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stxrvel · 8 months

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hate is a strong word pt. 2

summary: it took you three fundamental moments to find out what your feelings were about and that maybe you didn't want to have them.

pairing: bucky barnes x f!reader

words: +3k

warnings: bad words, bucky's kinda flirting, reader is constantly flustered, the avengers are imprudent, still not a healthy relationship, angst at the very end because reader finds her feelings very confusing, pls don't come at her.

note: hi guys! i finally decided to publish this second part and the third one is going to be the last one. i only have like 10% of it but it's on the works. thanks to all of you who read and enjoy my works! hope you like this one too <;33

part 1 ; part 3

Bucky picked up a strange habit after that mission where you found out he didn't really hate you.

At times, when he had a mischievous gleam in his eye, Bucky would call you “doll”.

It was a nightmare.

Maybe the worst thing that could have happened to you was having that conversation with Bucky because now it seemed like he didn't want to let you have a single moment of peace. And he was enjoying it, that bastard was rejoicing in your shame. The first time he did it you wanted the earth to swallow you up, with several wall of eyes on you. You knew those glowing eyes meant danger and yet you walked around them.

Arriving from that mission was an odyssey because you were suddenly uncomfortable around him. It wasn't so much like that when you were alone with him, most of the time, but it was always so weird when there was someone else from the team around.

You two arrived at the Complex two days later. Everything was going well until you started down the ramp of the Quinjet and faces began to appear in the distance. You suddenly felt acutely aware of the closeness of Bucky's body to yours and, not at all disguised, you moved to the other side as you continued down. Bucky barely gave you a sidelong glance with that unabashed grin.

You both stopped when you got in front of the others and even though you were sure they had questions to ask you, an awkward silence surrounded you.

Everyone was looking every which way, especially between you and Bucky, as if they could sense that something had happened. It made your insides churn just remembering it.

But finally it was Sam Wilson who put an end to the silence, sentencing you to eternal sorrow.

“Did you two hook up or something?”

Bucky didn't say anything, other than try to swallow a laugh and all you could do was break their line, stepping in between Sam and Tony and brushing their shoulders hard. No one said anything until you could no longer hear them.

Bucky later told you that he had cleared things up, but that didn't put your mind at ease.

But, well, anyway, back to the main topic. Bucky made it his new sport to call you doll in random situations to get on your nerves. Sometimes he would do it when you two were alone, and well, that didn't upset you that much. But other times, the bastard would do it when he knew there were people who could hear him just to enjoy your upset and confused expression. God, you hated him so much.

And you'd like to think that with the time that had passed you had gotten used to it, but the truth is, it was impossible to get used to it. That Bucky started calling you by that nickname seemed to have flipped some switch, because you couldn't help but think that things around him had changed. Suddenly you were starting to feel like it was too much to be around him, too intense, too annoying, too hot-

Argh. Whatever.

You were having lunch with Natasha on the cafeteria balcony, trying to dispel from your head all the times during that day Bucky had used that… awkward nickname with you. You stabbed at the pasta shells with your fork with a blank stare and a scowl.

“So, it's been a month, has it?” Natasha spoke, her back erect with the spoon full of stew halfway to her mouth.

You shook your head slightly to turn to look at her. “A month of what?”

“Since you got back from the mission. You and…”

Natasha shook her head pointing inside the cafeteria and yes, there was the owner of your nightmares.

“Oh yeah, what about it?”

“You never told me what happened.”

“Because there's nothing to tell, Romanoff, don't-”

“Did you two fuck?”

Your mouth opened wide. You couldn't believe what the woman in front of you had just asked.

“Natasha…” you frowned at her, your voice coming out with reprimanding ink.

“What? Talking about sex is normal these days.”

“Ugh,” you grimaced, shaking your head. “I can't believe it. You better shut up, let me at least enjoy lunch. It's the only time of the day where I can be left alone.”

You heard the spy's deep breathing, but she finally dropped the subject for the sake of peace.

You took a calming breath and tried to enjoy your meal.

“What's up, girls?” someone appeared out of nowhere and sat down in the middle of Natasha and you.

“Hey, Clint,” you replied listlessly, hoping he'd entertain himself talking to Natasha and they'd completely forget you were there.

It was surprising, but those last few days you had spent more time with Clint than with any other member of the team. He seemed to be the only person who didn't really care about whatever it was that had happened between you and Bucky, which was really nothing. So, usually, if you had free time, you preferred to spend it around him.

It wasn't that the others were all the time bugging you and making comments about it, like Natasha did today, but by trying to keep things “the way they were” the environments became very uncomfortable. It was like everyone had convinced themselves that they had to ignore something that wasn't there. Everything was more tense for no apparent reason.

“How was the mission?” you heard Natasha say as you watched the green field in the distance.

“Luckily, very easy. I gathered the intel and saved the hostages. That girl's a lunatic, isn't she?”

“You betcha. And that we haven't directly encountered her, except for Y/N.”

You shook your head in assent when you heard your name.

“It must have been awful.”

It was on the next mission you had after the mission with Bucky, just two days later. It was supposed to be a recon mission, because the data showed she wasn't there anymore, but you ran into her in the middle of an attack. People called her Dark Lightning, some would say it was because of her hair and her shiny suit, but the truth was literal: the woman could summon very powerful dark rays.

You didn't quite understand where she came from because your specialty was HYDRA remnants, but Fury asked you for the favor and, well, you also wanted to get out of the Complex, even if it was only for a few hours.

So as anything could go wrong, in the middle of the mission Dark Lightning showed up and gave a good beating to the whole team, including you. You spent a week in recovery and well, there you were. You had been assigned jobs that you could handle from a computer in the comfort of your room while Fury decided when you could return to the field.

“Yes, she has a fascination with electrocuting people for fun. I think we've seen worse, but she's pretty close.”

“Who could have done worst?”

Natasha and you answered without hesitation. “Ultron.”

“Are you serious?” Clint narrowed his eyes in disbelief.

“He may not have lasted more than a day, but if he had, we'd all be screwed. We wouldn't even be having this conversation because we'd be extinct,” you made your point, stealing some potato chips from Natasha's tray.

The redhead nodded at your words. “The android had access to the entire internet, the entire history of humanity and simply decided that extinction was the solution.”

“Mmm, I think you're giving him too much credit,” Clint waved his hand in a nonchalant gesture, after taking a huge bite of his burger. “Thor's brother was terrible too, wasn't he?”

Natasha and you looked at each other, before you both shrugged to reluctantly agree with Clint. Yes it was true that he had caused a lot of havoc, but that you say a worldwide threat, maybe not so much.

Natasha and Clint dropped you off in front of what had become your new office since working at the Complex. You had a long conversation with them about villains that you didn't want to hear about evil and malevolent plans again for quite a while, but you had to deal with that at work.

You sighed looking at the time on your cell phone. Bucky was supposed to be in there already.

Oh yeah, you worked with Bucky too. Why? You weren't quite sure, but the first day you were there, Barnes walked in like he owned the place without saying anything and sat in the empty chair across the room. The room wasn't that big, so you were always relatively close.

Besides, you also didn't know at what point Bucky became the tech guru enough for Fury to delegate a completely electronic job to him. But in order not to provoke anyone or anything, you decided to remain silent.

You opened the door with a sigh and… yes, there was Bucky.

“Hey, doll.”

He gave you half a look and went back to staring at the screen in front of him. You stuck your tongue out at his back with a frown and rolled your eyes as you closed the door. At first you were glad that you didn't have to argue with him all the time anymore, but sometimes you preferred that to having to put up with hearing that nickname all the time.

“If you really don't like it,” you heard Bucky's voice again after you sat down in front of your computer and you couldn't help but wince because you instantly knew what he meant, “why don't you ask me to stop?”

You knew he had turned to look at you, you felt his gaze drilling into your head, but you weren't going to turn to see him. You couldn't let him take the pleasure of seeing your agitated expression and the way your eyes gave you away. You were fighting too hard with yourself to try to keep all those weird feelings at bay for him to come along and upset you with five little words.

“You know I'd listen to you.”

“Stop it,” you turned against your will, trying to maintain a strong front. “Let me work.”

You turned quickly again, your heart beating so fast and hard against your ribs that you feared it might bolt. The quick glimpse you got of his playful blue eyes so close to you was enough adrenaline for the rest of the day.

God, you had to learn to control yourself more.

“As you wish, ma'am.”

God, how you hated it.

The second round that day was a couple of hours later, when the whole team was called together to give the weekly previews.

Tony and Steve went first, being the leaders of the missions against Dark Lightning, reporting that they had made great strides in locating several places she was using as hideouts thanks to information provided to them by intelligence, namely Bucky and you.

Clint gave a short report on his last mission and a strategy for the next attack was quickly planned.

Then, it was your dependency's turn. As you had spoken the week before, it was now Bucky's turn.

Without a word, the man moved to the podium and planted himself there looking at everyone present.

“We still have no new information on Dark Lightning. Her last location dated back to a place near New Mexico, but from there we lost track of her. We're using the satellites to see if we can find her.”

You shook your head in a nod. That was correct.

“We haven't detected any unusual developments about the HYDRA remnant settlements either. They seem to be… somewhat quiet for now.”

Yes, that was one way of putting it.

“We also need a new extension,” Bucky jerked his head in Fury's direction, who quickly nodded taking it for granted.

Ah, yes, you definitely needed it.

“And that's it. Anything you want to add, doll?”

Your own breath caught in your throat, causing you to hiccup which couldn't have been more embarrassing. As the blood froze in your veins, a string of awkward coughs and chair movements followed Bucky's words.

Even though you felt like you were dying inside, you looked him in the eye and firmly said, “No, Barnes.”

Your lethal gaze followed his soft smile and the way he nodded and then stepped down from the podium and walked to sit in his place next to you. As if he hadn't just embarrassed you, he picked up the bottle with water in front of him and took it as if it was nothing, paying attention to Wanda who had just taken his place.

And you wanted to pay attention to her, because sometimes the team would make requests and you had to take note, but you couldn't take your eyes off Bucky's profile in front of you, how his blue eyes were focused on Wanda or the way his lips curved slightly, almost imperceptible, that if you hadn't been watching as you were you would have missed it for sure.

You noticed his eyebrows raised as the room erupted in laughter. He took that moment to speak to you without looking you directly in the eye:

“What's wrong?”

You frowned at his profile. “What's wrong? You ask me what's wrong?”

At Bucky's puzzled look, you moved your chair until you were close enough to him for him to understand your whispers. Well, sure, though, super soldier…

“Why did you do that in front of the whole team?” you reproached him amid whispers, drawing a chuckle from him. All around everyone was still talking loudly, so Bucky didn't care too much about the sound of his voice.

You did. Not only because someone might hear you and embarrass you again if you didn't speak softer, but also because that laughter wasn't doing you any good. You felt your stomach turn until you felt like throwing up.

“I already told you that you can ask me to stop at any time and I will,” Bucky shrugged, his gaze still focused on the person on the platform.

“Why are you so insufferable?”

The man set the bottle with water down on the table and suddenly turned to face you. You were speechless at his closeness.

“Why don't you just say it? Or don't you want me to stop?”

You swallowed saliva as best you could, because suddenly your mouth felt too dry. You didn't know what his closeness was doing to your body, but you felt like you were going to explode like fireworks at any moment.

“I just want you to stop embarrassing me in front of the rest of the team,” you spoke between whispers, trying to keep your composure.

Bucky suddenly flashed that sly grin you hated so much.

“So you'd rather I only call you that when we're alone?”

You tried to calm your racing heart with deep breaths, but the truth was that you had lost all sense of reality several seconds ago. You felt like you were in a room alone with Bucky as a haunting silence enveloped you two as the tension continued to build. You could no longer hear any words but the ones coming out of his mouth and you could barely hear your thoughts. You felt that this exaltation was going to suffocate you.

And when his eyes lowered for less than a second, when you realized that he looked at your lips for a thousandth of a second, at that moment you came out of your trance. You blinked rapidly.

“I'd rather you stop trying to annoy me with those provocations.”

“What provocations, doll? We're just talking.”

You let out a growl under your breath, partly out of frustration and partly because of the euphoric way your body reacted to hearing his deeper-than-normal voice.

“You're getting on my nerves, Barnes.”

“Just say the magic words, doll. It'll be over as soon as you snap your fingers.”

“Why don't you just forget about it and leave it alone?”

“Because I like calling you that, don't you?”

“No,” you frowned at the bitterness that settled in the back of your throat. “You get on my nerves. You stress me out, Barnes.”

“God, you look so hot when you get mad.”

Bucky thought he mumbled it and he probably did, but neither of you noticed the dead silence that had taken over the room. You didn't even dare to tear your gaze away from his when you noticed his pupils disappear.

You didn't even have time to think about the abomination that had come out of his mouth, let alone its physical effect on your body, because shame came down on you once again like a bucket of cold water.

Fuck, not again. I can't.

I can't even narrate it.

The third round was the next day. You had been standing in front of the office door wondering if you should go in or not. Anyway, Bucky was doing such a good job for both of you, you didn't think much would happen if you didn't work that day. But no, the sense of responsibility wouldn't leave you alone.

So you opened the door and sat down quickly in your chair without even giving him a glance. But you still couldn't escape him.

On the table in front of the keyboard was a small open box with your favorite dessert from the cafeteria and a glass with a metal straw filled to the brim with your favorite drink. Maybe it was too early for that much sugar, but you couldn't help the smile your face succumbed to as you looked at two of your favorite things in front of you.

Until you heard him.

“I'm sorry,” Bucky spoke behind you.

Though the smile on your face disappeared, your chest constricted at the sound of his contrite voice. Ugh, you hated so much you couldn't control those crazy emotions inside your chest.

“Yesterday I got caught up in the moment and… Well, no, I was just willfully reckless. I'm sorry I put you through that.”

You sighed looking at the detail he had gotten you and thought deeply about his words. You knew his apology was sincere and that his detail came from the heart, but you felt confused inside about how to proceed.

“If you want me to stop, then I will.”

Your ears pricked up at that, straightening up on the back of the chair. Bucky was giving you what you had so desperately asked for finally, but… why didn't that make you feel good?

“I'm truly sorry for making you uncomfortable all this time. I thought… No, that doesn't matter. I should have stopped from the beginning. I'm sorry, Y/N.”

Unlike how you had felt on different occasions, that time when your heart pounded out of control, you felt a chill run through your entire body. You felt like your heartbeat was going to stop at some point because of the whiplash of pain that coursed through your chest.

No, that didn't feel right, so it must not be right.

You turned around on the swivel chair, meeting Bucky's pained face head on.

“If you want to yell at me, go ahead,” he said, straightening up and hardening his features as if he expected a blow.

“I…” the words crowded in your mouth, you weren't even sure what it was you wanted to say to him.

But his face softened once more and his clear eyes sparkling like two stars in the sky reassured you a little.

“I don't quite know how I feel,” you finally told him, your face contracted in concern. “I don't quite understand how I feel and… I don't think I can handle this.”

You pointed between you and Bucky, and the man finally took on a calmer expression. He let the air out as if he had finally pulled his head out of the water.

“That's fine, Y/N. It's a start. You may not know how to handle those emotions, but you can recognize them now.”

“But I don't know if I want them,” you frowned, your own body contradicting your words as you wanted to move closer to the man who had just tried to pretend that what he'd heard hadn't hurt a bit. “I don't know if I want to have these emotions for you.”

Bucky was silent for several seconds, his face inscrutable as your heart continued to pound wildly. For a moment you wondered if he could hear it too.

“That too- that's okay too,” Bucky nodded slightly, his eyes reluctantly moving from the floor to meet yours. The lack of brightness in them caused another ache in your chest. That was what you didn't want, that pain, that desperation to want to soothe it. You hated it. “It's okay if you don't want to have them. We could- could spend some time away so you can deal with it.”

“Would that solve it?” you dared to ask, even though your whole being screamed against that idea.

“I think it would,” Bucky gave you a smile, not at all similar to the ones you had seen before. That one was much sadder, duller, bleak…

“Then I think I might give it a try.”

No, maybe not, you wouldn't put up with that pain. It was better to feel the shame. Yes, definitely. Much better were Bucky's sly smirks instead of that smile that couldn't even reach his opaque eyes.

Oh no, what did you just do?

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes angst #bucky fanfic #bucky fic #bucky barnes #bucky x you #bucky fluff #james bucky barnes #stxrvel talks #avengers #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky x reader #bucky x y/n #winter soldier #the winter soldier #bucky barnes x you #bucky

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attichaos · 2 years

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P.1 Common Herbs A-Z

This is A-C of some common herbs and their uses

*longer read*

Acorn

Good luck

Protection

Wisdom

Personal power

A dried acorn is an excellent natural amulet for keeping a youthful appearance.

Allspice

Money

Luck

Healing

Obtaining treasure

Provides added determination and energy to any spells and charms. Burn crushed allspice to attract luck and money. Use in herbal baths for healing.

Almond

Wisdom

Money

Fruitfulness

Prosperity

Invokes the healing energy of the deities. Provides magickal help for overcoming dependencies & addiction. Associated with Candlemas and Beltane. Carry, wear, or use as incense to attract abundance.

Aloe

Protection

Luck

Place on the grave of a loved one to promote peaceful energy. Thought to relieve loneliness and assist with success. Hang in the home to attract luck and protection for those who live there. Grow in the home to provide protection from household accidents. Burn on the night of a full moon to bring a new lover by the new moon.

Apple

Love

Garden Magick

Immortality

Friendship

Healing

Place seven apple seeds in a bag with Orris Root to attract sexual love. Use in rituals to give honor to gods and goddesses of fertility. Considered the food of the dead, which is why Samhain is called the 'Feast of Apples'. Symbolizes the soul and is burned at Samhain in honor of those who will be reborn in the spring. When doing a house blessing, cut an apple in half -- eat half and put the other half outside of the home as an offering.

Apricot

Love

Add leaves and flowers to love sachets or carry apricot pits to attract love.

Banana

Fertility

Potency

Prosperity

Basil

Love

Exorcism

Wealth

Sympathy

Protection

Dispels confusion, fears & weakness. Drives off hostile spirits. Associated with Candlemas. Carry to move forward in a positive manner despite perilous danger. Strewn on floors to provide protection from evil. Sprinkle an infusion of basil outside of the building where you hope to be employed for luck in a job interview or in your business to attract money and success. Wear or carry to aid in attracting money and prosperity.

Bay leaf

Protection

Good fortune

Success

Purification

Strength

Healing

Psychic powers

Write wishes on the leaves and then burn the leaves to make the wishes come true. Place under the pillow (or use in dream pillow) to induce prophetic dreams. Place in the corner of each room in the house to protect all that dwell there. Carry bay leaf to protect yourself against black magick.

Black pepper

Banishing negativity

Exorcism

Protection from evil

Blackberry

Healing

Protection

Money

Sacred to Brighid. Leaves and berries said to attract wealth and healing.

Bluebell

Luck

Truth

Friendship

Incorporate into rituals of death & dying to comfort those left behind and ease their sorrow.

Blueberry

Protection

Though not recommended, blueberry is said to cause confusion & strife when tossed in the doorway or path of an enemy.

Burdock

Used for cleansing magick when feeling highly negative about oneself or others. Use in protection incenses and spells. Rinse with a decoction of burdock to remove negative feelings about yourself or others.

Cabbage

Fertility

Profit

Good luck

Lunar magick

Money magick

Cactus

Chastity

Banishing

Protection.

Bury with other banishing symbols for protection. Grow in the home or garden to prevent unwanted intrusions. Place in all directions of the home (north, south, east, and west) for full protection.

Cardamom

Lust

Love

Fidelity

Carrot

Lust

Fidelity

Cashew

Money

Celery

Mental powers

Psychic powers

Lust

Fertility

Male potency

Chamomile

Love

Healing

Reducing stress.

Add to a sachet or spell to increase the chances of its success. Sprinkle an infusion of chamomile around the house to remove hexes, curses and spells. Burn or add to prosperity bags to increase money. Burn as incense for de-stressing, meditation, and restful sleep. Wash hands in an infusion of chamomile for luck before gambling or playing cards. Use in bath magick to attract love. Keep a packet of the herb with lottery tickets for luck.

Cherry

Love

Divination

Gaiety

Happiness

Chestnut

Love

Chilli Pepper

Fidelity

Love

Hex breaking

Scatter powder around the house to break hexes and spells against you. Use in love charms & spells.

Chives

Protection

Weight loss *weight loss spells can be dangerous*

Cinnamon

Spirituality

Success

Healing

Protection

Power

Love

Luck

Strength

Prosperity

Burn as an incense or use in a sachet to raise spiritual and protective vibrations, draw money, and stimulate psychic powers. A popular herb for use in charms to draw money & prosperity. Wear in an amulet to bring passion.

Citronella

Draws friends to the home, customers to the business. Promotes eloquence, persuasiveness, and prosperity. Protects and cleanses the aura. Encourages self-expression and creativity (great for writers & actors!) and brings clarity to the mind. Repels insects and deodorizes

Clove

Exorcism

Love

Money

Protection

Coconut

Chastity

Protection

Purification

Coffee

Helps to dispel nightmares and negative thoughts and to overcome internal blockages. Provides peace of mind and grounding.

Coriander

Love

Health

Immortality

Protection.

Tie fresh coriander with a ribbon and hang in the home to bring peace & protection. Add to love charms and spells to bring romance or use in ritual work to ease the pain of a broken love affair. Promotes peace among those who are unable to get along. Throw the seeds in lieu of rice during Handfastings and other rituals of union. Use the seeds in love sachets and spells. Add powdered seeds to wine for an effective lust potion. Wear or carry the seeds to ward off disease and migraines.

Cucumber

Chastity

Fertility

Healing

Cumin

Fidelity

Protection

Exorcism.

The seed is said to prevent the theft of any object which contains it. Burn with frankincense for protection. Scatter on the floor alone or with salt to drive out evil. Use in love spells to promote fidelity. Steep in wine to make love potions.

Curry

Protection

Burn curry powder to keep evil forces away.

And as always, merry meet <3

Atti

(photo - attichaos)

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doodle-pops · 2 months

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Seconds Chances Are Worth Living For

Maglor x human!reader

Request: Hi can I request an fic (or onehsot) where a human finds Maglor wondering the beach where he threw the silmaril and they help him? - anon

Warnings: human!reader, light angst with happy ending/comfort, depressed and gloomy Maglor

Words: 1.3k

Synopsis: Nobody ever said second chances in life were easy, nor were changes necessary to bring them.

“Will you not come with me?”

His heart twisted painfully; your words lingered in the air like an unwelcome odour he desperately wished to dispel. Too often had these haunting words surfaced in his mind during the agonizing days of solitude. Too many times, he found himself yearning for them to materialize into reality, yet he remained resolute in his pride, steadfast against the prospect of accepting forgiveness. Deep within, he longed for the warmth of a fireplace, enclosed by walls of solace and finality—enough respite from the harshness of the ocean waves and the mournful cries of seagulls.

His posture, detached upon the rugged rocks, nearly melding into the static structure, remained unmoved. On the contrary, you stood unwavering before him, your gaze fixed upon his threadbare form draped in the remnants of shame and despair. It was a clash between an immovable object and an unstoppable force, and you were determined not to be the one to yield. Whether it was destiny or the cosmic alignment that led you to his desolate presence on the shores of Forlindon, you were resolved not to depart without pulling him away.

Defiance surged through your veins as you continued to face his statuesque figure, yet you restrained yourself from encroaching upon his personal space.

“If you stay another hour, you may succumb to fatal illness,” you pleaded, voice above a whisper. A strong gust of wind roamed the shores, prompting you to curl your cloak around your shoulders tightly to your body. There was a faint chattering of your teeth as you gathered the courage to speak up again. “Please, there is a cabin not too far away from these shores. The least you can do is come with me for something warm to eat and drink, perhaps a warmer change of apparel?”

Maglor’s gaze stretched into the distance, fixed upon the horizon, while his fingers gracefully danced through the air, as if caressing an unseen harp. Murmuring unfamiliar words, too delicate for mortal ears to grasp, his lament echoed the sorrows of a bygone era when the world was in its infancy. This was the poignant scene that unfolded before you: Maglor, singing with a voice textured like sandpaper, tears encrusting his eyelids, lips weathered and parted, fingers weaving through the invisible threads of melody, and eyes reflecting a profound abyss of desolation.

In a single glance, your heart welled with empathy, and tears threatened to spill from your lashes. In a burst of compassion, you implored and beseeched him to find solace within the confines of your cabin, offering a glimmer of hope to bring an end to his eternal torment.

“Please,” –you stepped closer, dwarfed by his largeness despite his malnourished physique– “I’m not asking you to stay forever if that is what you believe I seek. I only wish to help you—”

“Why?” He spoke or rather, croaked!

“Well…” you fumbled, stunned at his ability to communicate after minutes of attempting to capture his attention. “Because it is the right thing to do.”

“Why?”

Flapping your lips like a fish and furrowing your brows to mimic confusion, you stammered, “W-Well, I mean—You shouldn’t be alone out here in the element…suffering. You deserve a warm bed and comfort.”

“Why?” You never imagined that reaching out to aid a person would become so difficult. Indeed he was proving to be an unmovable object, but you were willing to be that unstoppable force who spoke wisdom into him.

For a fleeting moment, your gaze descended from his lean countenance to the weathered rock upon which he perched, his nimble fingers still weaving through the breeze in search of a haunting melody. A serene ambiance enveloped both of you, juxtaposed against the impending unease hanging in the air. The turbulent seas clashed vehemently against the headlands and platforms, while the sky hinted at an impending tempest, prompting you to ponder earnestly on what he sought from you amid the impending cataclysm.

Rubbing your cheek to battle against the frost nipping at your skin, you pinched your lips, then scratched your head as though an oncoming headache was surfacing. “Because I want to help you and I believe you are in need of help. My mortal compass would not rest well knowing that I left someone out in the element to suffer when I could relieve some of it.”

“And…what if you are…” He never finished his words for his throat seized up on him, but they lingered in the air ringing obviousness to what he was conveying.

“Wrong? Then I will learn a life lesson to not trust strangers who are on the brink of death.” Releasing a chuckle as you crinkled your nose, you looked at him once more. “I rather spend my time helping someone in need of it instead of having restless days and nights knowing I left you to suffer. If I am wrong…—everyone suffers differently, the good, the bad and the indifferent. What matters is that I helped; what you choose to do after is your choice and path.”

For the first time since your encounter, his lacklustre gaze fixed upon your earthly form, shrouded in ebony. His eyes meticulously studied every nuance of your being, from the strands of your hair down to the contour of your chin, even discerning the intricacies of your skin that radiated vitality. It was a quality of his that had languished in purgatory for countless eons. Compelling his lips to part, his pallid complexion yielded, producing droplets of moisture that emerged, imparting a semblance of colour to his wistful countenance. “But…am stran…ger.”

Resisting the urge to physically shake him by his shoulder before being beyond complex, you huffed and widened your eyes, tears threatening to spill as your emotions swallowed you. “Yes, yes! I know you are a stranger! You could be a sea creature too for all I know, who crawled out the depths of the ocean to lament his sufferings to the surface world! But none of that matters because I know a suffering person when I see one because I too… Please, let me help you. Don’t…give up without trying. Let me help...”

Maglor drew in a slow, measured breath before exhaling. It felt as though some divine intervention, dispatched by the Valar to alleviate his torment, had arrived in the form of your unwavering determination. Perhaps the burden of his endless years wandering the shores had become too much for even the Valar to bear, prompting their counsel for his return. Alternatively, this could be yet another vivid dream, a product of years spent attempting to conjure solace. Regardless, it all seemed serendipitous.

Though he longed to inquire about his fate should he accept, the strength to articulate a single syllable eluded him. As his eyes locked onto yours in search of sincerity, he grappled with the duality of seeking both truth and deceit, yearning for the former.

Setting aside his infamous pride, swallowing it like a scalding-hot, white rod, a new chapter unfolded. The courage amassed since ancient days returned, instilling confidence in his actions. However, the lack of physical strength betrayed him, causing his legs to give way, sending him tumbling into the damp sand. In that moment, he felt an overwhelming desire to weep at the transformation he had undergone and the shame he carried. Your arms delicately extended, encircling his waist, as he clung to your figure. From a once-great prince to a desolate wanderer in need of mortal compassion, Maglor held onto you as you struggled to lift him onto his feet, leaning his weakened body against yours.

“All is fine, I have you. Just walk with me, small steps and we shall get there safely and securely,” you softly reassured as you carried him towards a new beginning.

Masterlist

Taglist: @lilmelily @ranhanabi777 @mysticmoomin @rain-on-my-umbrella @asianbutnotjapanese @batsyforyou @sakurayaxd @ladyenchanted @involuntaryspasms @stormchaser819 @aconstructofamind @addaigio @lamemaster @hermaeuswhora

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sughuru · 4 months

Text

red and blue fireworks

- gojo satoru x reader

Firework shows aren't as nice to look at now with him gone.

genre/warning: angst, chapter 236 spoiler, sad reader, sleep deprived writer, writer doesn't really keep up with the manga.

notes: its 11 PM here so I'm posting this early but I believe its already past new years in Japan and other countries so happy new year everyone! I'm sorry I haven't been posting, been busy + I have writers block :( anyways, I hope you enjoy this, english isn't my first language so pls do correct me if i'm wrong gramatically/spelling! P.S epilogue is my copium :')

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As the clock counted down within the city, the countdown began, crowds were already anticipating for it to come. Three..two…one. Fireworks painted the night sky in an array of colors, amidst the cheers and laughter, you stood there by the balcony, admiring the lit up sky alone. The new year has arrived and for the first time in what seems to be forever, you stood there with no one by your side.

You heard of the news, of course. Who hasn’t?

Gojo Satoru was killed on December 24 2018. He, who promised you he’ll always bounce back. He, who said he would win. He, who is now gone.

The city lights flickered, casting a gentle glow on your face as you whispered to the night, "You were supposed to bounce back, Satoru." The emptiness of the balcony echoed your sentiment, a silent tribute to the void left by a man who had vowed to change the Jujutsu world.

As the new year started, unfolding before you, you couldn’t help but feel a mix of sorrow and determination. As Tokyo continued to celebrate, you stared at the countdown and couldn't help be reminded of the void Satoru had left.

The news had left you with more questions than answers. How did someone so vibrant, so full of life, meet such an untimely end? The crowds below celebrated the birth of a new year, but your thoughts were consumed by the void left by Satoru's absence. It was as if the world had shifted, and you were left grappling with the aftershocks of a reality that felt inconceivable. One could argue that it's been a week, and it's time to move on.

But how could you? Satoru’s been with you for the longest time, be it as a romantic partner or just a friend. He was pretty much your other half.

The relentless tick of the clock seemed to mock the idea of moving on. Each moment felt like an eternity, a painful reminder of a reality without Satoru's infectious laughter, his reassuring presence.

"You're such a liar...you know I hate liars." you looked down sadly, a tear unconsciously slid down your left cheek.

Usually, Satoru would be there to wipe it off but not anymore. The silence that followed hung heavy in the air, echoing the void left by his absence. Your gaze lingered on the empty space where he used to stand, a ghostly reminder of the love they once shared.

"You promised you'd always be here," she whispered, as if expecting him to materialize and dispel the ache in her chest. But the room remained still, and the unspoken truth echoed louder than any words spoken. Satoru's absence was a void that no amount of promises or memories could fill.

So you cried.

And cried.

For what seemed like an eternity, you just cried on your balcony, crying for him to return to your arms. As the night wore on, the tears eventually subsided, leaving you with a quiet emptiness.

The solitude was interrupted when you heard the door creak open, and for a split second, you had thought it was Satoru. Your heart skipped a beat, hope igniting in the darkness of your grief. The room seemed to hold its breath as you turned, half-expecting to see his familiar silhouette in the doorway, ready to dispel the emptiness that clung to the air.

But the fleeting hope was quickly extinguished as reality asserted itself. The figure that stood in the doorway was not Satoru; it was Shoko

"Hey, I heard... I just wanted to check on you," a soft voice broke the silence, and Shoko stood there, a concerned expression etched on her face. Their presence was a well-intentioned attempt to offer comfort, yet it only emphasized the stark contrast between the one you longed for and the one who stood before you.

You managed a weak smile, grateful for the support, but the ache persisted. The balcony, once a haven of shared moments, felt invaded by the intrusion of reality. You couldn't shake the lingering feeling that the universe was playing a cruel joke, teasing you with false promises of a return that would never be.

As Shoko offered a comforting embrace, you couldn't help but cast a longing glance over their shoulder, half-expecting to see Satoru materialize in the shadows.

Suddenly, your friend got a call. The soft melody of a ringing phone pierced the quietude of the room, interrupting the delicate balance that had formed between shared grief and silent companionship. They glanced at their phone, apologetically mouthing a quick "I'll be right back" before stepping outside, so once again, you were back alone on your balcony, gazing at the fireworks that have slowly died down.

A flash of blue and red fireworks appeared all of a sudden, and you widened your eyes. The unexpected burst of color and light painted the night sky, momentarily distracting you from the weight of your emotions. The red and blue reminded you of him. In that fleeting burst of fireworks, the colors seemed to echo the vivid hues of Satoru's presence in your life.

"Happy New Year, Satoru..." you whispered, the words carried away by the night breeze. With a final gaze at the night sky, you turned away from the balcony, carrying the memory of the red and blue fireworks and the whispered greeting to Satoru into the embrace of the new year.

____

Epilogue

Shoko returns, and as you close the balcony door, she looks at you with a mix of emotions. "Y/N," she calls out, "there's been recent updates on Gojo’s condition."

"What?"

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mysteria157 · 3 months

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Chapter 18

Pairing: Nanami Kento x Black Fem Reader

Word Count: ~13k (it’s a long one)

CW: angst, fluff, profanity, explicit sexual content, mental illness (anxiety and grief)

Summary: You keep Nanami afloat on the anniversary of Yu’s death. Nanami finally works up the courage on a warm day of Sakura season.

Notes: Thank you to all who have been supportive so far. Reblogs, likes, or comments are always appreciated <3 One more chapter and I’m so sad to let it go. But happy reading and I hope you enjoy!

Divider: @cafekitsune

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It Had To Be You Masterlist (Complete)

**Do not plagiarize any of my works or translate without my permission!**

You had a feeling today would be rough.

You could tell from Kento’s behavior the day prior. His typically reserved nature seemed even more pronounced in your interactions. There was a heaviness to his indifferent gaze, a solemnness that lingered whenever he fixed his eyes on something for too long.

He had given up trying to hide his emotions from you long ago. You knew the reason of his shift in demeanor. Why pretend? You could sense his unease intensifying, like a silent wave rising in dark waters, growing with every passing second and on the verge of carrying him away at a moment’s notice.

So you made sure to wake up before him, and when you took in his form as he slept, you couldn’t help but notice the subtle fractures emerging.

This time, no snores escaped from his lips, and the absence of the sound somehow punctuated the deepening sadness that had begun to envelop him the day before. Your eyes traversed the contours of his bare back, tracing the sinewy lines of his muscular arms tucked beneath the pillow cradling his head. He lay facing you, his cheek indented by the press of his pillow against it, his disheveled blonde locks cascading messily across his forehead and cheeks. Blonde lashes delicately brushed the lower rimes of his eyes, and his back gently rose and fell in rhythm with slow breaths.

To anyone else, he was a handsome man sleeping. But to you, you could tell he was fighting. Even in slumber, devoid of any waking expression, you could still see faint traces of sorrow seeping through his pores.

You had a feeling today would be rough.

After all, who could cope well on the anniversary of their best friend’s death?

For as strong and resilient as Kento was, you knew he couldn’t.

So you did your best to distract him. You asked him to help with breakfast—a task he normally tried to do without you having to say much. And that small task seemed to help him divert his focus from Yu, if only for a moment. You kept him engaged, kept him talking as you both ate together and Ulani smashed waffle strips into her mouth.

And luckily, he didn’t fend off any of your attempts of distraction the entire day. Even though he was quieter than usual, the smile that he shot your way was just as genuine and loving. You pulled him out of the house with Ulani to meet Kaya and Aiko at the park. It would be good to get him out of the house, to let him breathe fresh air to dispel the toxic emotions that lingered within him.

He seemed okay.

At least he did now as you watched him from your perch under a canopy of leaves against the oak tree you laid against. He stood tall amidst the sea of other children in the space of the tranquil park, Ulani in his arms and Aiko perched on his shoulders. Her hands were buried in his blonde locks, uncaring of messing them up as she giggled loudly in response to whatever he was speaking up to her. For now, that grief had settled into a low simmer, his deep eyes filled with mirth as he joked with the two girls wrapped around him.

“Uncle Ken! Uncle Ken! Do the thing! Do it!” Aiko giggled excitedly, unable to contain her joy as she wriggled atop his shoulders.

Kento hummed playfully, gently squeezing Ulani’s cheeks until she squealed in his embrace. “The thing? Aiko, you’ll have to use your words. I can’t read your mind,” he goaded, making Aiko giggle even harder, face blushing with ceaseless laughter.

“The thing!” she whined, smiling down at him as he continued to play with his daughter.

“The thing. The thing. Hmmm.” He pretended to ponder for a moment, pursing his lips.

Aiko’s giggles stopped short when Kento grabbed her ankle and lifted her off his shoulders, dangling her upside down while still holding his babbling daughter with the other arm. Aiko pealed with laughter, the sound echoing through the park, bouncing against the plastic of the playground they stood at. Kento chuckled softly, slowly spinning in a circle as he delighted in Aiko’s please for more.

As you watched them, your back leaning against the trunk of the thick oak tree, butterflies quivered to life in your stomach. It was a moment you never imagined you would experience. In the past, you had weakly clutched onto a desire for children, a partner—a family. But work always consumed your time, leaving little room for anything that you could do for yourself. It all seemed like a distant dream, just like your passion for a career in ceramics.

But seeing Kento now, watching him rearrange Aiko and lift her so she could wrap small hands around monkey bars, you couldn’t help but feel thankful for falling into that 1% of faulty birth control. Even with an IUD and a condom, you still ended up pregnant. And maybe it was fate because Kento was a wonderful father. Once that mask of his had fallen, and his glares had slowly morphed into soft, rare smiles and longing glances, you could see just how much of him would foster the wonderful father he had become.

You couldn’t help but think about more with him. You couldn’t help but imagine vacations across the world with your little family. You couldn’t help but imagine him working at the bakery in the mornings, teaching Ulani how to knead bread and man the register, throwing off his apron as soon as he walked into the house and pressing a tired yet loving kiss to your lips.

Over a year ago, the ease with which you had settled into domesticity with Kento would have made you uncomfortable. But with him, it felt as natural as breathing. He blended effortlessly into your life; his presence seamlessly woven into the fabric of your being.

Watching him leave Aiko’s side so she could play on her own, his strong arms wrapped around his daughter as he showered her light brown cheeks with kisses—your breath caught in your chest.

You wanted more.

It was an ever-present thought in your mind. It nagged at you with each kiss that he craved to have each day. It whispered in your mind every night as you drifted off to sleep and as you woke up by his side. It lingered in your thoughts during shared dinners with the three of you, and it grew more pronounced every time your gaze shifted to his left hand, unsettling you with the absence of a ring.

Part of your soul wanted to recoil at the thought. The mere mention of fantasizing about marriage would have made your women’s studies professor burn every letter of recommendation she gave you. But the other part of you relished in it. Because if there was a way to tie yourself to Kento, you would do it in a second.

“Lost in thought?” Kaya’s voice broke through the haze, jolting you back to reality. You blinked and refocused, finding her reclining on the tree trunk beside you, her legs stretched out in front of her. “You’ve been zoned out for a good ten minutes.”

Instead of answering her, you deflected, not quite comfortable sharing your thoughts. “How are you feeling?”

Kaya took a deep breath, her shoulders rising and falling with a heavy weight. “Surprisingly fine. Well, as fine as one can be on a day like this.” Aiko called out for Kento’s attention, and Kaya smiled softly as she watched her play on the monkey bars.

“Uncle Ken, watch me!”

“I’m watching. I’m watching.”

“I miss him so much…he was everything to me,” Kaya whispered. The pain in her voice made your own chest tighten as you tried to put yourself in her shoes. You couldn’t imagine losing Kento. You couldn’t even fathom the thought of Ulani having to grow up without a father like him. “That pain will always be there. But it’s gotten a little easier to deal with.” Kaya waved at her daughter, answering Aiko’s loud call for attention, and chuckled softly to herself.

You hoped Kento could say the same. You hoped his pain had reached a level where he could find get through today without drowning.

You just hoped you were doing well to help.

Eventually, Kento made his way to where you and Kaya were seated on the blanket, nestled beneath the canopy of leaves. He gently placed Ulani on the soft fabric and delighted in watching her crawl towards you, her cheeks rosy from laughter, her mouth glistening with drool, and her wild curls tousled by the wind. As he slid down the tree to settle himself next to you, he turned his head, pressing a tender kiss to your temple, filling you with a burst of warmth. You took that touch with you and nestled it inside of your chest in the hope that it was a manifestation of just how content he felt in that very moment.

In the afternoon, you found yourself surrounded by the rest of your friends—Gojo, Shoko, Geto and Ome—all laughing loudly and picking out items on a menu that were Yu’s favorite, inside of a restaurant that he loved. The gentle look in Kento’s eyes surprisingly had yet to fall. Even as your friends told stories of moments shared with Yu, as the history grew more intimate and somber, he remained steady.

He was more tense as you all sat together afterward beneath Yu’s tree, offering their own bits of peace and well wishes at his resting place. When it was Kento’s turn, he chose to stay silent, and no one pressed him to speak. Gojo didn’t tease him, Geto’s gaze didn’t linger too long, and you shifted closer to him, cradling Ulani in your arms as she peacefully slept.

When everyone finally departed for home, Kento remained rooted to his spot, his serious eyes fixed on the small nameplate that bore Yu’s name and the dates of his birth and passing. The April evening grew colder, but the warmth emanating from Kento’s wool trench coat provided some comfort as you waited for him to speak.

But he didn’t. And as more minutes passed, you began to feel as if he probably never would. You observed the delicate lines of his eyebrows furrowing, the weariness painting his voice as he finally broke the silence.

“I’m not really sure of what to say,” he admitted, his words heavy with fatigue and pain. “Is that bad?”

“No. The fact that you’re even here is more than enough, Ken,” you reassured him, but he seemed unsatisfied. His brow creased deeper, and a faint frown began to etch its way onto his face. “You can tell him about your day. Tell him about Gojo ordering three lava cakes after dinner and scarfing them down in two minutes. Tell him that Ulani is starting to eat more solid foods and how she loves yogurt but isn’t a fan of peas.”

The small huff of laughter that you were seeking finally fell from him, puffed into the air in a warm exhale that made you feel a little less frigid. Kento looked over at you, his furrowed brow softening slightly.

“The point is, it doesn’t have to be grandiose. And I’m sure Yu would hate that you had to force yourself to speak when you weren’t ready. So…” you trailed off, adjusting Ulani in your arms so she was snugly wrapped in your wool coat, her warm body providing solace against the cold. Reaching out, you found Kento’s hand, intertwining your fingers with his. “So we can just sit here and just…be.”

He glanced down at your joined hands, his burnt-umber gaze tracing the delicate curves of your fingers. You watched as they softened when his gaze fell on the bundle sleeping in your coat, watched as his shoulders relaxed with his next exhale and his irises slid up to catch yours.

“So we can just…be. Here together. Me and you?”

His voice was weak, revealing an exposed vulnerability that made him seem raw and open. You knew deep down that he understood you would never leave him in a moment like this, but right now, Kento needed the reassurance.

And you freely gave it, offering a gentle squeeze of his hand and a warm smile. “Me and you,” you affirmed, allowing that serious gaze, etched into your memory, to momentarily flash with resolution. It seemed as if something he had been contemplating for a long time had finally come full circle.

But the moment flickered away in an instant, replaced by Kento’s tender gesture of lifting your hand to his, pressing a soft kiss to your knuckles, and giving the cold air one more weary exhale before turning his gaze back to Yu’s tree, finding solace amidst the silence.

***

Sakura season in Nakameguro was one of the most treasured in Tokyo. And you could understand why. Even though you and Kento had arrived early at the Meguro River, the streets lining the river were teeming with both tourists and locals.

Amidst the bustling crowds and long lines at every vendor you passed, the beauty of the cherry blossom trees in full bloom couldn’t be denied. Delicate white petals, emerged from their buds, and billowed in the surprisingly warm late April air. The water was still, casting a reflection of the trees that arched over it, cherry blossoms floating on top.

Growing up in Sendai, you were used to wearing a Yukata with Ome and her family for Hanami. Each year, you made an effort to find a different color, and during the times when you couldn’t buy one for yourself, Ome’s mother would kindly gift one to you, knowing your own mother didn’t bother with the tradition.

But in Nakameguro, everyone who walked past you was dressed in casual clothes, bundled for a little extra warmth, and armed with cameras to capture the festivities. You settled for a long dress instead. Ulani, her legs kicking excitedly in the carrier strapped to Kento’s chest, donned a pink onesie designed to resemble a kimono, a thoughtful gift from Chiyo. Ulani of course, looked absolutely adorable. Her abundant light brown curls framed her face, secured by a small headband to keep them out of her eyes. Kento had insisted on taking countless photos before you even left the house and unlike most babies who made their irritation known, Ulani flourished in the attention her father gave.

At nine months old, Ulani brimmed with energy and an insatiable curiosity that made her father understandably nervous. She babbled in a string of syllables, not yet forming coherent words, but her enthusiasm was limitless. Despite her animated exclamations and her tendency to explore everything she could reach, she observed the world around her with a gaze that mirrored her father’s—sharp, serious, and seemingly indifferent, except for the frequent bursts of squeals and laughter. Just like her father.

Meanwhile, said father was too busy exploring the food stalls to notice the intrigued gazes of everyone around him.

You wanted to be annoyed but…could you blame them?

Kento, despite his awkwardness in social situations with unfamiliar faces, exuded nothing but sin. Sinewy legs clad in crisp slacks, accentuating his muscular frame, and a ribbed knit sweater hugged his torso in a delicious way that made your mouth water. His thick blonde locks, styled in their signature fashion, were neatly gelled, although he had once again forgone his glasses.

Too handsome for his own good but you didn’t have the energy to glare at everyone. He had freely given you more than enough in the shower that morning.

You could behave. For now.

“What was Hanami like for you in Sendai?” he asked, his voice hushed yet resonating in the bustling atmosphere around you. His gaze fixated on a skewer of Dango—an assortment of pink, green, and white as Ulani occupied herself with a sliver of banana, her sticky fingers and puckered mouth evidence of her snack.

“More traditional than this,” you replied, accepting the Dango from the vendor before turning to him. Kento’s eyes widened minutely in curiosity, his foodie nature front and center. He plucked a Dango from the stick and popped it into his mouth, savoring the sweet and chewy rice morsel that burst with flavor on his tongue.

“Sendai has a small-town feel within a big city. During Sakura season, we wore Yukatas and Getas. We had a cherry blossom tree lighting and much fewer stalls with local goods,” you elaborated, pulling a playful grumble from Kento as he tore another piece of Dango in half and offered it to a grabby Ulani.

“So the city of Sendai gets to see you in a Yukata, and I don’t? I find that unfair,” he protested with a teasing tone, cheeks flushing slightly in a rare display of bashfulness.

“If this is some sort of Edo-period fantasy you have, you’re gonna have to warm me up before you ask me to get kinky.”

Kento choked on a piece of Dango, sputtering and red face as he waved his hand toward you. “That’s not—"

“Nanamin!” a familiar voice called from behind you. Kento’s surprise instantly faded, already recovered from choking and face replaced by a natural annoyance as Gojo approached. Towering over the crowd, his white hair enhancing his pale complexion, Gojo was dressed in jeans and a long-sleeved shirt, simple to anyone else but still stamped with a designer label. “Don’t pout, this is a happy occasion! I always want to see you. For once, show me that you love me,” he joked, chuckling more to himself before beaming at Ulani. “And hello, my beautiful girl! How about we go find something sweet to eat?” Without hesitation, he scooped Ulani from the carrier, ignoring Kento’s grunt of disapproval.

“Ask first, Gojo. Don’t snatch my daughter like a thief,” Kento snapped, reaching for her and blanching when Gojo pulled your daughter out of his reach.

“I’m her godfather.”

“How you equate that with permission to do what you want, is beyond me.”

Gojo turned to you, alien blue eyes seeking support that he would never find. You rolled your eyes. “Gojo, stop bothering Kento and ask before you pick up Ulani.” Handing him the diaper bag, you added, “Keep your phone on and only give her foods that we talked about. No experimenting.”

“But—”

“Would you like me to tell Ome that you no longer are the godfather to our child?” Gojo immediately frowned, his gaze resembling that of a child denied candy, before grumbling and walking away.

Kento rolled his eyes, tightening the empty carrier closer to himself and muttering his annoyance in a way that made you hold back a snicker.

“It’s Gojo being Gojo. He loves Ulani.”

“He’s rude,” Kento tried to argue.

“And yet, you love him.” He didn’t disagree, his cheeks ruddy in embarrassment as he sighed and fumbled with the strap of his Cartier watch. “This is your stomping ground so how about we take this small moment we both have and have some fun, hmm?” You leaned up, standing on your toes to press a warm kiss to his cheek that seemed to settle his pout. He sighed dramatically, lacing his fingers with yours, and pulled you along the street.

You both savored every moment of your time together. Most of this year, your time with one another was spent caring for Ulani or navigating the challenges and discomforts of your pregnancy. Now, with your daughter under the care of her eccentric godfather, Kento could pull you along from vendor to vendor, immersing you in the vibrant atmosphere.

He complained teasingly as you both picked through a bento, remarking how your tomagoyaki and grilled fish was far superior to what the vendor had prepared. He brought you to a small stand that sold Cherry Blossom cookies, sharing that it was a place he frequented every year during his youth. He entertained a kiss on your cheek as you snapped a picture of you both in front of the river. Later in the day, as Ome and Gojo joined you again, Kento bought the three portions of Inari Sushi, eating his portion swiftly before Gojo could sneak his hands onto the plate.

“Nanamin, stop being unfair!”

Kento couldn’t deny that he was truly enjoying himself. Even his quips to Gojo lacked its usual sharpness. Between the two of you, you always brought the most energy and liveliness. You laughed freely, indulged in every snack Kento offered you from the stalls, and unabashedly leaned into him, wrapping your arm around his and resting your head on his shoulder, cherishing his warmth as he joked with an always loud Ome.

He was happy and content and surprised at his own luck.

Gojo insisted on stopping at a vendor selling woven flower accessories made from fallen cherry blossoms. Gojo pulled Ome close, ignoring her protests as he demanded a bracelet be crafted in front of him before paying. Kento felt you chuckle from next to him, no doubt taking in the way Ome blushed as Gojo wrapped his arm around her, no longer caring if the action would earn violence. Because Gojo knew, deep down, that things had changed between them. And Ome knew, deep down, that violence would make him work harder.

Normally, Kento wouldn’t pay much attention to this particular vendor every year. He didn’t consider it significant because he never had someone to give a flower accessory to, and his father always bought one for his mother. But he had a reason to now. As he made to reach into his pocket for his wallet, he stopped short when he saw one of the vendors grab your wrist and pull you towards an empty chair next to the stall.

You were a little shocked, already put off from having a person touch you freely, but you reeled in disbelief when the vendor reached for your loose curls, your head arching away from her on reflex. Kento felt anger flare in his chest, a rage he rarely felt bubbling to the surface, his mouth opening to bark at the woman to leave. However, she quickly stopped and held up a bundle of flowers, gesturing towards your hair and asking if she could weave them in.

“Would you like to go?” Kento asked you, unable to hide the fury in his eyes. “We can if you’re uncomfortable.” He watched your eyes flicker to the woman as she bowed softly in apology and you sighed softly, relaxing and offering a weak smile to the woman instead.

“I’m fine, Ken. I promise.”

It took him a minute more to be completely content with your response. But he let Gojo pull him away, across the skinny street to rest against the rail outlining the Meguro River, Kento’s eyes never leaving yours. Ulani squirmed in her carrier around his chest, fidgeting and whining in frustration as she took in the distance from you. As the woman began weaving cherry blossoms into your and Ome’s hair, you waved at your daughter from across the street, the unique bond between you tugging at your heart.

“Mrs. Nanami always looks beautiful, doesn’t she?” Gojo remarked from beside Kento, as he pulled a piece of Dango from a skewer that mysteriously appeared in his hand.

Always.

The word lingered on Kento’s tongue, tempted to acknowledge Gojo’s statement but knowing it would only lead to a slew of immature comments. The title he had given you wasn’t lost to Kento either, because he thought about it so frequently that it was beginning to drive him insane.

Nowadays he felt like such a fool when he stood next to you. Any other man would have gotten on their knees within months—weeks of having you as theirs and begged for more.

And he wanted to, desperately. But if there was one thing you could do without trying, it was make him nervous. Make him sweat and shift in his shoes because he didn’t deserve you. No one did. You had chosen him, but he could be replaced at any moment despite your protests otherwise.

A vendor who had finished working on Ome’s hair walked across the street towards Kento, her hands filled with cherry blossoms. She politely asked if she could weave them into Ulani’s hair. Kento allowed it, absentmindedly caressing his daughter’s chubby cheek to keep her distracted as he watched her giggle and babble with the woman.

The white flowers perfectly adorned her hair, creating a delicate halo against her light brown curls. Gojo showered her with compliments, leaning down to her eye level and sharing a bright smile as Ulani giggled in response.

Kento should have been paying more attention, his heart should have swelled with joy at the sight of his daughter’s happiness. But he was distracted, his voice thick in his throat. As the vendor returned to her stand, Kento took notice of you. The cherry blossoms adorning your hair seemed as if they belonged there, nestled delicately within your loose curls that he had the privilege of running his hands through time and time again. They were arranged with exquisite precision, made to look as if they floated within a sea of darkness.

He felt it again, that same feeling that had been consuming his thoughts for months— that had blared to the point of a headache a few weeks ago as you both sat together at Yu’s tree. That heaviness in his pocket suddenly felt hot, burning the skin of his thigh, screaming at him to stop being such a coward.

Kento locked eyes with you from across the street, familiar irises that he looked at every single day that had never failed to be any less beautiful than the day before. And like he so often saw, you threw him a lift of your brow, a mischievous glint in your stare that made his chest clench and a chuckle rise from the pit of his stomach.

“Tell your daddy to set the date,” Gojo spoke to his goddaughter, earning a glare from Kento and a harsh bark to leave him alone, batting at the snickering white-haired man as he crossed the street for Ome.

***

From the moment you walked to him after having flowers woven into your hair, Kento was noticeably less talkative than before. He chalked it up to the increased traffic of people around you both, but you could see through him as always. Although his smiles and laughter remained genuine, he seemed timid and nervous.

By the time you all made it home, Ulani was exhausted and fussy. Kento volunteered to bathe her and put her to bed, leaving you alone with your anxious thoughts. You tidied up the house, neatly putting away Ulani’s toys, folding the throw blanket back onto the sofa, and walking to the backdoor to make sure it was locked. Your eyes caught the moonlight that brightened your backyard.

This year’s winter had been harsh and unforgiving, but despite its grip, Spring made the grass grow back plentiful and thick. Kento had installed a swinging bench for you soon after Ulani was born so you could sway outside with her in peace, but it’s been months since you sat yourself on it.

But it was nice enough now, and you couldn’t resist the call of the warm evening and found yourself sliding open the door, carrying yourself towards the darkly stained bench. As you settled onto its solid surface, you began to sway gently, soaking up the silence of the air around you, the neighborhood quiet as everyone settled for sleep.

Maybe Kento had a headache. He avoided large crowds and noise for that very reason. Stupidity and rudeness frustrated him more than Gojo at times, and he was quick to grow impatient with the desire to be in the privacy of his home with his small family. He probably put on a smile and suffered through a lot more for you to enjoy Hanami.

Your mind was racing with thoughts and excuses to justify his shift in behavior, growing more anxious and desperate by the minute. You felt your heart give a painful lurch, your neck began to sweat, and your hands began to tremble. Those dreadful tendrils of anxiety once again began to cackle in your ears and wrap slowly around your throat.

He’s going to break up with you. He’s going to walk out here and say how he couldn’t do this anymore. He’s going to try to do whatever he could to justify his only choice to leave you. The teasing had finally gotten too much for him. The grip of fatherhood too consuming to bear and—

You were restless, shooting up from the bench and making your way to the middle of your backyard. The soft, cool grass cushioned your steps and brushed against the thin fabric of your dress as you laid down, your eyes too sensitive of the full moon but still strong enough to appreciate the faint stairs twinkling in the sky.

“Don’t be so stupid,” you whispered to yourself. “He wouldn’t leave. Not like this.”

Bending your knees and sinking your toes into the grass, you grounded yourself into the present, rooted yourself in sanity and detaching from the haunting whispers in your ears.

The sound of the backdoor sliding open momentarily caused you to tense, but you kept your gaze fixated on the sky, attempting to identify constellations with your limited knowledge of astronomy.

The big dipper? Orion’s belt? Fuck, Sagittarius?

You had never been more envious of an astronomer in this very moment as Kento sank into the grass next to you, placing the baby monitor between you both, the low hum of static breaking through the quiet air.

“She was exhausted,” he murmured. You hummed in reply, still lost in your own thoughts and trying to figure out if the object in front of you was a star or just a trick of the light. Your distracted response pulled his attention to you. “Are you okay?”

You bit the inside of your lip, your eyes still on the stars above you. “Have I done something to upset you? After the flower vendor, you got really quiet for the rest of the day.”

He didn’t respond at first, and your heart picked up in speed from the growing silence even as he sagged on his back next to you, his eyes tracing the stars in the sky.

“I could never be upset with you.”

“Lies. If you’re going to leave me, soften the blow by giving me an orgasm first so I’m not so upset.”

He chuckled softly, a spirited smile dancing on his lips as he eyed a small cluster of stars. “Since the moment you allowed me to be involved in the pregnancy, the thought of leaving you has never crossed my mind,” he confessed. “Even on the days when we’re exhausted and we argue, or when we crave solitude, the idea of leaving you, of not having you in my life, is inconceivable to me.”

“Inconceivable?” you pestered, nudging him with your elbow. “Such strong words.”

“You tease me relentlessly, would you like me to stop speaking?” he reproached, a smile in his voice. You bit back a laugh, choosing instead to weave your fingers between his in the space of grass between you in a silent concession to behave. “You have no idea how impossible it is for me to forget about you,” he continued. “Even when we couldn’t stand each other, you were all I thought about. I drove my mother crazy, ranting almost every day about how frustrated I was. And when the idea of becoming a father initially shocked me, knowing that it connected me to you brought me such an overwhelming satisfaction.”

Kento gave your intwined hands a squeeze.

“I’ve been in my own head these past few hours…and I’m sorry if I seemed distant with you. It’s important to me that you know that leaving you is inconceivable to me because I can’t imagine raising a child with anyone else. I can’t envision going to sleep or waking up beside anyone else. I can’t fathom a future without you by my side.”

You heart fluttered in your chest, thumping erratically against your ribcage as his words floated through the night air and landed on your cheeks. A soothing stillness settled between the two of you, as the moonlight bathed your skin and you struggled to swallow the quickly forming lump in your throat. Those tendrils of anxiety that had wrapped around you earlier suddenly dissipated, leaving only a lingering sense of love and certainty from his hand between yours.

“So what you’re saying is that you wanna grow old with me?” you playfully quipped, a smile spreading across your face. “You wanna get travel the world with me, get a bigger house and have babies? Marry me and honeymoon on an island that you always talk about?”

You turned your head to face him, observing his flushed cheeks and slightly widened eyes as he looked up at the night sky. Though he didn’t appear afraid, that nervous expression from earlier in the day had once again returned and painted his features. You sat up immediately, scooting closer to him and furrowing your brows in worry.

“Ken? I was only kidding. I’m sorry, I took that too far didn’t I?”

Once again, he remained silent, a silence that stretched on for too long, intensifying your unease. But then, a strong arm wrapped around you, pulling you onto his lap so that your legs bracketed his waist. He sat up slowly, closing the distance between you both until you felt your back brush against his knees that were bent to hold you against him.

You kept your gaze away from him, focusing on the strands of your curls that had fallen over your shoulder, decorated with the cherry blossoms from earlier.

“I should stop teasing you so much. I’ve done it a little too much today and—”

“My love,” he interrupted, his voice gentle yet resolute, silencing your anxious ramblings. “That is what I was trying to say.” Your hands squeezed a thick chunk of your hair tightly, the soft white petals crushed against your palm as your nerves tingled with anticipation. “I do want to grow old with you. I do want to travel the world and go on adventures with you. I do want to get a bigger house. I want to one day have more children. I want every mundane activity, every birthday and holiday, everything. And yes…” His finger delicately lifted your chin, compelling you to look up at him. Your ears buzzed, the sound of your own heartbeat drowning out everything else, even though you could still hear him perfectly. “I want to marry you...and honeymoon on one of those islands that I talk so much about.”

Your eyes widened, face flushing from the heat that had bubbled beneath your cheeks, hands clutching your hair tightly to steady yourself as much as you could.

“N-now you’re teasing,” you whispered, smiling weakly up at him, all pretense of your typical defense suddenly drained.

Serious eyes studied you, softly contemplating a variety of choices before he stood, picked you up and set you on your feet. He towered over you, his face illuminated by the moonlight, casting a pale blue glow on his sharp cheek bones and shadows through the long strands that fell over his eyebrows. His hair was no longer parted, cascading messily against his cheeks.

Reaching up, he slid a warm palm along your cheek, his thumb tracing your bottom lip. His touch was always too much and yet just enough. It made you feel as if you were drowning and also at the top of a mountain. The resolute look you had caught weeks ago, as you both sat under Yu’s tree, could still be seen in his eyes—strong and vibrant, washing over you now with a realization too overpowering for your doubts to suppress.

“I can assure you, I am in no way teasing,” he finally spoke, tender and filled with longing. He stopped tracing your lips, slid his hand along the side of your neck and down the expanse of your arm before twining his fingers once again with yours. “Maybe I should be a little more convincing.”

The sting behind your eyes came without warning. You swallowed, attempting to push that lump again back down your throat; blinked furiously as your vision began to blur and willed your heart to keep beating as you watched him press a kiss to your knuckles before slowly sinking down on one knee into the grass.

You brain struggled to keep up, failing to send the right signals to prevent the tears from falling, to ease the tension in your throat, to simply breathe.

But it was no use, because after the first tear fell, the rest came without restraint. Even with his hand firmly holding yours, you felt as if you were falling. Plummeting from the night sky back into your body over and over again as he whispered your full name into the warm April air, squeezing your hand once more to tether you to him, and offering you that rarely seen gentle smile before asking you once more.

Properly, firmly and without reservation.

“Will you marry me?”

And it was real. This was real and you were blinking down at him wildly so you could see his beautiful face clearly through your sea of tears. You couldn’t find the words to speak—no matter how many times your reply raced from your brain to your lips, you couldn’t command your mouth to move.

So you nodded. Slowly and with a wobbly lip, you nodded. His own lips twitched with a brief smile, his eyes flashing with heavy multitudes of happiness even though he squeezed your hand again to hold you steady.

“I need you to actually say something to me…please—”

“Yes,” you whispered, shaky and croaking from your throat of its own volition. You shook out a harsh breath, smiling down at him. “Yes, I’ll marry you, Kento.”

It took him a moment too long to actually process your response before he exhaled so deeply as though the breath had been stuck in his lungs. A rare and pearly white Nanami Kento smile, brighter than the moonlight bathing his skin, shining at you as he stood up and pulled you close with a force that made you gasp, your mouth opening to let out a laugh before he captured it with a kiss. Full, deep and overpowering, his cheeks brushing against the wetness of your own, leeching oxygen from you until you had to pull away to catch your breath, lightheaded and panting against his lips.

In your haze, you hadn’t noticed him pull a small object from his pocket, but you felt the cold metal slip onto your finger, adjusting his hand so that you could finally see. And it was beautiful, of course it was beautiful—simple yet perfectly suited for you, a blatant reminder that it would remain on your hand for the rest of your life as long as you allowed it.

“For the first time, I’ve finally figured out what it takes to render you speechless,” he teased even though his own voice was thick with emotion. “Imagine the things I will get for you now.”

Your gut reaction was to smack him hard on the chest, relishing in the deep chuckles that reverberated from him and into the Nakameguro air.

“Stop teasing,” you whined, sniffing pathetically as the tears began to fall again.

“My, my,” he purred, chuckling deeply and pulling you closer with strong arms around your waist. You curled your fingers into the fabric of his shirt, weakly glaring up at him without any embarrassment of the rivers running down your cheeks. “You are telling me to stop teasing? Proposing months ago would have been more beneficial for me.”

You hated being on the other end of something that you naturally dished out. In this moment, you were already vulnerable and raw for him, your chest aching and cut open and your heart pounding in the evening air. His teasing felt like icing on the cake, a lightheartedness that was rarely seen in such abundance, leaving you struggling to find your footing. Trying to fight against the fast rhythm of your heart, the overwhelming tears, and his deep laughter as he tilted your head up to look at him.

“Ken—” you tried to admonish, but once again his lips met yours, stealing the breath from your lungs. Gasping, you felt him scoop you up in his arms and carry you back inside the house. Your chest ached for air, yearning to fill your lungs with oxygen that Kento continuously stole. The heat of his fingertips digging into the skin of your thighs around his waist seared your senses, and you could taste the sudden, pungent want against the tongue that slid against yours.

You didn’t expect to be on the ground so soon and the cool hardwood floors on your feet and your wobbly legs made you stagger backward with him, your fingers still buried in his shirt as your mouths continued to slide sloppily against one another. You gasped sharply when your hips met the countertop of your vanity, the mirror smacking against your back.

Kento wasted no time, and you felt like you were burning with his touch, catching on fire with every grab against your skin and hiss of breath along the wetness of your lips. Hot hands were suddenly hiking up your dress, digging into the meat of your inner hips and tracing sinfully along the seam of your panties.

You only had a moment to breathe, only a second to get your bearings as he pulled away and swiftly removed your dress, sliding his hands behind you to deftly unfasten your bra, and scooping you up again before throwing you onto your bed.

You blinked up at him in shock, your breath catching in your throat as you took in his heated expression at the foot of the bed. He was always a passionate lover, always vocal about his desire to have his hands on you—but the expression directed at you now was carnal, so incredibly carnal that your cunt throbbed in response, sliding against the steadily moistening spot of the fabric that covered it.

Kento had promised himself he would be calm; he had so much planned in his head if you would have accepted him. Truly he thought he would have cried—because he’s that type of man.

But the moment you said yes, the moment he slid that ring on your finger and could see a booming sign that you were his, all sense of decorum had evaporated from his body immediately.

He had thrown caution to the wind, driving him to yank off his shirt and practically rip his zipper as he pushed down his pants and underwear. He hissed softly from the feel of cool air hitting his cock, hot and heavy and leaking precum already. Without your usual words of impatience, he used your moans instead as his guide, fueling his courage as he trailed a wet tongue up the thickness of your thighs, dipping into your belly button and around the underside of your breast before encircling a peaked nipple once—twice before pulling it into his mouth. Your hands were tight in his hair, your body arching in exquisite anticipation, drawing your breasts further into his eager mouth as he licked, sucked and bit at the sensitive skin.

You could only nod when he reached for your panties moments later and you didn’t shy away from the way your thighs trembled as he pulled them down your legs, his mouth salivating at the sight of slick catching against your inner thigh. The heat between your legs hit him first, his cock throbbing in automatic response, his mouth swallowing drool as he stared at your exposed cunt, wet and dripping for him.

You had never met a man who took joy in eating you out. They did it to get you ready or because it was expected. But not Kento—god, not Kento. You’re the best thing he would ever have. His last meal. That first drink after being stranded in a desert. He did it because he loved it and wasted no time yanking your hips to him and throwing your legs over his shoulders before he was feasting—savoring the taste of your cunt and the sound of your moans as you arched your hips closer to him.

You keened, pulling hard against his tresses as he sank two fingers inside of you down to the knuckle, delving deep in a rhythm that sent tingles of pleasure crawling up your legs and to the base of your spine. Your body trembled, your chest heaving in an effort to catch your breath as he took his pleasure and gave yours tenfold, three fingers deep and his tongue on your clit.

“Look how pretty you are,” he whispered, his eyes fixated on the mesmerizing sight of his fingers gliding in and out of you, shiny with slick and making a sound that had his eyes rolling into his head and his hips pressing into the mattress for friction. “So fucking pretty, baby,” he praised, his thumb pressing against your pulsing clit, igniting another surge of pleasure that made your breath catch around a sharp whine in your throat.

“Kento,” you moaned for him, your voice beckoning and desperate, eyes clenched tight and pleasure coiling into a ball in your belly. He answered your call like always, sliding back up your body, his lips hovering over yours and beautiful blond har falling to brush against your forehead.

“She speaks,” he teased, arching his fingers inside of you for good measure and marveling at the way you twitched and whined in response. “You normally keep me on my toes. Yet you’re so quiet now. Choked up and whiny and moaning. That’s not like you.” It was exactly like you, especially when you’re chasing an orgasm. But at this point, you realized Kento would use anything to tease you, so blissfully happy and desperately thrumming with want.

“You like the way I’m fingering you, baby?”

You blinked up at him in disbelief, your ears not used to him teasing in moments like this.

“Are you going to answer me?” voice darker now, still joyful but less patient.

You nodded profusely in response, panting up at him as the coil of an orgasm began to tighten at the small of your back. Your thighs quivered, your fingers tightening into the pillow aside your head.

No other man could compare to Kento’s touch. The thought of anyone else’s fingers trailing over your skin, sliding inside you in a way that drove you to the brink, seemed unfathomable. He was the only one who could make you moan like you were being paid for it, like you were now. The only one who could hit every spot with just a simple graze until he could take you higher and higher, until your moans became tight and shaky, and your body clenched around his fingers, surrendering to a back-arching orgasm that sent waves of pleasure coursing through every inch of your being.

You barely had a moment of reprieve before he kissed you again, stealing what little breath remained in your mouth as you tried to come down from that blissful high. His fingers slowly slid out of you, rubbed your clit gently while his lips trailed down your neck, licking the sweat from your skin.

“May I have you?” he whispered against your skin, the deep timbre of his voice oozing with velvety wickedness that made you shudder against him.

“I…” you croaked, the words straining from your throat, your body aching and yearning for more of his touch even though you were sensitive all over.

When thin rings of burnt-umber eyes came into view, the gaze was brimming with want, yet tender as he traced the contours of your face. Reaching for your left hand, he interlaced your fingers with his own, guiding your hand to his lips. He pressed a soft kiss to each knuckle, each gesture filled with love and affection, before brushing his lips against the precious stone adorning your ring finger. Your eyes locked onto the gleaming jewel, the dim light of your room reflecting off the carats and once again stirring a sharp breath in your chest and a hint of moisture behind your eyes.

“Are you having second thoughts?” he asked, his gentle smile masking the unfamiliar mirth in his tone. “Should I have waited longer?”

“No,” you whispered wetly, offering your smile in exchange. Blinking away tears, your vision cleared enough to gaze at him more intently. You tightened your grip against his hand, the cool metal pulling your finger to remind you of its presence. “I’m happy…so happy.”

You brushed blonde locks from where they hung, admiring the way they pulled back and then flopped back into place. Every part of him that wasn’t poised and perfect in public was raw and unfiltered with you, its own treasure chest—its contents sacred and beautiful—that only you had the key to open.

You wrapped your legs around his waist, drawing him closer and gasping softly as you felt him press to your entrance, hot and leaking with precum.

“I’ve just been at a loss of words,” you admitted.

“Am I that charming?” He raised a dark blonde brow, his slightly tense expression from being pressed against your heat giving him a sinfully enticing look that made your slick cunt throb. That oversensitivity was still there, but not as insistent, not as sharp and weak enough so pleasure could slink back in front.

You used your heels against his lower back to push him inside of you, inhaling sharply from the sudden stretch as he intruded the warmth of your body. He waited for you to relax, whispering soft praises against the skin of your lips as he fought the impossible urge to snap his hips into you.

“You just proposed,” you shook, moaning softly when he finally began to move steadily within you. Your cunt flexed around him, relaxed enough to welcome him further and then gripped with a pressure that made your stomach coil in heat. Your body was already loose and pliant from your first orgasm, so it was easy for him to brush against those spots inside of you that seemed to fan gentle flames back to life again. “O-of course I would be at a loss of words. You’re not that charming.”

It was a jest filled with delight that you were used to delivering to him, even in the blaze of heat.

But he hummed in reproach, sliding a hand into the hair at your nape, pulling back sharply to expose more of your skin to him. You signed up for that. Walked right into it. And then you paid for it when his other hand gripped your hips, tilted them upwards to sink further into you, the skin of his abs suddenly able to brush against your clit.

You choked on a moan, biting your lip to stifle your voice, and dug your nails into his back. He clicked his tongue disapprovingly, a sharp tsk before you felt him use the grip in your hair to angle your gaze to his.

“Don’t lie to me when I’m fucking you, beautiful girl.”

Oh god.

Your cunt fluttered in response, your body shaking from his words and thrusts, a whimper squeaking from your throat.

He smiled softly in response, slanting his lips against yours and making a home in your mouth as you struggled to keep up with his rhythm. Between the fluid thrusts of his hips, the thick cock stretching your cunt, and your clit tingling with each smack of skin against it, you were lightheaded—mind swimming as he showered you again with that overwhelming intensity of his affection.

“You’re so beautiful,” he whispered in awe as he looked down at you. His forehead already had a light sheen of sweat, and your eyes traced along the soft hairs that began to cling to his hairline. You trailed your hands from his back, sliding them down the muscular planes of his chest and in between the spaces of his abs before your eyes fell on the mesmerizing motion of his hips, his cock working you in and out—thick and glistening—accompanied by the sound of his ragged breath above you.

“Look at me,” he demanded, voice low and serious, pulling your gaze to him immediately to take in his wild expression. Thin rings of burnt-umber crazed, wet lips slightly parted, a ruddy color on his cheeks, and a subtle crease in his brow as he tried to focus. “Good girl. Perfect. Eyes on me. Never look away from me, do you understand?” You nodded sharply at his demand, electrifying pleasure zinging up and down your spine from his words. Your voice was stuck in your throat, too tight to speak but loose enough to let every wanton moan fall through as his pace began to pick up and his strokes began to deepen. He shook his head, more to himself and panting harshly as he opened his mouth to speak. “I want to be gentle and—”

“Give me everything,” you interrupted, scratching against the tightness of your throat and curling around a whine as the whispers of a second orgasm began to echo in your ears. “Give it all to me Kento, please.”

Suddenly, Kento was bending your knees towards your chest, pushing down hard with his lips against yours and pumping into you with an intensity that made your toes curl and you yelp into his mouth. His cock was making a home inside of you, brushing upwards into sensitive spots that made you keen, rubbing his pelvic bone hard against your clit so that you could do nothing but moan shamelessly into his mouth.

Vaguely you were thankful that Ulani wasn’t older. That she wasn’t aware enough to wake up in curiosity in the middle of the night from sounds that sounded odd to her and to ask you the next morning why mommy was begging.

It wasn’t long until the heat in your stomach had become too much, a gentle warmth now a raging inferno, coiling and bubbling with pleasure that made your thighs tense against the pressure of his hands that pressed them down to your chest. Your pussy throbbed—pulsed and squeezed him in warning, your breath becoming a staccato of a melody that he had memorized so well as you dug crescent moons into his back.

“Am I going to make you cum?” he panted before the words could escape your lips.

“Yes!” you squeaked, tense like a rubber band, taut and gasping beneath him. He brushed wet lips against your own and trailed them down your neck before licking the salty skin in a way that had you stuttering against the punctuation of his thrusts.

“Who’s going to make you cum?” he hissed along the column of your neck.

“You—you Kento!” He groaned softly from your response, a moan carrying along the undercurrent of his panting as you squeezed tighter and tighter around him. You had no time to warm him because suddenly your body was pulling tight, your muscles twitching in response and your back arching as that coil unraveled quickly inside your stomach, exploding to shoot pleasure inside of you hot and overwhelming. You bit your lip as you moaned with your orgasm, your cunt thrumming with the hammering in your chest.

“That’s my good girl. Take everything you want,” he whispered into your neck, kissing the burning skin as you came down from your high.

His thrusts slowed to a stop, offering a short break in intensity as you took in the panting of both your bodies. He released his hold on your legs, leaning down to brush soft lips against your own, bleeding love and anticipation into your mouth before he pulled you up onto your hands and knees, the coolness of the sheets offering a refreshing cushion to your sweaty skin.

You bit past the overstimulation when you felt him slide inside you again; even though you were satisfied and lax from an orgasm, every nerve in your body felt as if it had been exposed to the open air. You trembled against him—shuddered from the feel of his large hands sliding from your shoulder blades and down your back before they dug into the flesh of your hip. He gave you no warning, thrusting once, twice, and then a third time before falling back into the same steady rhythm as before.

Fighting against overstimulation was always a challenge at first, it was sharp and almost impossible to push through, but you always held onto that faint glimmer of pleasure each time. And slowly, with each brush of his cock against that spongy spot inside of you, that overstimulation got softer and softer, more malleable for you to push past to take root of pleasure as your breath quickened and your skin began to overheat.

The press of his lips between your shoulder blades felt like a cool balm to your hot skin that made you sigh, your back arching slightly, your head leaning back towards the ceiling as your cunt throbbed around his penetrating girth.

“Stunning,” he whispered and then carded a hand your hair so you could finally open your eyes and take in the mirror of your vanity in front of you.

He was behind you, with sweaty skin and a muscular torso undulating with every thrust, his hair disheveled, his eyes heavy with want and determination. And there you were on your hands and knees, sweaty creamy brown skin, full breasts swaying with each press of his hips, curls loose and frizzy and still adorned with cherry blossoms that had begun to fall onto the sheets where your fingers were bunched.

“Look how beautiful you are, darling,” he leaned down to whisper in your ear, his eyes locked with yours in the mirror. You both had done this so many times before. You had gotten used to looking at yourself in the mirror when he fucked you. The mortification of looking at yourself moaning and dazed wasn’t as prominent as it used to be. But the sight of his serious gaze always took a moment to adjust to. “So beautiful. The mother of my child. The only woman I will ever love. My fiancé.”

You moaned at his words and tightened around him, instantly lighting a fire in your veins that made your heart pump faster, made your skin tingle, and made the shreds of exploded pleasure in your belly from your last orgasm curl back into itself to form a ball again.

“My fiancé,” he whispered again, kissing along your shoulder, biting against the saltiness of your skin. He was losing himself, sinking further into delirium and salaciousness as his thrusts grew sharper, his grip on your waist tightened, and his teeth began to dig into every expanse of skin he could reach. You welcomed the pain, welcomed the sight of red blooming on your skin in the mirror that would darken over time.

“Kento—” you began to say, throat dry.

“Say it,” he demanded, leaving no room for argument as he emphasized his request with a powerful thrust.

“Your fiancé,” you whispered back, shuddering from the words on your tongue, whimpering against the increased onslaught of his hips and yelping when you felt coarse fingertips reach down to rub your clit. You were going to cum, it was unavoidable with every stroke of his cock against that spongy wall inside of you. You just needed more. More of his thrusts. More of his fingers stroking your clit. More of his voice in your ear.

Pulling you out of your thoughts, he adjusted your position so that the mirror only showed the side profile of your bodies, giving you a better view of the rivulets of muscle on his side and his thick cock shiny from slick as he railed you into the mattress. He pressed against your shoulder blades, your body giving with his touch so you could relax your chest into the sheets and arch your back. The sight made his eyes roll into the back of his head before he turned your head so your gaze was forced to look at your reflection in the mirror.

“Say it again.”

“Your fiancé,” you moaned softly, your thighs beginning to tremble from the force of his thrusts and the circle of his fingers on your clit. You fluttered around him, gushing slick onto his cock as your walls tightened from the force of one final orgasm that was leeching from your skin. And soon it was right there, right there and hot and loud and—

“Oh Ken, I’m close. I’m gonna cum!”

He moaned, a sound so rare that it somehow made the orgasm grow stronger, his hips thrusting against that spot that was screaming for more. “I feel you baby. Let it out, take what you want. Cum on my cock for me, love.”

You moaned wantonly, arching your back more so that he could hit you deeper, sharper, fluid and firm against your g-spot over and over and over until it all happened at once. That one stroke against your walls, that final harsh roll of his fingers on your clit, that drip of sweat from his hair onto your back, the ethereal sight of crushed cherry blossoms in your hair, and the flicker of your ring in the mirror had you furrowing your brow—opening your mouth and hiccupping on a gasp as your orgasm washed over you. You were lightheaded with pleasure, delirious as you moaned through the electrifying buzz in your stomach.

Your body was taut like a wire, cunt like a vice and gushing around his cock even as he dug through your sudden grip to claim an orgasm of his own.

Maybe it was the frequency of these encounters or simply your own uninhibited nature after you had been fucked to orgasm a few times in one sitting, but as you panted through gasping moans, watching your body slide back and forth on the sheets from his relentless thrusts, your throat took on a life of its own.

“Cum inside of me,” you whimpered, tightening your fingers in the sheets as you watched him loll his head back in satisfaction from your words. “Please, please, please Kento. Give me your cum…fill me up!”

Kento cursed harshly from behind you, leaning down to bite at the skin between your shoulder blades, and in the mirror you watched him give you three more strokes before his eyes rolled back, his jaw went slack, and his fingers dug into your hips as he groaned deep and shook as he spilled inside of you.

He collapsed against you, his breath warm and inviting as he whispered a soft ‘I love you’ against the back of your neck before apologizing from his weight. From the way his body shook, he probably wouldn’t be able to move anytime soon. But you didn’t mind; it grounded you into the present—brought your soul slowly back into your body.

The puffs of his breath against your skin was comforting, and the feeling of him softening inside you was an odd sensation that you welcomed. As you glanced at the mirror, your heart skipped a beat at the sight of his form against yours.

You were flushed and sweaty. Your cheek was pressed and pillowed against the sheets. Your hair frizzy and tangled with white petals. He turned his head, pressing his ear to your shoulder blade, his face away from you in the mirror. Yet, you could still take in the beautiful messiness of his hair, the sharp perfection of his undercut, and the quick rise and fall of his muscular torso. That satisfying ache began to bloom deep within your bones, a delicious aftermath of being thoroughly and expertly fucked that only Kento knew how to deliver.

Your eyes followed the movement of his hand on your hips, watched as it slid up the sheets before settling on top of your left hand. His fingers intertwined with yours, curling both your hands into a tight fist. In the mirror, the flicker of your ring stood out brightly, and as your vision began to blur again with tears, your mouth curled into a gentle smile.

“Love, you have to take it off before bed.”

“No,” you responded firmly, your eyes fixated on the ring on your finger. You were too tired for a shower, and Kento just as exhausted, skipped his usual aftercare routine with you this time, opting instead to clean you up, put a shirt on you, and throw your bonnet on your head. “What’s the harm in wearing it to bed?”

“There are risks,” he began, voice leaking indifference as he lay next to you, his cheek pressed into his pillow as he shot a naturally narrow gaze at you. “Injury and—”

“Compile a PowerPoint presentation and submit it to me. I’m too tired to hear excuses.”

He chuckled harshly, gravely with the beginnings of sleep. He pulled you close, breathing in your scent as you rested your cheek against the warmth of his naked chest. The room fell into silence, minutes stretching out as Kento’s eyes grew heavy under the thick curtain of his hair.

“Ken?” you called out softly. He hummed, stroking a thumb down your back to let you know he was listening. “Can we have a small wedding?”

“We can have whatever you wish.”

His response made warmth blossom in your chest, your heart thrumming sharply as you traced your finger along the stone on your finger. “I don’t talk to my mother’s side of the family. And after my father died before my birth, my mother cut off his entire side. I don’t really have anyone besides Ome and Rory. But I know you have lots of family and I want them to be there. But it doesn’t have to be too big. I have modest savings but I don’t want to overdo it—”

“My love,” he interrupted, his eyes closed but thumb still stroking your back. “Our families will be there. Our friends will be there. We can have the wedding wherever you want, whenever you want. I have more than enough money for you, me, Ulani, and her grandchildren. As long as I get to officially make you mine, you will want for nothing.”

You swallowed hard, unable to hold back the small smile that formed on your lips as his words echoed in your mind.

“Are you trying to flex your bank account, Kento? I know you have a couple mil stored away, but try not to brag.”

His laughter filled the room, loud and sharp, his pearly white smile shining down at you as he opened the eye not pushed into his pillow to gaze at you. His chest shook from his laughter, hands pulling you impossibly closer to his warmth.

“Stop teasing and let me love you.”

You didn’t bother to fight the blush that had erupted on your cheeks from his effortless words. It was like a second skin to him, to love you so thoroughly.

“There has to be something you want,” you tried to pry from him, eyes widening in delight when he let out a dramatic sigh against you.

He was silent for a minute, then another, and yet another to the point where you were convinced he had fallen asleep when—

“I will pay the most for the food. It better be good enough to lick the plate when I’m finished.” You rolled your eyes but giggled as you draped your arm around his waist. “I won’t dance. I’ll have a first dance with you and my mother but nothing more.”

“Not if I get you drunk enough,” you teased.

“No.”

You grunted in playful frustration against him before falling silent again, the gentle static of Ulani’s baby monitor filling the room. Your eyes drifted back to your ring, unable to tear your gaze away.

“Ken?” you called out softly, voice weak and reluctant.

He chortled into the silk of your bonnet, clearly tired but too content to reject you. “Yes, my love.”

“Who helped you pick it out?”

“Are you suggesting that I couldn’t have chosen it without any help?” he asked, slightly affronted and delivering a pinch to your side even though he was chuckling again for what felt like the nth time that night.

“Did your father help?” you asked, not bothering to dignify his last question with a response. “What about Yuji?”

“Yuji means well, but he doesn’t know what a carat is, love. I picked it out. Go to sleep.”

You pursed your lips, considering your next option. “Geto?”

“He doesn’t know you that well. Love, enough with the questions,” he pleaded.

“Gojo then?”

The mere mention of his name made him smack the skin of your ass, a lively shriek shaking around a laugh that escaped from your lips. He grabbed onto the stinging flesh, yanking you closer before leaning down to swallow your giggles. It stole your breath and you curled your fingers against the skin of his chest to anchor yourself. His lips were firm, insistent, and final before he pulled away, giving you a lighthearted glare.

“I picked out the ring. No one else. If you ever breathe Gojo’s name after I’ve had an orgasm, I might just leave you. Now go to bed.”

You rolled your eyes up at him, pressing a quick kiss to his lips before relaxing back into your pillow. He settled back into his own and you traced over the handsome features of his bedhead, closed eyes, and puckered lips before they were opening to call out your name.

“Yes?” you responded, fingers tracing idly around a pink nipple. He shuddered from your touch.

He opened his eye, deep irises taking you in; the softness of your skin, the old t-shirt on your body, the black silk of your bonnet, and the sliver of a curl that poked from the side, a white petal tangled in the strand.

“I love you.”

And you whispered it back to him free of mirth this time and filled with an affection that only he would ever have.

***

Luck was on his side. It wasn’t as crowded as he walked with you and Ulani the next day. The air was still warm even for late April. His courage seemed to have multiplied overnight, probably from your acceptance of his proposal or maybe just because you made him feel stronger with your presence alone.

When he settled on the grass, folded his legs, and sunk his fingers into the freshly cut blades, his throat was tight, but loose enough to let him breathe. The grass slid against the sides of his knuckles as he took a deep breath.

“You can tell him about your day.”

“I went for a run this morning,” Kento spoke, immediately annoyed with himself but using your words in his head to press on. “Broke my four-mile record. Then I had breakfast with my family. And I came here, and I…” his voice wavered, a sting in his eyes catching him off guard. “Kaya is doing well. She’s smiling more. Geto is taking care of her, and Aiko is a fierce whirlwind just like you. She’s thriving. We’re making sure of it.”

“Tell him that Ulani is starting to eat more solid foods and how she loves yogurt but isn’t a fan of peas.”

“Ulani came on July 15th. She has my eyes and y/n’s hair and gets into everything she can grab. She’ll be speaking actual words soon, and I…I wish you could have met her. She’s beautiful, and laughs as loud as her mother and takes in the world just like me. She loves yogurt and she hates peas. She’s growing up so fast. And you should have been here. You should have—” Kento’s voice trailed off as he tightly shut his eyes, so tight that the sting of tears he had forced away collected at the edge of his lashes.

“I should be angry with you,” Kento started again, a trace of frustration seeping into his tone before he pushed it aside and took a deep breath. “I was angry with you. But as usual, I can never stay mad at you. I hate it. I hate how you make me see and then die so I can’t throttle you…But if it weren’t for her, I wouldn’t have done a thing. If it weren’t for her, I would have burned the deed and never looked back. But she redid the floors, painted the walls, and put your plants back. That stupid plant in your office is still alive and that stupid Fiddle Leaf is larger than ever. It will be a pain to maintain.”

He drew in a shallow breath, exhaling the bitterness from the pit of his belly into the warm air as his heart settled into a normal rhythm from beating too fast in anger.

“But she made your sweet bread. Batch after batch, until she got it right, and it tasted just like yours. She made a personalized menu and created an ad and it’s not fair that you won’t be here to witness the reopening in a few months. It’s not fair…” he trailed off again, emotions flaring inside of him, choking him and making him stop short to take a deep breath and then another as he blinked away the faint tears in his eyes. “But I hope you can see Ulani while she grows. I hope you can see how happy I am…how happy y/n makes me. How much I love her.”

Jagged shards of his grief cut the inside of his chest with each breath he took, just as raw as that first day, just as painful. But they were closing up at a faster pace, healing quickly enough to make the pouring sadness from the open wounds feel less overwhelming.

I miss you. I’m sorry we fought that day. Forgive me.

He wanted to say it, he did. But his throat was too tight—he wasn’t ready. And that’s okay. You had shown him, with patience and a forgiving air, that it was okay not to be ready. But one day he would be. And until then, he could say what came to mind, or simply sit in silence and just…be.

A few moments passed, the breeze swirling around him, picking up in intensity before he spoke up again.

“I also came to say…that I’m engaged. It took me months to gather the courage to propose, and she broke the rules of every manual on how to do things properly. But it finally happened during Sakura season…and she had cherry blossoms in her hair…and was trying to tell a joke as usual.” He smiled softly to himself, relaxing the tension of his grip on the grass, faint memories echoing in his mind.

“If you don’t change your hairstyle, all the girls will think you’re an emo boy. And you’ll grow to be an emo man with an emo life and—”

“Enough. My hair is fine and it takes more than hair to build a relationship.”

“You’ll be fifty before you even get engaged.”

“Who do you take me for?”

“An old man.”

“I’m leaving.”

“Fine! If you wind up engaged before thirty-five, I’ll give you twenty bucks.”

“Fifty.”

“Deal!”

Kento rolled his eyes. “I didn’t forget about our bet in high school. You owe me fifty dollars. I’ll be sure to collect my winnings from Kaya when I see her.” The corners of his lips twitched, the smile threatening to grow wider as he listened to himself.

There was nothing more he could say. While his throat was no longer tight, more words eluded him, and he wouldn’t force them. He had a lifetime to share more.

“All done?” your voice called from next to him, pulling him out of his thoughts. He looked up at you, your unwavering gaze a source of strength and resilience. Ulani was strapped to your chest, her legs kicking freely, a teething toy in her mouth and a beanie on her head to protect her from the wind. Her curious eyes took in the towering trees around her before settling on her father, a wide smile spreading across her face.

In that moment, the weight of grief washed away, those jagged shards of pain slowly mending to the point that he could breathe again. He stood up, ready to join you and you watched him look down at the small nameplate in front of Yu’s tree. The air was still, an eerie calmness that made Kento feel as if the shift in the breeze was Yu throwing that stupid mischievous smirk in his direction from the sight of his best friend and his new family.

Kento wasn’t a spiritual man, but some part of him believed that Yu could see him and his family, that he could see Kaya and his daughter, and that he would be happy with the way you turned the bakery around.

Part of Kento believed it. He had to believe it. Yu was too powerful of a person to fade away with his ashes that rested in the soil beneath his tree.

So, he took that belief with him, tucked it deep down within his chest as he interlaced his fingers with yours and felt the cool metal of your ring against his skin.

“Did he respond?” you asked him, nudging his arm softly with your elbow. He looked down at you before pressing a fond kiss to your lips, smiling against you when he felt his daughter pull at his coat. He pulled away and then leaned down to press a series of kisses to Ulani’s cheek, her curls brushing against his nose as she squealed in her own laughter, satisfied with the attention and babbling for more.

Giving your hand a gentle squeeze, he offered his silent answer to your question, one you had asked a few times before. And he smiled, that special smile reserved only for you, before leading you away from Yu’s tree and back along the streets of Nakameguro.

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jangofctts · 2 years

Text

Ungrateful Heart (Daemon Targaryen x fem!reader)

Rated: Mature, Explicit 18+

Word Count: 5.4k

Warnings: smut, explicit language, unprotected sex, fingering, biting, Daemon being a little bitch, a hint of dubcon, degradation, hair pulling, doggy style, finger sucking, rough sex, creampies, (lmk if I missed something!)

a/n: hi yall good to be back after three months lmfaO

Kings Landing.

A vast city hugging the coast, buzzing with activity and painted in swatches of red roofs and golden banisters. You have been here once when you were a child. Though back then the glory and magic of it still persisted. Nowadays your days are shaded with doubt and a battle to stay afloat in the tumultuous sea of politics. You are not here for leisure—you are here as collateral. There is no mistaking the nature of you and your older brother’s stay at King’s Landing.

There has always been unrest in the Northlands—the distaste for the South all too common amongst your people. While it has quelled since your grandfather knelt before the Targaryen King, there will always be whispers, threats and rumors of usurpers. Your father did his best to silence this, but the Crown takes no chances. Letters were sent, requesting you and your brother to represent House Stark. Thinly veiled threats, is what you father made of these. And so you were sent off—offered on a silver platter to the beasts that roam the capital. It’s been nearly a year since then.

Your brother’s adjustment to the South has gone swimmingly. It’s easy to distract one’s self from burdens of sorrow with swordplay and jousting. You? You suppose reading a book could do, but it’s not the same. All that you’re allowed to do is prattle on about the state of the Realm and dispelling rumors of the North. A pretty little figurehead who no one gives a damn about listening to. You sigh. The world is far more accommodating to men than it is to women.

Uhg—and all the damn marriage proposals. An endless stream of papers that grow in number each day—half of the Houses you’ve never even heard of. You toss the majority of them into the fireplace, much at the behest of your brother. Whatever.

At least the Targaryen’s court is somewhat amusing. A lifetime of petty arguments that you observe from the shadows. Rhaenyra is kind and while you’re impartial to the King, there is one you wouldn’t mind seeing fall off a cliff. You detest Daemon Targaryen. Nothing but a short-tempered fool in search for personal glory and the weight of a crown. Always a thorn in your side

No matter the reason, he will always be a nagging pest. Always picking at your arguments, and yapping at your heels. There is nothing you are not at odds with when it concerns Prince Daemon. Despite your hatred, your mind seems to always drift to images of him in the wee hours of night. Dark armor, tall stature and sneering face. You frown. Disgusting. You hope he falls off his dragon and breaks his spine.

Your hateful wishes still do not protect you. Just the same as every night, the Rogue Prince drifts into your thoughts like wet ink spilling onto parchment. You toss and turn in your bed, silk sheets constricting your legs. Fuck this.

You can’t pinpoint the nagging feeling for leaving the safety of rooms this late at night. Oh, but it is beautiful like this—the castle swathed in the soft glow of the torches, the scent of burning wood and the sweet lilies populating the gardens. Not a soul walks these halls at night save for the occasional maester or King’s Guard. They pay you no mind.

Your footsteps echo on the cold stone, wandering through vast halls and winding corridors until you’re met with open air. Trees rustle in the dark—your feet have lead you to the Godswood. A twinge of homesickness pierces your heart for the cold and vast lands of white. For Winterfell’s homely walls, your younger siblings, your mother and father—

You clasp your hands together and rub at your knuckles. You sigh and drift to the heartwood, its weeping features a strange, basal comfort. Though your peace is quickly tarnished—

You are not alone in this courtyard.

Dark leather boots appear from the shadows as the hair on the back of your neck rises. The rest of the man’s body slowly reveals itself as he strolls into the flickering torchlight. Daemon Targaryen stands before you, his height towering in the darkness. Ice coagulates in your veins. You take a step back. He inclines his head, strands of pale silver flowing off his shoulder, predatory eyes raking over your figure. “Sleep evading you, Lady Stark?”

“Prince Daemon,” you reply curtly. “What a surprise."

You don’t attempt to curb your annoyance. Daemon’s shoulder bounce with a huff. “What brings you to the heartwood at this hour? Praying to your Gods for forgiveness? Or, perhaps a tryst in the dirt with a member of the Guard.”

You sniff, steeling your nerves as he approaches. His boots flatten the grass under his weight. “I could ask you the same, my lord.”

Daemon exhales through his nose and plants himself before you, toe to toe. A common ploy to intimidate you. He raises his hand and pinches a strand of your unbound hair and twirls it around his fingers. You scoff and jerk your chin—he drops his hand. “I only wished to see the Lady Stark safe—she has an awful habit of wandering where she ought not to.”

Your lips flatten into a thin line, dread clawing at your chest. You take a step away, he follows. “So you thought to follow me?”

This could end poorly, you are treading on eggshells. Your gaze drops to his hands that rest at his sides. There is old blood crusting under his nails, like rusting metal on a blade. You wonder who it belongs too, if it were just one poor soul or that of many Daemon has cut down. Remnants of his conquests—justice he deems fitting in the name of the Crown.

Two of those long, battle-worn fingers whisper under your jawline and slot beneath your chin. He tilts your head and your breath hitches. The ends of his mouth quirk into an impish smirk.

“Tell me something,” Daemon coaxes, thumb sweeping over the divot beneath your bottom lip. “Do I frighten you, little shadow?”

His words are mocking, not a hint of true compassion. He enjoys the foul sport of intimidation far too much.

This alone should disgust you.

But the air is humid and the night is thick with buzzing possibilities. Honeyed wine coats your tongue, spinning insults you wish to say, into molasses and ash. Your brows furrow. Setting aside the asinine manners and the questionable decisions—Daemon Targaryen intrigues you. He knows this—he is no fool to the sideways glances, the lingering focus on his mouth cradling the rims of golden chalices and his sharp smiles. You trusted in dark corners and the long shadows of the afternoon to hide you away, to keep your curiosities under wraps—a pity it never worked.

His free hand slithers around your bare arm, his fingers scalding over your already heated flesh. The pads of his fingers dig into your skin, indenting the muscle. Not hard enough to bruise, but firm enough that faint marks will linger.

“Tell me,” he prompts again, jostling your chin.

The warm glow of the torchlight carves his sharp features into something akin to sinister. To him, you are something to be devoured—conquered. A true warrior—wildfire thrums through his veins and each breath that puffs over your flushed skin is invitingly toxic. Lips made of glass and a voice cut from steel. A grin made for war and eyes flecked with embers—

You swallow and forget about the sins threaded in the fibers of his soul. It’s best you do. You do not wish to falter and lose your slippery foothold you have against Daemon. True—you are no fearsome warrior, deft with a blade, but what you lack in a sword, you make up in full with your whip-tongue. All these months you’ve held your head high, nipping back at every wayward insult he’s thrown at you. Every battle of wit and test of will, you’ve bested and shrugged aside. It is a reflection of the North—that your House is unwavering, to tread lightly amongst the wolves.

The Rogue Prince deemed you easy prey—a poor writhing creature that turns belly up and submits under the barest of pressure. But you are no dove.

This is a dance of ice and fire. You have no intentions of losing.

“No,” you finally answer, straightening your spine and your resolve. “You do not frighten me.”

A hum rumbles through his chest. “Is that so?”

You sigh, “What is there to fear, Daemon? A spoiled princeling, begging for scraps of the Realm’s affection—”

Daemon lashes out, hand clamping over your jaw like an iron bear trap. You swallow your yelp of pain as your teeth cut into the insides of your cheeks. The tip of his nose bumps yours, his voice a dangerous growl. “Do not think I won’t send your head back to your father on a pike.”

“And risk war with the North?” You bite back, words muddled. Daemon understands you nonetheless. “Don’t be so mindless.”

Daemon’s teeth clench, pale brows furrowed into a deep crease. His nostrils flare, his irate gaze unwavering. Within it you find only ruin. Fire in the darkness, raging against the void, raising his sword against the Gods. A snake swallowing its tail, sharp edged steel—all that he is, is ripped edges and cracked glass. You haven’t the heart to be afraid of him—promises of tomorrow spark and pop in his mouth, but you will steal them one by one for each time you see the sun set and the darkness take his place.

Hey squints. His hands roughly drop, but remain close enough to touch you. You wince as you roll your jaw and rub at the sore nerves pulsating under the skin. “Your knavish tongue will be your undoing, Lady Stark.”

And just when you think you’ve got him figured out, the wind shifts and his temperament smooths out. The bemused, coy smirk slips back into place. His hands lift, you flinch and his jackal grin grows. All he does is smooth out the rumbled fringe of your dress, indulging himself in a coquettish swipe of his fingers along the length of your collarbones. To a passerby it would appear as if he were adjusting your neckless—you both know better.

You chew your lip. Fuck it. You’ll take the risk of insulting him further. There’s nothing to lose here. You square your shoulders and swat at his lingering touch. “It is unbecoming for a prince to take such pleasure in his power.”

Daemon rubs at his chin. Your frown deepens. “My—you are venomous this evening.”

Daemon places his hands on your shoulders, the warmth and weight of them seeping through the light fabric of your dress. You fingernails dig into the flesh of your clenched fists. He nudges his palm into your shoulder joint, guiding you to face the weeping heart tree that lies within arms reach. You allow him to. “I take pleasure in my power, because…”

His words trail off. Your breath catches in your lungs as the Prince slots his lean body to yours. “Regardless of my actions, I will be vilified for it. These ungrateful sheep of the Realm will fancy themselves judge, jury, and executioner, but I am above them.”

It’s hot—layers of leather stick to your flushed skin, humid breaths scald your ear and throat. “Beneath me, everyone will burn.”

Everything is too damn close to you—you itch to peel every layer of cloth and skin from yourself if it offers even a shred of relief. Daemon mistakes the subtle arch in your spine as resistance and circles a weighty arm around your middle to deter your squirming. Daemon indulges in a lecherous squeeze of your midriff—you curse yourself for jumping.

“So twitchy,” he tuts. Your teeth dig into your bottom lip as Daemon’s free hand sweeps back your unbound hair. Each spidery brush of his fingertips over the base of your spine leaves goosebumps in their wake. Your head swims, alarm bells clanging through your mind the moment Daemon curls his long, calloused fingers around your throat. Daemon grins and rests his chin over your shoulder, sharp nose burying into the crook of your of neck and shoulder. You know he can feel your fluttering, thrashing heart, pounding against the porcelain bars of your ribcage. Yet the more you struggle, the tighter his claws hook into you. “I wonder…”

You wade through the hazy, panicked blur that has settled over your mind. Your tongue wets your parched lips. You don’t understand the beginning of this question, nor do you really want to see how it ends. Regardless, you indulge him. “My lord?”

His low chuckle vibrates through his chest, porcelain teeth scraping along the column of your throat. “You tremble as if you are a maiden pure…” Daemon nips at ear, warm breath curling like a lick of fire alongside your cheek. “But I have trouble believing this narrative.”

Daemon’s fingers inch up your throat. His middle and forefinger touch your chin and then your bottom lip. He smooths the pads of his digits over your lip and drags the pliant flesh down, exposing your bottom row of teeth. “How many ingrates have these lips touched?”

His grip cinches tighter, eager to hear your answer. You clench your jaw. “I don’t see how that is any of your concern.”

“Oh, why don’t you give it up already?” Daemon sneers, “I see through your fucking front—how your pretty little eyes follow me down every corridor, through every room.”

Sharp pain erupts through your jaw as Daemon digs his thumb and middle finger into the joints of your jaw. Your yelp fades to a muffled squeal as Daemon shoves his fingers into your mouth without care. Your nails dig into the tough leather that cradles his arm, but no matter how much you squirm or attempt to shove the digits out with your tongue, there is no escape. Daemon’s teeth latch onto your throat, marring the fragile skin. “You can trick these dogmatic fools with your puritanical Northern ways—but I know the truth.”

You blubber around his fingers, saliva dripping down the sides of your stretched mouth and down his knuckles. Alarm bells continue to rattle inside your head, but that flailing panic drifts and blends into a dark current of gnashing teeth and a vortex of flame. Fervor and fear concoct a blend of sweet desire best left untouched.

But when has the Rogue Prince ever listened to reason? Instead he takes this love like poison and slathers it onto rusted daggers in search of a home between the vertebrae of your spine. You think of your hands, threading through platinum white hair and the red of his laughter. A barbed thing, a taunting thing, and a smile that leans to the left and sharp as a scythe. You crave him like hemlock.

Daemon snickers as his fingers sink deeper into your mouth, pressing down on your soft tongue, the taste of him and salt flooding your tongue. He then pulls them nearly free from your lips, only to drive them back in, then out. A devious lick of arousal pools in your tummy as Daemon Targaryen finger fucks your mouth. He ceases the sick torture the second you gag and claw at his forearm. “There now,” he coos. You shiver despite the heat, his whisper a wicked scrape in your ear. “You desire me just as much as I crave you.”

You whimper as he drags his fingers completely free from your lips, leaving a trail of sticky saliva over your chin. Daemon jostles your face with a prompting hum. Your voice is hoarse. “Yes.”

“Yes what?” He goads, slithering his sinful hands down the plain of your waist. You writhe under his touch, choking on embers and acidic oaths you hate to dispel off your tongue.

“Yes,” you grit out, “I desire you, Prince Daemon.”

Daemon clicks his tongue. “What fine manners,” he replaces his hand over your throat and pushes your head back until it meets the line of his shoulder. “A shame you only use them to persuade me into fucking you.”

Stretched out like this, bearing your vulnerable neck to his hungry mouth, you meet his eyes. “Your arrogance protects you from coercion—so I believed, my lord.”

Sure, you already know the answer and yes, you’re toying with the untamed viciousness that flickers within his irises. You’re only playing coy to wheedle in a catty insult. It’s one of the simple pleasures in life—making a mockery of Daemon Targaryen.

“Wretched shadow—I should cut out your tongue for your insolence.”

Before you have a chance to reply, Daemon’s mouth descends onto yours. A kiss full of teeth and iron—nothing about his lips are forgiving. Its blooms like a cut—hard, hungry and victorious. You are the spoils of an enduring, uphill battle, and so he claws at your arms, your clothes, your hair—

He rips himself away when the discomfort of your positioning grows too tedious. Daemon’s chest heaves, lips making a home in the crux of your neck and shoulder. You’re equally short of breath, knees buckling as Daemon’s brash hand cups your breast through your poor excuse of a dress. More of a robe really—

You yelp as he pinches your nipple, rolling it harshly between his fingers. You feel his grin curl up his narrow face, delighted in the results he’s cultivated. Irritation flares in your chest—you’ve slipped seamlessly into his dastardly scheme. Though, right as he moves to your other breast, kneading the pillowy skin, your mind conjures kindling. Your lips tickle his throat, words hushed. “You have a wife, princeling. What would she think of this?”

The muscles in Daemon’s jaw jump as his jaw clenches. His touches cease as a growl rumbles through his chest. The oncoming silence is terse—swelling with raw nerves you’ve poked and prodded at. You don’t care.

Daemon’s lip curls, canines flashing in the torchlight. “Not a damn thing. I take what I please.” His fingers leap to the crux of your thighs, securing his hold around your neck and cupping your cunt through your dress. You gasp and arch your spine. “When I please.”

The heel of his palm rocks into your cunt, sparking your arousal tenfold. Wetness has seeped through your underclothes some time ago, yet now you’re at risk for discovery. Not that this poses a real issue—your hips roll into his hand as your lips part in a gasp—you’re long past any sense propriety. He squeezes your throat, thumb making a home over your pulse point, pounding like a war drum. “You will do well to remember this—the world is mine to conquer, foolish girl.”

A strangled cry breeches your lips as Daemon hikes the skirts of your dress up your thighs. He grabs at your inner thigh, kneading the flesh for a moment before his hand finds your center once more. A stuttered sigh escapes him, feeling your heat through the thin layer of your underclothes. It sticks to your cunt, your wetness amplified by the gentle breeze that whispers through the Godswood, rattling the wine-red leaves as if the Gods themselves sigh in disappointment. Thoughts of sacrilege melt from your mind as Daemon curses, calloused fingers rubbing your slit through the fabric. Your knees buckle, waves of pleasure cascading through every nerve.

Daemon trails his fingers from the top of your cunt, circling your clit then down to rub over your dripping entrance. Despite his touches being blunted, the effect is all the same. “Dae—”

The hand on your throat slaps over your mouth, quieting your mewls. “Hush, wretched thing.”

The moment his teeth imbed themselves into your neck is the very same moment in which Daemon’s patience snaps. Your underclothes are forcibly removed, ripped seams and soaked cotton pooling around your ankles. His feverish panting scorches your skin, stuttered and edging madness—the world cracks and splits as his fingers finally meet your burning cunt. Your moan breaks against the lines of his palm, unraveling beneath the pads of his fingers that glide through your wet lips. Back and forth they tease, doing nothing to satiate. You thrash—it’s not enough.

And then, when you think it can’t get any worse, Daemon stops moving entirely. He laughs as you wine and wriggle. He pulls his hand off your mouth, a thin string of saliva connecting you for a quick moment, fingers hovering right over your throbbing clit. “Dae—Prince Daemon, please.”

“Desperate little shadow,” he coos, “Wetting my fingers like a common whore.”

You should feel more conflicted—aghast even—but his insults are kindling to a burning house. You murmur prayers of forgiveness to the rustling leaves above you, hushed words tumbling into a whiney pleas as Daemon circles your clit. Your fingernails scrabble over his knuckles, hoping that your efforts will result in gratification. All it does is make him pause.

“I should leave you like this,” he murmurs against the shell of your ear. Your heart seizes. “Unsatisfied and dripping.” Daemon’s forehead drops onto your shoulder, his hand dipping further between your pussy. His fingers spread over your cunt, doing the best he can at this angle and teasing out a little moan. You jolt as Daemon abruptly plunges the tip of his middle finger into your entrance. “But you would never learn.”

Your cry echos through the Godswood as Daemon’s slots his fingers to your swollen clit. Your legs shake—his pace starts off mellow, pressing fleeting little circles to the bundle of nerves. The pleasure is raw, but there’s no place you can run to. You’re pinned to his chest, destined for torture—to witness his black-hearted delight. You curse and Daemon cuts to the quick, fast and rough, toying with your body like a marionette and her puppeteer—tugging on invisible strings until you dance for him. You squeeze your eyes shut and claw and his forearm, unsure if you’re trying to pull him closer or away from you.

It’s too much and too quickly. Daemon gives no time to build up the pleasure. It all descends upon you in a vicious wave. Searing heat courses through you from the centre of your core and lashes out to your lower spine and beyond. You arch as the pleasure begins to scald, but his touch follows, his hold unyielding. Your mind folds as your orgasm cracks, a string of senseless babbling and cries of his name all that you can make sense of.

His fingers press firmly against your clit, your core clenching so hard around nothing that it aches. Your ears ring, the ecstasy bursting through your trembling body. Your knees buckle and he lets you fall. The moss coating the thick heartwood roots absorbs the shock of your fall, but the dirt still stains your knees and palms, still shaking with aftershocks. You squeeze your eyes just to rid your vision of the blurriness and sluggishly move to stand.

Leather creaks and the snap of a belt sounds behind you. A second later Daemon tosses his sword to your left, the silvery hilt glowing pale in the moonlight. You swing your head over your shoulder as Daemon kneels. He shoots you a sharp, toothy smile. Your heart lurches. This is far from over.

The sound of rustling fabric and low cursing cuts through some of the anticipation. You look back and bite your lip to curb your snicker. Daemon is hunched over, pawing at the drawstrings of his tented trousers, dexterous as a drunk. “Having trouble with your laces, m’lord?”

Daemon snarls and tears through the flimsy string with sheer force. You yelp as Daemon grabs a fistful of your hair and yanks. His lean body curls over yours, nose brushing along your neck. “Speaking is a privilege. Quiet yourself before I silence your mouth with my cock.”

He shoves your head to the soft earth, his other hand pushing up your skirts to expose your bare ass. Daemon murmurs a curse or perhaps a lick of praise as he runs his roughened palm over the globes of your ass. You shiver as his fingers sweep inward, collecting the wetness that has coated the soft skin there. His palm trades in his hold on your throbbing scalp to instead drag his thumbs through your slit. You dare not move from this position. His thumbs part your swollen lips, sliding through the velveteen flesh until he finds your weeping entrance.

Daemon purrs as he sinks his middle finger inside of you, all the way to the base and without resistance. You keen and fist the grass under you. Your walls stretch around the second finger he stabs into you, lazily thrusting the digits in and out. Heat burns your cheeks at the wet sounds your body makes. Though there’s not much time to enjoy Daemon’s fingers—he’s impatient as they come.

He kneels up straight and shuffles closer. You gasp as you feel him, hot and straining against your thigh. Daemon strokes his cock, knuckles scraping against your pussy as if to tease you. You wine and push your hips back, your self respecting dwindling to ash.

Daemon brings the blunt tip of himself to your cunt and rocks his hips coating his cock in your slick. “Tell me you need it.”

His hand is back in your hair, pulling at the strands. You don’t need much encouragement. You force your tongue into coherency. “Please—I…I need it, my Prince. N-need you.”

Daemon snickers and rubs a comforting hand over the base of your spine. And then, with little warning, he sheaths the entirety of his length inside of your aching center. You screech, gouging your fingers through the damp earth and scrabbling for some sort of stability. He’s big—bigger than what you’ve taken in the past and your cunt pulses and struggles to accommodate him. Daemon only laughs, a breathless taunt, as his fingers leave behind bruises in the shape of him. “Fuck, you’re tight. Does it hurt, little shadow?”

“No,” you squeak. And for the most part it’s true—your walls burn, and a dull ache settles deep inside of you as Daemon’s cock touches the end of you. But your wetness aids the glide and sets the burning nerves alight with crackling ecstasy. You bow your head, resting your forehead on your forearm as Daemon rocks his narrow hips. The experimental pace trips into something harsher, encouraged by the breathless squeaks he pushes out of you. His hands anchor over your hips, aiding the brutal rhythm of his cock slamming into your tight heat.

You lose yourself to this pleasure—washed out to sea to drown in the waves. For the first time since meeting Daemon, he speaks your name to the heavens, but you don’t even recognize it. Can’t recognize it—the syllables are to foreign and grating to your eardrums. These frenzied moments are a blur of white-hot embers, smoke and ash and hard fingertips littering your skin with crescent moon indents. Bites, laden with heavy kisses leech out the sting as you moan and whimper. You roll your hips and arch your back in a way you’d find positively deplorable if you were coherent enough to form proper thoughts.

“Greedy fucking shadow—”

You like that better than your name—that’s who you are—who you always will be to him. It all makes sense with that name tumbling against the ridges of your spine with the cutting lips that follow it. Damp skin and sticky fingers wind around your legs spread legs, fingers slipping over you cunt before the resettle and touch your clit. Daemon presses down on your clit, bucks his hips, swollen cock inside you twitching as your walls squeeze him. He pants against your ear, fingers slipping round and round over your clit. You’re so full, so fucking full that your legs tremble and your toes curl. Everything tightens like a vice, stars scattering behind your eyelids. All that you are is some writhing sweaty mess, biting at your forearm. It’s a gargantuan task, struggling to your elbows, and rocking back as much as you can. Fuck—all you can think about is Daemon—

“Stop wriggling and just fucking take it,” Daemon bites. Saliva or maybe blood, dribbles down your shoulder, your collarbone, and wets the moss below.

You cry as the edge beckons and explodes. He catches you up whilst you’re faced with the precipice of orgasm. Daemon grabs at your hair, wrenching your head to face the gnarled face of the heartwood. “Scream my name to your Old Gods.”

You do. Oh, you do, Gods forgive this as you implode and split at the seams. The hard heat of his belly presses through his tunic and sits flush against your back, the line of your spine curved into the pounding echo of his heartbeat. He hasn’t stopped—he still thrusts into your cunt in search for his own end. Your stomach flips as Daemon hooks his elbow under your knee flips you onto your back.

His length slips free, only to be guided back inside of you once he drapes your thighs around his waist. You throw your head back and claw at his tunic, wheezing when his hand ensnares your neck and restricts your air. He is a mass of burning stardust, a winged fragment of space that burns bright as the sun. People will never be able to understand the true form of him. Yet they still fear the catalogue of coalesced volcanic ash and anger. The wildness. His many black-tinted hungers. You will always tenderly tell yourself that he nothing to be afraid, as if his mouth were not filled with blood.

You are not made to burn like this, you are a creature of ice and snow, yet you still risk dragon fire. Holding you like a moth to a flame—you let him blind you, igniting your heart and allowing his heat to incinerate all he cares to take. “Look at me,” he commands.

The inferno rages around you, his hips swinging freely in a stuttered rhythm only meant to service him. There is no concern for you in these fleeting moments, you’re only a means to end, but fuck—it still feels good. Still rubs against nerves that spark and ignite with each thrust. His cock pounds into you, the Godswood filled with sounds of your rough joining, abdomen scraping over your clit. A knowing smirk splits across his face as you cum once more—convulsing and jittery. You reach for him and twist your fingers into his hair—Daemon allows it. With one last wheezy sputter of his name from your lips, he’s done for.

You choke as the full weight of him collapses onto you—his hips shoving his twitching cock as deep as it will go into your cunt. Warmth floods your insides as he cums, his fragile moaning a delight to your ringing ears. Soon, he settles, panting into the column of your throat, pulse racing.

Right when its feels as though he will crush your ribcage, Daemon lifts himself and cups your jaw. You blink, eyes hazy with exhaustion and lust.

“Open,” he orders. You do so without a fight and open your mouth. Perverse joy flickers in his eyes. “Good.”

Your eyes bulge as he spits into your mouth. You don’t have time to feel conflicted over the way your body roars with a new wave of arousal, because he’s kissing you. Devouring your bruised mouth with tongue and teeth—it leaves you breathless. You don’t like the way your heart yearns for more when Daemon pulls away. He skates his thumb up your jawline, admiring the way your softness catches on his calloused skin. There’s no fuss, nor any words spoken as he pulls his cock free from you, only a hiss through clenched teeth. His spend dribbles out of your cunt and paints your inner thighs—a beautiful canvass of sin and debauchery.

He stands, readjusts his trousers and reaches for his abandoned sword. He ties the scabbard to his belt and turns on his heel. “Do be careful on your way back to your rooms, Lady Stark,” he tosses over his shoulder. “Who knows what filth lurks in the dark.”

You bite your lip and watch him pace away, melding into the dark. You lift your eyes to the canopy of leaves overhead and sigh. They shiver and twist in the gentle breeze. “Gods above—forgive me.”

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