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poisonlove · 5 months

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Completely Mine | w.a

This fanfiction contains explicit +18 scenes, including mentions of slapping, hands on the neck, and cunnilingus. Reader discretion is advised.

I placed my hands on my girlfriend's cheeks, merging our lips in a sweet kiss. Wednesday's cold hands gently grasp mine, intertwining our fingers during the kiss. I broke the contact between our mouths and stared into Wednesday's pupils, which were growing larger, looking at me with determination.

She was very excited.

I moaned as I felt Wednesday's hand slip under my shirt, caressing my abdomen " make me yours " she whispered, her cheeks flushed with excitement.

I felt an electric pleasure surge from my spine to the clitoris.

I bit my lower lip playfully and placed my hand on Addams' thigh, drawing absent-minded lines along her stockings —take off your shirt and get on all fours—I said, looking at her seriously.

Wednesday stares at me without blinking and obeys without saying a word.

My eyes scan Wednesday's body meticulously, watching as she tenses the muscles in her arms to maintain that position and arches her back to satisfy my request. I smirk, thinking that my girlfriend wouldn't even listen if I begged her for notes or to go to a certain place... but when we're alone in this room, she lets herself be dominated without saying a word.

I approach slowly, crawling on the mattress of my bed, letting out a sigh when I feel my pelvis is pressed against Wednesday's buttocks.

Wednesday moans shyly.

I licked my lips and dangerously approached her neck. I smiled shyly, watching as my girlfriend trembled, feeling my teeth graze her skin.

"I'll fuck you so hard you won't walk for days," I murmured in a low, husky voice near her ear.

I straightened my back, bringing one of my hands to her braids. My fingers exerted force, and with a firm wrist movement, I lifted Wednesday's head up, exposing her throat.

"How many times have I told you to respond when I speak?" I said in a serious tone, my eyes hooded with lust. "But... but you," Wednesday began, stuttering due to the sudden pleasure. "Ahhh," the little Addams involuntarily let out when she felt my free hand sharply hit her buttocks.

My hand remained in place.

"So?" I asked again, rubbing my fingers in the struck area. "You do what you want with me," exclaimed Addams breathlessly, her voice slightly shaky.

Wednesday's back arched more when she felt my hand hit her buttocks again. "This is my girl," I murmured seductively, biting my lower lip feeling my girlfriend's moisture grow with each stroke.

"Turn around," I said coldly.

Wednesday quickly turned around, lying on the bed, looking at me with unreadable eyes. Her braids were slowly coming undone, and her bangs were slightly damp with sweat on her forehead. I bit my lower lip, seeing the porcelain skin of my girlfriend standing out against her black bra.

My hands approached her face, smiling as my girlfriend leaned against the palm of my hand, closing her eyes. My thumb caressed her smooth and perfect skin, moving down her plump, thick lips. A growl escaped from the depths of my throat as I watched my girlfriend's lips wrap around my thumb, sucking on it while still looking at me innocently.

My other hand went to her neck, closing my fingers tightly around it. Wednesday's eyes looked at me with a flame in her irises. Wednesday defiantly placed her hands over mine, increasing the grip.

Wednesday removes her mouth from my thumb and lets out a moan.

"Completely mine," I murmur with satisfaction. I release my grip on her neck and start moving my hands down her body.

I unhooked her bra and immediately placed my lips around her nipple, feeling it harden upon contact with my lips. With determination, I licked over it, sucking passionately. Meanwhile, I placed my hand on the other, covering her breast with my whole hand.

Wednesday put her hands on my head, sighing heavily.

I began to descend down her stomach, leaving kisses and love bites along the way. I stopped and lifted my head, seeing Wednesday looking at me passionately with her elbows resting on the mattress. I removed her skirt, leaving her in lingerie, continued kissing, and stopped when I reached her mound.

I could see and smell her excitement.

I smiled and gave a kiss on the fabric of her underwear. She let out a growl, annoyed.

Wednesday continues lifting her hips to encourage me to continue my work. "Please," she murmurs between her teeth, and I decided to please her.

At least at first.

I took off her panties, and completely aroused, I admired her wetness.

I licked my lips hungrily, staring at her glistening pussy. Slowly, I leaned towards her, placing my hands on her thighs covered by her stockings.

My lips slowly kissed her right thigh, leaving a small bite.

Instinctively, my girlfriend opened her legs wider.

My breath crashed against her intimacy, and she shivered instantly. I smelled her delightful arousal again, an acrid but not unpleasant scent. It was fascinating to see how excited she was for me, you could see... her small and large lips covered and shiny with her fluids.

She sighed exasperated, and I smiled. I bit my lips satisfied with what I saw.

I gave a kiss on her lower lips and began to kiss them. Wednesday moaned, placing her hands on my shoulders.

"Please, Amore" she murmurs again.

I raised my gaze and saw Wednesday recline again on her elbows, looking at me with a plea, her eyes hooded with excitement. Her braids on the sides of her shoulders moved with her rapid breathing.

Her lips were slightly parted.

Without breaking eye contact, I applied more pressure to her intimacy and wrapped my lips around her clit.

She moaned louder.

In a swift motion, Wednesday lay back down. Her hands gripped the sheets tightly.

It was damn exciting.

"Yes..." she whispered slowly.

I began to suck on her button, and Wednesday's sighs gradually increased. I closed my eyes and continued moving my tongue around her clit, swallowing and savoring her delicious taste. I inserted a finger to gather more fluids.

I wanted more.

"Yes... keep going," she said, biting her lips hard.

I clung to her thighs and slid my tongue into her intimacy. "Fuck," she moaned, biting her lower lip, closing her eyes.

I smiled and gently kissed her inner lips, releasing a stream of saliva connecting it to my mouth. With one hand, I made circular motions around her clit, causing Addams' sighs to become heavier. My hand was completely covered in her liquids; I leaned in and gave another kiss to the bundle of nerves.

I licked the excitement off my lips. I put my lips around her clit again and inserted two fingers into her.

From the corner of my eye, I saw Wednesday's knuckles turn completely white, squeezing the sheets with need. Moans echoed in the room.

The walls of the little Addams tightened around my fingers, and I realized she was about to climax. She put her hands on my head, applying more pressure to her intimacy.

I kept licking and penetrating with intensity.

Her back arched more.

"Yes..." she moaned, and curling my fingers, I found her G-spot. She moaned louder. "Fuck," she exclaimed.

Her hips moved to the rhythm of my motions, and I increased the pace of the lick. After stopping penetration, I put the fingers in my mouth, sucking her nectar.

"Look at me," I exclaimed, stopping licking her delicious intimacy. With difficulty, Wednesday supported her weight on her arms and looked at me with excitement.

She was covered in sweat, and her lower lip was caught between her teeth. I took her legs and invited her to rest them on my shoulders, giving me more access to her intimacy. Without breaking eye contact, I passionately licked her intimacy again, watching Wednesday shift her weight onto one arm.

She stretched out the other and placed her hand in my hair. Move your hips again.

Groaning.

"Fuck! Yes..." she whispered.

Her eyes turned white with excitement. She redirected her attention to me, mouth wide open.

"Y/N!" she exclaimed with difficulty.

"I'm... going to..." she murmured with difficulty, not even finishing the sentence before I felt her excitement pouring into my mouth.

I swallowed the excess.

Wednesday, breathing irregularly, leaned back on the mattress. My hands remained on Addams' thighs, and determinedly, I continued licking her delicious pussy. I could hear the dark-haired girl on top of my body complaining between moans.

"Y/N... stop... please," she whispered amid moans, complaining about the overwhelming pleasure. Instinctively, she squeezed her legs around my head, almost trying to block my movements in her delicate area.

Wednesday sighed in relief, placing a hand on my hair.

A growl came from the depths of my throat, and with a determined gesture, I opened Wednesday's legs again. My fingers took her liquid, and I put it in my mouth, cleaning it well before grabbing Addams' cold and delicate hand and placing it on her stomach. I looked at her maliciously and then put my mouth around the swollen clit again.

Wednesday nervously laughed, moaning.

"Amore.." she sighs completely surrendered.

"Come for me again," I confessed, increasing the pace of the lick; she was on the verge of tears from the excessive pleasure.

"Oh my God..." she exclaims, biting her lower lip hard, squeezing my hand tightly. "Mmmmmh..." I swallowed loudly.

"Get up," I said seriously, pulling away from her clit, licking my lips. "What?" She said in a surprised tone, taken aback by my sudden command.

"Get up." I looked at her with mischievous eyes and got on my knees.

The raven-haired girl immediately got up from the bed, her legs slightly trembling as she covered her breasts with her arms. I sighed when I saw that the orgasm that had occurred was sliding down her legs. I slowly crawled towards her, and with hooded eyes, Wednesday watched excited and curious about my movements.

I rested my head against the pillow and got the perfect view of her delicious pussy.

"Ride my face," I said with a smile on my lips.

Wednesday didn't need to be told twice, also thanks to the fact that her legs didn't allow her to stand for too long. Her hands grabbed the bedpost, and I finally got what I asked for. Wednesday, amidst moans, began to move her hips slowly, as she had no strength and couldn't bear the painful and overwhelming pleasure. I slid my tongue into her pussy, her warm walls embracing my tongue. I closed my lips, sucking on her bundle of nerves.

"My... God... yes. It... feels... like... ah..." The raven-haired girl was ready to ride my face and couldn't manage a complete sentence. I sucked on her clit again, my hands holding her legs.

My girlfriend abruptly lifted herself from my face, and I glared at her when she sat on my stomach, the heat of her excitement on my skin. The raven-haired girl leaned down to kiss me and moved a hand from the bedpost along my side, smiling against my lips and sighing to feel her own taste on her lips. Addams' hand rested against mine, and suddenly Wednesday lifted her hips slightly, directing my hand between her legs.

I smiled at the understanding.

Between one kiss and another, she aligned my fingers at the entrance and sat on my hand. I groaned at how pleasant the warmth around me was. The raven-haired girl repositioned her hand next to the other on the bedpost and began to move up and down on my fingers, moving slowly. With my thumb, I stimulated her clit, and I leaned in to kiss her right breast.

Her movements became faster.

With completely hooded eyes, I watched how Wednesday's breasts moved to the rhythm of her hips, looking at me with her mouth open while keeping her hair away from her face.

She sighed and murmured my name with each ride.

I could feel the walls of her vagina closing around my fingers, and her movements were becoming frantic.

Wednesday was very close to climaxing.

She bit her lower lip, containing a mischievous smile, and abruptly lifted herself from my hand, sitting again on my mouth, smiling faintly at the confidence she was having with herself.

"Swallow..." She sighed, murmuring, and a great excitement spread throughout my body from the words she spoke; my clit pulsed to receive attention.

"You little slut," I whispered, smiling.

I grabbed her thighs and quickly moved my mouth, savoring her delicious taste. Wednesday again removes her hand from the bedpost and puts it on my head, assisting with the frantic movements of her hips to ride me.

"And... Y/N," her moans were uncontrollable. "I'm... fuck!..." she can't even finish the sentence that, with her mouth open, I received her delicious fluids. I continued licking while trying to breathe more regularly.

When she no longer feels my tongue working around her clit, she lifts herself from my face, sitting again on my stomach, kissing me tenderly. With my tongue, I asked to enter, and she willingly allowed me, making her taste herself. She put her hands on my back, increasing the pace of the kiss.

Between passionate kisses, the movements of her hips, pressing against my intimacy, made me ecstatic.

"How about another round?" she suggests seductively in my ear. In response, I kissed her.

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twentyfivemiceinatrenchcoat · 8 months

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i’ll relearn love at our kitchen table ; satoru gojo

synopsis; satoru doesn’t quite know what love is supposed to feel like. but if it means coming home to you, it can’t possibly be that much of a curse.

word count; 4.9k

contents; satoru gojo/reader, gn!reader, satoru gojo vs. the mortifying ordeal of being loved, fluff fluff fluff!!, a hint of angst if you reeeaallyyy squint, gojo’s pov, the babygirlification of satoru gojo, i just think being babied would fix him <33

a/n; i wanted to write something for suguru or shoko but this man is genuinely holding my brain hostage atp so more satoru fluff it is!! physically i could write gojo angst yes but emotionally? imagine the toll…

when satoru steps over the threshold to your apartment, he’s downright exhausted.

it’s a heavy kind of fatigue, a little sickening. the kind that seems to sneak its way into his bones, crawl its way under his skin. dragging him down, down, down.

a yawn slips from his lips.

the mission itself wasn’t too tough — anything is a breeze for satoru gojo, that fact needs no elaboration. this one was just a little more taxing than usual, slightly more important, which meant he had to deal with the technicalities of it all. had to listen to the elders go on and on about the importance of discretion, about finishing things swiftly and efficiently, and something else he didn’t stick around long enough to hear.

and the curse? a small fry, really. nothing worth fussing over. but it was annoying, with that irritatingly effective barrier technique. how long did he have to stay inside that goddamn veil before it let him get close enough to land a hit?

satoru doesn’t want to think about it, can’t be bothered to figure it out when all he wants is to collapse into the warm comfort of a soft mattress. all he knows is that when it finally lifted, the night sky was the only thing he could see. a vacuum of stars — taunting in its perpetuity.

so, with all that being said; to say satoru feels a little worn out might be a bit of an understatement.

hair slightly tousled, eyelids heavy with sleep-deprivation, he slumps against the wall and allows himself to simply breathe. a soft groan flows from his parted lips as he stretches idly, a small respite for his stiff and achy joints, his tired muscles.

it’s been a long day. but satoru still finds it in him to exhale a relieved breath, to drag his blindfold down to his neck and kick off his shoes.

because it’s been a long, long day — but now he’s finally home.

(not just a house, not just an apartment, but a home. a place of comfort and belonging. satoru didn’t think that was a luxury he would ever be able to afford.)

the moment he lets the door close behind him, a particular scent greets him. soothing in its familiarity, the only thing in his life that never seems to change; a blend between fresh laundry, and watered houseplants, and something that smells a bit like honey. maybe even sweeter than usual, though satoru chalks that up to his mind playing tricks on him.

it’s nice. so nice. coming back to something warm and real, a respite from his hectic work. a safe haven, of sorts, one that hasn’t been taken from him just yet.

satoru likes to think of your front door as a threshold between realms, a gap between within and without. one is dark in its saturation, plagued by that never-fading smell of iron, while the other is simply warm. sacred in its normalcy.

everything looks just as it should, the same as when he rushed out this morning; a fluffy blanket draped over the couch haphazardly, that soft golden light streaming out from the kitchen, your shoes by the front door.

satoru blinks, drowsily.

wait.

why is the kitchen light still on?

as if his eyes could ever deceive him, satoru rubs the skin under them groggily — blinking once, then twice.

yep, it’s still there — that soft fluorescent glow. a sight he’s come to associate with breakfast and dinner and a mellow kind of love, laughter shared over warm meals made by human hands. food tastes better, satoru has come to realize, when you have someone to eat it with.

ah, but it’s odd. did you forget to turn the lights off? that’s not very like you.

as if possessed by a strange, irresistible longing, his feet carry him to the kitchen in question. undeniably groggy, his uncoordinated steps are riddled with fatigue, but the yearning in his chest compels him to move forward anyway — a kind of yearning he only fully understands when he enters the space, and sees you slumped over the table, a familiar flicker of cursed energy capturing his attention.

you’re asleep.

satoru stills, where he stands by the threshold between the kitchen and the living room.

everything looks the same as always — cookie jars placed on the highest shelf to give him an excuse to help you reach them, origami made from newspapers he never bothers to read anyway, a vase standing proudly on the kitchen counter, stuffed with fresh flowers he bought for you two days ago.

the red roses still haven’t wilted, shining in the blue of the moonlight flickering in. good. they’re pretty, but maybe next time he should get you something more original. maybe some sunflowers, something that could rival the brightness of your smile. do they even sell sunflowers this time of year? if you were awake, satoru would ask you, even though you always tell him to just google it —

but you're not awake. you’re fast asleep, cheek squished against the kitchen table, snoring softly.

satoru feels his mood lift at the sight alone, and suddenly he doesn’t feel as tired anymore. something soft and almost otherworldly sprouts in his chest, as he takes you in, stepping closer. almost giddy, just to see you up close.

you look so peaceful and relaxed, so content. elbows resting on the table as soft little breaths fall from your parted lips; he spots a bit of drool on the corner of your bottom lip, gaze fond as he wipes it away with his thumb. he can’t resist the urge to poke your cheek, and it makes you stir ever so slightly — lips curling up into something akin to a sleepy smile.

satoru grins.

(you’re so cute.)

despite his fatigue, he hears himself chuckle, all soft and amused and a little bit lovesick. it comes to him so easily, when he’s with you; that upturn of his lips, the butterflies in his stomach.

satoru is still getting used to it. this cotton candy sweet, light as a feather kind of love. the kind that always feels like spring. but with every day that passes, the life he has with you becomes a little easier to digest. his future with you becomes a little easier to visualize.

yeah, he thinks. he could get used to this. coming home to you.

a soft smile, as he exhales a somewhat exasperated breath. you really shouldn’t be sleeping out here, though. silly.

satoru leans forward, inching closer to your pretty, sleeping face — he almost feels bad, waking you up like this. but he wants to hear your voice so badly.

so he cups your cheek, cold skin meeting warm, his hands still lingering with the bite of the midnight air. his fingertips tingle, buzzing with the body heat that trickles from your veins to his — one single touch is all it takes for him to soften.

the word that falls from his lips breaks the peaceful silence of the kitchen, breathing life into the moment. whispered into your ear, causing your brows to furrow as you gently slip from sleep’s embrace.

“baby…”

satoru is smiling, when your eyelids flutter open. a sincere smile, reserved for you and his students. bathed in the mellow hue of the kitchen lamp’s illumination, a soft glow curls around the strands of his white hair, creating a halo of artificial light.

blinking sleepily, you gaze at him in silence. something shines in your eyes, something satoru tentatively recognizes as adoration. and he gazes right back at you, with heavy-lidded eyes and a lopsided smile. teasing, lighthearted. thumb smoothing over the apple of your cheek.

then he grins, hopelessly endeared. ”hey there, sleeping beauty.”

a yawn tumbles from your lips, and you lift yourself up. leaning into his touch. “toru…” you mumble, voice a little raspy but still oh so sweet.

satoru doesn’t say anything. he simply takes you into his arms, gently, touch so very delicate — as if you’re made of porcelain. and you just let yourself fall into his embrace, while he tucks you under his chin, safe and secure.

it’s warm, he thinks. it feels right. complete, somehow.

and satoru thinks to himself that this must be what love feels like. what it’s supposed to feel like, anyhow, all sweet and light. all good and normal, something you never have to question. a cornerstone.

“you’re back…” you drawl, muffled into his uniform as your arms sneak around his thin waist. bringing him closer.

stroking the back of your head softly, satoru’s chest rumbles as he speaks, voice deep and a little raspy. soothing, a lullaby just for you. “yeah,” he hums. ”were you waiting?”

all you do is nuzzle further into his chest, cheek smooshed right over his heart; breathing out a sleepy little mhm that has him going weak at the knees, lips curling up helplessly.

“i wanted to…” you continue, stretching your arms a little to shrug away the remnants of sleep still clinging to your joints. “but i fell asleep.”

satoru feels you move in his arms, until your jaw settles on top of his shoulder and you press a chaste kiss to his neck. an exhale leaves his lips, something tender in the way his breath wavers.

“welcome home,” is whispered, muffled against his skin. a sentence he never wants to go a single day without hearing. “did the mission go okay?”

he plants a kiss on top of your head, speaking in a low tilt, reassuring. “it did. just took a little longer than i thought.” a soft inhale, as he basks in the scent of your shampoo. “i wanted to text you, but the veil blocked my signal. sorry, sweetie.”

another soft yawn, and a shake of your head. “s’ fine, don’t worry,” you murmur. ”i’m just glad you’re okay.”

satoru chuckles. there’s a fondness to it, light. and then something else, something more heavy — it rumbles through his chest, almost like a purr, or a soothing thunderstorm. he can only hope it’s enough to comfort you.

“of course.” he says the words like they’re indisputable, like they’re written down in scriptures old and worn. cradling you in his strong arms, he pulls you closer to his chest. hoping you’ll feel his heartbeat against you, feel that he’s there. “i always am, aren’t i?”

no answer. only a tiny hum, absentminded.

and satoru knows, deep down, that his words don’t mean much. that a part of you is always going to worry over him, no matter how many times he tells you that there’s no need. that he’ll be fine.

the thought makes him feel a bit guilty. a little sick to his stomach, at the thought of being a source of your anxiety, the reason you can’t fall asleep at night — but he’d be lying if he said it didn’t also make him feel somewhat giddy. the thought tastes sweet, on his tongue, even though it probably shouldn’t.

having someone who worries for you is a luxury, satoru has come to realize. a luxury he has, now, one he hasn’t had since —

well. that’s neither here nor there.

(“be careful, satoru,” he recalls a kind boy saying.

but that was many, many springs ago.)

“oh, right.”

at the sound of your voice, satoru pulls away ever so slightly, gazing down at you. “hm?”

with a single step back, you look up at him. tilting your head. hands still resting securely on his waist, fingertips squeezing at his hips. lightly, affectionately. barely restrained fondness. ”have you had anything to eat yet?”

“yeah. got some takeout on my way back.”

satoru expects you to sigh in relief, at his instantaneous answer. you don’t like it when he skips meals, so these days he’s been trying not to do it as much. even though he doesn’t always have the time to eat properly, and even though the sweets he chews on between missions make him lose his appetite. but he makes an honest attempt, for you.

someone worries for him. someone wants him to eat well. that’s more than enough motivation for satoru gojo.

but you don’t exhale, and you don’t look very relieved, either. you look… disappointed. eyes suddenly glancing down at the floor, lips curled down into a barely noticeable frown.

“oh,” you breathe. “okay. good.”

one second. then two. satoru tilts his head.

“why?” he stops to think. maybe… “did you make something?”

a certain recognition flickers in the depths of your eyes, and satoru thinks he must be right on the money. chewing at your bottom lip a little, you wait a moment before curling your fingers around his wrist — tugging him away from the kitchen table.

satoru follows, pliantly, until you’re standing in front of the fridge.

“well, um… here,” you mumble, somewhat sheepishly. fingers tapping at the handle before pulling it open. “take a look.”

satoru watches as the fridge door opens, slowly.

he blinks.

the first thing he sees is a single slice of strawberry shortcake. the strawberry looks fresh, glittering like a ruby on top of the softly whisked cream — and layers of sponge cake, that look like they’d melt in his mouth.

and that’s not all. there are a wide array of baked treats stuffed into the cramped space, protected by plastic wrapping and containers. everything from cupcakes with too much frosting — just the way he likes them — to chocolate chip cookies that crumble at the corners, satoru never seems to run out of things to look at. colourful treats, lovingly made and sitting right in front of him. it’s like he’s standing in a patisserie. they almost seem to sparkle, in the peripheral of his vision; glimmering softly, tantalizingly, like something out of a dream.

childish. that’s what nanami and shoko always call him, and he always protests, but —

maybe they have a point, after all. satoru certainly feels a little childish, when he realizes his eyes must be wide and bursting with child-like giddiness. a simple kind of joy, at seeing the ample selection in front of him. especially after that tedious mission prevented him from getting any sugar into his system.

”i did my best,” you mutter, sharing the sight with him as your eyes trail over a pretty bag of pink and green macarons. ”dunno if they turned out any good, but… i hope you’ll like them.”

satoru’s gaze flits over to you.

he opens his mouth, and then closes it again.

”did you… make these?” a beat. ”for me?”

a blink. ”.. yeah?” who else would they be for?, your eyes seem to say. a little confused.

for a second, satoru can only stare at you. in complete silence, the tired cogs inside his head turning sluggishly as he thinks about the implications of that answer. and with a soft flutter, he feels his heartbeat pick up, warming him up from the inside out.

you made them. with your own hands. you made all of these and you did it for him.

for some reason, satoru finds it oddly hard to speak, like someone stuffed a bunch of cupcakes down his throat. it’s weird — usually he can’t seem to stop talking, especially not when he’s with you, but…

(something about this is just too tender.)

you must have been baking all day. no wonder the apartment smelled sweeter than usual, when he walked in.

as if itching to curl around one of the macarons, his fingers twitch, but satoru gulps and keeps them still. he wants to say something, anything, wants to thank you or ask why you’d spend so much of yourself on him, but satoru only stays silent.

and maybe it’s because he’s tired. maybe he’s just a little caught off guard. usually this wouldn’t be that hard to handle — he could just throw himself on you and shower you in kisses, show his appreciation with a flurry of dramatics and declarations of love.

but right now there seems to be a disconnect, between satoru’s mind and body. maybe the mission drained him more than he realized. or maybe it’s more than that, maybe there’s nothing he can say or do; what words could he even begin to use to properly verbalize the emotions he’s feeling right now? how could his touch ever begin to measure up to the sweet sensation unfurling in his chest?

the silence doesn’t last long. as satoru stands there and spirals, you speak up, most likely chalking it up to him being too sleepy to react.

”this mission was especially rough, right?” you begin, with a soft tilt of your head. a smile curls its way onto your lips, proud and sweet. sweeter than everything in the fridge combined.

one step, then two. you inch closer to him, until there’s almost no space between you — standing on your tiptoes, one hand on his shoulder and the other reaching for his head. smoothing down his tousled hair, fingers tangling themselves between the soft white strands and getting lost in them. and it’s gentle, the way you begin to pat his head, doting.

then you speak. ”you did well.”

and it’s such a simple thing to say. three words, three syllables, but the words just tumble out from your mouth so earnestly that satoru can’t help but still. his breath hitches in his throat, softly, barely noticeable, but it’s there. that surprise.

he never knows how to act, when you get like this. patting his head and ruffling his hair like he’s something warm and sweet and worthy of love. something delicate, and not the strongest man on the planet.

it’s so weird. you’re so weird.

(satoru leans into your touch without thinking, allowing his eyes to flutter shut.)

it’s perplexing, this feeling, and the fact that he can’t pinpoint why frustrates him to no end. isn’t this wrong? shouldn’t he be the one ruffling your hair, coddling you?

what formula is he supposed to follow here, exactly? should he tease you? pull away from your touch?

satoru wishes his six eyes could tell him the answer, but they don’t. they’ve never been very good with emotions, with things that aren’t directly tied to his suffering or imminent death.

(so ironic. all these eyes and nothing to see. they failed to see suguru’s silence, back then, and now they fail to see what reaction would please you the most.

really, such a worthless ability to love people with.)

no answer comes to him. so satoru doesn’t tease you, and he doesn’t pull away.

it does feel slightly wrong, though. like this feeling isn’t something he’s supposed to have, there must be some mistake, he can’t possibly be allowed to feel so loved — can he? having you bake him all his favorite treats, run your fingers through his hair. praise him for working hard.

really. isn’t he being too coddled?

(… but it feels so nice.)

satoru suspects that there’s a lot to love he might not fully understand, just yet.

maybe tomorrow, when he’s a little less tired, he can try once again to give you the impression that he’s perfect. that he doesn’t need affection, that he doesn’t crave your support or your touch. that he’s above all that, the strongest, someone for you to depend on.

depend on him, while he depends on no one. that’s the kind of existence satoru gojo is. that’s how it should be, that’s all he knows, but…

— ah. it feels really nice when your nails scratch his scalp like that.

and suddenly, that’s all satoru can think. no more pesky what-ifs, or second guessing every good thing he gets. right now, it’s just you and him. your fingers in his hair, his footprints in your life.

satoru allows himself to melt under your touch, almost meekly. leaning down just a little further, to make it easier for you to smooth your hand over his head. he nuzzles into your palm with a happy little exhale, and for some reason he feels sort of bashful.

try as he might, he doesn’t manage to successfully shoo the emotion away, so all he can do is hope you don’t take note of it.

and you just continue your onslaught of affection, now ruffling his hair with both your hands, like he’s a big puppy getting cooed over. satoru has a nagging suspicion that you might be getting a little carried away, but he doesn’t stop you. greedy, in the way he wishes your hands would never leave his hair. the way he hopes you’ll never be too far away from him to reach.

”such a hard worker,” you coo, and he feels himself grow flustered. ”my baby deserves so much love.”

”woah there,” satoru chokes out, grinning, desperately hoping you won’t notice the red tint to his ears. ”are you flirting with me? i have a partner, you know.”

a giggle slips from your lips, sleepy and amused. ”oh, do you?” one of your hands goes to cup his cheek, thumb caressing the edge of his jaw as you gaze at him fondly. ”lucky them.”

the grin you’re wearing is awfully bright. soft around the edges in a way that has him speechless, brain malfunctioning ever so slightly. satoru makes a mental note to scrap the sunflower idea — there has to be some brighter flower out there, one that can actually compete with your smile. sunflowers just won’t cut it.

but then you let go, and satoru gets broken out of his lovesick stupor.

when your hands leave his skin, his lips curl down into a soft pout. one he rushes to smooth away, before you can notice it.

you step back, failing to stifle a soft bout of laughter, but satoru knows it’s not because you saw it — he knows because your gaze is glued to his hair, and he internally winces when he thinks about how messy it must look, after your little bout of cuteness aggression.

(you really are weird, finding him cute of all things.)

he expects you to tease him a little more, but you don’t, turning away and tapping your fingers on the kitchen counter. ”if i’d known you’d be home this late,” you speak, stealing one last glance at the pastries before closing the fridge. ”then i would’ve waited until tomorrow. so you could eat them fresh.”

an apology rests on satoru’s tongue, but as if sensing it, you rush to reassure him.

”ah, but this is fine too! they should still taste good!” you turn away, muttering. ”… hopefully.”

then you nod to yourself, crossing your arms absentmindedly.

satoru looks at you for a second.

then he steps forward, unable to resist the temptation — tapping at your wrist with the pads of his fingers, before gently curling them around it, coaxing you into turning your head towards him.

the kiss he presses to your lips is soft, delicate. his fingers trace along your jaw, cupping your cheek and tilting your face up slightly, just letting his warm lips rest against yours. sweet and chaste. he sighs into the kiss, content, and feels your pulse pick up.

then he moves down to your jaw, slow and methodical — lazy kisses, sleepy but so full of affection. and little pecks, scattered all over your lips, your cheek, the tip of your nose.

you seem to melt a little, against him, and satoru relishes in it; his ability to make you relax. far more valuable than the six eyes, he would argue.

when he pulls away from you, with what takes tremendous self-restraint, he’s smiling. his gaze meets yours, layered over with pure adoration, blue eyes crinkling as he looks at you. as if you’re his entire world. the kitchen light embraces him, cascading down the contours of his face; the bridge of his nose, the curve of his jaw, his barely noticeable dimples.

and there it is, again — that flicker of love in your eyes, that adoration. as if you’re looking at a painting, something too beautiful for words.

(satoru hopes you can see that very same adoration, reflected in his eyes as he looks at you.)

after a moment, he leans forward, to rest his jaw on the curve of your shoulder. you stumble a little under the weight, caged in as his arms hug your midriff.

”god,” he sighs, breathless, heavy with giddy disbelief. almost whining when he continues, nuzzling into your neck as if to hide. ”why are you so perfect, huh? i don’t get it.”

at that, you huff out a laugh, an amused little breath. wrapping your arms around his neck and scratching softly at his nape. satoru shudders just a little, arms tightening around you.

”stealing my line…” you mutter, accusatory, smile laced over with a honeyed affection.

another amused breath, this time from him. this is one battle he won’t let you win. ”nah,” he grins, tugging you closer. ”’s mine.”

this is warm, he thinks. this feels right. complete, in a way that satoru never understood before you.

he could probably stand there forever, just basking in it. soaking up your body heat and the smell of your shampoo. until your warmth is all he knows, until he can never get your scent off his skin.

and satoru thinks that he could get used to this. a cotton candy sweet, light as a feather kind of love, one that smells like spring and tastes like strawberry shortcakes and feels like tight hugs shared in kitchens.

your love makes him feel so human. and it’s scary, terrifying even, but it's also too good to pass up. it’s worth the risk. so worth everything.

a yawn leaves your lips, suddenly. satoru feels you soften in his embrace, nuzzling closer to him, stumbling just a tad; he doesn’t think it’s fair, for such a simple gesture to make him as happy as it does.

”sleepy?” he coos, smile giddy and fond. ”let’s go to bed, okay? no more sleeping on the kitchen table, silly.”

a disgruntled little huff resounds throughout the air, as you let your arms fall to your sides. ”that’s on you,” you declare, poking the plush of his chest with your finger. ”i only fell asleep because you took so long.”

a teasing glint flickers in satoru’s eyes.

”wanted to see me that badly, huh?” he coos. you roll your eyes, and he pulls your cheek. ”that’s cute.”

”so what if i did?”

satoru stills. you’re smiling, a little mischievous, but mostly sincere. and it really is very unfair of you, he thinks — to do this to him while his guard is down.

but he manages to pull himself together, raising an amused eyebrow and booping your nose in a way that catches you off guard. blinking up at him, eyelashes fluttering.

satoru clears his throat. ”well, that’s sweet.”

then he turns on his heel, suddenly, and strolls over to the fridge. ”but you know what’s even sweeter?” he chirps, fingers curling around the handle as he swiftly pulls it open.

licking his lips, absentmindedly, his eyes trail over all the different pastries. so close yet so far, just out of reach; his fingers move forward, towards that mesmerizing slice of strawberry shortcake —

”— no.”

a hand settles on satoru’s waist, and tugs him away from his well-deserved prize. taking advantage of his momentary surprise, you close the fridge decisively, and give him an unimpressed raise of your eyebrow.

satoru whines, loud and grating. pouting sweetly, trying to make you feel bad. ”c’mon, just one bite —”

”no.”

”but they’re for me!”

”they’re for you to eat tomorrow. i was only gonna let you eat them tonight if you were on the brink of starvation, or something.”

”i am!”

”so the takeout was a lie?” you narrow your eyes at him, suddenly suspicious. ”have you been skipping meals, again?”

satoru pauses. weighing his options. ”well, no, but…”

”— then no.”

another soft whine. you turn away from him, when he tilts his head and gives you his best set of puppy dog eyes. in fear of giving in to them, satoru knows, as you have so many times before. ”please?” he tries, to no avail.

”you’re not eating sweets before bed, satoru,” you deadpan, and his smile falls further, exaggerated. ”and no, we are not having that conversation again.”

he can tell you’re trying to sound stern, but a giggle tumbles from your lips nonetheless, at the ridiculousness of the situation. keeping a grown man away from your fridge, knowing that he’ll wolf down every pastry he sees and get himself sick if you don’t. all while the man in question whines at you in protest, frowing so deeply, disappointment evident on his features.

(except satoru really isn’t very disappointed at all. like this, he gets to stare at your smile all he wants, after all; knowing you won’t notice it, too busy trying to keep yourself from giving in to his pleas.)

he tries again, one last time. just because he knows it’ll make you laugh. you do, a little exasperated, and satoru couldn’t be happier.

and he thinks to himself that if this is what love is, if this is what it’s supposed to feel like, then it can’t possibly be that much of a curse.

maybe he should revise the hypothesis, get a second opinion. he’ll have to ask you tomorrow, over pastries and coffee, and hear what you have to say.

as you both stumble to the bedroom, sleepy and a little delirious, satoru thinks that maybe this is enough; the lighthearted banter, the fond laughter. everything good and real and normal, within the space of your apartment, a home he never thought he’d have.

(and maybe, a second opinion isn’t necessary, after all. maybe it doesn’t really matter if love is a curse or not, as long as he gets to share it with you, like this.)

that night, satoru dreams. curled up with you beneath the blankets, limbs tangled together, as if he could never be close enough.

he dreams of kitchen lights, of sweet treats and warm hands. of spring breezes, and a love he’s finally beginning to accept for what it is:

good. wholly and thoroughly.

#lovesick satoru is my favorite satoru but yknow whats even better? lovesick satoru/lovesick reader #i just have such a firm belief that this man is a loser when hes genuinely in love ok.#hes so touch starved i think he’d crumble into a little puddle on the floor if u kissed his cheek #loves to tease and fluster you n hes so good at it but the moment u give him the same treatment? he is Gone. down for the count #spreading the loser satoru agenda <33 i love this man so dearly.#i NEED to hold his waist btw idk if i made that clear. i need it like i need air to breathe. like why is it so tiny if not to be held by me #had to hold myself back like a wolf during a full moon from describing his waist in too much detail youre welcome #overall idk what to say i just think love could fix him #gojo satoru x reader #gojo satoru x you #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen #gojo satoru #jjk x reader

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darlingofvalyria · 8 months

Text

❝Ask me, my prince. What a storm is to a dragon.❞

[ Aemond can only breathe through your lungs, through your adoration and love. But when betrayal is nigh, what does it truly beget? ]

[ +18 MDNI ] [ 6,935 ] | Dark!Aemond Targaryen x Baratheon!Reader, minor, sort of (not really) Aemond Targaryen x Alys Rivers.

THIS IS A DARK FIC. READER DISCRETION IS ADVISED.

contains— angsty, smut - DD:DNE: kidnapping, coercion, manipulation, possessive & obsessive behaviour, power imbalance, violence (not to reader) (a little bit to reader... i wrote this too close to book canon!aemond), murder, death, massacre, war - canon typical targcest, canon character deaths, canon divergence - dark!aemy - pregnancy, child, allusions to infidelity, mentions of bastard - i took liberties with canon (as i usually do) - #ripellyn you (sorta) will be missed shshs - the only specific reader descript. i did is the baratheon dark hair ok? ok - nsfw: male masturbation, dubcon/noncon, creampie - no kings, no martyrs, no betas.

a/n— there was this villain playlist on yt that was slowed and sexy, and my brain just. clicked. here it is if you wanna check. the real reason this is long is cos i can't help but add backstory ok? ok. lol. comment, reblog & like at will, mi luvs, mwa!

Storms have always been your favourite view in any window.

It is cliche to say, a proud daughter of the Stormlands, of course she enjoys the dark skies! But you do. There is nothing short of comforting in the rolling, fat clouds darkened in shadows. Occasionally, if the weather moved to your whim, lightning danced between plumes before you hear the boom and crack of it striking.

"It is a privilege to enjoy weathers such as these," your father once said, a hand on your darkened hair, a bluer tint to it, but Baratheon through and through. "It is our might that holds us at paramount, and thus, our privilege beckons warm fires and strong, stone fortresses to watch it all in comfort. To find enjoyment in the dark skies."

"Ours is the Fury," you replied immediately. Your father smiled.

"That, precisely. The paramount of our might and power is one we have taken and given with fury. Never forget."

"Even better than the Targaryens?" Your father's displeasure crumpled his face, and you were at an old enough age to understand his displeasure was not something you enjoy. But you had been learning all day, and the topic that day with your septa had been House Targaryen. You had learned the King's name, that he had a Queen that died, and that his heir is a girl.

His hold on your shoulders was heavy, but you do not flinch. Eyes bore into your own as if he was speaking the words into existence.

"We are the blood of the Kings too, my daughter. The White Hart proves our mark in the world, long before the dragonlords ever whispered in these lands. And what are dragons against the dance of storms?"

You had been little then, no more than six. The smallest of your sisters; Floris, though short in stature, looked elongated. A beauty. A fawn in the making. And your father is not the cleverest of men, but his words shelved itself in the corners of your brain. It eased and assuaged your fears like a quick spell.

Your spine straightens and your chin tilts upward. You are made of fury and storms, the blood of kings of old and solid, impenetrable fortresses.

You fury is your own, and 'neathe your fingers, under your very being, is a storm.

A good reminder, as when you had exchanged childhood for girlhood, a missive had been sent by the Queen Alicent Hightower, requesting for a daughter from Lord Baratheon's Four Storms, as companion for the Princess Helaena.

"Cassandra would do well."

"She hungers, husband. I am afraid of what might happen if we send her to the courts at her age. I do not yearn for a scandal."

"She would not shame her family so, do you reckon?"

"She is the eldest. You know how she is."

A sigh. "If she had a cock, she would be a good heir for my seat."

"Borros!"

"Apologies. Very well, mayhaps a good husband with no grit to him would do her well. She will lead the Stormlands by the hold of his— er, well, yes. Maris? She is clever."

"Far too clever. Even her tongue irks you, no. Definitely not. Her brain works too fast for her mouth. She will say the wrong thing and end us in war."

"You exaggerate, surely."

"I bore them, Borros, but they are your daughters. They live and breathe with your name and your House's banner under their own. What do you think? Bad enough they take so much of your heritage with them, and their looks, but they also plucked and chosen parts of you I'd rather not have for lady daughters."

Your father grumbles incoherently, you laugh under your breath.

"... Floris is too young. So..." The last one. You. You press your ear harder against the wood of your father's study, heart in your throat.

"She will be best," she says softly, insistently. She knows in her heart of hearts that though her husband is a hard, proud man, he has a softened heart for you. "Though she is clever, she minds herself well. Polite. Kind. She will do well with the Princess and her, er, eccentricities."

"Bloody weirdoes, the lot of them." A sigh. Another chastise from your mother, but she too, sounds exhausted. It has almost been a moon since the missive has been sent. Another one is bound to arrive, more order than request. It is all a political game. Princess Rhaenyra had no Baratheon ward under her court when she still resided in Kings Landing, for you and your sisters had been too young and your father had no sister. It is by chance that gives the Green Queen advantage to take a ward under your father's banner now, with a daughter she seeks to be Queen Consort.

"Send her then," your father announces. Though defeat clouds his voice, the Lord in him speaks each vowel clearly. "She will do best to represent the House out of them all. We might have a betrothal in our hands soon enough."

"She is pretty enough for a prince."

An angry snort. "She is more than pretty enough for a prince. Far better than the lot of them."

Softly, "That is because you like her best."

"Why would I not?" your father replies gruffly, making you smile. "A storm grinds and brews inside of her, wife. Even Maestre Loes, the old gnat that he is, sees my bloodline thick in her. Even if the King asks for her hand at this very moment, I would refuse. I would throw him off Storm's End with a smile on my face and a boot on his back."

You fight off a snort as your mother grumbles about treason and Maris.

"She is far better than the best of them." Another sigh. Heavier. "Why are we sending her?"

Your mother sighs. "Because as she is the best of them, she is the best of us. She will survive far better in that cesspit they call a keep than any of our daughters. Her storm can tame dragons."

You would argue that that too is treasonous given the context, but your father merely laughs. His laughter is a crackle and a boom.

"I would upheave our coffers to witness that."

Though you find her odd, you enjoy spending your time with the Princess Helaena. Mostly, she is quiet, in her own little world. Though it took time to get used to her many-legged friends, you soon realised the best times you spend with her are when shipments and gifts of pinned butterflies and books that have reached as far as Yi-Ti, to get to Kings Landing about bugs, and undeniable excitement unfurls in the Princess' face. More like a girl, a sweet one.

It makes her already cherub features appear more child-like, and she grasps your hand voluntarily as she points at each and every critter she recognises. It is so very rare to see true happiness in the princess' visage, and in her enjoyment, you see your sisters.

That is how you meet him, the Prince Aemond.

Princess Helaena had gone for tea with the Queen. It had not been planned. Though she often spent tea with family, either the Queen or the Lord Hand, or either of the Princes. Something had occurred, so now that Princess was having tea with her Queen Mother and her husband. If you had to guess, it was likely that Prince Aegon was being punished in some way.

Though there is no love lost between siblings, it makes you sniff at how blatant the prince's obscene indulgent for vices are. Princess Helaena didn't mind, rather, she didn't care unless they needed to spend time together, a clockwork patch of routine, and that was when you usually came in— you later realised, your primary job — soothing her nerves and distracting her thoughts before she had to enter her marriage chambers.

There is a resigned defeat in her, a woman's duty bearing down, looming like the Mother, and it makes you want to soothe her harder. Make her laugh.

With the change of plans, it was up to you to check for the new shipments of the Princess' things. A dictated note in your hand of the princess' handwriting, you were going through her boxes when a hand, gloved, rests on your shoulder.

"Do not move," a cool voice says behind you. Far too close for propriety.

You freeze. "Pardon?"

"I do not want to scare you, my lady, but there is a critter atop your head." The cool, calm voice waves off a steady rhythm to your heart, calming it further from the earlier panic of someone laying a hand on you (although this, is still not better. You are a lady and unmarried after all). "I will rid of it immedi—"

"No."

"... Pardon?"

"Where is it? Just atop my head?"

"... Yes?"

"It maybe poisonous, pease do not touch it." Before the owner of the hand and the calm voice could react, you pat your head until you touch a hairy, small thing with many legs. Relief spreads. "There you are."

"There you are?" The voice says, almost mocking, incredulously.

You huff, taking the spider in both of your hands, before you tilt your chin behind you, only seeing the gloved hand. "Please take your hand away from me."

The hand retreats. You turn.

Valyrian features are most uncommon than your own, and the jolt of recognising the pale, white hair is a strike to your being, a gasp falling from your lips. It is the one-eyed mask that tells you immediately who it is, but you string everything else you know of the prince.

Prince Aemond had been travelling to Oldtown, a visit requested by the Queen in the guise of seeing family, his brother. But there had been whispers of something more, as the chatter of the maids who cleaned up in the King's quarters talked about how ill he got day by day.

You had seen flashes of him before this, but fate had kept you two apart. You were not there when he visited the princess— on another errand or two, and he starkly ever looked at the ladies surrounding his sister with a vehement light as their voices, high pitched and dreary, tire him so on a good day, increasingly irritating on a bad one, and anyway, the silence that falls in a stone room just from his arrival is enough to irk him.

But here is he now, with one eyebrow rose, a good eye of icy blue iris, and the very visage of a warrior in black leathers, a braided hair pulled to one side, and pursed lips in both amusement and annoyance.

He hums. The sound kicks back your manners, blushing lightly at having gaped at him for far longer than pleasantry dictates, and you pull yourself into a bow.

"My apologies, my prince, I didn't know it was you. I was scared you were going to hurt the Princess' new friend."

"They are bugs," he says steadily. "Not her friends."

"Like so, but just because they have many a legs do not mean we cannot befriend them." A small smile plays on your lips before you place back the spider in the cage he got out of. It is something you had once said to the princess to make her laugh. You feel his stare burn at the side of your face. "Is there a matter, my prince?"

"You are the Lady Baratheon, are you not?"

"I am." A small, ironic smirk tugs at your lips. "Is it the hair?"

He makes a soft sound that exhales like a laugh out of closed lips. He's still quite close, you can feel his warmth and idly wonder if all Targaryens truly do have the blood of the dragons in them for you can feel the contours of him, burning at the edges of his being. Like a comforting little furnace.

"Hm. And the princess has taken quite the liking to you. You are all she talks about during sup."

You can't help it, you're smiling. So many rumours concerning the young prince, not all of them good, but there is a certain novelty in basking under the attention of a prince of the realm. A Valyrian beauty that brought an ethereal glow to him. As so intently stares, catching pieces and niches as if you are the most fascinating creature.

The attention makes you feel like a blushing lady.

"My apologies then, my prince."

He cocks his head, the braid dipping and you catch the movement in your peripheral. "Whatever for my lady?"

You turn to him, unable to curb the cheek to your smile. "For interrupting better conversations with the topic of my name plaguing your sups so."

His mouth twists into a smirk. In Aemond's mind, it is not oft that ladies, especially Helaena's ladies, would care to... flirt with him. Because this is you flirting, is it not? The coy gaze, the curl at the edge of your lips? Aemond has seen these faces in ladies and maids alike, but directed at others. At Aegon.

Directed at Aemond... bereave to keep their conversations to themselves, and though it is not always a fault of theirs for his stoicism is his most valued armour, one would resign oneself of an arranged marriage that will take long moons before his lady wife would see the truest him, that he would not be able to experience such... coy conversations with the opposite sex.

Yet here you are, a light dust of red in your cheeks, a quirk in your mouth, and the playful joust in your eyes, daring him into a swords' dance.

It is thrilling.

"Plaguing is too harsh of a word to say so about a lady of your stature, Lady Baratheon." He steps closer, aware of propriety standards of how close two unwedded people should be, but he feels intoxicated of the whiff of life exhuming from your visage. A light citrus, oranges? Lemons? Tart and sweet, with a powdery finish. It is so very ladylike.

Addicting.

The perfect smell for a lady wife, a musing thought.

"Is that so?"

"Intriguing, I would say, would be the better word."

You laugh, low and sweet. It sends a pleasant warm to his centre. "I'm afraid my memory is failing for I do not remember any wily adventure or conversation the princess and I had for a prince of the realm to say I intrigue him so."

"It is less... about wily adventures or interesting conversations that pique my interest, but the lady herself." His eye, though lone, the other remaining hidden behind an eyepatch with hints of scarred, twisted skin underneath, bore against yours as if he wished to gather all your strings and see what each would give him. What you would show him.

"I'm afraid to disappoint you, my prince, but I still fail to see how I can ever so pique your interest." You meet his gaze, smirking. "I am just me."

Before he can answer, step forward— whatever, he is staring at the curve of your lips so, at the enchanting shimmer of your eyes, and Aemond Targaryen felt breathless — your named is called, and the spell is broken. The prince steps back, taking more space between you that is more appropriate.

His hand flexes.

But that is not the last you see of the prince, nor the last time you are able to hold a conversation with him. It seems that since then, you find yourselves orbiting each other in the fringes before one steps forward and engages. There seems to be a band that tightens either of you so obsessed with seeing the other in the periphery, the topic whatever may came, even as inane as the weather.

It is a dance of swords, kissing blades of sharp quips and interesting parry. You are interesting. Beguiling. Devouring. Aemond searches for you in most places now, unable to stop himself from asking his dearest sister about you— even his mother and grandsire have taken notice, eyebrows rose between shared looks.

"House Baratheon is of a Great House," his mother hesitantly brought up, too focused on her soup for it to just be idle chatter above sup.

"It is." His forced passivity is not as apathetic as he can make it. For any mention of you and your origins thrums his heart in a dance.

"And the Lady Baratheon has many admirers, a kind and dutiful lady, and Helaena likes her so."

He turned to his mother then, humming. At the barest hint of a smile in her son's face, Alicent beamed.

But others from court also soon took notice, and when Aemond realises the wagging tongues had come to note your name— unkind whispers besmirching your person, he disappears from you altogether.

The differences become stark to him; realising what a foolish endeavour it is to want you. Though he is a prince, he is mutilated, a monster that will ruin you. You are too good for him, a warmth he had forgone in the face of misery, apathy, and hatred. The urge to conquer your every thought and sound, from your fingertips to the top of your hair... it is a gasping thought, one he shamefully sins at the blackest hours, tugging at his cock desperately to the thought of what you had looked like that day. The sound of your laughter, the pull of your lips when you smiled, the gasp you let out when you touched water that had been too cold— his mind bends and moves, and images of you, images that he will have to pray for the in morrow but cannot stop—

Moves him to completion, a strangle grunt of your name from his lips.

And yet, every night since, it happens again and again.

The more he pulled away from you, the more he wanted you. It is a debase urge, one more fit for his drunken cur of a brother than he, more creature than man.

But he cannot stop, so the torturous cycle continues.

Until you've had enough.

You know that during hours of inky night, the prince prefers the sanctum of the library. Not always, and lately, not often, but if there are a few things you learned in the hunting trips your father brought you that your mother never approved of, is that lying in wait, patient, deals a hand much better.

And on the fourth day of your waiting, your hair in a braid, a book on your lap, and a small candlelit close by as to not alert any spooked princes— the door opens at the Hour of Eel, the familiar and sorely missed footfalls of a quiet but sure-footed prince enters.

You admire him for a moment, hidden as you are, your stare drinks in the ever smooth of his twilight-spun hair, those pursed lips and straight lines. He's lithe but you know, having been offered his arm on every walk, he is made of hard muscle. Aemond always walks so smoothly, like a panther, or a gazelle, with the barest hint of austre he can never hide.

It's the prince in him, you giggle to yourself.

A sweet pang in your chest is the reminder of how much you missed his presence. And that ends tonight.

With his back turned, perusing a shelf, you shuffle and make yourself known with a soft, almost admonishing voice.

"Good eve, my prince."

He stiffens, hand poised against a spine of a tome. He barely turns, only his head to the floor, in the general direction of you. "My lady. I did not expect you to be here."

Frustrated, you sigh loudly. "Have I offended you so horribly? Dishonoured you in some way?"

"What?"

"Why can't you even look at me, Aemond?"

A sharp intake of breath. When he speaks again,his voice is changed. "You forget yourself, my lady."

There is an ache to your being, pursuing your lips. "You had given me permission with your given name, my prince, or have you forgotten?" Anger overcomes propriety. Fuck propriety. You charge toward him, heavy, angered steps until you're close enough. "Can't you at least look at me, look at me as you push me away as if I amnothing—"

He turns abruptly, one eye flashing as he grasps your elbows in a grip. His eyes zero in on your lips as a gasp falls, eyes widen— if you could see better, you'd notice the darkened gaze drinking you in. Your widened eyes, your open lips— and Sevens, only a robe hides your nightgown, the smooth expanse of your skin is more bare to him than ever before.

His beautiful, beloved stag.

"You have never been nothing to me, nēdenka riña brave girl," he hisses. "Konir sagon se drīve That is the reason."

"Prince A-Aemond?" you say. He is against the shadows of the moonlight, only his hands holding your own is illuminated.

A wrangled exhale falls from his lips. You follow the sound, worried.

"Are you? Injured? Are you okay?"

"I have not been okay for the moment I met you," he rasps, hands bruising in his hold.

"Well. Gods. I'm sorry. If it's such a offense—"

"It is an offence!" he growls, pulling you abruptly that you yelp, bathed in shadows and darkness together, your eyes adjust as you scramble to have thoughts apart from just being this close to him. Hearing a voice you had never heard of him before, untethered from his princely visage, from manners and proper, and it makes you burn.

The thoughts of wanting him close, of taking more of that space until you are chest to chest are blushing thoughts.

But there is honour still, for he holds you at least an arm's away.

"I have wanted you the moment I have laid eyes on you," he whispers, voice rough, exhausted. "And each day I spend with you, each hour— my honour stands in shambles, in ruins at my feet for I want you as a man wants a woman. Honourably and... and carnally."

You swallow, and he follows the movement like a predator tracking his prey. The blush in your cheeks, the way your lips press together as if you are just as starved of him as he to you— oh, you want him too, don't you?

One hand moves from your elbow to slowly reach up. Your arms, your collarbones, your neck. A thumb brushing your cheek and your eyes flutter.

Aemond wants to devour you.

"You plague me so, and I crave you."

"Then have me," you sigh.

His eye closes. "I cannot sully—"

You grasp his neck, bringing your mouth close to his. "You cannot sully what is freely given. If you crave me, I want you."

Honour unbound, a snap is tightened by the hunger that uncoils from a dragon that wants you. Aemond had grabbed the back of your head, tangled his fingers, and made a mess of your mouth.

Gasps and teeth, touching skin from where you can feel it— touching skin from where you unbuckle, tear through hem and push against cloth. When he slams you again the shelf, a moan so lewd falls from your lips that he groans, pulling your nightgown until he feels the heat from your very womanhood, and so, so wet, that when he flicks his thumb, curious and entranced, moving it around experimentally, you are a mess of sound and feeling, gasping his name, A-aemond, oh gods, please, and he is whispering, forgive me, f-forgive me, like love letters, like penitent, like a kiss from a traitor so wrong but so tasteful against your skin as he pulls himself from his confinements, holds you steady, and breaches your tight cunt.

Just before a scream tears through your throat, he devours your sound, holding you steady, until the pain bleeds pleasure and you are holding him like an anchor in dangerous seas. You cannot think or feel anyone else but him; what you are and who you are do not stand a chance as Aemond Targaryen swallows your senses.

It is harsh and fast, it is sweet and devouring, and more, more, more, you don't know what you're begging him, you feel like a devout and he feels like a god, grunting against your skin, biting through anything his teeth grazes. When he shifts you at an angle, finding a spot that feels like a lightning striking through your entire being, you are screaming, twitching, reaching a high so blinding it feels like white death.

"Is that it? That sweet spot?" he purrs, a breathless laugh, shocked and delighted drinking in your trembling and pleasure. "Your cunt is tight against my own, holding me like you never want to let go." You cry out when his cock hits that spot again. Your combined wetness makes an obscene squelch, just as pretty as the sound you utter. He smirks. "Can you hear that? Not even a whore can make a sound so sweet, hm?"

His teeth grazes your lips, sending shivers through your body as he licks the roof your mouth. "I want more of that sound. As your prince, you would grant me this, yes?"

But he isn't waiting for an answer, planting his feet and holding you steady, angling you back to that spot until he is snapping his hips, fucking into you as you can do nothing but beg and cry and tremble in the arms of a dragon taking what is his.

And you are.

You are his.

Maybe you had known it since then.

You definitely do when his seed floods your womb.

You want to say that that night was a fluke, a mistake that must be regretted. But once your gaze meets another, the fire burns, flickering and dancing, and it repeats. In quick fucks in dangerous spots, to slow, sweet love making in his room.

You are his, in mind, body and soul.

"Death is nothing but a friend," he murmurs against your neck, holding you close. Sweat cooling between your naked bodies. "It cannot stop me from finding you."

"I hope you say that to my father well," you tease.

" Marrying you is but the next step, my love. You are already mine as I am yours." He plays with your hair, brushing it past and kissing a bruise he made on your breast. "In face of every god and more, they will understand that we are but one soul."

You can plan the future in rose-coloured gaze for as much as you can, but the truth of marrying into a family with war brewing inside of it, held together by a dying king's hope and corpse fingertips— it is another matter entirely.

It all comes to a sharp clarity when Viserys I dies... and they keep his rotting corpse a secret.

And then they crown a whoremongering drunk.

"Aemond," you break into the silence, your entire being too cold for comfort. You had just come back from a privy council, a Green Council where the Queen had ordered you and your betrothed to reach Storm's End before the night fully breaks.

As if she knew where your loyalties are.

As if there is no question you will support the usurpation.

You turn to Aemond, busy with packing his things for they have bared the maids and people the of Keep. Because they are making Aegon as king and they know a revolt is underneath the floorboards.

"Aemond!"

"What? What has happened?" He looks confused, irritated. "We must make haste, my love, if we are to beat the storms at—"

"Princess Rhaenyra is Queen," you whisper but it could have been a scream. Saying it aloud gives you confidence, strengthening your resolved. You turn to him. "She is the King's heir, no one else. Aemond, this is an usurpation, unlawful in the eyes of—"

It takes little strides for him to reach you, for him to hold your neck in a tightened grip of warning.

"She," he spits, slow and careful as if you are a simpleton in need of teaching, "is a whore who is attempting to place her bastards on the Iron Throne. Rhaenys Targaryen held no chance of it, just as she. My brother is the firstborn son. He is king." His fingers dig into your skin. "You will do well as my wife to not speak of such blasphemy once more, do you understand?"

Your shock and fear melt from your visage, making way for compliance. You nod once. "Yes, my prince."

"Husband," he corrects, holding you much gentler but the weight of his hand is still there on your neck. A reminder. "Have you forgotten? We only come to Storm's End to officiate our union and your House's loyalty to the King. Once done, we will marry, yes?"

You nod, hands fisting. "Yes."

When he kisses you, harsh and needy, imprinting his will unto you— you close your eyes and plan how you make known to your Queen of their plots.

But Storm's End doesn't go as planned, does it?

Lucerys Velaryon, the Queen's son who had come as nothing more but an envoy for the rightful heir, and Aemond—what you thought to be your Aemond but a monstrous man who needed his revenge, who needed to draw blood for a grudge so deep, for an existence he finds so abysmal — had chased after him and came back to you bloodied, tearing up your dress, rutting in you in harsh, rough thrusts, as you listen to the storms from your window and think,

The Queen will never find his body. Her poor, sweet boy. Half in the belly of a beast, the rest spread and sunken into the water.

"I will not allow any marriage until the realm is at peace," your Lord Father rumbled with finality. He is not a smart man, truly, but he is a father. His gaze meets yours, full of meaning, of promises, before looking back at the seething prince. "You will have my bent knee for your king and for your war, but my daughter's hand shall be her own until the realm is at ease."

Your mother steps forward, her courtly smile on her face. "We want for her to have a grand wedding, my prince. She is the first of our charges to wed, and to a prince of the realm no less! By sure, at the time of war, we must err on the side of caution, as our coffers will no doubt focus on our troops. A future princess of the realm must be mindful, of course."

She bows in deference, your sisters following suit. Maris is the first to look up, defiance burning in her eyes.

You remember a conversation with him, feeling like a lifetime ago.

"Ask me, my prince," you teased. "What a storm is to a dragon. A creature is a creature. Even you must acquiesce to the way of nature for she has bowed to no one since her existence."

Aemond may be blood of the dragons, but he is surrounded by storms on all sides. The fiercest.

And your father will never marry you to a Kinslayer.

Yet you stay beside him, your duty now clearer than ever. Every new information you can grasp is sent back to the Queen and her council. In a courtier of the Greens and Traitors, you are the sole Black Stag. You use Aemond's adoration for you, his possessive obsession of what he thinks is love, as a protection and guise.

Any time he beds you, you sneak in moon tea. His bedding of you is just as much his hold on you and his defiance against your father's refusal. Once caught, you remind him he would not enjoy a bastard child. Especially at a time of war. Not after what they had done to his nephews.

"Do you want for me to suffer as your sister does?" The tears in your face then had not been a folly, for your heart broke for sweet Helaena and her sons. For Jaehaera. The world bleeds and bleeds, and all who die that reaches your ears are nothing more but innocents.

Aemond does not bed you after that, but he keeps you in his chambers, pulls you close as if he is trying to mould your skins as one. Times like this, your heart stutters. Your love to him and your morality as a person is at a test of swords.

You are in love with him,

He is a monster,

He has lost his nephews,

He has killed his own.

And it makes you wonder if you are a monster too, lying beside him as his bedmate, caring for him, wanting him still as his heart beats as your own, so connected to the umbilical of fate and chance while war rages, bodies falling all around you both, most from his own hand and word.

The war rages, and Harrenhal comes to view.

With it, a slaughter and a witch.

The worst of the massacre is the steely, lulling silence.

No one tells you that most of what an execution is that silence. That it amplifies each scream, each shout, each thick drop of a head as it falls on cobblestone. The sound is wet and a mouthful. Then it is nothing, consumed by that silence again.

You are locked in a room with a window that doesn't face the horror of what Aemond is doing. As if this is enough to shield you from what he is, what he truly is doing to win this war.

The worst part, committing genocide of an entire house is nothing more but a horrific grudge.

Strong blood spills, enough to make a lake.

By the time that night bleeds and a maid had entered with dinner to light a fire— your body is still so cold. No food has touched your stomach since the day before yet you retch.

Does loving a monster meant that you are just as monstrous?

Mayhaps it is still worth it, you muse in your silent madness, tears tracking your cheeks as the heaviness of your being stays. For who can say a monster can love you so monstrously? Who else can?

When Aemond comes back to you, freshly cleaned and a reminiscent of the prince that you loved, and he is making excuses of wanting you as you are, pawing at your clothes, you let him. You make love in the silence suffering from the massacre he had just finished. You hold him and kiss him in a desperation as you know this will be your ending.

That your Aemond is gone, or worse. He had never truly existed.

When you are both spent, satiated in a sweet glow, your head pleasantly quiet, he speaks about a plan.

A woman, a Strong witch, that promises him an assurance of winning with her sights and blasphemous magic. He had spared her among others, and that itself makes you look at him, truly look at him.

In exchange of what— for such things do not concede so easily as gratitude to mercy of one life, yes? Because desire devours itself. A snake eating itself.

"A child," he whispers against your battered head and bruised heart. "From my blood."

"A bastard," you murmur as he stiffens. "From a bastard Strong. Surely the irony is not lost on you? You have started this war by killing your bastard nephew, and you plan on ending it by fathering—"

"Do not question me," he says softly, grip tightening against your arms. Your eyes close, heavy with the weight of being a spy. Of loving him. "I will fuck a babe in her how many times it takes, and when the war is won, I will kill her and it. For your womb is the only place my lineage will live. I am doing this for the good of the realm. For us."

When he thinks you are asleep and leaves— you take your things and make haste to leave. Not once has your people left you in the arms of the kinslayer. Always one maid, always three guards from your father's army, loyal to only you.

You bundle up quick, and rush for the passage, you are blocked by a woman. Pale skin, dark hair, and eyes greener than wildfire. You know her before she speaks. You hold yourself to fight, and the witch of Harrenhal laughs.

"You have changed the tide of destiny, my lady." Her head tilts as if she can see past you and through you. "Once your choice has affirmed, your thread chosen, I cannot stand in the side of the One-Eyed Kinslayer without the Stranger coming for me. So instead, I will grant you one gift. One that will require no sacrifice."

"I do not want it."

"Ah, but it is a gift." She nods at your torso. "Your belly will soon take size, in it, his heir. You will not escape him as soon as he knows." Her head twists to the window. A raven flies. A storm grumbles. The sound comes first before the lightning strikes. A false storm. "Time is flowing, changing and twisting. He may have betrayed his kin, but he is still a prince. He will know soon."

Her green eyes glint as if she is seeing now and tomorrow. Now and a moon. Moon from a year. "You must run now. Hide and hide well."

You hold your stomach, bile rising in your throat. "Where? Where am I safe?"

A faint smile rises to her lips. "Your heir looks more like him than mine did. You will not escape him. But go north. As far North as you can. The fjords can hide him for a while. He will grow well there."

She moves away, letting you pass.

You never look back.

Dark locks. Baratheon hair.

A tuff of silver lock atop his head.

And the rest... his nose, his eyes. With your fingers, you pull his lids. Bloom in mullish blue with the faintest tint of iridescent violet. You know from your histories, that faint tint will overpower the blue.

Oh, he is utterly beautiful. Utterly yours. And utterly his father's son.

Rough breaths strangle out of your raw-bitten lips, brushing blood away from your babe's face, his head, his wet, silvery hair. Few they maybe, unmistakably Valyrian features they still are.

"Oh, he is beautiful," your mother murmurs, tears stain her cheeks. "Quiet as you were, as a babe. Looks just as much as you."

She is weighing his Valyrian features too. Your blood tried, but it seemed as if Aemond's grudge grasped your womb and affected your shared blood.

"We cannot stay," you say, still staring at him, admiring him. Your heart locking in place, steeling itself as you prepare to do your utmost to protect him. "We will have to travel posthaste."

Your mother swallows her grief. She had almost lost you. She will lose you again, now along with her only grandchild. "Where?"

"North. As far as North as we can."

Your mother nods. Ever a lady. "I will send a missive. The Lord Stark is loyal to the Queen and knows by how much you have sacrificed for this realm. He will protect you on his honour or he is no Stark."

You will need to hide. You will need to hide well.

You pull him close to your chest, hot tears freshly spilling from your eyes.

The witch had not lied, for your boy grew up amongst ice and warmth. He grows up with love from you, from the Lord Stark and his people, and love from his father in the way that he resembles him.

The slope of his nose, the sweet purse of his lips.

When your boy had gotten angry once, nothing but a quick burst, it shocks fear and tears from your eyes for you had seen the prince.Nothing more than a flash.

You pull him close and wound him to your heart as he cried, apologising for scaring you.

The North had granted you reprieve from the war as it came and went. Your betrayal to the Greens had mounted to the Black Queen's win. The betrayal of House Baratheon as House Stark and their bannermen joined the fray had squandered any rebellious thought on which sovereign will preside.

The last you heard of what became the Prince Regent was his surrender at the Battle Above God's Eye.

When you had cried that night, you did not know if it was from relief. Or fear.

But a black stag on white snow is easy to spot.

It takes years, yes, but the Stranger is but an old friend.

For when the day of your wedding to the Lord Stark arrives, a familiar screech of a dragon that your marrow will never forget— tolls the bell of death.

And when you looked up, snow swirling, holding onto your son that looked up in awe at the man who looked so much like him—

Aemond is smiling.

Sweet came the word— dracarys! — as Vhagar split her mouth opened and obeyed her rider.

What have I told you?

You are mine as I am yours.

In face of every god and more, they will understand that you and I are but one soul.

#dark!aemond x reader #dark!aemond #aemond smut #dark!aemond targaryen x reader #elle writes !! ꒱ ↷˗ˏˋ🍒#aemond targaryen x reader #aemond x you #aemond targaryen x you #aemond x reader #aemond angst #aemond dark #hotd smut #aemond fanfiction #aemond fanfic #hotd fanfic

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queenuchiha89 · 2 months

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Can I ask for itachi and Sasuke having their way with thier sister ??

(Sorry for bad english)

Incest?? Say less! 😈🔥

*** NSFW ***

*** 18+ MINORS DNI ***

*** TW. DARK CONTENT ***

⚠️ WARNING ⚠️

This story contains incest, rough sex, dubcon, and other themes that may not be suitable for some audiences. Viewer discretion is STRONGLY advised!

It was well after 2am when Itachi and Sasuke walked through the front door of their family home, back from another completed mission and restless. They look at each other with that classic Uchiha smirk, both of them thinking the same thing in the moment, and they make their way upstairs and down the hall to their little sister's room.

Sasuke pushes the door open, and they look inside to see their precious little sister peacefully asleep, covered up to the neck under the blankets. Quietly, they each walk over to one side of the bed, and slide under the covers with her. "Wake up little sis, we've missed you." Sasuke whispers in her ear as he trails kisses along her neck. "Have you missed your big brothers as much as we've missed you?" Itachi says softly as he kisses her lips gently, making her stir and her eyes flutter open. She sees Itachi's eyes, red and glowing with desire, but before she has time to protest, Sasuke's fingers grip her throat from behind. "Shhh... You wouldn't want to wake up mom and dad would you?" He threatens as he presses the bulge in his pants firmly against her ass.

Itachi sticks two of his long slender fingers into his mouth getting them nice, before sliding them inside her panties and finding her sensitive clit. Her hips jerk against the sensation, making Itachi and Sasuke both chuckle. "Don't worry, don't we always take such good care of our little sister?" Sasuke says as he gives Itachi a subtle nod. Itachi removes his throbbing cock from his pants, and rubs the tip against her lips, leaving a thick coat of precum along her pouty lips. Sasuke wastes no time yanking her panties down, rubbing the head of his cock against her wet opening, and she whines against itachi's cock as he forces every inch down her throat making her gag. "Ohh good girl. Take it all." Itachi moans as he feels her tense up, Sasuke pushing his thick cock deep inside her tight pussy.

Her eyes roll back, her head reeling from the sensation of being forced open by Sasuke's cock while itachi chokes her with his own, his fingers gripping her hair firmly in his fist. "Fuck you feel so good little sister" Sasuke growls as he fucks her viciously, her moans garbled by itachi's thrusts down her throat. She body shivers as Sasuke has her on the edge of an orgasm, her walls clenching around his cock, milking him. "Fuuuuck! Take it all little sis!" Sasuke grunts as he fills his little sister's fertile pussy.

With a few final thrusts, itachi feeds his little sister every drop of his thick Uchiha cum. "Mmm good girl, don't waste a single drop" he moans, his body shivering from his orgasm. They both give their sweet little sister a kiss on the forehead, before getting dressed, And leaving her panting and sweaty in bed, covered in her elder brothers' cum. "Sleep well princess. We are going to have some more fun with you tomorrow... "

#itachi uchiha #itachi #uchiha itachi #itachi naruto #uchiha smut #sasuke #tw. dark content #sasuke uchiha #smut writing #tw dark thoughts #tw.noncon #tw dark themes #tw.incest #tw.dubcon #tw.dark content

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officialclangen · 6 months

Text

CLANGEN UPDATE: HALLOWEEN!

(Download the update here, or via your in-game auto-updater!)

"Boys and girls of every age, Wouldn't you like to see something strange? Come with us and you will see This our Clan of Halloween!"

This is Halloween! It's time for an update! The team has worked extremely hard to get this out in time for spooky season and really hope you enjoy the spooky nature of this update. There's new art, new patrols, and new sprites galore in the spirit of Halloween!

CONTENT WARNING:

This update contains Halloween imagery that may be disturbing to some users. Viewer discretion is advised.

Remember you can opt in and out of this feature to cater your own experience! The Halloween event will be running until November 7th to give plenty of time to see everything!

CHANGELOG - 0.10.3 - Festive Halloween patrols will now start appearing around the spooky season! - Expanded our ability to restrict events and patrols to certain date ranges. - Added a toggle to prevent a cat from retiring - Added a toggle to limit a cat's romantic interactions and prevent automatic mate changes. - Many settings are now stored on a per-clan basis. - New Loading Animations - New Murder Reveal Events! - Under the hood, patrols have been significantly refactored. - Added Masked Tabbies! - New White Patches: BOWTIE, MUSTACHE, REVERSEHEART, SPARROW, VEST, LOVEBUG, TRIXIE, SPARKLE, RIGHTEAR, LEFTEAR, ESTRELLA, REVERSEEYE, BACKSPOT, EYEBAGS, FADEBELLY, SAMMY, FRONT, BLOSSOMSTEP, BULLSEYE, SHOOTINGSTAR, EYESPOT, PEBBLE, TAILTWO, BUDDY. FCONE, FCTWO, MIA, DIGIT, SCAR, BUSTER, FINN, KROPKA, HAWKBLAZE, LOCKET, PRINCESS, ROSINA, CAKE - New Vitiligo Pattern: SMOKEY - New Tortie Patch Patterns: SMOKE, GRUMPYFACE, BRIE, BELOVED, SHILOH, BODY - New Plains Background: Wasteland. - New thoughts, patrols, and events! - New names! - New patrol art! - Adjustments to grief events. In some cases, grief events are replaced by grief thoughts. - Added "Change to Nonbinary" Button - Dead cats can now be sorted by total age (age living + age dead) - Cat relationships will show strong relationships first. - Change the way spritesheets are stored in memory. This significantly decreases memory usage. - Lots of bugfixes!

Happy Spooky Season, from all of us at Team ClanGen!

Promo art by @triifox and @underthemoonlitday

#clangen #warrior cats #clan generator #clan gen #warrior cats generator #clangen announcement #bit of a late announcement our apologies!

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updownlately · 6 months

Text

if you’re gonna waste my time (let’s waste it right)

| leah williamson x reader | hurt/comfort | 3.3k | disclaimer: mentions of anxiety, self loathing, negative thoughts, and depression -this delves into some slightly heavy topics so please read at your own discretion! | a/n: got this ask a while back and an idea struck to me while driving! first fic in a while that i've written in one sitting so let's see how this goes! honestly started off really strong but then idk where we went. anyways, not proofread as usual, but happy reading! take care amigos! and just know that each of you are loved, cared for, and cherished by those around you, even if you don't know it! 🫶

~~~

Fight, flight, or freeze.

They say that every human has these three survival instincts built in.

Instincts meant to protect, to escape, but most importantly, to survive.

Responses meant to make sure that one would make it out of harm’s way, preferably unscathed.

Fight, the mechanism that evoked adrenaline. That helped you battle your way through the toughest of encounters.

That did its best to make sure you were well equipped to tackle any scuffle, minor or major, to the best of your ability.

Flight, the mechanism that helped you run- escape before you couldn’t anymore.

The one that ensured that you got out before you could be attacked- before you could be hurt.

And then of course, freeze.

Rooted to your spot, immobile as harm directed itself towards you, one only praying that you could be so still that harm skipped right past you, practically avoiding you as you let it pass.

Freeze, that left you with a pounding heart, blood rushing in your ears.

Freeze that meant you couldn’t move, body rigid, feet planted, mind stopped in time.

Freeze that kept you stuck. stuck in an endless loop of agony, of shaky breaths, of paralyzing fear.

Freeze, considered the weakest of the three.

So as you stood there, eyes wide, muscles tense, body frozen, you cursed your mind and body with all that you could, wondering why of the three instincts, freeze was what you had done in order to try and survive.

~~~

There’s something terrifying about the voices that ring in your head.

How they so scarily sound similar to the people in your life, past and present.

Voices reminding you how you aren’t good enough. How you’ve let them down. How maybe if you weren’t there, the world would be okay. That it would move on without a hitch, without a second thought, because when it came to it, at the end of the day, maybe, just maybe, you didn’t really matter anyways.

Voices that sounded like your mother, reminding you of dark nights of you hidden in your room, the harsh words ringing in the four walls of your bedroom, what was supposed to be your safe haven, now tainted with feelings of regret, of disappointment, of outright disgust.

It’d be better if you didn’t exist.

Voices that sounded like your father, angry yells late into the night, enough smashed dishes that left your hands littered with scars that’d never cease to remind you, enough nights spent under your covers silently wiping tears as you prayed that you were quiet enough.

What a waste of air.

Voices that sounded like past coaches and management that knocked you back with each word spoken, each push forward sending you feet yards back, support that felt like hindrance more than anything.

You’d be lucky if you got to play past the little leagues. It’d be a miracle that’s for sure.

Voices that sounded like fans- people that were meant to support you- but you couldn’t force them to. Hundreds if not thousands of comments left, each asking for you to be traded. Hell, they’d take a sack of potatoes if nothing else.

I can’t believe that we wasted our money on this. Can’t we just, I don’t know, get rid of her? She’s the reason we suck. Maybe if she was half a decent player we’d actually be somewhere in the league.

Comments that repeated your worth. Ingrained it into your mind. Over and over and over again.

You weren’t good enough.

Sentences that etched themselves into the forefront of your thoughts, always ready to haunt you at the slightest notice.

You weren’t good enough.

Not now, not ever.

Not for your own mother or father, never mind your siblings.

Not for your teammates, nor the fans.

It was a miracle you were even playing professionally in the first place.

God if they took one good look at you maybe they realized how poorly they fucked up by signing you.

You weren’t a good footballer, barely even a decent one. How you managed to play for this long was a miracle.

They’d notice soon enough though. They had to. They always did.

They’d notice soon enough that you weren’t good enough.

And then?

Then you’d be left with nothing, as you always were.

~~~

You didn’t know when you were led inside to the locker rooms- when that absolutely terrifying moment of being in front of the opposing team’s stands had gone from you taking a corner to being absolutely pelted by random junk.

From empty bottles (plastic thankfully), to empty food containers, balled-up programs, signs, merch, all being hurled your way, never mind the onslaught of assaults- the stands only repeating everything your mind ever told you, every, single, day.

You didn’t hear when the ref blew their whistle, nor when the rest of the girls dressed in red crowded you, some chastising the fans along with the away team, others wrapping around you protectively, quickly leading you towards the benches.

You weren’t there as you were subbed off, your mind still frozen, much like the rest of your body.

All you knew right now was that you could smell the familiar scent of your girlfriend’s perfume as the heel of your palms pressed harshly into your eyes in an attempt to cease the uproar in your head.

Breaths getting heavy, you tried your best to calm yourself down.

You weren’t a stranger to panic attacks, and even in your hazed state, you could very well recognize the oncoming situation.

Bringing your arms to wrap around your own stomach in a futile attempt to bring yourself some sort of comfort, you felt your breathing pick up as the sharp lights of the room seemed to get darker.

Room spinning, the voices in your head louder, you could only bring your knees up to your head, body now practically in fetal position as you rode out the attack.

Even with the hundreds you’d had by now, you hadn’t been able to come up with an effective method to deal with them.

So you sat there, huddled into a ball, body shaking, mind louder than ever as Leah stood above and watched helplessly.

The blonde had been there in the stands to watch you get abused, immediately making her way down to the pitch because ACL and league rules be damned, that was her girlfriend for fuck’s sake.

She stood by the sidelines, ready to receive you as the obvious substitution occurred, an arm coming to wrap around you as she led your ghost of a body to the locker rooms.

She watched as you mindlessly sat in front of your locker, not a single word uttered from you, not a single response to the quiet comforting words the blonde had whispered to you gently in an attempt to rouse you from your clearly distressed state.

She itched to reach out and touch you as she saw you slowly curl into a ball, you getting ever so smaller as she could only helplessly watch, you unknowingly flinching the second she touched your shoulders in an attempt to comfort you.

It was only when your heavy breathing died down every so slightly, nearly fifteen minutes later if the blonde’s perception was right, that she tried again, slowly coming to sit beside you as she gauged your reaction.

Seeing your shaking start to slow as well, she slowly wrapped an arm around your shoulder, her own body tense as she watched you stiffen up before you relaxed slightly, letting her pull you into her side as her other hand came to hold your left one.

And long after you had buried yourself into her side, body defeated with the rollercoaster of emotions you’d just experienced, too tired to think of any of the consequences of your actions, you let Leah led you- helping your pull on a hoodie and your jacket and change out of your cleats as she gathered the rest of your gear.

Helpless except able to nod in agreement as the blonde suggested you leave early from the game, you followed her quietly, not a word said from you, as she led you out of the ground and to her car, where you fell asleep within seconds.

It was only when the car pulled up to her house, a place you’d been to many times, your relationship long past new to the both of you, did you rouse, mind still not present and following the blonde.

Leah was good. You trusted Leah. Leah was safe.

The words repeating in your head, you believing they were true like all the other words that crossed your mind, you let yourself sleepily be led up the stairs and up to the ensuite.

Standing there awkwardly as you slowly came to the situation, the lights in the washroom waking you up, your shoulders sunk as the embarrassment from earlier set in.

God you were an embarrassment. First a panic attack in front of the English skipper, and now this- you stood helplessly in her bathroom like you were broken, waiting to be fixed.

You watched in dread as the blonde flitted around the joint closet, quickly gathering a change of clothes for you before she stacked them neatly on the countertop, handing you a towel and starting the shower, not meeting your eyes.

What you didn’t know was that she didn’t want to scare you off, intimidate you as her heart ached at the shameful look in your eyes.

“Take a warm shower, yeah? We’ll get you some food after, and then how about a nap?”

Unable to do anything but nod in response, your fear of upsetting the blonde, of anyone really, making itself known, you followed her instructions, locking the door as she left and starting to remove your sweat covered kit.

~~~

It’s nearly twenty minutes later when you emerge from the shower, your dirty clothes held precariously in your hands, your eyes wide as you see Leah sprawled across her bed, scrolling aimlessly on her phone.

A small smile unknowingly escapes you as you watch her nearly throw her phone, very much caught off-guard at your appearance.

Smile tightening quickly as you realized it rested on your face, your eyes met the ground, ears sharp as you noted the footsteps headed towards you.

Before you knew it, the mess of dirty clothes was swiftly taken from your hands, your gaze snapping up as you watched Leah take your dirty kit and toss it into her own hamper before turning to you.

“Alright. I’d rather you eat, but I’m not going to force you to, yeah? We can take a nap, maybe just reset, or if you wanna sit down and watch a movie or a show we can do that too…how’s that sound?”

Feeling your eyes water at the blonde’s gentle tone, feelings still overwhelming from earlier, your sights met the ground again as you meekly nodded.

Blood rushing in your ears, you felt the vibrations as Leah stepped towards you again, her hands gently taking yours.

“Nap?”

Taking her chances at guessing which you preferred, the tender tone in her voice had you easily nodding again, tears you’d been trying to hold back now escaping.

And as the blonde led you to her bed, you winced as the voices in your head picked up once again, mind baffled at why someone was treating you with this much kindness, this much care.

Choosing to ignore them for now, you smiled shyly at the sight in front of you, Leah having rounded the bed to go on ‘her’ side, the skipper tucked into the sheets, arms wide open as she shot you a soft grin, eyes sparkling with glee as she waited for you to join her.

Gingerly approaching the bed, you hesitantly pulled back the covers, eyes meeting Leah’s every few seconds to make sure you were okay, before entering, unsure of whether you were allowed to hug the blonde (even if a part of you so desperately wanted to do so).

Your question was answered for you, however, Leah was unable to see you lying down in such a stiff manner, taking matters into her own hands and hooking an arms around your waist and pulling you into her.

And as you slowly got comfortable, moving millimetres every minute until you finally found yourself resting with your head on her chest, arm wrapped around her midsection as her hand came to wrap around your waist, one running through your hair, you let yourself sink into her hold, brain quietening every so slightly as the familiar presence and scent had you relaxing.

It was only when you were on the verge of sleep, minutes later, did you hear Leah’s voice whisper into the air between you two, her lips pressing a tender kiss to your forehead as an apology as she realized her mistake of rousing you from your sleepy state.

“There’s a lot that goes on up there,” with a small nod towards the top of your head, she continued, “but it doesn’t have to stay there y’know?”

Holding her breath as she felt you shift slightly, you turning your body to listen better, she spoke again.

“I’d be more than happy to stay here and listen to you when you need it. Really, any of us would. All of the girls love you and care for you, and despite whatever people might say, you add to the team, yeah?”

Feeling you nod hesitantly at the words, Leah waited as she sensed your jaw move, anticipation killing her as you sounded out the words silently before they left your mouth- and even then, you winced slightly.

“I don’t want to be a burden…don’t wanna waste your time…”

There was something in the way the words quietly rolled off your tongue, no doubt said many times before, the sincerity behind them proving you meant them wholeheartedly- that you believed you were an inconvenience, that broke Leah’s heart.

You weren’t a burden. You weren’t.

She wondered if you’d ever seen yourself the way other’s saw you. If that coloured glass that you saw yourself through was tainted any other colour than black. Whether it was ever yellow so you’d see just how much of a ray of sunshine you were on the stormiest of days, often cheering up your shared teammates with just a single smile as you’d skip into the change rooms.

Or if you ever looked at yourself through the rose coloured glass, the same hue that would coat your cheeks as you’d interact with fans post-game, giving each and every one your undivided attention, making them feel special, and loved, and cared for.

Or whether you ever saw yourself through green, breathing life to even the dullest moments, standing tall, unwavering, as players would try to take you down on the pitch over and over again, you getting back up each time, a force to be reckoned with, one that not even the rainiest of days nor Mother nature could defy.

You weren’t a burden, and the blonde needed you to believe it, because it was the truth and nothing but the wholehearted, honest-to-god truth.

It’s why her honest admission just tumbles out, the words spilling before the defender could stop them.

“If I could hold you all night and all day, I would, without a single doubt or any hesitation.”

Her grip tightening on you as the words are spoken clearly and strongly, her placing a gentle kiss to your temple before continuing.

“If you think you’re gonna waste my time by talking to me when you aren’t doing well, then just know, that listening to you as I try and comfort you and get the chance to hold you in my arms? It’s the best waste of time I’ll ever have in my life. It’s one I’ll cherish till the end of time, because it’s never, and I mean never, a waste.”

Taking a deep breath in, the blonde felt you nod at her words, your own grip tightening around the blonde as you pulled yourself closer into her, closing your eyes in an attempt to believe her the best you could.

Leah could sense your struggle though, not ignorant to the way a small, trembling breath escaped you, frustration clear.

“You don’t have to believe me now, or any time soon really, but just know, it’s the wholehearted truth- and I’ll spend as long as you need reminding you, because you’re good enough. You’re more than good enough, and worthy of love, and a good life, and good things. You deserve love, even though your brain tries to tell you otherwise, yeah?”

When you didn’t say anything, it clear to the blonde that you were silently taking in her words, contemplating them, doing your best to believe them, she let you be, revelling in the silence as took in the feel of you being in her arms, one of her favourite feelings in the world.

The blonde could almost feel you turning her words over in your head, examining them from top to bottom as you inspected them for any indication of a lie, surprised when there wasn’t one.

Content with the way you hadn’t spoken out yet in disagreement, Leah decided to take her chances and bite the bullet.

Proposing her next idea, the blonde held her breath in anticipation, heartbeat slowing dramatically as she hoped you’d agree to her words.

“I’ll always be here to hold you, but I think it might just help if we see a professional, yeah? You and me, both of us, we’ll go, and just give it a crack?”

Feeling your hesitancy this time, the blonde pulled you closer to her gently, turning onto her side as her eyes met yours.

One hand now carefully resting on your cheek, she placed a loving kiss on your forehead, then your nose before continuing.

“Three sessions is all I ask. If you don’t want to go after that, then I won’t ask again, ever. But, just give me three sessions, and I’ll be there for each one if you want, and if nothing changes, then you’re off the hook, deal?”

There was an audible sigh of relief that escaped Leah’s lips as you hesitantly nodded in agreement.

Deciding that that was good enough for the time being, Leah smiled softly to herself, more than happy with any baby steps of progress being made.

“Just want you to love yourself the way the rest of us love you. The way I love you…”

The words were punctuated with another gentle kiss on your head, this time her lips lingering as you both basked in the touch, the blonde well aware that physical touch was your love language.

Nodding to yourself as your girlfriend’s arms wrapped around you at the end of her sentence, heart feeling just a tad bit lighter as her embrace sucked you in, you let out a sigh of relief at the quiet in your mind and warmth in your chest.

Snuggling further into Leah’s hold, you let out a shaky breath as the emotions of the day filtered out of you, you weren’t going to lie, you were terrified for the future- absolutely scared shitless for what it held. But, with Leah by your side, on your team, cheering you on, a spark of hope nestled quietly inside you, filling you with a refreshing breath, a new goal to work towards.

Not now, not soon, but slowly and surely, you’d work your way through this. You wanted to. for your sake and hers.

After all, with your girlfriend to remind you that you were human, someone that could live and not just survive, maybe you could finally teach yourself it too.

#not proofread as usual #leah williamson x reader #leah williamson imagine #leah williamson #woso fanfics #woso x reader #woso imagine #woso one shot #woso community #woso #my writing #fic #fic req #hurt/comfort #iygwmt

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readychilledwine · 21 days

Text

A Debt Paid in Full

Summary - Your father shouldn't have sent his prettiest daughter after refusing to pay his Tithe

Warnings - this is unhinged and kind of dark, virgin reader, younger female/older male, manipulation, smut, beron is... surprisingly giving and slightly charming but arrogant. Oral, fingering, unprotected sex, breeding Kink, beron

A/N - You all asked for it. Please don't ask for more. I feel dirty 🤣

The Whore Home Masterlist

“Such a pretty little thing, aren't you?” Being circled by the High Lord of Autumn had to have been the scariest thing you had ever experienced. “Is that why Daddy sent you? Does he think a nice pair of tits will buy him time to pay his tithe?”

“No, my lord,” yes, you thought instantly. “He is just busy over looking the land and farms. He apologizes for sending a female in his place, but you know how we are when it comes to business.”

Beron seemed to smile as he studied you again. “I imagine you already know you are only useful for certain,” he paused, looking over your frame again, a true smile forming at what he saw, “activities.”

“My father taught me my place, yes.”

“How old are you?”

“302, my lord.”

“And unmarried?” He tisked slightly. “And unpresented to the court as an available female?” He circled you again, a new dangerous light gleaming in those eyes. “Why?”

You took a deep breath. “My mother needed me home to help with my younger siblings, and now that they no longer require me, I am a spinster per our standards, my lord. I am not a viable option for marriage.”

“But you are for fucking. Or for a second wife. A pretty little toy to keep around when someone's lady refused to come warm their bed.”

“Ah, a second choice. How very desirable. I will stay unwed. Be the village witch.” The statement was out before you could stop it. Beron paused midwalk, looking at you with those dark eyes and his brows raised. “I apologize.”

“You are lucky you are very, very beautiful.” A hand went to your light red hair. “Your spring court mother did you quite the favor. Her fair blonde hair mixed with red. You are a unique treasure.”

An odd feeling set into your stomach at his constant compliments, at his hand twirling your hair, his body so close to yours you could feel the fire that ran within him.

The Autumn Lord was by no means an ugly male. He had produced 7 beautiful sons, each one resembling him but with their mother's eyes and hair. He was fit, body lined and cut with muscle you could make out under his fine tailored clothing.

“I believe you and I could reach a compromise, y/n. Regarding your father's discretion.” The sinking feeling of what he meant hit you as a hand trailed your lower back. “Your father knows I collect beautiful things, and you, little fox, are a beautiful thing.”

“Are you attempting to seduce me, my lord?”

“Is it an attempt when I can smell it clearly is working?” Beron walked you back to the wall, a hand resting on your hip and the other going behind your head to protect you from impact. “Is this what females dream of? A fae lord to whisk them away from their troubles, shower them in luxurious gifts and clothing?”

“I just dreamed of being taken away. The rest did not matter.” Beron smirked at the words, something that should have made your skin recoil but instead caused heat to settle between your legs.

“Let's make a bargain, little fox. You stay with me, be my little second wife, and your family never pays a tithe again.”

Your eyes widened at the offer. It was a sacrifice you could make. What was your life in exchange for the safety of your family with your father's choice to ignore the tithe collection. Beron was handsome, the Forest House was beautiful, but he was cruel. “I want to be treated well.”

Beron hummed. “You will be, if you stay in line. Keep that pretty mouth in check. I was kind today. I will not always tolerate your attitude, though.”

The hand resting on your hip began to trail to the curve of your ass, the hand previously resting behind your head now, allowing him to lean into you and cage you into his body and the wall. “How soon?”

“Tonight. I have never been known to be a male with patience when I want something.”

“Why marriage? Why not just my maidenhood?” The question seemed to spark something in him, eyes growing darker and the scent of arousal being to consume every breath.

“Why would I allow something so pretty to slip between my fingers? Especially when I didn't know I would be the one to ruin her? Yes or no. My tolerance for your questions is wearing thin and I can easily just drop you off as I have my eldest arrest your father.”

What was your life, in exchange for the safety of theirs? “Yes.”

That one word was all it took for him to pounce. Lips finding yours and dominating a heated kiss. He winnowed you from the room, taking you to what must have been his personal suite and walked you back to the bed. His hands roamed everywhere before picking you up and placing you on the softest bed you had ever dreamed of. “How attached to your dress are you?” The kisses moved to your jawline as he awaited his answer.

“I'm not.”

“Good. I will give you a thousand more.”He burned every thread from your body, groaning at the newly exposed skin, so soft and untouched. Untested and unexplored. “I think your father knew I'd be weak for you. Your younger sisters had been presented to my court and married off, yet here you are. Hidden away because you were his most precious gem.”

All you could do was whimper as soft thumbs ran over your nipples. Pinching them lightly. His lips ran to your neck, feeling like a trail of fire as they did. Every inch of you became so sensitive that you broke out in goosebumps. He stopped at a spot that made your back arch, sucking the skin there until you were sure you would bruise before continuing his path down.

When he finally reached your breasts, he stopped temporarily, scooting you up the pillows a bit more before removing his crown and placing it on head. “Be a good pet and hold this for me.” You couldn't help but to laugh, but that quickly turned into another moan. “So responsive.” The praise quickly shot to your core just as a hand did, running along your soaked folds with an arrogant laugh.

Every kiss, every lick, every gentle touch on your core had you mewling for him, back arching as you whined. When one finger pushed in and curled up, hitting a spot in you that you would have never found before immediately pulling it back out . “And such pretty noises.” You couldn't help but grip the sheets, praying to any God who would listen as his kisses continued lower until he settled between your legs.

“Perfect. Just absolutely perfect.” Beron was oddly gentle, kissing your thigh. You could have died when he first licked at your core, growling as he did and nudging that precious bundle of nerves.

“Beron,” you whispered almost in warning, fingers gripping the sheets tighter.

“Ssh, relax.” He continued to motion again, setting your nerves a light and making you cry out at the foreign feeling. He continues then, slow methodical licks. Watching from lust filled hooded eyes as your back arched, as your mouth fell open, as your nails dug so deeply into his mattress your knuckles turned white.

When his lips wrapped around your clit, sucking light as his tongue pressed into it, you saw stars. Then his fingers, his damned fingers pushed back inside of you, stretching you out and preparing you for him. It was all too much, yet not enough. He used his free hand to pin your hips down, leaving you with no escape from his mouth.

Your stomach started to feel tight, and your mind became hazy, core clenching at the now two fingers pushing in and out, scissoring and dancing on the sensitive spot you have only read about in novels. You went barreling over the edge quickly, feeling him smirk on your core as you screamed for him. He pulled his mouth away, keeping his fingers deep inside of you, working you open for him.

You had not even noticed him remove his clothing using magic, but he was bare before you. Scars littered his muscled chest and shoulders. They danced along his back and ribs. They were a reminder of his cruelty born in a place of hatred for his own father, his own upbringing. But for some reason, now of that matter, as he kissed you again, allowing you to taste yourself on his tongue. “Give me one more, y/n. Cum on my fingers before you get my cock.”

He increased his rhythm, holding your head up to keep that golden crown resting on your head. His experience was quick to bring you over the edge again, forcing you to maintain eye contact as he did.

He also kept your eyes on him as he used your slick to lubricate his cock, kept your eyes on him as he centered himself. And he kept your eyes on him as he pushed in, watching your mouth fall open again as the burn from being so full took over. Watching in sadistic glee as you whined and moaned. He barely gave you time to adjust, letting go of the back of your head in favor of pounding into you over and over.

Now you truly could have died. You could have died with a smile growing on your face as he pulled out before forcing you to take all of him back in, making the pain quickly turn into a burning need as the scent of sex and sweat filled the air. He moved your legs, placing one over each shoulder and fucking so deep into you that you couldn't tell where you ended and he began. “So tight, pet.” His voice was breathy as his head fell back in pleasure. “Such a perfect cunt.”

His thrusts became harder as he watched your face, trying to figure out what you liked. And a sudden gasp shifting to a wail of pleasure told him exactly what it was. Over and over, he hit that spot inside of you, the one he had found earlier with his fingers. His eyes almost seemed to roll as you grew tighter, clenching and twitching around him, swallowing him whole.

“Perhaps I should breed you as well. Make sure this pretty pussy stays mine.” Your body responded before you verbally could, gripping him higher and thighs beginning to shake. “You like that, don't you? Like the idea of being used, being bred. Fuck you're perfect. So fucking perfect.” His fingers found your clit again, massaging the swollen bundle of nerves as he buried himself into you.

Completion found you again, ripping you so deep into pleasure as you milked his cock that you couldn't help but to fall into a silent scream. Beron fell over after you, heat passing through the room as he did and intensifying everything. He allowed your legs to fall from his shoulders. Catching himself on his forearms above you, he sat and watched as you came down from the high. He studied you like a new toy, plotting and planning what he would do to you. “Yes,” he spoke more to himself than you. “You will be quite fun to keep.”

Beron Smut Taglist:

@secret-third-thing

#beron vanserra x reader #i dont even really want to tag this?#acotar crack fic #beron vanserra #in my defense you all encouraged me

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agustdakasuga · 1 year

Text

The Way Of A Criminal: Chapter 1

Genre: Mafia!AU, Criminal!AU, Angst, Romance

Pairing: OT7 x Reader

Characters: Normal!Reader, Gangster!Namjoon, Gangster!Seokjin, Gangster!Yoongi, Gangster!Hoseok, Gangster!Jimin, Gangster!Taehyung, Gangster!Jungkook

Summary: Your father was a stranger, you never knew who he was and what he did. But one day, someone knocks on your door, informing you of his passing. Now, you learn more about him, his life and the legacy you are expected to continue with the help of his 7 executives.

Story warning(s): This story will contain depictions of violence, blood shed/gore, death, mentions of abuse, smoking, alcohol drinking and gambling. This story is fictional and has nothing to do with real life events or the actual members of BTS. Please read at your own discretion.

“My condolences.” Someone wished you solemnly as they stepped up to pay respect. From your position on the straw mat at the side, you only maintained a straight face and bowed to show your gratefulness.

“Your father was a great man.” A lady smiled softly.

“I’m sure he was.” You replied. But her reaction to your statement made you purse your lips. You hadn’t intended to let that comment slip out. You recovered by straightening up and shaking her hand, gesturing to her to the food and beverage table.

Some people excused your attitude as your way of coping and mourning. But those people that knew the truth knew your indifference and emotionlessness was because you didn’t know the man in the coffin.

He was supposed to be your father, it says so on your birth certificate. But it also said so on the divorce papers your late mother had.

To you, he was a stranger.

You had just finished a long call with your classmates to discuss a group project that was coming up. You stretched your stiff arms over your head as you went downstairs to get a drink.

DING DONG

You placed down your mug and went to the front door. There was no reason for anyone to be here. You didn’t order anything recently.

“Yes?” You opened the door to come face to face with a suited male. He was good looking and you could tell how built he was despite his suit and coat covering his body. But you had never seen his face before.

“Nice to meet you, Miss. My name is Kim Namjoon-”

“I’m not really interested in what you’re selling, thank you.” You cut him off, ready to close the door. He held a hand out.

“Apologies, (y/n) sshi. I’m not here to sell you anything.”

“Wait, how do you know my name? I have never met you before.” You frowned, starting to get a little worried and cautious. This man looked like trouble but at the same time, you knew you couldn’t run from him. Where could you run to in your small house? Plus, he looked like he could catch you easily. You just took a step back, shielding more of your body behind your door.

“My name is Kim Namjoon. Unfortunately, I am here to inform you that your father, (y/l/n) (y/f/n), passed away early this morning.” He informed. Your eyes widened as your brain worked to process what he said.

“As his only child, it is only right for you to represent him during the funeral procession.” Namjoon said.

“I-I don’t have a father.”

“I was told that you may react that way. Here, this is for you. I know you never had a relationship with your father but he did think of you often and I know he would want you to be there for his final send off.” He handed you a folder.

“He’s a stranger. I know nothing about him except his name.” You tucked the folder under your arm.

“I understand. Your father did love you and miss you but there were circumstances that prevented him from contacting you all these years.” He gestured to the folder.

“Look, Namjoon sshi, I don’t have the money for a coffin, much less to book a funeral hall. I’m on my own, living off the savings my mother and I earned on our own.” You sighed in defeat.

“Don’t worry about that. My brothers and I have everything handled, as instructed by your father before his passing. All you have to do is be there. We were close but at the end of the day, you’re his only blood born child.” Namjoon said with a small smile.

“You work for him?”

“In a way. I trained and work directly under him.” Namjoon was brief in his explanation. You just stared at him, knowing that he was more than just an employee to your father.

“Have a nice day. I look forward to hearing from you, hopefully.” Namjoon offered you another respectful bow before turning to walk back to his car. You closed the door, leaning against it and heaving a long sigh.

So here you were, greeting people and thanking them for coming to a funeral of a man you didn’t even know. They probably knew him better than you did.

“Namjoon sshi. I’m going for a breather.” You went to the male, who was sitting with 6 other males.

“Sure. Make sure to get some food and drinks too.” Namjoon smiled and patted you on the shoulder. You stiffly nodded and walked out of the funeral hall. You entered the toilet to splash your face with water.

“What am I doing here?” You looked at your reflection.

“Just get this over with and go back to your normal routine.” You told yourself as you left the bathroom. Maybe you didn’t really know how to feel about your father since your mother never talked about him much. All you knew was that they got divorced when you were 2 years old. Were you supposed to resent and hate him? Or be sad that you never got to know him?

“Want one? You look like you need it.” A pale guy offered you a cigarette when you stepped onto the balcony for some fresh air. You recognised him as the stoic looking one in Namjoon’s friend group.

“No, thanks. I don’t smoke.” You shook your head.

“Suit yourself.” He rested his forearms on the banister, lighting his cigarette to take a smoke.

Guess you won’t have much fresh air. You turned around and headed back in. You didn’t have much appetite to eat but you did grab a drink, throat feeling hoarse from greeting people.

“My condolences. It must be hard losing your father. He was a great businessman.” An older man came to shake your hand.

“You worked with my father?” You asked politely.

“Yes, he worked hard to build his company and this legacy. He was hoping that one day, you would take over-”

“Mr Park! Come, help yourself to the food and drinks.” One of Namjoon’s friends whisked the male away before he could finish his sentence. You blinked in confusion, unsure of what was going on. Namjoon led you back to where your post was.

“If you need anything or need someone to take over while you take a break, let me know. My brothers and I can take over temporarily.” Namjoon said.

“Thanks.” You sat back down on the straw mat, making sure that the ends of your hanbok were straight.

“Thank you for coming.” You bowed to those who came to pay respects.

You looked over at Namjoon and his 6 friends who were also tending to guests and speaking to them. They were obviously not real brothers but you could tell how close they were. The guests seemed to know them fairly well.

They were your father’s children more than you were.

“That girl is really his child?”

“He has never mentioned having a child before. Is she just after the inheritance?”

“Look at her. She doesn’t even care or have an ounce of grief knowing her own father has just died. That’s cold hearted.”

Of course, you were a new, unfamiliar face. You heard all the whispered comments that were being made about you. It didn’t help that Namjoon insisted you wear the band of the chief mourner, that itself signified your highest rank in your father’s life. You didn’t blame the gossip, you would find it suspicious too if a child of a deceased only appeared at their funeral.

“The girl can’t possibly be taking over his company, right? I think he would have willed it to Namjoon. He is capable of taking care of the company in his stead.” An older lady said.

“All the boys are capable of taking over the company. They have been trained by him and cared for by him.” The man she was with replied.

“Yes, they can definitely help it to grow to be even more successful.” She giggled lightly.

"We will be having the final rites before moving to the burial site.” The funeral director came. There was a moment of silence as the final rites were performed. The director held out your father’s photo to you.

“I shouldn’t...” You hesitated.

“Please, (y/n) sshi.” The director looked at you with pleading eyes, as if he was scared of anyone else holding the photo. You chewed on your bottom lip, reaching out with shaky hands.

“Thanks.” You whispered, holding the photo in front of you. Namjoon and his 6 brothers stood on either side of the coffin, lifting it up.

“Right this way.” You walked in front, nestling your father’s photo in your hands. As you walked passed, all those in attendance of the funeral bowed their head respectfully. They walked behind the carried coffin. When in front of the hearse, you stepped aside for the boys to load the coffin into the hearse.

“It’s okay, Hobah.” You watched as the smaller, pale man comforted his brother that was crying. Even the tough looking, tattooed one was crying and being comforted by the others. You couldn’t find it in you to shed a tear of feel sad.

The rest was a blur. The ride in the luxury car to the burial site, all the expensive cars riding behind the hearse. You kept to yourself, keeping your head down and not attempting to make any conversation.

“Goodbye.” Was all your uttered as you tossed your flower down onto the descended coffin.

“Thank you for coming.” You stood with the 7 men, bowing as the guests all retreated to their cars to leave the cemetery.

“The company is in your good hands.” The guests all told the 7, mainly ignoring you. You stared at the mound of dirt that would be turned into a nice grave with a headstone soon.

When your mother died, you did everything on your own. There were no visitors, no fancy send off and no one to help you. You had her final rites in the hospital where she passed and paid for her to be buried immediately. Your mother was an amazing woman, she deserved all this as a grand send off, not your father who abandoned you.

“(y/n) sshi.” Someone grasped your arm.

“Taehyung!” Namjoon called out as you yanked your hand away, as if his touch burnt you. The man’s eyes widened at your reaction, he had no ill intentions and even wanted to try to comfort you.

“I’m going home.” You muttered and walked down the path to the road.

“Let us send you home. It would be hard for you to get a bus or cab here.” Namjoon offered. You nodded your head and sat in the car.

“(y/n) sshi, can we pick you up some food before dropping you home? You barely ate at the funeral home.” The one that sat in the passenger seat of the car you were in asked.

“No thanks. I just want to go home.” You requested.

“Of course.”

The car pulled up in front of your small, two storey house. You stepped out and looking up at the house.

“Before you go, (y/n) sshi. This is for you.” You were handed a thick envelope. You didn’t need to open it to know that it was money inside. Probably all the money from the funeral visitors.

“Keep it. It’s not my money. You guys paid for everything so split it amongst you all or whatever.” You held it back out for them to take.

“You’re your father’s child, you should be the one to have it-”

“Look, let’s just stop. The man that was just buried is not my father. The day he left my mother and I, he stopped being my father. To me, he’s just a stranger that I’d rather not know about. I couldn’t cry for him like you could, I feel nothing for him.” You sighed.

“If he wanted me to know him, he had all these years to come back. I wouldn’t have to see my mother shoulder everything on her own because he was prideful or selfish.” Your voice wavered at the memory of your mother.

“He regrets that. He hates that he could only be your parent in his death.” Namjoon said gently.

“No, I only have one parent and I already buried her, two years ago.” There was so much bitterness in your voice. You turned away and entered your house, locking the door shut.

Like the day Namjoon came to deliver the news, you sat with your back to the door. You heard the roar of the luxury cars come to life and fade away as they drove off. Finally, your sobs and tears fell freely.

It wasn’t fair that the man that easily upped and left is celebrated while you and your mother were left to fend for yourselves. The only regret you had was not being able to do better for her when she tried her best for you to live life like any other kid. You worked any job that would take you but you still couldn’t buy her lavish gifts for Mother’s Day and her birthdays.

The day your mother collapsed, you had never been the same. You blamed yourself, she collapsed from the exhaustion. Her body was so weak that death came quickly.

When you buried her, you buried your heart with her.

“Ugh.” You got up, going to shower and change out of the mourning hanbok. You placed everything into a paper bag, throwing it into your closet.

“Hi, can I order two soups, please? Yes, two bowls of rice.” You ordered with the nearby restaurant. If you were not cooking, you usually ordered 2-3 portions of food at once, keeping the extras in the fridge to save on delivery fees.

*KNOCK KNOCK*

“Delivery!” You went to the door. The man held out the packets of food to you and you handed him the money.

“Have a nice night.” He bowed and went off on his motorcycle. Just as you were going to close the door, you looked at the envelope on your door step. It was the one with the funeral money. But unlike earlier, there was now writing on one side of it.

‘You don’t have to spend it, you can donate it. The money doesn’t belong to us. If you ever need anything, contact us.’

Stapled to the envelope was a business card. It was white, the company name ‘Bangtan Enterprise and Exchange’ printed in gold font. The other side of the card had one number on it. There was nothing else on it.

“Bangtan...” You read out. You placed the food on the table and put the envelope aside, no intention on using the money.

“Thank you for the food.” You began eating. You had placed your laptop in front of you, some mindless show playing to fill the quiet space with some sort of noise.

‘Dear student,

We would like to extended our deepest condolences to you and your family upon hearing your family member’s demise. As per school protocol, you have been granted 3 days of school leave.

- School administration’

You just saw the email sent to you by your school administration. How did they even know if you didn’t tell them? Plus, you never registered a ‘father’ in your school records. Whatever, now you had 1 extra day. Maybe you could spend the whole day sleeping tomorrow since you have been thrown into this emotional rollercoaster and have not slept for 2 days.

“I’m so full.” When you were done eating, you did the dishes, put the extra food into the refridgerator and went to your room to do some studying.

‘(y/l/n) (y/n)’

You remembered the folder Namjoon gave you when he first arrived at your doorstep. Pulling out your chair and sitting at your small desk, you undid the string and poured all the contents out.

“Omma...” You picked up one of the photos. You were a baby in your mother’s arms, the photo caught the both of you mid laugh.

‘My beautiful girls.’

The handwriting was not your mother’s so you guessed it was your father’s. There were pictures of them together, before your mother was pregnant and some while she was pregnant.

The only one that was carefully wrapped in plastic was one of your father carrying you after you were just born. In the plastic, with the photo, there was a folded letter than fell out. Your name was written on it.

‘My dear (y/n),

If you are reading this letter, it probably means that I am gone. Namjoon and the others have been instructed to give this to you only when I pass. Only because I am a coward that cannot face you and your mother after everything I have done.

I know after so many years, no excuse or reason will ever make up for my absence. I deserve to be hated and resented by you.

(y/n), if I could have been there to witness you growing up into such an amazing person, I would have. I would have given up the world to have you and your mother with me.

But I know I cannot be selfish. I cannot jeopardise your safety and risk putting you and your mother in danger. I’d rather live away from you than to know I am the reason you or your mother get hurt.

Every day, I think about you. How I wish I could speak with you and hug you, tell you I am sorry and that I missed you.

It has not been easy hasn’t it? You and your mother having to fend for yourselves. Your mother is just as tough, not wanting to receive any help from me, wanting to singlehandedly raise you, care for you and put you through school. I am confident that she raised you well, to be just as strong and independent as she was.

I’m sure you don’t need me to tell you that though, how amazing of a woman your mother is. I will always love her with all my heart, I’m grateful to have her as my partner and soulmate.

While I may not be there to make up for my absence, if you or your mother ever need help with anything, please contact any of the boys.

To ask you to be there at my funeral was unfair of me, I am just a stranger, you probably barely know what I look like. But please just let me be selfish one last time, I just want to see you one last time before I leave.

I’m sorry, (y/n). I don’t deserve to call myself a parent, much less your father.

- (y/f/n)’

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gojos-thot-patrol · 9 months

Text

Posted tonight for your reading pleasure, we are

Starring: Satoru Gojo, Suguru Geto, Kento Nanami, and Ryomen Sukuna

Just a few fluffy little drabbles exploring what it's like taking care of our favorite JJK men when they're sick <3 Fair warning, this was made entirely for self indulgent purposes.

TW:Very slight yandere themes in Sukunas section and talk of vomit in Getos section. Reader discretion is advised.

Satoru Gojo

Satoru Gojo was the strongest sorcerer to have ever lived. He could handle special grade curses with a flick of his wrist, had mastered the limitless technique, and had stood toe to toe with Ryomen Sukuna and lived. To say he was a formidable foe was an understatement.

Which is why it was always at least a little funny when a cold knocked him flat on his ass. The man that struck fear into the elders of Jujutsu Sorcery for the threat to tradition he posed simply could not handle the common cold. But, you had to admit; he looked kinda cute curled up in his blankets- as if hiding from the sick demons. You placed the Okayu you had made him onto the nightstand as you pulled the blankets away from him.

“Hey cutie, come on. You need to eat,” you spoke softly to him, gently rubbing his shoulders, “And I need to check your temperature again.” Satoru let out a particularly dejected groan as he reluctantly sat up.

“Please Y/n, just let me die in peace.” He rasped out, rubbing his heavy, stinging eyes.

“Nope, not an option.” You said, taking the thermometer from his nightstand. You took it out of the case and slipped it under his tongue. He grimaced.

“These aren’t accurate, you know.” He grumbled.

“Less so when you keep talking, so shush.” You reminded him, lightly pushing his shoulder.

“All I’m saying is there's no point,” he argued.

“Do you want me to find the rectal one instead?” you asked. He was suddenly very quiet. What felt like an hour, but was really only 3 minutes later, the thermometer started beeping. You sighed as you saw the number.

“I’m so cold.” Gojo muttered as you took the stick out of his mouth.

“Wrong,” You corrected, “You have a 102 degree fever.” You sighed. You handed him the Okayu, and despite the fact that eating was the last thing he wanted to do, he still smiled at you.

“Thank you.” He muttered, resting his head on your shoulder. Your hands almost instinctively found his hair. He hummed softly at the familiar and comforting feeling of you playing with the strands.

“For what?” You asked.

“Taking care of me.” He muttered softly, “I don’t know what I did to deserve you..”

“Oh please,” You chuckled softly, shaking his head, “You’ve done the same for me. I don’t mind taking care of you one bit, Satoru.” You couldn't tell if his red cheeks were from the fever or from blushing. Either way he smiled at you.

“I love you Y/n,” He whispered, going in to kiss you. You quickly put up a hand to stop him.

“Whoa there! I love you too, but no kissing.” You chuckled, “Not until you’re feeling better.” Gojo groaned and threw his head back in mock frustration.

“Being sick blows.”

Suguru Geto

You woke up to the unmistakable sound of someone vomiting. You sat up to see the light on in your en suite bathroom and your boyfriend nowhere in sight.

Oh no, Suguru, You thought to yourself as you quickly rushed to his side. You made it to him just in time to hold his hair back as another wave hit him. You gently rubbed his back as he closed the lid, flushed the toilet, and rested his head on the cool porcelain.

“I’m sorry.” He muttered softly.

“Why are you sorry, Love?” You asked, though you knew the answer already.

“I woke you up.” He said, standing up and going to immediately brush his teeth. You wanted to argue with him, remind him that it wasn’t good for his teeth to brush them immediately after vomiting. But you knew it was ultimately pointless. He couldn’t stand the taste. It reminded him too much of his technique. Too much of his curse.

“Think it was something you ate?” You asked as he finished up. He laughed, but there was no humor in it.

“Considering that I eat curses regularly, I doubt it. I like to think my stomach is a little stronger than that.” He grumbled, leaning against the bathroom counter.

“Oh no, you think it’s the flu?” If it was, it was inevitable you’d get it too.

“I’m sorry Darling.” That meant yes. You sighed and shook your head as you went to his side. You wrapped your arms around him and shook your head.

“No need to be sorry now. Come on, let's get you back to bed.” You sighed, leading him back to your shared bedroom. He did feel warmer than he normally did. Once you got him laid down again, you made sure a trashcan was within grabbing distance and went for the thermometer. His temperature only confirmed what you both already knew.

“Yep, 103.” You sighed, “You’re sick.” He merely groaned in response.

“I can’t stand being sick.” He grumbled. Suguru hated being sick more than the average individual. He had to deal with the taste of vomit almost every day, and he managed to hate it just a little bit more every fucking time he had to choke it down. Not to mention just how physically exhausting the whole ordeal was.

“I know you do Love.” You said, laying in bed next to him. You grabbed your phone and put one of the many playlists he had made for you. One of the more calming ones, hoping to put him at least a little bit at ease. It seemed to work, his body releasing at least some of the tension it had stored. You leaned over and kissed his cheek, only for him to jerk away.

“Y/n, no,” He argued, “You’re going to catch whatever I got if you keep that up.”

“Suguru Geto, please.” You scoffed, “We share a bed, if you’re sick it’s only a matter of time before I catch it anyway.” You shook your head.

“I know, I just…I hate that.” He finally admitted, “I don’t want to get you sick, being sick is terrible.”

“Trust me, I know.” You chuckled softly, laying next to him. You noticed despite his warm temperature he was shaking. You pulled a blanket over him. “But that’s just a part of living together. We love together, we get sick together.” You shrugged. “That’s just the nature of relationships and love.”

“I don’t think that’s quite right,” He laughed gently, shaking his head, “But, I don’t really have the energy to argue.” He admitted.

“Good, that means I win.” You smiled with a quick nod. “Now, I’ll be right back.” You said, sitting back up, “I’m going to go get you a cool rag and some water.”

“Thank you darling...” He muttered, sleep already feeling heavy in his eyes.

Kento Nanami

“Kento Nanami, what the hell do you think you’re doing?” You snapped as you walked into the kitchen, crossing your arms over your chest in frustration.

“The dishes?” Nanami asked from behind his face mask, turning around to raise an eyebrow at you.

“Kento, you’re sick.” You reminded him, “Walking pneumonia is still pneumonia.”

“Y/n, I feel fine, rea-” He couldn’t even get through his sentence without a coughing fit.

“And yet you sound like you’ve been smoking 6 packs a day for 27 years.” You scoffed, going over and taking the sponge from him, “To the couch with you, now!” Nanami sighed and rolled his eyes in defeat, drying his hands off.

“Look, just because I’m sick doesn’t mean I can’t help out around the house-”

“That's exactly what it means, Kento.” You laughed, shaking your head. “Look, I love how willing you are to help, but I assure you I can handle the housework for a few days while you get better Dearest.”

“I just feel bad-”

“For no reason. It’s not like you asked to get sick.” You reminded him. He sighed, but relented. Even he had to admit he was feeling pretty shit. And the doctor did tell him to get plenty of rest in the next few days.

“You’re right, you’re right.” He grumbled as he returned to the couch in defeat. You smiled in satisfaction as you finished the dishes he started. A few minutes later you were joining him on the couch and-

“Kento, Please.” You groaned when you saw him on his laptop.

“What? It’s not physical work.” He argued. He was researching details surrounding a possible first grade curse that had been running around to send to Gojo.

“You know, for someone who hates work you sure do it a lot.” You pointed out to him, placing a hand on your hip. He froze, hating that you were right.

“I just don’t know what else to do.” He finally admitted, putting his computer on the coffee table. “I’m restless Y/n!”

“Well…here.” You grinned, going over and booting up his long untouched xbox. You smiled when you saw Tekken 7 was already in. “It’s been awhile since we got to play together.” You said, handing him the controller. His eyes lit up as he took it, it only now dawning on him that he actually had time to play video games again.

“I’m going to crush you.” He informed you of this as if it was an objective fact. As if he was telling you the sky was blue, or explaining how the stock market worked. It was just an objective truth.

“Yeah.” You nodded, knowing he was right. You still smiled as you played with him anyway, even as he continued to crush you with character after character. You only really got mad once.

“Hey, no fair! You one-shot me!” You argued, more in awe than truly angry.

“It’s perfectly fair, the wind up for that move with Miguel is long as hell, you had every opportunity to knock me out of it.” He shrugged. You giggled a bit.

“I was curious to see what you were doing.” You confessed.

“I guess curiosity killed the cat.” He said dryly, but you could see the smile in his eyes. That was undoubtedly a joke on the fact you were playing Lucky Chloe, and you‘d be lying if you said it didn't make you laugh. Your laugh brought a chuckle out of him, and he placed a loving hand on your knee.

“Thank you Darling,” He smiled, “I feel better already, genuinely this time.”

Ryomen Sukuna

It was quiet in the temple. Far too quiet. Normally your captor lover was very attached to you, taking any chance he could to soak up your attention. But you hadn’t seen him once that day, and as the sun started to set, you found yourself looking for him- despite your better judgment. He wasn’t haunting any of his usual locations: His throne room, his bedroom, the garden, your bedroom. He had all but vanished, leading you to look in rooms you had never even been in.

You opened a door that was only 3 down from your own. You wondered why you had never thought about what was behind it before. As the door swung open, you were meant with a completely pitch black room.

“My lord?” You asked softly, poking your head through the entryway. You heard something stir, then the soft glow of his second set of eyes found yours. You stepped into the room and quickly closed the door behind you. “Sukuna? Are you in here?” You whispered, a question you almost instantly recognized as being redundant at best.

“No.” His familiar voice rang out, making you jump a little. His voice was rougher than usual, as if he hadn’t used it all day. As he closed his eyes, yours started to adjust to the dark. You were in another bedroom, and resting in the center of a giant bed laid Ryomen Sukuna, using one of his huge arms to cover his eyes. Something was deeply uncomfortable about the sight. Something that made your stomach churn into knots and your blood run cold. And then it hit you.

Sukuna was trying to make himself seem small. He was curled into himself, as if trying to hide from the outside world. You realized he had to have been dying, there was no other explanation. You didn’t know what was more shocking: that Sukuna was at death's door, or the fact that you were genuinely saddened by the thought. Stockholm syndrome really was no joke. Your body took some initiative and started to move of its own accord.

“My lord, what's wrong?” you whispered softly as you neared the edge of the plush bed.

“Nothing wench, leave me.” he growled, but his voice lacked all of his normal vitriol. It was as if he simply didn’t have the energy to inject it into his words. You found yourself crawling onto the bed. You put a gentle hand on his chest, earning you a blood chilling side-eyed-glare from Sukuna. Your body tensed under the intense look, screaming at you to get the fuck out of there. But you ignored your basic survival instinct, as you always did. It got you this far at least.

“You’re cold Ryo…” You muttered softly, laying down next to him.

“I know. Be quiet, woman.” He growled. He stayed still for a moment, as if deciding if he should kill you for your disrespect or not. He must have decided against it, because when he reached out for you he pulled you closer to him as opposed to throwing you at the wall. He wrapped two of his four arms around you, holding you close the way a child would hold a teddy bear.

You wondered if he came in here often. You realized the likelihood of there being windows was minimal. It was light enough outside you would have seen some of the dusky light if there were any. You nestled into his side and listened to his labored breathing. Whatever was going on with him, he was in significant pain.

“It’s like someone is drilling into my skull.” He groaned softly, more to himself than to you. A migraine. You realized he was dealing with a migraine.

“Is there some way I can help?” You asked, trying to make your voice as soft as possible.

“Just...shut up and lay with me.” He muttered, rolling over to fully engulf you in his embrace. It wasn’t often Sukuna was gentle with you, and even more rare that he held you like this. You decided to just enjoy the quiet with him while it lasted.

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