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bloompompom · 5 months

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A Little Joy

✽ summary: your pregnancy comes as a surprise, but the even bigger surprise comes when you tell your husband on christmas, twelve days later. ✽ content: ~6.4k word count. husband!eren jaeger x fem!reader. modern au, established relationship, reader celebrates christmas, mentions of jean x pieck, light angst, some fertility struggles, pregnancy, morning sickness/emetophobia warning, super soft domestic fluff, smut with big feelings, showering together, slight overstimulation, alcohol, explicit language, explicit sexual content. reader discretion advised. 18+

You found out you were pregnant on a Friday afternoon. You were home alone after finally drumming up the courage to drive to the convenience store. You grabbed a bottle of ginger ale, some crackers, then paced down the personal care aisle at least four times, as any normal, rational person would.

You weren’t exactly trying to get pregnant, but you certainly weren’t preventing it either. Or if you were, you and Eren were doing a shit job at it, if it wasn’t obvious enough already. It was an unspoken agreement between you—‘if it happens, it happens.’ And if it didn’t happen, well, it didn’t matter because you weren’t really trying; no reason to get your hopes up.

When you woke up before sunrise on Thursday morning, it wasn’t because you felt particularly bright-eyed and bushy-tailed. You were whatever the opposite was—bleary-eyed and droopy-tailed, like one of those dogs in those terribly sad commercials. You lay in bed on your back, hands folded over your stomach, right under your ribs, and told yourself that you didn’t have to vomit. You don’t have to throw up, you definitely don’t have to—

Then you launched out of bed, skittered to the bathroom, and did exactly that. You flushed the toilet, brushed your teeth, and wrote it off as nothing more than a fluke.

When Friday morning rolled around and the process repeated itself, it was no longer a mere fluke. Only then did the thought cross your mind, right as you finished dry heaving into the toilet bowl: it’s happened. Finally.

You stayed quiet about it, slipping back into bed like you had never left. Not getting your hopes up, remember?

You chugged the ginger ale on the drive home, which didn’t help your nausea but ensured you had to pee. You tore open the cardboard box, skimmed over the instructions—you knew the drill, you’ve had scares before—and you followed every step. When the first test came back positive, you had more water, waited it out, then took another. Again, two pink lines, bold pink lines stared back at you. Then you grabbed the second box you purchased, a digital test, and prepared to take that one, too. The conclusion was the same; the third time was the charm for you to finally believe you were pregnant.

You did some quick mental math. If it was Friday, then Christmas Day was twelve days away. Eleven sleeps ‘til Christmas, you thought, like a kid giddily awaiting Santa’s arrival. Could you hold out until Christmas morning? Could you keep quite possibly the biggest secret of all time from your husband for twelve whole days?

It’d be the best present, wouldn’t it? Better than anything money could buy—better than anything you had already bought and wrapped for him. Yes, it was true you weren’t trying to get pregnant, but maybe you had been asking yourself, ‘Is this the month my period would come late?’ only for it to arrive perfectly on time. Again. Maybe you were gushing over cute babies more often and staring at little families at the grocery store for too long—or too longingly. You’d stopped worrying about birth control around a year ago, and he’d stopped bothering to pull out not long after that. So maybe there was a part of you—of both of you, because you could see it on Eren’s face, too—that wondered when, if ever, it would be your turn.

That was why you ultimately decided to keep it a secret. You had to. You wanted to gift him the reason to lose that wistful face he got whenever you’d point out another teensy pair of stupidly adorable baby shoes. The face you would catch every now and again, like that time you helped clean out his parents’ attic.

It was warm at first, nothing but smiles and feel-good memories as the two of you rifled through box after box, deciding what you should take home and what should get donated. Old family photos, forgotten action figures. All the picture books his five-year-old self cherished.

Eren took a few of his favorites home with him, tucked under his arm as you said goodbye to his mother. She was quick to point them out, smiling as she made sure he had Corduroy with him, leaning into you to explain that it used to be his favorite. He said he couldn’t find it, that book you didn’t even know he was searching for.

No, it wasn’t the missing book that had him bothered. You had almost made it out of the house with your fuzzy feelings still alive and intact, his hand almost on the doorknob when she made the comment every parent seemed to love:

‘Does this mean I can expect my first grandchild soon?’

‘We’ll see.’ ‘Who knows?’ ‘Not yet.’ You couldn’t remember what Eren told her, but what you did remember was the look on his face. On that car ride home, you still didn’t talk about it. You didn’t talk about it because you weren’t trying to get pregnant. And if you weren’t trying, then you had no hope to lose in the first place.

Now, you could only imagine the new look on his face—probably an ear-to-ear smile in excitement for your future, your family, and for the longest nine months of your lives as you waited to meet your little one.

He would be so surprised, too. He would never expect you to be able to keep a secret with your big mouth, as he liked to say. It was perfect.

The only thing left to do now was figure out how to present it to him, because twelve-day-old pee sticks sitting lonely in a box would be a pretty sorry sight.

Christmas was ten days away when you realized this was harder than you thought it would be. Not only the secret keeping but finding a creative way to surprise Eren. You had scrolled through countless forums, scoured through every cheesy dad-to-be gift that existed, but nothing felt right.

You had never considered how you would give the announcement before, and never did you think to make a big show of it. You always thought it would be as simple as outrightly saying the words—or even less than that, just running out of the bathroom with the positive test in hand. And you certainly never imagined you would keep it to yourself for longer than a few hours, let alone twelve days.

You decided to call your best friend for ideas. You debated if it was fair to tell her before the father of your child, but you wouldn’t do it without good reason, and this was as good a reason as ever. And technically speaking, you had known her longer, since high school. You were sure that buried somewhere in your friendship pacts was a promise to tell each other first. That was your justification.

You tried to sneak beneath her best friend radar with a coy, “If you were going to reveal a huge secret to Jean on Christmas, how would you go about it?” But who were you kidding? She immediately saw through you.

“Oh my god. You’re pregnant, aren’t you?”

You fell to your bed with a flop. Not in defeat but in that dreamy, cloud-nine way. Finally, someone knew. You could hear your smile spilling into your voice even as you warned her, “Please don’t tell Jean.”

Jean was her husband. More than that, he was one of Eren’s good friends. The two of you actually met each other through the happy couple, way back when. Best friends dating (and now married to) best friends. It went without saying that if Jean found out, then you might as well have told Eren yourself.

“I won’t, I won’t,” she assured. But she didn’t offer any more than her word because she, too, was clueless on pregnancy announcements.

Eight days until Christmas. You didn’t want to jinx it, but so far, your only symptom had been waves of nausea. You supposed you felt a bit sleepier than normal, only if you really thought about it.

You believed you had done a good job at pretending nothing was off, but your husband must know you better than that. Either that, or you were just that horrible of an actor.

That morning, you met Eren in the kitchen, greeting him with a big yawn—yeah, definitely more tired than usual. Pot in hand, he offered you some coffee, but the fresh-brewed scent you once loved now made your stomach churn.

You swallowed hard, said a short, “No, thank you,” and opted for toast, just toast, instead.

He gave you this skeptical look. Something must be wrong if you weren’t in the mood for coffee. You were half-tempted to drink it anyway, but then he approached you, slipping his hand around the nape of your neck. He drew you into him, placing a prolonged peck on your forehead like he always did when you were sick—his preferred way to check your temperature. You imagined he’d do the same with your child, too.

You didn’t feel feverish to him. He tossed you one of his usual quips—“Who are you, and what have you done with my wife?”—but after you stammered something about dinner not sitting well, he brushed it off just as thoughtlessly as you had at first.

Crisis averted, for now.

Three days out, and you had started to think you might burst. The excitement that stirred in you had only intensified, your nausea now a fifty-fifty split of morning sickness and anticipation. It was to an embarrassing degree, too, like a child let in on a secret, walking around with puffed cheeks as if they’d erupt at any moment.

Not really, but that was what it felt like, only because you had finally thought up the perfect way to tell him.

Since that afternoon spent cleaning the attic was fresh on your mind, you thought to find those childhood books of his. You went searching in a few closets but discovered them sitting lonely in the corner of your spare room—storage room. It was a glorified closet by now, its only purpose was to hide forgotten items and eye sores. Everything, the books included, had collected dust. You’d have to get to cleaning and organizing it in the coming months.

You picked up one of the books, blew the dust off, smearing away the rest with your hand, and flipped through the pages. It was a walk down memory lane as you poked through a couple more books, the ones you remembered from your childhood. Then you thought of Eren—little Eren. Of footie pajamas and cheeks smushed in his hands, leaned into his mother with interest. Not exactly curled up in bed; it was more likely he was rolling around like the fussy thing he supposedly was.

You thought of him, years from now, sat on the edge of the bed—you could already imagine where you’d have it. Your toddler curled up beneath the blankets as Eren read to them. Or, if they would turn out anything like him, they’d be crawling atop him as he could only try to read. You couldn’t wait to learn which they’d be, who they’d be, and all the little joys of parenthood. It’ll look good on him.

That was when it came to you, your light bulb moment. The missing book: Corduroy. It was something special enough, specific enough, that only he’d know the meaning, because he was a sap like that. That was how you’d tell him. Why hadn’t you thought of it sooner?

Considering it was a long-time beloved book, it would be as easy as waltzing to the children’s section of any old bookstore. It would probably be front and center, too.

So that was what you did, and it only took thirty minutes roundtrip. You wrapped it with what leftover paper you could spare, stuck a pretty gold bow on top, and placed it underneath the Christmas tree with the other gifts you’d bought him, now paling in comparison.

Eren was packing the last of the gifts into the car when you snatched one, the important one, from what remained of the pile. You thought you were sly enough, that you had waited until his back was turned, but he caught you as you went to hoard it away.

He stopped, arms full of tinselly boxes, stacked high enough that he kept them steady with his chin rested atop, and curiously asked, “Not bringing that one?”

Over the years, it became a tradition to spend the day at his parents’ house, and somewhere between your late breakfast and four o’clock dinner, you’d open presents together, save the few and not-so-far-between indecent ones his extended family didn’t need to see. Which would explain the knowing eyes he was giving you now; why he didn’t question your quick, ‘It’s for later,’ before you left to hide it in your bedroom closet.

The morning was dipped in molasses. Every hour dribbled on by, every minute tacky and stuck to the next, until you were wading around in the liminal afternoon hours. You weren’t alone in the feeling, though. For as much as you suppressed your restlessness—laughing on cue though your mind might as well have been on another planet, declining a mimosa for the third time and still sounding just as polite as the first—Eren wore his plainly; sat on the edge of his seat but not in the I can’t wait to get the hell away from my family sort of way you would expect.

The impatience was there, yes, but not in the dreadful sense of the word; it was more sanguine than that. An anticipation to return home and settle in for the night, or for the gift awaiting him.

Or, more simply put, an impatience for you. Just you. Perceptible in his touch alone, beneath his touch, when he’d sneak up from behind and pull you into a hug. His hold was desirous—not sensual and needy but innocent, like some innate urge to keep you close. Every kiss pressed into your temple was tinged with benevolence. His palms, weighty with warm devotion, melted you as they curved over your hips and around your stomach.

You could blame it on the holiday spirit, how it tended to coax out such gooey, lovesome feelings. Mix that with the glass of wine he had and it would make perfect sense as to why your love language is physical touch husband was lovey dovey with you. But he had that glass well over an hour ago, and you couldn’t help but wonder if somewhere deep inside, like in his subconscious or id or whatever it was, he knew. Whether he was aware of it or not, some part of him had to know. It radiated from his hands, secure and protective as they always found their way back to you, resting on your thigh beneath the dining table or against the dip in your back as he slid past you in the kitchen. He couldn’t get enough—couldn’t have you close enough.

You assumed that to be the reason you left shortly after dinner, ‘regretfully’ having to skip out on board games tonight, as Eren put it, his hand snuggly at your back with his thumb making small circles you felt through your sweater.

It was dark when you stepped outside, enough that you would have thought it was midnight if you didn’t know better. It had started snowing, with chunky flakes that pitter-pattered against the ground instead of swirling through the air. It stuck, though, and by the time you arrived home, there was a powdered sugar coating across the lawn, shimmering in the streetlight.

You rambled on about your forgotten leftovers as you slipped from your boots. Eren’s hands came to your shoulders, helping you out of your coat sleeves. He hung it in the closet, listening to you recall the pan you had left behind, too. And while you ruffled his hair, picking the fat snowflakes off the top of his head, he assured you he’d grab the pan the next time he visited.

He held you in his arms, your rightful spot for the day, and felt you shiver between his hands.

“Cold?” Eren asked.

You nodded but immediately wished you could retract it. A grin spanned his face as he took it as the go-ahead to slip his hands beneath your sweater, his fingers like icicles against your back. You only responded with a sharp yelp, snatching his wrists and breaking free from his grasp.

After he stopped laughing, Eren made it up to you by running a hot shower, one you could share together. With your clothes reduced to a puddle on the bathroom tile, your December-frozen skin tingled beneath the stream of water. Your neck curled at the sensation, how it traveled to your toes the same way the steaming water trickled down the curve in your back. You rolled your shoulders and unwound from the day, watching as it washed down the drain.

All day, you only focused on what was to come, your mind racing and reeling until the moment you could be alone together—this moment. About as private as it gets. As ephemeral as it would take for the water to run cold. Short-lived and spurred by a collective sigh.

You always enjoyed showering together. Not shower sex, just showering. Not its most benign definition, but more innocent than the innuendo it carried. Though you would argue it was just as intimate, perhaps more. For what was more visceral than confessing you couldn’t stand to be apart, even for the minutes the mundane task would take, so why not do it together?

After all, it was easier that way, wasn’t it? More efficient? Not so much. But you didn’t crave efficiency, you craved him, his embrace, the feeling of skin on slippery skin.

The same hands that smeared away droplets from your face traversed down the expanse of Eren’s back, every divot and every groove of it. You slid them around his torso, his arms raised as he lathered shampoo into his hair. You flattened your palms to his chest, held him close enough that your cheek was smushed against his back.

Your eyes crinkled shut before soap dared to drip into your eye. You spat the acrid taste of it from your mouth, only for a chorus of laughter to follow, his inciting your own. Your dilemma worsened. Enough for him to help you rinse off—for you to be sure he tasted it on your tongue as you swapped kisses back and forth, stolen between splatters.

You’d been clean for some time now, the water was lukewarm, but you remained, content with his hands rubbing your shoulders, his lips intermittently seeking yours, as dutiful as they were doting, leaving you moaning ever so frailly into his mouth; little whiffs of respite as he kneaded out the tight muscles. Your head tipped to the side with this sleepy bend just for him to catch your chin and bring you back to him, your head foggier than the humid bathroom.

You were only towel-dried when Eren reminded you of the gift, probably thinking you’d forgotten about it.

Of course, you hadn’t.

You found him in the bedroom, him wearing only a pair of plaid pajama pants, his chest slightly sheened from the shower, and you in just a fluffy towel, pinned beneath your arm. You asked him to wait while you put on a set of pajamas and fetched the gift. But before that, you lit the candle at your bedside, just to really set the mood.

“No peeking!” you called out before disappearing into the closet.

You were giddy to know that, like you, this had been on his mind all day—for different reasons, but that only made the surprise better.

You returned to find him sitting on your bed with his eyes on you, undeniably stealing a peek.

“I said no peeking!” You hid the present behind your back.

“It’s wrapped!” He didn’t take your scold seriously until you pulled a face. Then he closed his eyes. “I already saw it earlier, remember?”

You ignored it, pleasedly telling him, “Hold out your hands.”

He did, and you set the gift into them, prompting him to take a look.

Eren inspected it briefly, then ripped the gilded paper at the corner. The cover poked through, not enough for him to recognize it but enough to fit a finger beneath and widen the tear.

Once the paper was crumpled on the floor, he chuckled lightly. He angled it around in his hand, looking over the cover that was glossier, newer, than the one he remembered.

It was a sweet gift. He appreciated the thought that went into it. How you learned it was missing and clung onto that tiny detail for months for this moment—a trait he loved about you.

“It’s perfect,” he started to say. “It’ll complete the collection for—”

Like it was recorded in slow motion, you watched very second the realization took him by the shoulders and shook him. There was a drop in his expression as he cautiously asked, “Wait. Does this mean…”

Where he left off, you picked up, nodding eagerly as you said, “I’m pregnant. We’re having a baby.”

You didn’t know what happened first, whether you had ended your sentence or if your squeal had cut it short as Eren scooped you into his arms. Your feet left the ground as he spun you around in the biggest bear hug you could imagine, this effervescent feeling bubbling from your stomach and escaping you in a fit of giggles.

He plopped back onto the bed and took you down with him, the mattress bobbing beneath your shared weight. You were still in his arms, legs draped over his lap, as he scattered kisses across your face, wherever he could. Even missing a few, with some at your neck and ear.

You took his face between your hands and kissed him straight on the lips, quick. His smile smushed his cheeks in your hands as he asked, “This is for real?” You nodded again, kissed him again. “This is happening?”

“We’re gonna be parents,” you affirmed, letting the reality of it finally sink in.

You traded kisses. Ones that had your fingers knotting in his shirt and his hand venturing to back of your head, keeping each kiss longer than the last until you were making out. You didn’t know when that happened. Somewhere along the way, between roaming hands and sweeping tongues, your touches turned fervorous. You were both so happy and kissing and oblivious to everything but how deeply you needed each other, like it might actually ache if you were to separate.

And while he couldn’t go another second without having you, evident in the way his lips sought out your weak spot on your neck, he laid you on the bed more thoughtfully than he ever had before. The old mattress didn’t trill beneath you; you weren’t splayed against the bed, toppled over, and taken right then but coddled and caressed. You found it endearing, how careful he was, as if right before his eyes, you had suddenly become something that he could easily break. So endearing that you couldn’t help but let out a soft giggle as your head sank back into the pillows.

Eren propped himself above you, face-to-face, both of you smiley. You were enveloped by him wholly, with his palms planted at either of your sides. You tucked his hair behind his ears to get a better look at his face, still a bit giggly.

“You know how this works, right?” you chaffed, not above some good-natured teasing. “I’m already pregnant.”

He shushed you, closing the gap between you until his grin was pressed against your own. Until you not only heard his laughter but felt it reverberate against yours and tasted their unity on your tongue.

His lips veered to the corner of your mouth. He kissed you there, trailing more down the side of your face. His nose nestled behind your ear, tickling you as he kissed beneath your jawbone, right where you felt the thud-thudding of your pulse against his lips.

His hand caressed the length of your body, smoothing down your hip and grasping the fat of it before sneaking beneath your tank top on his way back up. It tore a faint groan from you, from the very back of your throat.

Those light, airy kisses began to linger. Not lips merely pressed to your skin like a stamp but soft slips of his mouth, his tongue, until he reached the notch between your collarbones.

He tugged the neckline of your top down, exposing your tits and taking the peak of one into his mouth, all in a single, easy motion. He didn’t neglect the other; his hand was gentle as he massaged and explored the swell of your breast, pinching your nipple between his middle and index fingers and rolling until it was perked for him. His tongue, stroking and flicking and licking, had your other in the same state.

It left you breathless, your mouth dumbly agape, parted by gasps. Your vision had gone glossy to everything but Eren, your senses dulled to anything that wasn’t his mouth ravening your tits, his tongue licking the valley separating them, his lips pursed and sucking your nipples until they glistened with his spit.

You perched high on your elbows. Your tanktop pooled at your midriff, its loose straps dangling around your biceps, pathetic and practically begging Eren to strip you of it. And when he did, it looked just as useless on the other side of the bed as it did on you.

You slumped back into the mattress only for your hips to go next, elevated and encouraging his fingers, hooked around both your silken sleep shorts and underwear, to take them off, too. You delighted in it, how your bare body melded with the blanket. You brushed a hand along it, felt your skin glide against it. It was downy and fluffy and tickling you, everywhere.

He wrestled out of the pajamas he’d just put on and sat back on his calves. The sinewy muscles of his chest went taut, his arms raised as he fingered through his hair. He collected it in his fist, then tied it off at the back of his head, getting it out of his way. It was messy; he was unfocused, more attuned to you, his wife, happy and giggly and naked below him. His eyes trailed from the crown of your head to between the legs he split and wedged himself between.

“Beautiful,” he said, not with a lilt but spoken like fact—not to you or him, but like he wanted the cosmos to know it. “You’re fucking beautiful.”

He snaked a hand under your back, lifting you as he leaned in to meet you halfway. You felt him stiffly pressed against your leg first, then his mouth at your chest. He peppered your sternum with kisses. Between them, he told you, “You’re gonna be the hottest mom.”

He laughed first, anticipating your reaction—more once it actually happened, the cute gasp you gave with his name on your inhale. His breath tickled over your delicate skin, and you playfully tried to pry yourself from him. He only held you closer, pulling more giggles from you as he kissed and kissed his way down until his lighthearted lips were laden with hunger, his tongue laving down to your navel in reverence. Then lower on your stomach. He left a few extra kisses there.

Before Eren went any lower, he freed himself from his boxers.

His hands took hold of your inner thighs, sculpted the plush of them around his fingers. He pushed back on them and settled in the space he made between. He brought his thumb to you, pressed it against your clit, and that was all it took. No flicking, no rubbing, it was that alone that had your lower back tightening, the arch of it lifting from the bed.

He hummed a short laugh, satisfied with his work. He was closer to you now. So close that you felt his lips graze your entrance, his hot breath surging through your body as if it could quell every one of your chills, as if he wasn’t the cause of them.

Your hand flung to the pillow, twisting the pillowcase between your fingers in frissons of anticipation, gripping harder when you felt the smooth lick he gave the crease where your leg met your body. He kissed you there, too. He kissed you everywhere he could manage, again and again, except for the spot you wanted—needed him most.

All the while, you could only stare down at him, big-eyed, with kiss-swollen lips sucked between your teeth. You tried to stay still for him, but your hips were unruly. They helplessly wiggled, enjoying his attention but desperate for more of it.

His mouth finally closed over your heat, making your knees buckle and collapse to the bed. Your inhale was sibilant, shaky but the sweetest sound, like a choppy thank you until your voice cut out.

Eren had you languidly, with his face lying comfortably against your thigh. He licked you like he found just as much indulgence in it as you. He lazily spread you with two fingers, even taking a full second to admire you, pretty and puffy and pleading with him—only a second though. That was all he could last before his mouth practically watered for you, raring to taste you again.

Exposed, like this, every swipe of his tongue was like he was licking electricity up your spine, every bolt stronger than the last. Your body flexed as you teetered the line between too much and don’t you dare stop. Somewhere between shying away in reflex and hoping he’d yank you back down to his mouth.

And he would. With arms locked around your thighs, he lifted his head and angled it perfectly, granting him the opportunity to dart his tongue inside you, fucking you with it when he wasn’t encircling your clit.

There was a ravenous side to his tenderness; adoration hidden behind the hunger. The two contrasted only to come together, meeting in the center and knotting themselves tight, tighter. Until it—until you—snapped. You came with a stretch of your back, with white-hot stars flashing behind your eyelids.

Eren’s thumb drew little circles against your thigh soothingly, yet his mouth didn’t leave you, his tongue still slotted inside your heat. He groaned, besotted by the taste of you coming on his tongue, how he could feel every flutter of your pussy on your comedown. He greedily wanted more of you, all of you, and all to himself.

You didn’t know how long you’d been there, just like that. It was easy to lose your sense of time, if you even had it in the first place, what with the way the bedroom hadn’t stopped swimming around you. The bedroom curtains were drawn over the windows, thick enough to keep out the streetlights. The only source of light came from the quick flicker of the candle, its glow rippling across the wall.

Your legs hung limply over his shoulders now. One of your hands had buried itself in his hair while he held the other, your fingers intertwined. His tongue swirled around your clit, as ardent now as it was for your first orgasm.

Eren knew your body by now. He knew it well enough to understand what a squeeze of your hand meant, how you’d pet through his hair reassuringly—a silent ‘keep doing that’ when you didn’t have the breath to speak it aloud. And he’d keep doing that until he knew you had finished.

He’d brought you to three moony orgasms—the drawn-out kind, like you had wandered into a dream—and he was actively working on your fourth.

It was comparable to the slow build of a roller coaster: that foreboding tick tick tick pace, the gentle pressure of his flattened tongue, licking you with broad stripes until you were at your peak. You’d hang there for a second, abloom and upcaught in the delicious current that was just shy of becoming entirely undone. You’d careen the tippy top and wonder when you’d finally plummet.

You would only come once he decided, and after deciding you had been patiently buzzing long enough, he started to lick you faster.

You could barely tell him you were coming because it ripped through you then, sparking low in your pelvis. Your tiny chants of ‘fuck’ melted into one long, sheet-gripping moan as the feeling shot higher, like it was caught in your throat.

Right then, as you were blissfully crashing for him, Eren pushed himself to his hands and took his rightful place on top of you. He replaced his tongue with his cock, pushing inside you to the hilt with an effortless thrust.

Your bodies came together and stayed just like that as the feeling racked through you, both of you, like you shared an electrical current. It lasted a century but only existed for a wink, a whole-body tremble as you suddenly, finally, felt full. Every throb of your orgasm was a tantalizing threat, forcing him to hesitate lest he risked finishing before he’d even started. You wore his expression, and his yours: a subtle drop of the jaw in relief, the very corners of the mouth curled in ecstasy.

Then he began to steadily move his hips, firmly but not fiercely fucking you through your orgasm.

You were sensitive. Every fiber of you was frayed at the edge and rekindled. The luxurious flame erupted higher in your stomach, burning from the crests of your cheeks to your toes, then back up again. The snapping of his hips was punctuated by you bouncing against him, another gasping moan tumbling past your lips. You smothered them, with arms tossed around his neck and your lips devouring his. They became nothing but wet whimpering sounds for him to swallow.

Against your mouth, he mumbled, “You make the prettiest sounds when you come,” and you tasted every syllable.

You felt everything. You flipped through emotions like one flipped through a book or shuffled a deck of cards, one right after the other.

You felt fizzy, the same lightness that comes with a huff of helium, like you could drift away. You felt his leg against yours, how it made every hair on your body stand on end.

You felt safe, bound and anchored by his weight pinning you into the mattress; your nose bumping against his, your fingers tangled in his hair.

You had plunged into one another. Found the deepest parts of each other and weaved yourselves into one, belonging together irrevocably. You felt wanted, and you found yourself wanting. You wanted him so close that it’d be impossible to discern where you ended and he began, as if you weren’t already fit together perfectly with him inside you.

The wanting was mutual. Right now, Eren wanted to offer you everything, to give with a generosity he couldn’t explain. His mind, his body, his heart—even deeper, his soul, if souls even existed; he wasn’t here to argue that. Every gentle caress and every harsh kiss was like the push and pull of the tides, to and fro until they crashed down in a rapturous wave. And like the moon, he could look down and know he was the one to coax it out of you.

That was all he wanted right then. That, and his wanting for your future just past the horizon, spent together with a family of your own.

Flushed from fucking, with sweat rolling down between his shoulders, he cradled the back of your head, tilting it to nip at the lobe of your ear.

“You. This.” His cadence was tense and brilliant, calm while you were in a tempestuous storm. “This is everything I’ve always wanted.”

The words swathed you like a wool blanket, squeezing your chest until you thought it might explode. You were already too full for such feelings—your heart brimmed with them, your own proclamations thick in your throat, his cock still buried inside you.

The world was dreamlike as Eren tipped your chin again to look at him. His pupils were blown, irises darkened sans a thin ring of green. You didn’t speak but what you told him was loud.

I love you, I love you, I love you.

It emanated from your eyes; words unspoken were signed and sealed with kisses along his shoulders and up the column of his throat.

He came then with a shudder, with a gruff groan that was warm on the ears and his hips slammed into yours one last time.

He collapsed to his forearms with his heart thumping hard and his chest heaving against yours. You noticed the faint quiver in his biceps, counted his breaths. After the fourth he pulled out of you, his fifth breath sharp through his nose. You felt the wet heat of his cock against your stomach, felt the aftermath—the lewd combination of the two of you—drip from you. He rolled to your side, and you laid there, sticky sheets and all, like lovers do, not parting immediately but bathing in the afterglow.

You were still basking in it, practically sweltering now, when Eren opened his arms for you, ticking his head for you to come his way with a murmur of, “Come here, love.” An invitation you wouldn’t dare deny.

Cloaked beneath his arm, you felt his hand take your chin. He guided your faces together and kissed your forehead.

Just to have you there with him, his cheek rested upon your head, your breath warming his chest; to have you to fall asleep next to, every night, your body puzzle-pieced with his—all of that was enough for him.

And as Eren slipped his arm around your waist, just before he drifted to sleep with his hand over your belly, he couldn’t help but smile. You were so clueless as to how much you meant to him, how much you’d given him. The greatest of all was yet to come, and they would be with you this time next year.

thank you for reading ♡

#eren x reader #eren jaeger x reader #eren yeager x reader #eren smut #eren fluff #dividers by @/saradika

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dreamescapeswriting · 4 months

Text

The Baby Blues ~ MYG

WORD COUNT: 2.8K

GENRE: established relationships, husband and wife, first time parents, worrying about not being good enough, Yoongi comforting reader with her postpartum depression, helping each other

PAIRING: Yoongi x Fem!Reader

⤜Copyright: © DreamEscapesWriting - January 2024

⤜MASTERLIST

A/N: I hope that I did this justice for you! Please let me know if I did anything wrong, I’ve never been a parent so i tried to do as much research on this as I could! <3 I love you and I bet you’re the best parent a kid could ever ask for!

TRIGGER WARNING: Mentions of postpartum depression, depression, parenting anxiety, feelings of not being good enough, not connecting

Water slushed around in the tub as Yoongi picked up some more bubbles and blew them into the air, a gummy smile plastered itself all over your daughter's face and he couldn't help but smile. God, he was so lucky to have you in his life as well as the little angel the two of you had created together. It was hard to believe that she was already three weeks old, it felt like just yesterday that the two of you took the test and found out you were going to be expecting.

"Who's the cutest little baby in the world?" He cooed, his voice slightly higher which was something he'd always teased Namjoon for but now couldn't help but do whenever it came to his own child.

"You are! Yes, you are, yes you are," He cooed as he blew some more bubbles off his hand and watched as they rained down all over your child. All of the worries that Yoongi had experienced before your daughter was born had melted away the second he held her tiny body in his hands. Sure, he was still scared of everything that came with being a parent but some part of him knew that he had this all under control. That no matter what happened he was doing a good job and he was going to be a good dad.

As soon as you'd heard him in the bathroom you'd slipped out of bed, wrapping yourself up in the warmest dressing gown that you owned and you stood in the door watching him. How was this so easy for him to do?

From the moment that your daughter was born, it was like something had clicked inside of Yoongi and he was the most terrific father you'd met. There was nothing that worried him, he and your daughter clicked with one another and all it seemed to petrify you. While everyone around you seemed to be bonding well with your daughter you couldn't feel it, did that make you a terrible person?

Before your daughter was born you felt ready, you'd studied all there was on babies, you'd been to every single mum class that the hospital offered - sometimes even twice - but as soon as you gave birth all of that went away.

It was replaced with doubts, were you good enough to be a mum? Why weren't you able to connect with your little girl when everyone else seemed to manage it fine. The more you thought about it the worse it got, you found it hard to get out of bed every day, but you did it. Every day you forced yourself out of bed and tried to connect with your little girl, you did everything the books and internet told you but nothing worked.

Whenever she was with you it felt as though she was someone else, that she didn't want to be near you only Yoongi.

"Hey look, it's mummy." Yoongi cooed, interrupting you from your thoughts, as soon as he noticed that you were watching them together. He took hold of your daughter's tiny hand and gently moved it in a waving motion, the small action made your eyes burn and your throat dry up as you stared at them together. The vision of the bathroom began to blur thanks to the tears that were welling up in your eyes and you tried to swallow the lump in your throat but all of a sudden it was as though your throat was the size of a straw.

"I was just giving her a bath and I was going to come and wake you up. We figured mummy needed her rest," He told you but with his back to you, tears began to roll down your cheeks silently as he gently washed your daughter's body making her smile even more. You'd never been able to make her do that, you'd only ever made her cry when you spent time with her.

"Babe?" Yoongi called out, glancing over his shoulder at you to see you sobbing into your hands and he sat there stunned for a second.

"Baby? What's wrong? Did I use the wrong shampoo? I thought I got the right stuff?" He looked down at the bottle and then at your daughter, everything was right or at least he thought it was.

"The temperature was perfect-"

"E-Everything is for you, you do all of this right." You cut him off with a sob and he let out a sigh instantly knowing what this was. A few nights ago he'd heard you get up for the night feed and heard you crying and begging for your daughter to take her food but she wouldn't until he came in and your tears only grew harder that night. Things were finally clicking into place and he let a small smile onto his face,

"You're doing everything so well and I...I-I can't even feed her without you there," Sobs were erupting out of you, everything you'd been holding back all this time was now erupting out of you like a volcano.

Yoongi instantly rinsed off your child, wrapped her up in her small bath dressing gown and made his way over to you.

"Let's go and sit down." He whispered as he walked with you and your daughter into your shared room, making you sit down on the edge of the bed as you continued to cry.

"I'm such a bad mum-"

"Don't you even finish that sentence," Yoongi grumbled as he gently swayed your daughter in his arms while standing in front of you. He knew that there was not going to be much he could say or do but he was going to be there for you no matter what. And he was also going to knock all of those feelings of doubt straight out of your head.

"I'm a failure as a mother, I can't even hold her without crying...I-I can't connect with her," You whimpered, sniffling a little as Yoongi stopped swaying and stared at you. How could you ever think something like that?

The whole time you'd been pregnant you'd been a rock for a very unsure and nervous Yoongi and now it was his turn to return the favour. Whenever he would get scared you'd remind him how ready the two of you were for this, that no matter what his head was telling you the two of you were going to be great parents.

"Baby, you're an incredible mother," He started but it was quickly met with a scoff from you. How could you be an incredible mother when you couldn't even hold your daughter without feeling nothing but guilt? Or Nothing at all. There was no in-between, there was only guilt or no feelings whatsoever. All you wanted was to hold your daughter and love her because you did, you loved her but there was just nothing there.

It was even getting to the point where you didn't want to hold her because you were so scared that you were going to break her. Everything made you panic, no matter what you did, or how you researched it. Everything was made worse.

"I'm serious, you birthed and created an entire human inside of you, don't you dare say that." He kneeled down in front of you, your eyes landed on your child who was staring up at you with her big eyes and you swallowed the lump in your throat. Your daughter was staring at you, you were supposed to feel something, anything, but once again there was nothing there.

"I-I don't feel anything, there's something wrong with me," You whimpered before the tears started to roll all over again and Yoongi looked at you. All he wanted to do was shake you and tell you how amazing you were but he knew it wasn't going to work, he needed to be there for you, emotionally and physically.

"There's nothing wrong with you, this is normal. Plenty of women go through this," It was true, you'd done your research on it but it didn't make it any easier to accept.

"Look out our baby, she's here with us and she's incredible because of you," He gently poked your arm making you smile weakly,

"You gave her such a good home inside of your body and now here too. You're already an incredible mother for growing her inside of your body, for being able to create such a beautiful person." You nodded a little, doing your best to listen to him,

"Why don't you try talking to her? She loves it when we talk to her...She understands you," He tilted himself a little so you could see your daughter's face more,

"She loves it when you talk about everything. She listened to me talk about work the other morning," He chuckled weakly and you nodded a little, sitting up straight and nervously playing with the sleeves of your shirt.

Why did this feel so hard for you when everyone else seemed to be a master at it? Talking to kids seemed so easy but when it came down to it, you had no idea what to do or what to say.

"Hey baby," You whispered a little, running your thumb gently over her chubby cheeks as she showed off her gums with a smile.

"S-She's smiling!" You whisper yelled excitedly to your husband who couldn't fight the tears in his eyes from seeing you so excited,

"You know, your dad used to run me baths like that," As soon as you started talking to her the words were flowing out of you. All doubts of not being able to talk to her were being melted away the more you spoke and Yoongi couldn't have been happier.

"I have to pee, can you hold her?" Yoongi questioned, he didn't actually need to go but he needed an excuse to get you to hold your child - at least for a minute or two,

"What? N-No. What if I do it wrong? We should put her in her crib," You rushed out, doubt creeping its way back into you as though it was a grey cloud on a bright day,

"Then we'll get her dressed together," Yoongi stated as he stood up, you quickly followed him toward the nursery with your eyes tracked onto your daughter.

"What if I hurt her?" Your voice began shaking as he gently laid your daughter down on the changing table and you looked down at her, she looked so happy and peaceful. Like a little doll, you almost didn't want to touch her in case she broke from a small touch.

"You won't," Yoongi reassured you, gently rubbing your back softly as he watched you anxiously staring at your daughter.

You hadn't gotten your daughter dressed since the first day in the hospital, you'd always asked Yoongi to do it - or one of the boys if they were around because you'd been so scared to touch her but he was going to help you.

"But, all of the forums are different on how to change your baby. They all say you should do it in different ways, which is the right one?" Your eyes shot over to Yoongi as he took some clothes out of the wardrobe and laid them down next to your girl. It was a pyjama set you'd picked out when you first found out you were pregnant, there were little Shooky's all over them and you knew you'd needed them for her,

"T-Then your mum said something different than mine, what if they're both wrong?" Yoongi smiled weakly, it didn't matter what people online said, what doctors or trained professionals said there was always going to be someone with a differentiating opinion on the matter and no person was ever right or wrong about it.

"Everyone tells us what to do...W-What not to do, what if I'm doing it all wrong?" Without realising it you were already drying off your little girl and applying some baby powder to her, it was like your body was working automatically without your mind catching up.

"Baby, even if you got it all perfect there's going to be people who don't agree with the way you do it." Yoongi rubbed your arms gently as you stared down at the clothes in your hand, you nodded a little and took in a deep breath.

This was nothing, you used to change your cousin's clothes all of the time with no problems so this was going to be a walk in the park,

"You're a great mother, the best I know. Remember all that research we did. All of those classes and you were always on top of it all," Yoongi spoke as you carefully - very carefully - changed your daughter for the second time in her life.

"There's no one better for this job than you baby," As soon as your angel was dressed you stared down at her,

"Pick her up,"

"I can't," Yoongi nodded his head, he wasn't going to push you too far tonight,

"I'm proud of you," He whispered, kissing your cheek softly before gently scooping up his little girl and walking her over to her crib, while he laid her down you gently wound up the mobile that the boys had made for her. All of the toys that were hanging from it were all BT21 members - the mini versions - and your daughter was the only girl in the world to have one of these.

"I text the boys, they're going to watch her tomorrow for us," Yoongi stated as he gently used the sponge to rub body wash into your back. The two of you were sitting inside your huge bathtub, candles surrounding you with soft music playing in the background. The baby monitor was pointed so that the two of you could easily see your daughter and it was relaxing. Watching her sleep was helping your body relax and it wasn't just you that was noticing it,

"What? Why?" You shifted in place, craning your neck to look at your husband who smiled at you. It was like he was looking at a different person than he was an hour ago, your bags were still there but there was a sparkle in your eyes that wasn't there before,

"Because you need a little time and I'm going to help you," He smiled, rinsing off the soap suds from your body and then putting the sponge away, leaning you back so that you were laid against his chest and he could feel you close to him.

"But-"

"She will be fine, and when she's back I'm going to try something with you both." You arched an eyebrow at what he had in store for you and he gently ran his fingers up and down your skin,

"We're going to go back to basics, hospital basics, skin to skin with her." You remembered having to do that for the first few days of being in the hospital, she was laid against your bare chest and it was one of the times you'd felt closest to her.

"We'll keep talking to her, spending more time with her together and then when you're ready, you'll do it alone." The thought of doing it with Yoongi was calming but alone? Dread was already worming its way inside of your chest,

"How will I know if I'm ready?" Your voice cracked a little but Yoongi smiled rubbing your cheek with his thumb. You were ready, you just didn't know it or see it yet.

"You already are, we just need to remind you of it." He whispered before gently kissing the top of your head.

"Yn," Yoongi groaned as he rolled over in the bed, feeling around in the sheets to try and find you but you weren't there. In a second he sat up in the bed looking around for you and then to the bedside crib for his daughter but it was empty.

"YN?!" He called out louder, getting up and running into the bathroom but there was no sign of you in there and he sprinted across the hall to the nursery. The door slowly crept open and he let out a breath finding you on the rocking chair gently rocking your daughter back to sleep,

"She started fussing so I took her away so we wouldn't wake you," You told him as he made his way toward you. It had almost been a week since the two of you started working on your relationship with your daughter, having her sleep in a crib beside you had been a massive help.

"You did it alone." He whispered proudly of you as you glanced up at him with a giant grin on your face, you knew that there would have been no way you could have done this without Yoongi by your side and everyday you were grateful to have him.

"I had a great teacher," He blushed, leaning down and kissing you softly. He couldn't have been any prouder than he was right now.

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#bts #bts x reader #bts imagine #bts imagines #min yoongi #yoongi #yoongi x reader #yoongi imagine #yoongi imagines #min yoongi x reader #min yoongi imagines #min yoongi imagine #dreamescapeswriting

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valleyof-goldenlilies · 4 months

Text

The Winter Formal - Modern! Aemond Targaryen x Reader

Summary: Forced to be your annoying, arrogant academic rival’s date for your university’s Christmas Formal was already a nightmare in itself. Getting drunk? Now that was just a recipe for disaster.

Pairing: Modern! Aemond Targaryen x AFAB! Reader

Warnings: profanity, angst, some talks of drunk violence, academic dumb idiot rivals to lovers, lovesick Aemond, p in v sex, degradation, face sitting (f!receiving), tiddy play, use of 'atta girl' (pls let me know if i missed anything)

Word Count: 6.92k words

A/N: hoe hoe hoe! a very merry late Christmas and Happy New Year in advance from me to you :) MAY THE AEMOND NATION PLS ARISE, bcuz this is for you guys ;)

lovely dividers credited to @firefly-graphics !

For as long as you could remember, you had always hated Aemond Targaryen’s guts.

Maybe it was a hatred programmed in you since birth, but it made little sense, since your mother and Aemond’s mother, Alicent Targaryen, had been inseparable companions since high school. It was your mother who supported Alicent throughout her marriage, acting as a close, trusted confidant during her clashes with their old friend and Alicent’s new stepdaughter, Rhaenyra, and throughout her miserable marriage. They had even gotten pregnant at around the same time, your mother with you, and Alicent with Aemond, and they were sure that their children would share the same strong bond as they had.

So, it had been quite unfortunate, and ironic, when you and Aemond ended up being each other’s number 1 enemies.

You disliked plenty of things about him: how he always thought he was the best in the room, and actually had something to show for it - always coming in at the top of the classes you shared. History, geography, mathematics, english…bloody hell. It hurt worse when he always flaunted the results in your face.

Got a 98 for English? Aemond would get a 99, shoot you a taunting sympathetic grin and said: “Better luck next time.” He knew you were always actively seeking a chance to beat him, and he found a certain sort of thrill in it, in taunting you.

That little fuckhead.

It was a nigging thorn in your side, since you always strove to be the best that you could at everything. And you were always so, so, close.

Yet not close enough. As you were made to watch Aemond on stage every year at your school’s academic awards ceremony, a smirk on his face, looking like an overly self-righteous pufferfish as he lifted his first place trophy in the air. Like he had just won some fucking world championship. Meanwhile, you had to stand backstage, gritting your teeth and fisting the fabric of your uniform in your hands as you waited to be called on stage to receive your award as second place in your whole cohort. Not close enough as you were forced to be designated as salutatorian at the end of your senior year in high school, while Aemond shot you the most self-satisfied grin ever as he deliberately brushed past you to give his valedictorian speech.

You swore, if your diploma was not at stake that day, you would’ve pummelled him right in his smug, grinning face.

That year before you were due to start at King’s Landing University, however, Aemond had suffered a horrible accident in a brawl at a bar during Christmas along with his younger nephews, Jacaerys Velaryon and Lucerys Velaryon. He had come out of it with one eye permanently scarred from the glass shard of a broken beer bottle, and a colder, more sullen attitude. Despite the offer of a prosthetic eye by his step sister, Rhaenyra, Aemond had refused, instead putting on an eyepatch to hide his scarred right eye.

When your mother had recounted to you the incident with much solemnity, you had felt a strange sense of turmoil in you. You didn’t want to feel sorry for Aemond Targaryen, of all people, but it was a tragic incident that no one deserves to have befallen on them. So you could only shift uncomfortably in your seat, as your mother made meaningful eyes at you, trying to elicit some sympathy and concern from you.

Because of that incident, Aemond’s admission to university had to be put on hold, as the professors at the university were unsure if Aemond’s plans to double major in law and history would be impeded by the loss of his eye, and he had to take additional exams to prove that his studies would not be affected in any way.

So you were surprised when on the first day of classes, during your first class of the day - Constitutional Law - you caught sight of a familiar figure seated at the front of the class. Dressed in an expensive black cashmere sweater and tailored trousers, his long white hair neatly bunched up at the top of his head in a bun, eyepatch slung over his right eye, Aemond Targaryen sat there with an impassive look on his face, browsing through his lecture notes. Like some dark shadow the Seven sought to inflict upon you. You wanted to groan in frustration when the only seats left at the front were both next to him - clearly no one had summed up enough courage to sit next to the imposing Targaryen. Gripping the strap of your backpack a little tighter, you stalked up to the front, taking a seat at the right of him.

He barely looked up as you slid into your seat - a surprising change. Usually back when you were in high school, he would always greet you with that infuriating smirk on his face, one that screamed superiority at every turn. Gods, how much you had hated that. Yet, you felt a strange sense of emptiness at not being greeted.

Ignoring that, you pulled out your own textbooks and self-made notes, tying your hair up into a neat ponytail as you began reviewing your notes. From the front, you could hear very clearly what the rest of the class were gossiping about, and the whisperings about Aemond were unpleasant. You paused as you listened to them, gripping your highlighter a little tighter as you shot side glances at Aemond - still studying, not letting anything give. Was he truly not bothered by them? When he was younger, he always had something to prove whenever someone gossiped about him, having been bullied in the past. Why was he so silent? Who was this phantom?

“Are you going to keep staring?” Aemond’s cool voice broke through your thoughts, and you felt your cheeks heat up as you realise you’ve been caught. You sniffed haughtily, turning away. “Who said I was staring?” Aemond scoffed, not turning to look at you still, for whatever reason. “You were. Don’t try to deny it.” He paused for a while, eye fixed on a passage.

“I don’t want your pity, you know.” You bristled, startled. “As if I ever would.” You waited for Aemond to retort with a snarky remark, but you were surprised when he kept silent, and responded coldly. “Good. keep it that way.”

You shot him a discerning look, but before you could say anything else, the professor arrived, and all thoughts of Aemond Targaryen’s new unapproachability had vanished into thin air.

You soon came to learn that while Aemond had ceased the taunting of your youthhood, it was like losing an eye had made him even more driven somehow. You found you and him falling into old patterns, restarting your fierce rivalry. Only this time, you managed to succeed in getting the best of him in certain modules, such as for Civil Law modules, much to your delight. It only served to make Aemond more steely, however, and the both of you often found yourself partaking in the same student committees, always competing for the top spots in planning school events.

Like now, in the meeting called to discuss the planning of the school’s Winter Formal.

“I think that that’s a shit idea,” Aemond’s blunt words took everyone aback, but few dared to oppose him, too intimidated by the tall man.

And the few who dared were mostly you, anyway.

You raised your eyebrow, tapping your pen on the planning document in front of you. “It’s a winter formal, Targaryen. And white and gold is the traditional theme used for most formals. Isn’t it nice to spruce things up a bit?”

“You’re proposing to reinvent a winter formal that has been steeped in centuries of tradition,” Aemond remarked sarcastically, glaring at you. “Do you know how many distinguished alumni and guests are on the guest list? I doubt they would find your ‘Christmas Wonderland’ theme proposal charming in any way. Most likely, they’ll think it gaudy and it’ll reflect badly on the school.”

You snorted, wanting to toss the pen in his fucking infuriating face. Him and his know-it-all voice. “Yes, but you forget, Targaryen, that I am the head of this project. Not you.” You turned to the other members of the planning committee, who all look like they would rather be anywhere other than here, in the midst of you and Aemond’s bickering. “All of those in favour of revamping the winter formal theme, please raise your hands.”

Your reputation as a tenacious leader clearly had an effect, as most of the members tentatively raised their hands. Shooting a triumphant grin at Aemond, you smugly noted it down and began drafting up the students in charge of decorations.

One for you, and zero for Aemond. At long last.

Aemond had reluctantly gone along with the Christmas Wonderland theme, and even he had to admit, a little bit of colour certainly didn’t hurt. White and gold were such dreadfully boring colours, and many of the school’s faculty had expressed their praise for the changed theme this year, much to your delight.

However, so busy were you with the planning of the winter formal, that you had neglected to do a few important things for yourself.

Buying a dress and getting a date.

You paced back and forth in your dorm in panic, two days before the night of the Winter Formal, as your roommate, Rosina, looked at you with increasing frustration. “How could I be so stupid to have forgotten about those things?” You groaned, slumping down on an armchair and putting your head in your hands.

“The dress problem can be easily solved,” Rosina said bluntly, leaning back against her pillows. “I’ll just lend you one of mine. And who gives a flying fuck about not having a date? A lot of people don’t.”

“Yes, but I’m the head of the planning committee for this event!” you griped, as Rosina rolled her eyes. “I still don’t see the problem, apart from your stupid fucking dignity getting in the way as usual.” Usually, you loved Rosina’s deadpan, take-no-bullshit nature, but it wasn’t really helpful now.

“Anyway, from what I've heard, Targaryen doesn’t have a date either, so you don’t need to stress. He’s second-in-charge after you, anyway, so if he doesn’t have a date, you should be fine. It won't be that humiliating.” You slowly lifted your face up, looking at Rosina urgently. “Targaryen doesn’t have a date?”

“Yeah,” Rosina wrinkled her nose. “He’s hot, sure. But literally everyone who had the courage to ask got rejec- where the fuck are you going?” You were putting on your bra, and brushing through the tangles of your hair. “This is so fucking stupid, but I’m going to ask him.”

“Are you crazy?” Rosina came to stand next to you, hands on her hips as you roughly used a hairbrush to comb out a tangle. “You know you both hate each other right?”

“Desperate times call for desperate measures,” you bit out. “Wish me luck!” You blew a kiss to Rosina as you left the dorm. “Good luck, you crazy bitch!” You could hear Rosina holler as the dorm room closed behind you.

You took a deep breath, eyes resting on the dorm door before you. Right. You didn’t know what exactly had possessed you to come here. Maybe it was sheer panic, or stupidity, or both. You knocked lightly, but it seemed no one was in, which made you come to your senses a little bit. “This was a stupid idea,” you muttered, retracting your hand, wanting to just scurry back to your dorm.

Turning around, however, you knocked into a hard chest. “Oof! I’m so sorry!” You gasped out, before your eyes met a familiar lilac one, an indifferent expression etched on his face. Fucking hell.

“And what are you doing at my dorm this late, little bookworm?” His voice was raspy, and you couldn’t help but shift your weight from one leg to the other. Was it too late to run?

You were never a quitter though. And like you said, desperate times called for desperate measures.

“The winter formal,” you reluctantly gritted out. “I wanted…to ask you to be my date.” Aemond raised an eyebrow, and for a split second, you could see that self-satisfied boy from your youthood again. “You know, you’re supposed to say please, little bookworm.”

You bit your tongue, wanting to snark him and be done with it. ‘Calm down, calm down, you really do need him. Play nice, Y/N.’ you told yourself sternly, sighing. “Please, will you go to the winter formal with me as my date?” Aemond smirked, looking down at you. Your head was bowed, and he could hear you grinding your teeth a little. You were just too cute sometimes.

“You should look up at someone when making a request of them, you know,” Aemond said blandly, putting his hands in the pockets of his leather jacket. Your mouth dropped open, was he serious right now? This dickhead-

“You know what, fuck it,” you sniffed, beginning to walk away. “If you’re going to be a dick about it as usual, then there’s no point in continuing this conversation. Good fucking night, Targaryen.”

Aemond watched you walk away, the smirk never leaving his face. You went back to your dorm, immediately burying your face in the pillow, ignoring Rosina’s exasperated sighs of ‘I told you so’. All night, you tossed and turned in frustration, but when morning broke, Rosina shook you awake, ignoring your grumbles.

You got out of bed grumpily to see what the fuss was about, only to find a note sitting on the table, in a familiar scrawl.

“Go to the address written below and pick out a dress for tomorrow. Knowing you, you definitely didn’t have time to find one. I’ve already made payment arrangements, so just find one that you like. See you tomorrow.

Your date,

Aemond Targaryen.”

Rosina snorted, bumping your shoulder as you scanned the note for the third time, trying to make sure he wasn’t pulling your leg. “He so likes you.” You looked askance at her. “That’s bullshit.” Rosina chuckled, “Yeah. it’s not, and you know it too.” The conversation abruptly ended when you snatched up a stray cushion and began hitting her with it, ignoring her squeals as she tried to escape. It was impossible.

And yet?

A warm feeling burrowed into your stomach, and stayed there for the rest of the day.

On the night of the Winter Formal, you were frantically scrabbling around your dorm, affixing the final pins to your hair, putting on your final touches of makeup. Rosina was still in classes, but as the winter formal started at 7:30, you, being your endlessly worrying, perfectionist self, had to go at 6 to make sure everything was in order before the guests poured in.

A knock at the door sounded, and you yelled in response, putting on your lipstick. “Give me a second!” As you swung open the door, your breath momentarily stuttered in your throat.

Oh dear.

Aemond stood outside the door, looking like he had just stepped out of the fucking Met Gala or something. He was dressed in a three-piece suit, black with red lapels, with a few shimmers of silver scattered here and there, like he was coated in a layer of stardust. His suit jacket wasn’t really a normal jacket, but a sharply cut cape coat, which made him look a little imposing, but handsome all the same. It was embroidered with small dragon insignias, and you remembered Aemond’s family’s crest was a dragon or something. Of course he would find a way to incorporate that into his outfit. His family were one of the biggest donors of the university, after all.

You gave him an appraising look, one hand on your hip as you surveyed him. “You…look nice.” Aemond smirked, tossing some of his white-blonde locks over his shoulder haughtily. “I can dress myself, you know. Don’t need to act surprised now.” You rolled your eyes, and Aemond took the chance to scan you from head to toe as well. Dressed in a gorgeous strapless gown of midnight blue, your bodice was streaked with silver as well, shining like starlight among the deep blue of your dress. The skirt flared into elaborate ruffles of tulle and black lace that were almost invisible against the backdrop of the dress, and small silver sparkles twinkled among the ruffles of your gown.

You narrowed your eyes as you realised the both of you were matching, did he do this on purpose? From the way Aemond’s eye was shining in mischief, you were most certain that he did.

“You look…breathtaking,” his next words took you aback, and you regarded him with a look of unease, unsure of how to respond. Was this truly the Aemond Targaryen you knew? The one whose only language was taunting or disagreeing with you? You somehow managed to recover some semblance of sanity, nodding stiffly. “Thanks…I guess.”

A self-satisfied smirk appeared on his lips again, as he offered you his arm. “Shall we get going, then? I’m sure you will want to inspect the venue and get your nose into every single little crook and cranny to make sure that it’s perfect.”

You rolled your eyes, your arm, which were clad in silver silk gloves, slipping into his gingerly. “Spoken like someone who wouldn’t do the same.”

The formal had been progressing smoothly so far, apart from the few drunken incidents here and there, which you discreetly handled and made a note to provide less alcohol at these events. Much to your delight, your professors had introduced you to some attorneys whom you deeply admired, commending you as one of their finest students in the year. You had taken the chance to network and mingle with them, eagerly seeking out internship and shadowing opportunities for your upcoming holidays, particularly in the field of civil litigation, and many of them had given you their contact details for you to contact them should you wish to work with them.

Aemond stood by you like a silent shadow, watching but not saying much, but your professors also praised him, introducing him to many esteemed alumnus. And once they had learnt that Aemond was from the prestigious Targaryen family, many of them immediately took to flocking Aemond, asking him many questions about his family, his plans for studies, and so on. A slight burning sensation of envy rose in your heart as you watched Aemond disinterestedly converse with them. Why wasn’t he taking it seriously? Had it been you, you would be seizing the opportunity to network with them.

‘He's a Targaryen,’ you sighed internally. ‘Of course he wouldn’t. It’s been pretty much handed to him on a silver platter his own life anyway.’

Sullenly, you slipped away, making rounds around the party to ensure that everything was progressing smoothly. Still, it couldn’t curb the irritableness you were feeling, so you snatched up a bottle of whiskey from the drinks table, pouring yourself a glass. Then two. Then three. Then four turned to seven and seven turned to thirteen glasses. Your surroundings blurred as time seemed to slow, and you sighed, feeling a heady pounding in your head.

“Are you serious?” A gruff voice interrupted you in your fifteenth? Twentieth? Glass of whiskey, and you looked up from where you had sunk into a plush armchair, a glazed over, slightly cantankerous expression on your face.

“Well, well,” you hiccuped, lifting the glass to your lips. “If it isn’t Mr Bigshot Targaryen.” Aemond sighed in annoyance, knowing you were picking a fight again. He made a quick assessment of your surroundings, noting two empty whiskey bottles and a third one that was almost drained. Seven fucking Hells, you were drunk.

You let out an indignant yelp as a hand plucked away your whiskey tumbler, setting it down with a definitive clink. “Hey, I was drinking that!”

“You’re fucking drunk out of your mind, little bookworm,” he said quietly, crossing his arms. “I’m taking you back to your dorm.” You hiccuped again. “You’re not my dad, Targaryen. So why don’t you just run along and socialise with those schmoozy lawyer friends of yours, hmm? They were all eager to have a piece of you. Or have you grown tired already?”

Aemond wanted to smack you in the forehead. Oh, this godsforsaken woman. “I may not be your dad, yes,” he rumbled, snatching away the whiskey bottle that you were reaching for and making you curse at him. “But I would be damned if I let you get drunk on your first Christmas Eve spent away from your family.”

You gave him a confused look. “Is it Christmas Eve?” Aemond frowned. He put a hand on your forehead, to check for a fever, which you promptly batted away. “Have you lost all your senses? The winter formal was scheduled on Christmas Eve, remember?”

“Oh.” was all you could say, lamely. “I…I was so busy. I didn’t remember.”

Aemond sighed, taking a seat in the armchair next to you. It was good that it was late and most of the guests had already left, so the both of you had some privacy. The vast hall was empty now, save for a few cleaners. “You know, you have got to take more time for yourself. You take on too many commitments.”

You hiccuped, snorting softly. Perhaps it was the liquid courage, but you felt a strong inclination to vent out all your previous frustrations on Aemond right now. Who the hell did he think he was, criticising you for your decisions?

“Yeah, and it’s all your fucking fault.” Aemond’s eye widened incredulously, his mouth dropping open. “My fault? Pray tell, did I ever tell you to overwork yourself that you forget to keep track of when Christmas was?”

“It’s because of you that I have to overwork myself!” you blustered out, a tidal wave of emotions overtaking you. “Because you’re always so fucking perfect, and smart, and good at every single goddamn thing under the sun. Meanwhile, compared to you, I’ve always had to work twice as hard. And yet, I never come close to beating you. Despite how many fucking extracurriculars I have, how many A’s I get, how much praise I get for being ‘one of the best students in the grade’, it’s never fucking enough! Because you’re always the best! And I’m so sick of it!”

After your tirade, you deflated like a balloon sucked clean of its air, collapsing back against the armchair. You felt hot wet streaks cascading down your face, but you didn’t care anymore. You were just so tired…it wasn’t fair. Why did he have to be so perfect?

The touch of a hand on your shoulder startled you, and the next thing you knew, Aemond Targaryen embraced you, gently stroking your hair as if you were a lost child, and he was consoling you. Despite your mind screaming at him to let go, it didn’t translate to your physical actions. You just…stayed there, sobbing in his arms. “I hate you so much, you know. You’ve always had everything handed to you on a silver platter, and it’s like you don’t even care. You always treat things for granted,” you continued rambling on, the dizzy sensation in your head gradually increasing.

Aemond was silent for a long time. He never anticipated you to feel this way, and the shock from your revelations sent his head reeling. He sighed, how could he ever tell you that he had a stupid crush on you since you were little kids? That his attempts at teasing you, riling you up, were all so you could just look at him for a second longer, even if it was with a scowl? How could he tell you that none of his A’s or first place trophies could make him feel the same fuzzy way he felt whenever you looked at him? He opened his mouth to speak, debating on whether to comfort you, or tell you all his feelings. “Y/N-”

With a start, he realised you were asleep in his arms as you let out a snore, body slack in his arms. He sighed, rubbing a hand down his face. Wonderful. This was just the Christmas Eve he wanted.

The sound of an alarm jolted you from a deep slumber. You flung off the blankets covering you, sitting up in bed and rubbing your eyes. “Ugh…” the pounding in your head was overwhelming, it was like there were a party of elephants having a fiesta in your brain right now. “What time is it…” you reached for the alarm clock to turn it off, only to freeze when a hand reached for it before you did.

You and Aemond Targaryen stared at each other, wide-eyed, in the dim light of the dorm, while the red digits on the clock read, “6a.m.”

You were the first to react, frantically struggling as you scooted to the far end of the bed. “Aaaahhhh!” you screamed, clutching the duvet closer to you for protection. “What the fuck are you doing in my dorm?”

“Wait, we didn’t-” you looked down at yourself, noting with palpable relief that you were still in your winter formal attire, though you stank of alcohol. Thank the Seven.

Aemond rolled his eyes, grumbling as he switched off his alarm clock. “No, we didn’t sleep together. And this isn’t your dorm. It’s mine.”

“Then what in the name of the Seven and all that is holy am I doing here?” You hollered at him, the confusion coupled with the pounding in your head making your surroundings spin. “Ow…my head.”

“Yeah, it’s called a hangover,” Aemond snided, taking a seat on the bedspread. “You know, for drinking nearly three bottles of whiskey last night.”

Your eyes went wide in horror. “Last night…” You weren’t the type to forget what you did while drunk, so your memory quickly raced through last night’s events, where you got drunk, and…fucking shit.

You squeezed your eyes shut, muttering curses under your breath as you remembered what had happened last night. Oh crap, oh crap, oh crap. An awkward silence had lapsed in the room, as you struggled to find words to acquit you of this predicament. ‘Me and my big mouth while I’m drunk.’

“I’m sorry,” you both blurted out at the same time, before breaking off, staring at each other awkwardly. “Wait, why are you sorry?” you questioned him, looking dumbfounded. Aemond sighed, smiling wistfully. “Isn’t it obvious? For making you feel that way. I…I had no idea you did.”

“It’s fine,” you cut him off brusquely, awkwardly fiddling with your fingers as the duvet slowly slid back down. “It’s all just fucking stupid, anyway. Let’s just let it go-”

Suddenly Aemond seized your hands, holding onto them with some sort of restrained anger. Startled, you stared up at him, as his one eye glazed over with pain and sorrow. “Of course it’s not fine. Don’t brush aside your feelings like that.” you stared at him, stupefied. What had gotten into him?

Aemond inhaled deeply, looking down at your hands. “You know…how I lost my eye over the break last year right?” You nodded warily, not sure where this was headed. Aemond’s voice shook a little as he recounted that incident. “It was because Luke was drunk, really. He wanted to pick a fight with this guy because he had stolen his girlfriend. And then next thing we knew, his goons surrounded us. Then, I think maybe it was the heat of the moment, or adrenaline…but Luke had a glass shard in his hand, and he accidentally attacked me.” You felt your heart plummet to your stomach. “What?”

Aemond smiled, a contortion of pain and feigned impassivity. “He was drunk out of his mind, he probably thought I was one of the goons by accident. By the time Jace pulled him off, it was a little too late.” He sighed. “You know, the drunk part I can forgive, but the worst part was that my father didn’t even care to hear my side of the story. He just said that we should’ve been more careful.” His voice hardened, “I was angry, because he just chose to brush this under the rug, pretend like we were still one big happy family, like Luke didn’t slash out my eye in a drunken rage. He didn’t try to comfort me, or understand my situation. And I just…” he shrugged helplessly.

You bit your bottom lip, looking at his scarred eye. “I’m sorry…that must have hurt. A lot. Your dad is a dick.”

The ghost of a smirk lingered on Aemond’s lips. “Yeah…he is. I’ve made my peace with it though, and Luke has never stopped apologising since that day. So it is what it is.” He hesitated, before reaching up tentatively, taking off his eyepatch. A gasp sounded from you as you took in the sapphire crammed into where his right eye should’ve been. “...does it look scary?” Aemond asked you, his voice small. You shook your head, unable to tear your gaze away. “It’s not. It’s…quite beautiful, actually. Even though it’s a bit macabre.”

Aemond chuckled, gently brushing aside a strand of your messed up hair. “My point is, don’t try to just brush things under the rug, okay? It never did anyone any good, and it won’t for you as well.” You shifted, a faint sense of discomfort prickling your skin. “But why…are you telling me all this?” ‘Why are you being so nice? I hated you.’

Aemond barked out a rough laugh. “Isn’t it obvious? I have a crush on you, little bookworm.”

You blinked. Once. twice. Thrice. “I’m sorry, what?”

“I have a crush on you. Since we were kids." Aemond repeated himself, his voice light with amusement, but tender. “Did you know why I always teased you? Why I always wanted to make you frustrated? It was because I wanted your attention. I didn’t care if it was negative or positive, which in hindsight, didn’t seem like a good choice.”

You stared at him, mouth agape. He-he can’t be serious, can he?

“You don’t have to say anything,” Aemond said quickly, releasing your hands. “I just wanted you to know how I felt. No brushing things under the rug, you know.” Still, Aemond could feel his heart breaking a little at your silence. He had shot his shot, even though you made it clear that you disliked him. He shouldn’t expect much. “Little bookworm?” he asked carefully, observing your expression.

“For someone so smart., you’re a real idiot, you know that?” Aemond opened his mouth to answer, but before he knew it, your lips were on his, as you launched yourself at him. Aemond’s eye widened, but then you mumbled, “You’re supposed to kiss me back, you know.”

Then, with a choked laugh, Aemond did, reaching up to cup your cheeks and stroke them with his thumb as he returned the kiss from the girl of his dreams. Your lips moved in perfect tandem to one another, filled with tender, sweet desperation. “I’ll be an idiot, an annoying pest, anything you want.” Aemond murmured, his lips breaking away for a moment. “As long as you keep tormenting me, as long as you’re still here. I would be your anything.”

You laughed, feeling slight tears prickle at the corner of your eyes. “You’re such a doofus, you know that?” Aemond flipped you over, making you land on your back with a yelp, as he hovered over you, smirking. “I know. But I’m your doofus.”

Aemond continued kissing you, his hands roaming across your body sweetly, carefully. “This is probably the best Christmas of my life,” Aemond muttered softly against your lips. Your eyes widened, “Shoot, I completely forgot again.” Aemond laughed, sitting up and looking down at you with a naughty grin on his face. “Well, I actually have a present for you, you know.”

You raised your eyebrows, looking up at him. Even in nothing but an old, faded sweatshirt and some sweatpants, he looked like a vision sculpted by the Seven. “Oh? And what might that be?”

“Me, of course,” he said smugly, leaning down to kiss you again. You let out a few whimpers as you felt his hands slowly sliding up your dress, creeping up your thighs…into your panties.

“Oh!’ you gasped out, as Aemond found the spot between your wet folds. He grinned devilishly, “Already wet for me, hmm?” You rolled your eyes at him, groaning as he teased your wet slit with the pad of his finger. “Just shut up already.’

Aemond wiggled his eyebrows mischievously, “Why don’t you make me?’ You blinked, not quite comprehending his point. “I want you to sit on my face while I eat your wet little cunt,” he delineated bluntly, looking at you hungrily. “It’s a victory for you, no? You get your pussy eaten out, and shut me up at the same time. Hell, if I wasn’t so eager for a taste of your pussy, I would’ve grumbled at the unfairness of it.”

You stared at him incredulously, but you felt the slow rise of arousal in your abdomen as he continued looking at you challengingly whilst teasing your folds, and you decided, why the hell not? “Game on, Targaryen.”

He grinned, putting his finger in his mouth and groaning as he tasted your essence. You clamped your legs a little tighter at the sight. “You taste so fucking good already. I can’t wait to feel your cunt on my mouth.” Deft fingers helped you out of your gown, and you tossed it away carelessly, moving to take off your underwear. Aemond’s eye trailed over your naked form shamelessly, and he planted a soft kiss on your neck. “Beautiful.” he murmured. You felt your cheeks heat up, but decided to sass him a little. “Well, are we going to wait here all day, or?” Aemond grinned, a handsome, wicked expression that made your stomach do flips. “Definitely not. I need to taste you now.”

He laid back on his pillows, gesturing at you. “Come here. Now.” You swallowed, crawling towards him, angling your cunt to his face. “Don’t suffocate or anything, okay?” You quipped as a joke, but Aemond only smirked. “No promises, sweetheart.”

He pulled your hips down towards him, and you let out a pleasured gasp as his tongue flicked across your clit. Moaning, you dug your nails into the wooden headboard of his bed, writhing and shaking slightly as Aemond devoured your pussy. When he pressed the tip of his nose up your slit, you let out a mewl, eyes rolling to the back of your head.

You rode Aemond’s face eagerly, as he pleasured you without much regard for his own safety. A few times, you were so concerned that Aemond had not come up for air in so long that you tried to move your hips off his face, only for him to firmly grip you by the hips and pull you back down again. With Aemond’s insistent licking and sucking, you felt a coil beginning to form in your stomach. “Oh, god, I’m cumming, Aemond-” you moaned, but your moan was cut off when Aemond lifted you off his face, smirking at you smugly with his face coated in your juices. “Why’d you stop?” you whined, pouting.

Aemond chuckled. Oh, you were just so adorable sometimes. “Because I want your first time cumming with me to be on my cock,” Aemond explained, looking eerily calm, like he hadn’t just nearly drove you to climax with his tongue. “On your hands and knees.”

You gave him a scolding look, but Aemond only repeated himself, sterner this time. “Now, princess.” The nickname earned a shiver from you, and you found yourself obeying, shifting on your hands and knees. You heard Aemond dispose of his own clothing, and your legs quivered in anticipation as he came up behind you.

He chuckled darkly, landing a few gentle spanks on your ass. “Gods, this ass is magnificent. I’m going to have to spank it someday.” You had to bite back a moan as he leaned over you, whispering sweetly into your ear. His other hand wandered to your chest, pinching and then rubbing your sensitive, hardened buds, releasing a shaky, shuddering moan from you. “You would like that, wouldn’t you? Having my hands all over this perfect ass of yours? Leaving red handprints over it? Hmm?”

You nearly choked on your saliva as you fought to answer, “Yes, daddy.” He groaned, smacking your ass lightly for a few more times. “Good fucking girl,” he punctuated each word with such raw intensity it made your cunt ache for him. Oh, how you craved him.

As if he could read your mind, Aemond began to enter you, groaning as he did. Inch by inch, he sunk in, watching his cock disappear inside your warm, wet folds. “Gods, you are so fucking tight,” he swore, his hands gently going around to pinch your nipples. You yipped, which brought a smile to his face. How could someone be so perfect?

Your legs were quivering at this point, and you were barely hanging on by a thread as Aemond sunk into you slowly, reaching places so deep and so pleasurable. You moaned, just how big was he?

“All in, princess,” he whispered affectionately, stroking your hair gently. “You okay?” “Yeah…” your voice was slightly raspy from the pleasure. “Good.” Aemond kissed down your spine gently, making goosebumps rise up on your skin. “Do you want it hard and fast, or slow and gentle?”

Biting your lip, you managed to stutter out, “Slow, please. Need to get used to you.” Aemond smiled, hands trailing down your abdomen. “Anything you want, princess.”

Then, Aemond began to move, and the world dissolved into a fuzzy nothingness as he did. He was so careful, taking his time with you, thrusting so deep inside you it elicited the most delicious, deep sighs and moans from you. “Oh…that’s the spot,” you murmured as Aemond’s cock hit your g-spot, making you see stars. Aemond chuckled darkly, one hand moving to play with your hardened nipples, watching as you arched your back into him. “I’m going to go faster now, alright, princess?” he murmured, the other hand soothingly trailing down your spine. You barely managed to gasp out the words “yes” before Aemond began to thrust harder and faster in you, hips ramming into yours as his cock stroked the most sensitive spots inside of you.

You moaned, panting needily as he did, feeling your ruined orgasm beginning to creep up again. “Aemond, am gonna come-” A guttural moan torn from Aemond’s throat as he heard that, his hands moving to flip you over as his movements slowed. “No.” He nearly snarled, turning you around to face him. “You come looking at my face, princess. Understood?”

You nodded, too desperate for your orgasm to object, as Aemond wrung moan after moan out of your pliant body, mouth kissing and biting everywhere on your neck and shoulders, leaving his marks all over you. He groaned as he began laving his attention on your perky tits again, mouth sucking at them harshly, teeth grazing over the nub. You shut your eyes, too lost in the pleasure as Aemond continued pounding into you, gripping your hips tightly.

“Eyes open, darling, or I won’t let you come,” Aemond’s rough sounding command made your eyes snap open, and he grinned roguishly as he saw your eyes fixed on his face. “Atta girl. Are you close?”

You nodded, pleading, “Please let me come, Aemond. Can’t last much longer…”

“I know, darling. I know,” Aemond groaned, leaning in to kiss you again. “You’re just a needy little slut for me, aren’t you?” You nodded frantically, anything to make him let you cum. He chuckled, “Thought so. It’s alright though, daddy likes needy little sluts like you, so long as they’re obedient. You’re a good girl, aren’t you, princess?”

“Yes, yes, I am,” you cried out, hands moving to grip at the sheets tightly. “Oh god, I’m going to come, I’m coming-”

Aemond’s fingers moved downwards, and his thumb rubbed over your clit, coaxing you towards your orgasm. With a loud cry, you came all over Aemond, eyes squeezing shut in unadulterated pleasure. Aemond’s thrusts didn’t slow a bit, as he chased his own high, groaning. “Do you want me to come inside, or…”

“I’m on the pill, don’t worry,” you reassured him, looking up at him, smoothing his white-blonde locks back from his forehead. He looked like an angel, all sweaty, his expression filled with pleasure and hunger and affection as he looked down at you. An angel of lust.

Aemond moaned at that, feeling his dick twitch before he spilled inside of you, hands going to grip at the headboard tightly, as he rode out his orgasm.

Aemond collapsed onto the bed next to you, taking you into his arms. “I should probably get you cleaned up,” he murmured softly, “But I just want to be selfish for a while, and cuddle with you a bit. That okay?” You nodded, leaning your head onto his chest. A content sigh burst from your lips. “More than okay. We can just shower together later, anyway.”

Aemond hummed in approval at your proposal, kissing your forehead gently. The both of you stayed in each other’s arms for a while, basking in the afterglow of sex and in each other’s company.

“Hey, princess?”

“Hmm?”

“Merry Christmas.”

“Merry Christmas, Aemond.”

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bookofbonbon · 4 months

Text

all a lie - coriolanus snow.

Pairing: Coriolanus Snow x Reader.

Warnings: Abusive relationship. Death. Descriptions of dead person. Spoilers for TBOSBAS.

Summary: Your relationship with Coriolanus Snow was all a lie.

Word Count: 1k+.

A/N: Sad girl hours. I found the angst fic. I HAD TO THROW IN THE DESTIEL LINE HAHAH (please tell me if you catch it - it's very obvious lmao).

Your engagement to Coriolanus Snow was an arranged one. It was no secret. Everyone in Panem knew. History would report that it was a pre-arrangement between best friends and co-creators of The Hunger Games, Crassus Snow and Casca Highbottom.

Details would emerge how when Crassus Snow’s wife birthed a son and Casca Highbottom's wife a daughter, the pair of bestfriends wanted to join their families; intertwining two of Panem’s most influential families for an eternity.

Feature after feature of the upcoming wedding would be written and published; networks broadcasting far and wide for all to see. It was of course, a bonus that the couple were also in love.

The headlines would call it things like fate and true love, and the people of Panem would fall head over heels for it.

It was all a lie of course. A lie conceived by Coriolanus Snow. The arrangement, the engagement, being in love. None of it was real.

“I chose her also because I hate her,” you’d overheard him one day. A long pause; the drawn out silence broken only by the sound of his haughty laughter. You could hear the smugness in his voice. “She’s perfect.”

None would know that the arrangement itself was false but you were constantly reminded by those who were privy to the true nature of your relationship with him that you should be grateful. How lucky you were that the noble Coriolanus Snow would honour the wishes of his great father for you after the shame your own brought.

“You should be thanking me,” Coriolanus hissed, face close to yours and his grip tightening around your arm. “Your father damned you. If it weren’t for me, if I didn’t come up with this arrangement for you, you’d be nothing. I saved you. I’m the one who gripped you tight and raised you from perdition.”

The hardest part was that you were starting to believe it too. Reality and make-believe blurring into one - it was becoming increasingly more difficult to discern what was real from what was not; unsure of right from left, up from down. Everything snatched away from you in a moment's notice and you should be grateful. Everyone in Panem is happy for you but, you.

But, Coriolanus lied about the engagement, he was probably lying about that too.

Of course, it hadn’t always been this way. There was a time that existed when the two of you were friends, genuinely. Your father’s were friends, the very best and so were the two of you - you think.

In hindsight, you wondered if the downfall was inevitable, given the history; something broke down somewhere, your father’s weren’t particularly cordial in their later years. You had never thought that it would affect the two of you as well but, pinpointing when your own friendship with Coriolanus shifted into other was easy - the beginning of your mentorships for The 10th Annual Hunger Games and over the course of the next two months following that until it was dead… along with you father.

You groan, loudly and keel forward.

You press your free hand to your forehead but it doesn’t stop the barrage of images of your father’s lifeless body from coming to mind; slumped over his desk, nose bloody, face blue and a blank stare.

A journal would later be found amongst his belongings when Dr. Gaul and Coriolanus volunteered to clear out his things from the academy; a journal full of the ramblings of a mad, drug-addled man, that damned your father all to hell as a rebel. You were sure it wasn’t his - you couldn’t prove that it wasn’t.

But one thing that you were certain of in all of that, was that there was only one common denominator - Coriolanus Snow.

You try not to think about how his resentment for your father grew tenfold between reaping day and your father’s last, festering into something rotten. How this entire arrangement was likely revenge so, he would have you, Casca Highbottom’s daughter under his thumb and locked in his cage for the rest of your life to make up for the years of your father’s torment.

The newspapers would report The Revered Dean Casca Highbottom Succumbs to Morphling Addiction, despite the toxicology report finding traces of rat poison in his system; despite your father divulging that Lucy Gray used rat poison to win, smuggled in by Coriolanus Snow; despite you seeing Coriolanus Snow leaving your father’s classroom just moments before you found his body.

“Snow lands on top.” you’d watch him taunt your father’s grave on the day your engagement was announced.

Coriolanus Snow was never really your friend.

You think you might be sick.

You remind yourself it’s all hearsay and speculation, the official reports read accidental overdose and you’d push that small voice that told you otherwise further and further into the darkest crevices of your mind because Coriolanus Snow saved you.

“Darling,” Coriolanus calls, voice mechanical.

You remain seated with your hand pressed to your forehead for a few seconds longer until it clicks - he’s talking to you.

Hand sliding down your face, the band of your engagement ring is cool against your warm skin. Your elbow digs into your thigh as you rest your chin on your palm and look up at him with what you hope appear to be sober eyes and as best of a smile as you could muster, given your current state.

“The Vickers and Creeds are about to leave, we will see them out.”

Not a question but a command as he holds his hand out stoically for you to take; eyes swimming with restrained rage - had they always been so cold? Perhaps or perhaps not - not that you particularly cared at the moment, you just wanted everyone to leave.

If you could’ve, you yourself would’ve left the party a long time ago - a luxury unfortunately, not afforded to guests of honour. Not that you felt like a guest of honour. Quite frankly, nursing a migraine in one hand and a glass of champagne in the other whilst avoiding your guests for the duration of the night was not at all how you imagined your own engagement party to be but, that was exactly how it was.

There’s a familiar burning sensation in your nose, a prickling at the back of your eyes, the feeling of something stuck in your throat.

You hiccup and something akin to concern flashes in Coriolanus’s eyes but it's gone as quickly as it came - you were probably imagining it.

“Put the glass of champagne down,” he tells you and you do.

You want to laugh- or maybe cry but, instead you take his hand, intertwine your fingers, hold his hand loosely and your jaw tightly and let him lead the way.

All fics are my own work - I have not posted my work anywhere else.

Disclaimer: I do not own any characters/places mentioned above.

Do not copy. Do not translate. Do not repost.

#coriolanus snow #coriolanus snow fanfiction #coriolanus snow x reader #coriolanus snow x you #coryo snow #coriolanus fanfiction #coriolanus x reader #coryo x reader #coryo x you #coriolanus x you

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mikareo · 2 months

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౨ৎ⋆ ˚｡⋆ A LOVE LETTER TO: THE LOUVRE ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀呪術廻船; geto suguru x fem reader ⠀ ꒰ . . org. writing repost ꒱ . . . word count; 12.9k

⊹ ⠀⠀ for as long as he can remember, geto's world has been black and white - giving him no reason to appreciate his mother’s profession as an artist and the beauties that art can provide. however, an accidental meeting with you gives him reason to doubt his former beliefs - proving to him that there may be true beauty in a world that’s void of everything bright, that beauty being the sunshine that you provide.

contains; colorblind!geto, painter!reader, geto's mom is reader’s art mentor, he hates art, strangers to friends to lovers, major crushing from both sides, slow burn but also not slow burn, swearing, fluff, reader acts like she’s on an adrenaline rush 24/7, jealousy, angst, explosive arguments, lowkey toxic, extremely inaccurate depictions of colorblindness!!, geto sucks at flirting author's note; repost of a bllk fic i have, titled 'rationalism'. if there are any plot errors pls let me know,, the original fic is still posted, i just wanted this up for jjk too,, enjoy!

Whenever the sun meets its peak at the high dawning point in the sky is when Suguru knows it's a perfectly acceptable time to visit his oh-so-beloved mother. If he could, he would spend every waking moment with her - he’s a momma’s boy through and through - not only because she birthed him and taught him everything he knows, but because she’s kind and good. She’s also one of - scratch that - she’s the only person he can stand to be around for more than twenty four hours - and he takes great pride in having such a wonderful woman in his life.

However, despite how dearly he holds his mother to his heart, the issue with visiting her at this time of day is that she’s in her art studio. A place he loathes more than having to wear wet socks with sneakers. While it’s a beautiful space, with high wooden beams and floor to ceiling windows, he finds himself nauseous at the mere sight of the countless tubes of oil and acrylic paints. It’s not that the smell or colors are distasteful, it’s the fact that no matter how hard he squints and struggles, he cannot fathom what the simple color red looks like.

Complete black and white color blindness isn’t a life threatening condition in the slightest, but for Suguru, it feels as if he’s being stabbed through the sternum at any notion of the changing leaves or colorful streaks of light across the sun-setting sky.

He doesn’t hate his mother for being an artist, he simply hates the art itself.

And he especially hates pieces of art like the one sitting before him, now. With the blobs of squares and triangles against the supposedly white canvas, sitting perky on the easel as if to mock him - he decides to reach his hand out - and remind himself how emotionally detached acrylic paints make him feel. It’s wet, he observes, rubbing his thumb and pointer finger together to mix the possibly different hues. Suguru hopes he didn’t ruin the artist’s painting in any way, he wouldn’t know if he’d accidentally smeared shading or contrasting primaries - but surely the artist could fix it in a jiffy.

“Do you like it?”

Well, that certainly isn’t his mother’s voice.

“I tried using cooler tones in the corner here, and then migrated towards warmth in the lower portion.” You’re beside him now, standing shoulder-to-shoulder with his position, and completely ignoring his personal space - all while he’s never met you before this day. Your finger is extended, pointing towards the artistic decisions you’re elaborating on that, in all honesty, he doesn’t give two shits about. “I’m thinking about sketching some paper cranes on top of it all, I want it to represent the change of seasons.”

“What do you think?”

You’re staring at him now, bright eyes shining with curiosity. Suguru is at a loss for words, mostly due to your unannounced appearance in the studio, but also because you’re possibly the most beautiful woman he’s ever laid his eyes on - which is shocking, considering the sight of thick paint smudged against a person’s face typically sends him running the opposite direction. He’s never felt an immediate connection to the women of his past - however you, a strange girl who resembles a dog waiting for its treat, has his heart beating at twice the rate.

“I like this shape.” Suguru purses his lips into a straight line, never having felt so awkward in his whole life. “This square is nice, too.”

You look utterly unimpressed with his evaluation. Your nose is scrunched in distaste and the fold beneath your right eye seems to be twitching in disapproval for your own artwork. “That’s all that you like?” You step ever so slightly closer to him, chin tilted up to meet his gaze, before retreating quickly and coddling your painting. “Perhaps I overestimated my color palette. I really thought it would be the outstanding moment of this piece, but I guess I could rework it if the shapes are all that matter—”

“Did you touch my painting?”

Oh boy, he’s in for it now.

A nervous laugh leaves his mouth, embarrassing him further as he reaches up to scratch the back of his neck in an attempt to look casual, only for you to grab his wrist out of thin air. “Oh my god, you did!” Your mouth is agape, inspecting his tattered skin in shock - yet somehow he knows that you aren’t truly upset with him - you don't seem like that kind of person. “Did you not realize that you’ve got scarlet red all over your palms?”

Suguru’s mind is blank, his ability to form coherent sentences is gone, and he can only muster up the cheesiest, most terribly dreadful joke that he’s said in the twenty three years he’s been alive.

“I guess you caught me red handed?”

There’s a moment of silence, with the two of you displaying the most aloof expressions either of you have ever made, until your face lights up with laughter. He doesn’t understand what could possibly be so funny - his joke was awful - but the sound of your contagious fits of giggles make his heart feel a little bit warmer in a place that he commonly feels suffocated in. For the first time, the studio gives him a sense of comfort rather than distress - and he knows it's because he’s developing a very clear crush on the pretty girl beside him.

You’re hysterical, resembling that of insanity while Suguru is simply stuck in time. He can’t tell if he should be steadying you before you trip over your own feet or if he should simply take his leave and forget this day ever happened.

“I don’t mean to be rude,” he begins, watching you wipe a tear of laughter from the crinkle of your right eye, “but why are you here? Do you have an appointment, because I could’ve sworn there weren’t any other people that were allowed in the studio at this hour—”

“Oh, I do know you!” The volume of your voice just seems to get louder and louder. “You must be Miss Geto’s son! She always mentions how lovely her little boy is, I can’t believe I’m finally meeting you! Though, I expected you to be like six or seven, not my age. She should’ve mentioned that you were handsome, not cute - she really chose every adjective other than the ones that wouldn’t make you sound like a primary schooler.”

Does she ever stop talking? Suguru doesn’t think he’s ever heard another person ramble on-and-on like you do. Normally he’d have ended the conversation by now, walked away without a second thought of whether he acted rude or not, but he knows that his mother would strangle him if he was to blatantly disregard her current favorite student. The student that she loves telling him stories about at the dinner table every Sunday night as he’s just trying to eat his fingerling potatoes in peace.

The same student who he’s somehow enjoying talking to - though it’s mostly just you talking to his blank face - and is causing a soft yellow blush to form on his cheeks. He doesn’t actually know if yellow is the color related to blushing, but he thinks he’s read it somewhere before.

“Anyways, to answer your question—”

Suguru feels like he’d asked you hours ago.

“—I’d walked all the way to the train station and realized I’d forgotten my wallet here - which is strange because normally I never forget anything. I’m a very organized person—”

Yeah, he doesn’t believe that.

“—and then I had to run all the way back here—”

Your shoes are scuffed. You definitely tripped on the way.

“—where I accidentally ran into a stroller…poor baby—”

Yep. Tripped.

“—which led me to you!”

You’re smiling now and Suguru doesn’t think he’s seen so many teeth shining at him in all of his life. God, do you ever run out of energy? No matter, he knows exactly where your missing item is. The anonymous wallet had been the first thing his eyes had grazed over when striding towards your artwork - good thing it’s only an arm’s reach away.

He snatches the wallet from the art easel and is pleasantly surprised by the quality of the possibly monochromatic leather. The clasp is simple, requiring just one twist before the contents of your identity are laid out before him. “Well, it’s nice to meet you,” Suguru recites the name written on your license and holds the items out to you, to which you reach out, eager to reunite with your belongings. However, at the last second he waves it in the air - away from your dying fingertips - and clicks his tongue two times. “Try not to lose it again. It’s a luxury brand, isn’t it? I like the black color.”

“Black?” Shit. The tilt of confusion your head makes indicates that your wallet is not, in fact, black. “I’m either stupid or color blind, but this is red.”

Before Suguru can respond, he’s saved by the bell. Well, technically his savior isn’t an actual bell, but you get the gist. “Miss Geto!” Thank god she’s finally here to distract you. He’s been fighting to maintain his pride throughout your entire interaction. “I made an extra trip to the studio and ran into your son, here! You weren’t lying when you said he’s a little quiet - honestly, I feel like I’ve been talking to myself this whole time.”

You quite literally have been doing that very thing for the past ten minutes.

“Oh, Suguru! Have you been acting rude?” His mother’s expression is tense, stricter than the time he ‘accidentally’ took her (grey?) Kia Soul on a joyride that one weekend he and Satoru decided to go on a midnight run to the department store. “Please don’t mind him at all, dear. You see, he doesn’t exactly get out much - his social skills might be a little underdeveloped.”

She can’t actually be saying this right now. This is exactly why he hasn’t had a girlfriend in months - his mother embarrasses him in front of every pretty girl they come across in the first two minutes of saying ‘hello’. It isn’t that Suguru is a terrible flirt - which he is, but he likes to deny it - it’s that he loves his mother so much that he can’t bear to tell her that her attempts at ‘hooking him up’ are always bound to fail.

However, you don’t appear to be phased by her words. If anything, you’re actually pleased by the sound of him being socially impaired.

“That’s actually perfect!”

What.

The.

Fuck?

“He can be my portrait model!” You’re still talking. Please, for the love of God, stop talking. “You know how I’ve been trying to become better skilled in the emotional aspect of my paintings, he could definitely help me out by showing anxiety and embarrassment - and you’ve been telling me it’s about time that I found myself a model.”

The endless trail of words that continue to string from your mouth seem to reach their end. Rather than speaking in spitfire, you’re now crazily staring at Suguru, himself. Both of your fists are clenched together in a pleading hold and he doesn’t think that you’ve blinked since the start of your conversational rampage - but despite the absurdity of your proclamation, he believes you have good intentions. There really is no reason to deny the request - after all, he’d be helping out his mother in the process, she does love having successful students - but he just can’t imagine himself spending any more time in the dreadfully grey studio than he already does.

“I don’t think that would be a very good idea.” His mother catches your words before he has a chance to give you his own oral letter of rejection. “Suguru’s never been one for art.”

“Oh.”

All you have to say is ‘oh’?

“I wouldn’t want to make you uncomfortable,” you continue. The expression on your face is suddenly stern. Has he offended you in some way by saying no? “I’ll figure something else out, Miss Geto. I apologize if I overstepped.”

You’re bowing your head before him now, and Suguru is shell shocked. His first impression of you was undoubtedly a dud, considering how you actually do seem to have a rational bone in your body despite the hyperactivity you displayed just moments before. While he’s mustering up a response, you lift your eyes - lashes fluttering like upwards brush strokes on a canvas - and send a small smile his way. It’s as if you’re silently apologizing to him for the undivided attention you tormented him with, but he doesn’t want you to apologize.

He just doesn’t know how to say that he actually liked your personality.

God, he’s so bad at flirting.

“Thanks for finding my wallet, though.” Your fingers are suddenly touching his, momentarily grazing against his skin as you pluck your wallet from his hands. There’s no chance that you haven’t noticed the rising heat that’s currently warming the blossoms of his cheeks, and he hopes that you find it endearing. While he isn’t great with words, he likes to think that he may be at least a little bit cute. His mother always calls him a ‘cutie’ - which he appreciates, but it’s also so degrading for someone of his age. “Maybe I’ll be forgetful more often, now.”

He hopes you’ll start being more forgetful, too.

You’ve left your entire bag this time.

He can’t tell if you’re trying to be subtle and coy with the budding feelings that’re growing between the two of you, and you’re just as awful at flirting as he is - or if you’ve just given up on leaving small signs of attraction. Honestly, in the past few weeks of you leaving paintbrushes and lanyards in the studio, he’d assumed it was all naturally an accident. This, though? How do you expect him to believe that you left your entire satchel in the studio? Sure, you can be a little dense, but not that dense.

It’s obvious that you’ve begun to lose track of your belongings for the simple reason that you enjoy partaking in the awkward exchange of items when you ‘hastily’ return to the empty renovated greenhouse and get to act surprised to see him standing there with his arms full of things with your name written all over them. In fact, this instance has happened so often that Suguru is beginning to believe that he actually enjoys it, too.

Sometimes he thinks that maybe you should just write your name on him to speed up this dreadful ‘will they, won’t they’ process that you’ve been pacing together.

He likes you. He really really likes you, and you both know it.

You’d picked up on his feelings from the second time you met - when he willingly stayed behind in the studio for an extra two hours just to hear you ramble about the difference between heavy and soft body acrylic paints. There was something about the way you grinned at him. How your chin would angle upwards to his height in order to have a proper conversation. How you weren’t afraid to say anything and everything that was on your sporadic mind. How your eyes would sparkle at the dedicated eye contact he was making - letting you know that he was hanging on to every word that left your lips (which he just recently found out are pink - and boy does he wish to know what that undoubtedly lovely color looks like against your skin).

He hates to compare you to a painting - which he still finds a positively dreadful blob of nothingness - but to him, you are one. You’re a captivating piece of art hanging on the walls of the nationally acclaimed museum in his mind.

A captivating piece of art whose art of subtlety is extremely lacking, considering that your phone number is quite literally painted on the largest white canvas your easel can hold, in bold lettering that he would have to be visually blind to miss, plastered behind the hiding place of your bag.

‘P.S. It's written in red paint. I know you have a thing for red.”

As much as he likes you, you can be such a pain in his ass. The bane of his existence, if you will.

It pains him to notice how he hadn’t thought twice about typing the digits into his text bar, smiling to himself at the sight of your make-shift contact with the horrid selfie you’d taken on his phone to be your future contact picture. Your hair is an utter mess, with flecks of paint scattered across your hairline - which, to be honest, look like dandruff to him with their lack of vivid color, but he told you that they resemble snowflakes. He lied - but what you don’t know doesn’t hurt you.

Without hesitating, he types a singular ‘hey’ before backtracking. What if you don’t know that it’s him texting you? What if you think that it’s a random stranger who just so happened to be in the art studio and thought to add your contact information to their phone? He better be more clear.

‘Hello. You know me.’

Perfect.

In less than a split second, you respond. He can feel his nerves itching at the sight of the grey text bubble popping in and out of view. Suguru can’t even remember the last time his heart beat so fast. Perhaps when he was standing in front of his secondary school health classroom and he accidentally mistook a photo of the urinary system with the ovaries during a speech about the female menstrual cycle? The stream of liquid projected against the white board was in fact not what he thought it was (how was he supposed to see the difference between red and yellow?), which turned into a horribly disgusting presentation that Satoru still bothers him about to this day. That was dreadful - but this is definitely equally as dreadful, if not more.

‘Stalker much?’ Huh? ‘Hi though, Suguru. That text was very…you.’

‘You added my number pretty quickly.’ Man, you text really fast. ‘You just couldn’t resist me, could you?’

He doesn’t know what to say back. It’s as if his mind has been scraped raw of all romantic material that one would usually use in this situation - the situation in which an unbelievably pretty girl is talking to him through a phone screen. Suguru is completely frozen in place, time, and thought. The only part of him that isn’t paralyzed is the hole in his chest that is beginning to be thawed by you. His frozen heart of past relationships has found its fire - and oh does it burn for you.

“Cat got your tongue?”

Where the fuck did you come from?

Swiveling on his heel, he turns to face your approaching figure. Your footsteps are lighter than air, likely being the reason as to how you managed to stealthily sneak in so quietly while he had been distracted with his phone. The light denim jeans that cover you from waist to ankles are perhaps his favorite pair you own. You’ve painted on them over time, sketching out a garden of patterns that don’t require color to appreciate. Your artistic ability is uncanny - he can’t deny the fact that you’re incredibly skilled - and he believes that you should be given an award for making ‘art’s number one hater’ a growing fan.

“You left your bag.” No shit, Captain Obvious. “Do you want it back?”

He’s so bad at this.

You skip towards him, your left foot following your right in a rhythm of peppiness, and lean up towards him with a shine in your eyes. God, you look so pretty. Sure, seeing you from a comfortable distance with an easel separating your bodies was nice and all, but when you pull stunts like this - with no room for him to scurry off and run - he actually takes the time to digest your features in their true beauty. You’re the artist, yet he seems to be the one who’s always studying you.

“Do you have any plans for today?” You ask in a curious tone. Your hands are held together behind your back as you send him a beaming grin with an upturned lip. “—because I was thinking about grabbing some tea, and it would be so unfortunate if I had to go all alone and sit by myself with all of those strangers around me. Who knows what could happen? If only there were someone who could protect me in case a sleazy guy asks for my number…”

Are you trying to manipulate him, right now?

“I’ve got nothing to do today.”

—because he’ll gladly let you do so.

The peaks of your eyebrows raise in surprise, not expecting him to accept the offer so quickly. Over the short time you’ve known one another, you’ve noticed that Suguru’s reluctance to spend one-on-one time with you has dwindled. He’s slowly becoming more comfortable in your presence and whatever inner turmoil that he’s facing is fading into the tide of your raging tsunami. There’s a peaceful gaze behind his brown eyes, now. One that you love to study whenever he isn’t looking your way (which isn’t often).

“Then it’s a date!” Surging forwards, you take his arm in yours and link yourselves together. He’s initially shocked by the immediate physical connection you’ve managed to make within mere seconds, but he thinks that he likes it. It’s been so long since he’s even held hands with a girl, so he’s understandably tense, but you’re giving him time to adjust. After all, scaring him away would be your last intention. “I’ll even pay for your drink, since you were kind enough to find my lost satchel.”

“Yeah, your lost satchel was so hard to find.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

He smiles to himself.

Yes, you do.

He isn’t sure how, but he’s somehow burned his tongue again.

“Shit!” Suguru hurriedly places his mug down onto the circular wooden table that separates the two of you, while attempting to be gentle since he doesn’t want to waste the perfectly tasty coffee that you paid for. He groans, dabbing the corners of his lips with one of the complimentary paper napkins. “Why does it get me every time?”

This is perhaps the third week in a row that you and him have ditched the studio and decided to claim the neighboring cafe as your designated date spot - though you’re still an unofficially exclusive couple. Unofficial as in Suguru hasn’t found the nerves to ask you to be his girlfriend, and exclusive as in neither of you are nor want to see other people. It’s a confusing situation for both parties to be in, but he just can’t seem to take that next step with you no matter how hard he tries to push himself towards the ideal solution.

Suguru is a rationalist. He takes in the information given to him through interactions and associations, working through it with logistics on his mind, and tries to find the best outcome. It’s how he’s lived every hour and every day of his adulthood, and he’s fairly set in stone with his mannerisms at this point. He always known who he is, what he wants, and how to obtain those things. What he didn’t know, though, was that an unpredictable variable (you) would crash into his life and disarray the routine that he’d been building for twenty-three years.

The hypothesis born of the situation isn’t a difficult one to solve, after all he’s had it written down for a month: if Suguru finds the courage to ask you to be his girlfriend, then you’ll likely say yes and the two of you will live happily ever after. Easy, right?

Wrong. He’s a chicken.

“Here. This might help you cool down.”

Your arm is extended, offering him your drink of the day without hesitation. Every time you come here, arm-in-arm, you order something different. ‘There’s no fun without surprise’, is what you tell him after the consistent strange glances he sends your way when you’re ordering, and he can’t help but disagree. You’re very different individuals - and that difference is extremely apparent with the light, mint garnished tea in your glass compared to the dark roast coffee in his.

“Thanks, you’re a lifesaver.” He sighs in relief as the cool liquid flows down his throat in an internal waterfall. “Holy shit, this is actually so good.”

You laugh, “I would hope so. I only got it because of the photo on the menu. It’s like a rainbow of color.”

And there it is. The thing that isolates him the most from your world.

As much as he likes you, which is more than he can explain, he can’t help but have that itching thought at the back of his mind that you’ll never truly be able to connect with one another. You bask in the beauty of the world around you. From the apparent golden sun showers and bouquets of stark red roses - two things that you’ve described to him in great detail amidst your walks through the farmer’s market on Saturday mornings - to the countless brush strokes against the white canvas at his mother’s studio, you adore a world in color.

It’s a viewpoint that’s shaped who you are, from infantry to your current age of twenty-two, and it’s something that you’ll never be able to let go of.

To be quite frank, it scares him. It keeps him up at night knowing that seeing the world through your eyes is impossible. That it’s a far off dream that is unobtainable, taunting him in his mind and heart like a bone dangling in front of a dog’s face. He wishes that he could admire the blue streaked skies and emerald green ferns that line the streets of the city. He yearns to feel overcome with pride at the sight of your watercolor drafts - which you attempt to show him after every class session to no avail - and congratulate you on the progress you’re making. There are so many things that he dreams of doing with you, dreams that exist solely in your world, as they’ll never be possible in his.

He hasn’t officially asked you to be his yet, because how could he?

How could he bind you to him? You’d be miserable looking through his eyes - having to see only hues of black, white, and grey, similar to the pencil sketches that you’ve openly shown your hatred for in front of him. ‘There’s just nothing there,’ is what you mumble to yourself. ‘No life, no anything without color.’ To which you then drop a single ounce of paint against the seemingly dreadful piece of art - and the sparkle in your eyes as it comes to life is something that he loves to see but can’t understand…

…as you see the world in a way that he can never understand.

Suguru doesn’t think he’ll ever be able to tell you about his condition. It would end everything all at once, and he isn’t sure how he would recover from that kind of heartbreak. You’re so blissfully unaware of how much conflict runs through his veins on a daily basis. Hell, you don’t even notice how he orders a singular black coffee every time you approach the counter together. You don’t see how he struggles to agree with you as you admire the assortment of blended beverages with a forced smile on his face. You don’t understand why he chooses to indulge in such a bitter drink and make sure to comment on it every single time.

He can’t blame you, though - it really is disgusting - but he also can’t tell you that he orders his coffee black since it’s a universal drink that appears the same to everyone who sees it. At least when he’s holding the steaming mug between his large palms, he knows that it appears to you as it does to him. That the divide that’s ripping a ravine through your connected hands is lessened in a sense - and you’re truly viewing one thing as the same.

Which is why he sits pretty and appreciates the short time that you do spend together, and suffers through piping hot coffee three times a week with no interruptions.

“I think I’ve made some progress on my portfolio.”

Your drink has been returned to your hands now. The small, clear glass is ringing as you tap the sides with your fingernails. It’s somewhat soothing, the rhythm following the tune of one of your favorite songs that Suguru happens to know very well after walking in on you in the middle of ‘art therapy’, in which you blast the music at full volume and deafen all other sounds. You have a tendency to be impatient - art being the only thing that can really pin you down for a long period of time - yet you’ve made room in your heart for Suguru despite this.

“Really?” Suguru dabs his mouth carefully, being ever the proper suitor in your presence. “My mom hasn’t given you any recent critiques?”

“No, she has.” As your words continue, you take a long sip of your tea. He can feel his cheeks flush while you swallow. He loves anything you do. “Just little comments about negative space and color theory, but I’m getting there.”

“Nice.”

He doesn’t know how to respond to that.

“Yeah, nice.”

Despite his seemingly rude reaction, you’re still gazing at him with a smile on your face. It isn’t an exceedingly joyful smile or one of excitement, but something of contentedness. You’ve become comfortable around him - shedded the hyperactive layers of skin that you display to onlooking strangers - and have begun to share the side of yourself that only your bedroom walls know. Seeing this side of you has made him fall even harder. Knowing that someone so confident, so bold, is just like him - caring so much about first impressions and likeability - and has their own insecurities is validating. Validating in the sense that you find him special enough to throw away the filter and be your true self in his presence.

“You know,” you begin in a wistful tone, “you aren’t a man of many words, Suguru - and if I’m being totally honest, my patience is running out.”

He hopes this isn’t going where he thinks it is.

He’s not letting you ask him out before he can—

“What am I to you?”

Oh.

Your eyes are giving him an expectant look, now.

What the hell is he supposed to say to that?

This is the quietest you’ve ever been, you aren’t even swirling the star-shaped ice cubes in your strawberry lemon tea.

Why can’t he think of anything to say?

His silence is causing you to furrow your eyebrows in concern.

This is so embarrassing. Just say something. Anything.

“You’re my mom’s student.”

Anything but that.

“I’m…” the words at the tip of your tongue seem to dissolve like damp sugar cubes, “I’m your mom’s student.”

Your sentence is more of a statement than a question. It’s as if there’s a machine in your brain, working through his given answer and comparing all of the other possibilities he could’ve said. There were endless responses to your inquiry, and he somehow managed to pick the worst one.

He needs to fix this. How can he fix this?

“You’re not just a student, though.” His words are tumbling over one another in somersaults and you seem to perk up at his continuity. The hope in your heart grows a little bit larger, pulsating and yearning for him to say exactly what you’d been wanting for weeks-on-weeks. “You’re my mom’s special student.”

Oh God, he made it worse.

“What?” Suguru tries to reach for your hand in an attempt to compensate for his actions through physical touch, but you retaliate and instinctively jerk away. You quickly stand, drink in hand, and back away from him as he follows like a lost puppy. Your head is shaking from right to left, disbelief exerting from the pores of your skin like poison - sentencing him with death while it seeps through his gaping mouth and empty palms. “I’m a special student?”

How the hell are you so fast?

Within seconds the two of you are at odds outside of the building. The weather is somewhat chilly - springtime having just come around with the cherry blossoms in full bloom - and it’s probably a beautiful day with the petals raining down on the pavement. You’d usually make a comment about how wonderful the horticulture was outside of the shop, but now you’re stomping over every fallen flower and budding stem that lies in the way of your rage-filled path. He’d always thought of you as a gentle soul, but apparently even gentle souls have their breaking points - and he never dreamed that he’d be yours.

“If I’m so special, what makes me different from the girl before me and the one before her?” This is the first time you’ve ever raised your voice at him. “Did you take all of them out for drinks? Did they all get to spend one-on-one time with their mentor’s ‘handsome’ son? Did you lead all of them on, too? Suguru, what kind of answer is that?”

You’ve found yourselves in an alcove now - about a block from the cafe in a small garden nestled between two buildings. The blossoming trees continue to surround you from all sides, perfectly framing the tragic picture of him saying anything and everything you absolutely do not want to hear. A large sigh leaves your lips, heaving from your chest as if he’s popped a balloon and is pushing all of the air out with the strength of his smooth hands.

“That’s not what I meant!” He pauses as you halt in place, slowly turning to face him like you're something out of a horror movie - a monster who’s ready to murder their prey. A gulp runs down his Adam’s apple. You’re terrifying when upset. “Please, just let me explain!”

“Explain what?” Suguru flinches at your volume. “If you want to explain yourself so badly then tell me why the hell would you say something like that?”

“Sure, you aren’t the best with banter or having a crush - but dear God, you cannot possibly be that dense.” This is getting bad. “I’ve left hundreds of hints! Every single goddamn day - and you’ve picked up on all of them! You know, I thought that when you’d hold my hand or kiss my cheek that you actually meant something by it. I figured ‘he spends so much time with me, he can’t possibly not like me’, but no. I’m just a student.”

Your face is fuming with every dreadful word that comes out of your mouth. “Oh, sorry. I’m a special student.”

If this were a scene in an animated film, your hair would be on fire now. Flames as high as mountain tops would be spiking in sharp peaks at every end of sentence and statement spitting from your mouth. Your normally warm irises would be drawn as ice cold, not leaving any room for life as they skate across his timid features - wishing for him to reach freezing level so you could smash him into a million pieces.

You’d always told him that red and blue - fire and ice - were two things that you admired most. With their ever changing states of matter and forceful power amidst the seasons, he found himself believing as you do. Suguru actually learned to appreciate their vast palette as if he could see it with his own eyes - but now? Now he thinks that they’re the two worst things in the universe - as their destructive nature has decided that their target is him, and he has absolutely no defenses prepared.

“I should’ve caught on sooner, shouldn’t I have?” You’re still going, hot tears building up and threatening to stream down your cheeks. Never in his life has Suguru been at the receiving end of such anger - and never in his life has he learned how to manage a situation as such. So, he does what any clueless man would do - he returns the anger.

“You’re not even listening to me!” His hands are violently moving while his words cut like knives. “You never listen to me!”

“I never listen to you?” He’s apparently hit another nerve. “Is that some kind of sick joke? Suguru, all I do is listen to you! It may not look like it, but I see the way you tense whenever I talk about my passions and dreams. I notice the way your face drains when I’m asking you for your opinion on my works in progress. Sometimes it’s like I can physically hear your eyes rolling when they see me walk into the studio with my bag of brushes and materials. Yet, you think that I don’t listen? I take note of every single thing that you do when you’re around me, because I don’t want to miss out on a single moment with you, and you don’t even care!”

He can’t believe that you’re pinning this on him.

“How could you even say that?” Suguru can’t tell who’s in the right or wrong anymore - all he knows is that if he doesn’t stop speaking, you’ll walk away forever. “I’ve never cared about anyone as much as you! I’ve done my best to entertain your interests and the absurd things you ask of me—”

“Well, your best hasn’t been enough.”

You’ve got to be fucking kidding.

“Are you being serious, right now?”

Your eyes are stoney, rock solid with stubbornness as you refuse to accept his side of the story and he knows that you won’t be budging from the beliefs that you’re choosing to hold against him. Suguru doesn’t know how everything went so wrong so fast, but he does know that he doesn’t have what it takes to save the situationship that he mistakenly put the two of you in.

“What the fuck did I do wrong that you resent me this much? Not even an hour ago all you wanted was to see me get down on one knee and profess my ‘undying’ love for you.” He’s so angry. He doesn’t think he’s ever been this angry. “Now I’m some asshole who doesn’t give a shit about your wellbeing? If everything I’ve done hasn’t been enough, then I might as well go fuck myself, right? I’m sorry I’m not perfect like you! I’m sorry I can’t see the world through crystal lenses like you! I’m sorry that I’m not good enough for you!”

His face feels wet. When did he start to cry? Was it ten minutes ago? Five? Just now? The hurricane of emotions that he’s putting himself through is more than he’s endured in years - his mental blockage of his condition finally coming to light as his heart runs off of the rails - and you’ve definitely seemed to notice considering the concern etched into your expression.

“I was never going to be perfect for you,” he begins with a softer tone. Perhaps his hot bundle of rage has subsided for a few moments. “I can’t be with you. I can’t understand how you see the world. I couldn’t spend the rest of my life listening to you ask me all of these questions and opinions on your work when I can’t even see it fully.”

You’re so close to him. Somewhere in the flurry of words, you took a step in his direction. “Suguru, what’re you talking about?”

As he bites his bottom lip with the fear of judgment raging in his mind, his secret is set free.

“I’ve always liked this shirt on you,” he solemnly smiles, “This shade’s my favorite color that you wear.”

You look up at him, pulling at the fabric against your chest in confusion. “Red?”

“Grey.”

He’s laughing lightly, making up for the thoughtful silence that you’ve found yourself in. It’s like he can physically see the gears turning in your head as they attempt to make sense out of his statement. “It’s more of a rich grey - almost black - and it compliments your skin tone. You know, my mom used to tell me that the way to a woman’s heart is through compliments. I’ve always tried my best to do that, but it clearly hasn’t been working.”

His hands somehow find yours as he shares the inevitable truth he’d been hiding so hard - and with a deep gulp, his secret is finally exposed.

“After all, how could I ever reach someone’s heart without even knowing what color their eyes are?”

He misses you. He can’t help it, but he does.

The memories he has with you are a cassette tape on autoplay - constantly running through his mind on repeat, and always ending with the awful confrontation that you’d left each other with. Suguru wishes he hadn’t raised his voice. He wishes that he would’ve been honest with you from the very beginning, but he hadn’t, and there’s no changing the past. All he has now are two empty hands that would much rather be interlaced with your paint-covered fingers.

“How much longer do you think you’re going to be moping?” Satoru’s call is distant from the turning gears within Suguru’s brain. He’s sure that his best friend has grown tired of his constant state of melancholy - having been forced to be his support system after you walked out the door - and Suguru feels awful about it. If he could, he’d rip his heart from his chest and allow you to step on it. To stomp and tear through the organs just as you’d done to those poor bystanding cherry blossoms on the sidewalk.

“As long as she’s still upset with me.” He groans as his forehead hits the marble of the island counter. “I’m such an idiot.”

“Yeah, well we already knew that.” The bright-eyed man beside him scoffs while taking yet another drink of his apple juice - which he has unfortunately had to drink for the past hour and a half since Suguru had somehow consumed his small supply of alcohol within the past few weeks that the two of you hadn’t been speaking. “I was really rooting for you, man. I thought she was the one to break your cycle.”

“Cycle?”

What the hell does he mean by ‘cycle’?

“Oh, you know,” Satoru continues without even taking a breath, “The cycle of life you’ve got going on with your inability to actually attract girls.”

Suguru hates him.

“You’re so funny.” He grumbles, taking his own swig of the pint of orange juice he found in the back of his fridge. Is it expired? Likely yes. Does Suguru care, at all? Definitely not. Is he even more pissed off that he doesn’t understand the irony of why it’s called orange juice? He doesn’t want to answer that question. “An unhelpful funny guy who should definitely stay over and cook dinner for me since he wants to make up for being so unhelpful.”

Satoru scoffs, shaking his head whilst the thin, soft strands of his hair flit back and forth. His right eyebrow raises in a mocking expression, “You need to get yourself back out there, man. You’ll be old and grey if you keep waiting for the perfect girl to come knocking on your door, so just talk to her. Just talk to her and put me out of my misery.”

“Are you trying to make this about you, right now?” Suguru stares at his best friend in utter disbelief, but he’s not truly upset. He knows that Satoru holds good wishes for him in all manners of life - this being no exception - and takes his words to heart. He’s right. Of course, he’s going to lose you if he doesn’t even try to get you back. “The sun must be falling out of the sky because I’m actually considering following your advice.”

“That’s a pretty picture to imagine,” his friend chuckles, causing Suguru to roll his eyes. What’s the sensation that everyone has with mentioning imagery every five seconds? “Just talk to her, man.” Satoru continues, “Please, I’m all out of advice.”

Suguru takes his friend’s pleas to heart. It is quite ridiculous that he’s spending his time depressed and lonesome when he could be reconciling with you. Perhaps it’s his fragile masculinity acting out and refusing to take blame for the situation, although he’s fully aware it’s completely his fault that you’re upset with him.

It’s difficult for the gears to begin turning in Suguru’s head. They’re covered in brittle rust that’s been creeping deep into the crevices of his mind for his entire life - slithering down his spine towards his blackened heart that you had only just begun to breathe life into. He misses the feeling of spring that came when you called. The freshwater rain of your laughter and budding blossoms of your smile that washed away his loneliness and replaced the awful emotion with an overgrown garden of bliss. He still doesn’t understand how he managed to mow that garden down with one sentence. He might as well have taken a chainsaw and brutally hacked into every connection that he’d managed to make with you in your time of knowing each other.

Now he’s going to be on his knees begging for forgiveness with his hands stained by the minced grass. Does grass stain green or yellow? Hopefully not brown, dear lord. He’ll be buried deep into apologies that should definitely be rehearsed, but he knows he’s not an artist with words and he won’t bother to waste your time with crumpled-up ‘I’m sorry’ notes and improvised tears.

You deserve nothing but the best - so much more than he’s been giving you and he needs you to hear those words come straight from his mouth.

When did you begin to mean so much to him? Suguru doesn’t even know.

It could’ve been when you showed up to his community soccer game unannounced, with first row seats and a booming cheer that he never knew he desired. ‘C’mon number ten! I know you can do better than that! Beat their asses, Suguru!’ He nearly tripped at the sound of your voice, and falling on his face was the last thing he wanted to do in front of the opposing team - but to be completely honest, he doesn’t remember much of his qualms with his rivals from that day. Suguru was solely focused on playing well for you. The world stopped and he was given all the time needed to impress you. You give him a reason to be better, a selfless reason to do good.

Perhaps it was when you’d shown him around your homey apartment, with maple art easels and splattered canvases lining the walls, and watched with glee as he made his best attempt at a finger painting (which may or may not have ended up looking like two worms kissing). ‘It’s abstract’, you’d say every time he found something new that was wrong with the art piece, ‘All it needs is a home. See?’ You hung his shitty little sketchbook paper on your living room wall, right next to your TV for the whole world to see. The way you stood there staring in awe still rattles his brain. You’ve always been able to find beauty in even the smallest things.

Or maybe his heart had begun to beat a little faster that Saturday night on the way out of the theater. The romance of the film the two of you just witnessed was still on Suguru’s mind, provoking his alcohol-induced body to make a pathetic attempt at holding your hand - which resulted in him accidentally knocking you over into a street puddle that swallowed the heel of your shoe. ‘I needed to take a shower anyway, Suguru, it’s fine!’ Your smile continued to be bright despite the low temperature and sprinkling rain, and he can recall wondering how you managed to stay so positive in such a dreary situation. As you discarded your soggy heels into a nearby trashcan and skipped barefoot on the pavement, you called, ‘Come on! Dance with me!’ The shared laughter between the two of you echoed through the seemingly empty streets that surrounded you - hands connected as you swung in circles around each other and fell over one too many times, until he carried your sleeping body home. He doesn’t think anyone’s ever been able to make him laugh as hard.

The way the corners of your eyes crinkle amidst fits of giggles is his favorite image to replay. He doesn’t need to know the color to be able to see how beautiful they are - to appreciate the blinding sparkle that overwhelms your irises when he accidentally trips over the uneven sidewalk or knocks over your painting station - or even when he unintentionally makes a sexual innuendo that you just so happen to pick up on. ‘That’s a love hotel, Suguru! Why would I have stayed there before?’ It was almost as if you were conducting a symphony of glorious laughter that night. The violins played the tune of your voice in a higher octave and the cellos added a punch everytime you’d bite your lip in an attempt to calm down. He hadn’t known what a love hotel was intended for before that night, but he’d also made the mistake to say, ‘I wouldn’t mind going to my first one with you, it could be a first for both of us.’ and you still haven’t let him live it down. Suguru’s honest with himself for the most part. He’s awkward, insufferable, and a bore to be around - yet, for some odd and unknown reason, those are your favorite things about him. Why?

Why is it that he can’t function like a normal person when your eyes meet his?

Why do his words rearrange themselves and become complete gibberish when he attempts to woo you with his charm?

What is it that keeps him coming back to you, despite holding such deep hatred for the things that you love most?

“I need to text her.” Suguru feels his chest vibrate as he finally makes a decision, the words pouring from his mouth in a short word vomit - forcing Satoru to piece together the jumbled mess and attempt to comprehend whatever it was that his big brother was trying to say, to which he jumps up from his seat at the island and aggressively pats Suguru on the back.

“That’s what I’ve been saying, dumbass! Get those fingers movin’!”

His phone falls into his hands in a millisecond, with Satoru eagerly awaiting to hear his poetry. He’s grateful to have such a supportive friend. Suguru knows that there aren’t many people who would be willing to put up with him for so long - having been moping around and complaining day-and-night of relationship problems that were solely caused by him - and he can’t imagine not having his support. Hopefully he’ll be able to introduce you, one day. You’ll both give him so much shit for his attitude. Oh well. It’ll all be worth it having two people he loves get along.

…

Did he just…

What did—

There’s no way.

Did he really just use that word? That godforsaken word?

He’s trembling. Suguru’s phone is shaking in his hands as he finally comes to the realization that he does, with his entire heart and being, love you. In an instant, his entire world scrambles together with rapid dashes and line art that he can’t even comprehend. There’s no rules to follow with these types of feelings - this insistent need to see you. Hold you. Kiss you.

Fuck, he wants to kiss you. He can’t think of anything else he’d rather be doing.

Like tapping raindrops that never cease their fall, his fingertips move against the keypad in a rhythmic motion - singing a song of love that can’t be contained into a simple lullaby. His heart pours out into the message, apology after apology being pasted in paragraphs, and hopes with his whole soul that you’ll find it in yourself to at least see him in person. There’s no way you won’t. Suguru knows you well enough now that he’s certain he’ll be seeing you again. All he needed to do was take the first step towards forgiveness, and he’s finally willing to be vulnerable and own up to his inability to be honest about his feelings, because he loves you. He loves you and he wants to tell you a hundred times, a thousand times, and a million times until you beg him to shut the hell up and kiss you.

‘I’ll be at the studio tonight. I miss you, and I’m sorry.’

He ends the message with a final apology, begging fate that you’ll read it in time to meet him while he still has courage - and with that, he’s on his way to the place he hates most, awaiting the person whom he loves most.

An hour has passed - well technically it’s been fifty-seven minutes, but who’s counting?

He’s counting.

The sun went into hiding ages ago and the moon now stalks him as he sits in his chair, lonely with two vacant eyes that wish they were gazing at yours. Suguru can’t even tell if you’ve read the text or not - the grey speech bubbles look the same as they always have, and the delivered sign is posted at the bottom with no response. He wants to send a follow-up message, just a little ‘hey, you there?’ but he knows that’s a little bit much. If you want to see him, you’ll see him and he’ll confess his feelings once-and-for-all - though, he’s feeling much less confident than he was an hour ago. Ahem, sorry. Fifty-nine minutes ago.

Suguru has a plan of what he’s going to say to you, and hopefully it makes sense when the words begin to fall from his lips. He’s said it many times before, but he’ll say it again, he’s never been good with words or feelings or anything of the sort. He wants to get better, though - to become more emotionally aware for your sake, because he knows that’s a priority for you. You have an image of your dream guy that’s been in your wishes since primary school - tall, handsome, daring, dashing, yada, yada, yada - and he’s trying to be that guy. He needs to be that guy. He’ll be anything for you.

Anything and everything…even the desperate guy who can’t get a text back.

Y’know, for a moment - a brief and fleeting moment - the world seemed a little more beautiful in his self-realization of love. The stars glistened brighter and the street lights sparkled in their reflections. Before tonight, Suguru hasn’t ever been able to appreciate the natural beauty of what surrounded him. He never understood your fascination with replicating real life into paintings and sketches, but he seems to have digested the concept - at least a little bit. The only thing that could undoubtedly make his world more dazzling would be the sight of you, and holy shit there you are. There you are opening the front door - and your gorgeous, perfect reflection in the glass is looking straight at him.

He doesn’t need the ability to see color to know that you’re the most fascinating and jaw-dropping sight in the entire universe - and that the rainbow should be rearranged in the letters of your name in honor of your ability to captivate attention and inflict a multitude of emotions on him that he’s never felt before.

“Suguru?” Your melodious voice is the remedy that his ears have been yearning for. “Suguru, is that you? Why’re you in the dark?”

This means you haven’t read his text, right? Otherwise, why would you be confused as to why he’s here? Wait, why’re you even here?

You begin to explain yourself without him needing to ask, “I left my phone in here earlier like an idiot and I’ve been looking for it all day. Isn’t that so dumb?” You let out a little laugh, amused at your inability to keep track of your personal belongings. Why aren’t you acting like you’re upset with him? The last time you talked, you could barely look him in the eye - yet now, you’re so casual, almost as if nothing happened. “Here I am looking for my lost phone, but instead I find a lost Suguru Geto.”

“What are you doing here? Sitting in the dark?”

The repeated question is met with a pregnant silence as Suguru fails to piece together the rehearsed words he had come up with earlier, settling on a bear hug that nearly suffocates you.

He’s so overwhelmed by the feeling of touching you again that he barely notices how stiff your posture is. You’re practically a piece of rock in the midst of being carved by its maker, frozen and unable to formulate an action in response - which, in this case, means that he’s your artist. Suguru relaxes his hold, urging you to reciprocate his warmth by nestling his face in your neck. Your right arm finds its place wrapped around his waist and your left around his neck, allowing him to engulf you further into his hold. You smell so nice. He notices the lavender perfume that he bought you is still rubbed into your skin, and he’s glad that you’re finally using it.

“I’m so sorry,” he whispers.

Suguru’s fingers run through your hair in smooth waves, gently kneading out the small knots and helping you relax - and he can tell that your full attention is on him. For the first time in knowing you, there aren’t any distractions or excuses to avoid this conversation. It’s just you, him, and the bare truth. He just hopes he can execute this right.

“There aren’t enough words to explain how sorry I am, genuinely. I shouldn’t have ever belittled you like that.” He takes a deep breath, one of many, and closes his eyes. The scene of you stomping away from him has no end in his mind. It constantly plays at every hour of the day, re-run after re-run, to torment him and remind him how horribly he screwed up with you. Please, please forgive him. “You’re not just my mom’s student. You’re not just a friend that I get coffee with. You’re so much more than that and I’ve been such a fucking chicken and haven’t been able to be honest with you.”

“You couldn’t have possibly known about my condition and it was wrong of me to take my frustration out on you.” Suguru can feel himself begin to cry, his tears raining down his cheeks in cascades of pent up anger and hatred for how he made you feel that day. You didn’t deserve it. You didn’t deserve to be treated like shit by him. “Your work is important to you and I know it should be appreciated. What’s important to you is important to me, okay?”

“You love your art, and I love you.”

He says it over and over again. Those three special words rapidly become six words, nine words, eighteen, forty-two, and onwards as you look at him with an empty expression. Please, please say something. For every second of no response, he confesses his love to you. He confesses as if it’s his source of air - the only way that he’ll be able to survive this encounter is if he bares his emotions with no regrets. If this were a movie, he’d be the desperate protagonist in the climax of the story who fucked up his love life and is begging for a second chance - hell, this is real life and that’s exactly what he’s doing. Just, please, have a happy ending.

You open your mouth, yet nothing comes out. No words. No statements. No confessions. You’re simply staring at him like he’s just told you the most absurd news in the existence of the universe…

…and then a tear falls.

One tear slips from your eyes, followed by another, and another…until your face is drenched in salty rain with black mascara creasing your eyes. You look like a raccoon. Suguru almost starts laughing. No. He is laughing; laughing because your false lashes have fallen into your hands as the glue refused to be waterproof - and now you’re standing before him in a puddled mess of makeup and disheveled hair. You’ve never looked more beautiful.

Suguru brushes his fingers across your cheek, attempting to wipe away your tears like an artist covering up a beautiful mistake. If he were a painter, he’d paint you a million times and more - hanging every portrait on every single wall of his apartment, until there was literally no space left for a scrap of paper. You’re the most gorgeous girl he’s ever laid his eyes on, and the smile that suddenly bursts from your sobs confirms it.

“What’s going on? I’m so confused, are you happy or are you sad?” He’s so concerned and his inability to read emotions correctly only makes him more helpless. “Talk to me, beautiful. C’mon.”

You lean into his touch and he instantly knows that everything is going to be okay.

“I just never thought I’d hear you say that.” Your smile is directed at him now, and he feels a warmth that is so familiar yet unfamiliar and he can’t get enough of it. It’s similar to the feeling of being showered in sunlight or snuggling beneath a comforter in the winter - an overwhelming comfort that’s a gift from you to him. “I feel like I’ve been waiting forever. Fuck you for that.”

Now you’re both laughing, giggling, and beaming at each other. His heart feels so at peace. The civil war between his divided emotions, love and loneliness, has finally ceased.

“I love you.”

Neither of you can stop the flow of confessions that slip from your tongues and in an instant your lips are on his - clashing and colliding in a furious kiss that rivals the strength of a hurricane. It’s almost as if he can physically feel your love pouring into him and warming his heart into a heated flame, stoked by the embers of your touch. God, he missed your touch. The feeling of it is addicting. It’s his personal heroin and he’ll never get enough of it.

Your lips are just as soft as he imagined them to be, perhaps they’re a rosy pink color with the slightest touch of strawberry lip balm that he keeps getting a fleeting hint of taste from. Never in his wildest dreams did he think you’d love him too. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. He silently repeats over and over - grateful that he’s been so blessed to know you…feel you…and love you in the awful world that he hated living on his own - the world void of color that you’ve somehow brightened by simply breathing beside him.

His hands are everywhere. Your hips. Your waist. Your breasts. Your neck. He can’t get enough of the feeling of you. With every passing second he’s falling deeper and deeper in love. You’re utterly perfect, he would kiss you for years if that was an option—

Aw shit, he knocked over an easel.

“Goddammit,” he mumbles while briefly pulling away from you. Of course he had to interrupt the moment he’s been waiting months for with his clumsiness. He’s such a dumbass. If he could punch himself in the gut, he would - but that would be way too embarrassing in front of you - hold up, this painting is familiar!

“Well I'll be damned.” He chuckles and turns the canvas towards you, to which you burst out laughing. “I thought you’d have thrown this out.”

“No,” you gaze at the painting with love in your eyes. “I could never, that’s how we met.”

The painted streak he accidentally inflicted upon your artwork remains in the same position. It seems that you never even bothered covering it up and embraced the imperfection. While Suguru cannot decipher the magnitude of colors on the canvas, he’s sure that the various strokes look gorgeous and masterful. You’ve always been so talented. He’s so lucky.

As he places the painting upon a now-standing easel, you rest your forehead against his. He loves you. He loves you so much. So much so that he can’t help but take a step closer, not just one but many, and embrace the overwhelming love and passion he holds for you. There are so many words he wants to say, confessions that can carry on for an infinite number of lines, but there’s no need for that now. You have forever - and he decides to start that forever with his favorite thing…

…a kiss.

“I love you.” You whisper.

“I love you more.” He replies.

This is a fancy-ass venue.

Suguru can’t help but feel underdressed for the occasion, despite being clad in a fitted white button up and black tie, whilst his dress-shoes cramp his feet in the worst ways imaginable. He almost looks like that one moviestar in the romantic comedy you love so much. Was it the one with the rich guy in Singapore or the one where they worked in an office and he was a businessman? Suguru can’t remember. Whatever, it doesn’t really matter either way. He’s distracting himself too much, he needs to focus— tonight is one of the most important nights of your career. No, it is the most important night for your future career. His mother contacted every big art distributor and critic that she has professional relationships with. It’s your night…and wow did you kill it.

It’s almost as if you’ve plastered yourself across the walls. Every art piece that his eyes roll over is exceptionally you - your personality, your passions, and your heart - and it’s obvious you’ve spent months curating the most perfect array of paintings a person could muster.

He can read your story like an open book while he slowly makes his way through the gallery. There are paintings depicting your childhood, ones that remind him of the stories you tell him of your primary school drama and premature interests. That one must be when you broke your arm while learning to ride your bike. You’re particularly stuck on that story— strongly stating how upset you were because it was your dominant arm, halting your ability to paint for seven weeks. Referencing your painting passion, there’s a whole array of canvases dedicated to your love for art; beginning with inspirations of immaturity to skillful selections of texture techniques. Suguru is obviously no art critic, but if he were, he’d write a whole expose on how amazing you are.

With his mind so engaged with your talent, he’s oblivious to the people passing by; so oblivious that he doesn’t even notice his own family approaching.

“She’s talented isn’t she?”

Holy shit. The familiar voice of his mother startles Suguru, but he instinctively wraps a loose arm around her waist and greets her with a grin. She returns the affectionate expression and it’s painfully obvious that he got his smile from her, and even more painfully obvious that they’re all trying to embarrass him when Satoru walks up with his teeth beaming.

“Your girlfriend’s a pro at this stuff, Suguru.” Satoru ruffles his best friend’s hair and lightly nudges his shoulder. “I told you something like this would happen one day! You’ve found yourself a dream girl.”

Suguru rolls his eyes in amusement at his friend’s quips, completely ignoring him and focusing on his mom. Satoru’s always been his number one supporter. Though he’d be surprised if Satoru actually kept a girlfriend longer than a month with his constant busy schedule and inability to focus on one girl at a time; but that’s a story for another day. What matters now is his mom’s praise of you.

“Y’know I always knew she had an innate ability.” Miss Geto has a faint smile on her face, gazing at her son with nothing but pure happiness. It’s a true display of a mother’s love for her child, and Suguru doesn’t know what he’d do without her guidance. She squeezes his side and presses a gentle kiss to his cheek. God, he’d be so embarrassed if his friends saw this. “Though, I always thought she specialized in artwork.”

Hm? Suguru sends a puzzled glance in her direction. What is she going on about?

His mom continues, knowing her son well enough that he needs a clear explanation in order to understand anything at all, and presses her hand against his chest. “I didn’t realize she was so skilled at touching hearts.”

His heart is beating faster at the mere thought of your beauty.

There are tears behind Miss Geto’s eyes and Suguru can feel the waterworks attempting to break his own dam. They’re an emotional duo, him and his mom, Satoru gets tired of their antics sometimes— but Suguru knows he loves them. His mom always knows the right thing to say. “I never thought I’d see you like this, Suguru.”

Satoru smiles, nodding in agreement. “You seem so at ease. It’s cute.”

Reflexively, he pulls them both into a big hug— which is the first girl-related hug he’s given Satoru since he was a teenager, seventeen years old and inseparable. Suguru finally understands what it means to love and be loved, all because of you; and now he can apply that same love to his perspective on life, which was dreary for so long. The overwhelming comfort he feels in his family’s arms is the same warmth he felt when he was a child, to which he ran into his mother’s arms at any moment for a grasp at joy. For a long time, Suguru believed that it was only possible to have a singular love. Oh how wrong he was.

“I get it now.” he says softly into their ears. “She helped me understand.”

“And we’re happy for you,” Satoru pats him on the back as hard as he can, eliciting a threatening glare from his best friend, to which Suguru’s mother laughs.

“Check out the centerpieces down the hall.” Miss Geto nudges Suguru on, standing beside Satoru. “I think you’ll love them, sweetheart.”

With their encouragement, he carries on with the gallery and down the straight hallway of evolving paintings. Every step he takes, seems to carry him into a new era of your life. It’s almost as if he’s time traveling through memories that seemingly morph from abstract to realistic art; and he learns more and more about you with each passing second, ultimately leading towards one large painting in the center of the room.

Holy shit. You’re breathtaking.

Never in Suguru’s life has his world stopped due to paint on canvas— but right now, it feels like every single brush stroke is a frozen second that he gets to relive again and again, just basking in the presence of your beautiful skill.

The way you’ve outlined your hair with thin lines and highlighted your lovely cheekbones, is nothing short of masterful. If he looks close enough, he can understand the comforting feeling of cupping your face with just his eyes. He didn’t even know you did self-portraits, but now he wishes he could hang this very one right above his couch; to show off the talent of his amazing girlfriend for everyone to see (not that he actually has many friends other than his former classmates).

Where are you? He needs to let you know how special it is to be with someone like you—

“Cat got your tongue?”

Speak of the devil.

“Do you like it?” You raise your eyebrows at him expectantly. “What do you think?”

You said the same thing when you first met.

Suguru looks between you and the painting, now realizing that no matter how masterful your skill is, it’s impossible to capture just how gorgeous you are in any form of art. You’re simply exquisite. The most talented painter in the world wouldn’t know how to appreciate your beauty. Davinci? No. Botticelli? No. Di Angelo? Not even he could sculpt your features to perfection. However, despite his high standards, Suguru believes that your self portrait is the greatest thing he’s ever seen.

The familiar feeling of flusteredness grows on his cheeks as he holds eye-contact with you, wondering what color it is you’re wearing. He bets it’s red, you always wear red around him. “I love it.”

As your right hand finds his palm, the left reaches up and cups his cheek. With a gentle touch, your lips are on his and Suguru feels his head take a spin on the merry-go-round of love. He can’t get enough of you. If he had a choice, he’d spend every waking second of his day peppering you in light kisses on every part of your body— and he’d make sure that you never felt loneliness again. You deserve nothing less than the absolute best, and he’s made it his life’s goal to give that to you.

Slowly, he begins to feel your smile against his lips and you pull away with a lovesick gaze. He pulls you into his chest, cradling your head and kissing it softly before whispering how proud he is, and it’s almost unbelievable how far Suguru’s come. Somehow you’ve lured him into a bottomless ravine where the only resource to live is to be hopelessly in love with you— and truthfully, he never wants to escape. You’re everything to him.

“You love it?” your eyes are shining brighter than the sun. “You haven’t even seen my best work yet.”

“Oh?’ Suguru raises his brows, mocking surprise at your statement. “Well now you have to show me. It’s only fair.”

You place your hands on his chest and peck his lips before spinning him around. He’s confused for a moment, wondering what you’re doing when you could’ve just led him to the canvas instead of guiding him around like it’s a dance class…but then he sees it.

He sees himself.

Never in his life has he completely understood what being in love is. Yes, he's felt love. From his mother, who raised him to be the man he is; caring, thoughtful, and compassionate. From his best friend, who helped him understand ambition and sacrifice. From his community, who challenge him to be the best he possibly can and to support one another without holding grudges. He's felt different types of love from so many people in his life. Familial. Platonic. Admiration. This is different, though. The love you show him is true love. It's the kind of love that movie stars win awards for portraying. It's the fantasy that kids dream about having when they grow up into big adults. It's the thing he thought was impossible to obtain, but was lucky enough to stumble upon you in that empty art studio on the best day of his life.

He didn't know love could be expressed in this kind of way. Through the very same paint strokes and brush marks that used to make him nauseous with hatred. Seeing your masterpiece, he doesn't understand how he could ever hate something so amazing. Art is spectacular. No. Your art is spectacular. You are spectacular.

"You love it right?" You're trying your best not to giggle at his awestruck reaction. "Want to know the best part?"

Suguru can feel himself nodding, desperately reaching for your hand in an attempt to ground himself from the air he's walking on— and you begin to explain. "It's a dual piece. Notice how we're facing each other?"

Oh my god, you are facing each other. He hadn't noticed it before, but he can see clearly now. You've placed him in the dead center of the room, giving him a full view of both of the paintings— opposite of one another on two opposing easels. "Tell me more, baby." His voice is nothing louder than a whisper, only for you to hear.

"I'm painted in black and white."

Oh?

"You're painted in color."

...Oh.

"I wanted to show how love knows no bounds. There's beauty in how you see me and how I see you. It doesn't matter that I'm colorless to you, you still look at me like I'm the prettiest girl in the world; and I only wish you could understand how vibrant your eyes are, Suguru. You're the most handsome man I've seen in my entire life."

He loves you.

He loves you so, so much.

A part of his heart feels like he's falling in love with you all over again. It's growing larger and larger, unable to contain the capacity of feelings he holds for you. He's so overwhelmed with joy that tears begin to fight to escape his eyes, ultimately dripping down his cheeks like watercolor on paper, and he sweeps you into the tightest hug known to man.

There's really only one thing left to do. One thing to close this chapter and carry on with the rest of your love story, something that's sacred only between the two of you. Something that he hopes to say to you everyday, every night, every hour, and every minute that he can.

"I love you."

379 notes · View notes

xhmeusworld · 3 months

Text

keep on the sunny side | lee jihoon

genre: paramedic! jihoon, single parent! reader, fluff

pairings: lee jihoon x gender neutral reader

warnings: seizures, child injury, medical terms (not a lot but some), jihoon does cpr

word count: 1.7k

note: okay so i work in a hospital and i love paramedics so paramedic jihoon was born. i may return back to this idea if you guys were like me too :)

lee jihoon wasn’t the type that expressed his emotions freely. it wasn’t that he didn’t feel them. truly, he felt everything deeply.

anger, sadness, excitement. they consumed his very existence, but in his line of work, it was just easier to pretend that he felt nothing. it was easier to get through the day if he remained as stoic as possible.

his coworkers often questioned him about the front he created. did seeing sickness and death 24/7 not affect him at all? how could he move from a fatality call to a car accident without even showing a hint of grief? only his partner, a boy named minghao, understood that jihoon was indeed deeply affected by the things he encountered.

so deeply affected that the only thing he could do to survive was to shove the feelings deep inside, not allowing them to resurface.

however, there’s one thing he always remembers.

eight.

that’s how many children jihoon had lost in his career.

it was honestly rare that he and minghao received calls involving children. it had been a couple of years since the last one, but the universe seemed to decide that tonight was the night to reset the cycle.

the call came in around two in the morning. jihoon never heard the 911 call itself or read the transcript. the information was just relied to him and minghao in an urgent manner and then they were off.

the ride would have been peaceful if jihoon wasn’t on duty. the streets were empty, the stores were closed. everything was at peace.

that was until the sound of sirens cut through the night, ruining and disturbing any sense of tranquility that had existed.

unit 205, we have a five-year old male unresponsive as a result of a grand-mal seizure. there has been documented history of cerebral palsy since birth, but his mother reports no history of seizures prior.

when minghao and jihoon reached the scene, racing up to the apartment number that given to them by dispatch, jihoon only had one thought in his mind.

please don’t let this be number nine.

jihoon didn’t even have time after he knocked on apartment 24 to ask questions because as soon as the door flew open, he immediately knew that he and minghao needed to act. now.

a five-year old boy was on the living room floor, convulsing. a dark blue guardian helmet covered what appeared to be his unruly black hair and jihoon breathed a sigh of relief that at least there was no possibility of head trauma.

“i- i don’t know what happened,” you stuttered out. “noori just woke up and we were sitting on the couch together and he started having a seizure. he’s never had one before!” a sob escaped your lips. “please, you have to save my baby. he’s all I have!”

minghao and jihoon quickly got to work to administer diazepam, which was meant to immediately stop the seizure. jihoon hated using diazepam as it had to be used rectally and he thought it took all respect away from the patient, but he had no other choice as a result of the boy’s unconscious state.

jihoon rolled the young boy into his side as gently as he could muster in a hurry as minghao carefully gave the diazepam. thankfully, it worked like it was supposed to and the boy’s muscles instantly relaxed.

you let out a breath you didn’t know you had been holding, but jihoon knew it was too soon to start celebrating. he was proven right when minghao searched for a pulse.

“he’s not breathing! start compressions!”

without hesitation, jihoon pressed his hands into the little boy’s chest, counting the all too familiar numbers out, his voice sounding exhausted. “1, 2, 3… he tried to ignore the sickening crack that sounded, signaling that he had broken the boy’s ribs.

“come on, noori, breathe for me,” the dark-haired boy begged, hitting thirty and stopping the compressions as minghao yelled “hold!” his partner’s fingers reached out to feel for a pulse. “start again!”

jihoon resumed his position. “1, 2, 3…” he tried to ignore the cries from you who was currently being consoled by the other paramedics who had just arrived as backup.

strands of his dark hair fell out of his small ponytail, covering his face and he cursed over the fact that he hadn’t found the time to get a much needed haircut.

“hold!” jihoon paused the compressions. “resume, no pulse!”

starting the third set of compressions caused a huge sense of panic to run through lee jihoon. most child patients responded by the second set and here he was on number ten of a third.

all he could repeat was please don’t be number nine.

“jihoon, i think we have to call it,” minghao spoke, quietly, hoping to god you didn’t hear him over the other paramedics. “his heart isn’t beating.”

one word popped into jihoon’s mind.

no.

and he kept going.

and thank god he did because almost if the young boy knew that he was about to ruled dead, his eyes flew open and he sucked in a breath.

“noori, my son, my sweet boy,” you cried as jihoon finally relaxed his tense muscles.

he did it. lee jihoon didn’t reach number nine.

•••

months had passed since jihoon and minghao loaded the young boy and you into an ambulance. you had your entire attention on your son as to be expected, but as jihoon monitored noori’s vitals and ensured the seizures were not going to resume, he had to force himself to not look at your face.

the dark-haired boy thought you were one of the most beautiful human beings he had ever seen and the pure love you had for your child made jihoon even more attracted to you. he attempted to shove the thoughts into the back of his mind as best as he could.

he was doing his job. that was it.

and that’s what he kept telling himself even as he sat staring at his computer at his local coffee shop.

jihoon had decided to take a day off to get caught up on necessary tasks he could do remotely. he had completed most of everything he needed to do, but his thoughts were so tangled with you that he didn’t even notice that someone was stumbling toward him until he felt weight in his lap.

he looked down to see a familiar sweet face.

“oh my god, I’m sorry! normally, he doesn’t just run up to new people and oh-“ recognition dawned on the your face as jihoon watched you take in his features.

the dark-haired boy smiled as he patted the head of the boy who was lying across his lap. “it’s nice to see you again.” noori’s guardian helmet dug into jihoon’s thighs. it did not feel pleasant and he was sure there were going to be bruises covering him tomorrow, but he didn’t mind. this boy had touched his heart in many ways.

while he was aware that noori had survived and recovered days after he saved his life, jihoon couldn’t stop himself from thinking about not only the boy, but you as well. were you holding up okay? did the hospital provide you any resources to help with noori’s care since it was just you as the caretaker? how were you surviving everything on your own?

minghao teased him that he had a crush on you. jihoon insisted that he was just concerned, but now looking at you in the cafe and knowing that your son had formed an attachment to him as well, maybe his partner was right.

his heart was beating quick. his palms felt sweaty. and he desperately tried to ignore the utter joy that entered his heart when you beamed at him. him and your son.

“i thought after noori’s episode i wouldn’t see you again to thank you,” you explained. “you saved his life. you helped me keep my son and i didn’t know if i could reach out to you because HIPAA laws and-“

jihoon couldn’t control the the smile that crawled onto his face at your rambling. god, it was cute. you were cute.

“you don’t have to thank me at all,” he explained. “i was doing my job.” jihoon patted noori’s shoulder one more time as the young boy shifted awkwardly into a sitting position. “it looks like noori remembers who i am.”

you tucked your hair behind your ear, almost shyly. “yeah, once he was at the hospital, i don’t he understood that you were a paramedic. although he can’t talk, i could tell he wondered why you weren’t coming into his hospital room.”

noori slowly got to his feet, wobbling his way back to you, his guardian helmet resting against your thigh. almost instinctively, you wrapped your arm around him.

“well, i would have checked on him but once you guys were out of my care, I didn’t have any information to find where you guys went,” jihoon stated, shutting his laptop. “but i’m glad I get to see you guys now.”

you grinned. “we’re glad to see you too, jihoon.”

you knew his name? he was going to die.

“and i absolutely hate to cut this conversation short, but noori has a doctors appointment in about half an hour and we should start heading that way.”

jihoon nodded, his brain turning into a thousand of circles. he didn’t want you to leave. “oh okay. maybe I’ll see you around?”

“yeah, maybe.” there’s your cute smile again. “bye, jihoon.”

“bye y/n. bye noori.”

you started toward the exit to the coffee shop something in jihoon’s mind told him that he couldn’t let you walk away. he absolutely couldn’t and before he knew it, he was on his feet.

lee jihoon wasn’t the type that went for what he wanted. it was easier to just let things happen naturally. no point in interfering with the universe. if didn’t happen without him doing anything, then it wasn’t meant to be.

but you were different. he knew you were different and he couldn’t just let you and your son walk out the door.

“hey, y/n, wait!”

you jumped at the sound of jihoon’s voice, your hand tightening around noori’s. your other hand pressed against the door of the coffee shop, holding it open. you were shocked by the boy racing up to you and the only word that seemed to leave your mouth was “yes?”

now that jihoon had your attention, his courage was almost completely gone. what if you said no? what if you laughed in his face? he was just a paramedic. you weren’t obligated to tell him yes just because he saved your son’s life.

the dark-haired boy awkwardly rubbed the back of his neck as he studied your face, looking for any sign of discomfort.

“um, uh- would you like to go on a date sometime?”

234 notes · View notes

janaispunk · 2 months

Text

end game

series masterlist • this is part VII

pairing: Dave York x f!reader

word count: ~3.8k

summary: Heartbreak, an explanation and an epilogue.

warnings/tags: explicit smut (-> 18+ only!), angst, feelings, heartbreak, depression, mention of weight loss, fluff, able-bodied reader, reader has hair, dom!Dave, sub!reader, sir kink, degradation kink, fingering, unprotected p in v (it's never stated in the fic but i headcanon that reader is on birth control), basically free use kink, rough sex, dirty talk, spanking, spit kink, praise kink, Dave is a menace, praise kink, idiots in love, please let me know if i missed anything!

a/n: the biggest thank you to @joelscurls for letting me scream about this again and againnnnn, and reading over my drafts countless times, you’re the best, jess! <3

thank you to @daddy-dins-girl for talking plot holes with me and motivating me to write <3

thank you to everyone who has read and loved this series, i have received sooooo many kind words, feedback and just so much love. i started writing this as a pwp oneshot and the fact that it has turned into my first series ever and one that i had soooo much fun with is wild. i’m incredibly emotional about saying goodbye to my babies, maybe i’ll revisit them when i need to write some kinky shit out of my system haha. i hope that you like the ending that i’ve built for them.

a few words about the plot: i actually have zero clue how the hitman business works (shocker, i know), so some parts of this are purposefully vague in a way that i hope is believable and somewhat realistic. just roll with it, thanks :D

dividers as always by @saradika-graphics 🫶🏻

find my full masterlist here & follow @janaispunknotifs for fic updates.

The first week you don’t hear from Dave, you’re confused, but not necessarily worried yet. There have been weeks of silence in the past, though you’ll admit that you had thought that things might be… different now.

Your texts to him stay on delivered, never switching to read. Which has also happened before, especially when he was away on business, but still… The thought that he has gone back to his normal life without sparing as much as a glance back at your time together is nagging at you.

You can still feel his hands on your skin, can still hear him whisper in your ear how beautiful you look, how perfect you are for him. It’s hard to come to terms with the thought that it wasn’t real, that his words and actions didn’t hold the same weight for him that they did for you. Reality has finally caught up to you and it hurts.

When two weeks blend into three weeks and you’ve still heard nothing, you start getting worried. He had said his line of work was dangerous, after all.

Your conversation, still so close and yet a lifetime ago, echoes in your mind. 'Nothing's gonna happen,’ you had said. ‘Not to the girls, not to me. And not to you.’ And not to you. ‘You don’t know that, sweetheart,’ his voice rings through your head. Sweetheart. The word tastes bitter on your tongue and wraps itself around your chest until you feel like you’re choking with it, like you can’t draw breath into your lungs anymore.

Sweetheart.

You don’t know that.

Sweetheart.

You start looking him up online, to find anything that might at least tell you that he’s okay. You don’t want to believe that he would be cruel enough to ghost you, but you barely dare to consider the alternative. You find nothing, no mention of his name, like he doesn’t even exist.

Your calls stay unanswered, your messages stay unread. You find yourself subconsciously checking your texts and your emails countless times a day, catch yourself staring out of your window in the blind hope that he might appear outside. He wouldn’t just leave you like this, would he? Would he?

Days blur into weeks and eventually into months. You’re painfully aware that it’s not healthy, this kind of heartbreak, especially not over a relationship that never even meant anything. If only your heart would understand that.

It was never serious enough that you told any of your friends about it, never wanted to be labeled as the girl that sleeps with married men, never wanted to admit your feelings to someone else when you could barely admit them to yourself. Regardless, even without knowing what exactly was going on, your friends had tried to be there for you, to convince you to go out with them, to cheer you up, but you had turned them down often enough that on this Friday night, your phone stays silent.

It’s better this way. All you want to do is rot away on your couch, staring at the TV with unseeing eyes until it’s an acceptable time to go to bed. Maybe it won’t take you hours of lying in the dark to fall asleep tonight. Maybe it won’t remind you of a different kind of darkness in a different room, a room where the sound of waves against the shore and the deep breaths beside you lulled you to sleep.

You need to get yourself together, your inner voice whispers. Next week, you think. Or the one after that.

A knock on your door shakes you out of your thoughts and you pad over, expecting to be met with the Chinese takeout that you had ordered in hopes of fueling your appetite at least a bit with the prospect of comfort food. Absentmindedly, you note the surprisingly short delivery time. You barely look up as you swing the door open, busy fiddling with your purse to extract a few dollar bills.

After finally managing to pull them out, you face the doorway. A greeting dies in your throat.

Familiar deep brown eyes burn into yours, framed by the face that you wish you’d forget but can’t. The short brown hair, the clean shaven jawline that you can still feel underneath your fingertips, the memory all too fresh in your mind. He looks tired, you think, and instantly scold yourself for knowing him well enough to even notice.

The seconds tick by as you motionlessly stare at him, blinking slowly, your mind running a mile a minute. Why is he here? He can’t be here. Are you making this up? If so, things are far worse than you had thought.

He clears his throat, shifting his weight uncomfortably. It’s probably the least sure of himself that you’ve ever seen him.

“Hey,” he murmurs, his hand twitching like he almost reached out to you but changed his mind. “Can I- can I come in?”

You regard him for a moment longer. The sound of his voice makes him appear more real, and the fog in your head slowly clears. He’s alive. He’s here. In front of your door. Alive and well. Your emotions boil up inside of you.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?! You think you can just show up here after months and ask if you can come in? I thought you were… I thought…”

Your voice betrays you, breaking at the sharp sting of pain in your chest that you’ve fruitlessly tried to suppress and the feeling of your throat closing up. Tears spill over and you furiously wipe at your cheeks, determined to keep some semblance of dignity.

“I know,” Dave breathes, defeatedly. “I’m so sorry. Please let me explain.” His hand reaches towards you again. You shy away from his touch and an expression of hurt ripples across his face. “Please, sweetheart.”

“Don’t call me that.”

Your voice only trembles a little as you snap at him. After another look at his face, you eventually step aside and jerk your head towards your living area. You briefly think about how messy the place is, for how many weeks you didn’t have it in yourself to clean up. You can’t bring yourself to care. Seeing him walk through your flat again after being so painfully aware of his absence leaves you almost dizzy. You take the opposite ends of your couch, both of your bodies stiff, careful not to touch one another.

“Okay,” you sigh. “Explain.”

So he explains. How he received a call, barely thirty minutes after he stepped into his house, with a mission that was too perfect of an opportunity to pass it up. There had been no time to let you know, the risk too high to use his personal phone once he started working.

He goes back to the persona that took up half of his life for so long, the identity that is no more, the man that fell down a watchtower and was washed away by the sea. Body never found. At least that’s what everyone who knew this man thinks. Everyone who knew him, but not Dave York.

He’s been thorough with it, with the most important mission he’s ever done. There are no loose ends, no one who could trace things back to the real him.

It took longer than he had anticipated and he kept laying low afterwards, until he could be absolutely sure that no one would be looking for him anymore.

He doesn’t think that he’ll ever get rid of the worry, ever stop looking over his shoulder, but rationally, he knows that he did it. He got out.

Then he had talked to Carol, let her know that he wants a divorce. It had been- easy, almost. She didn’t cry, didn’t scream at him, just nodded like she had known this day would come for a long time. He thinks that she almost seemed relieved, in a way.

Your eyes had been glued to his face since he started speaking. Tears are silently running down your cheeks.

“I know that I should have found a way to contact you. I didn’t-” He sighs, running a hand over his face. “I didn’t know what to do. I was so worried that someone would find out about you. I never wanted to hurt you, you have to believe that.” He knows that he looks a mess, that his desperation to make you understand is written all over his features.

Every day that he didn’t call you, he knew that he was hurting you. He tried justifying it with himself, that having you think he left you was better than risking somebody coming after you. It never gave him much comfort.

It’s even worse, now that he sees the damage he had done. You have lost weight, deep circles have formed under your eyes and you move like you’re barely holding yourself together. He saw the panic on your face when he tried reaching for you at the door. No matter what he had done to you in the past, you always sought out the safety of his touch afterwards. Until now.

“Please believe me,” he whispers.

You study his face for what feels like a lifetime. Tears are glistening on your lashes. You look so tired, so defeated that it makes his heart ache.

“You’ve done it?” you finally ask. Your voice is a quiet thing, barely bridging the distance between the two of you. A flicker of hope rings with it. “You’re safe now?”

He nods silently, fighting the urge to gather you in his arms, to promise you that he’ll always be there from now on. A small smile curves your lips upward as you mirror his nod, like you’re trying to let this new reality sink in.

“That’s good,” you murmur.

You lean forward, your fingers tentatively closing around his fist that’s clenched tightly against his thigh.

Hope flickers inside his chest. He can taste the three words that he’s been wanting to say to you for far too long on the tip of his tongue. He’s not going to, not right now, not today. But someday soon, he thinks that he might.

Two years later

“Bye girls, say hi to your mom and Matt from me,” you smile, embracing each of them in a tight hug before they dash out of the door, a jumble of giggles and excited chatter. Dave trails behind them with a grin on his face, pecking your lips and calling out for them to slow down.

Your heart is full, overflowing with love for this family that, against all odds, has become yours. You watch Dave usher his daughters into the car and push the doors closed behind them, the smile still on your lips. As you walk back into the house, your eyes linger on the thin silver band adorning your ring finger.

It’s still new, still an unexpected sight when you catch it on the edge of your periphery. It’s the tangible proof of you being the happiest you’ve ever been.

Things had been rough at first, after Dave came back to you. You understood why he handled the situation the way he did, but it took you a long time to trust that he wouldn’t disappear again. To believe that he left his old life behind, that he chose you. But he did.

You busy yourself with cleaning up the inevitable chaos that having the girls over for Dave’s days with them always creates. It’s not the life that you would have expected yourself to have a few years ago, but right now, it feels like you’re exactly where you’re supposed to be.

A few minutes later, your phone pings with a message from Dave.

Be back in 15. I expect you naked and on your knees waiting by the door.

You bite your lip, heat building inside you with rapid speed. Your phone pings again.

Don’t disappoint me.

Fuck. Wetness is already gathering between your legs as you jump into action.

The car door slamming shut has never sounded so good before. You’re listening intently, catching Dave’s heavy footsteps on the stairs and the jingle of his keys before the door opens beside where you’re kneeling.

You look up at him from your place on the floor, watching the mix of smugness and adoration on his face as he takes in your position. A shudder runs through you and your nipples harden under his demanding gaze. He steps closer, caressing your cheek.

“Such a good girl… my obedient little wife, aren’t you?”

“Yes, sir,” you whimper, the coherent thoughts slowly draining from your brain and craving more of his touch, more of him.

He smiles down at you, his eyes glinting predatorily. You’ve come to know this shift into the darkness since you first met, but it’s more playful these days, not laced with the urgency that possessed him back then. Still, he gets intense, especially after having the girls over forces you to keep things rather tame during those days.

“Show me your ass, face on the ground, come on,” he demands coldly.

You obey without question, turning around and bending forward, pressing your upper body down to the floor and presenting your backside to him. He lands a couple of slaps on your cheeks and you flinch, moaning out softly. Your pussy already feels slick with arousal.

“What do you say?” he asks, rubbing his hand over the heated skin.

“Thank you, sir,” you whisper.

Another slap hits you. “Do you know what you did to deserve this?”

You wrack your brain for a few moments, but come up blank.

“I- no, sir.” Your voice is small and breathy, your body bracing for the impact of his hand again.

He chuckles. “Nothing. I just felt like it.” Another slap. “And you’re mine to do as I please, isn’t that right?” Your thighs are trembling. You’re so wet that it feels like you’re dripping onto the floor.

“Yes, sir. Thank you.”

“You know what’s the most fucked up about this?” He crouches down beside your face and strokes your cheek softly, smiling down at you. “How much you whore like it.”

He straightens up and heads for the stairs. “Bedroom, come on.”

You don’t even try standing up, knowing that he won’t let you, and crawl behind him, which earns you another chuckle and a “good girl”.

The image of your naked form on your knees behind Dave who hasn’t removed a stitch of clothing sends another bolt of arousal through you. You’re desperate for him to touch you.

He roughly lifts you up and manhandles you onto the bed until you’re spread out underneath him.

“So…” He grabs your wrists and holds them over your head, pressing them into the mattress. “These stay right here, you hear me? Don’t move, or do I have to restrain you?”

You pout at the prospect of not being allowed to put your hands on him, but obediently hold them in place when he eases his grip on you. “I’ll be good, I promise.”

He grins down at you. “I know you will. Got my girl well trained, haven’t I?”

His words make your pussy clench around nothing and your “yes, sir” comes out in a whimper.

He leans in closer, spreading your thighs wider with his body and you force yourself not to buck your hips up against him. The craving for any part of him to touch you, for any kind of friction, is overwhelming.

“Please, sir,” you whisper. Your pleading eyes hold his cold gaze as he’s leaning over you.

“Patience,” he growls. “Open your mouth.” A disapproving click of his tongue. “Wider.”

You part your lips as widely as you can, sticking your tongue out and trying not to squirm against the sheets. He remains motionless for a few seconds, taking in your desperate state with a cruel smirk on his face.

“Fuck,” he murmurs, more to himself than to you. Then he tips his head forward and spits into your waiting mouth. The filthy feeling of his saliva coating your tongue and filling your mouth almost drives you insane with want and you groan, shifting against his thick thighs between yours, but to no avail. You wait for his next command, your mouth still wide open, not daring to swallow before he tells you to.

But no command comes. Instead, he reaches up to press two fingers down on your tongue, dipping into your mouth and smearing your combined spit over your face. The silver band on his ring finger is cool against your skin and you shudder, loving the reminder that he’s really, entirely yours.

Your body feels like it’s burning up, your hands are twitching and you’re desperate to move them, to touch him, to do something, but you hold yourself still until he finally tells you to, “swallow, baby.”

He smiles and finds your lips for a surprisingly soft kiss, cupping your face in his hands. “You’re being so good,” he tells you gently. “Are you having fun?”

“Yes,” you smile, chasing his lips when he pulls back, but he tuts at you and you fall back against the bed, huffing out a breath. “Just… please.”

“Patience,” he reminds you, the softness gone as quick as it came. “Don’t make me tell you again.”

You bite your lip, but stay put while he stands up to finally start removing his clothes. He’s agonizingly slow with it, holding your hungry gaze while he unbuttons his shirt in unhurried movements that make you want to tear the clothes off his body yourself.

You drink him in, first the sight of his broad chest and his strong shoulders, then his muscular legs, and finally, making your mouth water and your pussy burn with desire, his cock.

As much as he keeps taunting you, you know him well enough by now to be able to tell that he’s just as desperate for you as you are for him, even when he’s trying to conceal it. He returns to you, sitting back on his haunches and drinking you in, until after what feels like hours, he finally reaches out and swirls his fingers through the wetness between your legs. It’s a barely there touch, but you’re so painfully turned on and sensitive that you let out a gasp.

“So fucking wet,” he marvels and applies the slightest bit of pressure to your clit. It’s enough to make you see stars and you’re sure that he could make you come just from this. But, of course he won’t. He laughs at your reaction and retracts his hand to lean forward instead until he’s on top of you again, your legs spread wide to accommodate him and his cock slides through your folds.

He lowers his head to nip and suck at the skin under your jaw, one hand toying with your breasts and your hardened nipples. Your whole body is buzzing, he’s so close and it’s so much, but it’s not enough, not enough, not enough.

“What do you want, baby?” he asks, peppering your skin with kisses and rocking his hips in small movements that make his cock nudge at your clit over and over.

“F-fuck me, please, I’ll do anything,” you beg, your body still obediently stretched out underneath him with your arms above your head. He nods wordlessly and reaches down to position himself at your soaking entrance.

“Be as loud as you want,” he growls against your neck. “I missed making you scream.”

He bites at your skin at the same time as his thrust into you punches the air from your lungs. You scream, just like he asked, as he hammers into you, his lips still attached to your neck, sucking and biting at the delicate skin. The sensation of finally being filled by him, of feeling the stinging stretch of the way he forcefully pounds into you is like heaven. You think that you’re talking, crying out a mix of his name and sir and please over and over.

You’re flying towards your climax and judging from his groans, he can already feel you tighten around him.

“Go ahead,” he groans, before you’ve even strung the words to ask for permission together in your mind. “Come for me, sweetheart.”

He pinches your nipple just once and the additional sensation is enough to send you flying, your pussy clenching around his cock and drenching him in your arousal as you scream out his name. It’s pure bliss, and you never want to come down.

“That’s it,” he growls, not slowing his movements, fucking you through the aftershocks until you’re a whining mess beneath him, “that’s my perfect girl, fuck-”

You force your eyes open to smile up at him, taking in the wrecked expression on his face, relishing in the knowledge that you’re the one to make him look like this. You just really wish you could touch him.

“P-please, can I-” you’re breathless, barely able to speak, and jerk your head towards your hands above you.

“Yeah,” he rasps, his thrusts somehow growing even more forceful, “do whatever you want, baby.”

Your hands fly towards his body, touching every inch of his skin that you can reach, nails digging into his back and fingers grasping at his hair, pulling him closer, closer, until he’s everywhere, all you can see, all you can taste, all you can feel.

“Fuck!” he swears, grabbing your shoulders and holding you in place as he’s pounding into you, “give me another one, touch yourself, come on-”

His thrusts are becoming erratic and you know that he’s close to his own climax. It only takes a few swipes of your fingers over your clit until you’re coming again, soaring through the heights of your pleasure, your whole body trembling with your release. Dave’s hips stutter and he comes with a shout, pulsing inside of your fluttering pussy until finally, you both still.

He drops his sweat-slicked forehead against your chest, peppering your skin with kisses and engulfing you in the warmth of his arms. After cleaning you up, he moves your bodies until you’re tucked against his side, one arm thrown across his chest while he holds you close.

You’ll never get tired of the feeling of his naked body against yours, of the way he feels like he was made for you. By now, you can admit that he had always felt like this.

“I love you,” he says, lips moving against your hair.

You press your face deeper into his neck. “I love you.”

It’s easy, now. Words that you say every day.

…and i love YOU, thank you for reading! 🤍 if you liked this, a reblog or a comment would absolutely make my day.

#janas fics #the dress series #dave york #pedro pascal #pedro pascal fandom #pedrostories #pedro pascal fanfiction #dave york fanfiction #dave york smut #dave york x reader #dave york x you #dave york x female reader #dave york x f!reader

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ronwestbreeze · 1 year

Note

Hi! I noticed you’re request are now open. I was wondering if you can write more for shallow waters? Maybe how things have been since tua has been born? If not I’d totally understand! And if so thank you in advance! :)

family of thieves

pairing: jake sully x fem!na'vi!reader

warnings: family stuff! cuteness hehe

summary: in which the older sully kids like stealing tua from right under your nose

word count: 1.4k

author's note: this is a short and sweet little one shot and yes it is set in the shallow universe lol. i just thought i'd give y'all something sweet after that last one hehe...takes place after shallow waters

Okay, you will admit it. You made a pretty adorable baby. The cutest little thing in the world and you loved her with all of your heart.

And so did the rest of the Sullys.

The first few months Tua was always at your side or with Jake. Oftentimes you felt Jake was always hogging the girl but he teased you and said he was just her favorite. He was totally wrong but that was beside the point.

Once Tua became a toddler, that’s when a lot of odd occurrences began to happen.

The first time it happened you were in absolute panic. You had come back to the family tent to find it empty. You guessed that everyone was out in the waters as usual. But it wasn’t supposed to be empty.

“Tua?” You called, heart dropping in your chest when you saw that the toddler you had left for only a few seconds wasn’t there anymore. “Tua!”

Dropping everything, you rushed around the village, heart practically ready to tear itself out of your chest. When you got to the beach, you spotted Jake and Neytiri riding on his ilu further out in the waters.

“Jake! Neytiri!” You called from the beach, eyes still searching your surroundings in a panic. The two hadn’t heard you, irritatingly you shouted louder, this time in Na’vi. “AAAH! I AM CALLING TO YOU, JAKE AND NEYTIRI!”

Neytiri turned her head first, brows furrowing together when she saw your anxious state, “Y/N? What is wrong?” She called back. That was when Jake looked over as well, frowning when he saw your worried face.

“Do you know where Tua is?” You called.

Before either of them could reply, Tsireya, who had been floating in the water nearby, suddenly perked up, “Oh! I just saw Neteyam with her! They should be that way.”

You gave her a quick thanks before rushing off in that direction with Jake and Neytiri still calling after you.

Further down the beach and near a bunch of rocks, you spotted Neteyam first. He was sitting on one of the taller rocks, talking to himself it seemed and pointing out toward the ocean. But when you got closer, Tua, your unbothered daughter, was sitting between his legs and giggling as if she were having the time of her life.

Neteyam spotted you as you got closer, He grinned and waved, “Sa’nok! I was just showing Tua the little fishies! Plus, I think she really wants to meet a Tulkun now after I told her a mighty stories about them.”

You placed your hand on your heart, feeling uttered relief and slight exasperation. “Neteyam, boy, you almost gave me—what is it your father says?—a heart attack! I thought I lost Tua!”

The boy looked confused for a few seconds before he realized what you had meant and started grinning sheepishly, “Oh right, sorry. It was Tua’s fault anyway! She was looking at me with those big eyes! I couldn’t say no to that!”

Despite your previous freak out, you couldn’t find yourself staying mad at Neteyam. After all, he was practically your first baby too, even though you didn’t give birth to him yourself. Plus, Tua looked to be having a grand time with her older brother. The sight itself calms you down and allows you to smile gently.

Carefully you climbed up onto the rock with them. Tua reached for you and you took her in your arms, “Next time tell me you’re taking her for the day.” You poked his head, “I might as well have raged throughout the village to find her.”

Neteyam chuckled sheepishly, “Sorry, Sa’nok. I won’t scare you like that again. Promise.”

You smiled as Tua tugged gently at your hair before giving him a quick kiss on his forehead. Just as you slid off the rock, both Jake and Neytiri arrived on the ilu, both looking confused and worried.

“What happened? Why were you freaking out?” Jake was the first to ask, his eyes scanning you and Tua for any harm.

“Your son stole Tua while I wasn’t looking.” You sighed. “All is fine, crisis averted.”

Jake visibly calmed down while Neytiri tsked at her son, “Neteyam.”

“Sorry, mother.” The boy raised his hands.

You thought that that would be the one and only time that would happen. But for some odd reason, it kept happening.

The second time, you had turned away for a few seconds to fix her food. Before then she had been sitting and playing with her tail. But when you turned back to feed her, she was gone. This time you didn’t freak out, you were just confused. She had been right there, how could she have crawled away that fast?

Neytiri was in the tent with you, cooking some of the fish they got for their meal for the night.

“Tiri’.”

“Mmm?”

“Where’s Tua?”

Neytiri looked up from what she was doing, looking around as well. “Was she not just here?”

“Yes, she was!” You got up and left the tent, Neytiri not too far behind you. “Tua! Tua!” You tried not to be too loud as the night was settling in and you knew most of the villagers were going to bed soon. “Tua! Tua! Tua—Kiri?”

You had stumbled upon the teenage girl, not too far away from your tent, to find her in the water, holding Tua with her, surrounded by glowing fish.

Tua’s big eyes were fixated on the fishes as she tried reaching for them in Kiri’s grasp. Your shoulders sagged and relief flooded your chest.

Kiri looked up and smiled, “Hi, Y/N!”

Neytiri appeared next to you and chuckled when she saw Tua, “Kiri, dinner is almost ready. It’s time to get out of the water.”

“Aw, Mom, we were just about to have a little fun.” The girl grinned.

“Yes, and Tua was about to eat her own dinner just now.” You pointed out before grabbing Tua from Kiri as the latter hoisted herself out of the water. “I swear you children just want me to have a heart attack.”

“I was going to bring her back.” Kiri pouted as they began walking back to their shared tent. “But she really liked the fish.”

Tua giggled when Neytiri tickled her cheek. You smile gently at Kiri, “I understand you want to spend time with your new sister, but at least let her fill up her stomach first before you go taking her on your little adventures, please.”

Kiri nodded, resting her head on your shoulder, “Yes, Mom, I will. Promise.”

Apparently, you had to tell all of the children this.

It happened again a few days later. This time you had tried to put Tua down for a nap. Only as soon as you took your eyes off of her—really you should’ve learned by this point—Tua was gone.

You didn’t freak out this time, you only sighed. Jake entered and saw your face. He placed down his equipment and cupped your face to give you a kiss.

“What’s wrong, princess?”

“One of our kids took Tua again.”

The amusement was not missed on his face as he gave you another kiss, “Well, I did just see her with Lo’ak and Tsireya. Might wanna start there.”

You hug him close, burying your face into his neck. “Why do they keep doing this?”

Jake chuckled, gently squeezing the back of your neck, “You made her too adorable, baby. She takes after you.”

Just as you were about to pull away from the comfort of your husband’s arms, Lo’ak came into the tent with Tua sitting on his shoulders.

“She wanted you so I brought her back.” Lo’ak said, taking her off his shoulders.

“Where did you take her?” You asked when Tua reached for you.

Lo’ak glanced toward Jake and shrugged, “We were with Payakan—but we were careful, I promise!”

Jake sighed and you chuckled, “Don’t worry, I believe you. Just tell me before…” At this point, was it even worth telling him to remind you? Really, none of the children were doing any harm. Just spending time with their newest sister, which was really sweet when you got over the initial panic.

You pulled him into your side, “Just be sure not to take her with you on any of your shenanigans, like you do with Tuk.”

“As long as she doesn’t try to tattle on me.” Lo’ak muttered. Jake gave him a look.

“Penis face!”

The three of you froze and all turned to look at Tua in your arms. At first you thought you were hearing things, perhaps you had gone insane in the current heat. Perhaps you imagined the whole thing—

“Penis face!!” Tua giggled, clapping her hands together.

Your eyes widened as you stared at your daughter. There was a snort from your son.

You glared at your husband, “Jake!”

“Lo’ak!”

“What—Dad literally said it earlier!”

“Out! Both of you!”

#jake sully x reader #avatar jake #avatar jake sully #avatar jake sully x reader #jake sully #neteyam x reader #lo'ak x reader #neytiri x reader #kiri sully x reader #sully family x reader #avatar way of water #avatar 2 #avatar drabble #avatar #avatar the way of water #shallow series

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xythlia · 4 months

Text

— ❛ metamorphosis ❜

inspired by the greek myth of pygmalion and galatea, the sculptor who loved his creation so much he begged aphrodite to turn her flesh and blood so she would be his wife

› satoru x f!reader

› word count : 2k+

warnings : angst, m masturbation, mention of death but nothing explicit, readers a curse & a marble statue, something something be careful what you wish for (possibly gonna do a pt two because obviously reader came back wrong™)

Everyone who needs to know, knows how a curse is formed. Knows exactly where they come from and for the most part why. But Satoru could never wrap his head around why you chose to haunt him, and like this.

After your initial death it manifested as peculiar visions caught in his peripheral, a flash of white that dissipated the second any of his six eyes tried focusing on it. But the feeling of it, god it felt just like you. And it was so like you to play some elaborate little joke, even after death. As if your entire death had been one elaborate joke and not the second greatest heartache of his life.

He'd been careful, so painfully careful about controlling himself and not letting the despair of losing you suffocate him lest this be the outcome. He didn't want to see you that way. Instead throwing himself into teaching, into the present, lest he become shackled by the past even more than he already was. He tried so very, very hard to let you go.

But apparently it wasn't really up to him, because as the years passed you gained more and more substance, more form, and seemingly felt more emboldened to no longer hide in the corners of his eyes but forcing yourself front and center.

And what a odd form you took.

A statue. Innocuous at first glance but he was never one to take anything at face value. It was like you were carved by a sculptor par excellence, birthed not from chisel but as if from the universe itself. Every detail, down to the most miniscule, lovingly rendered in breathtaking relief. So much tenderness held captive in your hardened, unseeing eyes. A hand held aloft in an almost loving, beckoning position.

As the days passed he spent more and more time focused on you, on your appearance and looking at it not as a curse but perhaps the strangest of blessings. You hadn't come back as some thing all teeth or claws, in fact you never moved a muscle. Just like all the earthly sculptures bedecked in various museums around the world you stood much the same.

With each day came a new bauble he would fix to your marble form, a flower held here or there to your hair with scotch tape, his favorite scarf wrapped around your cool to the touch neck. This evolved into a sort of... ritual over time. It was something he took greater joy in than he would ever admit. Quiet nights spent murmuring to you, not minding that you never answered. You didn't need to. It wasn't as sophisticated as telepathy but just the same it was like he could feel your feelings in response to whatever he was saying while rearranging and redressing your stone body.

In rare moments when his fingers would brush against the stone he could almost swear it felt warm, as if just seconds away from giving beneath his fingertips like melting wax, and in the next second you'd be shrieking with laughter at being accidentally tickled by him.

Just like back then.

It did mystify him a bit, why you chose a marble statue and why you remain so silent and still. Maybe it would hurt too much otherwise, so he doesn't press you to speak or try to change your shape. It was just like when you were still here, he would've loved you no matter what so why would it be any different like this?

But still, he feels all the same longing he felt then. The need to touch you, hold you, see your back arching off his bed and feel your fingers gripping against his shoulder blades. The saccharine cries of his name from your lips, prayer like and spurring him on move deeper, harder.

His hands tremble against your inert ones, tears blurring you in watercolor relief as the world loses its focus. His breathing became laborious as he rested his forehead against you, always so cold to the touch. It did little to ground him against the tidal wave of grief soaked desire that rushed around his mind.

Without conscious thought his hand slid down his torso, palming at his aching erection through his sweatpants. It was obscene, even thinking about doing something like this with a curse but for better or worse he was devoid of thought in this moment. His lips pressed sloppy, open mouthed kisses to your alabaster skin as he rolled the waistband down, feeling his throbbing cock smack against his abdomen.

Satoru hissed feeling the warm weight of his cock in hand, the pressure felt good and a soft sigh fell from his lips as his eyes fluttered closed. Retreating into memory as his other hand gripped the frigid marble, so hard he was afraid for half a moment that it would bruise before remembering himself.

He licked the palm of his hand, wishing it was your tongue sliding against the veins of his cock before wrapping it around the shaft, stroking slowly at first and alternating to swipe his thumb over his flushed tip, practically dripping precum.

He's called back to a memory from early in your relationship, showering together for the first time mostly out of utility after being on a particularly lengthy mission. The way you'd slid your hands down his body, across his back and over his stomach had made his heart feel like someone strapped electric cables to it.

Its harder to hold back as he falls headlong into it, remembering how your hands looked wrapped around his cock, fingertips straining to meet around the full thickness of him. The thrill of it sends shivers down his spine, makes him pump himself faster.

You'd look otherworldly on your knees in front of him now, eyes teary and cheeks hollow as you struggle to take all of him down your throat but you were always so eager to please, especially when it came to him. Satoru can feel the coil tightening in his gut, and before he was truly ready it's already happening, thick milky spurts splashing against your skin and his balls throbbing so hard his thigh muscles even tensing up in response. It took monumental effort to keep himself steady, braced against your solid form as his cum decorated you with the most pornographic accessory yet.

As his breathing steadied he was overcome with the fact that he hates himself for this.

Hates you a little bit too.

How pathetic, to be reduced to masturbating against this lifeless vision of you. To play dress up with it. To speak and laugh with it as if it's his closest confidant.

Just as he felt himself on the brink of the emotional abyss of grief something caught his eye, making his breath hitch and it was as if all time stopped.

The color of the marble was different.

So subtle that he nearly missed it, but it was undeniable. Ever so slightly the pallor of your skin had shifted, as if the color was bleeding through slowly.

For the first time in a long while Satoru wept.

#jjk smut #jjk angst #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #gojo x reader #jujutsu kaisen smut #gojo smut #gojo angst #satoru gojo smut #satoru gojo x reader #gojo x reader smut #gojo x you

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hisui-dreamer · 4 months

Text

ode to the heir of the underworld

Pairing: Idia Shroud x gn!reader

Synopsis: you would always be willing to stay by his side, no matter how gloomy he might be

Tags: drabble, fluff, slightly poetic hehe, reader is a simp for idia, bot proofread

Word count: 618

Notes: happy birthday idia!! fr he was the only character i hated when I started twst, but he's grown a lot of me ever since and seeing his dialogue is always so refreshing hahaha

Masterlist

Your lover is always nervous when he's talking to other people. And though it's a formidable shadow in his life, the rare moments of tranquillity that come with your presence hold a gentle beauty. The subtle relaxation, the easing of tense shoulders, and the softening of his guarded expressions—it warms your heart that he can breathe freely around you. In those fleeting instances, when his guard lowers, you see the true essence of his being, and it's in those vulnerable, unfiltered moments that your affection for him grows even deeper.

Your lover harbours a tempest within, a brewing storm that can be triggered by the smallest of things, though it's rarely aimed in your direction. It’s an anger that flares, but it's also a blaze that swiftly extinguishes itself, dissipating at the slightest touch of understanding or reassurance. You're slightly ashamed to admit it, but watching him burst into smoldering, golden flames is ever so slightly amusing.

Your lover holds his younger brother in the highest regard, showering him with unconditional adoration and protectiveness. He takes crafting custom upgrades, playing video games together, and doting on him with an earnestness that knows no bounds. It's incredibly heartwarming just how he's willing to go the distance just for his little brother.

Your lover has no boundaries in scientific creation when he is sparked by motivation. The dormant genius ignites within him, birthing ideas that defy the confines of convention. From the meticulous coding of new programs to the intricate design of futuristic gadgets, his creativity dances on the edge of brilliance. It's in these rare moments that you can see him fully as the technology genius he always was.

Your lover's excitement about the various games and anime that interest him truly rival a child. His eyes alight with a fervour that's infectious, and his words spill forth in a torrent, carrying with them a depth of knowledge and excitement that's utterly captivating. It's a large contrast between the gloomy man who always thinks the worst of every situation. In these moments where he allows himself to hope, you find yourself enchanted by the sheer intensity of his spirit, revelling in the privilege of glimpsing the vibrant core of his being.

Your love how, behind closed doors, he reveals a side that contrasts starkly with his reserved demeanour. He becomes the definition of affection and clinginess, seeking closeness and reassurance in your presence. His walls crumble, allowing vulnerability to emerge as he leans into cuddles, lingering embraces, and moments where he simply revels in your warmth. In these private spaces, he's unafraid to express his longing for connection, finding solace in the intimacy shared between you both, relishing every opportunity to be close and cherished.

Your love how he holds you as something delicate, a precious treasure he fears losing in the whirlwind of his own fears. In the quiet moments, he showers you with a tenderness that speaks volumes, his touch gentle as if afraid to break the fragile connection you share. He navigates your relationship with cautious steps, always nervously watching for signs of distance, a silent fear etched in his eyes that you might one day decide to leave. His actions, though at times hesitant, speak volumes of the depth of his affection, a love that seeks to protect and cherish every moment spent by your side.

Your lover is an enigmatic cosmos of emotions and complexities, a constellation of fears and passions, each shining with its unique brilliance. You share a love that dances amidst the stars, navigating the nebulae of his complexities, finding beauty in the intricate patterns of his soul.

Your lover, is none other than Idia Shroud.

Masterlist

if you liked this post, don't forget to reblog!

#twstnexus #twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland x reader #twst x reader #disney twisted wonderland #twst imagines #twst wonderland #idia shroud #idia shroud x reader #twisted wonderland idia

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dilfs-bitch · 1 year

Text

Oeyä | Tonowari (NSFW)

Pairing : Tonowari x Fem Omatikaya reader

Word count : 3k

Summary : Ever since your family is allowed to stay in Awa'atlu, you're drawn to the clan's Olo'eyktan. It all starts with just innocent glances until he catches you.

Warnings : Finger-fuck, hand job, sexual tension, inexperienced reader, age gap ( reader is nineteen and Tonowari in late thirties) exhibitionism, dirty talk, nsfw, oral sex (fem receiving), size difference, voyeurism.

Sorry if there are spelling mistakes, english is not my mother tongue

The first time was accidental.

It happened after the eclipse, right after you wait for your family to fall asleep to sneak out of the shared marui pod.

Just to take a dive in the warm bioluminescent waters of Awa'atlu, nothing else, or so you think, because every step you took away from the village, your amber eyes catch sight of that figure, almost like a blur diving into the sea.

It would only be a peek, the annoying little voice in your head said, perhaps incited by curiosity that guided your slightly silent feet closer. However, your heart stops beating for a few seconds, and your mind goes blank until your cerebellum sends commands to the rest of your body that hurriedly runs towards the village when you recognize that the blur was nobody but Tonowari.

The thought itself of the Olo'eyktan catching you was disturbing, yet it wasn't enough to you stop smiling as you returned to your marui pod.

Just because in your eyes he was the most handsome man you had ever seen, much more than the Omatikaya one, with his presence that exuded power and authority, the tattoos that adorned his body muscular. The fact was that you enjoyed seeing him swimming in all his glory, totally naked, the vision was even better than in your dreams, dreams that were inappropriate ever since your family is allowed to stay in the Metkayina clan, dreams that were so vivid ones that left the heat between your legs sticky in the next morning.

It seemed wrong to think and feel that way for a man of such position within a clan, old enough to be your father yet not enough to control your body, your heartbeat racing every time you saw him or the flush of your cheeks every time he greeted you as he had many times before, but now his face looked much prettier with that gentle smile that made your legs go weak.

You were being obvious, more than other times, although he seems oblivious to the effect he has on you.

A kind of effect as bad as a drug, that makes every part of your body beg to do exactly as you did that night. It was like taking an arrow in the dark with eyes shut that hits exactly on target.

Your knees were rested against the soft sand, your body hidden behind the dense stub of one the palm trees, your amber eyes were fixed, deliberately gazing at his large, muscular body so close to the shore. Unlike that night, your ears perked in excitement, it's even needed to hold your tail that are happily swinging from side to side between your blue fingers when upon watching he's naked. Maybe a silent warning to return to the village however your body is still, your eyes widen as you see his four-fingered hand wrap around his own erection, ready to relieve himself.

Something you could never understand, someone like him yet not claiming another mate after his first died giving birth to their daughter, despite the bond being lifelong, that didn't stop him from having another mate to help him with the burden of being clan chief, having a complete family again even helping him with the heat, which seemed unbearable according to your mated friends.

It was bearable for you, though it took a rather long time to get to know your own body, on days when you were in the heat or as a human said to each other at the outpost back on the omatycaia horny, just your fingers circling the bundle of nerve between your legs was more than enough for that feeling of ecstasy to take over your body totally stunned from the orgasm, even though at times, almost every time in fact, your body begged for something more, something that could go inside you filling you up completely. Once you even tried to use your own fingers as your friend Ya'nut had instructed you, but it felt weird…

Definitely different from now, an almost unbearable heat that spread like a fire through your belly when you heard the hoarse needy moan from the man who had his long, thin fingers enveloping his thick greenish length with the tip almost washed, the veins in his arm were prominence accentuated with the grip he keep on his own length, running his hands up and down slowly, his eyes are closed, his head tilted back slightly as his own hips gently pushed against his hand.

He groaned as his thumb moved against the bulbous tip that was leaking pre-cum, his sharp teeth grabbing his lower lip in anticipation of the heat building in his abdomen, about to overflow, almost like your own self-control desperately fighting that desire totally new that makes your mouth water when you hear the loud moans filling your ears that twitch with every sound coming from him, it's overwhelming the desire that runs through your body to be the only one holding his length giving him that relief he desperately craved, like the heat that grows between your legs, sticky, throbbing for release, throbbing uncontrollably to feel him inside you, covering you with his own musky scent.

It's disgusting be watching Tonowari in his most intimate moment like a pervert, it's disgusting your own thighs to tighten in search of some kind of relief, relief that perhaps would only be possible with your own fingers that push your own loincloth to the side to try to satisfy yourself with the sight so erotic before you, your fangs biting down on your own lips so hard to keep from escaping the moan that gets stuck in your throat as your fingers circle your neglected clit, your eyes roll back lost in the pleasure that leaves your body soaked, which makes your cunt clench around nothingness with a groan that rumbles from Tonowari's chest.

The name that repeated like an echo in your mind as your fingers stimulated your clit in similar movements to his, your back arched as you felt the tightness in your stomach, getting strong caused by the way he lightly pumps his own throbbing cock, desperate as he comes, guttural moans thundering from his parted lips becomes your own climax that catches your breath as shocks of pleasure course through your body.

Shame.

The only thing you feel, was stupid to keep going back to that place after the second time, you just knew, the rational part of your body begged you to stop because it knew something was coming.

And it came, worse than you imagined because now you've been caught.

“ Please don't tell my father Olo'eyktan” Your voice is pleading, but your eyes are fixed on the marui pod mat.

He wouldn't, telling JakeSully that he'd caught his oldest daughter spying on him didn't feel right, not when he'd done it on purpose.

A behavior that was not befitting for a man like him, for an Olo'eyktan to give in to his darkest desires, desires he tried Eywa knows he tried from the first day he laid eyes on you and your body with blood demon that made you stand out from others in everything, just like Ronal.

Maybe that's why he was so attracted.

It was wrong, he knew it was. However, that night he just needed a break, a dive in the sea to relieve the stress of his position within the clan, that's how it all started, a dark blue blur running back to the village. He knew it was one of Sully's children, perhaps even his mate. The thought even disgusted him, but deep down he knew it was you.

Your scent gave you away.

Heady scent, sweet mingled with the musk, sea breeze scent and that thing he didn't know what it was exactly but that made your scent unique, that attraction, your shy smile every time he greeted that become unbearable for him to contain his own erection, so he was seeking that kind of relief at that time of night alone stroking his own cock, the pleasure that becomes overwhelming because he could swear he could smell you as he palmed himself in those hot waters with only a thought in his mind what it would feel like to be so buried inside of you.

It's with that thought that for the next few days he does it on purpose, watching the way you smile every time you see him, your cheeks almost flushed as your eyes are fixed on his body as if you know every part of it, and you do. He felt foolish for not having realized earlier that it was you, the heady scent that flooded his nose was real.

It's wrong, he knows, and yet Tonowari does it anyway, like those nights. He goes to that furthest part of the village to swim naked to give himself that kind of relief, in just hope you're there watching him behind those palm trees.

And once becomes two, two becomes fours, four becomes ten until he loses count.

Until your body gives you away, and he has no option but to feign surprise at catching you.

“ Sit down “ He starts points to the mat waiting for you do as he said “ How many times? ”

He knew exactly how many, but he wanted to know if you would be able to lie to him, lie to your Olo'eyktan who desperately wanted to know why you kept watching him behind the palm trees in such an intimate moment, Tonowari intensely wanted to hear from your mouth that it was because you liked it, liked to see him at your mercy even if you didn't know it yet, touching himself like a teenager in heat.

“ Once, I swear sir ” You lie through your teeth.

" Why ? ”

A simple question that hides an obscene answer to say to a man old enough to be your father, a man who had already been mated, that gazing at you with those blue eyes persuading you to say the truth even if you would regret it later.

The heat envelops your face, you feel hot, bothered by his gaze that makes your voice come out almost as a whisper. ” I liked to see “

His ears twitch, his tail beats steadily against the mat, oh you like it. Maybe he could offer to do it in front of you, but it wouldn't be right, he shouldn't even think about it, yet he does it anyway, blinded by lust it tears at the nearly tattered thread of self-control he still had, but he wanted it for months and now that he's given the chance, Tonowari's not going to let it fade against his fingers like the seawater.

“ I could show you ” He says, his hand circling just above the base of his tail, ready to undo the knot of his loincloth.

Your ears quivered at what he has just said, your gaze finally meeting his for any hesitation, yet there isn't, is only Tonowari with his face almost close to your when he kneels in front of you, your figure towering about you who even sitting on the mat in his marui is still so small, looking so fragile just waiting to be taken care of, something he would gladly do if you would just let him.

“ But only if you let me between your thighs ”

Wait, he's waiting for an answer, but there's only your big amber eyes staring back at him with furrowed brows and slightly open mouth that makes him insanely hard, it's like you're doing it on purpose because you know the effect it has on him, or maybe you're oblivious to that fact and that's why it's taking so long to say yes, because the answer will be that, he knows just by the scent that comes from you.

He just needs you to say that, and he is more than happy to coax it out of you, Tonowari just needs his hand to finally undo the knot of his loincloth, his throbbing cock hitting his abdomen. He chuckles at how your eyes widen, that just serves to boost his own ego, he's spent months craving just a little of your attention and even though he's been getting it the last few days, the feeling was so much better now, it made you perfect in his eyes as he lifts his hand over the bare skin of yours thighs so silky that he's purring softly especially when his fingers tighten over the flesh and a moan escapes your lips, his cock twitches the bulbous tip leaking pre-cum.

Butterflies appeared in your belly at the sight and the sudden contact of his hand still wet on the skin of your thigh, maybe it was because you were still inexperienced, but being that first time feeling the touch of a man, it sets your body on fire, the tip of your nipple is erect against your coral top that barely covers your full breasts, the fabric of your loincloth is wet with the arousal of your sex that clench around nothing begging for pleasure, for something that can fill it and that's why there is no more time to think or feel ashamed.

It would be silly to say no, and if there was something you were never was silly.

“ Please Wari, let me see ”

“ Okay sevin, but first take off your tewng " He says, pleased with how quickly you do as he says.

It only takes a few seconds for your loincloth to fall beside you the same amount of time that his large, callused hand holds your thighs apart revealing your shiny pussy, it's the unbearable excitement that takes over his body, and he gives in, his other hand holding his length the thumb spreading his pre-cum over his cock like a type of lubricant that helps his hand glide up and down with ease, it was pleasurable but not enough.

He wanted you to give in to your desires too, so visibly that your own hole begging for pleasure tightens around nothing every time his hand pumps his cock, and yet he doesn't have to say anything, his breath hitches as you slowly drag a finger over your cunt, rubbing your clit. His ears were pulled back when an almost inaudible moan comes out of your lips, and he swears he feels his near gasp and that urgency dominate his own body when he realizes how inexperienced you seemed to be, is only confirmed with your movements matching his that watching your fingers just circle your clit not even paying attention to the rest of your body that seems on fire under the heat of his hand now under your top against your firm breasts, a unison moan caused by the grip on his cock and by his fingers that twists slightly between your nipples.

He's succumbing to the urge to mark every part of your body as his own, at which point he doesn't even care about his hand pleasuring himself, Tonowari just tries, almost giving up fighting the intense desire to bury his face between your legs, he desperately wanted to taste you on his tongue or know what it would feel like to have your pussy muscles clenching around his fingers, he had already forgotten how it felt, it had been so long since he had been mated with a woman, so long that only his hands pumping his cock no longer satisfied his pleasure he wanted so much more, he wanted to know what it would be like to fuck a woman again, what it would be like to fuck you even if it was just with his tongue.

And it's all so fast that even you can't quite figure out exactly what's happening, because the next instant Tonowari is lying face down on the marui mat, both his hands firmly gripping the sides of your thick thigh and his face is so close to your pussy that his warm breath blowing against it makes your body shiver in anticipation to finally knowing what that feeling you friends always talked about.

“ Your Olo'eyktan will take care of you sevin ” He kisses your inner thigh, his teeth grazing the skin. “ I'll fuck you like no man has the nerve to do ”

You sigh, the shiver running from the base of your tail up your spine at the immoral promise, it's so dirty but so lustful to hear it from a man like him who blatantly makes it obvious how much he wants you that leaves your mind blank, the thought mingled with the feeling of his real promise because his tongue licking a long swath from your wet entrance to your clit, resulting in your five-fingered hand fiercely gripping his braids take a muffled moan from the man between your legs. The vibrations go straight to your clit overwhelm you almost quickly, because it feels good, so good, better than you ever thought it would be. Your mind is clouded with that sensation of his rough tongue invading your insides, ravaging your soft walls as they contracted around his wet muscle.

Like the marui's rug, that's wet with the pre-cum leaking from its tip that rubs against it in search of pleasure, the kind of pleasure that burns through your body when suddenly his tongue is licking precisely your swollen clit and his fingers poking your entrance.

He smiles pleased, watching your beautiful golden eyes close in pleasure and your head tilt back as he finally inserts two of his fingers, it's slow, torturous, pleasurable unlike your own fingers that felt so dull inside you, different from Tonowari's fingers who pump in and out of you as if he were pulling a knot in your belly that unravels little by little each time his fingers go in and out, each time his tongue licks your sensitive clit like your ears that twitching at his breathing breathless that makes your eyes open to watch his hips moving against the rug, he wanted more too.

Looking desperate as he rubs himself like he's in heat, which feels contagious because it makes your hips stutter against his face, enjoying every caress on your clit that makes the inside of your belly tingle and your pussy clench uncontrollably around his soggy fingers, your arousal as he curls his fingers hitting that sweet spot that makes your fingers repeat his movements twirling your nipples under your fingers that make your legs tighten against his head, your heart pounding frantically, black dots fill your vision, the buzzing against your ears becomes mingled with the pumping of your blood that makes your legs tremble when you reach the limit as your voice that desperately screams his name like a prayer to Ewya Wari, Wari, Wari.

Desperate between your legs, hot, panting nearly suffocating with how long his face is pressed against your cunt eating you through your orgasm like his, coming closer so fast like an Akula after his prey. A loud growl resonating from his chest, and a muttering almost Inaudible that your ears manage to pick up making you open your eyes just in time to see his hips move against the mat one last time, and he comes, comes muttering your name like a curse.

Satisfied, finally he pulls away from your hypersensitive pussy that makes your body shiver when he kisses your clit that leaves a brief aftertaste of you in his nearly purple mouth, swollen, wet as the strands of hair released from his braid against his forehead caused by the strong grip of your hands that now feel weak as the rest of your body that almost falls against the mat but instead your face rests against his sweaty muscular torso when the palm of his hand rests on your back.

" Was it too much for you, sevin ? " He smiles, kissing the top of your head.

The answer is sure yes, it was too much, it was too good better than any sensation you could ever feel, but now your voice is stuck in your throat. Even if your mouth opens, nothing comes out, because now that all the excitement is starting to wear off place the shame that becomes too much, and you hide your face in his pectoral.

" You got all shy now, why sevin? Wasn't that good ? " His hand lingering hold with a soft, grip on the joint of the back of your neck pulled you away from his pectoral to face him.

So close that his warm breath blows against your face, their lips almost touching as his blue eyes wait impatiently for an answer, an answer he already knows.

" It was good Olo'eyktan" You say, closing your eyes, leaning in for a kiss.

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