#i long for the sweet embrace of death | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

seresinhangmanjake · 24 days

Text

The Harkonnen's Sweet Thing

Feyd-Rautha x Atreides!Reader

Summary: You watched your brother kill the man you love--a man you were once gifted to by the Baron--and now that he is gone, you think Paul will use you as a political pawn in his war. And you're right. But you're shocked to discover who is demanding to have you.

Words: 2650

Notes/Warnings: Ignore canon ages in the timeline. I don’t know what they are, but everyone young is in their twenties, cool? Cool. Dune inaccuracies. Jessica and Paul kind of (very much) suck. Feyd’s a soft boy for our reader. Angst but also fluffy-ish stuff. Implied smut. Mention of pregnancy. I think that’s it. TG:M people ignore me. I don’t know what I’m doing here either, but i'm embracing it for now.

Part 2

When your brother pierced through armor into pale flesh, you felt it as if he had driven that blade into your body instead of the body of the man you love. You felt the shock of icy steel penetrating warm and delicate tissue, and the suffocation that came from the mutilation of your lung. You felt droplets of blood run down your front as you reached for the blade that was not there. As children, you were taught not to remove it. Not unless sufficient care was nearby to stop the bleeding before too much was lost.

Paul did not respect that knowledge. He yanked his knife out of Feyd’s torso and watched with relief as he collapsed to the ground. His body landed with a thud that matched the heavy beat of your heart. A beat that reminded you your blood was rushing strong, keeping you alive while your lover was draining dry of the strength to keep himself from leaving this world, from leaving you.

You wailed in the silence of those around you. Screamed at the top of your lungs as tears streamed down your face. You tried to go to him but the Fremen snatched you before you could reach him, forcing you to your knees, one of them slapping a hand over your mouth. This was not the time for hysterical outbursts; it was a time to stare in awe as a new leader accepted his victory and claimed power over the emperor and his daughter.

“Shut up, girl,” a male voice spit in your ear. He was tired of the struggle you were putting up against the hand squeezing your face. You were ruining his opportunity to witness a beautiful moment in history. A defining moment. A moment you didn’t give two fucks about.

No one spared you a glance save for the witch whose vibrant eyes were drilling into the side of your skull. A woman your father had instructed you receive as a stepmother following your third birthday. A manipulative woman whose smile in front of the Duke had masked the scowl permanently seared onto her face when looking at you—a decades-long act that the capture and death of your father had freed her from. And she’d wasted not a second displaying her distaste for his daughter.

Not long ago you'd thought to thank Lady Jessica for not loving you. Her lack of love made her so terribly desperate to rid herself of you that when cornered the night your family was attacked, she’d thrown you right into the arms of the Harkonnens—a fate she believed would destroy you rather than thrust you into a life you would come to cherish.

“A gift for you, nephew,” the baron had said after the fighting ceased and the soldiers, with you in their grasp, had returned to their unfamiliar home.

Feyd-Rautha had not rushed when he descended the staircase and approached you for the first time. His eyes were unblinking as he’d taken in his present; a slow drawl from head to toe that sent shivers down your spine.

“An Atreides,” Feyd had said in a low voice, deep and thick and eerily lovely.

The baron’s voice did not contain the same appeal. “Yes. Do you like it? A new pet for you to ruin.”

You’d stood frozen as Feyd traced a knuckle down your cheek before grasping your chin and running his thumb over your bottom lip. He’d possessed not a lick of shame when his index finger drew a line from the dip of your throat to your cleavage. There had been no consideration for your feelings when he tucked that same finger between your breasts and the neckline of your nightgown and lightly tugged you forward.

You had gasped with your stumble, your hands pressing against his chest to catch your fall while he smirked at the blush tinting your cheeks. His tongue then darted out to dampen his lips before he moved his hand to the curve of your waist and squeezed.

“Perfect,” He’d said, not in a loud declaration of appreciation, but in a tone meant for your ears only. Then he’d grabbed you by the wrist and led you to his chambers.

When the door had slammed behind you after you were jerked inside the room, you were suddenly filled to the brim with panic. You’d heard the rumors. What would he do to you? How would he do it? Would you suffer long?

A tear had slipped down your cheek that, once noticed, was brushed away with his thumb.

“Do not worry yourself unnecessarily.”

You’d swallowed, stuttering, “Wh-What do you mean?”

He’d pulled his shirt over his head and tossed it aside, exposing pale skin taught over defined, well-trained muscle. Then he’d stepped into your space, inching you backward until your spine was flush with the wall. He’d fisted the flimsy, nearly see-through fabric of your nightgown in his hand and slowly dragged it up your body until fingers could sneak under the hem to graze your inner thigh.

You’d sucked in a sharp breath at the pleasurable waves of heat that rippled from his touch.

“Atreides or not, you’re much too precious to ruin the way my uncle suggests,” he had said, his lips a hair's-width away from yours. “I've been looking for you for so long. You're mine now, do you understand?”

“Y-Yes.”

“Are you afraid of me?”

He hadn’t loved your hesitation—you could see it in his eyes and in the downturn of his lips—but he was satisfied when you’d truthfully said:

“No.” Because you weren’t. Not after he had brushed that tear off of your cheek.

His next question had caused your heart to skip a beat from the concoction of emotions it shot through you. Fear of the unknown mixed with unexpected excitement.

“Have you done this before?”

You’d shaken your head and in response he lightly nodded, his nose nudging yours.

“You want to?” he’d asked, hiking your leg up to his hip, and you found yourself nodding as well. “I won’t make it hurt.”

You’d replied with a soft “Ok” before accepting his kiss with as much fervor as he was giving it, thankful that what you’d imagined was awaiting you upon your arrival in foreign territory was far from what you were receiving.

Days later, when you had mentioned that he did not live up to the rumors of his cruelty extending to all areas of his life, he’d hummed. Said, “I make many bleed, and enjoy it. I feed off of their pain. Those who have been in my bed are not spared this, and it will not be uncommon for you to see me stained with the death of others, including my former pets.”

He’d paused then, allowing you a moment to question your future as one of those pets, if that's what he considered you.

“But I have been searching for something that I’ve wanted for a very long time,” he’d said. “Something that hasn't existed within these walls. Something I will never want to harm. Something…soft…and sweet,” he had admitted to your surprise.

He’d then told you that you were that sweet thing. That he’d known it from the moment he saw you. That he was choosing you.

But it was a choice that had its repercussions.

All things must have balance, and you had tipped the scales. From his gentleness toward you, a darker, more gruesome beast emerged when facing off with others. A brutal warrior who never surrendered and never lost. A sadistic man who showed no mercy to the opponents whose blood you would later wash from his body. He had annihilated his previous reputation as just the famed killer of Geidi Prime and evolved into something more, all because of you.

That was why you thought he would win against Paul. Your brother was skilled, but the universe had long known the name Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen for his prowess in combat and his ruthlessness which had only grown with time.

So why was it not your brother on the floor with his love sobbing and struggling to reach him?

In the thirteen days since your lover’s death, it is that question that has robbed you of all peace.

Despite your brother having escorted you back to Caladan for the time being, you find no sense of home or happiness in your birthplace. You walk the beaches and fields that, as a child, you dreaded one day leaving, but they are not the same. Nearly a year has gone by since you were last here, however, so much of what you once loved about this planet is overshadowed by the shattered heart caused by Feyd's death.

When you were young, your father would often express his wishes for your future. He would paint a beautiful image of you bringing your children to play in the gardens of your childhood home, carefree and unburdened. It was a source of comfort that he used to mask the reminder of your duty as an Atreides: that you would not be marrying and having children out of love, you would marry in the name of peace and produce heirs in the name of security. And it seems in the end, he was right.

With Feyd unable to claim you, Paul will be the one to secure new arrangements for your future, which just so happens to greatly fare in his favor. After all, he just declared war, and you are the ripened political pawn at his disposal.

“Are you well?”

You turn as sharply as you can at the intrusive voice, but the uncomfortable skirts of your dress are thick and stiff, restricting your movements. Feyd never made you wear anything like this and you forgot what it's like to be weighed down by layers of fabric. You fucking hate it.

Paul stands a few feet away, his hands clasped behind his back and a light smile on his face. Clearing his throat, he joins you on the balcony attached to your old room.

“I know we haven’t spoken much about what’s to come. I’m sure you’ve been curious,” he says.

You shrug, shake your head, and return your gaze to the horizon where ocean meets sky.

“We have matters to discuss.”

Matters such as where he will be sending you off to be married, you imagine. He must act quickly if he intends to establish and gain control over house alliances, since they weren't overly enthusiastic about accepting him as their leader.

“Let's sit down,” he tells you. He grasps your hand before you can object and guides you to one of the balcony benches. Once you’re settled, he takes a seat beside you and says, “I am going to ask you something. And I want honesty.”

You sigh. “What?”

“When you were with the Harkonnens for those many months, were you treated like a slave as I had feared, or were you something far from it?”

Your eyes narrow. “Why are you asking me this?”

“Because it’s important,” Paul states, staring you directly in the eye. “I’ve been thinking about the way you wept over him after we fought, and how he denied every offer I made in exchange for your release…” With his pause, he shakes his head. “I thought maybe he had messed with your mind, confused you, and that was why you were so hysterical over his loss…but that’s not right, is it.”

“Paul–”

“Does he love you?”

It takes conscious effort to keep your body from shifting uncomfortably. “What is it to you?”

“He survived his wounds,” Paul says.

The casualness with which he shares that news heavily contrasts everything that runs through you. Your heart stops. Your lips part, unsuccessful in drawing in oxygen. Your eyes no longer see anything but Feyd’s face as it flashes in front of you. The way he looked when he last smiled at you. The way he looked the last time he came inside of you. The look of him when he died—or almost died. Death had been there, looming over him.

You’re trying to will away the tears. Paul is watching you too closely. “Wh–What?” you say.

“He’s alive, and he is demanding you be returned to him,” he informs you. “So, tell me: is he truly threatening me so aggressively over one of his ‘pets’? Or is he threatening me to get back the woman he loves?”

The woman he loves. You never imagined yourself in a situation where your brother would ask if a member of a centuries-long rival house loves you. But then again, you never imagined a member of a centuries-long rival house loving you to begin with.

You remember the night he told you. It was late and your bodies were bare after having bathed together. You were searching for your nightgown when he said “Come to bed, my love.”

You sighed, defeated. He’d called you that before, but whether it was real or not was such a mystery and it hurt your heart a little bit more each time. “You shouldn’t call me your love unless you mean it,” you finally told him.

You heard his footsteps when he stood from the bed. He walked up behind you and wrapped his arms around your waist, pulling your back against his chest. “Why would I call you that if I do not mean it?” he asked. Then he hummed and said “You know me better than that, my love” before dipping his head lower and nipping the shell of your ear with his teeth.

So yes, he loved you—loves you. But there’s something in Paul’s voice as he asks you that question that gives you pause. It’s too gentle as if luring you into a false sense of security. The Harkonnens are not known for their capacity to love, and Feyd loving you could be seen as a weakness; his one vulnerable spot.

As monotone as you can manage, you reply, “If you’re being threatened you should just send me back and be done with it. I know you have more important things to worry about.”

Paul’s lips thin in disappointment. “I can’t send you back,” he says. “Not yet.”

“Why not?”

He sighs. “Because I believe he loves you. And I need to see how far a Harkonnen is willing to bend for an Atreides,” he says. “If he wants you back, he will have to be open to negotiations.”

You stand sharply, take a few steps from him, and blow out a heavy breath through your nose. You were told your brother changed after drinking that magic water and it shows. Holding you hostage for political gain is not the same as marrying you off.

“I would like to be done with this conversation,” you say with a huff.

“I understand,” he replies, so you turn to enter your bedroom. But before you’re fully through the door, he says, “There’s more, though.”

You freeze.

“I had a dream,” he says, his voice coming closer. “There was a boy, no more than five years old. He had your features and your hair but his skin was of the same paleness as the Harkonnens.”

Sucking in a breath, you brace yourself with a hand gripping the door’s frame.

“You’re pregnant, sister,” he tells you, leaning against the opposite side of the doorway. “But I'm very glad to know that the heir of Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen is a product of love rather than an unfortunate incident,” he says. “Additional incentive, should it be necessary.”

In your shock, you can’t look at him. He doesn’t need you to. You can see his smirk in your peripherals, then he pushes off the frame and heads toward the main door of your room.

“Try to get some rest, sister,” he calls over his shoulder. “You really shouldn't be on your feet too long.”

#feyd rautha x reader #feyd rautha x you #feyd rautha #dune part 2 #austin butler #feyd x reader #feyd rautha harkonnen #dune #dune movie

1K notes · View notes

keisobe · 11 months

Text

── ⋆˙⟡♡ 𝐞𝐦𝐛𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐨𝐩𝐞𝐧 𝐚𝐫𝐦𝐬 (𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐝𝐚)

from spider-man : across the spiderverse (spoiler free!!)

characters. miles morales. miguel o’hara. hobie brown & peter b. parker. + pavitr prabhakar

notes. i quickly wrote this because spiderverse has consumed a lot of my attention (cue the tiktok edits i’ve saved of hobie and miguel). anyways hope i did the characterization accurate enough and hope it was fun to read ( ˘͈ ᵕ ˘͈♡) + not completely proofread

𝐦𝐢𝐥𝐞𝐬 𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐚𝐥𝐞𝐬 ❤︎

he’s painfully awkward when it comes to hugging. his limbs don’t know where to wrap around, so they keep flaring everywhere until you end up locking him into one solid hug.

miles is also very respectful of your boundaries, he would do that weird hover hand thing over your waist that would look very off in photos (his hand literally 3 inches away from your shoulder, but a good photo overall).

but when he’s close to you, he would pull you into a protective and warm embrace— especially if he has been worried sick about you. that’s until he pulls away and let’s out a chuckle accompanied with a light scratch on the back of his neck to ease his worries.

“umm… wait— lemme just…”

miles’ arms were bending awkwardly and moving in lightning speed, a nervous smile plastered onto his conflicted features— twitching brows and all.

you huffed at his failed attempt to simply embrace you, so you forcefully hooked your arms around his neck and brought him closer, feeling the softness of his cheek against your forehead and the pacing heartbeat you didn’t know he had.

“it’s fine, it’s just me silly.” you teased into his ear, prompting miles to chuckle at his own awkwardness and to wrap his strong arms around your waist.

“right, it’s you.” he whispered more to himself, leaning down to reach your height and to cutely rest his head in the nape of your neck. “just you.”

𝐦𝐢𝐠𝐮𝐞𝐥 𝐨’𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐚 ❤︎

hasn’t been held in so long. he says that he doesn’t do hugs, will probably go into flight-and-fight mode if you even asked for a small embrace. if you’re lucky though, he’ll leave you with a deadly glare and an annoyed huff.

but in the heat of the moment, in the moments of needed comfort, he will be there to give you an embrace. although, his hugs are tight, to the point you have a hard time breathing. it’ll take him a moment to notice that you’re literally breathless and will cough a lousy sorry as compensation for squeezing you to death (but he actually feels bad).

what nobody knows (maybe expect you) is that he prefers hugs that can display his strength. lifting you off from the ground with ease makes him smirk to himself. surprise hugs from the back also avoids the awkwardness of confronting actual romantic contact (it’s also more fun for him).

“what now?” miguel folds his arms impatiently as he watches you dumbly spread your arms out, a determined glint in your eyes.

no response, you simply spread your arms wider. miguel huffs an annoyed laugh and awkwardly comes up to you to embrace you, with a tightness that made you choke for air. then he suddenly lifts you from the floor, making you latch tightly around his neck.

miguel sighs deeply, the irritation that emitted from him suddenly became comfortably warm.

“did you need this hug?” you managed to breathe out, threading your fingers through the loose brown hair in the back of his neck.

“yeah, i really needed it.” miguel mumbles out in embarrassment, tightening his muscular arms around your waist— prompting a weak yet satisfied wheeze from your lips.

𝐡𝐨𝐛𝐢𝐞 𝐛𝐫𝐨𝐰𝐧 ❤︎

he’s chill with hugs, but he’s very friendly about it. likes to latch an arm on his mates and such— but an immediate sweet embrace you won’t really get (he’s good at reading people, so if you’re vibes are off, he ain’t moving an inch).

he generally prefers to give side hugs, nothing too personal and definitely fits his overall demeanor. match that up with a firm compliment and a friendly pat on the shoulder. but if he’s close to you, he’ll be there patiently with open arms.

then he’s analyzing you closely as you embrace him, listening closely for a change in your heartbeat or any small noise that escapes your mouth. he subtly smells you too and will not forget your scent (will use the same detergent as you right after the embrace). there’s a moment of silence and it’s perfectly comfortable.

“c’mere.” hobie faintly whispers with an expanded arm, his expression unusually soft.

immediately you ran to receive an embrace from his slim body, a wet sniffle muffled into his webbed suit as tears began to pour from your eyes. hobie hovers a calloused hand over your back, thinking for a moment, until he decides that it was fine to do so. he pats the small of your back comfortably, murmuring a song he wrote to soothe your sadness.

“thank you hobie.” you hiccuped, leaning onto his chest. hobie simply nodded, playing with the ends of your hair with a painted finger.

“yea...” he mumbled, noticing that the tears that stained your cheeks before faded and your breathing steadied. “no probs.”

𝐩𝐞𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐛. 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐤𝐞𝐫 ❤︎

he’s painfully awkward too. pull him into an embrace, he will let out an uncomfortable chuckle as he carefully pries you off his body. peter makes it obvious he wants his space, rightfully so.

actually, head pats is something he prefers to give. it’s comforting for him to be able to teasingly mess your hair to get a whine from you, or feel the texture of your hair under his palms. also, he’s an old man (will feel extremely insulted if you say his comforting technique is equivalent to that of an elderly folk).

but if he’s close with you or there is a moment when an embrace is desperately needed, he wouldn’t hesitate to pull you into a deep embrace. due to his new plushness to his body and rarity of his soft affection, peter’s embraces feel warm and inviting. sorry though, it’ll only last a few seconds until he’s pulling away immediately (will give up if you pull him back into the embrace tho).

“there, there kiddo…” peter softly pats your head, poorly attempting to cool your temper.

“not working peter.”

peter sighs in defeat as he slowly retracted his hand, thinking of a solution to cheer you up. without a second thought, he quickly pulled you into an embrace with efficient strength— the softness of his stomach contrasted the hardness of his chest. immediately you light up, nuzzling into his warm arms as he playfully swayed your body side-to-side.

“better?” he chuckled at your dazed expression, maybe hugging wasn’t so bad.

“yeah…” you could hear the slow patters of his heartbeat as he tightened the protective hold around your waist.

6K notes · View notes

mahgyu · 4 months

Text

JJK Men: Dreaming about you after your death

· — Even months later after his tragic death by a cursed spirit, they still dream of that terrible day.

๑ Featuring: Satoru Gojo, Suguru Geto, Kento Nanami, Choso Kamo, Toji Fushiguro and Ryomen Sukuna.

๑ Content: Fem!Reader, established relationship, angst, A LOT of angst (*evil laugh*), mention of panic crisis (Choso)

๑ a/n: I enjoyed writing this so much, even though it was really sad. Ah, unlike the others, Sukuna didn't have a dream but rather flashbacks, you will understand when you read.

⸺ㅤGOJO

Gojo woke up startled, trying to grasp something that was no longer there. He barely noticed he was already crying when he woke up, the eyes you used to love and appreciate were now crying for your absence. That man who once laughed and smiled genuinely by your side had once again lost the reason to laugh and smile truly. Gojo sincerely couldn't bear to maintain that facade of a strong sorcerer, physically and mentally. He was tired, he was alone. He promised, he promised to protect you, but he failed. Now he promises that, one day, he will find you again, but for now he would just embrace the clothes you used to wear to feel your scent while he cries. Unfortunately, those clothes were already losing your scent.

⸺ㅤGETO

Geto absolutely refused to accept what had happened. He convinced himself that you would suddenly walk through the door with that smile he loves so much. He would wait however long it took for that to happen, but deep down, he knew it would never come true. That's why Geto woke up already staring directly at the door. In the dream, you walked through that door smiling, just as he had been imagining lately. It seemed so real that he could swear he smelled your scent. But the scent didn't actually come from you; it came from the stuffed animal you cherished, which Geto now slept beside every night to catch a glimpse of you being with him.

⸺ㅤNANAMI

Nanami had just returned from work. Sitting on the couch, he ended up dozing off and had that same repetitive dream about you. The day he proposed to you was certainly one of the most memorable days in Nanami's life. But that dream always ends with that cursed spirit sneaking up from behind and dragging you away from Nanami. Kento always screams and tries to run towards you, but for some reason, he never moves from his spot. Nanami opened his eyes, staring at the ceiling for a few minutes before sighing. He glanced down at his own hand, where he still wore the engagement ring on his finger. He wouldn't dare take it off for anything, even though you're no longer physically there with him, even if the image of you looking beautiful in a white dress is now nothing more than a dream never realized.

⸺ㅤCHOSO

Choso woke up totally bewildered, panting, and in a panic. He sat on the bed while looking around, processing where he was and searching for you, but found nothing, nothing but a photo of you next to the bed. Choso couldn't take it anymore, couldn't bear to have so many panic attacks for not being able to save you that day, he wasn't there to protect you as he had promised. He failed you, and it tore him apart. He hated having to deal with these daily crises; Choso knew it was exhausting to help him in these moments; he hated worrying others. But the moment he promised to avenge you, he would fulfill it, even if it cost him his own life.

⸺ㅤTOJI

Toji woke up slowly, taking a moment to fully open his eyes due to the brightness and gradually realizing that everything he had witnessed was just a dream. In this dream, he saw you humming softly a song he already knew entirely because of you, but before he could touch you, he woke up. Toji realized he wasn't in the place he used to call home, it wasn't a home without you. He was in another one of the places he rented to spend the night. Going back to that house no longer made sense without you to welcome him with your sweet kisses and bright smile. Toji completely lost his way, delving back into the bad paths you fought so hard to steer him away from, but you were no longer there to stop him. He no longer cared about himself.

⸺ㅤSUKUNA

Sukuna closed his eyes for a few minutes when he had the vision of your face in your last moments of life, the life he himself made a point of taking, just as he had promised from the moment he first found you. For some reason, the image of your face wouldn't leave his mind anymore, and he hated it. He hated how you looked at him so tired and exhausted from everything, just accepting what was to come, how you seemed so vulnerable and fragile. No, that wasn't right. Sukuna opened his eyes as he clenched his fists, digging his nails into the palm of his hand, while frustration flowed from within him. He should have been satisfied for having fulfilled what he promised, but no. He was dissatisfied, frustrated, and didn't know if it was because you didn't even try to fight him and just accepted your end, or if it was because he had really ended you. It made no sense to him, but still, it ate away at him.

Thanks for reading, I hope you enjoyed it 🩶

ㅤㅤㅤ

2K notes · View notes

libertyybellls · 5 months

Text

KISS IT OFF ME !

pairing; finnick odair x f!dist4!reader

summary; finnick can’t take his eyes off of you in any crowd- but he can take care of you, what’s new?

contains; FLUFF, established relationship, finnick is still pining for reader, alcohol consumption- but positively i guess, reader is anxious in the beginning, objectification by the capitol as per usual.

a/n: i hope im not misunderstood but when i put specific photos or outfits/hairs in the headers of my works that is not directly what i am picturing the reader as! its more-so the hairstyle, or the outfit- or simply the aesthetic of the picture. not the race, hair nor body type. ur all cutie pies. ok anyways onto the fic kiss kiss.

☾⋆｡𖦹 °✩

“well would you look at that!” your stylist squeals in your ear, “from the moment you won your last games i have just been dying to design for you again and… here we are!” she ushers you to spin around.

she’d always been kind to you, perhaps less kind to your dignity- always wanting to flaunt you like a show pony- but nonetheless her support had always been there.

“it’s beautiful, thank you.” you smile small at her. so bittersweet, she was oh-so ecstatic to dress you up once more but to you- this meant less serenity to you. more agitation, more distress, more death.

it felt like a paradox, to be adorned in this sweet, innocent, baby pink before you’re sent away to a grim world once again- you’d already gone off on a tangent to finnick. you’d both sobbed solemnly about the cruelty of it all, how you would never be able to live in peace.

but finnick just wanted you both to have this one night, to indulge in the capitol before you were sent of to your deaths, obviously he would see the brighter side of thing- blabbering about plutarchs plan and how he only needs to protect you, katniss, and peeta until he can get you out of there.

sounds so very simple doesn’t it?

once you’d finished your interview you attended a party, a celebration for the third quarter quell. how ironic, what was there to celebrate?

you’d seen the food platters, the spiked drinks, and indulge you did.

your brain had been fuzzy by the time you’d escape the overbearing class of the capitol citizens, who wanted to know every detail of your life.

it was then- finnick had spotted you- so inebriated you’d genuinely laugh at something the woman next to you said.

feasibly being that she’d said something so pretentious you couldn’t help but tilt your head back in laughter. but nonetheless he admired.

he admired your dress, your smile, the way your eyes slightly disappeared when you laughed, the way your hair was laying down your back. he was simply under the spell of you.

it was then your eyes met his smitten ones, so love drunk- or possibly just drunk- that you’d excused yourself and made a beeline straight for him.

he’d encaptured you with warm arms, a leather corset-like article of clothing consumed his waist- followed by his white buttoned down that seemed to be unbuttoned.

you noticed the way his eyes consumed you- not like the others did. not like you were a piece of cake, not like you were something they had to have for the night, but someone who lit his chest alight.

“you look beautiful.” he murmurs into your hair, his hands around your waist.

“i hardly feel that way- im scared, i think.”

he shook his head, pulling you from his warm embrace much to your dismay. “don’t be. you’re with me right now.” finnicks plush lips lay atop your forehead now.

you laugh as he continues to peck your face, giggles leaving your lips.”so beautiful.”

it was only when you nearly toppled over your unnecessarily long pumps that he took not of your consumption.

“so head over heels it seems you’ve had a little to much to drink. what do you say i get you back to your room now? hm?” he straightens you back up. “run you a bath?”

you let out a muffled mm into his chest, your other hand placed on the side of his chest holding you steady. “love you s’much finn.”

it was his turn to laugh now, there was no mockery, no heinous act behind it, just you and finnick. “i know baby.”

#finnick angst #finnick fanfic #finnick fluff #finnick imagine #finnick odair #finnick odair fluff #finnick odair smut #finnick odair x reader #finnick oneshot #finnick smut #finnick #hunger games finnick #finnick x you #finnick x reader #finnick x y/n #thg finnick #my #finnick odair x you

2K notes · View notes

randomguy981 · 1 year

Text

I'm feeling like such a fuck up.

I know it's perfectly normal to feel jealous of someone who is hanging out with someone else you like when you yourself can't spend as much time with them as you'd like. It might be one-sided too but still it makes a person feel terrible. (Have ingredients feelings for that other guy when they probably don't feel the same way.)

I'm trying to figure out why it is that I'm getting attachment feelings for someone quickly but I just can't seem to understand it. No matter who I talk to, I can't figure it out.

I just want to be able to build a friendship and relationships with other guys and not have yo worry about catching feelings for them if I find them attractive. Aldo to learn to trust people a little better than I do now. But I guess these things are just too much to ask for, right?

#personal #rant #i can't do this anymore #sleep is the only time im not tormented by this #im longing for that sweet embrace of death #maybe then i wont be feeling tormented like i do now

0 notes

plutoswritingplanet · 3 months

Text

It's A Special Death You Saved (Feyd Rautha x Female!Reader) pt.3

a/n: so i lied about this being the last chapter, there's one more, i know im sorry....... also shout out to my friends, who were unbelievably helpful with the smut part because oh, there's smut here

Warnings: Explicit Sexual Content (yuuuh yuuuuuuh), Alcohol, like....a tiny bit of Humiliation.

Summary: The month-long courting comes to an end with a bang! As your engagement party commences, wine flows and darker feelings rise to the surface

Pt. 1, Pt.2 Pt.4 (finale)

In the darkness of the night, he still comes to you in your dreams, knife in hand, body taunt and ready to strike. Every single morning, you awake with a gasp, as visions of your tormentor plague you. In some, he slits your throat, reveling in the way red cascades down your nightgown. Other times, it's a quick and brutal stabbing, your insides twisting as you wake.

But then, there are those rare nights where you rise from your bed, sweat clinging to your skin, as you fight with the pressure in your stomach, try to rid yourself of the images, before making yourself presentable for breakfast.

Those dreams, nightmares, are the worst.

White, elegant fingers, grabbing, pulling, pinching every surface of your exposed skin. Defined arms around you, squeezing your pliant body in an embrace that is as tender and romantic, as a snake suffocating its victim. Deceivingly soft lips, mapping a trail down your front, pulling back to reveal teeth, which make that same trail visible, hurting.

In those dreams, he paints you with black. Taints you, until you're molded into his perverse image, until there's no telling where he ends, and you begin. He makes you into a sculpture, in a way that an artist cuts away pieces of clay, slowly robbing you of all agency, until there's only what he wants to see. And you let him, with a trembling smile on your lips, hands twisted into the stained sheets of your bed.

Ignoring him has become an art form as well.

Since your faithful tangle at the training barracks, you did everything in your power, to never appear in the same room as him, or at least, never alone. You became a shadow in your own home, a whisper of the person you used to be. Shame is a powerful thing, and you wore it like a wedding veil over your face. Paul would always help you, silently. Never asking outright what had happened between you and the Harkonnen, but somehow always knowing. Your brother, your salvation, breaks your heart everytime he grabs your hand, and leads you away from the predator in the room.

The date of your engagement party has been set a week into the future. The nervous bustling of the court only heightening your already wracked thoughts, as the inevitability of your situation begins to haul you to the ground.

Your Mother took most of the preparations on her back, directing the servants, the kitchen, the musicians. She picked out a dress for you, some flowing abomination, which hung in your closet, reminding you every morning, that you will have to wear it with a smile. You hoped, there will be wine at the feast, hope that it will be sweet enough to dull your insides.

As the date of the feast comes closer and closer, you begin to spend more time outside.

The air is crisp and smells of seawater, and you can't help but inhale fully, every time. You want it seared into your brain, so whenever you're taken away from your home, you can run back to this memory, to the feel of grass under your fingers.

- You'll catch a cold, if you keep sitting here.

Paul's voice brings you back from your dark thoughts, and you look up, from your spot in the grass. He stands a couple paces back, hands folded behind his back in a manner, that is reminding you of your Father more and more every day.

- Do you want to join me? - you ask, your lips quirking up into a small smile - Or would you prefer to stand there like a pillar of salt?

Your brother shakes his head, before coming closer and plopping down next to you, his skinny legs stretched out in front of him. The both of you sit in silence for a while, enjoying the breeze ruffling your hair, the smell of ocean and the waves crashing into the cliffs. There are seagulls flying over your heads, and you feel the moisture from the grass seep into your clothing.

A wistful sigh escapes you, before you can stop it, and you let yourself fall, laying flat on the hill.

Paul looks down at you, undescribable sadness swimming in his eyes, and an instinct of sister awakes in you, a need to comfort, despite being a wreck yourself. So, you offer him a smile, a tired one, but a smile nonetheless.

- Do you think we could take the horses for a ride today? - your brother asks with naive hope, his eyes turning to the sea.

- Mother won't allow me to go, she wants me to spend my pondering the proper behavior during the feast - try as you might, you can't hide the bitterness in your voice - Besides, I could fall off and hurt the merchandising.

Paul's hand finds yours, and he squeezes your fingers tightly. It's hard not to break, in moments like these. When you're forced to remember, you'll most likely never see your family again.

- If I could do something, anything... - you recognize that feverish note in your brother's voice, it's devoid of reason, impulsive, too much like you.

- But you can't, so you won't.

A frustrated sound escapes his mouth, and he turns back to the sea. You watch him through half-lidded eyes, eyelashes falling heavily on your cheeks. He looks like a Duke, you conclude, and that thought feels strangely comforting. No matter where you'll be shipped off, no matter what life has in store for you in the future, somehow, you know your brother will persevere.

- Do you remember that time Gurney made us train on the beach? - you ask, a sudden wave of nostalgia washing over you, as the clouds float in the sky above you - Cause of the... The balance. We had to try to balance in the sand.

Paul twists his head towards you, surprised at the turn of the conversation, before cracking a smile.

- Yes, he slipped on the rocks, nearly broke his backbone - he starts to wave his hands around in a wonderful reenactment of your mentor's fall, before collapsing next to you in the grass.

Your laughter mingles with the sounds of the sea, as the both of you, the future of House Atriedes, share memories, scenes from the life you've lived together. The good and the bad. The horse races through plains and hills of Caladan, the many, many food fights. It's hard to tell, how much time you spend together, laying in the grass, but when you finally fall into silence, the air has become considerably more chilly. A sign, it's time to return to reality, to your duties.

- You should've been me, and I you - Paul whispers suddenly, and you close your eyes in a pained expression.

Perhaps it's true. Perhaps Lady Jessica made a mistake, and gave a Daughter where she should've given a Son. Now, it's no longer important. Your roles have been set in place, all you could do, is fulfill them. Somewhere back, in the direction of the Palace you can hear a voice calling your names. A reminder, that the world outside this grassy sanctuary exists, and can't wait any longer.

You move to stand, Paul gathering himself up closely behind. Your clothes stick to your body, and you're shivering from the cold, but if you could spend just one more moment exactly like that, you would've taken that chance without question.

An arm snakes around your elbow, and you lean onto your brother's shoulder, as you start to walk back, steps swaying like a pair of drunkards. Then, Paul tugs you closer, you can feel him tense suddenly, as he leans with a sullen expression on his pale face.

- I hate the way he looks at you - he confesses, waves upon waves of righteous Atriedes fury crashing in his voice.

You don't know how to respond to that, so you stay silent, giving his arm a reassuring tug.

That was the last conversation you've had with your brother.

*** While the House Atriedes is characterized by a rather mellow temper, there was one thing they took extremely seriously. And those, unfortunately for you, were engagement rituals.

So, that's why you sit posed like a porcelain doll in a deep chair, next to your soon-to-be husband, at the foot of a long table, surrounded by music, and dancing, and food. There are ribbons hung from the high ceilings, and flickering lights float around them like little fireflies. You watch, as they dance above you, the ridiculous headdress placed on your hair digs into your skul. Color surrounds you, your own dress flowing like a waterfall, elegant, yet delicate. The pools of fabric gather around your legs, a chiffon monstrosity, that you know, is supposed to make you beautiful.

And perhaps you would've felt beautiful, if this was any other occasion. A birthday feast, perhaps. Dare you say, and engagement party with someone you actually loved.

Speaking of which, your betrothed sits beside you, sticking out like a sore thumb. He looks utterly bored, eyes following the celebrating masses, hand playing with a steak knife. Not enough blood for his tastes, you suppose. He's dressed in traditional Harkonnen attire, which you think, doesn't really look that much different from all the other outfits you've seen him in. Black, sleek, efficient. You must be a curious pair, a mass of colorful materials and a black-stone pillar.

The wine, thankfully, is sweet. It warms your face, and turns your insides into a pleasant mush. You should've eaten more, but then again, it was a celebration of your imprisonment, and if you wanted to get drunk, you would. And you did get drunk. Quickly.

The dress moves with you, as you slowly slide down the chair, one leg resting up on the seat. A frightfully unbecoming sight, but you can't find it in yourself to care. Another, clumsy drink from your cup, and you sigh deeply, blinking a couple of times to rid yourself of sudden dizziness.

Your betrothed gives you a look, whether it's of warning or amusement, you're not sure. And you don't care. Your nose scrunches in the general direction of his smooth head, and you take another sip, just to spite him.

- Shut up - you grumble, a slurr entering your words.

- I haven't said a word - he counters, and this time you can see him smile.

- You're thinking, it's annoying.

Feyd Rautha has an unpleasant laugh.

Sharp and low, and very rough around the edges. It's like listening to an old spaceship try to take off, and you're sure you don't want to hear him laugh ever again. That's it, your goal in this, frankly, fucked up marriage, will be to never make your husband laugh. Although, it's best not to think about it so loudly, he might be a hidden mind reader, and would most likely laugh in your face every day, just to torture you.

God. You were going to regret every sip come tomorrow morning.

- You're wrapped like a present - Feyd Rautha leans down with a smirk playing on his full lips, and you have to crane your neck to look him straight in the face - Shall I unwrap you here, while your family watches?

Despite the light tone, you shiver under his gaze. Something in the way his body seems relaxed yet tense at the same time tells you, this shameless man would do it in a heartbeat, if you as much as inclined your head.

- Gross - you groan, hand untangling itself from the amassing of chiffon to push back at his face.

It's the first time, you've touched him out of your own volition, and even in your drunken daze, you note the sudden glint in his eyes. Fingers grab at your wrist, keeping you in place, as he leans further into your touch, turning his head slightly. Wine mixes with sudden embarrassment, as his lips brush against the meat of your palm. Then, black teeth shine and your heart jumps to your throat, as he bites down on your skin, hard enough to make you jump. Tongue darts out, licking a stripe up your thumb, before giving your fingertip a tiny nibble.

You tear your hand away from him, pressing it into your chest with an appalled expression. There are indents just below your thumb in the shape of his teeth, and the confounding feelings you've been trying to stoke for almost a month now, come crashing down upon you.

He looks satisfied with himself, returning back to his seat, and his steak knife. The utensil reflects the flowing lights, and despite yourself you swallow thickly, turning back to your cup, which is quickly becoming empty.

God, it was getting incessantly hot in this cursed dining hall.

Whether it was the wine, or the sudden wave of knee-bending arousal washing through you, you couldn't tell. (It was both, you were fully aware it was both) And you're uncomfortable, terribly so. You fidget in your seat, almost painfully aware of the heat, which has now spread further down. The fabric of the dress slides against your body, skin becoming far too sensitive, too hungry for touch. You try to relieve some of your torment, legs squeezing and rubbing together. Treacherous tongues of self-awareness rear its ugly heads, and you look up, and...

Of course he noticed.

Feyd Rautha places his chin in his hand, and he observes you with a knowing look, which turns dark and terrifying as soon as your eyes meet.

- Careful, lest the court starts talking - he warns you, his voice somehow becoming deeper than before, and you take a shuddering breath.

Dagnerous, this is dangerous.

You're seated far away from your family, from any consolation, and even if they were close enough to intervene, the masses of dancing people, the sound of their laughter... Your heart stops, a snake curling itself around your insides. Truly, if that beast of a man wanted to, he could make do of his threat from earlier, and take you where you sit. Haunted by that thought, both terrifying and arousing, you down the rest of your wine.

It doesn't taste as good anymore. Hell, it threatens to come back up, until you force it to sit in your stomach.

Duncan, you need to find Duncan, or you'll do something incredibly stupid. You'll do something incredibly stupid either way, but at least the regret will be less biting. So, pulling yourself up on trembling arms, you shuffle out of your chair, your betrothed's heated gaze following you on your way through the hall.

People don't even look at you, too enraptured with free food and drinks, and the music, which flows loudly through the air. Good, in any other case, the Duke's Daughter, stumbling drunk through corridors, would certainly lift some eyebrows. Your feet carry you towards the training barracks, a familiar route you've followed many times. Indulging in sex with your Father's most trusted advisor was not the healthiest form of regulating emotions, but you needed something, and God knows, you'd rather die than get it from anyone else. From Him especially.

The choice is made for you, however, as a strong hand wraps itself around your arm, just above your elbow, yanking you backwards, behind a stone column. The world spins in front of your eyes, and for a second you worry the company of wine warming your insides is about to abandon you along with breakfast.

- Do you truly thought, you could sneak away from me?

Finally, your eyes focus on Fey Rautha's face, almost demonic in the low light of the corridor. Shadows play on his expression, falling heavily over his eyes, and you try to wrench yourself from his grasp.

- What I do is none of your business - you slurr out, wringing your arm every which way, his fingers digging painfully into your flesh - Let go of me.

The Harkonnen presses himself closer to you, trapping your body between the stone and himself. His nose nearly crushes itself into the juncture between your neck and your shoulder, taking a disturbing long whiff. You can feel his chest vibrate against your own, as he groans deep within his throat. It sobers you up in record speed, and you start to thrash in his hold. He subdues your outburst, as if he was made for it, before dragging his nose up, towards your hair. You snarl like a wild animal.

- Let me go.

His body moves on its own accord, tearing itself away from you in an instant, legs tripping over themselves, to put distance between your bodies. He looks up at you, muscles tense and an expression of shock painted across his pale face.

The ability to use the Voice was something you rarely took part in. Training sessions with your Mother went well, as expected of a woman, but you still had a lot of work ahead of you. You blink forcefully, steadying yourself against the wall behind you. Then, you notice the borderline murderous look on your soon-to-be husband's face.

- Witch - he spits out, baring his blackened teeth at you.

- I am the Daughter of Duke Atriedes - your voice carries a note of righteous pride, despite dread climbing up your spine - And you will treat me with respect, wedded or not.

He straightens himself with petrifying speed, and as he takes a step towards you, actions overtake reflection. Your hand winds back, and you bring a resounding slap across his sharp cheekbone. While your palm blooms with pain, he seems to barely react, closing the distance between the two of you after a tense beat. Before you have a chance to react again, his hands grab at your face, and his lips crash against yours in a punishing kiss.

Teeth clink together and the momentum of the kiss makes your head collide with the stone pillar behind you. He's fingers dig into your cheeks and your jaw, as he devours you completely, bringing down all your defences in one swoop. You kiss him back, almost immediately, opening your mouth to let him in, to meet his tongue halfway. It's almost grotesque, how much you hate and love this at the same time, the buzzing of the wine mixing with the sound of your racing heart, with the sound of his unabashed sounds of pleasure.

Hands flail at your sides, as you grab all you can take, pulling him even closer by the thick fabric of his tunic.

His hands however, know exactly what they want, and as he lets go of your face, they both sink down. Fingers hook into the neckline of your dress, and he tears it down, your entire body swaying with the force of his movement. Your breasts are freed for only just a moment, cold air hitting them in a way that would be uncomfortable, if they weren't immediately covered by your betrothed's large palm. He palms at your chest, as if he wants to crush it, and you bite back a whine, which threatens to spill from your abused lips.

- Don't - he growls a warning, unoccupied hand tangling itself within your hair - Sing.

And you do. As his mouth descends upon your neglected breast, where he alternates between licks and bites that make your back fly off the wall. Once again you don't know what to do with your hands, finding them entirely useless in the Harkonnen's overpowering grasp. One, grabs at his shoulder, undecided on whether to push him off, or pull him in closer. The other one scratches four lines into his skull, as he sucks on the sensitive skin under your ribs.

Finally, he detaches from you completely, standing straight and regarding you with a look so intensely ravenous, it shakes you to your core. Your exposed chest rises and falls in tandem with your heaving breaths, and you shiver, as cold air hits your skin. His gaze drinks in your dissheveled hair, the way your lips are puffy and red. A beautiful sight for his blackened eyes.

- I know who you went looking for - he starts, stalking towards you once again - Can't have that, can I?

You debate feigning confusion, outrage at such accusation, which hasn't really been uttered yet. But, as Feyd Rautha stops just short of the bottom hem of your dress, you suddenly find yourself unable to speak. Instead, as a last ditched effort to rid yourself of him, your hand extends, a half-hazard attempt at liberation. He swats it away, as one would a mere fly, before sinking to his knees in front of you.

- Lift up your dress, Viper - his voice is like thunder in your ears, and you bite your lips at the sight of his eyes, dark and surprisingly eager.

Hands move clumsily in an effort to gather all those translucent layers. You nearly trip over yourself, earning a rather nasty chuckle from below. As soon, as your legs are visible, he dives between the chiffon, his head dissapearing from sight. You can feel his lips, traveling up the expanse of your calf, giving a light bite under your knee.

Anticipation siezes your gut, and you grab onto the wall, as if that would save you. His hands grab your leg, skin incredibly warm to the touch for someone who looks so cold, and then, with forceful tugs, he starts to manouver you.

You let out an unbecoming squeak, as he yanks your leg over his shoulder. Strong hands keep you in place, and he reaches out around the upper part of your thigh to all but tear your undergarments off of your core. The force of this action makes you jump in place on your one available leg, just to hold your balance, and for a second you consider swatting at him.

That thought leaves you almost immediately after it appears, as an onslaugh of kitten licks unleashes downward. A vague, head like shape moves under your dress, the chiffon floating from place to place like a hypnotizing river. The wine must've heightened your senses to an alarming degree, because as soon as Feyd Rautha begins his ministrations, you're a mess.

It's honestly humiliating, the way you fight for any purchase on the wall behind you, as he begins to lick in earnes, parting your legs further with one hand, while the other wraps securely around your used leg. While there, he cops a feel of your behind, fingers biting into the soft flesh, and you lock your lower lip between your teeth so hard, you can taste blood on your tongue.

As if he's developed some new telepathic talents, his hand leaves your ass, in favor of winding up, and slapping it harshly. The action makes your jump in place once again, a sound stuck between outrage and glee fleeing your throat, before you have the chance to stop it. Right, "sing", you remind yourself, and immediately feel him change his tactics.

Your bundle of nerves opens new possibilities of torment, and as his lips close around the bud, you can't help the whine, escaping through your lips. The music is loud, you remind yourself. They won't hear, no one will hear. His hand pushes your dangling leg further up your shoulder, and your back arches from the stone. You will be sore as all hell after this is done, but for now, it doesn't matter. Nothing really matters, except the way your betrothed eats you out, like a man who's been starved for decades.

- Oh shit - you curse, hands flailing uselessly - Oh fuck!

All of a sudden, everything stops, and your building peak subsides into a dissatisfactory simmer. Feyd Rautha's head emerges from under the fabric, a terrible, shit-eating grin on his wet lips.

- Such language? - he teases, tongue darting out to lap at your arousal - So unbecoming of a-...

- Fucking don't stop! - there's panic in your movements, as you grab the back of his head, and shove him right under your dress again.

The laughter should be unsettling for you, but he returns to his post with twice as much motivation, and however more strength, and before you know it, your orgasm sneaks upon you. A sudden tightness in your core is all the warning you get, before the coil snaps, and your entire body starts to spasm in pleasure.

It's good. Incredibly so. You'd risk saying it's the most intense you've ever came, but never out loud, never to him. That shameful secret was between you and whatever God that was listening. Stars erupt behind your eyelids, your breathing stopping for just a moment.

And then you go deliciously limp, legs giving out completely.

To his credit, the Harkonnen catches you before you hit the floor, the arm curling around your leg proving to be an unmeasurable support. His head emerges from under the dress once again, and he lets you slide down the wall, until you're seated. He sways on the balls of his feet, still towering you, even as he crouches.

You swallow, throat slightly raw from all the noise you've done moments ago, and he follows the movements of your neck muscles with greedy eyes. Still greedy, after taking so much. Truly, he was a Harkonnen. And before you can stop yourself, a thought materializes in your brain, a treacherous little information, which would shake you to the core, if your muscles weren't currently made of taffy.

He blushes pink. Your betrothed blushes pink, from the exercise of making you cum on his tongue alone. God, what a precious sight.

He must've noticed the serene smile playing upon your lips, and his nature to ruin comes to light. His hand reaches back, and you freeze in your spot, as you recognize that damned golden steak knife. The blade shines in the dimly lit corridor, making your breathing faster, questions swimming behind your eyes. You don't really want to fight him in this state, but you fucking will, if he tries anything.

- An engagement present, for you, Viper. - he rasps, licking his reddened lips in an obscene display, which doesn't repulse you quite as much as it should.

- I have nothing to give in return - your voice is stern, and your betrothed flashes you an evil grin.

Then, he presents you the tip of the knife, golden utensil hanging between his slender fingers, and you look up at him, not understanding what is expected of you. Placing one knee on the floor, Feyd Rautha lowers himself to your eye level, for the hundredth of times surprising you with the sheer grace in his movements.

- Kiss - he whispers, into the space between the both of you.

Your eyes fall to the knife, then, to him and you take a long, deep breath. Pride, your biggest flaw, takes a deadly hit, as the man twists the knife in his fingers, looking at you expectedly. You hate him, truly and deeply, and it must be showing on your face, because he sucks in a sharp breath through his teeth, as soon as your eyes meet.

Swallowing your pride, you keep his gaze, leaning towards the blade. Your lips press delicately against the cool metal and the Harkonnen flashes you a nasty, self-satisfied smirk, before slipping the knife up his sleeve and standing up.

- I'll see you back at the feast - he gives you a small bow, and you press your lips tightly together.

- Fuck you.

- After the wedding, my Viper.

And with that, he turns around.

You're left there, on the floor, your dignity in shambles, the exertion catching up to you all at once, as if his presence alone was the only thing keeping you from feeling pain. A stupid thought, you chastize yourself, before slowly pulling yourself from the cold tiles.

It takes you a couple of shameful minutes, trying to put yourself back together again. The ridiculous headdress, which has slipped all the way down from your hair, will probably never look the same, as when your Mother has styled it, but you can't find it in yourself to care.

The music still plays, as you enter the hall, and thankfully, no one notices your arrival. No one but your betrothed, who raises his drinking cup in your direction, as if nothing had happened. His face is annoying, you conclude, and turn away, your aching legs taking you towards the center of the room, where people danced and sang in celebration of your engagement. What a lovely sight, what a lovely couple. Opposites attract, right?

Bitter, aching and humiliated, you throw yourself into the crowd, let it sway you from place to place, as you dance away this whole wretched week. The whole month-long courting rituals, which were just a bullshit attempt at torture.

It's said, that when Death comes to take your soul, you're allowed one more dance before the eternal void.

So you dance.

#my writing #dune part 2 #dune x reader #feyd rautha harkonnen #feyd rautha smut #feyd rautha x reader #feyd rautha x you #tennis ball strikes again #i would also like to thank tiktok editing community for giving me material to daydream about #im seeing this movie again on thursday totally not because i want to write the most accurate smut in the next chapter

895 notes · View notes

vampcubus · 1 year

Text

𝐊𝐍𝐘 𝐒𝐋𝐄𝐄𝐏 𝐇𝐂𝐒

a/n: i've been fussing over these for weeks just take 'em ;-;

:ఌ¨ ♱ 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐀𝐂𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐒 : inosuke, tanjiro, zenitsu, kyojuro, and tengen + wives.

:ఌ¨ ♱ 𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐓 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 : sfw, references to marriage and children.

𝐈𝐍𝐎𝐒𝐔𝐊𝐄 𝐇𝐀𝐒𝐇𝐈𝐁𝐈𝐑𝐀

— Inosuke is not used to sleeping with other people, and you can tell he’s never been cuddled either. He tenses up and wriggles away the first time you attempt to spoon him in your sleep.

“You really don’t want to cuddle, Inosuke?” you sighed dejectedly.

“Why would I?!”

You make a sad face and shuffle back to your own bedroll. With Inosuke’s usual total disregard for personal space, you’d thought he wouldn’t mind if you swooped in for a cuddle. He’s very much like a cat in that regard, he only wanted to be touched on his terms.

There’s a moment of silence before you hear grumbling and shuffling, and the next thing you know he’s pressed to your side, the fur of his mask tickling your chin as he tucks his “face” into the crook of your neck.

— Refuses to sleep any other way after that.

— He’ll act betrayed when you take naps without him when he’s readily available. “You took a nap without me?!” his heart is shattered, how could you?

— God forbid one or both of you are injured and get put in separate rooms because as soon as he wakes, he’s sneaking out to crawl into your bed with you. No amount of scolding from you or Shinobu is gonna keep him away for long.

— Tends to spoon you subconsciously, either slipping a leg between yours or wrapping it around you n holding onto you like a backpack.

— He moves around a lot in his sleep, so prepare to wake up with a foot in your face or from getting kicked. Especially if he’s having particularly engaging dreams, you may or may not be mistaken for some all-powerful beast for Inosuke to conquer in dreamland.

— Inosuke is so god damn hyper in the morning and it can be a lot, especially since he wants you to be up too so you can start a new day together. It’s hard to keep up with his enthusiasm, and sometimes you just turn over and cover your ears with a pillow to drown him out. Most times that'll get your blankets yoinked, and you’ll be beaten to death (not really) with that same pillow.

“HEY DON’T IGNORE ME! WAKE UP!”

— Though sometimes he can be soft. You’ll wake up to a strange weight on your tummy and find him sitting there, staring at you like a cat waiting for its owner to wake up. And sometimes he’ll just lay back down, covering you with his body and nuzzling his face into your neck. And if you lift a heavy hand to play idly with his hair, he might just fall back asleep again.

𝐓𝐀𝐍𝐉𝐈𝐑𝐎 𝐊𝐀𝐌𝐀𝐃𝐎

— A cuddle bug that wants nothing more than to snuggle up on the futon with you after a long night of demon slaying.

— He’s the type to scoot closer if you move away in your sleep since he will wake up if he doesn’t feel you there anymore.

— Please spoon him. You will not regret it for a moment. He runs warm and is the perfect size for cuddling! Tan sighs so happily when you pull him against you, tucking his head right beneath your chin. Your comforting scent and firm embrace lull him right to sleep.

— Alternatively, he wakes up if he smells your distress, so you’ll never be alone if you have a nightmare. You don’t have to tell him what it was about, but he does insist on staying up with you to comfort you. Even when he’s struggling to keep his eyes open, he’ll pet your head and just talk to you until you’ve calmed down enough to doze off again.

— His duties as the Sun Hashira often keep him away for long periods, and he definitely misses your presence at his side when he stops to rest. It’s simply not the same without the weight of your arm strewn over his waist or the soft sounds of your breathing. He’ll even miss your snoring. That’s why he's always eager to return, all of his worries disintegrating as you gather him in your arms and murmur sweet things to him until he nods off.

— In the summer months, he’ll understand if you don’t want to cuddle, but he’ll want to at least hold your hand.

— Settling down for the night together is a cherished ritual and he wants to be a part of it. Whether it’s taking pins or accessories out of your hair, or putting it into a protective style for sleeping, he wants to help out. He’s also damn good at giving massages and head rubs, so never be afraid to ask if you need a little more help winding down. That man lives to dote on you.

— Tanjiro rarely has the heart to wake you up early, but he makes you breakfast and leaves notes around your home if he’s gotta run somewhere. He melts into a puddle if he finds you making breakfast early in the morning, domesticity really does it for him.

𝐙𝐄𝐍𝐈𝐓𝐒𝐔 𝐀𝐆𝐀𝐓𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐀

— You’ve married a cryptid. I'm so sorry.

— Zenitsu sleepwalks as I’m sure you can imagine. You’ll wake up to him out of bed, standing ominously in the middle of the room.

“Zenitsu honey, come back to bed,” you’d murmur tiredly after the initial shock wears off. Even asleep he bends to your will, crawling back onto the futon to sidle up against you once more.

— Other times you’ll hear noises coming from the kitchen and find him making a whole meal in his goddamn sleep. Which is quite adorable, but also dangerous like pls you’re going to hurt yourself.

— The times he’s not wandering about, he’s snuggled up to you as close as he can get, face buried in your chest or neck, arms and legs wrapped around you.

— He snores if he’s on his back but it’s soft enough to sleep through.

— Giggles in his sleep if he’s having a good dream (he always says all the best ones are of you ❤︎)

— Zenitsu tends to sleep sprawled out on top of you. Oftentimes he returns from a long day of demon slaying, crawls right on top of you, and crashes for several hours.

— He’s your weighted blanket <333

— Zenitsu never wants either of you to leave the bed in the mornings. He’ll cling, whine, and plead for “five more minutes.” (but it’s always much longer than that)

— Sometimes you can coax him to release the death grip around your waist with promises of his favorite breakfast or endless kisses, other times you’ll just have to cope with being late to places.

𝐊𝐘𝐎𝐉𝐔𝐑𝐎 𝐑𝐄𝐍𝐆𝐎𝐊𝐔

— Deep sleeper!! with you anyways. As soon as he’s out, very little will wake him.

— Kyo’s definitely a cuddler! And the best suited for it too since he radiates heat like a furnace. It’s stifling during the summer months, but he truly can’t bear to be parted from you. Sleeping light or nude would be best, not like you’ll have to worry about getting cold when your husband is a literal space heater.

— He’s an absolute dream during the colder months, and you know he takes full advantage of the weather as an excuse to snuggle every second of the day.

— Mumbles in his sleep every now and then. It’s usually gibberish or a breathy chuckle, but sometimes you can discern whispers of “tasty” and bits and pieces of your name.

— Kyojuro becomes reliant on your presence to sleep over time. It happened so slowly he didn’t realize his dependency until he found himself lying wide awake and restless out in the field.

— He swore he could fall asleep anywhere before he met you but now… now he needs the sound of your soft snores next to his ear. He needs the feeling of your warm body against his. How was he supposed to sleep without someone there to hog the blanket? or crawl on top of him in the middle of the night when close just wasn’t close enough?

— Worst of all, you aren’t there to pet his hair and whisper sweet nothings to him as he wakes up — it’s those moments he wouldn’t trade for the world. You always treat him with such care, allowing yourself to be held hostage in bed until he also awoke, even when his profession meant his rest stretched on into the afternoon hours.

“The Flame Hashira lives!” you’d sing playfully as he blinks the film of sleep from his eyes, staring up at you with nothing but love and adoration. You’d lean down to kiss his lonely forehead, but not before purring your eagerly awaited utterance of “Good morning, baby.”

His eyes flutter closed as your lips brush over his forehead, grinning so widely his cheeks dimple.

“G’morning, darling flame,” he’d rasp in that rumbly morning voice that makes your cheeks feel warm. “Sorry to keep you waiting.”

— Kyojuro tends to nod off while he’s got his head resting on your lap during dates, especially if you start playing with his hair. He wakes up later to find you’ve also drifted off while sitting up, slumped forward just slightly. Your hair frames your face, the late afternoon sun casting an ethereal glow onto you.

— Napping together is quite a regular occurrence, especially when your duties tend to keep you up during the evening hours. If you’re a slayer too, your sleep schedules match up rather nicely, meaning you’ll be frequently found in a tangle of limbs somewhere.

— If you have children, you’ll often find them knocked out cold with their father. (he’s the type to fall asleep with a baby on his chest) it’s the kind of scene that puts tears in your eyes and makes you sink to your knees. It’s all too tempting to join the cuddle pile with your husband and children.

𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐆𝐄𝐍 𝐔𝐙𝐔𝐈 + 𝐖𝐈𝐕𝐄𝐒

— Tengen snores, but not as loud as Suma. The two of them are making harmonies while Makio and Hinatsuru hardly make any noise at all. Though the three of you can all agree you wouldn’t be able to sleep without the sound of your lovers’ snoring after a while.

— They all say goodnight to one another which is very adorable.

“Goodnight Suma.” “Goodnight Hina.” “Goodnight Makio.” “Goodnight Lord Tengen!!” “Goodnight Y/nnnnn~”

It’s back and forth until everyone is accounted for

— You five sleep in a tangle of limbs, but it’s the coziest cuddle pile you’ll ever sleep in. Tengen’s been married long enough not to be disturbed by shuffling or moving around since sleeping with various other people requires occasional readjusting no matter how you romanticize it.

— Suma usually demands a spot at your side so she can wrap herself around you like a koala. She does drool, but she usually looks so damned cute doing it that you don’t have the heart to move her away from your shoulder. She’s always whispering to you as everyone settles down for bed, and Makio often scolds her for giggling and keeping the others awake.

— Prepare for those two to bicker over you, oftentimes literally. They’ll hiss and argue whilst they have their arms full of you.

— Hinatsuru sings you lullabies when you just can’t seem to sleep and plays with your hair. Her fingers scratch lovingly over your scalp, smiling as your eyelids droop further under her gentle affections and ethereal voice. You always wake up with a mouthful of her hair, but it’s so worth it.

— Makio gives excellent head rubs when you have a headache, and although she may pretend that you’re a nuisance, you can tell she enjoys taking care of her partners. She’s a big spoon and likes to hold your hand while she sleeps, blushing furiously when you raise her knuckles to your lips.

— Tengen rarely manages to snag you from his wives’ clutches for a spot at your side, but when he does he wraps his entire body around you and nearly smothers you with his heat. He cutely holds things while he sleeps so expect to wake up in a headlock. And if you’re in his clutches when he goes to roll over, you’re getting rolled over as well. It’s a bit disorienting, but he soothes you with an apologetic kiss on your temple if he wakes you.

— Tengen thinks it’s endearing that you try to hold him just like he holds everyone else, even with him being so big. You don’t seem to mind his size, wrapping yourself around him like a backpack and tucking his head under your chin.

— Mornings consist of detangling and lots and lots of kisses!

8K notes · View notes

alisblackgf · 6 months

Note

okok hear me out.... yk the scene in s1 where the old guy (mr han i think) hugs hyun su and hyun su basically kills him with his monster wing thing what if reader took mr hans place and hyun su killed reader, but then reader comes back as a neohuman and they reunite in s2 (i hope this made sense pls im bad at explaining)

someone cooked here. LMAO anon you're a genius

rememberance

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: cha hyun-su x gn!reader

𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞: hurt/comfort(?)

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: you died by his hands, and he never forgave himself for it. that was until he saw you standing alive and well in front of him.

𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫’𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭��: i didn't know if i wanted to make it an established relationship or not, so that's up to you! also when i finished this i thought it was way longer than it actually was. hopefully you still enjoy it!

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: mentions of death, blood, basically anything you'd see in sweet home

"it's not your fault."

your voice echoed in his mind continuously. part of him wishes he could forget, the other part of him wishes it'd stay forever.

he remembered the way your arms wrapped around him, even when your skin was pierced by his wing.

"it's not your fault," you whispered, your grasp slightly loosening due to your injuries. you could feel yourself slipping away.

you used your final breaths to reassure him, relief taking over your features when his wing turned back into his arm, and the pure blackness of his eyes returned to the eyes you'd stare into with adoration.

once he fully processed the situation, he held you tightly and cried into you. you held him back for as long as you could, and once he felt your arms let him go, he cried harder.

he remembered how your lifeless body felt. the weight of you was still there, but everything else that made you you was gone.

it had been a year since it happened. he thought it'd get better with time, but it hadn't. he catches himself thinking about you more often than he should, but he can't—he won't—let himself forget you.

he didn't think that his determination to keep your memory alive would lead to hallucinations of you. was he hallucinating?

eun-yu stood next to him, and upon seeing you, she ran up to you and hugged you. you hugged her back and gave her a soft smile. she pulled away, and your gaze landed on him.

he definitely wasn't hallucinating.

he looked different than when you last saw him. his hair grew out a bit more, and you observed his shirt.

it looked cut up, and you could only assume it was from his wing. the same one that "killed" you. you winced at the memory, convinced you could almost feel the tears in your skin again.

you had changed, too, though. your hair was different, more suitable to the outbreak of monsters, and your choice of clothing was, too. it's not something he expected you to wear, but it looked good on you.

he walked towards you and you stood before him, unmoving, just as shocked as he was.

"hyun-su?" you reached out to touch his face, and once he felt your touch, he gave a shaky sigh and tears began to fall.

you wiped his tears and gently shushed him, pulling him into an embrace. he buried his face into your neck, mumbling apologies.

"i'm sorry," he cried into you, just like he did when your pierced skin leaked blood onto him.

"i know. it wasn't your fault." you held him tight, expressing that your grasp wouldn't falter this time, and you let him stay in your arms as long as he needed to, because this time, you weren't going anywhere.

#zackyrie writes #sweet home #sweet home x reader #sweet home 2 #sweet home season 2 #cha hyun su #cha hyun su x reader #cha hyun su imagine #cha hyun soo #cha hyun soo x reader

1K notes · View notes

frantic-fiction · 4 months

Text

I'll Find My Way Back to You

(Can't find source of pic if it's yours let me know)

Astarion x GN!Reader

Prompt: A century after Tav passes Astarion comes across an artist who is oddly familiar and paints moments that seemed to be pulled straight from Astarion's life.

Thank you to @justporo for letting me use their idea. Go show them some love.

Warnings: Tav's death, brief mention of s*icide, angst with a happy ending

Word Count: 4.6k (Oops kinda went overboard)

Masterlist

“There’s no world I wish to live in without you,”

“My dear Astarion, we will find our way back to each other. This is not the end.”

Over a century has passed—a long, lonely century without Tav by his side. Astarion doesn’t understand how he’s endured, not with the void in his chest that appeared the moment he laid them to rest. The absence of his person, his love, his Tav, has left Astarion once again alone.

For nearly a decade, he found himself trapped in a state of near-catatonia, a prisoner of time within their empty home. He wasted away, the days blending into one another, each marked by a silent ache in his chest—the void left by Tav’s departure. Tears soaked into the earth of the carefully tended grave, adorned with vibrant flowers from Tav’s garden. He often contemplated surrendering to the sun’s embrace, letting its rays turn his existence to ash for a semblance of peace.

He yearned to end the pain, yet he refrained. He made a promise whispered with heavy hearts and painful sobs—a promise that forced them to confront the harsh reality that Tav would always leave first. Instead of embracing the end, Astarion wasted away, a ghost of his former self, yearning for the return of his love. Change arrived when Tav visited him in a dream; the details were blurry, but Tav’s beautiful smile was etched in memory. The sweet words in that dream eluded him, yet upon waking, a faint lightness settled within him. Astarion graced the night with a flicker of energy for the first time since Tav’s passing.

Tav would have wished for him to move on. They would have wanted him to live. The stagnant life he clung to wasn’t what Tav would want for him. So that day, Astarion gathered his essentials into a bag and set forth as soon as the sun dipped below the horizon. Only momentarily stopping to bid his love a final, tearful farewell. Since that moment, he hasn’t stopped moving.

Astarion believed Tav would take pride in the life he’s built—the good he’s accomplished over the many years. He traversed all over Faerun, from Waterdeep to Skull Crag, never lingering in one place for too long. He wasn’t the hero Tav was, but he aided towns against monsters, dispatched goblins, and took odd jobs to help however he could. Throughout his travels, he dedicated most of his time to sharing stories of Tav, ensuring their memory lived on. When he first heard the bards’ songs recounting the Hero of Baldur’s Gate, he knew he had succeeded. Now, you can’t sit in a tavern without hearing tales and melodies about Tav.

Every day, he longed for Tav to be by his side. He yearned to feel their soft skin, experience their tender kisses, and sense their warm arms encircling his waist—the echo of their laughter dancing in his ears. He missed every aspect of Tav and would do anything to see them again. Yet, the world ran out of miracles for him. Instead, he learned with time to cope, to come to terms with their absence, and keep them close to his heart.

***

Astarion traverses the dusty cobblestone of Wyrm’s Crossing and finds himself back in the heart of Baldur’s Gate—a city he’s consciously avoided for most of the century. It’s a place drenched in memories from his past life with Cazador, but mostly, the streets seem to be haunted by the presence of Tav.

His return to Baldur’s Gate remains shrouded in mystery. All he can discern is that he awoke one day in Daggerford, gripped by an inexplicable yearning to revisit the city. A compelling force tugging him down the Sword Coast, Astarion initially dismissed it as mere homesickness, scoffing at the notion. Yet, the persistent thought lingered, infesting his mind until he could no longer ignore the instinct to return.

The city remains strikingly unaltered despite the passage of time and the trials it endured. The same piss-stained cobblestone, alleyways cluttered with remnants of urban life, and a diverse array of inhabitants navigating the night. It’s an unsettling constant, especially juxtaposed against the transformation of Astarion’s existence.

Wandering through the back alleys and side streets, Astarion meanders aimlessly. Occasionally, a sight triggers memories, evoking a lump in his throat. The Elfsong Tavern, once familiar, now bears a different name and identity, a formal establishment concealing the echoes of nights spent in Tav’s comforting embrace. Bloomride Park, the graveyard, and the docks—all weave together, painting a vivid tapestry of Tav’s omnipresence.

Amidst the tumult of emotions, Astarion grapples with why he subjected himself to this emotional turmoil. The urge to retreat, to flee Baldur’s Gate before the dawn breaks, lingers within him. Yet, the itch persists, buried deep within his bones, propelling him forward. He silently promises himself the night to wander the city, and by this time tomorrow, he will be on his way to another town for another adventure.

Venturing into a dim, isolated street, Astarion observes a solitary lamplight spilling its soft glow from a store window. Peering through, he discovers a small art studio. Within, a graceful elf seems to dance with a paintbrush, each stroke deliberate yet flowing. Like a harpie song, Astarion is mesmerized and utterly captivated. He watches on silently, observing the elves happily consumed with their work. It gives him a wave of nostalgia, moments of watching Tav as they painted, unaware he was watching from the door. Astarion could almost hear the sweet hums that filled the room between brush strokes.

Then he freezes, gaze snapping to the paintings that adorn the studio, scattered reflections of his life. Images of Karlach, Shadowheart, and all the others grace the space. However, it’s the depictions of himself that seize his breath. Compelled by an unseen force, Astarion walks right into the studio. In a far corner, he sees an intimate portrayal—an embrace that resonates with familiarity.

The bell rings, and you break from your artistic trance. Startled, you look up, and there stands the pale elf in the doorway—the hero of Baldur’s Gate, Astarion—the man who has clouded your dreams for as long as memory serves. Startled, you look up, and there stands a pale elf in the doorway—the hero of Baldur’s Gate, Astarion—the man who has clouded your dreams for as long as memory serves.

The dreams began as mere fragments—white curls, sharp teeth, delicate hands. Gradually, they evolved into more vivid scenes—muffled conversations by a campfire, laughter and gentle shoves, and stolen kisses between bed sheets—private moments of a stranger, a byproduct of an active imagination intertwined with an elven crush. Or at least that was what your mother would say. Now, the subject of those dreams stands before you.

Astarion, surrounded by the art that mirrors his life, fixates on a miniature portrait. The details are hazy, yet he recalls the campfire, the desperation in his gaze, and a significant confession followed by an embrace.

You pick up a fallen brush with a trembling hand, placing it in a water cup. Asterion was just as breathtakingly beautiful as your dream portrayed, but to see him in person has your heart hammering in your chest and your breath quickening with nerves. Wiping paint-covered hands on your smock, you took a deep breath and gathered the courage to approach Astarion.

Staring at the portrait, you utter quietly, “This one’s my favorite. Though I wish I could have captured the others’ images better.”

“Tav.”

“I’m sorry?”

“The person you painted. My partner Tav, they used to paint too,” Astarion’s voice carries the weight of unspoken emotions.

“Oh, yes. They were the leader of your group, if I remember correctly. I’m sorry for your loss.”

Astarion remains silent, the canvas now a source of unbearable memories. He moves through the studio, examining the art up close. It’s weird to have your muse perusing around your gallery. It’s embarrassing to have Astarion see just how many pieces have been dedicated to him. What do you do at this point? Should you follow him, tell him about each piece and the dreams behind them? No, that seems pretentious, so you retreat to the canvas you’ve been working on for the better part of the week.

This piece was different—a symbol rather than a person or scene. Rings of unknown runes fan out in jagged edges, evoking a sense of beauty tinged with profound sadness. It disturbed you to your core, but you needed to paint it. It’s how it always goes. Once a dream pops into your head, whether it’s a scene, a person, or a symbol, it refuses to leave until you’ve laid it on a canvas. Picking up the brush, you dip it back into the red paint and continue to bolden the lines.

“Who are you?” Astarion’s voice is right behind you; you jump, knocking a pot of paint over. Cursing softly, you quickly right the pot, attempting to salvage the spilled paint. Paint isn’t cheap, and in your non-upper-class circumstances, every drop is precious.

“Oh, I’m sorry; I have been very rude,” you offer your name. “I, of course, already know you, Astarion. It’s hard not to come across the tales of the heroes of Baldur’s Gate, but I guess—” Your rambling trails off pathetically as something changes in Astarion. There’s tension in his shoulders, a coldness in his eyes. Nibbling on your bottom lip, you nervously play with a loose thread on the smock.

Astarion scrutinizes you with a piercing gaze, his eyes lingering on your face as if searching for hidden truths. The air becomes taut, charged with an almost palpable intensity. Then, as if propelled by an unseen force, he reacts like a tightly wound rubber band snapping. Reaching out, he harshly pulls you to him, bearing his teeth at you. Your stomach drops, shocked by the aggression.

“Have you been following me? Stalking me?” His voice carries a storm of anger, his grip on your shoulders unyielding, the coldness of his touch akin to ice piercing through the fabric of your being. “Don’t lie to me because I’ve shown one person that fucking scar, and I buried them.”

Your heart races, fear coursing through your veins as you whimper a response, tears welling up in your eyes. “I-I don’t know, I’m sorry,”

“Don’t lie!”

“Please, I’m so, so sorry. I don’t know; I have dreams; I don’t know why, b-but I dream of you,” your voice falters, and your vulnerability is laid bare. “I dream of you, your friends, and places I’ve never been. I’m sorry, I’ll stop, I promise.”

As abruptly as his hands seized you, they vanished, leaving you stumbling to your knees, unable to contain the torrent of tears streaming down your face. Curling in on yourself, you can’t stop the cries of apologies and promises of never picking up a brush again, of burning every last piece in the room.

Astarion looks down at you, his expression shifting from anger to a complex amalgamation of horror and something else—perhaps realization. Stepping away, he leaves you rooted to the spot. Your gaze fixed blankly out the window. Odd and conflicting emotions swirl within you—fear, confusion, longing?—all clashing fiercely. Amidst the tumult, one thought emerges with undeniable clarity—this won’t be the last time you see Astarion.

Astarion’s breaths come in ragged gasps as he runs through the barren streets, escaping the grasp of the haunting memories that threaten to consume him. His thoughts are a raging storm, and he pays no heed to the bewildered faces of those he rudely pushes past. The town of Rivington is a blur as he sprints through it, a desperate escape, picking a direction and refusing to stop until his body aches, halting only when the sun begins its ascent above the horizon.

In his frantic need to run, there was no consideration for shelter from the sun’s relentless rays. Mercifully, he stumbles upon an abandoned cave. Dry, dusty, and shrouded in darkness, it becomes his refuge. In a corner, he sinks slowly against the cool, rough wall to the ground, seeking solace in the obscurity.

Astarion pulls his knee to his chest, pressing his forehead against his crossed arms. Shaking and shivering, a stark contrast to the bitter summer heat enveloping the cave, he clings to his vulnerability. Eyes shut tight, jaw clenched, fingernails dig deep into his arms as if attempting to anchor himself in the reality that threatens to crumble around him.

Desperation claws at him, and he yearns for Tav. The desire to feel Tav’s warm embrace, hands crossing over his chest, pulling him close, torments him. He longs for the soft whispers of love and the gentle press of lips. Astarion can’t navigate this without Tav. He’s a mess, barely holding on, living each agonizing day, acutely aware that the best part of him is gone, and he can do nothing to reclaim it.

The cruelty of encountering such intimate moments from his past life with Tav wounds him deeply. These were moments meant for him and Tav alone. Realizing that a stranger could capture those cherished memories intended for one person alone turns his stomach.

Anger becomes a conduit for his overwhelming emotions, and the terrified look on the artist’s face is etched in his mind, an indelible scar on his conscience. Shame burns within him, a searing reminder of the boundaries he violated. Physically assaulting someone in their own space—what would Tav think of him now?

The artist adds another layer to Astarion’s confusion. The familiarity is uncanny—the excited calf raises, the almost-stumbles afterward, the nervous lip biting, puffed cheeks during deep concentration, and the mindless dancing when no one is watching. Every little thing the artist did mirrored Tav, and with all his memories physically displayed, Asterion finds himself lost in a sea of confusion. Why does this stranger resemble his love so deeply?

The bards’ tales of soulmates and reincarnation, once dismissed as mere children’s stories and fiction, now claw at the edges of Astarion’s consciousness. What if? What if Tav found their way back to him? Weirder things have happened in his long life, and the possibility plants a seed of hope within him.

Yet, he forcefully suppresses that hope. It won’t serve him, not now. Instead, he resolves to learn more. By nightfall, he returns to the city, catching the first boat to Waterdeep. After a day and some change, he stands outside the Wizards’ tower, resentment simmering as he contemplates turning to Gale, his best chance at answers.

A groan escapes Astarion as he hangs his head, and a series of knocks echo on the thick wooden door. “This better be worth it…”

The door swings open on its own into a dimly lit foyer. Astarion follows a familiar path, the cool air and faint scent of ancient tomes embracing him. He ascends the staircase with nostalgia and reluctance, each step echoing the countless times Tav and himself sought knowledge and assistance within these walls.

As he pushes open the study door, a scene unfolds before him. Gale is hunched over a worn scroll, graying hair ruffled, and a small pair of reading glasses set on the tip of his nose. The room is bathed in the soft glow of candlelight, creating an intimate ambiance. Notes adorn the margins, evidence of Gale’s ceaseless quest for understanding.

Gale looks up, a broad, warm smile gracing his features, and Astarion is momentarily transported back to the times when this sage was only a joke he poked fun at across camp. Removing his reading glasses, Gale pushes up from his desk, an air of welcoming familiarity enveloping the room.

“Well, look who the tressym dragged in. How are you, Astarion?”

Astarion stiffens as he is pulled into a spontaneous hug by Gale. The embrace is both unexpected and oddly comforting, a physical manifestation of the genuine camaraderie they’ve shared through the years. Astarion, unaccustomed to such displays of affection, awkwardly pats Gale’s back before gently pulling away.

“I’m afraid I’ve been better.”

Gale’s eyes convey concern and understanding as he gestures for Astarion to sit. The worn chair creaks under the weight of memories and the weightier burden of Astarion’s troubled soul.

“Then sit down, my friend, and tell me how I can help.”

***

Days of tireless research and a network of favors exchanged between magical acquaintances have led them to a glimmer of hope. Though not expansive, the discovery hints at the possibility that souls entwined so tightly may have a magnetic pull toward each other. A pull is so strong that souls can find each other in different lifetimes. Tales have described soulmates experiencing memories from previous lifetimes together, but they were vague at best. The specific remains elusive, shrouded in mystery, yet it’s enough to kindle a spark of hope within Astarion’s lonely heart.

Gale, ever the bore, offers a gentle reminder, “Now, just remember, if you try to force feelings before—”

“I would never!” Astarion’s retort carries a venomous edge, an unspoken warning to watch his following words carefully. Gale raises his hands in defense.

“My point is the brain is a prickly thing. It’s best not to rush anything it’s not ready for.”

“Yes, yes, you have said this five times already. Would you please activate the portal? I have an apology to make.”

Anticipation hums in the air, a palpable energy that courses through Astarion. A fleeting smile graces his lips, and for a moment, the weight of his grief is replaced by a glimmer of life.

Looking at Astarion with a fondness born of shared trials, Gale responds, “Of course, Astarion.”

With a confident shake of his wrist, he activates the magical circle, and the room is bathed in a radiant glow of bright runes, their purple luminescence dancing in the semi-darkness.

Astarion steps toward the portal, his heart pulsating with trepidation and newfound hope. However, before crossing the threshold, he turns around to face Gale, clapping him on the shoulder.

“Thank you, Gale. I will not forget this.”

“It was my pleasure. Now, I expect to meet this lovely artist sooner rather than later.” Gale’s parting words hang in the air, infused with the hope of rekindling a connection beyond the realms of understanding.

Back in the heart of Baldur’s Gate, Astarion swiftly navigated the bustling streets, an air of anticipation accompanying him. His purpose was clear—to reach your studio and beg for your forgiveness. A brief pause along the way allowed him to acquire a small bundle of daisies, a spontaneous choice fueled by the memory of Tav’s fondness for these delicate blooms.

As Astarion approached the studio, a surge of uncertainty clawed at him. Hesitation gripped his every step, the shadow of fear etched across his features. The fear in your eyes during the last encounter was seared into his memory. Had his previous outburst irreparably damaged any chance of reconciliation? The conflicting forces of his desire to see you again and the instinct to flee wrestled within him. Yet, he pressed forward, forcing himself down the street, and there you stood.

The scene that greeted him was a chaotic masterpiece of colors. Paint adorned your cheeks and arms, a testament to the artistic fervor that consumed you. Your hair, a cascade of untamed strands, framed a face that mirrored both exhaustion and creative passion. Astarion had a sudden urge to brush the strands away and press a soft kiss to your cheek, something he often did with Tav.

Your weariness was palpable—shoulders slumped, eyes half-lidded. Perhaps, he pondered, he should postpone this encounter, allowing you the reprieve of rest. The realization that he might be the last person you wanted to see compelled Astarion to take a step back, an unspoken retreat.

But just as he moved to leave, your eyes jumped up to meet his, you froze mid-stroke, and Astarion couldn’t read your expression. He should go. Why did he think this was a good idea? He’s just about to run when you nod for him to come in. Obliging, Astarion found himself standing awkwardly within the studio; you went back to painting. Your brush danced across the canvas, applying a vibrant shade of blue in deliberate strokes. Astarion’s attempts to break the silence faltered, his words dissolving into the room’s stillness.

“What are you doing here, Astarion?” The steadiness in your voice pierced the calm. You tried to hold on to your anger for the man all week. But upon seeing him standing so lost on the street had your resolve crumbling. You can’t deny the mild excitement that fluttered through your veins upon seeing him again.

His voice, momentarily lost, found its way back. “I-I came here to apologize for last week. My behavior was deplorable, and I wish to make things right.”

A wry amusement flickered in your eyes as you evaluated the bouquet, now slightly worse for wear under his tight grip. “And you believe a bundle of broken daisies would win you my forgiveness?”

Astarion, caught off guard, looked down at the bruised bouquet. “Um…well, I was hoping for roses, but they were fresh out.”

A snort escaped you as you put down your paintbrush and approached him. A tentative touch on his forearm transferred the flowers from his grasp to yours, eliciting a shiver down his spine. The longing to reach out is strong, but Astarion holds still as you retreat.

Intently studying the daisies, you began to divide the bundle into two piles. Astarion watched silently, recognizing echoes of Tav’s essence reflected in your actions. While understanding that you were not Tav, the profound sorrow gripping his heart seemed to ease in your presence.

“Half,” you declared suddenly.

“Pardon?”

“Half of the daisies survived.”

“And where does that leave us?”

With a theatrical flair, you pondered the question, pacing the room. “That, good sir, is the question. What is my forgiveness worth? I did luck out; daisies are my favorite, so you’re a step farther than roses would have gotten you.”

Astarion, grasping the playful undertone, decided to play along. With a hand on his hips and a wicked smirk, he responded, “Well, I am a pretty lucky man. Now, please, I beg, what more can I do to gain your forgiveness?”

You hummed softly, tapping your chin. You keep Astarion in suspense for a moment before you suddenly turn to the man. “How about…I get dressed, you take me out to dinner, and we’ll go from there?”

“Okay.”

“Okay.” The agreement hung in the air, a hope for something more lingering.

***

The dinner evolved into an evening stroll, a seamless transition from pleasant chatter to playful banter. It was an unexpected evening, but the time spent with Astarion was so easy, so familiar you didn’t want it to end. Reading about the saviors of Baldur’s Gate was intriguing, and dreaming of a vampiric elf held its allure, but nothing compared to the tangible presence of the real Astarion.

Astarion embodied the epitome of perfection – handsome, intelligent, and endowed with a wit that had you giggling all night. He was the quintessential gentleman, the embodiment of every mother’s hopeful wish for their child.

What started as a single date quickly snowballed into a series of enchanting encounters – one date led to two, then five, until you found yourself drawn into his orbit every week. The pace was exhilarating, and being around Astarion felt like being charged with an electric current. It was not just addictive; it was a whirlwind of happiness, and you couldn’t help but revel in it.

If one indulged in whimsical tales, the idea that Astarion might be your soulmate would have crossed your mind. His ability to read you so intimately sometimes felt like he delved into the depths of your mind.

The dreams persisted, evolving into a kaleidoscope of memories that intertwined your moments with Astarion and a phantom era where someone else shared his company. Astarion, at times, would cast glances at you as you transferred another dream to canvas, an anticipation lingering in his eyes. Despite his attempts, he couldn’t veil the disappointment when the visions resulted in nothing more than another painting adorning the wall.

Then, it occurred on a serene spring day, three years since Astarion first entered your studio. The sun had yet to set, and you found solace curled up with Astarion. Limbs tangled, chests pressed together, hands intertwined – a tableau of intimate connection. His cold nose nestled against the crook of your neck, his white curls playfully tickling your nose.

Behind your closed eyelids, soft images of a forest clearing unfolded – Astarion shirtless, beckoning you towards him. Something clicked, and suddenly, the foreign memories that greeted you each night became a mosaic of your own experiences. The floodgates opened, overwhelming you with a lifetime of moments – kisses beneath the stars, laughter resonating around a campfire, and heart-stopping close calls with death.

Astarion often spoke of Tav, a robust and kind soul who played a pivotal role in shaping him. He wouldn’t be who he is today without them. You now knew a bit better; yes, you had nudged him along the way, but his growth was his own, and you couldn’t be more proud. To think of the years he spent without you, the grief he must have had to push through. If the roles were reversed, you don’t believe you would have been strong enough to keep going.

Startled from his slumber, Astarion found your body descending upon his, your hand meeting his chest with firm slaps. “Stop you, little gremlin.” Groggily, he attempted to restrain you in a tender embrace. He was met with your swift departure from his lap. He heard the patter of your feet retreating from the bed.

“You are a bastard, Astarion!”

Fully alert and by your side instantly, “What did I do, my sweet?”

Worry etched into every crease of his face as he cupped your jaw, looking frantically into your eyes. You intertwined your fingers with his, your other hand reaching out to caress the skin of his hip. “Why didn’t you tell me?” Your voice is barely above a whisper.

Astarion scrutinized your face, his eyes delving deep into yours. The faintest furrow of his brows betrayed his thoughts. As if following an unspoken script, he pulled you in by the waist, foreheads gently meeting.

Glistening with unshed tears, Astarion whispered, “You remember?” His voice trembled.

“Yes… maybe it’s all still tangled. But yes, I remember Tav – well, I remember us.”

Astarion’s smile widened, his fangs peeking out, and his lips met yours in a heated kiss spinning the two of you around the room. It was a slow dance of lips as if Astarion had all the time in the cosmos to savor this moment. While you could quickly lose yourself in the embrace, you were privy to all his subtle tricks. You turned your face when he attempted to draw you back into the kiss.

“Gods, Astarion, for three years, you knew and never said anything. I’ve painted you for almost as long as I could wield a brush, and for three years, you knew why!” Another slap graced his chest, and tears trickled down your cheeks, eagerly wiped away by his thumbs.

“I wanted to, my love. The moment I realized I wanted to. But this couldn’t be rushed; you can’t rush the mind.”

“Star, I’m so sorry I took so long,”

“No, stop; you took as long as you needed to return to me.” His forehead rests against yours once more, and the room stands still for a moment. “What matters is you’re here, in my arms, and I’m not letting go anytime soon.”

A choked sob mingled with a chuckle, and you nuzzled closer into Astarion, hiding your face into his neck. “Gods, I love you, Astarion.”

“And I love you.”

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

Okay loves, let me know what you think. I've been working on this for over a week and still find some sections I'm not all that happy with, but I want to move on to other pieces. Any and every interaction makes my day.

Taglist: heartfully10, ayselluna

#astarion x reader #astarion x tav #bg3 #reader insert #astarion imagine #bg3 astarion #astarion ancunin #astarion #fanfic #writing #soulmates #soulmate au #reincarnation #frantic fiction

996 notes · View notes

frostbitebakery · 2 months

Text

LOUD.

“It’s a,” and here Cody bites his lips, scratches the side of his nose.

“A?” Obi-Wan prompts gently. Keldabe Kiss doesn’t, objectively, sound too dirty. What’s in a name etc. but when Cody had said, if Obi-Wan is game, they could try something, Obi-Wan had kept his expectations open.

“It’s a headbutt,” Cody wrings out of himself after another few seconds.

On the list of things Obi-Wan had, after all, expected to some degree, this isn’t one of them. He keeps silent. “You want to give me a concussion?” He’s great at being silent, turns out. “Or vice versa?”

Cody is already shaking his head, foot gently shoving his helmet further away from them. “No! It’s a sign of affection…”

Only in the Mandalorian culture, Obi-Wan thinks fondly. “Explain it to me,” he signs, eyes crinkling despite himself.

Cody huffs, leans back against the wall behind his bunk. Most of his armor is stacked on its stand. The helmet on the floor near them because Cody had been fiddling with the antennas when he’d gripped it with both hands, stared at the visor, and asked if Obi-Wan knew what a Keldabe Kiss was.

Obi-Wan sits cross-legged in front of him, restless fingers playing with the starched to death blanket. The mask is on and he wishes it weren’t. The last engagement had knocked the air right out of his lungs when a Hyena-class suddenly dropped down on them and delivered proton bombs on mass. He ended up gasping and on his back after the action was over, so for now the mask stays on.

Cody adjusts the hem on the t-shirt he’s wearing, the bandage no longer peeking out when he’s done. “I’m stalling.”

“I noticed,” Obi-Wan signs back, knocks his shin against Cody’s and lets it rest there.

“Growing up,” Cody begins after a few long moments where he’s watched their legs touch, “we’d sometimes see the Template put his forehead against Boba’s. Gently,” he adds, crooked smile for Obi-Wan’s concussion related fears. His voice turns wistful and Obi-Wan’s heart aches. “We didn’t— most of us didn’t want to be in his place. The Template hadn’t been popular with the clones long before he rejected us. But something about that gesture…”

The gentleness of it in contrast to the cold, neutral environment they’d been growing up in. The obvious affection of it had been calling them. One of the trainers had let it drop what it was named. And over time they had been able to put together a definition.

“You headbutt your enemy to get out of close quarters engagement,” Cody explains. “You have to be aware how you hit them so you don’t injure yourself while inflicting the maximum amount of damage to your opponent.”

“Is that why your nose is a bit,” Obi-Wan signs, pointing at the crook of his own nose just above the mask.

“Wolffe’s head is harder than his bucket,” Cody mutters, thumb stroking over Obi-Wan’s ankle absently.

The other definition, the one the clones had mostly embraced, the one that brought warmth and solidarity into their midst when no one else provided it, that one was based on affection. Clacking your helmets together after the heat of a battle, a job well done. Bringing your foreheads together to be there, to mourn together, to show the other isn’t alone. To remind the other they’re loved.

“It’s also a proxy for a kiss,” Cody explains, color high in his cheeks which makes Obi-Wan’s heart squirm in his chest. They’ve had sex a few possible and impossible ways and yet Cody is blushing over explaining a kiss. It’s sweet and touching and— “You can’t kiss when you wear buckets,” Cody says, “and sometimes you can’t kiss at all for various reasons. So it’s— it’s a kiss by proxy,” he ends, shrugging helplessly and aborted.

Obi-Wan waits as the question builds up inside Cody, firming the strokes of his thumb, the determination in his spine. He waits while Cody is stealing his breath.

“Can I kiss you?”

#loud au #codywan #commander cody #obi wan kenobi #mute!obi wan #jedi shadow!obi wan #cyberpunk au

566 notes · View notes

fioiswriting · 7 months

Text

Reunion | oneshot

Summary : After the Battle Above the Gods Eye, Daemon returned victorious. Aemond was presumed dead, though his body was never found. Three years later, you've mourned your former husband and are ready to move on. But it seems that some ghosts from your past have come back to haunt you, and that the dead aren't really dead after all...

[Part 2]

Rating : Explicit 18+, MDNI

Pairing : Aemond x Velaryon/Strong!niece!Reader, implied Cregan Stark x Reader (you can interpret them as lovers or not). Reader is Rhaenyra and Harwin’s daughter so I imagined her with dark hair like Jace, Luke and Joffrey but feel free to imagine her as you want of course <3

TW : unprotected sex, breeding kink, mention of characters death, angst, possessiveness, p in v sex, oral m receiving, praising kink, dom/sub undertones, mention of war, AU where the Blacks won the war, Alys Rivers (but no cheating), Reader has a child, grief, light choking, not proofread.

Words count : 7600

Author's notes : Hi everyone !! Sooo I’m posting my first ever fanfic on here, my first x reader and my first fanfic for Aemond. I’m very anxious haha But well, this fanfic is heavily inspired by a RP that has been going on for months with my wonderful gf <3 She writes Aemond so well I swear and now she’s making me fall in love with Cregan too haha oops whatever. Some of Aemond’s lines in this fanfic are hers so of course the credits go to her 💕 Long story short the reader’s backstory is inspired by my OC! The plot doesn't make any sense but whatever

Also English is not my first language, so sorry for the grammar mistakes !!

Enjoy 🖤

I don't know what I'm supposed to do Haunted by the ghost of you Oh, take me back to the night we met The night we met - Lord Huron

The snow had covered the landscape of Winterfell in a thin white layer so similar to ash, and the image tugged at your heart for a moment. Ashes. Fire. War. It was strange, the stillness that had followed the fury of screams and blood, of fire and ash, the constant anguish and pain of loss. It was like a long howl and then sudden silence. Life had resumed its course, the earth and the grass nurtured in red, as if nothing had happened, and that still irritated you sometimes, three years later.

For this peacefulness was a constant reminder of your life before. Before the war, before your own family ripped itself apart from within, before you lost him. There was something bitter in the thought that, in an alternate reality, you would have been happy with him by your side. The night brought its share of sweet dreams, lulled by the embrace of his arms, and you closed your eyes with ease, hoping to see his face again, which was fading day by day, desperately clinging to the details that made him.

It had been the best solution, you knew.

For there was no reality in which he could live as much as you wished for. And you had accepted your duty by straightening your shoulders, silencing your heart, digging your thumbnail into the inside of your wrist. Your stepfather had said he was dead; he had seen Vhaegar fall from the sky, wounded. He had seen the huge dragon crash into the water with all its weight. He had waited, and no silver hair had returned to the surface. He had searched and no body had been found.

So, he had returned, triumphant, with the conclusion that Aemond Targaryen was dead.

The room had swayed around you, but your fingers on the hard, rough wood of the table had kept you grounded. You had nodded, unsure, your ears ringing, your teeth sinking into the flesh of your tongue to hold back the tears that were beading at the edges of your eyes.

You knew it was inevitable, perhaps even fair. But it still hurt. It sill fucking hurt.

Daemon had reassured you by pointing out that you were now released from your marital obligation. A marriage to him that you had hoped for, waited for, dreamed of in your younger years. A marriage you had despised, once forced into, once made captive, a prisoner to be used against your own mother. And then a marriage that you had loved, cherished even, when he had opened up to you, when he had changed, when he had revealed that soft side despite his rough edges. And you loved him, truly. The childhood love, the shy love that had blossomed between laughter muffled behind the curtains, hand-in-hand runs through the Red Keep and reading session hidden under the library table, had been rekindled. Raw, devouring, bruised by war, but more powerful than ever.

Out of the corner of your eye you had caught a glimpse of the comforting gaze of your mother, the Queen, her gentle eyes searching for clues that would betray what you were feeling. It was she who had stroked your hair that evening, her presence welcome and soothing.

During the war, events had made you more uncertain than ever; blood and cheese had broken something in you. Suddenly shaken by the horrific actions of someone you hardly recognised, by the actions of your own family and the father figure who had raised you as his own daughter. You questioned your loyalties more than ever. Of course, you'd been devastated by Luke's death, your beloved little brother, so innocent, so sweet, and the despair you'd felt, the sadness, had gradually turned to anger.

Your desire for revenge had fed on your rage, on your anger.

And in your quest for revenge, you had grabbed the dagger hidden in your bodice when you had kissed him, when you had poisoned him with your lips and your body pressed against his. Perhaps it was cowardice to do it on your wedding night, right after the pitiful ceremony in which you had been forced to exchange your vows of fidelity, the humiliation of the white, blue, red and green cloak around your shoulders. Perhaps it was cowardice to wait for him to surrender to your touch, hard with desire, before plunging the blade straight into his heart.

But you didn't do it, in the end, the humiliation of your failure burning in your cheeks, and you had seen the horrible reality in the icy eye fixed on you: he was expecting it. He knew. He had anticipated you, as usual, one step ahead of you, ahead of your plans. And the humiliation was all the more bitter.

First he had defied you, knowing full well that you couldn't do it, despite your momentary hesitation. Then he had wiped away your tears, the sound of metal echoing off the floor as he captured your lips with his own.

And both you and he had sought to release the accumulated tension in the comfort of your naked bodies, in the rough, demanding thrusts.

You weren't quite sure when your relationship had changed. When he had become more forgiving. When he had trusted you. When he had become gentle. When you had felt him slipping away, subtly, almost imperceptibly. When you had begun to seek comfort in his arms, to seek the warmth of his body, to seek his love on his lips.

You loved him.

So you spent the nights lying awake in fear. Fearing the moment when you would have to make a choice. Fearing the moment when you would have to betray.

Which side would you choose when both armies were coming towards you, carrying the same flags, the same weapons, both calling your name?

Anxiety had spread its roots in the pit of your stomach, crescent moons in the palms of your hands. You felt as if you were losing your mind.

But the choice had been forced upon you without you having to make it. You had accepted it, as your duty demanded, as your loyalty to your family demanded.

Life at Winterfell wasn't so bad, quite the opposite in fact, despite the cold and snow you weren't used to. Cregan Stark was a good man. He had given you time and space to grieve, and had opened the castle gates to you with kindness. You had decided that you could get used to the cold and the snow, to the stone and the rustic wood, so different from the refineries of the capital, but infinitely warmer.

It was your choice, your departure for Winterfell. Dragonstone was still haunted by the ghost of Luke, by the ghosts of Joffrey and little Aegon and Viserys and Rhaenys and all the family members you had lost. King's Landing was haunted, too. By your sweet aunt and her cries of despair, by Aegon's descent into madness, by the humiliations you had so gracefully endured, by the recurring announcements of deaths, by the smell of the innocents’ blood, by the pitiful looks of Alicent, who had seen in you the image of herself a few years earlier, powerless and manipulated.

But above all, it was haunted by him.

The weight of the memories had become unbearable and you needed to leave.

You chose Winterfell, hoping the cold would help you forget. And Jace had come with you, his thumb caressing the back of your hand with affection, always the protective, reassuring big brother he was to you. Probably glad to see his friend again, too. Your friend, to both of you.

But forgetting was something you'd never really been able to do, even less with the last memory he'd left you.

Now, just over three years later, you felt ready to return to King's Landing to visit your parents, to face the demons of your past and to mourn once and for all. It was inexplicable, perhaps a little strange, but you felt the need to go back.

On his first dragon ride, Rhaegar clapped his hands along the way, nestled into your arms in front of you, closing his eyes as the wind ruffled his dark curls. Midnight, your dragon, as pleasant as ever, as easy and gentle as ever, took care to be careful with the two of you on his back.

When you arrived, Rhaenyra hugged you as tightly as she'd ever hugged you, her nose buried in your thick hair, before bending down to take her grandson in her arms.

"I've missed you, sweet girl." she said to you. You smiled and reached for her arm, glancing at your son who'd grabbed one of your mother's long silver curls: "Daemon has missed you too. You know he doesn't show his feelings, but... he missed you."

You smile, your eyes dropping to the floor. You missed them, too, terribly, despite the frequent letters.

"And of course... we’ve missed you too, little one!" Rhaenyra added, catching the child's nose with her thumb and forefinger, causing him to burst into laughter.

It felt good to be back. It was good to have regained some sort of routine in your daily life with your family. It was good to see the walls of the Red Keep return to their original familiarity, chasing away the ghosts you feared you might see again.

*** *** *** *** *** *** *** ***

Perhaps you should have listened to your stepfather and not stray under any circumstances from the knight who has been following your every step with concern, afraid to lose sight of you.

Five years earlier, it was Sir Erryk's vigilance that you had deceived when you had carelessly followed your eldest uncle into the dangerous streets of the capital.

The streets of King's Landing offered you a freedom you had missed. But now you almost regret sneaking through the crowds to escape the vigilance of the knight who had escorted you. You decide to take a shortcut, the hood of your cloak pulled down over your forehead. It must have been your imagination. You aren’t on the worst side of the city, not like five years ago, and the streets have become safe, much safer now that your parents are in power.

Your footsteps led you to some stone steps, which you climb at full speed, your heart pounding in your chest. Glancing behind you, you disappear like a shadow around the corner of an alley, but the feeling is still there. You feel as if you are being followed.

At the Red Keep you already had the unpleasant feeling of being observed. In the gardens, with your son. Along the ramparts, enjoying the sea breeze on your face.

But you blamed it on your body's automatic response to the anxiety that had built up in all the years you'd spent within the walls of the Keep.

You slow your pace as you spot the dome and towers of the Great Sept at the end of the alley. From there you can easily find your way back to the Red Keep. All you had to do is keep moving, staring ahead, pressing your pace, wrapped in the thick wool of your cloak.

One step after the other. Breathing deeply. Half-moons in your palms.

The Great Sept growing closer give you a strange kind of reassurance.

And then suddenly, one hand closes over your mouth, the other around your waist. Your back bangs painfully against the cold stone wall of the winding alley into which you have been dragged. Fuck. Fuck.

You are too paralysed to struggle, too paralysed to bite the hand of the stranger holding you prisoner between the wall and his own body.

"You obviously learned nothing from my advice, Lady Strong," the icy voice whispers in the hollow of your ear. Your eyes widen.

That voice. It couldn't be.

Lady Strong. Lady Strong. Lady Strong.

It can’t be.

That is your sick mind playing tricks on you again.

"As reckless as ever, hm, aren't you? You could easily get yourself killed."

The stranger releases you and you look up again, tears forming at the corners of your eyes, searching for that icy blue, tinged with lilac, that have read through you so many times before.

It is impossible.

He has died three years before, falling from Vhaegar's back into the deep waters of the lake at Harrenhal.

Is it a ghost? Is it a hallucination?

"You are dead. You were dead," you whisper, more to yourself than to him, still in shock from the feel of his body against yours. You feel the tears that have formed at the corners of your eyes roll down your cheek, and your little fists pound his chest.

You have so much to say to him. So many things to reproach him for.

His hand cups your cheek to turn your head and force you to look at him, his thumb wiping away your tears.

The way he looks at you hasn’t changed; it still makes you shiver. You still feel that your uncle could read through you, that he could discover your deepest secrets. And there is still that hint of desire, too, that gleam in his one seeing eye.

You want to kiss him. You want to slap him.

He clenches his jaw as he pulls you against him, burying your face in his chest, his arms around you. He rests his chin on your head. One of his hands strokes your dark hair as you stifle sobs into the wool of his cloak.

The situation takes you back to your wedding night, when he had comforted you in the same way after you had told him that you couldn't hate him, even if you had tried.

"I know," you hear him whisper, the vocal cords vibrating from his throat against the top of your head.

He is standing there, in front of you. You cling to the fabric of his clothes with all your might, as if you're afraid he'll slip away again.

"How?" you ask, eyes closed, head against him. If he is to be taken from you again, you intend to enjoy every moment in his company.

He clenches again. You step back to look into his eyes, to search his enigmatic gaze for answers, for clues, for signs that would explain how. Why.

He doesn't answer you, but he is filled with desire as he grips your chin between his middle and index fingers, as he captures your lips with his own. You rediscover the possessiveness you've been missing. He pushes you a little harder against the wall behind you, as if to remind you who you belong to. Who you were married to.

A familiar warmth blossoms between your thighs, a warmth you haven't felt for too long. You're trapped, right there, your uncle towering over you, trapped between the wall and his body. His fingers close around your jaw and you kiss him back hungrily, wrapping your arms around his neck to pull him closer.

You're perfectly aware that the situation is surreal. You're perfectly aware that you're making a mistake, that you shouldn't respond to the kiss of the man who used to be your husband, not when he's technically still your enemy, not when he's technically dead.

But you shut out the voices in your head begging you to stop.

"I still want to hate you, you know," you breathe between his parted lips. He merely mutters hm in reply, trying to shut you up again, his hands wandering under your cape, tracing the ribs of the body he'd missed so much. He reaches for your waist, your hips, which he grabs meanly.

There's no one in the alley around you, but the hood over his head hides his long silver hair anyway.

"Three fucking years." Your lips leave his, a mixture of anger and desire bubbling up from your lower belly. Aemond stares at you, his jaw clenched. He knows you need to unleash your emotions when you don't read an ounce of regret in his gaze. "Three. Fucking. Years. And you've told me nothing. You never sought to -"

"I couldn't," he retorts harshly. He seems to be searching for words to explain something you could not possibly understand, but his gaze does not soften. You know he needs time, you've learned to know him. You've waited three years, what's another moment? But you're tired, and your patience isn't as strong as it used to be. You look away, a mocking laugh escaping your lips as you repeat his justification. "You couldn't."

"And risk your mother executing me?" He forces you to look at him again, and you feel the lump form in your throat. You know you are perhaps being unfair, but you were alone for those three years while you mourned him, so alone, and in a way, you want to make him pay.

"You were dead to me, qybor." Uncle. You feel him twitch at the mention of your family tie, at the nickname he used to love to hear on your tongue. "I had to live with the idea that you would never come back."

The tears that had dried on your cheeks threaten to flow again, pooling at the corners of your eyes. Aemond sighs.

"I thought I was dead too," he whispers. You can feel the tension in every one of his muscles. There's a moment of hesitation, a silence that hovers between you. You have so many questions, but you don't know where to begin. Not a sound leaves your lips.

"She tended to my wounds," he adds, and you frown in confusion. "Alys."

Alys. You try to wriggle out of his grip, but he keeps you pinned to the wall. Alys, you remember the rumours whispered in your ear by that rat of Larys - those false rumours, you remind yourself - but you can't help feeling your heart clench. You don't trust your voice enough to speak, to say anything.

"There's no one left in Harrenhal but her," he adds, as if you need that clarification, as if you need to know where he's been all this time.

You say nothing. Your throat is tight. If you speak, if you look at him, you'll cry again and betray your feelings all over again. You refuse to make a fool of yourself, not now.

"She's the one who saw you. In Winterfell." There's a hint of bitterness in his voice as he mentions the place where you've spent the last few years rebuilding yourself, trying to forget him. A bit of anger, perhaps, too.

"Cregan Stark welcomed me indeed," you reply curtly. Perhaps you want to hurt him as he hurt you, but you are deliberately vague in your answer. "I have mourned you, qybor."

Everything is so confused in your mind. A paradoxical blend of desire, anger, sadness, jealousy. Of love too.

You want to strangle him and melt on his lips at the same time, and you know that after all this time you should be used to feeling this paradox of emotions with Aemond. Your uncle was a set of contradictions all his own.

"I saw you. On Midnight. That's how I knew you were here."

You nod. Words don't work between you, you know that. It has always been like that; the habit of letting silence speak more than words. The habit of communicating through the carnal acts of your bodies against each other. *** *** *** *** *** *** *** ***

Aemond pushes you against the wooden door as soon as you enter the mediocre room of the inn. He is demanding, more than ever, as his hands run along your hips to your thighs to lift you up and press you against the door, your legs closing around him. He watches you with hungry eyes, like a predator ready to pounce on its prey. You can't stop a moan from escaping your lips.

There's something feverish, passionate, urgent about the kiss. And when his tongue begs for an opening, your lips part to welcome him. There is only you in this room, an interlude where nothing else exists, where you don't have to worry about your duties and loyalties, where you are guided by nothing but passion.

His hand slams against the wall next to your head and with a movement of his hips he lifts you a little higher onto his waist, your legs locked tightly around him. He grunts into the crook of your neck at the friction of your crotch against his.

"Tell me to stop." His hand which isn't against the wall to support your weight slides up to your jaw. He lifts your chin, his gaze locked in yours, searching for clues, anything that would betray your desire to end whatever it is you're doing. "Tell me to stop now, or I won't be able to."

You don't want to stop. You should, you know you should, but you silence the little voice in your conscience that's begging you to pull yourself together, to end it all before you've even started, before you've even gone too far, and you kiss him with more vigour, with more fervour.

"I'm not going to tell you to stop, qybor," you whisper against his lips. "You know that."

His hardened member twitches beneath you at the mention of the High Valyrian, at the mention of that nickname he's so fond of. It's his weakness, you know, and despite the three years he's been away, he hasn't changed.

It's so good to feel him against you again, to feel his lips against yours, along your jawline to the junction with your neck. In one sharp movement, he rolls his hips to meet yours, pressing you a little harder against the wooden wall, and he catches your moan between his lips.

You know that tonight there will be no shy touches between you, no awkward explorations like in the early days of your love, when it wasn't tainted by war, blood, and death yet. You and he will both be consumed by the burning fire of passion. You both need to release that tension and frustration, to make up for lost time, to drown, drunk with desire, in the most carnal of acts. All that matters now are his hands on your body to ease the pain pulsing between your thighs, the desperate need to feel him inside you.

The barrier of your clothes frustrates you. You need to feel his skin against yours, to feel all of him, and your hand runs down his body to pull at the cord holding his breeches together. Immediately his fingers close around your wrist to hold you back. He wants to be in control, you know. But it has been three years and something about you just isn't the same.

"Let me worship you like I used to, qybor," you whisper against his lips, your forehead pressed against his, and you feel his jaw tighten. There's a moment of hesitation in his eyes, clouded by desire.

His thumb caresses your lips, pressing against your lower lip. You part them, just enough for the tip of your tongue to wet the top of his thumb. There are no further words exchanged between you, just silence, punctuated by your gasping breaths. His hand closes around your throat, not pressing too hard, just enough so you can feel the weight of his palm against your windpipe, just to remind you that he's in complete control of the situation.

Fuck, you've missed it; the adrenaline of his hand around your throat, the adrenaline of knowing he could do anything to you and you'd be defenceless.

"On your knees then."

The command echoes through the room and you feel the wetness seeping between your thighs as you slide to your knees in front of him. Your eyes shine with envy and you look up at him as you did years ago. You know he can't resist the angelic look on your face when you're between his thighs. You know he can't resist the dichotomy between the innocent look on your face and the sinful act you're about to commit. He revels in your submission, and that's something you've learned to use against him.

Your uncle releases his cock from his breeches, his hand wrapped around the base, and the desire you feel between your thighs becomes more and more unbearable. The head is already glistening with anticipation, white pearls beading at the slit, and it takes all of Aemond's self-control not to grab you by the hair and force himself into your mouth entirely.

Closing the distance, he rubs his member against your lips to spread the wetness before pushing into your mouth. Your lips close around him. He's warm and heavy on your tongue and the hand holding the base of his manhood is replaced by yours to cover what you can't take. Your tongue curls around the tip first, absorbing his salty taste, and you look up at him through your long lashes. He doesn't look away from you.

His hand cups your cheek, his thumb caresses your cheekbone before sliding to the corner of your lips, just where his length disappears between them. It's as if he's hypnotised by the spectacle, by the bobbing of your head, by your hollowed cheeks, by your application and devotion.

His hands leave your jaw and sink into your thick curls, urging you to take him a little deeper, and he thrusts between your lips with more vigour. You close your eyes, concentrating on not choking as his member touches the back of your throat. You take it as diligently and assiduously as ever, ignoring the tears gathering at the corners of your eyes.

"That's it, just like that. Such a good girl, mandianna [niece], such a good wife," you hear him grunt, his movements more erratic, more jerky, and you revel in his praise, sending a new wave of heat between your thighs. "Only for me."

You feel him throb on your tongue. You know it won't be long now, and you prepare yourself to welcome him, to let the salty taste of his seed flood your tongue, but your uncle pulls back reluctantly.

"I would rather not waste." he whispers, his eyes riveted on the thread of saliva that connects your lips, glistening with saliva and precum, to the tip of his cock. You shudder. Aemond definitely hasn't changed much, you realise.

His hand finds your cheek again and he caresses your lips to spread the mess you've made by sucking him. You know he isn't finished. This is just the beginning and you're both driven by the consuming hunger of passion. You know what's coming now, your core clenching around nothing, and you rub your thighs together, in an attempt to soothe the impatience.

He urges you to stand. He has that predatory look in his eyes as he closes the distance between you with his determined steps.

" Undress," he orders, and you do not take your eyes off him as you untie the linen dress you had put on to disguise yourself as a common girl.

The garment falls heavily to the floor, forming a grey puddle at your feet, and you take a step forward.

"Do you not like seeing me dressed in rags, qybor?" you ask in a playful tone, teasing, referring to the time, years ago, when he had rescued you during your adventurous walk along the grim Silk Road where your uncle Aegon had accidentally led you.

The memory was so close and yet so far away.

Aemond takes a step towards you, his hand brushing aside the long hair that hides your breasts to tuck it behind your shoulder.

"Not when you are meant to be my Queen." His eye glow with desire. He studies your body in detail as his fingers slide down your collarbone to your breasts. His thumb traces their underside before moving up to your nipples, hardened by the cool evening air and desire. He plays with them, eliciting a moan that satisfies him. He looks at you like one looking at a prize, a long-awaited gift.

"Three years away from my beautiful wife," he whispers, his good eye gleaming as he looks at your breasts.

"You did have pleasant company in Harrenhal though, didn't you?" you hiss through your teeth and Aemond's hand suddenly closes around your throat to make you swallow your insolence. You're not afraid, not anymore, for you know he won't hurt you. You have this power over him and it's delicious.

His face is so close to yours that your noses are touching.

He doesn't let go of you.

"It wasn't like that." He whispers. "With her." You know he's sincere because he's almost awkward with his words, his explanation. You can see in his eye that there are so many other things he would like to tell you, but you have learned not to rush him. It has always been difficult for him to open up, to be vulnerable.

His fingers release you. Aemond is a good head taller than you, and as he puts a hand on your shoulder, moving forward to force you back until your knees hit the mattress, your eyes remain fixed on his.

Your uncle lays you down on the mattress. It's not the comfort of the bed you once shared, but you don't care, you just need him inside you.

You need him to make you feel whole again. Aemond was fire, and you were willing to burn for him. You had always burned for him.

In the candlelight of the small bedroom where you spend the night, you see his thumbs slip under the waistband of his breeches. His clothes quickly join yours on the floor.

There's something soothing about the weight of his naked body on top of yours. Once under him, you know you can surrender completely to him and stop thinking, just stop thinking.

His lips on yours, his hands on your body, his broad torso eclipsing your smaller figure.

He places kisses down your neck to your collarbone, sucking your skin between his teeth to leave purple marks that will blossom tomorrow.

He kisses your breast, his lips closing around an erect nipple which he sucks gently, then around the other. Your hands are buried in his long silver hair. You can feel how wet you are between your thighs. You need him desperately, right there.

The confidence with which his fingers slide down your waist, from your hips to your inner thighs, only emphasises his ravenous expression. His touch on your folds sends a wave of heat through your body, causing your hips to move against his hand. Softly tracing the curves of your crotch, his index and middle fingers finally part your folds to collect the wetness that has formed there.

"Is it sucking your husband's cock that has got you so wet?

Yes, you want to answer, seeking more contact, but the words are stuck in your throat.

"Stay still," he orders in a hoarse voice as you move your hips, his hands gripping your hips to pin you back against the mattress.

You comply, for once, because you know he won't give you what you want otherwise. And you can't wait any longer, not today, not when you thought you'd never feel his warmth against your body again, his hands on your hips, his cock inside you.

"You see, you can be a good girl." His voice is softer when you obey. And to reward you, his fingers slide to your entrance, where he applies a little pressure with the tip of his middle finger without actually penetrating you. "Now beg your husband to fill you."

"Please, qybor," you murmur, your hand taking his cheek to bring his face to yours. You want him to look at you. "Please, I need you inside."

Oh, the slowness and precision with which his finger plunges into you makes you throw your head back. He begins to move back and forth, his index finger joining his middle one, caressing your spongy walls, his thumb tracing circles around your bud. Curling his fingers, he strokes that spot inside you that makes your legs tremble and you clutch the sheets beneath you.

You feel your centre tighten around his fingers, the release you've been looking for so close, so very close. You shut your eyes, ready for the familiar wave of warmth to wash over your entire body, but your uncle pulls his fingers away. You grunt in frustration.

You open your eyes only to see Aemond bring his fingers to his lips indecently, spreading your wetness over his own lips. "You still taste so good," he purrs, and you feel the blush rise to your cheeks.

He leans over to kiss you and you taste yourself on his lips. It's indecent.

He pulls back and you see him wrap his hand around his hardened cock, the head angrily red and already drooling in anticipation. He guides himself to your core, rubbing his length between your folds, coating it with your glistening juices.

The round tip of his member enters you, slowly at first, stretching your narrow entrance as if to give you time to adjust. Aemond pushes and he sinks easily into you until he's fully seated, your warm, wet walls feeling heavenly around him, squeezing him just right.

" You are so tight," he growls against you as your arms close around him, your legs bent and pressed to either side of his body.

He gives you a moment to get used to having him inside you again, to feeling him so deeply. It's exactly what you need; he stretches you deliciously, with a perfect touch of controlled pain.

You feel whole again and you want to cry. You never want to lose that feeling. You want to keep him, against you, inside you.

You close your eyes and bury your head in the hollow above his shoulder, clinging to him as if to feel him more deeply, more intimately.

"You can move," you reply, rolling your hips to support your words. Aemond's hand immediately presses down on your stomach to hold you against the mattress and you bite your lower lip, almost guilty of forgetting his earlier command. He always has that need to control. He's the one who decides, you should know it after all these years, and you should stop being so demanding, so desperate.

"I said stay still," he scolds you, and the waiting is unbearable.

You need him.

When he finally pulls out and thrusts into you again, you let out a whimper. Your nails dig into the pale skin of his back, leaving crescent marks that will probably still be there the next day.

Once under him, Aemond has the ability to make you vulnerable, and part of you hate him for it.

"You take me so well," he growls after a particularly brutal thrust. "You're such a good girl."

The praise is sweet music to your ears. You have always needed it, to be praised, complimented.

You feel him hitting that special spot deep inside you, you feel him pressing in so deeply and your grip tightens around him.

"Did you miss me?" you whisper in a voice made weak by pleasure, but all you get in return are the hoarse grunts of his voice.

Aemond lowers his eyes to look at where you are joined, hypnotised by the sight of his cock disappearing inside you. The rhythm he imposes is powerful, deep, and his fingers find their way between your bodies, reaching your little bud at the top of your folds to trace circles on it. You won't last long and he knows it as he feels your walls tighten desperately around him. Your moans grow louder.

"Look at me." His voice barely brings you back to reality, even though your mind is already far away, even though you know you can't last much longer. Painfully, you open your eyes to meet your uncle's icy gaze. " I am going to fill you up." His pacing becomes more erratic, more sloppy, and you know he won't last much longer either. Leaning on his forearm, he continues to stroke your pearl in small circles. "I am going to fill you up and you're going to take it all."

The image of you, belly round with his child, haunts him. It never stopped haunting him, even on the brink of death, even when he thought he'd exhaled his last breath as he fell into the icy waters of the lake, his heart clenched with regret and remorse. It still is a wonder that he has survived. Perhaps, just perhaps, the Gods still had plans for him.

I'm going to fill you up. Words like that shouldn't bring you to ecstasy, and yet they do. Aemond reaches deeper, and as he feels your whole body convulse with the spasms of your orgasm, he joins you in your release. He spills his seed deep inside you before remaining still, buried against your womb, enjoying your warmth, making sure he's pouring every last drop into you.

He doesn't want to pull out, not yet, and you close your arms around his neck, your breast pressed against his chest as he softens inside you.

The weight of his body on yours is comforting. For the first time in years, you feel alive. For the first time in years, the open wound he left seems to be healing.

When he pulls out, you wince at the sensation of his cock slipping between your still too sensitive folds. You immediately miss the feeling of fullness.

You barely move, your whole body still sore from your lovemaking, but you can feel his cum leaking from your entrance onto the mattress below.

Again, Aemond's fingers are between your thighs that are glistening with the intimate essence of both of you, collecting his own seed and pushing it back into you. You whimper, still too sensitive, your lips brushing against his, and he remains inside you for a brief moment. He wants to make sure nothing is wasted.

And when he withdraws his fingers, he presses them against your lips for you to clean them.

You snuggle up against him, your head against his chest. Your hand caresses his chest, the fine line of his muscles, and he rests his chin on the top of your head, wrapping an arm around your waist to hold you close. You enjoy the warmth of his body while you still can. Between your thighs you feel the sticky sensation of his seed mixing with your wetness as it still flows out of you, but you don't want to leave the embrace of his arms.

"I saw you in the gardens. With the child."

When you feel his throat vibrate, you look up at him, your eyebrows furrowed. "It was you, then?" You swallow. "It was you watching me." It's more of an observation than a question, and you suddenly understand that constant, uncomfortable feeling of being watched. At least you weren't crazy.

He lets out a hm and pauses.

"Is he yours?"

You know where this question is leading. You fear the moment of truth. You'd deluded yourself into thinking you could avoid it, but you were naive; did you really think you could hide the truth from him for much longer, now that he was back?

"Yes." You answer, looking away. You're nervous, and he can feel it.

"He's Cregan Stark's son, isn't he?"

Your heart clenches. You hesitate for a moment. You should lie. You know you should lie. To protect your son and your family, as you've protected them for the past three years. You only need one word.

You hear him sighing beneath you, taking your silence as confirmation.

"No, he's not."

The words leave your lips before you can even stop them. You hold your breath. Beneath you, Aemond tenses. He straightens, puzzled, silent.

"A bastard, then?" His voice is dry, almost mocking, revealing a form of irritation. "I did not expect this from you, dear niece." Disappointment.

You feel anger boiling inside you at the thought of him insulting your son, your sweet boy you love so much. You swallow the lump that has formed in your throat and rise on your forearms, your eyebrows furrowed as you turn your hard gaze on him.

You don't know how to express the words that are desperately trying to escape your lips.

" He has blue eyes," you add, and you can see the confusion on his face. A lock of hair slips from your shoulder and falls around your face. "Your blue eyes."

You feel him tense up. He says nothing, just stares at you with his one seeing eye. It's rare to see Aemond Targaryen so unsure of himself, so full of doubt. He stares at you as if he's afraid he's heard you wrong, as if he's afraid he's invented the words that have come out of your mouth.

"What did you say?"

You look away. You bite your lower lip, regretting your words. You want to bury your face in his chest. You breath.

"He is your son, Aemond." You finally admit it.

It's true that Rhaegar's brown curls could easily make him look like a Stark. Cregan had offered to raise him as his own, and you had smiled at his kindness.

Rhaegar is so much like you. Like you, and like Luke, and especially like Jace as a child, of whom he is the spitting image. He has the soft features of your face, but his eyes make him undeniably Aemond's son.

Your uncle holds you close, his arm wrapped around your waist, his long nose buried in the hollow of your neck, breathing in the scent of your hair.

"My son," he repeats in awe. It's rare to see Aemond smile with sincerity. Especially after the war has worn him down, made him more ruthless than ever.

"His name is Rhaegar," you say. "Just as we discussed." There's shyness in your voice.

He straightens, you on top, straddling him, and he seeks your lips to kiss you fiercely. His desire awakens beneath you; you feel him harden against your core again.

And this time, he makes love to you.

*** *** *** *** *** *** *** ***

"I missed the best part." He purrs against you, his hand absently caressing your breast before sliding down your body to rest on your flat stomach, just above where your womb lies. He clenches his hand possessively over your flesh. His voice is almost tinged with regret. Your hand rests on his.

"You shouldn't have left me," you reply, bitter. Deep down, you're still angry with him. Your gaze falls on your stomach, where both your hands lie, yours on top of his, clasped together. "You shouldn't have let your anger dictate your actions," you add, looking away. "But you were blinded by your desire for revenge, by your desire to prove that you could be better than him.” You swallow.

It is his fault, after all, that he missed your son's birth, that he didn't see him grow through the tender years of his infancy.

Rhaegar needed a father, and it was Cregan who raised him.

"Does he even know who I am? Who his father is?"

The guilty look on your face betrays you, and you know immediately that you've hurt his feelings. It may be selfish of you, but he needs to understand.

"You were supposed to be dead. There's still a lot he doesn't know."

He doesn't say anything. You don't have the courage to meet his hard, stern gaze, you don't have the courage to see the disappointment and pain on his face, because if you do, your heart will tighten and you will fall apart.

"He's still so young. Give him time." You add, your fingers tracing small circles on the back of his hand, in an attempt to soothe him.

You know how much Aemond wanted a son, and you know it's cruel to take that from him. You know he would have made a good father. You can picture him with Rhaegar on his knee, reading him stories, telling him about the adventures of Vhagar and Visenya, and you love the image that forms in your mind.

You told Rhaegar about Aemond, though he was still too young to understand. You told him that his father had once owned the greatest dragon in the world, that his father was a fearless man for it was true, and you saw his big eyes light up.

Aemond pulls you closer to him. "I want to be there for him, you know." Unlike Viserys, but he doesn't have to say it, you understand what he means in the undertone he leaves at the end of his sentence. He has always suffered from his father's indifference.

You cuddle up to him and he runs his fingers through your long curls. For a moment, you imagine that everything is fine and you search for his touch. He plants a kiss on the top of your head.

"I've missed you," he admits, the words landing on the tips of his lips in the silence of the bedroom, but you're already dozing off.

You know that tomorrow will be made up of choices and decisions.

But for now, you fall asleep in the embrace of his very real arms, for once, enjoying the illusion of the life you both could have had.

#aemond x reader #aemond targaryen #Aemond Targaryen x reader #aemond x you #aemond fanfiction #aemond targaryen fic #aemond x y/n #aemond x fem!reader #aemond targaryen x you #aemond x niece!reader #aemond targaryen fanfic

2K notes · View notes

faevi · 7 months

Text

GUNSHOT OF LOVE. - (gojo smut)

Scenario: You trust Gojo Satoru so much, even if he has a gun to your head. You'd do anything he says, with or without the gun. That's true love & loyalty.

Word Count: 10,167.

Content / Trigger Warning: PLEASE READ ALL OF THEM. female reader (she/her), DARK CONTENT, GUN-PLAY(!!); sucking on it, weapon touching intimate areas, pulling the trigger (no actual bullets), etc. threats; including death threats(!!), degradation, humiliation, pet-names, praise, spanking, tit slapping, dacryphilia/crying, sex over a desk (being bent over it), fear play, power play, blowjob, throat-fucking, spit, cum, blindfolded, bdsm, dominance submission, obeying orders, hair pulling, bruising, being marked up, lingerie, everything is very much consensual and planned, mean satoru, big dick satoru, unprotected sex, creampie, penetration, daddy kink, wth do i warn, lots of aftercare and love afterwards <33

I think that’s everything? Please kindly (heavy emphasis on the kindly) let me know if I missed anything!! It’s not my intention to.

Note: Firstly, EVERYTHING IS CONSENSUAL!!!!!!!!! It’s implied that the whole gun-play was discussed before, ok. Different kinks exist and it’s clearly a BDSM based scene. Not vanilla at all. Also idk about others but I have fun reading kinks (obviously not every single one, i do have limits like others) that I wouldn't ever do myself, so. It's fiction and reading be fun. Not my best writing (again). Always room for improvement. Please ignore any mistakes because I didn’t edit it afterwards dkfjgfd. Please don’t come at me if this isn’t for you - I have plenty of warnings and it’s dark content so :’), it’s to be expected. Satoru is a bit of a meanie during it but I swear he’s super sweet after <333 Please let me know if you enjoyed it ; - ;. I will try to do better for the next piece.

MINORS AND AGELESS BLOGS, PLEASE DO NOT INTERACT!!!

You’re kneeling in his office, shivering and blindfolded. He’s forgotten about the window. The gentle breeze coming through the slightly ajar window, embracing you and you found yourself wishing for his warmth to smother you instead. Now isn’t the time. Especially with his red satin tie around your head, blinding you. You could barely glance down to see your body. He’s currently out of his home office to deal with something. Only giving you one order to obey. Kneel and stay put. He’ll know if you move.

It’s impossible to disobey Gojo Satoru.

Especially since you’re the one chasing him, craving not only his attention but his touch. You’re only wearing lingerie; laced and black. It was to surprise him when he was sitting in his office, typing away and boy did it surprise him. Your lips still feel a pleasant tingle from the searing kiss he gave you before his phone rang. You sigh softly, impatience rising and your knees start to ache from having to kneel directly against the wooden floor. Hands rest behind your back, fingers laced together and squeezing so tightly to try and contain your excitement. Satoru will return soon. So, you wait.

You straighten your back when you hear the small creak of the office door opening, sock-covered feet padding lightly against the floor until you sense someone towering above you from behind. The white-haired male gazes down at you, eyes clouded with a mixture of lust and admiration he holds for you. You didn’t move, it seems. Heart swelling up with pride, Satoru’s long fingers stroke along your hair on the top of your head. Nice and calm. Soothing.

“You listen to me so well, Y/N.” Satoru praises, nails scraping along your scalp until a soft whine leaves your lips. “Though, I do remember saying to not distract me today. You couldn’t resist it.” He sighs, crouching down behind you. Even when he’s at almost the same level as you, it always feels like he’s towering above you. Blindfold or not, you’re not blind to that. “You’re lucky that I adore you so much.” He whispers, long fingers trailing along your bare arm, grinning to himself when he witnesses you squirm from his touch.

“Daddy—“ You breathe out, tongue lolling out as you struggle with containing yourself. Your thirst for the taller male continues to grow, and your sense of touch is only heightened when your sense of sight is temporarily forbidden. With both hands now, his fingers continue to soothingly stroke along your bare arms from behind you. It’s featherlight and you couldn’t help but wonder what Satoru will surprise you with.

“It’s a good thing that I have work wrapped around my finger, they won’t question why I ended early today. Although, it’s you who is utterly tangled when it comes to me. Isn’t that right, baby girl? You’ll do anything I say. No matter how scary or dangerous it is.” He whispers low against your ear, warm breath fanning against it. His large hands now cup your breasts from behind, fondling with the soft mounds and not bothered by the fabric. You feel flustered because he’s right. You’d do absolutely anything for this gorgeous human being. Maybe it’s because you know if you did use your safe word and he’d stop instantly; that you’d do anything. There’s no one else you trust more with your well-being or life as a whole.

“Isn’t that right?” Satoru repeats himself, just seeking reassurance before he continues. His fingers pinch your sensitive buds through the thin fabric and you whimper, thighs clenching together. “Yes, Daddy. I’d really do anything—.” You confess through your needy whimpers, eyes clenching tight beneath the satin fabric of his tie. You wish you could see the way his hands expertly grope your breasts because you swear, you could come from this alone if he continues. You’re in the palm of his hand, eager to take it all. You’re completely loyal to him and it just arouses Satoru. Especially your sweet obedience.

“Mm. Good girl.” Satoru says, pressing a kiss to the top of your head before he stands up behind you once more. The white-haired male isn’t afraid of showing you affection any time of the day, but especially during moments like this. Simply, to ease your mind that he still loves and cares for you. No matter what he’s going to put you through. Rough. Humiliating. Pain. Dangerous. It’s all just thrilling to you both and truth be told, Satoru is the best of both worlds to you. You get everything. The rough or the gentle. Whatever the day calls for. Maybe it’s his loving warmth that seeps through, that makes you call him Daddy rather than something formal, like ‘Master’ or ‘Sir’. It’s fitting for the white-haired male and Satoru loves it when you call him it. It didn’t matter what he was going to do, he’ll always be your Daddy.

He’s not behind you. You can somewhat sense him in the direction of the desk in his office when you hear sounds in that direction. You pout, impatience starting to seep through. You hear a drawer open and close. Is he just going to make you kneel here? Suddenly, you yelp in pain, hands instinctively coming up towards the source of pain. Satoru bunched up your hair before surprising you with a forceful yank, forcing you to lift your knees until he lets go and your knees meet a— cushion? Your heart flutters despite the pain tingling in your scalp. He cares. “Hands in your lap.” Satoru orders and you quickly oblige, fingers lacing together in your lap.

Satoru is crouching in front of you now, leaning forward to press a chaste kiss to your pouting lips. They’re impossible to resist. Something cold and hard brushes along your bare thigh and he watches your eyebrows furrow with confusion of what it could be. His eyes light up with something sinister and exciting. “You look so pretty for Daddy. So impossible to resist. I should just have you kneeling here and actually do work. You’d be like my own personal art for the day. Hold any pose I put you through, no matter how uncomfortable it is.” Satoru coos softly and you whine, still feeling whatever it is stroking your thigh, even prodding against your covered womanhood, panties already drenched with your juices. “Maybe I’ll take you to work and force you to do that. You might feel humiliated with so many eyes on you but I’d be so proud to show off what’s mine.” He says, voice laced with his usual amusement. You huff a little, embarrassed yet aroused at the idea. You really would do anything for him.

“Part your legs and stay still.” He orders with a sweet kiss to your temple. Head cocking slightly in confusion, you willingly spread your legs far enough but still able to keep your knees against the comfortable pillow. The mysterious object in his hand brushes along your inner thigh before pressing against your womanhood and you gasp sharply, feeling the cold… metal, even through the thin fabric. Whatever it is, feels good against your needy pussy. Especially when Satoru presses more firmly until your slick-covered folds manage to spread despite the panties and the object presses against your sensitive clit. “A-Ah..” You gasp out softly from feeling a surge of pleasure wash over you as the foreign object rubs your clit slowly in a circular motion. You feel your clit throb beneath the touch, whining as pleasure continues to spread through you, leaving you to crave more of it. You’ve always been sensitive so it’s a difficult task to keep your legs apart.

Satoru loves to watch you struggle before him. He continues to rub the edge of the object against your throbbing clit, eyes fixated on your quivering thighs and how the panties weren’t enough to stop your juices from seeping out further and with the use of the metal object, Satoru smears the juices across your inner thighs. You clench your fists tightly, your mind racing with thoughts you’re barely able to process. You would have been ultra-sensitive to his warm touch alone, but the object just sparks your sensitivity further, only wishing you could know what it is. Some sex toy?

Your brows stay furrowed and Satoru laughs, delighted by your needy reactions. “Bet my pretty whore just wants to know what it is, hm? Patience. I’ve barely touched you.” He sighs out heavily and you feel somewhat embarrassed to be so reactive, face feeling hot. “Daddy, I just miss seeing your face..” You whisper breathlessly, nose crinkling as a pathetic attempt to try and move the tie around your eyes. A failure. He tied it pretty firmly. “Cuuuuute.” He coos softly, tapping the edge of the object against your bare thigh.

Satoru’s free hand cups his own cheek as his head tilts, elbow against his knee, watching you with amusement. It’s funny watching your body jerk with each slow tap, head turning towards the touch. “W-What is it?” You stutter out, unable to hide your curiosity as it grows. Satoru ignores the question for the moment, leaning back and his eyes refuse to leave you. “You’ll know soon. Take your panties off.” He orders breathlessly, his own heart pumping with excitement because fuck, he loves seeing your needy cunt before his eyes. Even if you’re pretty in lingerie.

Your fingers hook beneath the lace of your panties, hastily shifting yourself so you can tug them down the length of your legs and just as you are about to toss them, you feel his grip on them. Quickly, you let go. Without even needing him to speak an order, you move back to your original position. Kneeling on the pillows with willing legs staying apart and hands draped by your side. “Such a good girl, baby.” Satoru praises, though already sounding so distracted when his crystal blue eyes focus on your pussy.

Dripping and looking so inviting, Satoru brings your panties up to his nose and inhales sharply, groaning at the heavenly smell of your sex. His cock strains against his briefs, desperate to be relieved and touched. Your pussy clenches around nothing upon hearing his delicious groans, lips staying parted and you couldn’t stop yourself from whining. You just want to see him. “You smell so fucking good, baby. Panties drenched from being so needy, huh?” Satoru says, words muffled by the damp fabric still pressed against his lower face. He grins to himself from seeing you shyly tilt your head down and stuff the panties into the back pocket of his black slacks.

His long legs bend once more to crouch in front of you, one hand still gripping the object tightly in his hand before the other comes around to swiftly unclasp your bra. Even blind, you’d never get used to how hot the action is from the taller male. He’s taken your clothes off more times than you can count. The pads of his fingers ghost along your arm as he peels down the strap until the bra is finally off and tossed to the side. Your heart is racing, wondering what he’d do next to you, finding it even more thrilling with your ability to guess becomes non-existent when you can’t see his movements.

The tip of a mysterious object presses against the side of your breast and Satoru enjoys the sight of your squishiness. You’re still trying to figure out what it is by focusing… The end is somewhat circular and ah— You feel it start to drag between your breasts, trailing down your naked stomach and back to your dripping womanhood. Satoru could practically see the goosebumps appear, trailing after the contact the object makes and he smirks.

You start to pant softly, nails digging into your own legs. “Since when did you love to take your time so much, Daddy..” You whine, lips naturally pouting. This a silly remark on your behalf as you both know that he is never one to rush if he has time. Still, you’re only being cute to try to find out what he’s doing and what his more sinister plans may entail. “Sluts need to learn how to wait.” He sighs, sliding the object back down to where it originally was, pressing against your dripping folds.

“I’m your slut, a-ah…” You whimper out, spreading your legs further when you feel the cold metal once more gliding between your folds, thankful that panties aren’t in the way anymore. The cool sensation is only heightened from the lack of sight, leaving you all warm and tingly between your legs. Satoru is still far too calm for what he’s usually like and it leaves you dying of curiosity. What is he hiding? Whatever sex toy it is; feels so damn good as you grind against it, tiny gasps escaping from the jolts of pleasure you feel when it presses against your bundle of nerves. Your head is spinning, tilting back as moans of his name spill from your lips.

Satoru watches hungrily as you turn into a needy slut for something foreign between your legs, gaze never leaving as your hips begin to pick up the pace as you hump against the metal object, only warming it up with your sweet slick and keeping it against your hot pussy. His own lips parted in silent awe, head hanging forward and refusing to look away. Sometimes it’s moments like this where he wonders how he managed to score you for his selfish self. Eventually, he pulls it away and stands up to tower above you.

Sad sounds instantly part from you, feeling despair from the lack of that pleasure and your pussy clenches around nothing, clearly desperate to be filled up. “Do you trust me, Y/N?” Satoru asks, voice nothing but serious and a hint of excitement. You blink beneath the blindfold, shifting on your knees before your lips curl up to form a genuine smile, heart fuzzy and warm. “I trust you with my life.” You breathe out softly.

“Take your blindfold off, then.”

Finally. Your hands come up, first attempting the knot behind your head and it takes a moment but you manage to tug it free, untying the knot and keeping your eyes closed as the tie drops, draping along the front of your naked thighs. You open your eyes and deep fear momentarily crashes into you hard.

There’s a gun pointing at your forehead, dripping with your juices and just beyond the semi-automatic pistol, is Gojo Satoru smiling wide at you, eyes full-blown with carnal desire. The sight of him eases your fear, even if he does look rather manic with a gun to your head. Your trust and love for him far outweigh the fear you briefly felt. Besides… why is your cunt dripping more than ever and your heart pumping excitement through you? This is beyond dangerous and yet, you want it with him.

The pad of his index finger lightly caresses the trigger, pressing the barrel of the gun against your forehead. Your breath hitches, body starts to tremble. One pull and you’d be gone. It still doesn’t truly shake you to your core. You’re terrified. Natural to be so scared when there’s a gun to your head and yet, you also can’t shake away how aroused it feels to be forced into a position where all you can do is trust and obey Satoru. His head tilts forward, looking down at you through strands of white hair. Having you in such a vulnerable position is a blessing to him. It’s a right that only he gets the privilege of seeing. A privilege to put you through. “You look so scared, baby. Daddy won’t pull the trigger if you just follow orders.” He purrs, voice low and strained. The barrel of the gun now travels lightly down the length of your face before nudging against your pretty lips.

“Suck it.”

You whimper softly, eyes almost going cross-eyed as you try to look towards the barrel of the gun. Instead, you focus on his fierce grip on the weapon, baffled by how a large hand alone can look so hot when it’s steady and having control over something so dangerous. With a nudge to your lips, you press a sloppy kiss to the tip, glancing up towards Satoru’s face as you drag your tongue directly over the hole. You notice that his finger isn’t on the trigger anymore and assume it’s because you actually obey what he said.

“Daddy..” You whisper breathlessly, swirling your tongue around the end of the pistol. It’s not as smooth and easy to do compared to when you suck Satoru’s pretty dick. It doesn’t taste as pleasant either. Cold metal against your tongue as you drag your parted lips along the side of it until you make contact with his hand. You keep your eyes on the tall male, tongue dancing along the gun, drool coating it before you repeat the same teasing action along the other side, your heart still racing from the fact that this weapon could end you.

Your lips meet the barrel of the pistol and you look up at Satoru. Silently, he nudges it against your saliva-coated lips and you’re quick to obey. Your lips wrap snugly around the tip, metallic taste filling your mouth already as you suck on the end gently, moans muffled. Satoru curses beneath his breath, hand reaching out to tenderly stroke along your hair. He’s so very pleased that you've proven his words to be right. That you really would absolutely do anything for him. Hell, he’s sure you’d even die for him and to have someone that loving and loyal to him? To no one else? Fuck, his cock throbs harder than ever before. You look cute in his eyes as you suck on the end of his pistol. It usually sits in his side drawer, but seeing you enter his office in lingerie? It just called to him.

It’s a bit difficult compared to sucking his cock. The sliding of your mouth isn’t as easy, yet you don’t care. You still feel desperate to please the white-haired male. With your jar relaxed, you bob your mouth up and down half the length of the gun, having to keep your mouth wider to be able to fit the awkward size comfortably.

Mindlessly, his free hand begins to palm himself through his slacks and groans quietly from the friction of fabric rubbing against his pulsating cock. He begins to push the gun further into your mouth until the open end presses against the back of your throat. You gag loudly, throat muscles constricting around the metal object and it causes your eyes to sting from feeling your throat ache, scraping against the pistol. “Keep it in.” He sighs out softly and you have to breathe heavily through your nose, lack of oxygen evident from having a gun deep in your mouth. His crystal blue eyes are wide and heavy with lust as they focus entirely on you and the heavenly sight of you choking on his weapon. His finger caresses along the trigger and you whimper, completely muffled. You continue to try and swallow around the pistol until finally, Satoru relents.

Satoru slowly slides the pistol along the flat of your tongue until he pulls it away entirely. You inhale sharply, a string of saliva connected from your lips to the barrel of the gun. You couldn’t stop yourself from dry-heaving, trying to inhale the oxygen you briefly missed. His free hand reaches to tenderly stroke along your hair, lips curling to form a playful grin. “Good girl, baby. Look at you, dripping all over my office.” He comments, shifting his foot until he taps it against your dripping cunt and you whimper from the jolt of pleasure that shifts through you. Your juices drip slowly onto the wooden floor from how excited you feel, despite the aroused terror you also feel from the gun still being pointed at you.

It’s coated in your saliva still, Satoru isn’t bothered to wipe it clean. Instead, his free hand begins to unbuckle his belt. He pauses, noticing how your fingers twitch by your sides. The white-haired male chuckles, delighted by how you’re always so eager to please him. “Go on, then.” He says, tapping the end of the pistol against your forehead as further encouragement for you. You waste no time. Hastily, your trembling hands come up to finish unbuckling his belt and swiftly sliding it out of the loops to drop it on the floor beside his feet. You look up at him, admiring his beauty as you curl your fingers beneath the slacks and briefs. Your hand unzips the front and you begin to pull his bottoms done until finally, his cock springs free. Satoru steps out of the bottoms and kicks them to the side.

You practically drool at the pretty sight of his thick, long cock throbbing in front of your face. “I don’t even need to threaten you. You’re an eager slut, already drooling.” He sighs out dramatically, nudging the barrel against your cheek, making it squish. You flush with embarrassment, though you can’t retaliate. Gun or not, Satoru is right. The pillow beneath you is already damp because of your dripping cunt. Long lashes flutter and you waste no time to wrap your soft lips around the leaking head of his throbbing cock. Briefly, you tease the tip with your tongue, swirling it around and lapping up the pre-cum, hot moans muffled.

Satoru breathes in sharply between his clenched teeth, cock twitching in response to your teasing. His free hand grips firmly onto your hair and roughly yanks you forward as his hips push out, forcing his pulsating length down your throat further. You whimper, thankful that your mouth isn’t filled with the taste of metallic this time and instead with something else that you love to taste. Your tongue rubs along the underside of his cock, keeping your jaw loose as he guides your head with ease by the fierce grip on your hair, mouth bobbing up and down the entire length.

You couldn’t breathe properly, throat muscles constricting every time he slides deep enough, only leaving you to gag loudly and fucking into the saliva that gathers. It feels heavenly to him. Addicting, too. To feel the soft squishiness of your cheeks rubbing against his cock as he continues to fuck your mouth onto his cock, hips meeting each time. Tears sting every time you feel the throbbing cock push down the length of your throat until your nose presses against smooth skin. It’s even harder to breathe through your nose when it happens, the lack of oxygen making your head feel all light and floaty. Eyes roll, saliva dribbling down your chin and you could feel the edge of the gun still pressed to your forehead, his heavy pants and you choking on his cock filling the air.

You trust him. Trust overwhelming any sense of fear you have about the weapon in his hand, though it will always look menacing in his grip. People would find you to be a freak for also being aroused by it at all, clit throbbing and walls clenching with the need to be filled up. “Fucking hell— fuck. Every hole of yours made for Daddy, huh?” He groans, his stomach starting to tighten with the need to orgasm. He’d rather not. Satoru is more eager when it comes to seeing his white sticky cum dripping from your fucked out cunt. Your hands stay by your side in fists as a pitiful way to try and contain yourself, feeling high off of his words alone. His hand shifts to the back of your head, thrusting deep and forcing you to take every inch of his length once more, not allowing you to move. You stay there, scrunched nose against his stomach as swallow around his cock, throat muscles squeezing around it before he pulls you off quickly, moaning your name.

You begin sputtering and dry-heaving, desperate for the oxygen to flow back. It’s complete bliss when you breathe, throat aching from the sweet abuse. Strings of spit connect your lips to the shiny tip, coated with a mixture of pre-cum and your spit. “Ah~..” You exhale out shakily, looking up at the white-haired male with complete awe. Only he can ever treat you like this and get away with it. It’s thrilling. Hot, even. The gun momentarily dangles loosely from his hand, inhaling slow deep breaths as he looks down at you, admiring how pretty you look on your knees, already looking fucked before he even stuffs you full. Satoru’s lips curl to display a wicked grin.

“My pretty princess, all mine to play with and not a single complaint. I could shoot you and you’d still be desperate to obey me and give me pleasure.” He teases through a coo, waving the gun in your face briefly. Your puffy lips form a cute pout, whining. “Daddy sees right through me. Just want Daddy’s cock so bad..” You whisper, voice breathless and ragged. Satoru hums, long fingers dragging through his white hair before he raises the weapon once more. “You expect me to get to your level to fuck your tight pussy? Bend yourself over the desk.” He orders barrel nudging once more against your forehead.

Frantically, you stumble to your feet. You feel relief for your knees because, despite a pillow, they were starting to ache. Still panting from the result of your mouth being fucked, you make your way to his desk on shaky legs. Funny how he already has you in such a state just from kneeling for too long. “Haven’t even fucked you yet.” Satoru snorts with amusement, though silently endeared as he walks behind you, free hand gripping your hip as he guides you forward. Your eyes make contact with his belongings across the desk. “Daddy, what about your—“

Your words are instantly cut off as you watch Satoru swipe his arm across the desk until everything lands on the ground. Thankfully there is a rug beneath his desk to lessen the damage. Not that you care— That was extremely hot and before you could express that, his large hand firmly grips the back of your head to force you down, upper body bending until the side of your face is pressed against the wooden desk and you whimper, feeling a dull throb. “Baby girl~, looking even more enticing.” Satoru purrs, tapping the end of the gun against the desk beside your head. You couldn’t help but tremble beneath his grip, eyes focusing on the weapon next to you, noticing how his finger once more caressed the trigger as he shifted the angle of it to face you.

Automatic fear washes over you, soon turning into excitement that drips from between your legs. Your trust in him only deepens as you begin to teasingly sway your hips. Satoru drags the barrel along his now empty desk, crystal blue eyes refusing to look away from the seductive sight of your ass. His free hand gently glides down the length of your body, neatly trimmed nails grazing along your naked back. “You’re so pretty, Y/N. Especially like this, as if you were made to be bent over my desk and take my big cock in any hole of yours.” Satoru says and you could practically hear the cocky smirk in his voice. Your thighs squeeze together, cheeks heating up. He isn’t wrong. That’s what you often think about. How you were born into this world to belong to the white-haired male, to feel excitement and pleasure as you do anything he wants. Your fetishes and kinks always line up with his. You glance towards the gun that appears, even more, shinier because of your sweet juices mixed with your saliva. You bite back a small smile. You were made for each other.

His large hand grasps your right ass cheek firmly, squeezing harshly enough to coax sweet mewls out of you and to, naturally, admire the way your ass fills up the gaps between his fingers. Fucking hell, he loves your ass. He brings his hand back, hovering before he brings it back to the surface of your ass swiftly, slapping your ass cheek firmly. You whimper, feeling the sweet sting spread across your cheek. He alternates his harsh spanks from cheek to cheek, grinning almost like a maniac as he enjoys the joyful sight of your ass cheeks jiggling before his very eyes. His palm starts to feel numb and yet it doesn’t stop him. Nor do the tears that glue to your long lashes as your gaze stays fixated on the automated pistol pointed in your direction, looking so menacing. Spank after spank, the impact each time his hand lands seems to be harder than before, causing you to squirm on the spot and bite back your sobbing. The pain by Satoru’s hands feels so good.

You gasp out sharply when nails scrape over your burning skin, knowing that light bruises were already beginning to form from how hard he hit your ass cheeks. “What are you doing just laying there, princess? It’s like you’re asking me to pull the trigger and leave you here to bleed.” Satoru murmurs, dragging the edge of the gun across the table before you feel the cold metal, slicked with your saliva and juices; pressing against your bruises ass cheek. “If you don’t show me how much you want me..” He warns, finger tapping lightly on the trigger.

Hastily, ignoring how the deathly threats invoked some sort of wild excitement out of you, your hands come back towards your throbbing ass and you whimper softly, hands trying to gently cup across the surface of your ass and spreading your cheeks wide enough to finally reveal your both of your holes. Your pussy is on full display, folds parted and strings of your slick attached to them. Satoru grins, ignoring your whimper as his free hand soothingly rubs along your waist. “Such a good girl, baby. Always obeying me... You’re just a little dumb, s’all. Need Daddy to always guide you through it.” The white-haired male purrs, feeling daring enough to press the tip of the pistol directly against your puckered asshole and chuckles when he sees it clench. “Scared I’m going to fuck your asshole with my gun, baby? Would you prefer my cock?“

You nod your head eagerly to the thought, heat rising to your cheeks and nails dig lightly into your own flesh, keeping your ass cheeks spread. He laughs and you’re delighted to hear it, unable to stop your lips from curling. “Just love Daddy’s cock so much, made to fill my holes up..” You mumble, breath hitching when the edge of the gun presses further against your asshole. You shiver, not knowing what to expect as he drags the metal object down between your ass cheeks and rubbing once more against your folds.

He loves it, really. You looking so vulnerable. Scared by the gun and yet confused for being aroused. This power that he holds over you is so addicting; something he’ll always want to chase. The dominance to pair with your submissiveness. Satoru snaps out of his trance, placing the gun on the desk and finally gripping your waist with two hands. “Keep being my perfect girl, don’t think I won’t pick it back up and hurt you. Have you crying for me, begging for me to stop the pain. Hm? Only Daddy would be able to help you, isn’t that right?” He says, voice low and soothing as his hands come down to squeeze over your own hands that keep you spread for him.

Your heart flutters and all you can do is helplessly nod. Satoru soaks it all in. The sinful sight of you bent over his desk, sweet juices smeared along your inner thighs and dripping from your core. It’s a miracle that he’s even able to hold himself back when he’s desperate to slam himself inside of you with no warning and have you choke on your pretty tears. One hand grips the base of his cock as he guides himself forward until he’s grinding his erection against you. A heavy sigh falls from his soft lips, head tilting back as he focuses on the feeling of his length rubbing between your slippery folds, each slide so smooth from your slick. His bulbous tip leaks pre-cum that smears along your cunt, pressing against your needy hole, finally. You whine, nails scraping once more across your bruised ass cheeks that leave a burning sensation across the numb flesh, wiggling back to show your eagerness for his cock.

You still find yourself nervously glancing towards the gun that rests about thirty centimetres away. One false move and your beloved Satoru could pick it up, having every right to. Yes, you’re so willing and thankful to give him that much power. To hand over all the control to the white-haired male and deeply trust him in return. He spoils you, deep down. Cares for you. Loves you. It’s only right to be loyal and obedient. Hell, it makes it so much more thrilling. One of his large hands caresses along your bare back again, his gaze fixated on your face and so he knows where you continue to glance. It makes his cock throb with so much excitement, seeing you nervous and yet, determined to behave.

“Your trust in me, Y/N…” Satoru trails off, his own blue eyes focusing on his cock, perfectly lined up and ready. It already glistens beneath the office light from being coated in your mess. You squirm a little, wondering what exactly he wants to say and— “Ah!” You strangle out a cry of surprise laced with pleasure & pain when you suddenly feel his cock pushing in deep, hard and fast. He didn't 'prepare' you with his fingers like he usually does; to coax you into relaxing and being able to adjust comfortably when something bigger enters. Not that it's usually needed. He just knows you love the feeling of his long, slender fingers. Still, the pain of your walls stretching only adds to the thrill. Satoru slams his throbbing length into you, hips snapping forward and nails digging into your soft flesh as he groans your name out in pleasure, head tilting back. “It’s so arousing—.” He finally manages to finish between heavy pants, already feeling your warm velvety walls cling right around his erection and squeezing.

“Daddy, oh—, nngh... So big—“ You whimper out, eyes closing tightly and your words only make his ego inflate, leaving him to grin down at your naked body beneath him. “Yeah? Daddy’s so big that he’s filling you right up. Don’t deny that it feels good, baby girl. I don’t like my good girl to lie to me.” He teases, hands soothingly stroking your sides. Satoru wastes no time. He doesn’t wait for you to adjust or get comfortable as he begins to thrust, nice and slow. You lay there obedient and eager to take his monstrous-sized cock, even if the stretch of your inner walls still hurt. Your cheek presses against the surface of the desk and if it wasn’t for his fierce grip on your hips, your body would have been jerking forward with each hard thrust.

The pain begins to subside already, replaced with the pleasure you often chase for. His cock sliding in and out with ease, all thanks to how deeply aroused you are. Satoru pathetically tries to contain himself by digging his nails into your flesh, muscles tensing up as he watches his cock disappear inside your needy cunt with deep fascination. “Fucking— tight.” He pants out as he feels your warm walls drag along his throbbing length as if eager to keep him buried deep inside. You squeeze around his thickness, feeling utter bliss and too deep in the pleasure to even feel flustered from the squelching your pussy makes every time he pulls out, only to push back in. “Nn, Daddy~.” You moan out happily, mind blank as you nuzzle the hard wooden desk.

Satoru laughs breathlessly, pulling back until only the bulbous tip of his cock stays inside your warmth. Naturally, a whine of complaint falls from your lips and you try to wiggle back onto his cock. His hands easily hold you in place and you yelp with surprise when he swats your ass cheek. “Fucking whore, always so greedy for Daddy’s cock. The dumb girl can’t even think of anything else. huh? Isn’t that right? So cock obsessed that you’d just lay all day with your legs open to show off your slutty pussy. Want Daddy to fuck you, baby girl? Hm?” The filthy, degrading words fall easily from his lips and you flush with humiliation. It only drives your lust further and deeper. You feel pathetic to know that it’s true. You don’t care in the end— You just want his fat cock in your tight pussy.

“Daddy, please~. Fuck your personal toy. I’m such a whore for your thick cock, a-ah!” You cry out in sweet ecstasy when he slams into you, arching your back into the air. Instantly, he’s leaning down until his toned body is pressing against yours, hand groping your breast and squeezing harshly. He’s grinding his cock into you, leaving you feeling so drunk off the pleasure as moans spill easily from your swollen lips. “That’s it, baby girl. Take all of me.” He whispers against your ear, shivering from his hot breath and teasing tongue against your earlobe. Satoru continues to grind hard, addicted to the way your inner walls seem to desperately try to cling to his throbbing length, only for your juices to make each thrust so easy. He massages your breasts, taking his time with each and it leaves your legs trembling. His hand comes down until he presses just above your womanhood, groaning softly from feeling his own cock make you bulge.

You whimper from feeling his hand pressing down, tears glued to your long lashes. Everything just feels so good! You could barely contain yourself even if you wanted to. Satoru adores seeing you already unravel before him and it prompts the desire to see more. Satoru carefully slides out of your core and you pout, hole clenching around nothing. The white-haired male’s lips are curled to form a smile of amusement, hand slapping easily against your wet cunt as you keep your legs spread. “Patience, princess.” He says, enjoying the soft cries that escape you from his slap.

Satoru’s thick and heavy cock continues to throb and he grips your wrists firmly to tug you upwards. “Eh?” You question, though happily obeying as he controls your movements. With not needing to use much of his strength, Satoru easily manhandles you. He twists you around until you’re facing him and hoists you up onto his near-empty desk. The gun still lying near one of the corners. “Not even trying to help Daddy here, I guess you really do love me handling you.” He sighs, a chaste kiss to your forehead before his hand pushes against your shoulder and your back meets the flat surface of the desk.

Your eyes are wide from feeling the impact, gazing up at him with lust and legs open, your body looking so inviting for him. Always. Satoru wastes no time. He’s too eager to feel you around him again and so with his hand at the base of his cock, he guides himself back in. Tip pressed against your hole before sinking in entirely, coaxing mewls to spill from your needy lips. Satoru shivers, feeling you squeeze around his erection once more. Your hands grip weakly onto the edge of the desk as Satoru starts to thrust fast and deep. You moan out in enjoyment when you feel his cock stretching you out every time he slams into you, eyes rolling back and lips staying parted. His crystal blue eyes refuse to leave your face as he pounds relentlessly into you, heavy pants mixed with eager grunts and groans parting from him.

The white-haired male never gives in, no matter how good it feels to have your walls wrapped snug and tight around his pulsating cock. Satoru continues to thrust hard and fast, skin slapping against skin echoing off the empty office walls. Your breasts bounce with each pounding of his length, the office desk creaking beneath you. “Daddy!” You choke out in ecstasy, tears threatening to spill down your cheeks. It only drives him further to witness you in such a delicious state; utterly drunk off of his cock alone. One hand comes down to your pussy, thumb pressing against your throbbing clit to rub teasingly in circles.

Electrifying jolts surge through your body from the contact to the sensitive nub, face scrunching up as you cry out for the taller male, clenching around his cock that continues to pound into you with no mercy. Every touch, every thrust of his is so damn thrilling that your body only chases for more, even as you start to feel delirious. Sweat lightly coats your body, tiny yelps escaping your swollen lips as his other hand slaps your breasts which continue to jiggle, thanks to his cock slamming deep into your core. “Da-ah~ Nnghh..” You babble out, cheeks glistening from your tears. Satoru is panting heavily, not minding the numb tingle in his palm as he slaps your breasts in time with his thrusts. Fuck, he swears he’s never felt anyone or anything so damn perfect before. The way your velvety inner walls cling onto his cock as if desperate to keep him buried inside of you; keep you full to the brim.

You both can sense the ultimate highs coming and yet, he refuses to give in just yet. It’s almost like magic to see how fast his throbbing cock disappears and your dripping cunt taking every inch, always stretching right around and squeezing. One hand steadies you against the desk, gripping onto your hip. His eyes are wide and alive with swirls of lust as his other reaches for the gun. Just that feeling of more power, that will really fucking send him over the edge. His long fingers wrap around the grip of the automated pistol. He pulls his cock out to the very tip, listening to your cute little whines. You want him back inside of you so badly and— “Ah!” You cry as he slams back in, eyes barely able to concentrate as he leans in, hovering over you as he continues to fuck you nice and deep.

So close, you’re both so close. Nearly there.

“Would you die for me, Y/N?” He pants out heavily, refusing to look away from your face that twists with innocent confusion from the question. You’re too drunk off of the pleasure to really think, though you know in your heart, what the answer is. “Yes— Yes, would die for, nn.. you, Daddy. Anything for you.” You moan, hand coming down to rest over his on your hip to squeeze. A single laugh escapes him, pleased by your answer. Loyalty really is the best in his eyes. To have you especially, be happily devoted to him. “Prove it, baby. I want you to prove it.” He says, voice low and breathless. You open your eyes when something presses to your forehead and that’s when you notice he picked up the automated pistol mid-fuck, still thrusting deep inside your dripping cunt, balls slapping against your ass.

Fear tightly tied in with the pleasure you feel, continues to surge through your body. Your eyes filled with tears almost going cross-eyed as you look at the gun, crying. You’re babbling and incoherent, nails digging into his wrist. You have to prove it. You want to prove it. To Satoru, your entire world. The metal scrapes against your forehead as your body still jerks with every pounding. Satoru feels like he could barely breathe now when your pussy clenches so tight around his length, forcing his grip on the gun to stay steady. “I’ll do it, Y/N. I’ll pull the trigger, just say you’ll die for me. Show me— Fuck, so tight... Show me your devotion.” He antagonises further, stomach muscles tensing. In his eyes, you look so pretty as a sobbing mess. All for him.

You’re blinded by the tears that spill down your cheeks, wailing mixing into moans of ecstasy. It’s so sinful, in your mind. To be so afraid and yet aroused. That your needy pussy continues to be coated in your excited slick, making it easier for him to fuck into you. “P-Pull it, Daddy! Let me show you!” You manage to stutter out in a broken cry, refusing to close your eyes as you look up at him. To look at your everything. “Fuck—” Satoru grunts out, cock aching from witnessing something so beautiful. “I’m pulling the trigger, baby. Three—” He cuts himself off, the barrel of the gun pressing firmly against your head.

Your body is shaking, your stomach hot and tight with the need to let everything go. “Daddy!” You choke out, eyes wide and cheeks stained with constant tears. “Two.” He warns, crystal blue eyes refusing to leave yours. He cocks the gun. This is it. This is when you’ll show your true devotion to the white-haired male; your lover. Satoru’s slick-covered cock slides out until only the tip stays nudged in.

“One!”

You hear the click of his finger pressing down on the trigger as he slams one final time into your tight heat and you swear there’s an explosion of stars. You come around his cock, walls fluttering before squeezing around him. Your eyes shut tightly when you hear the trigger, too deep in your feelings of ecstasy to process the reality of no bullet. The gun slams down on the table as his muscular arms wrap around your trembling figure. He’s groaning against your ear and finally spills every drop of his seed, filling you up to the brim. Your walls clench repeatedly around his thick length, eagerly milking him through his orgasm as you sob through your own. You cling onto him, legs and arms feeling like jelly as you do so. “I’ve got you, Y/N..” Satoru whispers, hand already stroking along your back as he holds you against his warm body.

It feels like a long while for you to calm down from your high, desperately holding onto the white-haired man as you sob through your orgasm, your excited mess seeping out from your pussy. It’s mixed with his own sticky cum and he’s still refusing to pull out of you. Maybe selfish of him, but he swears to himself that’s mostly focused on you. He has to. Wants to. After everything he’s just done. Reality soon crashes over you. Even when you’re deeply in love and trusting someone; it doesn’t stop the breakdown of relief. Relief mixed with guilt and confusion. Relief for being alive, that there really wasn’t any danger. Guilt for being aroused by something so dangerous in the hands of the man you love. Confusion... Why? Why did it arouse you?

Satoru makes gentle shushing sounds, not with the intention to silence you but to comfort you. Tears continue to spill down from your cheeks, nuzzling his broad shoulder in a pathetic attempt to hide. “You’re okay, baby… It’s okay. Daddy would never hurt you. Not like that, hm?” Satoru whispers lovingly. He finally relents, sliding out of you until his cum spills out of your gaping cunt and drips along the edge of the desk. Your walls clench around nothing, already missing the feeling of being full. A small hiccup escapes and you feel your body being gently rocked. “D-Daddy..” You mumble through sniffling and he pulls back a bit.

The white-haired offers a warm smile, eyes now clouded with the love he has for you. He presses a kiss to your forehead before taking hold of the gun. You couldn’t help but whimper, gaze fixated on it. “Look.” He pauses, sliding the magazine out to reveal the insides of it. Completely empty. Not a single bullet inside. Deep down, you knew that was the case. Satoru would never dare threaten you with a live weapon. It was all part of the play; something you both discussed wanting to try weeks ago. Everything was consensual… Still, you feel confused. Was it wrong to be so aroused by having your life in his hands? Trusting him completely? Satoru slots the magazine back into place with a click before setting it aside. With one hand on you, Satoru leans down to grab a bottle of water that he kept near his desk. He’s always a prepared man, even when things seem so spontaneous. He uncaps the bottle and gently guides your head away to press the edge of the bottle against your lips. You obey and take small sips of the water, thankful for the liquid to ease your sore throat.

“You’re not gross, Y/N. What you feel is completely normal, baby. It wasn’t exactly the gun that aroused you. Nor me. It was about the power exchange and trust.” The white-haired male gently explains and it surprises you; to be read so easily. Your bottom lip trembles and you pull back slightly to look up at him, tears glued to your long lashes. His heart aches at the sight, large hands tenderly cupping your cheeks as he scatters loving kisses across your forehead. “It feels weird, Daddy... I was so scared.” You confess quietly, sniffling. “But, I trust you so much. Even with my life. You’d never really do it, right?” You ask rather timidly and Satoru shakes his head quickly. He knows such thoughts are normal after an intense scene and you only deserve the best love and care afterwards.

“Would never ever. The only fear and pain we accept in this household is consensual. I love you so much, Y/N. You did so well for me.” Satoru praises, hands caressing your bare back as he smiles down at you as you continue to sit on his desk. Your heart flutters at the sight of his smile, wrapping your arms around his middle to cling onto him, burying your face against his firm chest. So warm and comforting. “I like trying new things with you. I know people would probably think of us as freaks, but I like it. You’re the only one I trust.” You mumble, voice muffled by your face refusing to pull away from his chest. Your words ease his mind and he presses a tender kiss to the top of your head. Even a dominant person in a relationship needs aftercare and to be reassured. You know that very much. Especially with Satoru. He may be intense during the scene and heavily aroused, but he’s still someone who is soft and gentle; behind all that cockiness. “I like it, too. We’re made for each other, Y/N. Thank you for trusting me… Now, come on.”

You cock your head to the side in question before you let out a soft squeal as you feel Satoru lift you up with ease. Satoru’s hands cautiously cup your ass cheeks as he walks to the closed door. You look back towards the office — items scattered across the floor and cum dripping down the table. You feel your cheeks heat up. “Shouldn’t we clean that up?” You ask quietly and Satoru laughs, warm breath tickling your neck. “I’ll clean it up later, we’re focusing on you right now. How does a bubble bath sound? Let me take care of you.” Satoru says through a dramatic whine and you can’t stop the giggle from escaping, resting your head against his broad shoulder as he carries you to the bathroom.

“You’re the best at taking care of me, Satoru.” You say through a happy sigh. He sets you down on the counter, finally shrugging off his unbuttoned shirt off properly. You watch, eyes glazed over with love as he’s preparing the bath. It’s thankfully quite big and will be able to fit both of you comfortably. Even with his long legs, that your eyes currently admire. His hand glides under the tap of running water, adjusting the temperature to the warmth that he knows you prefer. He looks back at you for a moment, noticing you looking. “Are you admiring my ass?” He teases, lips curling into a grin and you huff, looking off to the side. “Your legs, thank you very much. Though, you do have a nice ass.” You grumble and Satoru snorts.

Once the bath is prepared and nearly overflowing with bubbles, Satoru walks over to scoop you back up into his arms. “Admire all of me.” He says with a playful pout and chest puffing out. You lightly smack his muscular pecs, smiling. “Always.” You respond with a kiss to his lips as he settles both himself and you into the water. Your back is against his front as his long legs trap you within. Briefly, he tilts his head back and sighs, enjoying the warmth of the water and your body pressing against him. You nuzzle back into him happily, prompting him to smile. Quietly, he grabs a loofah, squirting your favourite scented lotion on it before he begins to scrub it gently against your arms. He firmly holds each arm up as he rubs in a circular motion, spreading the suds across your skin. You feel butterflies flutter in your stomach as he continues, feeling the loofah against your back and across your front. No one else in the past ever took care of you to such lengths.

Still, it’s not fair. “Satoru—” You begin, taking hold of the loofah once he is finished. You manage to wiggle yourself around until you’re facing him. With an eager huff, you begin to scrub against his skin and across his muscular body. Satoru’s playful gaze softens, keeping his arms up against the edge of the tub as he watches you. “Is this an excuse to touch my hot body?” He asks, unable to keep it in. You splash water at him and he laughs, leaning in to press a loving kiss to your lips, lingering for a moment.

“I get to touch your hot body whenever I want anyways.” You say as you pull away from the kiss, feeling giddy. There’s no sense of fear or insecurity within you anymore, completely comforted by the white-haired male’s presence. He loves you so perfectly. Satoru rolls his eyes as he sighs dramatically. “Yeah, I’m just a piece of meat.” He jokes, kissing you once more before wrapping his arms around you. “Just kidding.” He reassures, pulling you against him.

You both stay in the bath until the water starts to feel cold and so, Satoru stands up. He quickly dries himself off so he’s not dripping water across his apartment, wrapping the towel around his waist. He grabs an extra fluffy one for you, guiding you to stand up before he wraps it around you.

“I can dry myself—”

“No.”

You bite back a smile, now standing on the bathmat as he dries you off and even going to great lengths to squeeze the water out of your hair carefully. Satoru bends down to peck your lips, the towel now replaced with a fuzzy bath gown in your favourite colour. “Can you go to the bedroom? I’ll be quick.” Satoru promises, nudging you to the exit of the bathroom. Happily, you oblige. You walk down the long hallway— You still find yourself surprised sometimes by how big his apartment is… Bedroom, too. You push the door open to reveal the master bedroom, walking over to sit on the edge of the king-size bed that you happily share with the male.

Satoru quickly unplugged the bath before hanging your towel and leaving the bathroom. He walks in the opposite direction until he’s in the kitchen. He grabs another bottle of water from the fridge and two granola bars from the pantry. Perhaps some would think his actions during aftercare are a bit extreme. That cuddling is ‘enough’. A few nice words. To him, that’s barely anything. He remembers briefly of the past— You being surprised by how far he goes to make sure you’re okay. Maybe it’s surprising cause he doesn’t seem like the type. Not with an overly confident persona and playfulness. There will always be layers to discover when it comes to Gojo Satoru.

Once in the bedroom, Satoru walks over to set the bottle and granola bars down on the bedside table. Your gaze softens. “What if I wasn’t hungry?” You ask, allowing him to scoop you up to drop you down against the middle of the mattress, sinking into it. “Don’t care, you’ll still eat it.” Satoru says, guiding you to roll over onto your stomach. You make a questioning sound, sensing him moving away and you tilt your head to watch him. He walks over to a set of drawers to grab a pair of sweatpants, tugging them up his long legs and tucking himself in before grabbing a bottle of lotion from the top surface. “Satoruuuu, you do so much. Let me take care of you, too.” You whine and Satoru settles beside you, grinning a little. “You do plenty.” He reassures, pressing a kiss to your temple.

He slides the gown up until your ass is revealed to him and he sighs. “You do have a perfect ass. My favourite.” He says, slowly squeezing some of the lotion onto his palm and you pout. “I hope you don’t see any other asses.” You mumble, breath hitching when you feel the coldness of the lotion before he begins to massage the lotion in. “I don’t know, hard to not look at my own.” Satoru says lightly, kneading the supple flesh gently. He never wants to take any chances with bruising. The spanking was barely anything compared to what he had done before, but it will never stop Satoru. Maybe it’s an excuse to touch you further and the thought makes you giggle. Thankfully, his tender massage does ease the throbbing in your ass. Once finished, Satoru leans down to press a playful kiss to each cheek. “Mwah, mwah.”

You laugh, prompting him to grin before he tugs the gown back down and rubs his hands on his sweats. He sets the lotion aside before his firm grip rolls you back over. Satoru easily hoists you up until you’re settled against the pillows. He tugs the blankets over your lower half, making sure the pillows are nice and plump for your comfort. He joins you under the blankets, settled against the pillows next to you. His arm reaches behind you to grab one of the granola bars and drops it on your lap. “Eat.” He orders gently, now wrapping his arms around you to snuggle into you, happy to just finally embrace you in bed and relax... Not that he doesn’t love doing aftercare, he really does. Especially after an intense session. It’s just that nothing quite beats cuddling in the end. You feel extra cosy still in the bath gown to relax in and have your boyfriend clinging onto you. He’s always been the affectionate kind and you adore it.

You snack on the granola bar in a comforting silence, breaking a bit to feed to him. He happily takes it between his teeth before chewing. One hand comes up to stroke along the back of your head, smiling softly. “Feeling okay now? Do you have any regrets?” Satoru asks, needing to know. You tilt your head, leaning in to press a kiss to his lips. “No regrets at all, my love. I had fun and it feels comforting to know that we can be freaks together.” You say with a soft giggle and Satoru relaxes. “Agreed, my love.” He copies, keeping his arms wrapped around you. You smile, noticing his eyes closing for the moment. You briefly think back to the gun that was pointed at your forehead. Fear doesn’t flare up within you. You know that no matter what happens between you both— No matter how intense things could be; there will always be love and trust. You will always be happy and willing to try something new with the man you love. Besides, it’s not like it’s the only thing you both do. There’s plenty of gentle love-making, too. “I love you.” You mumble shyly, nibbling on the granola bar. He smiles, eyes still closed and snuggling into your warmth.

“I love you, too.”

965 notes · View notes