amidst you heart's turmoil.

True, you thought often on whether you should have brought your siblings along, for Mikael would never find this place. Yet, a heavy foreboding gripped you; you understood all too well that the Mikaelsons (Niklaus) very presence would shatter the fragile peace you sought. Westeros was far from a land of plenty, riddled with poverty and further burdened by the cruel fate of women, yet in its chaos lay distance.

So, you fled, slipping away into the shrouded embrace of night, abandoning the only family you had known—or, more accurately, what was left of it. It was the sixteenth century, a time when hope flickered dimly in the eyes of men and women alike. You had not laid eyes upon Finn since Niklaus, in his relentless wrath, had condemned him to a tormented existence, and staked a dagger in his heart. Kol fared no better; his defiance had earned him Niklaus' ire, leaving him to face the very same fate that had befallen their eldest brother.

Months had slipped by as you braved the tempestuous seas, each wave an echo of your desperation, each gust of wind whispering promises of a new beginning. You had set sail toward the edge of the earth, guided by an insatiable yearning for freedom—until at last, you had discovered Westeros.

You had arrived in Westeros with an unyielding ambition, your ethereal beauty concealing a fierce determination that allowed you to easily compel your way into the court of Queen Alicent Hightower as one of her ladies-in-waiting. The smell of dragonfire and the whispers of civil war clung to the air, a distinct reminder of the foreign heritage of the Targaryens.

The first time you had seen one of the great beasts aloft, its shadow sweeping across the land, leaving you breathless and in awe. Dragons were an embodiment of the Targaryen power, but alongside that power lurked a shocking underbelly of normalized incestuous unions and the festering decay of traditional familial bonds. For a girl raised among the Mikaelsons, who had danced among the vices of immortality, this was both familiar and grotesque.

Your new world was laced with intrigue—rumors skittered through the halls like restless spirits. The whispers spoke of Princess Rhaenyra and the seed of doubt surrounding her claim to the Iron Throne, the barbs of scandal raised even higher by her many alleged bastards. These complexities intrigued you, compelling you to observe from the outside, where the machinations of power were far more amusing than any political play you had encountered in your old life.

Queen Alicent, though esteemed and regal, bore the weight of her flaws almost indiscernibly, like a cloak of gold marred by rust. From what you could tell, the Queen wielded herself like a pawn—her father being Otto Hightower, an unseen puppeteer, tugging at the strings of her choices. Maternal instinct flickered in Alicent like the candle flames that lit the chamber at night; she faltered and stumbled but made an earnest effort to nurture her children as best she could, though in your opinion she had failed miserably with Aegon. And yet, her fund of effort, a raw and poignant endeavor, resonated with you. The Queen was imperfect, yet within that human frailty lay a semblance of motherhood that Esther Mikaelson had failed to give you.

Thus, in your role as one of the Queen’s ladies-in-waiting, you discovered a sanctuary of sorts. The court became a twisted labyrinth of alliances and betrayals, yet amidst the swirling intrigue, you found comfort in Alicent’s earnest attempts at kindness towards you.

In the two years you had spent in Westeros, you had found solace in the delicate friendship you created with Princess Helaena—a rare gem among the Targaryens, whose sweet and gentle spirit seemed devoid of the cunning that defined her kin. Helaena's quiet understanding struck a chord deep within you, reminiscent of a time before death had twisted your mind. Once, you too had lived in a world that felt like a dream, until Niklaus tore down the veil of your innocence with his ruthless reality check. He had carved fear into your heart, reminding you of the darkness that lurked within the world.

But as you observed Helaena, an overwhelming sorrow enveloped you. The Queen's decree to betroth the princess to Prince Aegon sank like a stone in her gut. Aegon—a broken soul, defined by indulgence and ambition—was a force of chaos that echoed the wickedness of their own familial bond. In many ways, he reminded you of Kol, with his infectious charm and volatile spirit, yet where Kol harbored a flicker of love beneath layers of darkness, Aegon radiated a depravity that sent shivers down your spine.

Your heart ached at the thought of Helaena being shackled to a boy so unworthy of her light. The specter of Aegon’s reckless nature loomed large, and you feared for the princess's fate. You could see it clearly: with every passing day of their union, Helaena’s spirit would wither under the weight of neglect and cruelty, her gentle soul extinguished in the fires of a loveless bond.

And then there was Prince Aemond, the second youngest son of Alicent's brood—a striking boy marked by a fierce determination to embrace his responsibilities as a prince. You often felt a pang of sympathy when you witnessed the relentless taunts from Aegon and the scornful jeers of his nephews, sorrow swelling in your chest at the knowledge that he was the only Targaryen without a dragon to call his own. And it was hard to ignore the tender glances he cast your way, his violet eyes lingering on you whenever you graced a room.

However, nothing could have prepared you for the sight of Aemond standing at your door during the elusive hour of the wolf, his ethereal silver hair, tousled and framing a face streaked with tears, the light of hope dimmed in his now singular violet eye. Fury ignited in your core when he confided the harrowing tale of how Aegon had dragged him to the Street of Silk, that dark sanctuary of vice—your heart shattered for the innocence that had been ripped from him, for the heavy shame that now clung to him, marked by his brother who should have looked out and protected him. By now, Aegon was six-and-ten, he should have gleaned wisdom from his years, yet he chose the path of cruelty instead.

In an effort to soothe the wounded prince, you opened your heart and your arms to him. You conceded to his requests, bathing him with tender care, allowing him the sanctuary of your presence as he lay beside you. Your intentions were pure, untainted by anything but the desire to comfort a boy you had come to deeply care for.

And yet, with a heavy heart, you turned your back on Westeros, your mind haunted by the echoes of family. In that fleeting moment of vulnerability, you found yourself yearning for the bonds that had once defined you. The Targaryens, ensnared in their web of resentment and betrayal, made it clear that true loyalty and love were rare treasures. Their familial discord stood in stark contrast to the fierce devotion of your own bloodline. For all the chaos wrought by the Mikaelsons, love remained their unyielding anchor.

Niklaus, with his volatile nature, was both feared and revered by you; yet, beneath that fierce exterior lay a soul tormented by the shadows of his past, perpetually haunted by the specter of abandonment. Finn and Kol, locked in eternal slumber by Niklaus’s cruel whim, lay undisputed in their coffins, yet your brother stood sentinel over them, unwavering and steadfast. The thought of returning to him was chilling; the mere sight of you would surely earn a dagger in your own heart.

You resolved to escape, to steal away before Queen Alicent could impose a husband upon you like a gilded cage. It was meant to be a brief respite, a momentary retreat from your burdens. You had once believed that seamlessly integrating into the intricate tapestry of Westerosi society would be a simple endeavor. Yet, the relentless weight of expectations proved stifling. Each encounter demanded a dance of delicate grace, a façade meticulously curated to meet the desires of those around you, and in turn, it drained your very spirit.

Thus, you sought solace in the sun-drenched lands of Essos, a realm that defied the rigid conventions you had grown weary of. Essos was a land of vibrant colors and broken norms, where the sun shone unabated and the very air seemed to sing of possibility. Gone were the burdens of being gracious and demure, replacing those restraints with the intoxicating freedom to explore the wild tapestry of cultures sprawled before you. In a realm filled with mercenaries and traders, where the scent of spice mingled with the salty sea air, you couldn’t help but feel invigorated.

Shame washed over you like a cold wave, a sharp pang of regret settling in your chest as you sat in Princess Helaena's solar, surrounded by the laughter of her twins, Jahaerys and Jahaera. The children, mere five summers old, served as a vivid reminder of your absence; Helaena had brought them into the world at the tender age of fourteen, while you had been lost in the allure of Essos. Your own selfish pursuits had drawn you away from Westeros, leaving your dear friend to navigate the tides of motherhood without your companionship.

But now, fate had drawn you back to Westeros, though the reason for your return eluded you—perhaps it was mere curiosity, or a desire to witness the Targaryens as they embarked on a path toward their own ruin. Perhaps it was simply the lingering comfort of a maternal embrace that Queen Alicent had once offered you. One thing remained certain: you were back, unchanged yet bound by the curse that clung to the Mikaelsons. You still appeared as you had, forever encased at the tender age of six and ten, the same age at which you had died nearly six centuries ago.

The twins were a study in contrast. Jaehaerys, the young prince, was somber and introspective, casting shy glances your way from beneath the curtain of his silver hair. In contrast, Jaehaera exuded a lively spirit, her laughter as bright as the morning sun. She was a sweet girl, eager for your attention, her small hands clutching her beloved dolls as she beckoned you to join her in playful realms of castles and grand adventures. Every so often, Jaehaerys would join in, indulging his sister’s imagination by taking on the role of a fierce dragon, albeit with a reluctance that made his quiet demeanor all the more endearing.

“I have missed you,” Helaena said softly from her place on the chaise, delicate fingers working through the intricate patterns of her embroidery, her gaze never leaving the fabric.

You met her gaze, a frown momentarily shadowing your features, your heart tightening at the sight of her. A small, bittersweet smile tugged at your lips as you replied, "As I have missed you, princess. I offer my sincerest apologies for my prolonged absence."

“But you have returned, and that is what matters,” she replied with a tranquil certainty, her expression unwavering.

With a nod, you maintained your tight-lipped smile, the corners of your mouth struggling to lift fully. “Indeed, I have, and I hope to stay here for as long as fate allows.”

As you resumed your playful moments with the twins — Helaena’s voice broke through the lighthearted chaos as she called your name. “Pray tell, how old were you when you came to court?”

Your lips pursed gently as you recounted, your tone tense but soft, “I was but six and ten years, my dear princess.”

An oblivious smile spread across Helaena's face, illuminating her features. “And yet you appear unchanged, as if untouched by time’s passage. Like a Lepidoptera,” she remarked, her imagination weaving images as vivid as the embroidered fabrics around her.

Your brows knitted in puzzlement. "A what, my princess?"

"A Lepidoptera," she patiently repeated, her eyes shimmering with youthful curiosity. "It is a classification that encompasses butterflies, which remain breathtakingly lovely until the end of their days."

A bittersweet pang echoed within you at her words, for you were destined for a far different fate, cursed to wander the shadows as a creature of the night. Yet, you offered a slight nod, managing a soft, "Thank you, my princess," as you absorbed the weight of her innocent compliment.

“And yet, I cannot claim to have missed you as intensely as Aemond has,” Helaena mused, her gaze distant as you idly threaded your fingers through Jaehaera's shimmering locks of silver.

“I’m afraid I don’t quite grasp what you mean,” you replied softly, masking your understanding with a facade of innocence.

“I believe you are quite aware,” Helaena said softly, a melodic note in her voice, her smile lingering with a teasing warmth, “Aemond has loved you since he was a mere boy.”

You cast her a sidelong glance before adopting an air of nonchalance. “Love is a weighty term for one so young, Princess. Surely, it was nothing more than a fleeting fancy.”

Helaena shook her head, her needlework a steady rhythm in her hands. “No, I do not believe so.”

Deep down, you didn't believe so either. Ever since your return to the depressive halls of King's Landing, a sensation had accompanied your every step—a watchful gaze lingering upon you. Aemond had worked to keep it hidden, but your heightened senses revealed the quiet intensity of his interest, as vivid as the summer sun.

There had been numerous revelations awaiting you upon your return to the Red Keep—the prideful births of young Jaehaerys and Jaehaera, the scandal of Rhaenyra and her uncle Daemon's elopement, and the grim decline of King Viserys's health, shadows stained upon the Iron Throne. Yet, the most haunting transformation was that of Prince Aemond.

Aegon had blossomed into the drunken sleaze you had always anticipated, a replica of the whims that dictated his every choice, but Aemond—oh, how he was the exact opposite of what you had envisioned. The youthful boy, once soft and unassuming, had unfurled into a striking figure, sharpened like the blade of a Targaryen sword, each line of his form etched with the harshness of time and expectation. His stature now towered over you, his presence immense, a tempest contained within the boundaries of a man’s body.

He seemed to carry within him a quiet fury, a storm beneath the surface, and it stirred something deep within you, a memory of that boy who had once been desperate for approval and had hope for a dragon. His boyish softness had been replaced by the resolute presence of a true dragon, a stark reminder of the power and peril that resided within his bloodline.

#aemond targaryen x reader #aemond x reader #aemond x you #aemond targaryen #aemond one eye #hotd aemond #house of the dragon #hotd #hotd fanfic #ewan mitchell #the originals #mikaelson #vampire!reader

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fictionally-driven · 4 months

Text

Bruises and Blossoms

Pairing: Jiyan x f! Midnight Rangers reader Word count: 3165 words Trigger warnings: Injuries, mentions of blood, violence, mentions of death. Plot: Jiyan is gravely injured and saved by the resilient and resourceful field medic, (Y/N), whose unwavering dedication and quick thinking catch his eye amidst the chaos of war.

Author Note: I have been writing fics about WuWa characters developing feelings for someone. I could not help but indulge in this after playing WuWa from the past few days. If you liked it, then reblogs are appreciated, Thank you!

The battlefield was a symphony of chaos, the air thick with the metallic tang of blood and the acrid stench of smoke. Tacet Discords, their dark forms swirling like a malevolent storm, descended upon them. Jiyan led his troops into the fray against the looming threat to Jinzhou and Huanglong. His blade cut through the fog on the enemy with lethal precision.

But the Tacet Discords were relentless, their numbers seemingly endless as they swarmed over the battlefield. It felt like an other outbreak was on the verge of breaking through and Jiyan was resolved to quell it before it got to that point. Jiyan fought with all his strength, his heart pounding with adrenaline as he pushed himself beyond his limits to protect his troops from the brunt of the attacks.

Suddenly, amidst the chaos, a joint attack from the Crownless and the Tempest Memphis caught Jiyan off guard. Despite his best efforts, he found himself overwhelmed, his vision blurring as pain seared through his body. Blood filled Jiyan's mouth as he struggled to maintain his footing, his ears ringing with the clamor of battle. But even in the midst of his pain, he refused to yield, his determination unwavering as he faced his enemies head-on. Slaying the crownless, Jiyan collapsed to his knees, trying to catch his breath and recover. Black spots emerged in his vision and he shook his head, trying to remain focused. Amidst the chaos, a familiar voice cut through the din, pulling him back from the brink of darkness.

An on-field medic approached at Jiyan's side "General! focus on me," she urged, her voice firm yet comforting as she assessed his injuries. Her hands moving with practiced precision as she tended to his injuries with the supplies she was carrying. "Let me patch you up."

But Jiyan, his resolve as strong as ever, swatted her hand away. He insisted that he was fine, his voice strained with pain. "There are others who need your help more than I do," he protested, his gaze flickering with concern for his troops. “I’ll be alright.”

Yet the medic, undeterred by Jiyan's protests, remained steadfast in her resolve. "You need medical attention, General," she insisted, her tone leaving no room for argument. "Let me do my job."

"I'm not leaving you like this," She retorted, her tone firm as she continued to patch up Jiyan's injuries. "No man left behind, remember?"

As she outlined Jiyan's injuries in her terminal, recording and transmitting the message to the infirmary, she detailed the extent of his wounds. "He's broken his arm, sustained a deep femoral artery laceration, and has multiple contusions and abrasions," she reported, her voice steady despite the urgency of the situation. "We'll need a transfusion and surgical intervention."

With practiced efficiency, she stabilized Jiyan's broken arm, carefully wrapping it in a makeshift splint to prevent further injury after removing his signature midnight green gardebras. Administering pain medication, she sought to alleviate his discomfort, her hands moving with gentle precision as she worked.

As she wrapped a tourniquet around his open wound to stem the bleeding, she barked commands to the surrounding troops, directing them to cover their path back to the infirmary. "We need a clear path, now!" She pointed to two soldiers. “You two. Cover for me and the general till we make it to the infirmary. Take defense positions at the back.” She then points to another soldier beside them. “You take the front. What? Do I look like I have sprouted two horns? Move. Now!” With Jiyan's uninjured arm draped around her, she lifted the general up, staggering a bit due to his weight before stabilizing herself.

Despite his delirium from the pain and blood loss, Jiyan couldn't help but notice the warmth of her presence, her lively nature. "You're like a whirlwind, aren't you?" he murmured, his voice laced with admiration as she dragged him towards the relative safety of the infirmary.

Despite the chaos and confusion of the battlefield, Jiyan finds himself drawn to the medic at his side. Was she glowing? He couldn't help but wonder as he struggled to keep up with her brisk pace. How could someone be so beautiful, almost amidst the carnage of war? Though the scent of blood and smoke filled his senses, he could still smell was the antiseptic and medicines that she had used on him, comforting him. As she dragged him towards the infirmary, Jiyan weakly protested against her, insisting that he would be fine. She seemingly ignored his words, only to focus on the task at hand. And in that moment, as he clung to her for support, Jiyan knew that he was in good hands.

Inside the infirmary, the harsh lights made everything seem too bright and painful. Jiyan was gently lowered onto the bed, his muscles screaming in protest with each movement. Through bleary eyes, he watched as the medic busied herself. Jiyan’s eyes fixed on her, noting the blood, his blood, smeared on her skin and on her clavicle. He noticed the small injuries that marred her too. Her hair, disheveled from the chaos, fell out of place from its tie, framing her face. With his uninjured hand, he reached out and tucked a stray strand behind her ear, his touch lingering for a moment. “You are injured too. Make sure to get it patched.”

She glanced at him, a mix of frustration and tenderness in her eyes. "You need to rest, General," she admonished, her voice soft yet firm. "Let us handle the battlefield for now. Your troops need you to recover."

Jiyan managed a weak smile, his vision blurring again. "You... you're quite something," he murmured, his voice trailing off. “What is your name, soldier?”

She stood up, her expression softening as she looked down at him. "And you're quite stubborn," she replied, a hint of a smile playing on her lips. "Take care and recover soon. Your troops have got this, and you need to focus on resting." She wiped his blood off her using a few wet wipes as more medics gathered to tend to the general. “My name is (Y/N).” She said, as the medics began working on treating him.

Jiyan managed a weak smile, his eyelids heavy with exhaustion. "Thank you, (Y/N)." he murmured, his voice barely audible.

"You're welcome," she replied, still smiling. “Let the medics tend to you. I’ll be off now.”

As she turned to leave, her figure was haloed by the harsh light, making her seem almost ethereal. Jiyan watched her go, the scent of antiseptic and the warmth of her presence lingering even as he drifted into unconsciousness.

Days had passed since the chaotic battle, and Jiyan, who transferred to the hospital in Jinzhou city was gradually recovering. His body, still wrapped in bandages and dressings, bore the marks of the intense skirmish. His broken arm was securely cast, the deep laceration on his hip stitched and bandaged, and the myriad of contusions and abrasions were cleaned and dressed. The medics had done their job well, but amidst their care, Jiyan's mind lingered on one thought: the medic who had saved him.

(Y/N), she had said her name was. She hadn't served directly under him before, always stationed at a distant outpost. The recent upheavals had brought many changes to their forces, including her reassignment to the Northern border of Huanglong. He'd learned through her records that she was exemplary, her combat skills and medical background making her a perfect fit for an on-field medic. Jiyan knew he needed to thank her, not just for her skillful treatment, but for her unwavering determination to save his life.

Her image was etched into his mind: her firm yet gentle hands tending to his wounds, her unwavering resolve, and that fleeting moment when he had tucked a stray strand of her hair behind her ear. Despite the pain and blood loss, he remembered the warmth of her presence

The Tacet Discord outbreak from that fateful day had been contained, though at a grave cost. Several lives had been lost, each one a heavy burden on Jiyan's heart. As he regained his strength, he prepared himself for a somber duty he never neglected: honoring the fallen. With a pouch of Emortia seeds in his hand, Jiyan made his way to Knell Square, the hallowed ground where he planted these seeds to commemorate the soldiers who had perished in battle.

Stepping out into the streets of Jinzhou, Jiyan felt a wave of nostalgia wash over him. The city was alive with activity, but he sought solace in the quieter parts. His path took him away from the bustling marketplace, past the familiar landmarks of the city, and towards Knell Square.

As Jiyan approached the square, the familiar sight of Emortia flowers greeted him, their delicate petals swaying gently in the breeze. He paused for a moment, taking in the serenity of the scene, his heart heavy with the names and faces of the comrades he had lost. But then, his gaze caught sight of a solitary figure standing by the flower bed, lost in thought.

(Y/N) stood there, her posture relaxed yet somehow somber. She seemed absorbed in the sight of the flowers; her eyes distant as if she were communing with the spirits of those who had passed. The soft light of the late afternoon cast a gentle glow on her, highlighting the subtle strength and grace that had left such an impression on him.

Jiyan's heart skipped a beat as he watched her. He hadn't expected to run into her here, and the sight of her brought back a flood of memories from the battlefield. He wondered what she was thinking about, what memories or emotions had drawn her to this quiet place. He took a moment to observe her, the way her eyes seemed to soften as she looked at the flowers, the way her hands gently brushed against the petals. He cleared his throat, stepping beside her. "I didn’t expect to run into you in Jinzhou."

(Y/N) turned to him, a gentle smile forming on her lips. "General Jiyan," she greeted, her voice soft. “I see that you are recovering quickly.” She turned back to the flowers. “I was here to collect some personal supplies and stopped by to admire these flowers. They are quite beautiful, aren’t they?”

Jiyan nodded, stepping closer to stand beside her. "They do. Each one represents a life, a sacrifice. It's a way for me to remember and honor them. I plant these seeds for the rangers who lost their lives." he said quietly.

She looked back at the flowers; her expression thoughtful. "These flowers... they carry so many memories…”

There was a moment of silence between them, the weight of their shared losses hanging in the air. Jiyan took a deep breath, summoning the words he had been wanting to say. "Thank you," he began, his voice earnest. "For saving me that day. I owe you, (Y/N)."

(Y/N) waved a hand dismissively, but there was a twinkle in her eye. "I was just doing my duty, General. But next time, let me do my job without fighting back.” There was a hint of frustration in her eyes. “You of all people should know that without a general, the army would have fallen into disarray."

Jiyan felt a pang of sheepishness at her words, but he nodded in acknowledgment. "You're right," he admitted. "I was stubborn. But so were you. Your quick thinking and actions saved me. Your efforts will be formally acknowledged."

A soft chuckle escaped her lips as she shook her head. "No need for formalities, General. Knowing that you're alive and well is enough for me. I don't want praise," (Y/N) said, her voice firm yet soft. "I didn't do it for the recognition. I did it because it's my duty, and I want to be more efficient in that duty. I could have saved more lives that day if I was better."

Jiyan nodded slowly. "I do. It's a heavy burden, knowing lives depend on your actions. But that's also what makes it so important."

(Y/N)'s eyes widened slightly, a spark of recognition flashing in them. "That's right. You were a medic before you became a general. I'd almost forgotten about that."

Jiyan smiled faintly. "It's not something I talk about often, but it's a part of who I am."

She gave him an incredulous look, almost looking offended. “You, of all people, should know better than to resist treatment on the battlefield! Next time, I'll tie you up if I have to."

A chuckle escaped Jiyan before he could stop it, and (Y/N)'s eyes widened in surprise. "Something the matter?" he asked, bemused.

She shook her head, a look of astonishment on her face. "I don't think I've ever heard you chuckle before," she said, her voice filled with wonder. "It suits you more than your usual frown and scowl."

Jiyan was momentarily stunned by her words. He wasn't used to such candid observations about his demeanor. "I suppose I should thank you for that," he said, a hint of a smile tugging at his lips.

(Y/N) returned his smile, her gaze focused on the sky for a moment, "I'll leave you to your moment with the flowers, General," she said, stepping back to give him space.

As she began to walk away, Jiyan found himself not wanting her to leave just yet. "Wait," he called after her, his voice catching slightly. "Would you... would you help me plant these seeds?"

(Y/N) turned back, her smile widening as she walked back to him. "Of course, General. I'd be honored."

They knelt together by the flower bed, the pouch of Emortia seeds in Jiyan's hand. He handed a few seeds to (Y/N), their fingers brushing lightly. Together, they dug small holes in the soil, carefully placing the seeds within.

"Each seed represents a life," Jiyan said quietly, his voice filled with reverence. "A sacrifice that must never be forgotten."

(Y/N) nodded, her eyes reflecting the same solemn respect. "And each flower that blooms is a reminder of their bravery and our duty to honor them."

They worked in silence for a while, the act of planting the seeds almost meditative. The gentle rustling of the flowers and the distant sounds of the city created a peaceful backdrop to their task.

As they finished planting the last of the seeds, Jiyan looked at (Y/N), admiration evident in his eyes. "Thank you," he said, his voice sincere. "For everything."

(Y/N) smiled, her lively spirit shining through once more. "You're welcome, General. And thank you for your service. We all rely on your strength and leadership."

With the seeds planted, they stood together, taking a moment to appreciate the serene beauty of Knell Square. The Emortia flowers swayed gently in the breeze, their delicate petals a symbol of hope and remembrance.

"I should be going," (Y/N) said softly. "But if you ever need someone to tie you down for treatment again, you know where to find me, General."

Jiyan chuckled, a genuine smile breaking across his face. "I'll keep that in mind," he replied. “And please, call me Jiyan.”

“Jiyan…” She repeated, nodding at him. “Alright then, I’ll do just that.”

As (Y/N) repeated his name, a warm feeling spread through his chest. He didn't want her to leave just yet. There was something about her presence that he found comforting, something that made him want to know more about her.

He recalled Mortefi's words, a dear friend who often chided him for being too stoic and reserved. "You need to put yourself out there, Jiyan. Go on dates, meet new people, relax a little. Stop being a tragic brooding hero all the damn time and go live your life."

Jiyan had never thought he desired companionship. After all, the Jué had entrusted him with a duty, a responsibility that he had always taken seriously. But this woman, (Y/N), had come out of nowhere, stirring feelings within him that he had never felt before. It made him yearn for more and all he wanted was to be the subject of her attention at the moment.

Summoning his courage, Jiyan hesitated for a moment before calling out to her, his voice slightly awkward. "Um, (Y/N), wait!"

She turned back, a curious expression on her face as she regarded him. Jiyan stumbled over his words, his cheeks flushing slightly with embarrassment. At this very moment, he felt as if he would rather fight a horde of the Crownless than speak his mind. "I, uh, I was wondering if... if it would be alright for us to, um, go out for a nice dinner? And maybe catch a lion dance performance after?"

(Y/N) turned back, a slight smile playing on her lips as she observed Jiyan's flustered state. "Are you asking me out on a date, General?" she teased, her eyes twinkling with amusement.

Jiyan hesitated, first blurting out. “N-no…that’s...” He immediately corrected himself. "I... uh... yes, I suppose I am," he admitted, his voice slightly uncertain. "If... if that's not out of line, I mean. I'm sorry, I should probably let you be..."

(Y/N) giggled, the sound light and musical, easing some of Jiyan's anxiety. "It's endearing to see the General so flustered," she said, her tone gentle and kind. “I’d like to see more of this side of yours, Jiyan.” She met his gaze, still amused. “So yes, I'd like to go on this date if you're still up for it."

Relief flooded through Jiyan, mingled with a newfound sense of excitement. He hadn't expected her to say yes, but now that she had, he couldn't help but feel a surge of happiness. “Yes. It... Its settled then.”

(Y/N) nodded, her smile warm and inviting. "Alright then, Jiyan. When and where?"

Jiyan thought for a moment, his mind racing. "There's a lovely restaurant near the theatre. How about we meet there at seven tonight or is that too soon...?"

"Seven sounds perfect," she agreed. "I'll see you then."

As they exchanged contact information on their terminals, Jiyan's heart thudded in his chest, a mixture of nerves and excitement coursing through him. He watched as (Y/N) took off, her graceful form moving with purpose, and he couldn't help but admire her even more. With a final wave and a cheerful reminder to take care, she disappeared into the bustling city streets, leaving Jiyan standing there with a smile playing on his lips.

His gaze lingered on the spot where she had vanished, the memory of her infectious laughter and warm smile etched into his mind. For a moment, he placed his uninjured hand on top of his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart beneath his palm. Yes, even he, General Jiyan, renowned for his stoicism and unwavering dedication to duty, found himself looking forward to tonight and the possibility of many more nights spent in (Y/N)'s company.

WuWa Masterlist

#lina writes #wuthering waves fic #wuthering waves fanfic #wuthering waves #wuthering waves x reader #jiyan #wuwa jiyan #jiyan wuthering waves #jiyan x reader #jiyan wuwa #wuwa #jiyan oneshot #wuwa fanfic #jiyan fanfic

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novaursa · 2 months

Text

Embers or War

- Summary: Aegon steals you and starts the Dance of Dragons.

- Paring: reader!niece/Aegon II Targaryen

- Note: reader is referred to as Y/N Targaryen (carries the name of her mother's House) and has silver hair. Silverwing is reader's dragon.

- Rating: Explicit 18+

- Word count: 2 552

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff

The candles in your chamber flicker, casting shadows that dance against the stone walls. You try to calm your racing heart, but the thought of the impending marriage to Lord Trystan Arryn, a man you barely know, fills you with dread. Your mother, Rhaenyra, had arranged this union to solidify alliances, to strengthen her claim, to ensure the future she envisioned for you and your family. But your heart, it was not in the Vale. Your heart yearned for someone else.

Far across the Red Keep, Aegon II Targaryen paced in his chambers, his footsteps echoing against the cold stone floor. His mind was a tempest, a storm of emotions he could scarcely control. Anger, frustration, and a bitter sense of betrayal warred within him. The words of his mother, Dowager Queen Alicent, still rang in his ears.

"End this war before it begins, Aegon. Marry Y/N. Unite the houses. Rhaenyra's refusal is nothing but selfishness."

Aegon had wanted to heed his mother's advice, to reach out and take what he believed was rightfully his. But Rhaenyra, stubborn and unyielding, had denied him. She had promised you to another, a political pawn in her game of thrones.

He sat heavily in a chair, running a hand through his platinum blonde hair, his violet eyes dark with brooding thoughts. The very idea of you with another man, a man who could never understand you the way he did, filled him with a rage he could barely contain.

"She thinks me unworthy," Aegon muttered to himself, the words dripping with disdain. "She believes her daughter deserves better than me."

He thought back to the times he had seen you, the fleeting moments that had etched themselves into his memory. Your laughter, your grace, the fierce determination in your eyes that mirrored his own. He had wanted you, not just as a means to an end, but because he had seen in you a kindred spirit, someone who understood the weight of the crown and the fire of the dragon.

A knock on the door interrupted his thoughts. Ser Criston Cole stepped inside, his face a mask of concern. "Your Grace, the preparations for the marriage are underway. Is there anything you wish to do?"

Aegon looked up, his eyes hardening. "This marriage is a farce, Criston. My mother is right. We must end this war before it begins, and Y/N is the key."

"But Rhaenyra has refused," Criston reminded him, his voice cautious. "She will not give up her daughter so easily."

"Then I will take what is mine," Aegon said, his voice a low growl. He stood abruptly, moving to the chest at the foot of his bed. He opened it and began to pull out his dragon riding armor, the black and red leather gleaming in the candlelight.

Criston's eyes widened slightly. "Your Grace, what are you doing?"

Aegon did not answer immediately. He fastened the buckles, the familiar weight of the armor grounding him, giving him purpose. "If Rhaenyra will not see reason, then I will make her see it. I will not let her dictate my fate, nor Y/N’s," he said, more to himself than to Criston.

He donned his gauntlets and helmet, each piece falling into place with a resolute finality. He felt the fire of his ancestors burning within him, the fierce determination that had driven the Targaryens to conquer Westeros. He would not be denied.

Criston watched, a mix of apprehension and admiration in his gaze. "You mean to take her by force?"

Aegon looked at him, his eyes blazing. "If that is what it takes. Y/N will not marry the Arryn lord. She will be mine."

As he strode out of his chambers, the clinking of his armor echoing through the halls, Aegon's mind was set. The time for negotiations was over. He would claim you, not just to prevent a war, but because in his heart, he knew you belonged with him. And he would move heaven and earth to make it so.

The Sept of the Eyrie was filled with the soft murmur of voices, the flickering light of candles, and the heavy scent of incense. The banners of House Arryn and House Targaryen hung side by side, a symbol of the alliance being forged. You stood at the altar, clad in a gown of silver and blue, the colors of both your houses woven together in intricate patterns. The weight of the dragon-shaped necklace, a gift from your mother, pressed against your collarbone, a constant reminder of the destiny that had been chosen for you.

Your heart pounded in your chest, each beat echoing the silent cry of Silverwing, who remained restless outside. You could feel her unease, her discontent mirroring your own. You glanced around the Sept, your eyes meeting those of your family. Your mother, Rhaenyra, stood tall and regal, her expression unreadable. Your brothers, Jace and Luke, watched with a mix of pride and apprehension. Daemon, your stepfather, stood with his twin daughters, Baela and Rhaena, their faces reflecting the solemnity of the occasion.

Lady Jayne Arryn, your soon-to-be mother-in-law, was a commanding presence, her gaze piercing as she surveyed the gathered guests. She had demanded a dragon, and your brother Jace had promised her one, binding you to this fate. You tried to steady your breathing, focusing on the vows you were about to take, the words that would seal your future.

The High Septon began the ceremony, his voice a deep, resonant tone that filled the sacred space. "We are gathered here today to join House Arryn and House Targaryen in holy matrimony, to forge an alliance that will bring strength and unity to our lands."

As he spoke, you felt a hand gently take yours. You turned to see Lord Trystan Arryn, a man older than you by many years, but with kind eyes and a gentle demeanor. He smiled at you, a reassuring gesture that did little to calm the storm within you.

"Do you, Y/N Targaryen, take this man to be your lord husband, to honor and protect, in sickness and in health, for all the days of your life?"

You hesitated, the words catching in your throat. Your mind drifted to Aegon, the man who had occupied your thoughts more than you cared to admit. His fiery spirit, his determination, his undeniable connection to you through the bond of your shared blood. But those thoughts were a distant dream now, replaced by the reality of your duty.

"I do," you said, your voice barely above a whisper.

"And do you, Lord Trystan Arryn, take this woman to be your lady wife, to honor and protect, in sickness and in health, for all the days of your life?"

"I do," Lord Trystan replied, his voice steady and sure.

The High Septon smiled, raising his hands in blessing. "By the power vested in me, I now pronounce you man and wife. May the Seven bless your union and grant you many years of happiness."

As he spoke, the doors of the Sept burst open, and a rush of cold air swept through the chamber. The sudden intrusion caused a murmur of surprise among the guests. You turned, your heart leaping into your throat as you saw what had caused the disturbance.

Silverwing, your dragon, roared outside, her cry a mixture of anger and fear. The ground beneath you trembled, and the candles flickered wildly. A shadow passed over the Sept, darkening the space as something massive descended from the sky.

The ceiling above you began to crack and crumble, the stones shifting under the weight of an enormous presence. Screams echoed around you as guests scrambled to escape the falling debris. You looked up, your eyes widening in horror as a dragon, larger and fiercer, landed atop the Sept.

The roof gave way, and chunks of stone plummeted to the ground. You were pulled back by your brother Jace, his grip tight on your arm as he shielded you from the falling rubble. Your mother and Daemon moved swiftly, their swords drawn as they tried to maintain order amidst the chaos.

"Y/N, we need to get out of here!" Jace shouted, his voice barely audible over the roar of the dragon.

You nodded, your mind racing. This was no mere accident. This was an attack, a declaration of war. And you knew, deep in your heart, who was behind it.

As the ceiling continued to collapse, you caught a glimpse of the dragon's rider, clad in black and red armor. Aegon. His presence here, his audacity, sent a surge of conflicting emotions through you—fear, anger, and a twisted sense of relief.

The Sept of the Eyrie was no longer a place of holy matrimony. It had become a battlefield, and as the dust and debris settled around you, one thing was clear: the war had begun.

The sky was filled with chaos as Sunfyre roared, his golden scales glinting in the dim light. Aegon gripped the reins tightly, his eyes fixed on the Sept below. He spotted you amidst the wreckage and confusion, your silver hair standing out like a beacon. With a swift command, Sunfyre descended, landing with a thunderous crash on what remained of the roof.

Inside, the screams of guests and the cries of your family mingled with the deafening roar of the dragon. You stood frozen, your heart racing as you watched Aegon dismount and stride towards you, his expression a mixture of determination and desperation.

"Y/N!" he called out, his voice cutting through the chaos.

Jace, realizing Aegon's intent, moved to shield you. "Stay away from her, Aegon!" he shouted, drawing his sword.

Aegon’s eyes burned with an intensity that sent a shiver down your spine. "She comes with me, Jacaerys. This marriage will not happen."

Before Jace could react, Aegon was upon him, disarming him with a swift motion. He grabbed your arm, pulling you close. "Trust me, Y/N," he whispered urgently. "This is the only way."

You looked into his eyes, the conflict within you mirrored in his gaze. Before you could respond, he lifted you onto Sunfyre's back and mounted behind you. With a mighty flap of his wings, Sunfyre took to the sky, the wind whipping around you as the ground fell away beneath you.

Below, Daemon raced to Caraxes, his face a mask of fury. He leaped onto his dragon and gave chase, the blood-red beast slicing through the sky with terrifying speed. But as he drew closer, the realization dawned upon him—if he attacked, he risked your life as well. With a roar of frustration, he reined in Caraxes, watching helplessly as Sunfyre carried you away.

You clung to Aegon, your heart pounding with fear and adrenaline. The landscape blurred beneath you as Sunfyre soared towards King’s Landing, Silverwing trailing close behind. The flight was a whirlwind of emotions—anger at Aegon for his recklessness, fear for what awaited you, and an inexplicable thrill at being with him.

As Sunfyre landed in the courtyard of the Red Keep, you were immediately surrounded by guards and courtiers, their expressions a mix of shock and confusion. Aegon dismounted, helping you down with surprising gentleness.

Otto Hightower stormed towards you, his face livid. "What have you done, Aegon? This act will ignite the war we sought to avoid!"

Aegon faced his grandfather with steely resolve. "The war was inevitable, Otto. This was the only way to secure our position."

Without another word, he led you through the labyrinthine hallways of the Red Keep, his grip on your arm firm but not painful. The walls seemed to close in around you as he guided you to his chambers, his silence heavy with unspoken words.

Inside his chambers, Aegon turned to face you, his eyes softening. "I had no other choice, Y/N. I couldn’t let you be taken from me."

You stared at him, your emotions a tumultuous storm. "You’ve started a war, Aegon. Do you understand that? My mother, my brothers—what will become of them?"

He stepped closer, his hands gently cupping your face. "I know the risks, but I couldn't bear to lose you. We will find a way through this, just us."

His words, filled with a desperate sincerity, made your resolve waver. You felt the warmth of his touch, the intensity of his gaze, and despite everything, you couldn’t deny the bond between you.

Slowly, Aegon began to undress you, his fingers deft and sure. The cool air brushed against your skin, sending shivers down your spine. He shed his own armor and clothing, revealing the strength and vulnerability beneath. The world outside faded away, leaving only the two of you in the intimate glow of the chamber as he moved you to his bed.

Aegon’s eyes were locked onto yours, his gaze filled with a mixture of longing, determination, and something deeper, something that made your heart race.

He leaned in, capturing your lips in a tender kiss, his touch both reassuring and possessive. His fingers trailed down your arms, igniting a trail of warmth that spread through your entire body. He pulled back slightly, his breath mingling with yours. “Are you ready, Y/N?” he whispered, his voice husky with emotion.

You nodded, your voice catching in your throat. “Yes, Aegon. I’m ready.”

With a gentle touch, Aegon positioned himself above you, his movements careful and deliberate. He entered you slowly, his eyes never leaving yours, searching for any sign of discomfort. The initial sensation was intense, a mix of pleasure and a hint of pain, but his tenderness reassured you.

He began with a slow, rhythmic pace, each movement deepening the connection between you. “Is this alright?” he asked softly, his voice filled with concern and desire.

“It’s perfect,” you replied, your hands finding their way to his shoulders, gripping them for support.

Encouraged by your response, Aegon quickened his pace, his thrusts becoming more insistent, more urgent. Each movement was filled with a mixture of tenderness and possessiveness, as if he was trying to convey everything he felt in that moment. The world outside the chamber faded away, leaving only the two of you, wrapped in the intensity of your shared desire.

“Aegon,” you whispered, your voice trembling with the intensity of the sensations coursing through you. The sound of his name on your lips seemed to drive him further, his movements becoming more deliberate, more determined.

“You’re mine, Y/N,” he murmured, his lips brushing against your ear.

The passion between you built to a crescendo, your bodies moving in perfect harmony. The sensations were overwhelming, a blend of raw need and deep affection. You felt as if you were standing on the edge of a precipice, ready to plunge into the depths of your shared desire.

As the intensity peaked, Aegon held you close, his breathing ragged. He pressed a gentle kiss to your forehead, his fingers tracing soothing patterns on your skin. “Nobody will take you away from me,” he promised, his voice a vow.

As his lips met yours once more, the Dance of Dragons began, a storm of fire and blood that would shape the future of Westeros. In that moment, amidst the chaos and impending war, there was only you and Aegon, bound by fate and a love that defied the world.

#house of the dragon #dragons #daemon targaryen #alicent hightower #otto hightower #rhaenyra targaryen #jacaerys velaryon #lucaerys velaryon #aegon ii x y/n #aegon ii x you #aegon ii x reader #aegon ii targaryen #aegon targaryen x reader #hotd aegon #house targaryen #house arryn #silverwing #sunfyre #caraxes

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dark-dawn · 3 months

Text

you peel a pomegranate and watch as it bleeds, its juices staining your fingertips as you rip apart its flesh and devour the seeds within. you wonder if this is how the gods feel when they consume you, too. or, satoru gojo is born as the son of zeus. his fate does not change.

✭ pairing: demigod!gojo x mortal!reader

✭ contains: fem!reader, mutual pining, obsessive!gojo, religious imagery, greek mythology, slight manga spoilers, it's about him being used as a weapon, it's about him rediscovering his humanity, hurt/comfort, mortals can’t usually see him, but then he meets you, it drives him a little insane, mild sexual content, everyone is doomed by the narrative, slight angst, daddy issues!gojo, son of dionysus!geto.

✭ word count: 10k (utter agony) ✭ a/n: chapter 261 destroyed me, so i decided to write this as a coping mechanism :')

The first night you meet Satoru, the rain is relentless — a heavy downpour saturating the world in a thick curtain of silver. You stand alone on an empty street corner, the flickering glow of streetlights casting long, shifting shadows across the slick pavement. Water streams down your skin, soaking through your clothes and dripping from the ends of your hair.

Then, in a blink, a man appears on the opposite side of the street.

You notice how his lips curl into a sly, knowing grin, as if he’s been expecting you — as if he’s been waiting for this exact moment. You feel an unsettling sensation gnawing at the edges of your consciousness. You can’t shake the feeling there’s something slithering beneath the surface of his skin, raw and untamed, waiting to break free from its constraints.

The rain does not touch him, and the air crackles with an energy that makes the hair on the back of your neck stand on end. It feels a little like you’ve stumbled upon a creature masquerading as a man — familiar yet foreign, like opening your bedroom door only to find a wolf staring back you.

A flash of lightning illuminates the sky, followed by a loud crack of thunder. The storm intensifies, and you see it — electricity surging through him, piercing deep into his flesh. He stands with his arms outstretched like a crucifixion, his body twisting in agonised ecstasy as tendrils of light entwine around him. The heavens roar, a judgment passed, and his form is illuminated with a halo of searing, holy light. It’s blinding, and then gone in a heartbeat. As if you imagined it.

He tilts his head ever so slightly, assessing you, weighing your worth. It’s not quite human.

You wonder how swiftly you might be devoured, a rabbit caught between his teeth, the taste of your own vulnerability lingering on his tongue.

“You’re different,” he finally speaks, his voice cutting through the roar of the tempest. “I can see it in your eyes. You’re not like the others.”

You swallow hard, the weight of his gaze pressing down on you like a physical force — prey caught in a trap. “What do you mean?”

He takes a step closer, his movements fluid and graceful despite the violence of the storm. “Most mortals are blind to the truth,” he replies. “But you see me.”

“I don’t understand,” you breathe, heart pounding in your chest.

You notice that his eyes are a preternatural shade of electric blue, lightning trapped within the confines of human form.

“You will,” he promises. He says it with such certainty, as if it were an undeniable truth of the universe.

Perhaps it is. Perhaps he truly possesses that kind of power.

“What are you?” Your voice is barely audible over the cacophony of rain and wind.

His laughter echoes in the darkness, mingling with the rumble of thunder. “I am many things.” His smile widens, a gleam of amusement flashing in his eyes. “A messenger, perhaps.”

Before you can reply, another bolt of lightning splits the sky, illuminating his form in stark relief against the darkness. In that brief moment of clarity, you catch a glimpse of something beyond comprehension — something primal and ancient, older than time itself, gazing back at you with a smile.

---

Satoru is his father’s favourite child, and so the gods watch him every day.

He eats when they command. He sleeps when they command. When they ask for his devotion, his rage, his life, he cannot deny them. Their whispers infest his mind — always judging, decreeing, demanding — and he cannot silence them. He has been neatly erased and sculpted anew, again and again. The pain has long since faded.

He wants and wants and craves and needs and wants. They do not hear him. He fears he is forgetting his own name. His knees are raw and bruised and bleeding. How long must he pray? How long will he repent? He feels the blood under his skin and his heart throbbing in his chest, and he wants to claw it out and swallow it whole.

And then Satoru meets you. His longing grows teeth, and he wants to sink them into the marrow of your bones, to consume until there is nothing left but the echo of his name on your lips.

You can see him. He doesn’t remember the last time someone has.

And so, he follows you.

He observes your every move, drinking in the sight of you as if trying to decipher a puzzle that has long confounded him. Other mortals pass by without a second glance, their minds clouded by the mundane concerns of their mundane lives.

He’s currently trailing behind you in a grocery store. He doesn’t think he’s ever been in one before.

The fluorescent lights hum overhead, casting a sterile glow over rows of neatly stacked shelves. It’s been years since he’s tasted mortal food, years since he’s felt the sensation of hunger gnawing at his insides. He can almost remember what it was like — the taste of ripe fruit on his tongue, the feeling of warmth spreading through his body with each bite.

His childhood memories are but fragments now, faded and softened like aged parchment, but he thinks of his mother often. She had treated him with kindness — fed and comforted him. He remembers the way she whispered stories of heroes and villains, of spirits and curses. It is perhaps the only vestige of humanity that remains within him. But then she had died, and left him with his father.

The gods are cruel and fickle. This is the oldest story he knows. Maybe it’s the only story that matters.

But now, he has better things to occupy himself with.

“Hello, little mortal.”

You’re startled by the unexpected voice. “You...” you begin, mouth agape like a fish. “I remember you. From the storm.”

“It seems fate has brought us together once again,” he says, smiling in a way that shows too many teeth.

“…In a grocery store?”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” he replies, his tone mocking and sharp. “Perhaps a dark alley is more to your taste? Maybe an abandoned warehouse?”

Other customers pass by without so much as a glance in his direction, their eyes sliding right over him as if he were nothing more than a ghost.

“Why are you here? Are you following me?”

“You’re asking the wrong questions, sweetheart.”

Then —

“Who are you?”

“There,” he grins. “Much better.”

He leans in closer, his presence electrifying the air around you. “I am the son of thunder and lightning,” he says, his voice low and resonant. “You are the first in centuries to see me for what I truly am. And for that, you have my interest and my gratitude.”

“I — you’re welcome?” you reply, your confusion palpable, and he finds himself quite enjoying the sight of you flustered and disorientated. “But what’s going on? Why am I the only one who can see you?”

“Maybe you’re blessed by the gods,” he muses. “Or maybe you’re just very lucky. Both, perhaps.”

“Lucky? This is crazy.” Your voice falters like a dancer stumbling mid-performance. “You’re crazy.”

He smiles. “Overwhelming, isn’t it? But don’t worry, you’re not losing your mind. Everything you see and hear is quite real.”

Satoru often wishes things were not real — that he had been born a simple soldier, just another grunt faithfully serving his leader, destined to fight and die in some random, meaningless battle. He would be lost to history, lost to the gods, and no one would remember his name or who his father was. Sometimes, he even thinks that might be preferable to this world, but he doesn’t want to scare you off that badly.

You exhale slowly, steadying yourself. “Okay, okay. So, what happens now? What do you want from me?”

“Nothing more than your company,” he replies. Satoru had always been a selfish child, unwilling to part with his toys, reluctant to share. This would be no exception. “You can expect to see me again soon. Don’t miss me too much, sweetheart.”

He watches you for a moment longer, a smile playing at the corners of his lips. And then, just as suddenly as he appeared, he fades into the shadows once more, leaving you standing alone in the store. As if you had imagined it.

It isn’t until later, when he’s alone with his thoughts and the gods’ whispers, that he realises something peculiar: the voices in his head fall silent in your presence.

He’s uncertain of its implications, yet strangely pleased by the trouble it promises. He’s always had a talent for pissing off his father.

---

The steady beat of the rain against the windows is soothing as you step into the shower. Steam envelops the room, clouding the mirrors and curling into a comforting haze around you. It had been a while since you were able to relax like this — thoughts of gods and monsters plaguing your mind with unsettling frequency. You were familiar with Greek mythology, of course, but it was one thing to enjoy studying history, another thing to relive it.

You had tried to convince yourself that it had never happened, that you just had an overactive imagination fuelled by reading too many fantasy books as a child. No, you weren’t being followed by a demigod; this was just a prelude to a wild, miraculous adventure. Maybe you’d slay a dragon, marry a handsome elven prince. This story wouldn’t be a Greek myth — you wouldn’t be swallowed by the sea, molten wings dripping down your spine; you wouldn’t walk into hell, never to return.

You’re halfway through rinsing the shampoo from your hair when you hear a strange rustling sound from outside the bathroom. You pause, water streaming down your face, listening intently. The noise is faint but persistent, coming from the direction of the kitchen. Your pulse quickens, mouth dry. It seems unlikely someone is trying to rob you; your apartment holds nothing of real value, nothing worth stealing. Perhaps a wild animal has found its way inside, seeking shelter from the storm.

You turn off the shower, wrapping a towel around yourself as you cautiously step out of the bathroom. The sound grows louder as you approach the kitchen. Your mind races through the possibilities, each one more improbable than the last.

Peeking around the corner, you brace yourself for whatever you might find.

Instead, you find the Son of Zeus rummaging through your cabinets. He looks up at you, unfazed by your dripping state, and grins widely.

You suppose you were right about the wild animal creeping in.

“You should really keep more snacks,” he says, holding up an empty bag of chips accusingly.

“Oh my god, I thought I was going to die.” You’re uncertain if you still might.

“Gods,” he corrects, and you’re really struggling to reconcile the image of him in the storm with the person now, complaining about your food options and grammar.

“You can’t just appear out of nowhere and start raiding my kitchen,” you hiss, wrapping the towel tighter around yourself.

“But it’s raining. You should’ve known I’d drop by.” he says, frowning, as if this were the most reasonable explanation in the world and not completely insane.

“Next time, send a text, a messenger pigeon, literally anything else. I think I’m going to have a heart attack.”

He shrugs, unperturbed. “Consider it a lesson in being prepared. You never know when a god might appear.”

“I could have been naked!” you retort, your voice rising in frustration. This is perhaps the least of your worries, but common sense and self-preservation has apparently abandoned you.

“Don’t shout at me about that! Besides, you’re in a towel, so crisis averted!” He seems disappointed by this fact. You want to throw something at him.

“I am not shouting!” you say, shouting. “I am communicating my annoyance.”

“With what? Your lungs?”

You cross your arms tightly over your chest, a stubborn set to your jaw as you turn mulishly silent. You can’t believe you’re being stalked by a demigod.

He heaves a deep sigh, leaning against your kitchen counter. “Fine, I’m sorry. I had not meant to upset or startle you.”

“Please stop following me.”

He ignores you completely, instead pulling out a can of soup and examining it with a bemused expression. “Seriously, how do you live like this? No ambrosia, no nectar. Not even a decent piece of fruit.”

“Get out of my apartment, I swear to god.”

“Gods,” he grins, before disappearing once more.

--- You realise you must have terrible luck when he begins to follow you around more persistently after the shower incident, no longer bothering to even hide his presence. It’s a little odd to have a demigod trailing behind you like a stray dog, but any initial wariness melts away when you catch him eating your cereal. He develops an immediate liking for Rice Krispies, insisting you keep the cupboards stocked with them. It feels as if you’re catering to a spoiled prince, but you suspect even that would be easier to handle.

But the sight of him — this divine, impossible entity — utterly engrossed in his breakfast is strangely endearing.

You still wish he wasn’t eating your cereal, though, and he never cleans his mugs after using them, and —

“You’ve never asked for my name, you know,” he says, interrupting your thoughts.

“Believe it or not, there’s a reason for that,” you reply, eyeing him cautiously. “Namely, you were never invited into my apartment in the first place.”

“You’re always so mean,” he sighs dramatically, “but I suppose I can forgive you this once. It’s Satoru.”

“I would say it’s nice to meet you, but I think I’d be lying.”

“No, you wouldn’t. Everyone likes me.”

“Are you sure? How many people do you talk to? Humans, I mean, not gods.”

He pauses, considering. “Then the gods like me.”

“Is that a good thing?”

He shrugs, his expression pensive. “I’m not sure.”

It occurred to you that you should be frightened of him. You are not.

You suspect he might just be lonely.

(And you, well, you’ve always had a soft spot for strays.)

---

His random appearances in your apartment were becoming a daily occurrence now. One moment you’d be brewing coffee, and the next, he’d be sitting at your kitchen table like he was the one paying rent. He would ask questions incessantly, about the most mundane things — the colour of your curtains, the taste of cake, the texture of your favourite sweater. It made you wonder if you were hallucinating, if perhaps the stress of daily life had finally taken its toll on your sanity. But the more you interacted with him, the more you realised that he was undeniably — and annoyingly — real. You couldn’t possibly invent a creature like him.

In response, you had started asking him questions back. If he was going to be spending an uncomfortable amount of time with you, he owed you this. Plus, it seemed like he enjoyed the sound of his own voice — perhaps you could tire him out and he’d go find another mortal to pester.

The likelihood of that happening seemed slim at best, but one could pray.

“What are the gods like?” you ask, biting into a croissant he bought from a little bakery down the street. You’re not exactly sure where he got the money, but you’re not going to argue with free food.

“Describing the gods to a mortal is like trying to paint a picture without a canvas.” He furrows his brow, searching for the right words. “They’re vast, incomprehensible beings, each embodying different aspects of existence. Some are benevolent, while others are more…capricious.”

“And you’re similar to them?”

“In some ways, perhaps. But I’m also different,” he begins, “I’m not bound by the same rules and regulations that govern the gods. I have a bit more... freedom, you could say. I’m not beholden to any particular domain or duty.”

You nod, definitely not admiring the way the sunlight catches in his hair as he speaks. “What about your powers? Are they granted by your father?”

The idea that his father is a god is still strange, lingering in your thoughts like a puzzle piece that doesn’t quite fit into the picture of the world you thought you knew.

“Yes, in a way. Zeus’s blood flows through my veins, so I can control the elements. I have the power to summon storms, manipulate lightning, bend the fabric of reality to my will.” He smiles, and it reminds you of a cat, smug and self-assured. “I’m powerful, you know.”

You roll your eyes at him. “You’re so cocky.”

“You would be too if you were me,” he grins.

But then you notice a shadow pass over his features. “Don’t mistake it for pride, though,” he continues, his expression tightening into a scowl. “I may not be bound by their rules, but I’m still expected to worship them, perhaps more than the average mortal.”

You furrow your brow. “But you’re the son of Zeus, why are you still expected to worship them?”

His laughter echoes through the room. “Because that’s the way it’s always been. You know the myths — they give you attention when it suits them, but they can just as easily cast you aside when they grow bored.”

“You’re caught between two worlds, then — not quite mortal, yet not fully divine,” you reply, frowning. “It sounds painful.”

“You seem worried about me,” he grins.

You can tell he’s trying to deflect, and you let him.

You briefly wonder what would happen if he carved out every unwanted emotion until only his soul remained. Would he shatter that, too? Break it down into more manageable pieces?

Had he tried to purge them, surgically extract sorrow, fear, anger, believing that what remained would be purer, stronger?

“I’m not worried about you,” you retort, crossing your arms defensively.

“Of course not,” he replies, teasing. “But don’t worry, I can handle myself.”

“On your own?”

His falters for a moment. “On my own,” he repeats.

Before you can press further, he seems to shut down, his expression becoming unreadable, like a mask slipping into place.

And then, without another word, he disappears.

You’re left standing there, alone, as if you had imagined it.

---

The next time you see him, Satoru is standing outside the door of your apartment. It’s a rare sight — he hardly ever bothers with such formalities as knocking. Usually, he strolls around your place without a care in the world, as if the boundaries of your home were mere suggestions rather than solid walls.

You notice the tension in his stance, the way he seems almost hesitant to cross the threshold. But it’s only when you see the blood that your unease turns to alarm. Flecks of red dot his hair, his hands, staining the fabric of his clothing, none of it his own — there’s not a scratch on him.

You hesitate, unsure whether to approach or flee, to lock the door and pretend you never saw him. But there’s a look in his eyes that stops you from walking away.

“What happened?” you ask cautiously.

“It’s nothing.”

“You’re dripping in blood, and that’s nothing?”

He exhales heavily, and he suddenly reminds you of Atlas, the weight of the world resting upon his shoulders. “Trouble,” he replies cryptically, his shoulders sagging. “More than I bargained for.”

You step closer, reaching out your hand to touch him, but he flinches away, as if the contact is too much to bear.

“Can I help?” you offer tentatively, the words slipping from your lips before you can fully comprehend their weight.

“I don’t know,” he admits, his voice tinged with uncertainty.

“Why don’t you come inside?”

He nods, conceding defeat. “Alright,” he murmurs. “Alright.”

Together, you guide him to the nearest chair, his body slumping heavily as if drained of all strength.

You step into the kitchen, your footsteps soft against the cool tile floor. Opening the cupboard, you retrieve a clean towel and a small bowl, filling it with lukewarm water from the sink.

As you return to the living room, you offer him a small smile, much like coaxing a stray cat, as you place the bowl and towel within reach. “Close your eyes,” you instruct gently.

He complies without hesitation, tilting his head back to grant you better access. Dipping a corner of the towel into the water, you carefully press it against his scalp, the fabric absorbing the blood with each gentle pat. Root to tip, you work your way through his hair, your touch light as you cleanse away the stains. As you work, you can feel the tension slowly seeping out of his body, his muscles relaxing beneath your touch.

After a few moments of silence, Satoru speaks, his voice barely a whisper. “Thank you.”

You pause, glancing at him. “Are you okay?”

“What?”

“I’m asking if you’re okay.”

He sits up, his expression guarded, as if he’s shielding himself from further vulnerability.

“That doesn’t matter right now,” he replies. “My feelings are irrelevant to the gods.”

You can sense the bitterness in his tone, the weight of centuries of servitude pressing down upon.

“That’s ridiculous,” you counter, your voice firm. “You’re a person, with your own thoughts and needs and wants. That matters more than anything.”

“You don’t understand. Being okay, feeling okay — it’s not something I can afford to indulge in.” He hesitates, his expression unreadable. “You shouldn’t concern yourself with such trivial matters. I am what I am, and nothing will change that.”

“You deserve more than that,” you reply firmly. You won’t let him deflect again.

The words hang in the air, and for a moment, his expression shifts from stoic resolve to something resembling surprise. It’s as if the concept of deserving more — of having a life beyond duty and sacrifice — is a foreign idea, one he has never entertained. He blinks, his eyes widening slightly, and you realise that no one has ever told him this before. The idea that he could desire something beyond his obligations seems to catch him off guard.

“Do I?” he asks cautiously, as if afraid of the answer.

“Yes, you do. You’re not a machine. You’re a person. You’re more than what the gods expect of you.”

He looks away, his gaze distant as he processes your words. “It’s hard to believe that after everything I’ve done,” he admits quietly. “I’ve spent so long being what they wanted me to be. I don’t know how to be anything else.”

He takes a deep breath. “No one has seen me in years, not really. I’ve forgotten how long it’s been. The only ones who notice me are the gods and cursed spirits. My friends are long gone. Some are in the Elysian Fields, others in the Underworld, forever lost to me.”

He pauses. “I’ve watched centuries pass, mortals live and die, while I remain. Your kindness is something I haven’t felt in a long time.”

For a moment, he looks at you, his eyes filled with a mixture of gratitude and uncertainty.

Then, with a voice barely above a whisper, he confesses, “I often feel like I am no more than a ghost.”

Oh, you realise, he has no one else.

He’s all alone.

“I see no ghost.” You grasp his wrist gently, feeling his pulse, the warmth in his hands. “Only a man, flesh and blood, right here with me.”

A corner of his mouth twitches, as if trying to restrain a smile. You wonder what would happen if he let go of all his control.

But then he clenches his jaw, steeling himself again before speaking. “I owe you an explanation for showing up here like this.” He looks away from you, his eyes fixed on some distant point. “The blood is from cursed spirits. The gods ordered me to kill them. Hundreds of them, for days on end. Over and over again.”

As he speaks, you can see the weight of his burden etched in the tension of his muscles, in the tautness of his posture. “The spirits were twisted, corrupted beyond redemption. They brought only chaos and suffering to those around them.”

“But why you? Why not another demigod?”

“Because I’m the strongest. And if I refused, the consequences would have been dire.” He shakes his head, a bitter laugh escaping his lips. “This is not new to me; I have been doing this for hundreds of years.”

“The gods... they speak to me constantly, relentless in their demands. There’s no respite, no break from their commands.” His voice softens slightly as he looks at you. “But with you, they’re silent. I’m not sure why. Only that I’m sorry you’ve been dragged into this.”

You blink, and then without thinking — instinctively, inevitably — your arms move towards him, pulling him into a hug. At first, he stiffens, as if unaccustomed to touch or kindness after years of solitude. But gradually, almost imperceptibly, he relaxes, leaning into your warmth.

“I’m sorry,” you breathe into the side of his neck.

“What for?” he asks, his voice tinged with bewilderment, as if he can’t quite comprehend your empathy.

“For everything you’ve had to endure. For the weight you carry, for the constant demands placed upon you. For helping people for centuries, without anyone to thank you.”

“I never expected...” he begins, his voice trailing off as he struggles to find the right words. “I never expected this.”

“Thank you,” you say, “for everything.”

His arms tighten around you, and it’s a small victory, a crack in the armour he wears so tightly.

As you pull back from the hug, there’s a brief moment of hesitation, a reluctance to let go. But you step back, allowing him some space.

“So,” you continue, “how about some pizza? I know a great place nearby.”

Terrible junk food always cheered you up — perhaps it would work on demigods, too.

His brow furrows in confusion. “What’s that?”

“Oh, I have so many things to show you.”

Has he ever had ice-cream? Greasy chicken nuggets? You realise with startling clarity that you want to introduce him to everything he’s missed, to show him the world, if you can.

You’ll psychoanalyse yourself later.

“I feel like a stray cat that’s just been adopted.”

“You are,” you grin.

---

That night, you dream.

Darkness envelops you, a suffocating shroud that clings to your skin. You find yourself standing in a desolate landscape, the ground beneath your feet cold and lifeless, covered in a fine layer of ash. The sky above is a vast expanse of swirling shadows, devoid of stars and moonlight. You are utterly alone.

And then, from the shadows, a figure emerges.

“You have trespassed into a realm not meant for mortal eyes,” his voice rasps, as though unused for years.

The figure steps closer, his form shifting and flickering like a flame in the wind. Long black hair frames a face that seems too perfect, too flawless to belong to any world. He reminds you of Satoru, but colder, more distant.

“You are in the Underworld,” he continues. “A place where the boundaries between life and death blur, where mortals are not meant to linger.”

“Why?” you manage to ask, but the words feeling thick and foreign on your tongue.

The weight of the atmosphere presses down on you, making your limbs feel heavy as if you’re wading through sticky, dense molasses.

“Because of the Son of Zeus. Mortals are fragile, easily ensnared by the allure of gods.”

“I don’t understand.” You wish he would speak clearly, cut through the riddles and half-truths.

“Satoru is bound by duty and legacy. His path is one of sacrifice and solitude. To draw close to him is to court danger.”

“But he needs help. He’s suffering.”

“Suffering is his burden to bear. Mortals and gods do not walk the same path.” He pauses, his gaze distant, like he’s not even looking at you anymore. “Turn back. Forget what you have seen. Forget you ever met him.”

It’s as if you’re underwater, each movement slow and weighted by unseen currents. But you know what you’re saying is important, that it carries weight.

“I can’t do that.”

“You defy the natural order. To involve yourself in the affairs of gods and their chosen is to court calamity.”

“I can’t turn away,” you insist. “He’s all alone.”

Uncertainty churns within you, a tumultuous mix of emotions that you don’t know how to navigate. You’re unsure when these feelings caught up to you, but you can at least recognise the depth of your own attachment. You’re scared of the consequences, but it pales beside the thought of doing nothing — of knowing you could do something, be something, and still choosing to walk away.

So, you take a step closer. “I won’t abandon him.”

The figure’s form shimmers momentarily, as if contemplating your words. “Fine,” he concedes, a fleeting hint of sympathy in his eyes. “But know this, mortals who tread where gods roam seldom emerge unscathed.”

“I understand.”

With a nod, he gestures toward a faint glimmer in the darkness. “Go then, but don’t say I didn’t warn you both.”

You wake suddenly, drenched in sweat, your heart pounding in your chest. For a moment, the darkness of the dream clings to your senses, blurring the edges of reality and casting your world into a cold, disorienting haze. Gradually, the details of your bedroom come into focus — the familiar contours of furniture, the posters on your walls, the soft glow of streetlights filtering through the curtains. You sit up, pulling your knees close to your chest, attempting to steady your breathing.

And then, as if he can sense your discomfort, Satoru is by your side.

“You’re awake,” he says gently, a tenderness in his voice that catches you off guard. It hadn’t occurred to you that he might care about your wellbeing, too,

You nod silently, unable to find words, your hands trembling.

“A nightmare?” he asks, his eyes searching yours.

“Yeah,” you manage to whisper. “Of the Underworld.”

“I’m sorry you had to see that.” he says softly. “Even the gods find it unbearable.”

“How did you know something was wrong?”

“…I’m not sure. It felt like I was missing a limb.” He pauses, contemplating. “It felt like a part of me was torn away, and I couldn’t find it.”

“What’s going on with the two of us?” You feel as if you’re two stars in orbit, drawn together by something neither of you can understand. “Why is this happening?”

“I’m confused too,” he admits, almost apologetically. “But I’m going to do some research, try to understand what’s happening.”

You exhale slowly, thoughts swirling as you try to make sense of it all. “In the dream, I saw someone. They warned me about you, about being close to the gods.”

Satoru’s brow furrows slightly, his expression troubled. “They have reason to caution you,” he replies. “There are dangers you don’t yet understand.”

“But I don’t want to leave you,” you confess. A simple truth, but it still feels disarming to admit. “I want to understand, to help if I can.”

Satoru reaches out, his hand finding yours in the dark.

“You already do,” he murmurs. “But I don’t expect that of you.”

The faint hum of the refrigerator in the kitchen blends with the occasional rumble of passing traffic outside, but otherwise, all you can hear are his slow, steady breaths, calming in the quiet of the night.

“Will you stay?” you ask.

He feels as safe as the earth and as steady as the trees — natural and unwavering, like something that can withstand time itself.

“Of course.” He says it without hesitation, as easy as breathing.

You shift slightly, making room for him on the bed, and he settles beside you, close but not quite touching.

“Thank you,” you whisper.

“Sleep. You’re safe here.”

You allow yourself to relax, reassured by the knowledge that you are not alone. That he isn’t, either.

---

You wake to the scent of something burning. It feels almost symbolic.

Groggy and sluggish, you stumble out of bed and shuffle towards the kitchen, silently praying that your apartment isn’t ablaze — that you aren’t the target of divine retribution from some irate deity. Pushing open the door, you find Satoru standing by the stove, a look of intense concentration on his face as he prods at a pan of charred bacon.

“Satoru?” you call out, half-amused and half-concerned. “What are you doing?”

“I... uh, thought I’d try to make breakfast, but it didn’t exactly go to plan.”

“Well, it looks like you’ve mastered the art of making charcoal,” you reply, moving to his side.

“It’s harder than I thought,” he admits, frowning at the pan.

“The big, scary demigod can’t cook,” you coo, gently nudging him with your elbow.

He stares at the bacon with contempt.

“Cereal?”

“I’ll get the milk.”

You set aside the burnt bacon and clear the stove, grabbing a couple of bowls from the cupboard while Satoru retrieves the Rice Krispies. Together, you sit at the table in comfortable silence, the early morning sunlight filtering through the kitchen window.

“You know, it’s nice to see this side of you.”

“What do you mean?”

“Just that you’re no longer particularly intimidating to me anymore.”

“Don’t tempt me. I could still burn you to a crisp,” he huffs.

“I’ll take my chances.”

“You’re impossible.”

“And you’re not as terrifying as you pretend to be.”

“Please don’t tell anyone.”

“No promises,” you laugh.

A pause, and then —

“Can I show you something?” he asks you, still smiling. “Hold your hand up.”

Curious, you extend your hand toward him, but as your palm nears his, you feel a subtle resistance, an invisible barrier surrounding him. No matter how hard you try, you can’t get close.

“Is this a magic trick or something?”

He laughs, the sound warm and genuine, and you definitely don’t want to admit how much you enjoy hearing it.

“Not exactly. You’re the first to call it that,” he replies. “What you’re feeling is my Limitless technique. It creates an infinite amount of space between me and everything else.”

“So, nothing can ever touch you?” Despite being in the presence of the most powerful, impossible man you’ve ever encountered, your mind can only fixate on the idea of touching him. You should be in awe, or even fear — literally anything else — but apparently, logic and reason evaporate in his presence.

“Only if I want it to,” he answers, his gaze steady on yours.

The air hums with a faint energy as the barrier fades, allowing your palm to finally connect with his. He slides his fingers between yours, his touch surprisingly gentle, almost reverent.

“There,” he murmurs. “Now you can feel it.”

You can’t help but notice how large Satoru’s hands are, his fingers long and strong as they intertwine with yours.

You blink, and a sudden, sinking realisation washes over you.

Your eyes trace the unblemished ivory of his skin, the sharp line of his jaw, the curve of his throat. You can’t help but wonder what it would feel like if his touch roamed further.

Then, as if sensing your thoughts, his thumb grazes the bare skin of your arm. His touch is so delicate as he traces a path down from your elbow to your forearm, it’s almost as if he’s not touching you at all.

You realise with sudden clarity that you want him to touch you. You fear you might not let him stop, that you would allow him anything he asked.

The intensity of your emotions takes you by surprise. You reluctantly pull away, breaking the spell that had woven itself around you.

Now is not the time for this.

You couldn’t shake the feeling you were adrift in a storm-tossed sea, waves crashing around you, threatening to pull you under at any moment. And yet, strangely enough, you felt no fear. Not of him. Perhaps you should be terrified; perhaps there was something fundamentally broken inside of you, something that even the gods couldn’t save. But his presence, despite its intensity, was the eye of the storm, the still point around which everything else swirled. And somehow, that made all the difference.

“You okay?”

“Yeah,” you breathe. “I’m fine.”

(Having a crush on a demigod was very much not fine, but he doesn’t need to know that.)

---

“Are any of the gods happy?”

You’re lying side by side, nestled in a field of tall grass that sways gently in the breeze. The warmth of the day hangs thick in the air, while the branches of nearby trees rustle gently, their leaves casting dappled patterns of sunlight over your intertwined fingers.

It was your idea to get out of the house, to show him something good and pure and timeless. The spot you had chosen is a favourite from your childhood, a place you’d escape to when you were stressed and overwhelmed. The scent of grass and earth brings back memories of those afternoons, when time seemed to stretch lazily and worries felt distant. Here, the biggest decision was whether to sit by the stream or follow a path through the woods.

As you lie there together, the scene feels almost sacred, as if the world has paused just for this moment of quiet between you.

You look at him and see the way the sunlight falls softly on his face, highlighting all the details you’d come to know by heart — the slope of his nose, the curve of his lips, the warmth in his eyes. His features are etched in your memory so deeply now that you could recognise him by touch alone.

In moments like these, it’s easy to forget the boundaries between mortal and divine.

“Happy?” he repeats. “I don’t know if happiness is something they seek,” he muses, more to himself than to you. “They are driven by duty, by ancient laws and responsibilities that are beyond even me.”

The breeze brushes against your skin as you wait for him to finish his thought.

“They experience moments of contentment, perhaps,” he continues. “But true happiness? I’m not sure they even understand what that means.”

“Do you think they envy mortals, then?” you ask.

“Perhaps in fleeting moments. Mortals possess a freedom we cannot fully grasp, but envy implies a desire for something different. I’m not sure they allow themselves such thoughts.”

“Do you?”

“There are times when I wish I had their capacity to experience emotions so deeply and openly — joy and pain, love and loss,” he says, glancing down at your intertwined hands on the grass. “But I also understand my path is different. My duty lies elsewhere, even if it means sacrificing certain desires. I cannot change what I am. I just wish I could offer you more.”

“You’re more than enough,” you reply, gently squeezing his hand.

He hesitates for a moment, then nods slightly. “Thank you,” he murmurs, squeezing back.

After a moment of silence, he sits up a little straighter, his expression pensive. “About the nightmare,” he begins, “the man you met...” His voice trails off, and you can sense his reluctance to delve into something so distressing for you.

You offer him a small smile, encouraging him to continue. “It’s okay, don’t worry.”

“Did he say his name?

“I don’t think so. He just said that I was in the Underworld, that I should stay away from the gods. I remember he had dark hair and eyes, and…” you pause, recalling another detail, “and he mentioned he’d warned you, too.”

“Suguru,” he breathes. “It has to be.”

“Do you know him?”

“I knew him a long time ago, perhaps. He was the son of Dionysus. We grew up together, and for most of my life, he was my only friend.” He clenches his jaw, and you can’t quite read the emotion in his eyes. “He’s gone now. It’s been more than a hundred years since I last saw him.”

“Do you miss him?”

“I miss him and hate him in equal measure, even after all this time.” His tone is perfectly neutral, carefully restrained. “He was a genocidal idiot. I was ordered to kill him.”

“Oh,” you respond, unsure of what to offer someone who has lost so much. “I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t be,” he dismisses with a bitter laugh. “It was written by the fates long before you were born. I’m just confused as to why he’s haunting your dreams in particular.”

“We’ll figure this out together, Satoru,” you reply gently. “Whether it’s fate, the gods, or something else entirely, we’ll find answers.”

You feel as if interacting with a demigod on a daily basis has made everything feel more possible, like you could pluck the stars from the heavens or reshape the very earth beneath your feet. You’re uncertain if this is a positive development.

“You’re taking all of this remarkably well.” His brows crease in confusion. “I’ve told you my dead best friend appeared in your dreams, that I killed him — hell, that the gods are alive and real — and you’re comforting me?”

“Sometimes, acceptance is just easier than disbelief and denial. You’re my friend, as strange and impossible as that may be. I trust you.”

Satoru laughs, a touch of disbelief in his voice. “Thank you,” he replies, his shoulders relaxing slightly. “For everything.” He leans in, kissing the top of your head.

“Plus,” you say, rummaging in your tote bag, “while things may seem messy and confusing right now,” you admit, pulling out a small box, “I did bring cupcakes.”

“Cupcakes?” he repeats, a small smile playing at the corners of his mouth.

“Yep,” you confirm, handing him the box. “Chocolate chip with vanilla frosting. I figured something sweet might help, even just a little.”

“I knew following you around was a good idea.”

---

Satoru is his father’s favourite son, so when the gods call, he answers.

He tries to avoid meetings like this as much as possible, but a summoning from Zeus cannot be ignored.

He stands in the throne room of Olympus, the distant rumble of thunder echoing through the halls. Marble columns stretch toward a vaulted ceiling adorned with celestial frescoes, the air heavy with the scent of ambrosia and incense. The throne, carved from solid gold and studded with precious gems, rests upon a dais, elevated above the chamber like a sentinel standing watch over its domain.

Satoru thinks it looks tacky.

Servants and lesser gods scurry about, casting furtive glances at the demigod standing in their midst. They know him by reputation — Zeus’s strongest warrior, his favoured son.

He resists the temptation to kill them all.

Time stretches on, but the wait is a familiar ritual. He is nothing more than a dog on a leash, awaiting his owner’s return.

Zeus’s arrival shatters the silence with a crash of thunder, shaking the very foundations of Olympus. The torches flare, casting wild flickers of light as the King of Gods materialises upon his throne. Seeing his father always feels like staring into a distorted mirror — the same blue eyes, the same white hair. It’s a bitter irony that he bears such a striking resemblance to the deity who holds his life in an iron grip.

“My son,” Zeus begins, his voice a deep rumble reverberating through the chamber. “You’ve been avoiding your duties.”

“I do as I am commanded, Father,” he replies. The words feel bitter on his tongue, but meetings with his father are always like this — laden with expectations, heavy with the weight of centuries-old obligations. Satoru often wondered if he ever got tired of hearing his own voice.

Zeus leans forward, eyes narrowing. “Do not think you can run from this,” he warns. “Sukuna must be faced, and it is you who must do it. You cannot shirk this responsibility.”

Satoru clenches his jaw. “When have I ever run from a fight? When have I ever lost?”

“And yet you hesitate, you question your purpose.” Zeus counters, his tone sharp. “You are my son. This is your destiny.”

“Destiny,” he repeats, almost spitting the word. “Is that what this is? Or is it just another way to keep me bound to your will?”

Satoru is his father’s son through and through – he could never control his anger in his presence, could never hide behind a façade of humour and indifference. He hates himself for it, but he hates his father more for gifting him these traits, like some fucked-up inheritance.

Zeus’s expression hardens. “You would be wise to remember who you speak to.” He rises from the throne, his steps heavy and resonant. “This is not a matter of choice. You are bound by blood and fate. Do not let your arrogance blind you to the responsibilities you bear.”

“Responsibilities that you have imposed,” Satoru retorts. “I have never chosen this path, yet I carry its weight while the gods do nothing.”

“I assume this is the mortal’s influence, then,” Zeus says, looking down at him with disdain. “Pathetic.”

“Do not mention her,” he growls.

“You have grown attached,” Zeus observes, a hint of mockery in his tone. “You forget your place.”

“She is not just another pawn in your games.” Satoru can feel his power crawling under his skin, the air humming with electricity like a gathering storm.

He had nearly forgotten how the gods watched him, how every moment of vulnerability could be seized upon to remind him of his place. He had grown too comfortable in your presence, allowed himself to slip into a sense of normalcy that the gods did not allow for.

Zeus’s expression darkens, the air thickening with his displeasure. “She is a distraction,” he asserts, his voice cutting like a blade. “Sukuna’s threat grows stronger with each passing day, while you’ve found yourself a mortal whore.”

“Careful, Father. Keep talking like this and I will let Sukuna feast upon your lands and swallow your oceans whole,” he hisses.

Zeus’s eyes flash with divine fury. “Do not test me, Satoru. The mortal’s fate hangs in the balance of your obedience.”

“You would threaten her?” Satoru’s voice cracks like thunder.

“She is mortal,” Zeus counters coldly. “Fleeting and fragile, her existence is insignificant.”

“And it still holds more meaning than you can comprehend.”

Zeus steps closer, his presence overwhelming. “Do not mistake defiance for strength, Satoru. If you defy the will of Olympus, you will face the consequences.”

“You underestimate me, Father. Defiance is all I have left,” he seethes. “I will face Sukuna on my terms, or not at all. If you threaten her again, you will face the consequences.”

---

To Satoru, worship had always tasted bitter — rituals steeped in obligation, prayers echoing hollowly through marble halls. It has been a tangled knot of obligation and distant reverence, something to be endured rather than embraced.

And then he met you, and found a different kind of sacred.

As a child, he remembers his father telling him how he had divided humans into two, each forever longing to reunite with their other half. Satoru had scoffed at the notion then, dismissing it as another tale spun by gods to amuse themselves. But now, he wonders if perhaps there was truth in the tale after all.

“I wasn’t expecting you until later.” You smile when you see him, and Satoru wonders if this is what home feels like.

He remains quiet, his expression softening as he lifts you off your feet with ease, carrying you towards the couch. You settle onto his lap as he sits down, his arms wrapping securely around you.

The conversation with his father has left him brittle, fraying at the seams, but you always made it easier to breathe.

You run your hands through his hair, noticing the tension in his muscles, the furrow in his brow. “What’s wrong?” you ask, concern lacing your voice.

“Nothin’, just missed you.”

“I missed you too,” you reply, pressing a kiss to his forehead.

“It’s just been a long day,” he admits.

“What happened?”

“Doesn’t matter,” he mumbles, his thumb brushing against your cheek. “I don’t want to drag you into my mess.”

“It’s not a mess if it’s you.”

He doesn’t quite know how to respond that, so he just presses his forehead to yours, tightening his embrace.

He wonders if this was inevitable — if this is always where he was supposed to be. Here, with you, like this.

“Are you sure you’re okay?”

“You worried about me, sweetheart?”

“Shut up,” you mutter, cheeks flushing, “I’ll always worry about you.”

He can’t help but wonder how far that redness might spread — if it travels down your neck and across your chest, if it touches places he’s only dared to dream about.

“You’re so cute,” he hums.

He notices you look especially pretty today, though you always do. Your dress fits you perfectly — cinched at the waist and snug at the top, with a neckline that’s a bit lower than usual. Not that he should be noticing any of this, or where the fabric ends.

But he can’t help but let his gaze linger on you for longer than is appropriate, tracing the curve of your thigh where your dress has ridden up. For a moment, he’s frozen, his mind racing with thoughts of the bare skin beneath — how easy it would be to push that little dress of yours up higher. He suspects that would solve most of his problems.

But he tears his eyes away, forces himself to focus squarely on you instead. And then you shift in his lap, and all coherent thought abandons him. He feels the heat of your body against his, the softness of your skin, how effortlessly you fit against him.

You are the only divine thing he believes in — the altar at which he willingly kneels, pleading and beseeching.

He would beg if you asked him to.

(He would do anything you asked of him.)

Satoru has always been a selfish creature; perhaps that is why he’s unable to resist you, unwilling to contemplate ever letting you go. You have become his closest friend and greatest desire. He hasn’t stopped thinking about you since the moment he first met you.

He wants your hands in his hair, his fingers grazing against you, holding you down a little. He wants to push your skirt up until maybe, miraculously, you’re begging for him, too. He wants to take care of you, treat you how you deserve. Wants to feel how wet you get, the noises you’d make. He wants and wants and needs and —

“Satoru?”

“Sorry,” he says immediately, “I was just thinking about—”

Things he shouldn’t be, gazing at places he shouldn’t be, indulging in fantasies that are dangerous to entertain, especially with Zeus’s warnings ringing in his ears and Sukuna’s threat looming ever closer.

“—that Thai place down the road, want to order something?”

Casual. Normal. Perfectly in control.

(He’s decided he can’t have you sitting in his lap anymore; he worries he might accidentally set something on fire.)

---

“It’s so peaceful here.”

You’re sitting outside with him, staring up at the night sky. The stars sparkle like scattered diamonds, while the faint glow of city lights spills from below, casting a gentle haze on the horizon. It’s one of those nights where everything else seems distant and unimportant, the world shrinking down to just the two of you.

But something has shifted between you in recent months. There’s a new intensity in the way he holds you, his touch lingering longer, his gaze searching yours for something unspoken. Before, he was content with a hand resting lightly on your back, but now his grip around your waist is firm, almost possessive. He’s on edge, his body taut like a bowstring pulled too tight.

(And you really want to make him snap.)

You sometimes wonder if a constant battle rages within him, if his mortality wrestles with the divine power coursing through his veins. You see flashes of thunder in his eyes, the lightning crackle of emotions suppressed yet seething beneath the surface. It’s as if he stands at a precipice, teetering on the edge of control, where every touch, every word exchanged between you threatens to tip the balance. It both frightens and excites you, this dichotomy that makes him both ethereal and achingly human.

“I don’t think I ever want to leave,” he replies, tugging you closer to him. “And I won’t let you go anywhere, either.”

“You’re so clingy,” you say, laughing.

He grins, his fingers tracing a slow, teasing path along your waist. “Can you blame me?”

“You’re incorrigible.”

(You wish his fingers were touching other parts of you.)

“It’s not my fault you’re so pretty.”

“Shut up,” you mutter, flushing red.

“I don’t think I will, sweetheart.”

(You want to strangle and kiss him all at once – he’s always so frustrating.)

Down the hill behind you, someone is hosting a party. The faint hum of music weaves through the air, accompanied by occasional bursts of laughter. Lanterns sway gently, casting warm, shifting patterns across the dew-kissed grass. You wish all nights could be like this.

Here, with him, like this, you feel truly happy.

“What are you thinking about?” he asks.

“Just how insane it is I even met you. How it’s even more insane that I like you.”

“You like me?” His grin is devilish.

“I’m trying to have a moment of introspection here, not inflate your ego.”

“No, no, tell me how much you like me.”

“I take it back. I barely tolerate you.”

“You’re such a liar.”

“No, I’m not.”

“Yes, you are.”

“I hate you so much.”

“No you don’t, quite the opposite actually.”

“Okay, fine,” you relent, unable to suppress a smile. “Maybe I like you a little.”

His grin turns into a satisfied smirk as he leans in closer, his breath warm against your cheek. “Only a little?” he presses, his voice low and coaxing.

“Just enough to tolerate your cheesy lines and incessant teasing.”

He laughs, the sound rich and warm, causing a flutter in your chest. “That’s good to know.”

“I like you enough,” you say, “to want to stay here with you, too.”

“Careful,” he replies quietly, “You shouldn’t tempt me. You might find out just how much I like you back.”

Your feelings for him were beginning to feel like an oil spill; you’d let them overflow and now there was no way to clean up the mess. You’re not sure you even wanted to.

Your eyes flicker to his lips for just a second — a moment so fleeting, so small, you pray he overlooks it — but his lips curl into the smallest of smiles, and you know you’re truly fucked.

So, without thinking, without letting yourself pause and think for a second longer, you ask him a question you cannot return from:

“What if I wanted to tempt you?”

He looks at you like a predator would his prey, assessing and intense. You can’t help but think he is the most beautiful man you have ever seen.

“Are you sure?” he asks. “Would you let me kiss you?”

“I…” You’re embarrassed to realise you’re struggling to speak. His lips hover close to yours, a breath away, and you can imagine the feel of him against you, his body flush against yours. “Maybe.”

There’s a small smile playing on his lips, a blend of amusement and chastisement flickering in his eyes. “You really shouldn’t.”

His mouth traces a slow path down your neck, teasing and deliberate, but he refrains from kissing you. It’s as if he’s savouring the anticipation, drawing out the moment with a teasing, maddening patience. You wonder if he enjoys keeping you on edge like this, if he enjoys leaving a trail of heat and desperation wherever he lingers.

“Or maybe,” he continues, “you want me to kiss you?”

“Satoru,” you grumble, red-faced and wishing you could melt into the ground. “Stop teasing me.”

To his credit, he only lets out a small laugh. You genuinely think you might have murdered him otherwise, demigod or not. “I take it that’s a no, then?”

“You’re being so mean,” you whine.

“Am I, sweetheart?” he asks, his voice dropping to a low murmur. “How about you tell me what you want?”

Your heart pounds in your chest, and you wonder if this is what Pandora felt like before she opened the box.

“I want you to kiss me,” you confess, both a surrender and challenge.

The moment you give him permission — the exact second — it’s as if he can’t resist any longer, pulling you close and pressing his lips against yours. Inevitable. Instinctual.

The kiss is anything but innocent; far from gentle or kind. You grasp his shirt, your fingers tightening as his hands roam appreciatively over the back of your dress. He holds you as though savouring something sacred, as if you’re the answer to a prayer he dared not utter. The world around you fades into a blur of sensations — the warmth of his body pressed against yours, the taste of him on your lips. You think you might die if he stops.

He deepens the kiss, intense and demanding, as if trying to leave a part of himself with you, to express what words alone cannot. You feel his breath hitch against your lips, a soft groan escaping as his tongue traces the line of your lower lip. There’s a hunger in the way he touches, an intensity that speaks of longing held in check for too long.

You wonder why you didn’t do this sooner — why you wasted so much time when you melt into him this easily, when your bodies fit together like they were made for this moment.

Your breath quickens, each inhale and exhale more desperate than the last. His touch sears through you like a wildfire, consuming every rational thought and making your heart race with an intensity that borders on painful. You cling to him, your fingers curling into his hair, urging him closer.

But then he breaks away, his forehead resting against yours. His breath is ragged, mirroring your own, and he brushes a strand of hair from your flushed face.

“You drive me crazy,” he murmurs.

“Why’d you stop?” you whine.

“Don’t worry, sweetheart. I’ll always give you what you want.” His thumb traces the curve of your cheek. “I want to take it slow, take care of you properly.”

“I want you,” you whisper, a simple truth you cannot hide from.

You knew that in all of the decisions in the world, he would be the most difficult. He was not something you could experiment with, not something you could predict or control — he was as wild as the winds, more myth than man, but you would choose him, again and again.

He pulls back slightly, his eyes searching yours with a hunger that matches your own. “And you’ll have me,” he vows. “We have all the time in the universe.”

---

Satoru is Zeus’s favourite child, and so the gods watch him every day.

Their gaze is unrelenting, their judgments immutable. They see his every move, his every choice. They see the shift, the subtle yet unmistakable turn of his loyalty toward mortal ties, and they want to watch the world burn.

The gods whisper among themselves, their voices carrying on the wind like a prophecy. They speak of consequences, of debts that must be paid, of balances that must be restored. They have tasted this before, have sunk their teeth into the bitter flesh of mortals who dare to defy divine decree.

They will consume you, too.

For while mortals may forget the weight of their choices, the gods do not.

Sukuna won’t, either.

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