#[[ that or the remains of the shadow temple... ]]

[blueberrypancakesworld]

Hiii! Could you write a one shot with both Caracalla and Geta? The idea is that the reader is their favorite concubine (or legit their wife idk if that's how it works lmfaooo) but she's a witch? Like she's an oracle or something, they keep her around because she brings them luck and what not (they also kinda love her but they're both insane so...)

No worries if you don't want to write this!

The oracle of the emperors

Geta/Caracalla x witch!reader

warning : hurt/comfort, power inequality, kissing, mention of smut (light smutish), family issues

Summary : In times of war, one had to resort to everything, be it rationing, ambushes, burning or fetching the walking omniscient shadow from the alleys of Rome. An oracle surrounded the two emperors and was so much more to them than just a surrogate for the gods.

info : I love the idea, almost an au in Gladiator (maybe more someday) thanks for the request and have fun reading :)

masterlist

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Rome was a world city, an empire for decades no for centuries, it would outlast all time. Everything would fall to make way for the glorious holy roman empire and no one would stop it, no country, no army, you just had to keep conquering and conquering.

An idea, a thought, a dream that had burned itself into the minds of the two emperors - they wanted more, had to and needed more. The reign of Geta and Caracalla was to be glorious, but the body cannot bear what the mind dreams of, especially not when its own warlord threatens to withdraw.

You can't keep a man from dying for a lifetime without risking his downfall, a fact that the two also saw...but if the fighting force failed, what could be done to win more easily and quickly?

Gods, oracles and witches, the supernatural, that which could see more than only man could see.

Since the conquests, the oracles had only predicted victories, but why did more and more bases go under, why did the harvests come to an end and why did the emperor's gold seem to dwindle?

Wrong answers were punished with death and the temples remained mostly empty, the only thing that was known to help was the shadow of Rome, the woman who was found before she was even looked for.

Her figure emerged from the streets wrapped in the dark fabric, the rustling of the small bones in her pouch accompanying her as the people looked at her in awe, as much as she was feared she was revered, ,,The sound of water will bring you a poet, just as these bones of death brought me to you...my honorable emperors” she greeted them as she came up the stairs to the palace and saw the golden gods in human form.

Of one she had dreamed his gold would cover the Senate like blood that would not stop flowing and the other she had seen an agonizing spirit that would perish along with all of Rome.

,,You will be placed in our service, no harm shall come to you as long as your words are of use to us,” Geta assured her as he showed her a bedchamber larger than anything she had ever had and still needed some work, for as much as she saw and heard them all, she knew how to interpret the looks in their eyes.

And the looks of the brothers were full of desire.

After a very short time she was surrounded only by the two of them, hardly any other servants or concubines, the campaign was victorious as she had predicted, but her warning also came true.

It only took a full moon for the “poet” to arrive inside the palace and she saw the amused look on Caracalla's face as he grabbed her hand, ,,You predicted it!” he said, and his brother looked at her, a look she took as respect.

When they were with the brothers during the day, she was with Geta, his hand at her side, the human god who wanted to be closer to Olympus through her, ,,You belong to me, here, in the Senate and out there,” he reminded her whenever they took up political matters.

Dark eyes with make-up looked at her whenever she moved the figures on the map, whenever she whispered her proposal to him in the senate and when he drew her to his bedchamber.

Why should she say no? Even a fool would have slept with the most powerful man whose voice was almost as intoxicating as his body, his kiss intense he wanted this power she had, his gold soon adorning her too, gifts in the hope that she would stay with him, touches of lust, he desired her power and beauty until the day she asked the question.

The fire turned bluish and she heard the cry of a monkey asking him, ,,You speak of belonging but this mine, is it none of your brother the Emperor Caracalla's concern?" a question that drove him from her, his face became incredulous and she saw the disbelief in his eyes.

He felt betrayed.

A betrayal she thought he would spear away, but her last prediction that this mine would mean his end must have frightened him, frightened and almost more God-given.

The gifts of gem and gold he made sure she wore, as much as he tried to hold it back she belonged to one god and not two at the same time.

Geta would spend hours in the temples, making people feel at ease and being addressed as a god. it was during these days and weeks that the monkey Dundus would often run up to her and she would see the uncertain look on Caracalla's face.

As much as he was fascinated, he was also afraid of her, ,,Witches are a bad omen...but you helped us,” the younger one said as he ventured into her room and watched, curious about what she was doing there.

Instead of luring him with physical devotion like his brother, she put a motherly smile on her lips, ,,Look even I can make fruit dance” she lured him and he sat down on her chair while she instructed him to close his eyes, she mixed a few simple tinctures and dripped them on the grapes.

A simple reaction of plants, but for Caracalla, who clapped his hands in delight, it was worth almost as much as the whole of Rome, ,,You see, I can't be angry at all, my sweet king,” she murmured to him and hugged him carefully, an embrace he wanted more and more from then on. during the day she belonged to Geta, who soon ignored her warning.

Why listen to a witch when he was a god? The jewelry covered her body, his love visible on her body and at night she took care of the younger one, so much pain and suffering as she held him like a child who would soon take advantage of her when his madness took over, ,,His gold, his jewelry but you're mine, aren't you? I need you alone, not shared,” he ordered, fingers clutching hers helplessly.

A question she answered with a kiss and the game between the two emperors continued to grow daily. The bones in her bowl became more and more when she made new predictions and she went from a god to a delusional one whenever one of them needed her.

Gold and make-up adorned her body and whenever Geta and Caracalla met it seemed as if Rome was on the verge of collapse.

In the midst of this they stood, the most influential authority taking on the two emperors while Rome changed around them, brothers not seeing that the shadow had closed in around them when the first thought had fallen upon them.

She felt at home in the madness of the two and the threads that held everything together, because no one could separate such a love. Yet to everyone else outside the palace she was nothing more than the concubine of the brothers Emperor Geta and Caracalla.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

[peakygirl1919]

Part 1: The Bloody Beginning

Summary: The Emperor is dying, but Geta takes matters into his own hands.

Word count: 2.1k

Warnings: no spoilers for the movie// angst// violence// death// implied past abuse// period typical warnings

It was silent in the Palatine; save for the rustle of silk and the moans of a dying man. Septimus Severus was dying. It was treason to say so: any, whether they be slave, servant or senator who mentioned it would be executed-  but it was true. 

Geta stared at the man he had looked up to all his life lying weak and emaciated on the bed. Death seemed to have shrunk him, his hair greasy and matted on his forehead and his beard coming away in patches. He had fallen ill while on a campaign in Britannica, an mild wound putrifying until it was grave enough to endanger the life of the emperor. 

He was currently lurking behind a plinth in the Emperor’s bedchamber, his brother Caracalla crouched behind him, mild whimpers escaping from his mouth, his hand clenching Geta’s leg. 

His father wasn’t lucid right now, and for that he was thankful. When the Praetorians carried him in, he was roaring with rage, spittle flying from his mouth. Geta could not believe his usually cool father could make such noises. His mother, Julia Domna had tried to placate the Emperor, but had received a strike to head in thanks. It was at that point Geta had retreated to the shadows of the chamber, thinking it would be best not to get in the way and somehow bring the familiar wrath upon his head. 

More moans left his father’s dry and cracked lips, and a sheen of sweat lay over body. His mother had now taken up guard by his bedside, a delicate handkerchief pressed to cut on her cheek, despite the strong stench of death flowing from the man. Her eyes were empty as the cloth was stained red. 

The oil lamps flickered and grew dim as the hours passed by. It was a clear night, and Geta could see the moon’s reflection over the city that stretched out before them. The news of the Emperor’s imminent departure to the next life had the citizens concerned; they knew the transfer of power was no sure thing. The vibrant stores that lined the Via Sacra were boarded up; no noises came from the pleasure houses and street food vendors absent. Silence fell over the great city- a collective breath holding. 

The only place that showed evidence that people still remained in the city was the light that burst from the temples. Geta wished he could join the worshippers, and beg for favour from the Gods.

A whisper made its way across the room, and Geta instantly stiffened, the blood draining from his face and the hairs on his neck standing on edge. This was it. 

‘Geta…, come, my son…’. His father was calling him over.

Caracalla’s whimpers turned into cries, and Geta reached down to smooth his hair trying to pretend they were still boys, playing hide and seek in many rooms in the palace.

His gold-trimmed sandals made no sound crossing the marble floor; he felt like he was floating.

The whisper of his name became more insistent, even in death his Father had no patience for him. He moved forward towards the imperial bed, and knelt down next to the edge. His Father already appeared corpse-like; his bloated skin taking already hanging from his bones. 

He glanced pointedly at his mother, but she either did not notice or take heed from it. If she had, then perhaps her fate would have been different. Geta noted her disrespect and stored it in the back of his mind, he would deal with everyone once he had power.

Prior to the Emperor’s departure for his most recent and evidently final military campaign, he had been named co-augusti to rule in his stead alongside Caracalla. It would not do thinking what would occur if Caracalla had been left to rule on his own. 

‘Geta, you are to listen to me carefully. My time is short, I know that, despite the sycophantic crowing from all that I will live. I am not a fool. You will reign, this I know,’

Geta sharply inhaled. 

His father’s bloodshot eyes locked onto him with fervour, and Geta felt like the Gods themselves had plucked his thoughts from his head and planted them into his fathers. 

‘You will reign alongside your brother,’ 

Geta began to protest, the madness that had been evident from his brother’s birth grew worse by the year, his lucid moments becoming further apart.

His father began to cough, blood and sputum flowing from his mouth like the Tiber. The Gods would claim his soon, Geta thought, not without a spark of anticipation. With clear effort, his father continued on.

‘You are as strong as your weakness, protect him, do not quarrel with him, it will be set against the other that you both shall fall’ The Emperor took a deep breath, his pale chest struggling to rise. He seemed panicked now, no longer so brave in the face of death. He spoke rapidly and breathlessly ‘Pay the soldiers, never allow a united senate and scorn all others.’

This last point was but an echo of a whisper, Geta felt the words imprint on his mind. Scorn alright. He would obliterate the others. 

He felt his mother’s quiet gaze return to the floor, no doubt weighing in her calculating mind what her next advantageous play would be. 

But the bubble of quiet reverence had been broken. Caracalla began to wail and scream, throwing himself to the floor in his fractured state. Geta looked at him and felt no pity, only acceptance. He had always been this way, still a child in many ways. Sometimes Geta envied him for his ignorance, but sometimes Geta hated him with a red fiery passion. How could it be fair that he was the younger brother taking on the mantle of the older. How could it be fair that he had to shoulder the responsibility for both of them? But whenever these thoughts struck him he reasoned the Gods must have placed him in this position for a reason. That reason was clear to Geta now. 

It was the will of the Gods that Geta took his place on the throne. With Caracalla, technically by his side. But that was a minor detail. One that could be solved, if he so wished, but he did not. At least he knew where his brother’s loyalties lay. 

He felt heat pool in his belly as he thought of the future. But he couldn’t ahead of himself. Not yet. His father was still in the realm of the living, his mother plotted against him, and the loyalty of the army and senate had not yet been secured. There was work to do. 

Caracalla had moved on from simply harming himself and now began to tear the decorative hangings and tapestries off the wall; knocking over busts of Emperors past and topple furniture. Must he do everything in this family, Geta thought to himself. 

He spoke with new-found authority to his mother, Julia Domna, ‘why don’t you see to my brother, ensure he does himself no harm. It is not good for my father the emperor to see him so distressed at this time,’. He tried to hide the excitement he felt at taking that tone with her, and still his racing heart. 

He felt himself, be weighed, measured and found wanting by his mother. She made no reply as she stood up and went over to Caracalla. He clung to her robes and cried loudly into her stomach. Julia Domna stood with her arms at her side and held herself rigid, hands slack. She guided Caracalla away, back to his own chambers no doubt, where he could be comforted by whoever was warming his bed tonight. Geta turned back to face his father. He had no wish to see his mother’s empty platitudes. 

Geta was finally alone with his father. The only noise was the death rattle of his chest as his body continued to fight the inevitable. Geta walked closer and closer to the bed, uncaringly stepping over the broken glass and wooden splinters littered over the floor. 

The flecks of gold in Geta’s dark eyes flashed in the dim light as his face pressed close to his father’s face. He saw clearly that the Gods had renounced their favour and protection from the Emperor, with every passing breath his father seemed more man than immortal Emperor chosen by the gods.

He slipped a dagger from his belt. It was a small thing, for ceremonial use only. But he reasoned this was a ritual of sorts, and it felt fitting. The light weight of it felt heavy in his hands; the weight of consequence. 

It had a golden hilt, with a careful depiction of the twin founders of Rome with the she-wolf standing protectively over them. Her eyes were set with winking rubies, and Geta felt their divine stare upon him. 

His father did not see the metallic shine of steel in the moonlight; did not hear the grunt of effort as the blade was thrust into his chest; did not feel Geta’s fist bracing itself against his shoulder; did not taste the coppery salt of his blood dripping from his lips; did not smell Geta’s spice and incense scent as he leaned over to remove the knife. 

No, his father would not notice anything anymore. Geta watched the red blood bloom against the pale of the sheets, as his father gurgled and turned translucent. The dagger was slick in his fingers, coated with blood.

He let it drop from his hands, the clatter it made on cool marble flooring obscene. Its purpose was served. He had prevailed. His father was dead. The emperor was dead. 

He felt laughter bubble up inside him, but he knew the gods would not approve of humour at this most sacred of moments- when he had been made their vessel, through which their divine judgement had been rendered.

A high-pitch giggle broke the silence and Geta tensed, almost checking it was not him that made that noise. But it was his twin; his other-half. Caracalla must had wandered back into the room and had been standing there for Gods knows how long. 

Geta didn’t know how to break the silence- and was about to speak when Caracalla said, ‘He’s dead,’ in a soft, airy voice. Geta nodded. 

‘You did this for us? For both of us?,’. Geta nodded again, not trusting himself to remain emotionless if he answered using his voice. 

‘Well, this will make things more interesting…’ Caracalla trailed off, as if not sure exactly how things would become more interesting, but certain in the knowledge that they would. 

The brothers could have stayed there in that moment, forever. On the cusp between childhood and adulthood; the uncertain intake of breath before moving on from one stage of life to next. Caracalla was often happy to remain in this shapeless place, not concerning himself with reality, with the practicalities. 

But Geta knew had to act to control the narrative, to seize control of the guards, to summon the senate, and to proclaim his divine authority- and to protect his brother. 

Caracalla stalked over to the body of his father and gave his rapidly cooling body a poke in the stomach. His finger came away stained red. Geta turned away and reached over to a bell to summon a servant, letting the collected mask of his face fall, allowing his anxiety and nerves to rule him for a moment. 

The slave drifted into the room silently, eyes cast downwards, not wishing to bring Geta’s rage upon his head. 

Geta looked up and snapped his face back into one of cool arrogance and hard eyes. ‘Summon the senate, the first proclamation from their emperors is to be heard.’ 

The slaves hastily bowed and darted away. 

During the exchange Caracalla had slipped beside him and grasped his hand, their father’s blood sealing their palms. 

‘What do we do now?’, Caracalla asks hesitantly, glancing at Geta from lidded eyes. 

Geta paused, before answering with a smirk on his face, ‘Whatever we want.’

A/N: well…. that was dramatic. Apologies to those looking for historical accuracy- I played around with the death of Septimus Severus (he didn’t make it back to Rome and died on a military campaign); and anything else wrong is my fault, sorry!

Thank you for reading! Comments and reblogs are encouraged and greatly appreciated. 

Let me know if you would like this series to continue, and if so, what other snippets of Geta’s life you would like to see…

TAGS:

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@justnobodynothingmore

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@helsa3942

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[timegears-moved]

bro????????

[fiiirsthero]

Princess. Queen. Did it really make much of a difference? Link wasn't so stupid as to not understand that there was a world of difference between the two titles, but it felt so... pointless to harp on it, especially when there was no King or Prince to fight with. She was the only Royal left, and until - or maybe unless? - she had a family, she would forever be the last of the Hylian Royal Family.

Some could, and would, argue that maybe that was ultimately for the best. Maybe it was high time for the Royal Family to die out, and with them all of their horrible secrets. Because there was no mistaking the fact that they did hold secrets, and who really could judge if that was for the best of Hyrule as a whole? Link had no doubt it truly was, but that was the nature of secrets; if you actually kept them, no one will ever know what it is you're doing for them.

"Was it corruption? Or were they just protectin' people against something they couldn't understand." He spoke loud enough that Zelda would be able to hear him, but his words were really said without the intention of getting a response. Again, another situation that could never be fully understood. It wasn't like the dead could rise up and give their answers. Not anymore, at least; the Sheikah were gone and Link doubted even their magicks would have been able to properly resurrect someone who had died that long ago.

In many ways, he supposed he was the last to be able to tell any of the tales, but... what stories did he know? Rather purposefully he had tried to avoid learning too many secrets, knowing that it wasn't his place to share them - and it equally wasn't his place to keep them.

"Let's say the first king did add the cells as a precaution. Doesn't that imply that something had still happened to lead him to believe that such a precaution would be necessary?" And while he didn't wince, part of Link did frown at the memory of his own time being incarcerated. There was truly nothing that men in power loved more than being able to lock up those who were helpless to stop them.

Her light illuminated their path better than any lantern could have. Down the winding steps they went and out into the walkways that would lead them to the remnants of old, battered prison cells. Most of them were half-destroyed, though whether that had happened before or after the Twilight was unknown to him.

"There's more beneath this." Whether or not she was aware of that didn't really matter. The walkway would lead to a dead-end, to a wall that had only been erected maybe a century or two prior. It wasn't even well hidden, the colorization entirely off being an almost beige compared to the dark greys of the stone surrounding it.

All it would take was a solid push to knock it down; age had taken away most of its structural integrity. And all he gave Zelda was a look over his shoulder before bracing his hands against the wall before giving a firm shove. There was a slight shift in it before it started to crumble back, disintegrating into a pile of dust and dirt.

Lower and lower they descended, making their way into the poorly lit, ramshackle depths of the castle. It was getting harder to see, but the Queen of Hyrule refrained from using her light magic, opting to conserve her energy as there were still torches to help light their path — few but they did exist.

Guards ordinarily patrolled the dungeons of the castle, though that was mostly to ensure no one had found a way to sneak into the palace via the dungeons from outside, considering it was rare for them to hold prisoners in any of the cells they currently passed. The number of guards on duty in this portion was increased after everything they’d all experienced with the Twilight Realm, but it was a safety measure; Zelda hadn’t believed they would be fighting such a dark evil again so soon.

A scowl pulled at the royal’s rouged lips, eyes slicing through the darkness to Link as he once again referred to her with that title of endearment — ‘little Princess.’ Her sentries might have gawked to see someone so bold, but Zelda instead settled for rolling her eyes. “As Queen of Hyrule,” she’d put a strong emphasis on the position she held, “I know Hyrule has had a trying history, often filled with darkness. I also know the Royal Family has seen various degrees of corruption over the centuries. The tomes in the palace do not say that outright, but the underlying implication is there.” 

Stepping forward, Zelda raised her right hand, a ball of light emitting from gloved fingers, growing larger until it was near the size of her outstretched hand in diameter, perhaps slightly bigger. The golden orb was brilliant and hovered before her as she pressed on, “I was under the impression that the vast number of cells were added by one of those prior corrupt rulers — someone that viewed their power and title as a right to conquer rather than protect. Or perhaps one of the first kings added them purely as a precaution, not quite knowing what to expect for his kingdom.”

She stiffened at the mention of her father, shoulders pulled back and eyes wide until she forced her face into an expression of cool neutrality. “My father…we did not always see eye to eye. Especially when it came to our preferred ruling styles.”

She thought no further explanation necessary.

[peachesofteal]

Through Me (The Flood) - secret baby fic Simon Riley / female reader 18+ mdni, these two and their usual kinks, mention/discussion of pregnancy, Simon in his BDU so... you know.

You have a stage five clinger.

That's the only way to describe Simon lately. He's your shadow. The only time he separates himself from you is to take care of the baby, and even then, he's usually always in sight line.

Most people would feel smothered. Annoyed. Fed up, probably. You would have too, with past partners. But for some reason, with him, the irritation doesn't exist. He's working through something in his mind. Repairing something. Healing something. Even though the day in the hospital is long buried, you know it still sticks with him, the evidence clear in the way he still treads carefully, still handles you gently in bed.

The attention, the devotion, doesn't bother you. The need to reassure him drives you into his arms as often as possible, and when he holds on longer than usual, you never pull away.

The last day in your apartment is bittersweet. Mostly packed up, only the skeleton remains, a shell of what was once your home. You expected to feel sad, mournful, as you sweep up the dust in the living room, but your emotions are conflicted, a turbulent sea of satisfaction and already growing nostalgia. You're ready to turn the tide, move forward, while still appreciating the place you became a mother.

You're grateful to Gaz and Cami for taking Orion all day. They're at home, no doubt spoiling him rotten, while you try to wrangle dust bunnies and cleaning the oven. You get lost in the chore of trying to clean up, distracted enough you don't hear the door click.

When heavy footsteps sound in the entryway, you turn.

And lose your breath.

He's in the uniform again. The more formal one, the one that Price makes him wear for meetings. It fits him like a glove, snug in all the right places, and there's no denying what it does to you.

You're already wet. Just staring at him.

He smirks. "Alright?"

"Oh, yeah, I'm just... I'm almost done." You gesture uselessly around the kitchen, half pointing to the oven door, eyes still trained on him, sweeping up and down, over and over.

He steps closer, head cocked, leaning into your space just enough your body instinctively closes the gap. "See something you like honey?"

"Y-yeah."

"Gon' tell me what it is?"

"You look good, in the uniform." You clear your throat. "I... I like it." Your hand unfurls, palm flat, and he tugs on it, folding it over the hard bulge in his pants.

One moment, you're looking up at him and the next you're being spun around, back to his chest, thick fingers plunging into the waistband to tug your panties aside. He groans, stroking over your clit. "You're bloody soaked f'me."

"For you." Is all you can manage, voice twisted into a whisper, and he rips your pants down to your feet, lifting them out to kick your legs wide.

"Hands on the counter," he presses you forward until you're nearly at ninety degrees, cool air ghosting over where you're exposed, slick and swollen. "There we go, jus' like that." He grips fistfuls of your hips, your ass, and then tugs at his zipper, its echo instinctively rising you up onto your toes. He's still in his uniform, completely dressed, and you stare at him over your shoulder, legs trembling, soaking it in. You think you might be drooling. Blunt pressure notches at your pussy, the crown of his cock working its way forward before he slams the rest in, your scream pinging through the empty flat. "Fuck."

"Simon- ah,"

"I know, sweet girl, I know. You can take it, pussy looks so good stretched around me." He's teasing, in control though the clench of his jaw hissing through his teeth is clear, hips snapping over and over, rocking inside you. His lips graze your temple, breath hot on your cheek. "I want you to stop taking your birth control." You shudder, clenching around him. "We're ready, mama. You're ready. Let's," He shoves deep, deep enough you turn to liquid, body bending to accommodate, "have another baby." The rough fabric of his uniform pants scrape against your ass, brush and burn delicious with a bite, and you moan.

The mind has a funny way of erasing the memories of birth. Oxytocin is a finicky trick, the halo effect obliterating trauma and replacing it with joy. You can't say no. You don't want to say no, and the idea giving Orion a sibling, holding another sweet, squirmy baby in your arms, one with Simon's eyes, detonates in your heart, flutters spreading all the way through to your fingers and toes. Your spine arches, hips flexing back towards his own, and he chuckles-

before pulling out and flipping you over, hoisting you up onto the counter with your legs wrapped around his waist. Your eyes roll backwards as he slides home again, pinching your jaw between thumb and forefinger. He looks at you expectantly. Waiting.

The agreement sears on your tongue, incendiary heat forcing its way through your lips. "O-Okay."

"Say it." He thrusts, rubbing your clit at the same time, rolling you close to the edge. "Say yes daddy like a good girl."

"Yes, daddy." His nose touches yours. For a moment, you're both suspended, pupils dilated, sharing the same breath, the same DNA, the same blood. He slows down, and you squirm. "No, no don't stop- p-please-"

"'Say yes daddy, I want another baby' and I'll make you come mama. Tell me." He licks your cheek. You're barely hanging on, holding the front of his uniform. He teases your clit again, working it slowly, and you whine.

"Yes daddy, I want... I want another baby." It's enough. Enough for a dark glint to spark across his eyes, the same glimmer you see from time to time, the possession, the instinct, deep rooted desires.

It sends you into orbit, head tipping back, his teeth on your neck, the two of you coming together and riding through the wave until it's over, and he tucks you into his chest, cock still seated deep.

"I love you." He murmurs. "I'm gonna take care of you this time. I'm gonna be here." You don't ask about the what ifs, what will happen when he's away, what if he misses it. You just bask in the warmth of the moment, and sigh.

"I love you too."

[yandere-daydreams]

Title: Foxglove and Oleander.

Pairing: Yandere!Sukuna x Reader (JJK).

Word Count: 6.0k

Commissioned by the very lovely @letstalktea.

TW: Heian Era AU, Wildly Unbalanced Power Dynamics, Blood + Violence, Deliberate Manipulation, Obsessive Behavior, and Implied Cannibalism.

Sukuna first arrived the night your chrysanthemums bloomed.

That was the only reason you weren’t in the temple when the fire reached it. Against your better judgement and the wishes of your superiors, you’d committed yourself to spending the night in the courtyard, carefully monitoring each delicate bud as they slowly unfurled and stained your garden with scattered blotches of bright, bleeding scarlet. In the morning, it would be your responsibility to gather each flower, dry their petals, and deliver them to the temple’s healers to use as medicinal herbs before you were allowed to get to your less seasonal chores, but tonight, the chrysanthemum belonged to you.

From your little corner of the courtyard, you watched as flames climbed the side of the side of the mountain, consuming the forest that surrounded your home before latching onto the servants’ barracks, then the outer sanctuaries, before finally reaching the main body of the temple. There were a few screams to accompany the fire’s first arrival, but they were quickly drowned out by the fire’s deafening roar, by the sound of buildings already mostly burnt away collapsing into themselves and putting their unfortunate occupants out of their misery. You could feel the heat, hear the others begin to flee, but it was only as the fire reached the peak of its gluttony that he emerged, entirely unscathed and painted with the blood of those you supposed you may have cared about, if you’d had more time. Sukuna, although you wouldn’t know to call him by that name, just yet.

It went without saying that he was hideous. Too many limbs, too many eyes, too many mouths – every part of him distorted with bulk and muscle and ink. His teeth struck you first, bared and glinting in the blinding firelight, then his clothing, the tattered and charred remains of what appeared to be a once fine kimono tied around his waist. He was carrying a spear, but he drove it into the ground as he stepped out of the inferno. There was something slung over his shoulder, too – a corpse, male and burnt beyond the point of recognizability – but that was abandoned just as thoughtlessly, left to rot on the outskirts of your garden. You were glad. Your chrysanthemums wouldn’t survive being crushed by such dead weight.

He didn’t notice you immediately. You stayed where you were, kneeling in the dirt, as he turned in either direction, taking in the devastation with a full-chested laugh. The noise was, in kinship with his appearance, unspeakably gruesome.  

Finally, he turned to face you, his eyes lighting up in spite of the stark shadows cast over his face. His spear was still within arm’s reach, but he made no attempt to retrieve it – holding out an open hand to you, instead. “Are you a monk or a maiden?” he asked, his voice more of a growl than anything proper, anything human. “I’ve already had my fill of the former, tonight.”

“A servant,” you answered, bowing your head by way of greeting. “I tend the gardens, among other things. Are you the one killing all the acolytes?”

“Among other things.” His tone had a mocking lilt, although he seemed far from vicious. You’d been warned about that, once, by someone very dear to you. You couldn’t remember the specifics, but the sentiment was still clear enough. ‘Do not fear the animal that bares its teeth, but the creature who lures you closer before it lunges’, or something like that. “I’m afraid I only have a taste for holy meat, tonight. Although, if you run, I’ll certainly take more enjoyment in striking you down.”

“I’m sorry, sir, but—”

“Lord,” he corrected. “Make that mistake again and it’ll be the last time I allow you the privilege of using your tongue.”

“My apologies, my lord.” Again, you bowed your head. “The high priest can be harsh with his discipline. My ankle is still healing, and I’m afraid I wouldn’t be able to move quickly enough for either of us to get very much out of it.”

He grinned, and the fire raged on behind him. “Grovel, then. Perhaps, if you manage to please me, I’ll be merciful and kill you quickly.”

He was clearly a man (man? monster? beast?) of great ego. You pressed your tongue against the roof of your mouth, trying to block out the taste of something harsh and acidic rising up from the back of your throat. “If it’s all the same to you,” you managed, eventually, sparing one last glance towards your chrysanthemums. They really were beautiful. You could only regret that you’d never get to see them in the light of day. “I’d really rather not. It seems like it be easier, to just… uh, let you get the job done, as it were.”

In his defense, his pride overshadowed his shock. That, or you simply weren’t the first person he’d met to pay your own life such little regard. “I’ve cut down braver men for bolder suggestions.”

“But you cut them down all the same.” You swallowed, dryly. It’d been a while since you’d last had anything to eat or drink – the better part of a day, at least – but you supposed you wouldn’t have to worry about that for much longer. “I’m sorry, my lord. I would try to run, but my ankle really does make things difficult.”

He regarded you for a moment, as yet another wing of the temple buckled under its own weight. You decided, as you stared back at him, that his eyes weren’t so terrible – the pair he was supposed to have, at least. Although currently narrowed and creased around the edges, they had a pleasant color, a unique shade of red that seemed to glow when it caught the firelight. At least one part of him was bearable to look at.

Finally, he broke the silence, his resonant voice taking on a more authoritative cadence. “Come.”

He didn’t extend a hand, or gesture for you to follow, only trekking onward – towards the temple’s gates, left open in the panic of the exodus.  Gingerly, weary of your injured ankle, you pushed yourself to your feet and hastened to his side. Sukuna only paid you glance by way of acknowledgement, but you didn’t mind. “Are you going to kill me in the woods, instead?”

“Uraume’s been asking for another set of hands.” You weren’t sure what he was talking about, but you nodded as if you understood entirely. He spared you a small, thoughtless smile, and you decided that he was also the type of man who often enjoyed the luxury of never being questioned. “If they don’t care for you, I’ll kill you wherever I wish.”

“Ah.” You passed under the temple gates by his side. Not long after that, you heard the great crash of stone into earth, and knew that those, too, had collapsed. “I hope it’s somewhere with lots of flowers. I’ve always wanted to die somewhere beautiful.”

His only answer was another, more lingering glance in your direction, a low bark of a laugh. Satisfied, you let the conversation lapse into silence and walked into the night by the side of a monster.

~

“How do you choose where to go?”

He didn’t respond, not immediately. Instead, one of his spare hands brought yet another grape to your lips, and with a pleased hum, you accepted it, savoring the sour tinge that accompanied the sweetness. From what you gathered, he preferred savory to sweetness, sweetness to bitterness, and bitterness to all other flavors that followed. He rarely ate anything that wasn’t the strange, ambiguous meat prepared by Uraume, his ever-smiling mastress of rituals, but the last village you’d passed through had a surplus of fruit. It’d seemed like a waste to let all of it rot, now that there was no one left to enjoy it.

It was strange – traveling with Sukuna and Uraume. They seemed to be on a pilgrimage of sorts, the destination unknown and the purpose one of endless carnage. Not that either of them expected you to participate in the devastation. No, as far as you could tell, you were regarded more as a servant, meant to be of aid to Sukuna when Uraume was otherwise occupied. Except, Uraume never seemed to be very occupied at all, and Sukuna very rarely needed aid, and you were often left in a position more akin to that of a pet than anything else – kept around predominantly because Sukuna found it entertaining to do so. Not that you minded. Pets were cherished and coddled. Pets never went hungry. Pets weren’t expected to be anything other than endearing and obedient, which wasn’t totally dissimilar to the things you were always expected to be, regardless of what you were supposed to call yourself.

Currently, you were taking shelter in an abandoned shrine not quite dilapidated enough to be considered unlivable, Uraume tending the hearth while Sukuna stared absent-mindedly at a map pilfered from the shine’s stockroom, the colored ink nearly too faded to read. You paid little mind to either of them – content enough to remain sprawled across Sukuna’s lap, one of his arms wrapped loosely around your waist. This was the first time you’d spoken in minutes, reluctant to break the comfortable silence. Sukuna didn’t seem to mind the sound of your voice, and you didn’t want that to change. “I don’t,” he admitted, eventually. He only spoke for himself, but it was given that you and Uraume would follow. “I go where I please. I only like to know that, when I arrive, there’ll be something worth my time waiting to receive me.”

“So particular, my lord.” You felt something tap against your bottom lip, and opened your mouth to accept a perfectly sweet, perfectly ripe strawberry. “Tell me, then – what would please you?”

He seemed to think for a long moment. Finally, he asked, “What village were you born to?”

His intention went unspoken, but the implication was clear. Sukuna’s sole pastime was destruction, with the target of his ire being any person, town, or creature unfortunate enough to cross his path. Although you’d never seen him go out of his way to find prey before, you were sure willingly pointing him in the direction of vulnerable quarry would result in a predictable outcome.

“Oh, I wouldn’t know. Things like that can be so hard to remember,” you said, which wasn’t untrue. Your memory was a fickle thing – uncooperative on your best days and deliberately misleading on your worst. “You know, being a baby at the time and all.”

His fingers drummed thoughtfully against your side. “You must have family somewhere, servant.”

“Not necessarily.” You shut your eyes to stop yourself from squirming, sighing as you rested your head against his shoulder. “My parents abandoned me before I was old enough to learn their names. A scrap collector took me in some time after that, but he traveled quite often, and I lost track of him years ago.” You paused, shook your head. “Like I said, things like this can be difficult to remember. I’m sorry, my lord.”

There was a slight hum, a momentary lapse. Abruptly, you felt his hands shift to your waist, Sukuna repositioning your smaller form with all of the strength and all of the thought it might’ve taken an ordinary person to right a toppled-over doll. Your back came to rest against his chest as one of his spare hands cupped your chin, directing your attention towards the yellowed map. “Pick somewhere,” he muttered, his voice low and his lips close enough to ghost over the shell of your ear. “Anywhere. Before I pull your unhelpful little tongue out of your throat.”

“Of course, my lord.” Acquiesce came first, a real answer second. Your gaze fell to the map in front of you. It took a second, but you found what you were looking for quickly enough. “Here,” you said, pointing to an area north of your current location. “There’s a village in the eastern corner of this valley with a small population of young farmers and very little in the way of redeeming qualities. But, in the town square, there grows a cherry blossom tree tall enough to scrap against the belly of the sky with branches that stretch as far as the eye can seem. When it blooms, its petals are great enough in volume to carpet the surrounding acre in pink.” You straightened your back, decisively avoiding sinking back into his chest. “I… I wouldn’t mind visiting it again, if it would please my lord.”

It was a dangerous thing to do – showing your hand so plainly. You’d grown so used to keeping your cards tucked snuggly against your chest, even talking this openly felt as if you’d been stripped bare and put on exhibition in front of him.

But, if Sukuna realized that he was the audience to your performer, he neglected to acknowledge it. He only looked toward Uraume, who perked to attention immediately. They were good at that – pretending not to listen. Not as talented as you, of course, but good nonetheless. “We start traveling east tomorrow,” he said, with a dismissive wave of his hand. “I’m adding another leg to our journey.”

His primary attention remained on them, but a few of his unblinking secondary eyes – repulsive in their lack of necessity – darted to you, watching for any signs of satisfaction, of pleasure. You only schooled your expression, retreating into your own mind to count the days until the cherry blossoms bloomed.

~

It took a surprising amount of time for you to catch Uraume in the act. Not overly long, but more time than you would’ve expected with them making no particular effort to hide the evidence of their ‘ritual preparation’ and you making no exceptional attempt to avoid finding out why their snow-white sleeves were so often stained red. If allowed to, you might’ve gone on living in the bliss of plausible deniability until your time with Sukuna and his chosen companionship came to an end, but he was not so kind, and there was little entertainment to be had in such a passive participant.

Still, you would’ve liked another week, another month, another season. You’d never cared for kitchens, but you cared for them least when they reeked of rotting meat.

The stench was almost worse than the sight – almost, but not quite. Then again, you were struggling to think of something worse than Uraume, all practiced tranquility and iced-over smiles, elbow-deep in the cavity a long dead middle-aged man, his body bare and spread over the stone countertop. You recognized him not by his face, but by his features – his wealth-fattened face, his uncalloused hands, the lack of definition to his legs that those who toiled could rarely afford to go without. He must’ve been the lord who owned the palace you currently found yourself residing in – a sprawling, decadent structure that it’d taken hours to clean after the massacre. Sukuna would survive wherever his whims lead, but he preferred to be comfortable. You didn’t mind. You preferred it when Sukuna was comfortable, too.

 It was clear they hadn’t been expecting you, either. Their dark eyes bored into you where you lingered in the doorway, a wicker basket on your hip and your robes still dusted with soil. Most of your day had been spent in the palace gardens. Its former caretaker had planted their shiso along the garden wall, where it would only receive partial sun in the best season – a common enough mistake, for how easy it was to mistake for basil, and a tricky one to correct. An experienced caretaker should’ve known better, but as the herbs were still alive while their keeper was very much not, you could consider their negligence repaid.

You made the first move –bowing at the waist by way of greeting. “Lord Sukuna asked me to fetch his tea,” you explained, as you straightened your back. You didn’t feel the need to mention that’d he’d sought you out in your gardens to do so. “I thought I’d bring you a few herbs in the same trip. My apologies, it wasn’t my intention to disturb you.”

The corner of their lips quirked downward. It wasn’t quite a frown, but it was the closest thing to one that you’d ever earned from them. You weren’t upset. Even glowering, they would’ve been breath-taking. “He wanted you to see my—” They paid a glance toward the dismembered lord, their arm still buried in his chest. “My preparations.”

“It would seem so.”

“And he wanted to know how you’d react. There’s a good chance he’ll ask me about this, later on.”

“I’d say it’s more of a certainty.”

“I’d understand it, if you wanted to leave. I know there are few ordinary humans who can stomach tasks so—” Another pause, this one longer than the first. Clearly, they were making an attempt to watch their tongue. “—needlessly visceral.”

“If I did try, how long would you give me before telling Sukuna?” This time, they choose to hold their tongue entirely, their slight frown deepening into a full-blown scowl. It took everything you had not to let your own satisfaction shine through.

Rather, you paid them another shallow bow before the threshold and setting down your basket on the nearest length of empty counter. “It’s mostly shiso, but I found some usable ginger and garlic, too, and a few stalks of parsley. Is there anything I can do to help?”

After a moment of consideration, Uraume shook their head. It only took a few minutes to make the tea you’d been sent to fetch, but they were minutes passed in silence, undisturbed save for the quiet chime of ceramic against ceramic. They didn’t start their own work again until you’d left the kitchen entirely, which you were thankful for. They’d been right. There were few humans with stomachs so strong as to withstand such grisly tasks, and you’d never counted yourself among them.

Sukuna had claimed the master’s chambers for himself, of course. You let yourself in without knocking, immediately finding Sukuna sprawled across the wonderfully ornate futon that dominated most of the floorspace. He smiled when he saw you, but his expression fell as soon as you returned the gesture.

He didn’t mention Uraume, or the kitchens, or the thick stench of iron-tinged blood that now seemed to fill every corner of the vast estate. You hummed as you poured his tea, and remained at his bedside as he took a long drink, followed shortly by an approving nod. You tried to make your escape quickly, already fantasizing about retreating back to your secluded garden, but Sukuna caught you before you could so much as turn towards the door. “Attend to what you must,” he started, his tone simultaneously dismissive and attention-seeking. “But return here, when you’re done. Bring your belongings, too – you won’t be going back to your bedroom again.”

You didn’t falter, but not for lack of reason to. You’d chosen your bedroom carefully, surveyed the better half of the residential wing before finding quarters that suited you. It was sparse by way of comforts and furniture, but the sole window looked over the mountainside, the landscape stretching on for miles upon miles without interruption. You would’ve been pressed to think of a finer view.

“As you wish.” And then, with a chirp of a laugh, “You know, we spend so much time with one another while traveling. I thought you would’ve taken our stationary periods as an excuse to get away from Uraume and I.”

“If I had a weaker will, maybe.” He reclined, let his head lull to the side, as if inviting you to counter, to protest – or worse, to step closer. “Why? Do you have something to say, servant?”

“Only how pleased I am to be of service to my lord.” You could’ve bowed, but decided against it. This time, when you took your leave, Sukuna was kind enough not to get in your way. Then again, he didn’t have a reason to.

He must’ve known that you were always going to come back.

~

“Who gave you permission to leave, servant?”

No one, but you’d hoped he wouldn’t notice until you were already gone. Stifling the urge to cringe, you turned on your heel and retreated back to the riverbank, not far from where Sukuna had left his robes, deliberately keeping your eyes on the ground. He rarely let you leave his side, but having you remain within eyeshot while he bathed was a newer development – and a tricker one to justify to yourself, at that. You were still allowed to remain more of a voyeur than a participant, but you weren’t naive enough to believe that he’d allow there to be such a great distance between you for much longer.

“I’m sorry, my lord.” Your eyes may have been downcast, but your voice was a light and as upbeat as ever. “I only hoped to catch Uraume before they finished. Servants have to bathe too, you know, and those of us with no limbs to spare can be rather hesitant to do so alone so deep into the forest.”

“Join me, then.”

Ah.

You should’ve been expecting that, honestly. You had no one but yourself to blame.

“My lord,” you managed with an airy laugh, feigning disbelief. “I’m just not sure if someone of my position should—”

Considering Sukuna’s size, he could move impressively fast. You’d only managed to take half a step back before you felt a hand curling around your wrist, pulling you off of the bank and into the river. You managed to take all of two stumbling steps forward before your foot caught on a slick river stone and you fell to your knees, ice-cold water immediately soaking through your thin robes. Sukuna made no effort to catch you, laughing as you tripped over yourself. He’d always seemed terrible to you, but you couldn’t remember the sound of his voice ever being so vile.

Biting back a sigh or some other, more telling show of displeasure, you started to push yourself to your feet, but stopped as soon as you felt Sukuna’s fist curl around your collar, another finding the back of your head. In a brief moment of blissful obliviousness, you thought he meant to help you – or, to restrain you and savor your humiliation for a few seconds longer, at the very worst. You almost thanked him, as little as your gratitude meant to Sukuna.

Then, your head was forced below the water, and you thought better of it.

It happened too suddenly to brace yourself. Your first reaction, operating purely out of instinct, was to open your mouth and try to breathe in – an idea as primal as it was unhelpful. Frigid water flooded into your mouth, your throat, liberating you from any amount of air you might’ve been able to hold onto and filling the now-vacant space with a chill that seemed to bite into your throat and leave everything it touched throbbing, numb. Your second was to thrash against Sukuna’s hold – which was, predictably, equally as useless. He was stronger than you could ever hope to be, than any real human being ever should be. Thick fingers threaded themselves into your hair, the hand holding the collar of your robes falling away only to find the nape of your neck, cementing your place at his mercy.

You tried to be rational, to exhale, to not panic, but something thick and solid seemed to be lodged at the base of your throat, and you couldn’t think about breathing without choking, and it was hard not to panic when you were hyper-aware that you were going to be drowned in some godforsaken river in some heartless forest at the hands of an unlovable monster. You were running out of air too quickly – you were supposed to have more time. He couldn’t have dragged you down any longer than a minute ago, but you could already feel an acute throbbing in your temples, make out dark spots dancing in the corners of your vision. Your body thrashed and stiffened in turns, but it was only when your form went limp in his hold that Sukuna jerked you back to the surface – hauling you back to the shore and letting you collapse onto the welcoming sand. He stood by, his grin the embodiment of mirth, as you hacked up acid-tinged water and blinked back tears, sucking in shallow breaths between coughing fits. Every inhale left your chest tense and aching, though, and every exhale felt like you were giving up something precious, something irreplaceable. You did your best to ignore the strain, to put it out of your mind. You had a feeling it would be some time before you could breathe painlessly again.

It took long, agonizing minutes for you to so much as begin to recover, but Sukuna remained by your side, waiting patiently. At some point, he lowered himself to your height – falling into a crouch and bringing a hand up to your back, rubbing circles into the apex of your spine as you coughed and clawed at the shore. He didn’t hum, or speak, or apologize, but you hadn’t expected him to. To initiate would be to taint what he sought so violently: your reaction. He wouldn’t do anything to spoil his prize, not so close to victory.

No, he wouldn’t dare.

The responsibility of denying him fell solely to you.

“My—”You tried to raise your head, to look at him, only to cut yourself off – another lungful of brackish water forcing its way past your lips before you could find your voice again. “My lord,” you managed, eventually. “If you’d like to bathe together, please give me a moment to undress, first. You know how long it can take cotton to dry.”

To his credit, his composure held. There was another throaty laugh, a sudden edge to his smile. “You should be more careful, songbird. One day, I’m going to eat you alive, and your last words to me are going to how glad you are to serve your master one last meal.”

“There would be no greater honor.” You managed an unsteady smile before dropping your head low, curling into yourself, and coughing up until your throat burnt and your rib cage seemed ready to burst. Sukuna only shook his head, taking you by the shoulders and leaning you against his chest, ensuring your stability before his attention shifted to your robes. With a surprising delicacy, he undid the sash bound around your waist, shrugging off your ruined yukata and carrying you back into the water. Your nails bit into his chest, but if he felt your involuntary resistance, it wasn’t enough to deter him.

Your body was lowered gingerly into one of the river’s shallower portions, and Sukuna kneeled behind you, one of his hands coming up to cup your cheek. You shut your eyes, but you could still feel his thumb tracing idly over your cheek, his chest reverberating against your back as he all but purred in delight. “I could hear your heart racing as I pushed you under.” And then, with a feather-light kiss to the top of your head, “It’s a relief to know there’s at least one part of you I can trust to be honest with me.”

You didn’t answer – only smiling as you melted into his palm.

~

The cherry blossom tree was larger than you’d remembered.

The village that surrounded it had grown, too. That made sense – it’d been years since you last passed through this area, and such a lovely corner of the world was bound to attract merchants and traveling warriors and those who, like yourself, simply found themselves drawn to beautiful things. You’d been able to see its wonderous branches rising above the horizon days before you were supposed to reach the village, started catching sakura petals on the breeze while you were still hours away from the nearest scrap of civilization, and a small part of you died upon being told that you would have to wait until after sunrise for your reunion, until Sukuna had finished glutting himself on blood and death and misery. Not that you listened. Uraume was tasked with looking after you, but they weren’t difficult to slip away from. They seemed to be fond of you – or, at least, surprisingly sympathetic to their master’s newest pet. Either way, they let you go without much of a struggle.

An hour or so after midnight, you made your way through fleeing crowds, maneuvering around mounds of disembodied extremities and between flame-eaten farmhouses, still in the early stages of burning down. Wherever Sukuna went, the fire seemed to follow, so you tried to stay where the light seemed the dimmest, where the smoke seemed the thinnest, focused solely on finding your way to the center of town – to the cherry blossom. You couldn’t make out its silhouette against the pitch-black landscape, but you didn’t need to. You would’ve been able to find your way to it on instinct alone.

That being said, now that you stood before it, you found it hard to believe that you’d come to the right village, let alone the right tree.

You didn’t remember your cherry blossom looking quite so… absent.

It was as if some great and wrathful deity had broken your sakura off at the base and spirited its body away, leaving only a charred stump behind. There was evidence that there had been more, at some point – pale pink petals littering the ground, a rope fence that had to have once guarded more than desecrated remains – but the cherry blossom was gone, as the village built around it would be by sunrise. It was cruel, really, when you could put your own despair aside long enough to use such tame vernacular. It was monstrous.

Speaking of monsters – yours was quick to rear his ugly head.

He’d never looked more terrible. Ash tainted the pale color of his hair, blood and gore staining his chest, his face, his hands. As always, he carried no weapon, and as always, he was entirely uninjured, untouched save for the byproduct of the devastation he’d wrought. You watched him approach in your peripheral, bracing yourself a moment before four arms wrapped around your smaller body and pulled you into a stone-hard chest. You knew better than to attempt to resist Sukuna, but this might have been the first time you were tempted to try.

“Songbird,” he muttered, the petname salt to a fresh wound. If he was surprised, let alone angry that you’d snuck away from Uraume, your disobedience caused him no strife. “I come bearing gifts.”

The upper of his two left hands uncurled, revealing a long, stick-like object. A hairpin, you realized, after a moment, the prong of a fine dark mahogany. It boasted only a single ornament: a small, expertly made glass flower. A cherry blossom, to be more specific.

You’d never been quick to anger. For as long as you could remember, in fact, you’d never found yourself angered by much of anything before.

You tasted blood before you realized you were biting your tongue; swallowing back a scream, or howl, or some other unsightly noise. It took you longer than you would’ve liked to regain your composure, but Sukuna was preoccupied, his attention dedicated solely to burying his face in the crook of your neck, to clutching onto you so tightly, you had to wonder how he’d ever managed to let go. It’d been inane to ever compare yourself to a pet, to something so cherished. It’d been inane to ever believe you were anything more than the favored plaything of a drooling, overgrown mutt.

With trembling hands, you plucked the hairpin out of his palm and held it up appraisingly. When Sukuna raised his head, his pointed teeth still lingering against your throat, you did the only thing you could think to – smiling as you leaned into him. “It’s beautiful.” And then, with a sigh, “It’s only a shame to have missed the real thing.”

For all of Sukuna’s faults, you could only be thankful that pride was among them.

“You don’t have to worry.” A hand found your jaw, holding you in place as he pressed a kiss into your temple. “I had more than my fill before you arrived.”

As you watched the village burn in his arms, you thought only of the color of chrysanthemums and the taste of iron, heavy on your tongue.

~

Someone had told you, once, that all the loveliest flowers bloomed under moonlight.

You watched the sky as you waited – your eyes never leaving the sliver of it you could see through small, barred window built into the opposing wall. He’d taken you to another vacant temple, tonight, claimed the head priest’s chambers as his den, and you’d followed lovingly, never uttering so much as a word of complaint. You’d let him rest his head in your lap, raked your fingers through his hair, and brought a cask of sweet wine laced with bitter herbs to his lips whenever he threatened to stir. Eventually, his eyes eased shut, his pulse slowing and his expression dulling into something calm, something docile. If you hadn’t known better, you might’ve started to doubt that he was a monster at all.

You didn’t move, didn’t shift, didn’t make a run for the door. You only reached into your sleeve, fetching the cherry blossom hairpin he’d gifted you weeks ago, now, the hairpin you carried dutifully ever since. You waited for him to turn onto his side, revealing the unarmored half of his face, before aligning the pointed tip with his ear, raising it above your head, and plunging it—

You felt his fingers dig into your thigh, another hand latching onto your hip. Your back slammed into the stiff futon with enough force to knock the air out of your lungs – leaving you breathless and paralyzed in an instant. When you recovered enough to think, you found Sukuna above you, straddling your waist, a hand planted on either side of your head. He was breathing heavily, as if excited. You knew it was impossible, but you found yourself wishing that he’d find a way to regurgitate his own lungs and choke on them.

“My lord,” you started, each word measured. You were careful to keep your voice low, your smile perfectly saccharine. “I’m sorry, did I wake you up?”

 His response was a manic smile, a bark of a laugh. “It’s too late to play innocent.” He lowered himself that much closer to you, his chest a hair’s width from making contact with yours. “How many times have you poisoned my wine, songbird?”

“Poisoned? Never.” You’d let go of your hairpin in the collision. Currently, it was lying against the wall to your right – just an inch or so out of your reach. There were other, more accessible weapons closer to you, but if you were going to kill Sukuna, you wanted it to be with that abomination. “If my lord is asking how many times I’ve treated his wine with herbs and spices, then twice. Once to see how he handled his drink, and tonight.”

You’d done him a disservice – writing him off as simply monstrous. He was more beast-like than anything, with his back arched and his talons dug into the bedding, with eyes so wide and so vibrant you believed, if only for a second, that he would manage to burn holes through your skull. “A day will come,” His anticipation was palpable. It was a wonder how such a glutton could ever sound so starved. “Where nothing will fall from you sweet lips but my praises, and I will know beyond the shadow of a doubt that you mean every last word.”

For once, you could only say what you meant. “I’d rather fucking die.”

There was a change to his animal posture, a glint of white teeth in moonlight, and then his mouth was crashing into yours – all fangs and tongue and intensity. Mindlessly, operating off of your own sort of base impulse, you reached out, your fingertips just barely brushing against the prong of your hairpin.

It was only as you curled your fist around it that you kissed him back, unable to suppress your grin.

[adispit]

The Crown (100 followers special!)

Alpha! Rival king x alpha king m! reader

content warnings: bitching, reader gets turned into an omega against his will, noncon turned heavy dubcon, reader isn’t in the right of mind, breeding, dirty talk, degradation, cream pie, knotting, overstimulation, pwp, belly bulge

note: kinda went ham writing this wtf lmfao, anyways enjoy!

The tension in the room was palpable. As the one who wore the crown, your duty was just as heavy as the ornate gems that emboldened it. You were a young and green alpha, barely an adult at the ripe age of 18. Hastily made king, as your many brothers in line and father fell in the decades long battle against the opposing kingdom, your choice didn’t matter. The country needed someone to govern as soon as possible and you as the sole remaining heir was responsible. The whispers and scrutiny of the court didn’t help much either, the weight of responsibility of your decisions over the people and the waging war kept you awake at night, cold sweat dripping from your temples as you could almost hear the cries of your fellow soldiers perishing in battle.

Which took you into the present moment, where a heated debate was taking place of the next action that should be taken for the strife between your country and the rival nation. You sat in the heavy, intricately carved throne that seemed to press down on you, both a symbol of your power and a reminder of the immense responsibility you bore. The room was dimly lit by flickering torches, casting long, uneasy shadows on the stone walls. Around you, the advisors were gathered, their voices a murmur of concern and debate. “Thousand of soldiers have fallen in battle, we can’t take any more losses!” One of the advisors, his name you couldn’t really remember, argued fiercely with a hint of urgency. “The enemy is approaching closer day by day and the people are starving, we must surrender now to avoid total destruction!”

“Surrender?! That would cut off all means of escape! And you can’t possibly guarantee under the rule of the enemy’s rule, our people will be able to live peacefully!” Another advisor shot back, her voice sharp with defiance. Shifting uneasily on the throne, you felt the weight of their expectations bearing down on you. The advisors’ voices clashed, each presenting their case with unwavering conviction. Maps and documents spread out on the table before you seemed to blur as you struggled to focus on the conflicting arguments. Finally, you spoke, fingers drumming nervously on the table as you tried keep a steady tone amid the clamour. “How are you sure that surrender is the only viable option we have to take?” Your voice strained as you fidgeted restlessly.

The first advisor spoke, his gaze was intense, filled with concern. “The enemy’s forces are overwhelming. Continuing to resist will only lead to greater devastation. Surrender is the most rational choice to save lives.”The other advisor leaned closer, her eyes filled with determination. “We have not explored every diplomatic avenue. Surrender might be seen as defeat, but if we negotiate from a position of strength, we could secure better terms.” The room fell into a tense silence as every gaze fell upon you, the choice to surrender or negotiate hung heavily in the air.

However, you chose neither. “I have heard your concerns and arguments,” you began, your voice filled with unusual resolve. “We will not surrender.” Gasps echoed throughout the room as the disapproving gazes began pouring in but you pushed on. “As your king, no matter the outcome in this long war, we will push to the end. If we must fall, let it be with the knowledge that we fought to the last breath for our sovereignty and our principles. We will defend our country with all that we have, even if it means facing doom.” You were exhausted, the war taken its toll on you and you just wanted it to end. “Your majesty! You don’t understand, we-“ “Silence! This is an order from your king. I will now retire to my chambers.” Leaving no room for argument, you slipped away to the privacy and peace of your quarters, away from the shouts and protests of your counsel.

Chucking the heavy crown aside, you sank in your chair with a deep sigh. The flickering candlelight illuminating your weary face, an expression now often seen ever since you took on the role of king a few months ago. Absentmindedly tracing the patterns of the chair, the advisors arguments burst through your mind, doubt and despair both trapping you. God, not even having a moment to yourself was possible in the castle. You seriously needed a break from all the chaos, so you decided to slip out under the cover of night from the castle to the nearby forest, at the very edge of the country’s borders to seek some time to yourself.

As leaves crunched under your every step, the moon cast a gentle silvery glow over your cloaked form. The leaves in the tree branches rustled softly from the occasional breeze, the peace and quiet bringing about a pleasant atmosphere as you trekked through the woods. Arriving at a small clearing where a babbling creek lay, you finally let out an exhale you had been holding. Under the canopy of the stars, and no one around to constantly screech the phrase “Your Majesty!”, the sense of freedom you felt was truly unmatched. Maybe it wouldn’t be too bad to at least let out your worries, there wasn’t anyone around anyways… “Damn those old farts, it’s not like I even wanted to be king! I can literally see the court eyeing me like a piece of meat every time they argue about the war like I’m some kind of idiot! God, sometimes I wish I was just some simple commoner!” Fueled by your sudden rage, words rushed out your mouth, the confusion and rage you had held in for so long finally let out.

Oh. That actually felt…good. Unfortunately before you could continue, a voice interrupted you, “Your Majesty, are you okay…?” Whipping your head around, you were greeted at a sight of a golden-haired man donned in a commoner’s garb, standing there awkwardly at the entrance of the clearing. Caught off guard, you stumbled over your words, cheeks flushing with embarrassment. “Well, I …uh…! Sorry, you had to see that… that was pretty embarrassing of me haha…” You rubbed your neck sheepishly, mortified that one of your subjects had seen you so vulnerable. There was a heavy pause as your words hung in the air. The man’s expression softened, and he stepped forward, his tone empathetic. "Your Majesty, we all have our burdens. There’s nothing wrong with sharing your troubles. If you don’t mind sharing some of your problems with this humble subject, I would be happy to listen.”

The man’s unexpected understanding and calm demeanor helped ground you. Word after word, you shared about how you feel, the weight of the crown and its decisions, and the man patiently listened. Hours passed and you learnt the man’s name was Leo and he was an alpha. “Leo, thanks so much for listening to me.” You smiled shyly at him. “Not to mention, you’re really handsome too, I bet a girl or two would be interested in a guy who is as caring and good looking as you. Well too bad, I’m a male, an alpha and the king at that. Alphas can’t really be together.” You joked, failing to catch a brief piercing look that flashed in his eyes before he reverted back to his gentle expression at what you said. “No problem, Your Majesty, the pleasure is all mine.” He bowed. “I am glad you were able to feel better, but I must go. See you around.” Waving at him, you watched as he left the clearing. Weird, you never saw his face before in the servants of the castle…why did he say see you around? Oh well, you brushed it off as you headed back to the castle, it didn’t really matter.

As you approached the castle, you were greeted by the sight of the once-grand fortress, now a dark silhouette against the burning sky, that was surrounded by enemy forces. Smoke billowed from the battlements, and the air was thick with the acrid scent of battle. Panic and despair filled you, as their king where had you been? Shirking your responsibilities and leaving your own subjects vulnerable! Your heart sank as you rushed into the fray of battle where the throne room lay, as multiple corpses of your former subjects lay there, a stifling numbness filled you. Gritting your teeth, you decided to fight to the end and honour your words as their king. Brandishing your sword, you swung at the enemy soldiers, desperately seeking revenge for your fallen subjects. Unfortunately, resistance was futile at this point, most of your soldiers were dead. The enemy soldiers recognised you as the king and immediately incapacitated you. Just before you passed out, you swore you could see a familiar smile on someone approaching you.

“—— needs to be done.” “That’s not——!” You jolt awake to the sharp, discordant murmur of voices. Groggy and disoriented, you struggle to make sense of your surroundings around you. The invasion! Wide awake, you opened your eyes to see the familiar throne room and your wrists bound together as you sat on the throne. Enemy soldiers surrounded the hall as a golden-haired man in regal attire seemed to be having a conversation with someone. Wait. No way. Was it- “Leo!” You blurted out involuntarily. Noticing that you were awake, the man gestured for the other person and the soldiers to leave as he walked in your direction. As he came closer, his cerulean eyes met your shocked gaze, there was no mistaking it. He was Leo, the man you had confided in hours ago.

The kind expression on his face you had seen was now replaced with a taunting smirk, a sharp contrast to his former soothing demeanour. A wave of disbelief washed over you, leaving you momentarily paralysed. Tilting your chin up with his hand, he smiled evilly. “Oh, you naive thing. (Name), you were just pouring your heart out to me as your subjects were ruthlessly slaughtered…you truly are a great king…” An almost psychotic giggle left him as he sneered at you. “I was honestly surprised. I thought you were be more well, less stupid. It’s almost adorable really! To not even do your research about the very king that you were at war with, your innocence was so cute.” Disdain was evident in his tone as he made cruel jab after cruel jab at you.

“Just kill me.” You snarled at him, a fierce defiance radiating as you bared your fangs at him. However, your words seemed to take on the opposite effect of what you wanted as he only cooed at you mockingly. “Now, now, I can’t possibly do that. You were so cute in trusting me, I can’t possibly let you go now!” He grinned with malicious intent, his thoughts unpredictable as you glared at him. “The elders at home have been bothering me about getting a wife lately, and you seem to like me after our first meeting so why not make you my bitch.” He beamed malevolently, making sure to enunciate every word clearly.

You couldn’t believe what you were hearing. Bitch? Well, you certainly didn’t like that as you let out a guttural growl at that suggestion, your pride as an alpha rising up. “Quiet.” Leo shushed you almost as you were a disobedient child. Grabbing you with almost inhuman strength, you flailed as he hoisted you on his lap with your back facing him. Terror quickly set in as he began sniffing your nape where your scent gland was, his canines lightly grazing it. One bite and it was over. You wouldn’t be an alpha anymore and instead be bound to the very man that slaughtered your people. In a fit of fear, you began frantically struggling as you pleaded with him. “Leo! Please don’t-!” However, it was to no avail as he snorted back with a snarky “No.” He sunk his teeth into your gland, biting down with as much force he could humanly muster. The harsh pain ripping a pained whine from your throat as you scrambled at the air to grip onto anything to ground you. An intense heat began to envelop you, further intensifying your discomfort.

The bite took immediate effect, heat rushing through your veins as you felt your body beginning to change. Agony shot through you as the forced change to your secondary gender was initiated, a relentless wave of pain that refused to ebb. Your once sharp canines that served to give a mating bite shrunk along with your cock, turning into an omega’s tiny cock. Your unused hole began to leak runny slick through your pants, a sign that the bitching had been successful and your first heat as an omega was about to begin. Weakly twitching against Leo, your muscles felt like stone as all your strength was sapped from you. Satisfied with his work, Leo hummed as he licked the bite in satisfaction.

As the pain shifted to an insatiable need to be filled, you unconsciously grinded against the huge tent forming in his pants, seeking reprise from the unfamiliar heat you felt, your slick wetting his crotch. You whimpered, your newly turned body eager to be filled and fucked. Turning you around to face him, Leo tore off your pants impatiently, eager to see the results of his bitching. “Fuck, your dick has really turned into an omega’s useless cock!” He jeered as he thumbed at the slit at the head of your dick, pearly pre-cum forming at the tip. “F-fuck you…” You spat back, struggling to regain your senses in your lust hazed state. He smirked back, his fingers dextrously rubbing your cock in response. “S-stop!” You cried out, the rim of your eyes red. The humiliation of being bitched and getting jerked off was too much. Coupled with the fact you were a virgin, the pleasure immediately began to fill your frayed nerves. With your senses heightened by your heat, you came almost seconds after, the knot in your stomach tightening and breaking as you dirtied your shirt with a loud moan.

Hands moving away from your weeping cock, he spread your rim dripping with slick open. “It’s like a waterfall…” Muttering, he wet his fingers with your slick before slipping in a finger. The calluses on his finger served as delicious stimulation as they rubbed against your sensitive walls, trying to find your prostrate. Biting your lips, you tried to hold your moans in, not letting him have any satisfaction. Your attempts at resistance were once again futile as he quickly found your prostrate and began to abuse it relentlessly, slipping in another finger. Once again, you felt the familiar singsong of ecstasy rush through you as the pressure in your stomach tightened. “Gh! Ngh—no! D-don’t wanna cum again!” You sobbed as he mercilessly grinded away at your prostrate, crying out as cum shot out from your dick for the second time.

His fingers pulled out as he shared a kiss with you, hot tongue twisting and dominating your mouth. Caught up in the kiss, you didn’t notice him freeing his cock which was now circling your hole. The sudden intrusion had you gasping and pulling away as the blunt head of his cock slipped out from your movements. He grunted at you, annoyed as his cock throbbed impatiently. You shook your head at him desperately as your throat was too dry to form words. A sudden gentle expression formed on his face, “Okay, then if you don’t want it, I won’t force it.” He smiled, almost saint-like. You should have felt joy at what he said but only disappointment filled you. Why did you feel disappointed?! The growing emptiness in you made you restless as your instincts cried at you to make your mated alpha put his dick in you deep and knot you.

Conflicted, you stared at him blankly. “Tell me, do you want it or not?” He chuckled carefree, almost as if his cock wasn’t rock hard in front of you. The intense need to be filled overwhelmed your senses, you needed to be bred. Desperation and horniness got the better of you as you as you nodded your head, hole clenching in response. “Use your words.” He scowled in displeasure. Eager to please your alpha, you tossed aside your pride and shame as you uttered a low yes. In a split second, you felt his monstrous cock stretch you open and then white. You had squirted all over him just from penetration. Your mouth gaped as your eyes glazed over, the repeated orgasms leaving you twitching around the fat dick driving into you. “Shit.” He huffed, smug, and gripped your waist as he bounced you up and down his fat dick. “Ah! Ah- ugh!” Whimpers bubbled from your throat as you swore you saw stars from how hard he was thrusting into you, your prostrate kissed again and again. Watching your flesh ripple as his hips snapped against yours, Leo spurred on, your cries exciting him further.

Indescribable satisfaction filled you as he grinded his hips into you, making sure to go deep and bully your sensitive innards, making you pulse around his cock uncontrollably. “You like that, huh.” He growled, voice dropping an octave as he began relentlessly pounding, determined to sate his desire. It didn’t help that he had an incredibly strong stamina, making you orgasm multiple times, your voice too hoarse to even cry out. “Gonna wife you up, put my kids in you.” He groaned, beads of sweat rolling down his forehead as the brutal pace of his cock began to stutter and slow down as the base of his dick began to swell. He was going to knot you. Roughly shoving his swelling knot in your hole, the burn and friction against your insides made you mewl in pleasure.

You attempted to move Leo’s hands away, but when that didn’t work, you tried to crawl off the dick destroying your insides. Tears fell from your eyes, your little cock not being able to keep up with the pleasure continuing to wrack his body. He felt you trying to pull away and grabbed you by the base of your throat, pulling his ass flush against his thighs. Leo continued to obliterate your hole, his other hand reaching down to wrap around the tiny dick. He jerked you in time with his thrusts, licking around the scent gland. 

“Don’t run from it. Take it like a good little wife.”

Finally, the moment came. The mast of his swollen knot locked you both together as he sheathed himself in to the hilt. You slurred incoherently as he began stuffing you full of his cum, a small bulge forming on your stomach. In a rare moment of reprieve, he gently placed his hands against your distending stomach as waves of cum were pumped into you. Trapped in a tight bear hug, your yowls of ecstasy drowned out his moans as you both came together. Barely conscious from the rough fucking you just had, your head lolled to the side on his shoulder.

Breathing in his scent as your hole hugged his cock, you swore you were going to kill him. A small hoarse “fuck you” left your lips before you drifted off to sleep, eliciting an amused laugh from him.

note: well that was it haha, Leo’s a bitch lol 💀. Tried a more descriptive writing style this time, hope u enjoyed the fic :)

Reblogs are appreciated! ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა

check out part 2 !

see some headcanons about him!

[lilacgaby]

title: awaken.

pairing: barbarian!bakugo x goddess!reader,

synopsisꨄ. you've been asleep all this time, who knew a barbarian would be the one to awaken you?

(extended ver of this)

as katsuki wandered through the never ending forest, he let the words of the elders ring through his head. "you'll never be anything more than a placeholder for the next king."

he set off, destined to prove himself, show that he was worth more than any of them could predict. his father was worried and heartbroken at his sudden departure, but his mother understood that he'd need to do this now, or he'd never forgive himself.

the first thing he did as he set off was to secure food for the night. he eyed a group of hogs, all large and heavy, perfect for feeding him throughout the night. he grabbed the bow out of his satchel and aimed it at the largest one, which landed perfectly in his target's head. he couldn't help but to let out a celebratory laugh as it fell to the ground, making the hogs around it scurry off into the forest.

that seemed to be the last of his luck for the day. he now wished he chose a different day to set off, as the rains and winds were heavy, it was impossible to set up camp in the forest as it was. suddenly, through the curtains of heavy greenery, he saw an abandoned structure. he'd prefer anything to the harsh conditions mother nature set out on him now, so he cut through the vines as he made his way into the structure.

it was grand inside, he thought. he couldn't see very well thanks to the darkness brought on by the rains, but from what he could see it must have been a place of high regard in its peak.

he lit a torch, carrying it as he continued on into the structure. he determined it had been a church in its old days, long forgotten due to.. well he didn't figure that part out yet.

he bumped into a object that resembled a bench, besides the old candle wax, fresh leaves, and golden statutes he saw littering it. he made a mental note to take those with him as he organized his things onto the bench.

he laid his wine down first, a treat he'd enjoy on the way back to his kingdom. next, he laid down his clothes he planned to change into. though he was a barbarian, and by nature they did not wear many clothes, katsuki knew the trip would require such clothing, so he brought the best.

his next item was the huge hog he'd caught earlier. he lugged it on to the bench-like object, thinking of how it was a perfect spot to gut and prepare it for his meal later on. speaking of his cooking, he made sure to bring only the finest oils to cook in. he set it down next to the hog, satisfied with his array of items, he'd slumped against the bench, closed his eyes and sighed.

when he opened it again, he saw the shadow of a person moving behind him. alarmed, he readied his other weapon he always kept on his side, his blade welded by his mother.

though, his blade was dropped out of his hand at the sight. his jaw went slack, eyes wide, and the sudden urge to worship overcame him as he finally saw who was behind him.

a gorgeous.. deity? who glowed with an luminous essence, who adorned pointed ears, heavy amounts of gold, a silk dress that encapsulated your body, and an unreadable expression as you sifted through his items.

the ability to speak was taken from him, he felt as if he was at your mercy, and he was. he was on his knees before he could process it.

your hands glided through the items he had placed on the bench, after you finished looking through the group, you finally spared him a glance.

"your gifts are of high value," you spoke, your voice royal, with an unimaginable presence. "i'm not as powerful as i used to be, my temple and followers were lost to time, my memory faded from the minds of the new." you sauntered over to him now, becoming eye-level with him.

he'd never felt so unworthy.

"i have not much i can give you or do for you, so what would you like from me?"

his ability to speak finalky returned, his mind though, remained blank, so he answered with the only thing on his blank mind:

"your hand."

he immediately rescinded back, never feeling so unnerved and unknowing as he did in this moment. "i- it was an unreasonable request! you-- it's beneath y-"

"that's acceptable. i will go with you, barbarian."

he was shocked as you accepted, though he wouldn't dare question your judgement. "katsuki." he blurted out. "please call me katsuki."

"i will marry you, if it's what you desire katsuki."

his eyes shot open. "yes. i-- it's what i'd like."

"you may call me [name] then." he clutched his heart, he wasn't sure if he was dreaming, but if he was he'd never want it to end.

"alright.. [name]." you smiled at the hesitance in his voice, and waved his worries off with a smile.

"shall we head out then?"

"we can't, the weather is horrible."

"what weather? it's sunny as normal." surely enough, as he turned around the weather had returned to a calm, warm day. the harsh winds and rains no longer present, replaced by the mundane weather.

"i-- i suppose you're correct." he gathered his supplies, even getting your permission to take the things he had on your alter, as he learned it was, back with you two. he slung his satchel behind his back and turned to you.

you held out your hand, and after he placed a chaste kiss on it, he carried you in his arms. the journey back was a blur to him, the burning in his feet nonexistent as he focused on the feeling of his skin on yours, the feeling of his hands on your body.

you arrived sooner then expected. internally, katsuki was excited. not only did he manage to revitalize a goddess, but he'd marry her. he was ecstatic not only at the prospect of beating this into the elders' faces, but to be yours for his eternity.

as he burst back into the conference room, the elders were shocked to see him back so soon. the smug expressions they would've gotten were wiped off the second they noticed you in his arms.

even they, from their distance at their cabinets, could sense the raw presence you had.

"prince bakugo, what is the meaning of this?"

"i've brought to you undeserving folks my wife."

the table of elders all collectively choked at the revelation. "wife? but we've yet to go through the proper trails and period of compatibility. that woman isn't even a barbarian."

"you're right, she's above all of you. she's a deity, and i've earned her hand in marriage. i want my wedding planned for next week, make it fit for a god."

"a deity you say?" the elder's felt like their eyes were about to burst out their sockets. "but--"

they heard nothing as he walked away from the room, you still in his arms. as you eyed the new, strange innovations and buildings around you, katsuki clutched you closer to his chest.

he set you onto a bed, the feeling of silk under your hands one that was foreign, as you hadn't been awakened for over a century.

he knelt in front of you, taking off one of his necklaces, and wordlessly asking for permission to set it on you.

you didn't know this, but this was sacred to the barbarians, presenting one's necklace to another was like talking a piece of your soul and entrusting them with it.

he looked at the sight of you, his ruby necklace with the teeth of the beasts he slayed contrasting severely to the gold you adorned, and he smiled.

you felt your heart go into a knot at the sight of him, he held your hand as he suddenly made a vow to you.

"i vow to be your greatest worshipper. even if i am not the last, i will set a standard that will long exceed my lifespan.

for you are my wife now, and i'll cherish you as long as i may live."

you smiled softly, reaching out to him to hold his other hand. "you've already become my most interesting worshipper, that i'm certain of."

as the two of you basked in each others presence, other gods were smiling upon you two as well.

unbeknownst to you, zeus, a god who had favored you since your birth, had set off the storm on bakugo, leading him to your alter.

not like it was what you were pondering at the moment anyway, as you caressed and embraced your soon to be husband, who you were already planning to turn into a god alongside you.

[wandasaura]

THE COLORS IN AUTUMN, SO BRIGHT

summary — when the weight of your anxious thoughts becomes too much, wanda knows just how to ease all your worries

warning(s) — established relationship, essentially cowgirl!wanda, mommy kink, dom/sub dynamics, praise kink, use of petnames, body marking (hickies), biting, verbal teasing, teasing, begging, ever so slight dumbification, condescending tone, fingering, orgasm control, eventual orgasm, oral fixation, slight lactation kink (no milk), subspace, aftercare, soft mommy wanda, domestic wanda, men/minors dni

authors note — welcome to kinktober gremlins! and a very happy birthday to my enemy, @esouliie.

kinktober

The sunset was soft as it fell upon the quaint little cottage you resided in with Wanda on the outskirts of a town that welcomed you eagerly. The burnt orange glow casted shadows against the walls painted a delicate eggshell, etches of tempting darkness stretching across the mantle harboring styrofoam pumpkins and wooden decorations sweetly. The interior of your home had been effectively tainted by fall since September’s end, and the alluring illumination of sunbeams brought on a sense of profound ease that gripped at your spine and aided in the release of pent up stress. You’d long since abandoned a life of constant maneuvering, settling down on the few acres of land you could snuff out that wasn’t tremendously out of reach from the bustling city. You’d given into the ease of married life, submitted to the sensation of truly belonging, but there were still factors that piled up, and romantic bliss could only alter your habits so much before the woman that you’d been before came crashing back onto you. Only now you didn’t have to handle her alone, didn’t have to dwell in seemingly eternal darkness, didn’t have to find your way out single-handedly. She’d be there to guide you; to break down all of the walls that turned you cold until all that remained was her pliant, easily agreeable girl; her baby. 

When Wanda came inside through the always unlocked front door, kicked off her mud splattered boots in the doorway with ease, you noted the basket of freshly laid eggs in her hands and smiled lazily, half-heartedly, unable to give her anything more than that despite the overwhelming joy that surged through your under stimulated nerves at the sight of her so broken down by rapturous domestication. You never had to tell her when life wore you down, because somehow, she always knew. You knew that you’d conveyed all that you needed to in the simple tired smile you offered when her nose scrunched upwards, her head tilting to the left as she cooed softly. The basket of eggs was discarded onto the side table to be dealt with later, you her main priority now. 

“Hi, my angel.” She greeted sweetly, her lips, still warm from the exposure to unconcealed daylight, brushing against your temple which was equally warm from the weight of a cozy blanket thrown over your curled up frame. With your bodies warm in their own ways, you found an addictive comfort in her touch, and desperately leaned closer, hoping to capture more of her sincere affection. It was never that simple, never that easily won; not when you were like this, not when you needed her to be more than just your doting wife and life partner, but still you tried to capture it. “Is my sweet girl having a hard time?” She cooed, hands that were still dirtied with chicken feed and mud cupping your cheeks that had seen far worse concoctions since you’d moved from the city. It had been quite the adjustment when you’d first gotten the chickens, having to face the realities of maintaining a farm and the secretions that came with unhygienic animals. Wanda was handling it better than you, and each morning she stepped into her rubber boots with pride while you hung back and tended to the house. It was an uneven dynamic without a doubt, but it worked so well for you both that neither of you minded, and embarrassingly you thought that caked on dirt only increased her attractiveness that paralyzed your inhibitions on a good day.  

You shrugged rather dismissively in response to her question, not sure of the words on the tip of your tongue that only formed in short sentences despite your efforts to elaborate. There wasn’t much going on in your head at all, but what had been made clear through physical expression alone was your deep longing for her authority and strict control. You got like this sometimes, for no rhyme or reason at all, but unlike the partners you’d had in the past that plagued you with insecurities and toxic expectations that you still muddled through from time to time even now, Wanda had never been phased – or, she’d never allowed you to see how it phased her, either could be true. Secretly, you think she rather likes this side of you, especially when she’s able to erase all feelings of dread from your weary bones and turn you into her sweet submissive eager to do anything that pleases her. Sometimes it’s a battle to break through your stubborn reserve, but other times, all it takes is the right tone of voice and a title that holds untarnished endearment and trust. Never before had any of your partners earned a title in the bedroom, but Wanda, with her calloused hands and charming smile, with her soft contagious laughter and stern commanding presence, had shown you the true bounds of a healthy committed relationship. She’d presented the title to you one night, when you were in a mood similar to now, and it had just felt right. Still, you fought its use, pushed aside its tantalizing effects, tried to lock away the desire to call her anything but her name, but it had changed you, and even with your stubborn exterior, your heart longed to have her fully; every unprotected side of her, every persona. 

“I need words, my lovely. Come on, tell Mommy what’s wrong.” There it was; that title that you had been fighting the urge to let slip past your lips since you’d rolled out of bed and found her making tea in the kitchen, already in her rubber boots and sunhat despite it being October. She’d been doused in early sunlight then, illuminated by a golden glow that allowed her hair to shine so incandescently, just like it was now hours later. She’d been in and out of the house since then, tending to the animals and the upkeep of the lawn, feeding horses and collecting chicken eggs, all while you’d laid on the couch in a strop of unexplainable angst. The reminder of your uneven dynamic weighed you down further, and expressively your features betrayed your tight lips. “Does Mommy need to take away some of that stress? I can see how tense you are, my girl. Can feel it all beneath my hands. Let Mommy help, yeah?” 

All that you could manage was a soft nod of agreement, your eyes glazing over as you stared back at her with an indistinguishable depth beneath your twinkling gaze. She had you beneath her entracing grip of control already, but there was still much to be down about your forlorn attitude. When her eyebrows knitted together, green eyes sparkling with affection albeit antagonizing incompletion, you knew that there was something more that she wanted from you; there always was. “I need words, moya lyubov.” 

“Yes.” The exasperated sigh entangled with your simply spoken consent rippled against her skin in waves, but she allowed your curtness to be forgiven for the moment, certain that eventually she’d have you pliant and begging beneath her, but there was never any prize for rushing the inevitable. The long game was far more sweet in her opinion. 

You grumbled beneath your breath when that weight of her hands caressing your flush cheeks slipped away in a single moment, replaced by cold longing and slowly building desire as you analyzed her eyes growing dark with temptation each second that passed. You watched her with hooded eyes, barely able to contain the squirming that you did now that you weren’t beneath her expectant stare, and while you didn’t feel like moving by a longshot, rundown by the weight of your sudden and unexplainable mood, you wiggled out of the soft clothing that had covered you since morning in favor of preparing yourself for her. Even if you’d need reassurance and guidance to fully snap out of the daze you’d fallen victim to, your inhibitions craved being good regardless. 

You settled back on the couch once your orange shorts speckled with cartoon bats and your t-shirt adorned with a cheerful jack-o-lantern had been folded on the coffee table, leaving you in only a pair of panties that coincidentally mirrored the festivities of fall the same way your loungewear had. The spider web design that laid over your naked mound, just beneath a delicate black bow that rested against your bikini line, would remain in place for Wanda to remove whenever she felt ready, your body having her preferences memorized even beneath the haze that consumed you. The throw pillow beneath your head was plush with newness, a decorative piece bought just a few days ago that enveloped your weight without restriction. It was perfectly comfortable, unlike the pumpkin shaped pillow on the chair across the room, but still it wasn’t Wanda, and each second reminded you of how you longed for her company as it passed. 

The sound of the faucet running, the french doors closing on the fridge, the naked footsteps drawing near, had been lost as they battled the deafening noise that filled your head. When a shadow fell over you, blocking out beams of ebbing sunlight, you’d startled reflexively, eyes scrambling to lock onto Wanda who stood above you with refined amusement twinged into her smirk. “My baby’s all ready for me, huh?” The heat of her acknowledgment replaced the warmth where sunlight had once fallen, and desperately you squirmed beneath her stare saturated in tender affection. “Such a good girl, keeping your panties on, hm. You know how much Mommy loves to be the one to take them off.” 

You swallowed thickly, sinking into the cushions as she came closer with each softly spoken acknowledgment of your obedience. Your eyes drooped lustfully as you sought to meet her stare through thick lashes, clouded with submission that hadn’t yet earned the strength to break through your reserve entirely, though its effort to prevail was commendable. Without warning – very few things came with a warning when Wanda was in this headspace – her weight caused the couch to dip slightly as she knelt on either side of your pliant body, but her deliciously toned thighs encasing your wanting frame kept you from rocking too harshly to the side. 

“You just need your Mommy, huh? Too many thoughts in that pretty head. That’s okay, Mommy’s here.” She cooed sweetly, leaning close until her lips, polished with a glimmering layer of cinnamon chapstick that she’d picked up from the farmers market last week, laid softly against your temple in a sweet show of tender affection that would remain unwavering no matter the acts she committed to your body in fleeting moments of intimacy and trust. The foundation of your relationship didn’t rely on the adventures of your sex life, and while Wanda could be downright vulgar, there were always elements of your thoughtful wife beneath the surface of her addictive dominance. Her trail of kisses started at your temple, soft and sweet as it warmed your skin and heart alike, but as she traveled lower, grew confident and bolder with her actions, the mark of her lips felt like an eternally burning fire that marked you fully. When her lips wrapped around your nipple for a brief moment, hot tongue soothing the ache tha thad become intertwined with your arousal due to your pebbled buds having been left untouched for so long as you’d waited for her return, your back arched off the couch, hands tangling into her hair desperately. But, before her touch and those delicious licks of pleasure were truly yours to grasp onto, she moved lower, kissed harsher, bit rougher. Your belly became a canvas of soft pinks and deep purples, marks of her passion left to gaze at even in the sensual aftermath, and each new mark pulled gasps and whines from your lips that had still refused to utter that one title that would ease all of your stress. 

When she reached the hem of your panties, the black bow a delicate touch to your sole article of clothing, you moaned lewdly as she nipped at it, pulling away from your body only to release the silk fabric and watch as the elastic band snapped against your bikini line harshly. You writhed at the welcomed albeit abrupt sting that slithered up your body until it met that existing coil of pleasure in your belly and added to the insatiable pressure blooming slowly, feeling hot breath fan across where you needed her most, although any semblance of desired pressure was withheld, and as she continued to taunt, to tease, to poke every button except the one you needed most, you grew desperate and impatient. As her teeth sank into the sensitive skin of your thigh for the fourth time, you snapped your legs closed around her head firmly, arching your back until your core was just out of reach from her mouth. 

“Please!” The strain in your voice was near pathetically desperate, and you were highly aware of the sticky arousal that darkened the fabric of your panties, typically a shade of soft burnt orange. The patch of moisture where desire pooled was deep and obvious to the naked eye even if you yourself couldn’t see it, and Wanda set her gaze on it with a near primal glint sparkling beneath the surface that nipped at your senses and pulled you beneath the rip current of her addictive essence. 

With an expression curated through years of meticulous practice, her full lips coated in cinnamon chapstick formed the perfect pout as she trailed her gaze upwards and over your body until her dazzling green eyes fell upon your own, and so elusively she had you believing in the genuinity of her puzzled concern and sincerity. “Please, what? What do you need from me, my love?” 

“Touch me! Please!” You begged shamelessly, although still with caution, forbidding yourself from slipping beneath her brutal intoxication just yet, however you slackened your hold on her head willingly, knowing that even if you hadn’t she’d have pried your thigh apart until your core opened itself up to her and whatever sadistic urges she felt the need to bestow upon your desperate body. Your thoughtfulness was rewarded with a single finger dragging down the center of your panties; over the engorged button that had once been your unaroused clit, through the passageway of your folds that parted for her easily at the slightest application of featherlight pressure, until it found that patch of tantalizing wetness that pooled at your opening which she prodded at tauntingly. 

“But I am touching you, sweetheart. I know that pretty head of yours is so fuzzy right now, but can’t you feel me?” The pout that formed across her lips only deepened as she pressed harder against you, her own eyes becoming lidded with arousal that wasn’t easily warded off, however, she’d always been better at self control than you. Desperately thrashing your hips upward, it seemed your show of desperation had finally weakened her stone exterior, and with a faux sigh of reluctance, she tapped your hip twice, fingers damp from your arousal threading into the waistband of your panties and beginning to pull them away once you’d complied with her silent demand and lifted your hips. “There, is that better, darling? No more icky panties keeping me from having you fully?” 

“Have me.” Your attempt at bargaining for pleasure was merely a breathy plea, your eyes fluttering closed as a slight draft creeping in from the open window fell upon your exposed core. Wanda smiled smugly at your wilting defiance, her fingers pressing into your folds and collecting wetness that pooled at your entrance like glittering pearls. You gasped a ragged sounding breath when the first finger sank into your core, single knuckle deep but still something to work with. “Please! M– Wanda!” The call of her name on your lips as she sank deeper inside of you, exploiting all of the spots that made you weak with pleasure naturally, was instinctual, but at the very last second you’d realized your near mistake and corrected it, although that near slip had her growing bolder once more, her touches becoming pointed and driven. 

“So close. You’re almost there, my pretty girl. Relax, just let Mommy touch you. There’s no need for those big daunting thoughts right now. You’re too little for those.” She preened, once again adjusting her position on the couch and subsequently jostling the single digit buried within your most intimate canal. The abrupt movement had you seeing stars, her blunt nail scraping across your sweet spot momentarily. With her weight resting on her shins, the couch supporting both of you evenly, she leaned in close, brushing her lips against yours in a tender embrace that had you truly submitting; releasing everything that had built up within you without your notice. 

As one finger became two, and her thumb sought out your swollen bundle of nerves begging for attention, there was little spoken word that filled the living room in the build up of pleasure. Your whines and gasps became fast paced and frenzied, desperate for that finite explosion that would send you plummeting into submission and ease, but as she wound you up, imposed blinding pleasure upon you, she held you there firmly, unwilling to allow that coil to snap before you gave her that one thing she wanted. “Please! Please! I’m so close!” Your hands grabbed at her overalls, that faded light denim so loved and broken in from hours of labor on the farm the perfect fabric to grip possessively in moments such as now. 

“I know, detka. I can feel you squeezing my fingers, can hear how wet you are. Just let go. Stop trying to hold on and let go for me. For Mommy.” Her fingers that had set a rushed pace slowed to a near complete stop, and you sobbed in defeat as that blinding climax that had been building slipped away for the second time. 

“Please! Mommy! Please!” There it was, so soft as it fell off of your lips that had become flush with blood as you gnawed and nipped at them with anticipation since the start of her teasing. Wanda only smiled, allowing the thumb that had been previously stroking at your nipples to pull at your bottom lip, sinking into your warm mouth when you parted your lips. As you suckled on her heavy digit, took in the faint traces of your arousal on her skin, her fingers in your core picked up speed again, and without hesitation, she allowed you to fall over the edge into bliss. 

“There we go. Good girl. My good girl. Did so well for me. So good for Mommy.” She cooed, easily working you down from that blinding climax that had your thighs trembling and tears springing to your beautiful eyes. She pulled her thumb away from your mouth prematurely, wanting to hold you close as the aftermath of your orgasm fell upon you fully, leaving you with nowhere to hide from the intense emotions that no longer had walls to keep them prisoner. 

Collecting you in her arms, pulling you snug against her chest, you whined at the sensation of weightlessness on your tongue, still desperate and eager to have that intimate connection and stimulation. Without words, not needing to hear what you needed from her because she already knew — she always knew — the button on her overalls was undone easily, and like you’d done on a few nights before, your mouth that sought her skin latched onto her nipple, eyes fluttering closed in blissful submission as you had her close. 

“I love you, my girl.” She hummed softly, lips pressing against your temple once more, sealing her affection with a kiss that you’d never complain about. 

[just-aake]

A Feline Connection Part 5

Pairing: Natasha Romanoff x fem!reader

Summary: Natasha grapples with your betrayal and her conflicted feelings about you.

Masterlist Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8

Warnings: angst, violence, hurt/comfort, toxic relationship/emotional manipulation (not from Natasha)

Words: 5017

Natasha groans softly as a dull pain pulses behind her temples, forcing her to squeeze her eyes tighter. She shifts, trying to burrow deeper into her pillow, seeking comfort, but instead, her forehead meets the cold surface of stone.

The icy touch jolts her, and her eyes snap open.

Reality crashes back.

Sneaking in with you Deactivating Widow’s bomb implant Being betrayed 

Her chest tightens, frustration bubbling under her skin as she presses her forehead harder into the ground, as if the pressure might somehow drown out the memories. 

But what frustrates her most isn’t the sting of betrayal—it’s the fact that she can't bring herself to truly blame you.

Not completely.

She huffs, closing her eyes again, trying to calm the whirlpool of conflicting emotions. 

Anger? Sure. Frustration? Definitely. But blame? It sticks in her throat, never fully forming. 

After all, you'd warned her. Multiple times. It was almost cruel how you’d tried to warn her, yet she couldn’t bring herself to stay away.

Taking a steadying breath, Natasha forces herself to focus. 

Her hands are tied behind her back—not tightly though, the knots already offering some slack. Her legs remain free, so she slowly shifts into a sitting position, bracing herself against the cold stone wall.

The room comes into sharper focus now: a dimly lit cell, the faint flicker of a light casting long, eerie shadows through the iron bars. The faint creaking of the light swinging lazily in the corridor beyond was the only sound besides her own breathing. 

No signs of guards. Not yet, anyway. 

Just as she starts working her hands free, a soft, familiar sound cuts through the silence—a tentative, quiet meow. 

Natasha freezes, her sharp gaze scanning the dim room, her heart lurching at the sound. Seeing no signs of a presence, she calls out softly.

“Widow?”

Silence stretches on, making her doubt her senses. Maybe it was the residual effects of the tranquilizer.

But then, out of the shadows, a pair of yellow eyes blink open, locking with hers.

For a moment, they simply stare at each other in silence until eventually, Natasha feels a small, involuntary smile tug at the corners of her lips, an unexpected feeling of relief emerging at the sight of the cat.

Seeing that, Widow hesitates before moving closer, her body language almost guilty as she pads cautiously toward the bars. 

When she reaches the edge of the barrier, Widow stops, meowing softly again, her eyes wide and pleading.

Natasha sighs at the sight, her frustration softening. 

“I’m not mad at you.” 

At her reassurance, Widow slips through the bars and scrambles onto Natasha’s lap, curling up against her with a low purr, her small body vibrating against Natasha’s chest. 

Natasha chuckles lightly, finally freeing her hands and reaching up to gently scratch behind the cat’s ears. 

“Your owner, though,” she mutters, her thoughts drifting back to you, “That’s another story.”

Widow tilts her head curiously in response, revealing something attached to her collar. 

Natasha reaches for it, relieved when Widow doesn’t resist as much as usual, but the cat must still feel guilty about what happened. 

She examines the small comms earpiece in her hand, easily guessing who it’s from. 

With a resigned sigh, Natasha slips the earpiece into her ear, the slight hum of static filling the silence. She doesn’t have to wait long before your voice cuts through.

“How was your nap, Miss Black Widow?”

The casualness in your tone makes Natasha scoff in disbelief. She moves to stand, with Widow hopping off her lap, and heads toward the bars of the cell. 

“That was unnecessary,” she replies flatly. 

Her fingers trace the metal, looking for any weaknesses. 

You hum thoughtfully, the low sound sending an involuntary shiver down her spine. 

Natasha clenches her jaw, hating how even now—after everything—you still manage to get under her skin. Her frustration manifests as a soft sigh, though it’s tinged with more than just anger. 

Your voice returns, gentler this time, as though you heard something in her sigh that makes you soften. 

“I really am sorry for using you again. Especially after your help with Widow.”

At your apology, Natasha presses her forehead against the cool bars, her thoughts swirling, confusion mixing with hurt and a quiet, burning need for answers. 

There’s so much she wants to ask you—so much she deserves to know. 

But there’s one question she needs the answer to more than the rest. 

“Was everything...just part of some plan?” she whispers, her voice barely audible. 

The vulnerability in her question surprises her, but it hangs there, heavy. The real question remains unspoken, but it echoes loud and clear.

Was she?

The quiet buzz of static from the earpiece is the only response for a long moment. Natasha’s heart pounds, each second stretching out longer than the last. 

Sensing the tension, Widow presses herself closer along Natasha’s legs, purring a small comfort in the otherwise heavy atmosphere.

Then, finally, your voice comes through, quieter, stripped of its earlier nonchalance. 

“I never expected to find the Black Widow napping with my cat in the park.”

You pause, as if the memory brings a smile to your face, and Natasha feels the similar warmth curl in her chest. 

A small, exasperated huff follows as you continue.

“I definitely didn’t expect her to steal my cat again.”

Despite herself, Natasha lets out a small laugh, shaking her head. 

Your tone softens further at the sound.

“I never expected to work with you. To rely on you.”

A beat of silence, and then, with a sincerity that cut through every last barrier of hers, you whisper softly.

“No, Natasha, I never expected you.”

The words settle over her like a balm, soothing the ache she hadn’t realized she was carrying in her heart. 

Natasha closes her eyes, leaning harder against the bars as a soft exhale escapes her lips. 

Relief, in some strange, bittersweet form, washes over her. 

But then your voice drops, and the rawness in it cuts deeper than anything else.

“…And you should’ve never met me.”

The sharp ache in Natasha’s chest tightens, your words sinking in like a blade. 

She wasn’t supposed to hear that edge of regret, wasn’t supposed to feel the quiet admission that whatever this is between you—whatever fragile thing you share—was never meant to be.

And yet, it happened. Against every warning and every logical thought, it happened.

“Maybe not,” she whispers, her voice trembling. 

The admission feels too honest, too exposed, but she can’t hold it back. 

Her own words linger between you, and she’s not sure what they mean. 

She’s caught between wishing she had stayed away and a terrible, exhilarating fear of how much she never wants to.

Widow’s small, warm body presses against Natasha’s leg, as if sensing her pain, her gentle purrs vibrating like a balm, soothing her frayed nerves. 

Natasha bends slightly, her hand drifting absently to the cat, fingers brushing through soft fur, grounding her. 

The cat’s presence is a reminder—a small, undeniable piece of you, of who you really are.

Someone who would risk herself to protect those she cared about.

Natasha takes a slow breath, her voice barely more than a murmur. 

“Or maybe some people just need a second chance.”

The static hums in her ear, silence stretching on, and Natasha wonders if you heard her. 

Finally, your voice returns, soft and laced with something between regret and acceptance.

“You don’t have much time before the guards return. You should take the chance to escape while you can.”

Natasha’s eyes search the cell, her gaze catching on the keyhole and a small piece of metal lying just outside the bars. 

Stretching her arm as far as it’ll go, she reaches for it, her fingertips grazing the piece, but it’s just barely out of reach.

“What are you going to do?” she asks, her voice quiet but loaded with the question of whether you��ll follow her—or choose the path you seem already resigned to.

There’s a beat of silence before your reply comes, tinged with a finality that sinks into her like lead. 

“Sorry, but I’ve got unfinished business to attend to.”

Closing her eyes briefly, Natasha sighs, both at your answer and her failed attempt, her hand falling as she gives up trying to reach the metal piece. 

But then, Widow nudges her hand gently for her attention. She looks up as the cat drops the metal piece into her open palm, meowing softly. 

Natasha’s lips curve into a faint smile, a moment of gratitude shared with the little creature. Her fingers scratch affectionately behind Widow’s ears before she begins to work the lock.

“You brought me here already. Let me help,” she says softly, hoping the offer might shift something and make you reconsider. 

Silence fills the line again. The only sound is the faint clicks of the lock as she works. 

Natasha’s heart pounds, wondering if the connection’s dropped or if maybe this is your way of closing yourself off completely. 

But just as she begins to lose hope, a low, rueful chuckle filters through, carrying a warmth that, despite the tension, eases something within her.

“I do have one more favor to ask,” you say, and there’s a heaviness in your voice that Natasha knows all too well.

“Take care of her…”

The lock finally clicks, the door creaking open as Natasha hesitates, her eyes drifting down to the cat who’s gazing up at her, oblivious to the weight of the conversation unfolding around her.

Before she can respond, your voice cuts through again, softer this time, almost pleading.

~~~~~~~ ⧗ ~~~~~~~

“...please,” you murmur as you finish picking the lock of the door in front of you. 

You don’t have the chance to hear Natasha’s response before a hand grabs the collar of your jacket, shoving you roughly against the doorframe. 

The impact knocks the earpiece out of your ear, sending it clattering to the ground. 

A low, taunting voice sends a chill through you. 

“There you are.”

Your eyes widen slightly in surprise as they lock onto the woman before you. 

A sleek, gold mask partially obscures her upper face, but it doesn’t hide the familiar, piercing gray eyes, staring back into yours. 

Her grip tightens, holding you still as she leans in, her lips dangerously close to your neck. The cold metal of the mask brushes against your skin, and you flinch at the touch, while her warm breath contrasts sharply, making you tense. 

“You know,” she murmurs, her voice almost a purr, “I would’ve opened this door for you if you’d just asked nicely.” 

Suppressing a shiver, you push against her shoulder, trying to keep your voice calm and steady. 

“Get off me, Whitney.” 

The name feels bitter on your tongue—Whitney Frost, the powerful leader of one of the East Coast’s most notorious crime families. 

Once an ally, maybe even more, but now… 

A scoff escapes her, though she releases your collar, stepping back just enough to still keep her hold on you. 

Her fingers trail along your collarbone, then slide up to your neck, stopping beneath your chin as she tilts your face to meet her gaze. 

Her grip tightens, cutting off any response. 

“You’ve really changed,” she observes with a hint of amusement. “The person I knew would never have said that to me.” 

You meet her gaze defiantly, your lips pressed into a thin line, refusing to give her the satisfaction of an apology. 

Her eyes narrow, her fingers digging in slightly as she studies you. 

Then her expression shifts, realization dawning on her. 

“Don’t tell me…” she scoff, her tone laced with disbelief, “you’re cocky because there’s an Avenger in the basement.” 

With a mocking laugh, she lets go of your chin, stepping past you and into the room. 

“Your favorite one, at that,” she adds without looking back, her tone dripping with bitter sarcasm. 

The implication lingers, stinging as you let out a shaky breath, eyes flickering down to the earpiece on the floor, a final connection you know you can’t afford to keep. 

With a resigned sigh, you crush it beneath your heel, the soft crack of the device echoing in the silence. Then, steeling yourself, you step into the room, closing the door behind you with a quiet finality.

The room is dim, shadows clinging to every corner, with just enough light from the window to make out the faint outline of your own hand in front of you.

Somewhere in the silence, you hear the quiet intake of breath, an untraceable whisper of movement that sets your pulse racing.

“I got you that cat,” her voice cuts through the quiet, echoing in the room. 

It’s hard to tell where she’s standing with how the darkness hides her so well. 

There’s a bitter edge to her words, her tone slipping between a calm accusation and a simmering frustration.

A slow, disapproving click of her tongue fills the silence. 

“And then you go and name it after that woman. Now I hear you’re going on heists together.”

Your body tenses as her words echo around you, her voice drawing closer, each syllable laced with an unspoken threat. 

“You really know how to make a girl jealous.” 

Her words carry a disturbing, almost amused undertone before she lets out a thoughtful hum. 

Then, a sharp snap echoes through the room, its cold finality hanging in the air. 

“Maybe I should just get rid of her.”

“No,” you respond immediately, your voice steady but betraying the urgency beneath. “It’s not like that.”

Silence falls, thick and pressing, as if she’s weighing the truth of your words.

“Isn’t it?” she asks, and suddenly, she steps forward, her silhouette emerging from the darkness. 

The gold mask is gone now, clearly revealing her piercing gray eyes that hold a glint of malice, though her face is still partially obscured by shadows and the loose waves of her jet-black hair. 

She steps in close, her fingers finding the back of your neck in an all-too-familiar grip, pulling you toward her while pushing until your back hits the doorframe.

Your breath catches at the impact, and your body stiffens as she presses close, leaving no space between you. She moves in as if to kiss you but stops just a breath short.

“Does this feel familiar?” she murmurs in challenge, her tone low and taunting.

A chill slides down your spine at her touch, at the feeling of being trapped beneath her gaze. 

The memory of Natasha’s touch flickers through your mind, her warmth and strength, the way her embrace had felt like a promise, something safe and fierce. 

This touch, though familiar, feels cold—sharp.

Possessive.

“What do you want me to say?” you mutter, your voice barely above a whisper.

Whitney tilts her head, studying you with narrowed eyes, her grip tightening. 

“That you don’t take me for a fool,” she hisses, her voice low but venomous. “You really think I revealed my location to you just because you brought some Avenger to me?” 

Your eyes narrow, and you meet her glare with one of your own. 

“Don't act like she wasn’t a threat to you. She was close to uncovering your operations, and you know it.”

Whitney scoffs, a harsh, humorless sound, her gaze sharp with anger. 

“We wouldn’t have had to worry about her if that stupid cat hadn’t led her to the warehouses in the first place.” 

Her tone is accusatory, a simmering rage barely held in check. 

“She’s not stupid,” you defend, your jaw tightening. 

A rare note of defiance slips into your tone, and you can see her eyes flash with a dangerous warning. 

Whitney’s expression hardens, her fingers digging in more forcefully. 

“Neither am I,” she snaps, her tone cold and cutting. 

A smirk tugs at the corner of her lips, her eyes gleaming with a dark amusement as she continues, “I know you deactivated her implant.”

You swallow, trying to keep your expression neutral. 

There’s no point denying it; she obviously saw what happened between you and Natasha. It makes sense she’d know why you were there in the first place. 

Whitney lets out a disappointed click of her tongue, her head shaking slowly, her fingers tracing your cheek with a mocking tenderness.

“That implant was to keep you safe—so that I only have to use her instead,” she murmurs, her tone suddenly soft, almost soothing. “And yet, you chose to risk yourself to protect that cat.” 

A low, humorless chuckle escapes her as she drops her forehead onto your shoulder, the sound echoing with bitter disbelief. 

Her voice is softer now, but the sharp edge remains. 

“Sometimes, I think you love that little vermin more than you love me.”

~~~~~~~ ⧗ ~~~~~~~

Widow darts forward, slipping nimbly between the guard’s legs, her small form a quick blur that grabs his attention.

“Hey!” he shouts, stumbling after the tiny intruder. 

In that split-second distraction, Natasha closes the distance. She seizes his arm, twisting her body with practiced precision, her legs locking around his neck like a vice. 

The guard stumbles, instinctively reaching up, but it’s already too late.

With a powerful twist of her hips, Natasha throws her entire weight into the move, flipping him backward. 

He crashes onto the floor with a resounding thud, his weapon skittering out of reach as the impact drives the air from his lungs. He lies there, unconscious, sprawled across the ground.

Without missing a beat, Natasha releases him, flipping herself upright in one seamless motion, barely breaking her rhythm. 

Ahead of her, down the hall, Widow pauses, looking back with an expectant meow, as if urging her to keep up.

Natasha huffs lightly, slipping the guard’s weapon into her belt before taking off after the cat, who maneuvers effortlessly through the winding maze of hallways. 

Her heart pounds, thoughts racing as she recalls her last contact with you. She’d heard the faint sound of your voice, a brief exchange with someone, but after that—silence. 

Worry twists in her stomach. Who was that person? And where are you now?

The moment they’d escaped from the cell floor, Widow had darted off purposefully, her small figure leading Natasha in a determined path. 

Natasha follows closely, trusting that Widow is guiding her toward you.

As she rounds a corner, Natasha spots the cat waiting beside a door, her gaze determined and expectant. 

Seeing Natasha approach, Widow lifts a paw, pressing it against the frame.

Natasha steps forward, keeping her movements silent, and notices that the lock on the door has already been picked open. She grips the weapon at her side, bracing herself for whatever awaits. 

With a steadying breath, she swings the door open, scanning the room with quick, assessing eyes.

But instead of finding you, she’s greeted by the low hum of electronics and the faint beeping of servers. 

The room is small, its walls lined with rows of humming machines and blinking lights. 

Lowering her weapon, Natasha frowns, glancing around in confusion, but Widow doesn’t seem fazed. 

Instead, she strides forward confidently, weaving through the narrow rows of servers as if she knows exactly where she’s going.

Natasha follows, watching as the cat stops at one specific row and licks at a treat already waiting for her on the floor nearby. 

Widow finishes it, then raises her gaze upward, her tail swishing with purpose. 

Natasha looks up to see what’s caught the cat’s attention.

A USB device is plugged into one of the servers, its tiny green light flashing steadily. 

Before Natasha can react, Widow springs upward in one fluid movement, scaling the side of the server with feline grace. She delicately grips the USB with her teeth, pulling it from its slot. 

Without a misstep, she lets go and lands gracefully on the ground, the device clutched in her mouth. 

The cat pads back to Natasha, her eyes gleaming triumphantly, as if proudly presenting her accomplishment. 

Widow meows, muffled around the USB, her posture exuding confidence and pride.

But Natasha can’t take the time to appreciate the adorable sight as she urgently shakes her head.

“No, this isn’t a mission, Widow. You’re supposed to lead me to her.”

Widow tilts her head, her expression shifting to confusion as she processes Natasha’s words, clearly unsure about this new request.

Natasha sighs but doesn’t let her frustration show against the cat. Still, its weight presses on her as she scans the room. 

There has to be a clue here, something that will lead her to you.

Her thoughts are cut short by the sound of many approaching footsteps.

~~~~~~~ ⧗ ~~~~~~~

Silence fills the room, thick and tense, as you search for a response. 

Eventually, you can tell her patience has already thinned when her fingers mindlessly trace your collarbone, dangerously slow, before she turns her head from where it rests on your shoulder and hovers her mouth close to your neck.

“This is the part where you tell me that what we have is more important than some silly little pet.” 

Her voice is a low murmur, coaxing, as if daring you to contradict her.

“Had,” you correct sharply, moving your body back, putting a breath of space between you and her touch.

She lets out a soft, incredulous laugh. 

“You’re not still upset about that, are you?”

Your gaze hardens. 

“What did you expect, Whitney? You tricked me! People got hurt because of what I did.”

“Oh, baby,” she coos, mocking sympathy in her tone, “You didn’t hurt them. That’s my job.”

The words sting, laced with callousness, and her smirk sharpens, as if reveling in the power she once held over you. 

Her eyes glint with amusement. 

“Besides, you work for me. I found you when you were nothing more than a pickpocket on the streets. I saw your potential—saw how wonderful you could be.”

Your jaw clenches. 

“I never wanted to do anything like that.”

Her expression flickers, a hint of irritation breaking through her cool exterior. 

“So you decide to abandon me,” she remarks, her voice hardening. “Ran off in the middle of the night and left me to finish your job?”

She takes a step back, letting the moonlight illuminate her silhouette through the window. Slowly, she moves her hair from where it covers part of her face, showing you the scar that runs from the side of her forehead through her eye.

“Because you left, I got hurt in that last heist instead. Is that what you prefer?”

You swallow hard, a sense of guilt growing in you as you see the scar across her once-flawless skin. You personally know how much she valued her beauty.

“No,” you whisper, “I didn’t want anyone getting hurt. Not even you.”

“And yet,” she continues, “when I finally wake up, you’re gone. Disappeared with a generous cut of my funds too, I might add.”

Your jaw tightens at the painful memory of making that tough decision to betray someone you once cared so much about. 

“I just took back what I stole for you. Not everything.”

Whitney laughs, low and humorless. She steps closer and leans in until she rests her forehead against yours.

“Everything you steal is mine,” she clarifies, her voice dark and possessive. “You are mine. And no one takes what belongs to me.”

Her hand caresses your cheek as she continues.

“Not you—and especially not her.”

Her words hang in the air, cold and final, before an abrupt call sounds from a phone. Her eyes don't leave yours as she answers, putting it on speaker. 

A subordinate’s voice filters through, tense and urgent. 

“Black Widow has escaped! The cat’s with her, too. She’s already taken down several of our men. What’s the order, boss?”

A flicker of annoyance crosses Whitney’s face as she goes to respond, but you act quickly, clutching her collar and pulling her to you. 

Before she can say a word, you press your lips to hers. 

As if on instinct, she responds immediately, deepening the kiss, her fingers slipping into your hair, holding you with a fierce possessiveness as her lips move against yours, just as they have so many times before.

But before she can lose herself any further, you pull back and whisper, your voice breathless.

“Don’t…don’t hurt them.”

Whitney’s gaze sharpens, eyes narrowing as she searches your face, assessing your plea. 

You wait with bated breath, hoping she’ll listen this time.

Eventually, her lips curve in a slow, calculating smile, and something flickers in her expression, intrigued.

Finally, she raises the phone to her mouth, her voice steady and cold. 

“No lethal shots. Just keep them away.”

She tosses the phone away dismissively, her smirk deepening as she returns her attention solely to you.

“See? Just ask nicely, and I’ll give you anything you want.”

~~~~~~~ ⧗ ~~~~~~~

Natasha takes cover behind the corner, firing off the last few rounds from the weapon she’d picked up earlier. Each shot buys her a precious second, but then, the gun clicks empty. 

She curses under her breath, tossing the useless weapon aside as the guards return fire, bullets ricocheting off the walls around her, forcing her back.

Natasha scans her surroundings as she searches for an escape. Just as she’s about to make a break for it, she feels a sharp tug at her leg. 

Startled, she looks down to find Widow clawing at the fabric of her pants, her yellow eyes wide and urgent.

Once she had her attention, the cat releases her hold and pads over to a pile of empty boxes and debris stacked against the wall, pushing at the heap insistently. 

Natasha hesitates, but then she sees what Widow’s after: a narrow chute hidden behind the clutter. 

Acting fast, Natasha clears the debris aside, revealing the dark opening of the chute. 

Without hesitation, Widow jumps through, disappearing into the shadows below. 

Natasha spares only a split second to glance back at the approaching guards before following. She dives into the chute, her body dropping swiftly, darkness surrounding her as she slides down into the unknown. 

As the chute opens to a faint glow, Natasha tenses, bracing herself. She rolls as she lands, dropping into a crouch just as the two guards stationed there turn to her in shock. 

They barely have time to react before Natasha springs forward, her movements precise and lethal, taking them down in seconds. 

A soft meow echoes from an adjacent hallway, pulling her attention. Widow waits for her near the entrance before continuing on her way.

Natasha falls into step, following the cat through a maze of narrow hallways and hidden passages. 

But with every twist and turn, a mounting frustration gnaws at her, the growing realization that they’re being funneled further and further away from her goal—away from you. 

After a final sprint through a nondescript door, Natasha suddenly finds herself outside. 

The cool night air hits her skin, a stark contrast to the suffocating corridors inside. She spins around, instinctively reaching for the door, ready to plunge back in and continue her search. 

But the door remains locked, the handle unmoving under her grip. 

She yanks at it, a surge of anger flaring within her as she’s met with resistance. 

With a frustrated growl, Natasha slams her fist into the door, feeling the dull ache in her knuckles. But even the sting in her hand is nothing compared to the frustration coiling inside her chest. 

A soft, concerned meow sounds beside her. Natasha glances down to find Widow watching her, the cat’s small face tilted up, her eyes full of worry. 

For a moment, Natasha’s expression softens as she meets Widow’s gaze, recalling her promise to you. 

“It’s going to be okay, Widow,” she murmurs, though her voice feels hollow, more of a reassurance to herself than to the cat. 

Widow blinks, then leans against Natasha’s leg, her small, warm body a quiet comfort amidst the chaos. Natasha strokes her fur, grounding herself, even if only a little, in the gentle purrs vibrating under her hand. 

But the weight of the situation lingers heavily, her mind racing with the bitter knowledge that she’s been forced out, away from you.

~~~~~~~ ⧗ ~~~~~~~

Your hand finds the edge of the desk behind you, steadying yourself as Whitney presses in closer. Your fingers slip along the surface, accidentally brushing against the hidden panel. 

There’s a soft click, barely audible, and a small section of the desk slides open to reveal a concealed terminal.

But Whitney doesn’t notice, her focus entirely on you. 

Her lips trail down your neck, each kiss lingering, leaving a heated trail that makes your pulse quicken despite yourself. She finds a particularly sensitive spot, her mouth lingering there, and a gasp escapes you involuntarily.

Out of the corner of your eye, the terminal screen flickers to life, displaying the active status of the device with your name highlighted under it. 

The cold words remind you of the reality of your position. 

You take a steadying breath, summoning the courage to make your request, hoping that your past together would be enough to change her mind.

“Take it out of me. The implant.”

Her mouth freezes against your skin. 

For a moment, the only sound is your breath, quick and unsteady, mingling with her silence. Then she hums thoughtfully, her lips brushing against your skin in a deceptively gentle touch.

“Oh, I will…” Her words are soft, almost soothing, until her teeth sink harshly into your skin—a biting reprimand. 

You wince, but she only holds you tighter, as if daring you to pull away. 

“Once you’ve paid back every cent you stole. It’s only fair after what your little disappearing act did to me.”

Whitney lifts her gaze to meet yours, her eyes sharp and dangerous, an unmistakable warning glinting in their depths. She leans in closer, her lips brushing your ear, her voice a dark, possessive whisper that sends a chill down your spine.

“Until then,” she murmurs, pulling you firmly against her, “no more running away.”

~~~~~~~ ⧗ ~~~~~~~

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8

a/n: thanks for reading! the back and forth style of the perspectives in this one was fun to do, different but still fun. Oh, and a new character too, any thoughts about her? There will be a small side story to give a snippet in the readers past coming soon before the next part releases, so look forward to that.

Side note: The next update for Everlasting Devotion is still in the process. I just wanted to reassure that I’m still working on that series. It’s just a new experience doing two series at once so I’m still trying to manage the time between the two, but we’ll see how this goes.

If you asked to be tagged and I missed it, please let me know again.

Taglist : @cd-4848, @carifletchersgirl, @skittlebum, @queen-of-chaotic-surprises, @ima-gi--na-tion, @rainix13, @gay4hotmilfs, @imaginexred, @caramelcat123, @2silverchain, @nowthisisliving27, @waltermis, @scarlettbitchx, @self-indulgent-writer, @ashadash0904, @alowint, @littlyamadeus, @so-to-aqui-pelas-fic, @imthenatynat, @transparentflapfarmsludge, @natashasilverfox, @mousetheorist, @btay3115, @samfunko, @wandaromamoff69, @lost-in-the-ice, @ahsatanizgay, @stonemags, @karsonromanoff, @wandanatlov3r, @l1kepeps1cvla, @esposadejoyhuerta, @fxckmiup, @panickedbabygay, @esposadejoyhuerta

[curtins]

CHERI CHERI LADY — choso kamo minors dni

prologue. → its hard not to be endlessly fond of your sweet boyfriend. he's quiet, unassuming but sweet, oddly so for a half-curse. but god, you want to jump his bones so bad.

pairing. boyfriend!choso kamo x afab!reader

warnings+. nothing really wild, just soft and sweet sèx with choso. first times, kissing and making out, heaps of touching, mild awkwardness but its sincere, creàmpiè...? choso is lowkey a súb, but there's switch in him too. choso calls reader 'my lady' near the start. established but new relationship.

word count. 2.7k song inspiration. cheri cheri lady — modern talking (1985)

a/n. gifs look so ugly on mobile im maddddd i promise its hd on desktop 😓 choso is suchhh a cutie. but this is lowkey mid but im too tired 😭

mp3. cheri, cheri lady, living in devotion, it's always like the first time. let me take a part...

you've been running your fingers gently through choso's hair, the soft strands slipping between your fingers as his head rests on your lap. his feathery black locks fall loosely around his face, and he's quite a vision, sharp and sorrowful features framed with a rare and private softness.

but now choso shifts a bit, drawing in a slow breath and you catch a glimpse of those haunting hazel eyes ringed by dark shadows, and clearly something is on his mind. it's sweet, you think, how shy he is — how his gaze flickers away before he speaks.

its a soft murmur of your name, low and husky; clearly satisfised like a large cat curled up on your lap and it makes you laugh, pressing a breathy kiss to his warm temple.

"my lady..." and it is said so softly that you don't almost hear it, but the reverence in his tone makes your heart shake, and it bewilders you at how he's so capable of the gentlest violence that unravels you in such a tender way.

you pause, surprised by the sudden tenderness of his words. he’s usually reserved, even guarded while fond, but now, calling you his lady, there’s a vulnerability in his expression that feels like he’s handing you something precious. you smile gently, watching him with a quiet love that makes his face flush, the faintest hint of colour blooming under that dark mark across his nose.

"choso…" you say his name softly, running a hand through his hair once more.

he looks away, smiling a bit sheepishly, his rough, calloused hand reaching for yours and intertwining your fingers, though his grip remains gentle. he hesitates, as though choosing his words carefully, and then his thumb brushes over your knuckles, slow and deliberate.

"i just never thought…" he trails off, swallowing as he looks up at you, “that someone like you would…" choso stops, embarrassed, but his gaze is so earnest it makes your heart skip a beat.

"i think you should get used to it," you say softly, squeezing his hand back.

his pink lips turn up slightly in a rare, almost boyish smile, and he leans a little closer, letting his guard fall just enough for you to see a warmth and devotion behind those tired, haunted eyes.

he’s such an old soul, carrying with him the age of over a century. but still, being locked as a death painting isn't quite the right step for emotional development and romance is something new and vulnerable for him, something he’s still learning to give and accept.

the thought brings a smile to your lips as you gaze at him, his eyes closed in a rare moment of peace. gently, you lean forward, brushing a soft, feather-light kiss against his lips, but the moment your lips touch, his hand finds your jaw, his fingers rough but tender as they cradle your face.

you quietly gasp as choso deepens the kiss, pulling you closer, his lips warm and firm against yours. he often has this effect on you, this feeling of intolerable longing and devotion and you part your lips slightly. his other thick arm wraps around you, holding you securely, his grip strong but his movements are careful, so utterly mindful of you.

the kiss lingers, and when you finally pull away, his hazel eyes meet yours, slightly dazed but filled with a depth of emotion that leaves you breathless. and aching.

intimacy is something that is...new to choso. when you first pressed your lips to cheeks, you thought that every blood cell in his body would explode, so flushed was he. and to your great amusement, he had mildly jumped. and so, you've never broached the topic of anything closer.

but god, you want him so bad.

"cho -," and your breathy purr of the nickname has the half-curse shifting up so he's no longer in your lap, but now chasing after your lips, leaning down so you're caged in his arms, and you run your hands up choso's arms, feeling solid and defined muscle beneath your clenched fingertips.

there's a slight roughness to his skin, and as your hands trail upwards, you notice how his muscles shift beneath your touch, taut yet responsive.

choso pulls away reluctantly from you, even half-curses need air, of course. but his lips are glossed, and slightly parted, in a deeper shade of blood-red. and a faint flush colours his pallid features, tousled and so beautifully undone that you bite your lips, hands fisted in the soft, woven fabric of his robes.

but now your boyfriend's large hands are moving with surprising gentleness as they fiddle with the hem of your own top, the roughness of his fingers curling into thin cotton, and each electric brush of his fingers against the light hair dusting your stomach sends bolts curling lower between your thighs.

"may i?" his voice is soft, laced with a quiet shyness but the rasp gives away the want that he must feel. and so, you nod and hope that he can't perceive how you tremble, hoping that he can't sense the way his hazel gaze pulls at you.

but he looks at you as if everything has fallen away, and you are no longer of this realm, but rather hanging the stars in the night sky for him.

and choso is now peeling the top away from your skin, and his eyes come to rest on your chest. at the sight of your perked nipples, his mouth parts slowly and softly, and you giggle at his awe. and so, you reach for his large hand and pull it closer to you, letting one hand cup your breast, "it's okay, baby. you can touch."

he releases a breathy "thank you," pressing his rose-bud lips gently to the tender skin of your chest. his kisses are insistent, and you sigh as he dips his mouth in between the shadow of your chest, "you're doing so well, choso." you don't miss at how your boyfriend's brows furrow in concentration, a tremor in his broad figure.

"hmmph," and choso separates his mouth from your sensitive breasts to speak clearer, "you're so beautiful." there is no pretense in his tone, no hesitation, "more than i could ever have imagined."

you curl your fingers in choppy mahogany hair, pulling him closer as he continues his ministrations, "yeah, have you imagined this?" and your tone is teasing, letting him release a wet laugh into your torso.

"do i have to say?" and choso looks up at you with hazy eyes, sharp canines peeking out from the corners of his mouth.

"mhmm, fuck!" turns out he's quite the biter.

hes leaving small bite marks on your neck and his teeth are surprisingly honed in on letting small bruises bloom on thin skin, marking you. small indentations and pressure on your chest and stomach leaving behind petals and flowers of stinging pink and cherry red.

"i have thought about it," and he's now soothing his tongue over the offended marks, "thought about you so much." and now his eyes are wider as he meets your gaze again, "is that wrong?"

you laugh, and a foggy burn and ache is settling between the apex of your thighs by now. but you want him to feel good first, to show him what it feels like to be pleasured. you press a single finger to his lips, watching as his disheveled gape reels in the surprise of being interrupted, "lean back, cho."

and he does, giving you the perfect opportunity to flip positions once more, switching so you are no longer caged by his arms, but rather straddling thick thighs that tense under his soft robes. his arms hover at his sides for a moment, and you can tell he's aching to run his hands over your topless torso once more, but they settle instead on your waist, fingers digging into the flesh above the crux of your spine.

he's fidgeting, shifting and you don't miss the quiet "please," that falls from his mouth in that low, gravel-hewn tone.

you poke a single fingernail into his neck, right above his bobbing adam's apple, letting the nail prick mildly and gently into his skin, "be patient."

your hands are in the waistband of his wide, loose pants and your hand moves past the soft brush of dark curls over his groin. for a while, you probe around his muscled thighs, running and flicking your fingertips over sensitive skin as he whines into your kisses.

"oh my god - i don't think i can...it feels so good -," and you think your boyfriend has never looked more tempting. choso's tearing down on his lower lip, pulling it between his teeth, and soon he's pulling on your lips, harshly kissing you.

you laugh, "you can, we've barely just begun." your hands find his cock, and you duck your face into his veined neck to hide your expression of surprise.

frankly putting it, it's massive. it's thick and girthy, and its practically throbbing in your fist. and choso's stuttering, jolting in your hold, "my love," and he draws out the name with such a shallow cry that you take pity on him, pulling on the silky, damp skin until its out of his pants, and hitting the cold air of the night.

"mhm," you lean down, ignoring the twinge in your back from the awkward position, "what do you want me to do, cho?" and you run your thumb over the fat head, "do you want me to do this?"

you press a soft, innocent kiss to the pulsing tip, before parting your lips ever so slightly to take the first inch into your mouth, drawing your lips back with a smack.

"haah - i...i didn't know you could do that, ah!" choso huffs, and you marvel at how he looks like a deity carved out of stone, one of perfection.

"i can do many things. like this," and you press the flat of your tongue in broad strokes to his cock, taking pride in how he's practically shuddering from your work.

truth be told, you just wanted to jump his bones and have him in you, like right now. but one look at the size, at the several girthy inches had you reeling. and you ignore the coiling tension, lifting your mouth away from his cock and he whimpers, a question dancing on his tongue.

you shift your weight back, leaning further against his bent knees as your boyfriend's gaze is...shaky. like he isn't sure where to look. how to take and drink you in. whether his eyes need to rest on your jostling chest, or....lower.

lower to where you've parted your legs, spreading your thighs while you straddle him. moving the laced edges of your underwear to the side, and you watch as choso's mouth falls open ever so slightly with a soft "oh!" like the air has been punched out of him.

"wan' you cho. want you so bad," and your right hands finds its way in between your thighs, brushing over hot slick, "but you're too big, you're gonna have to do something for me first," and you wonder, when did you start begging?

choso swallows thickly, eyes not moving from your drooling slit that glimmered with a faint sheen in the dim light, his tone dulcet, "what do you want me to do?"

you giggle again, pressing a kiss to his forehead briefly, "you're so helpful, baby. and here -," you take your index finger, tapping it briefly, once or twice on your clit, jolting from the stimulation, before running it through your sticky folds, "you just gotta do this for a while, just gotta keep this up, and then!"

you cut off your own sentence with a gasp, making sure choso's eyes are trained on you, as you dip your finger right past your walls, curling it upwards. not enough to hit that spongy patch, but enough to have you clenching down, "you just gotta do this too, cho. can add more fingers if you - hnngh, like!"

you need not say more, for the minute you retract your hand, his fingertips have already replaced yours, and you're suddenly twisting on him from the sudden contact. choso's good, fuck, he's good.

his touch is searing, as he explores the translucent gloss of your cunt, rolling his fingers through your folds and pressing his thumb down on your clit that makes you squeal, "ngh, cho. right there, fuck, that feels so good," and you're rolling your hips into him, at a steady pace.

"am i doing this right, pretty?" and choso's tone is petulant, achy, "is this right, is this, ohh, this good enough for you?" and how could you ever claim it wasn't? not when a thick finger is breaching your gummy walls, and then another — and his digits are pressing right into your pussy. if you were already this full, how would you take his cock?

"cho - cho!" you shake him out of his reverie, pulling his fingers out and away and he glowers up at you, apparently offended that you were the one depriving him of such bliss.

"you didn't finish. did i do something wrong?"

"felt so fuckin' good, baby. but i think i'll die if you're not in me, like right now," and you cock your own hips back and run your slick, weeping cunt over the hot skin of his cock as choso suddenly throws his head back, and he mutters something that you don't catch, a curse in an older dialect.

each inch, each press of his veiny cock working through your pussy has the two of you keening, and you're suddenly letting his arms wrap around you, hold you stable as you let him sheathe himself in to the hilt.

choso's hands bruise at your hips once more, and you're not quite sure what has shifted in your sweet, shy boyfriend, but now he's suddenly cockier, and a cunt-struck twisted grin is plastered on his face, as he bucks his hips up, giving you little time to adjust to his sheer size, "if i had known it was this good, hnngh, ah! would have - would have done this ages ago. so long ago..."

you hiccup, tittering as you run your hands through dark strands, "yeah, that good, huh cho? got you pussy whipped like this?"

"so much," choso nods, and his pink mouth is parted as he whines out, right after you squeeze down on his length, letting him knock and jostle around in your pussy, as his swollen tip kisses your cervix, "maybe i just am, hahh, whipped," and his fingers are still running obedient taps and swirls around your clit, big hands squirming to fit in between the space of your mound and his groin, "cherish you, you know? love you, love you so much."

you kiss him, deeply, letting his mouth ghost upwards trying to catch the faint trail of spit as you separate, "love you too, cho."

he's now set a more desparate rhythm that leaves you quaking in his hold, and the feeling of his cock massaging your inner walls has you seeing stars.

and it hits you like a knife, the sharp feeling of your walls fluttering around his cock, milking the thick, white seed right out of him. you marvel at how choso's eyes roll back into his head and the most delicious groan is ripped out of him, one that you go to capture with your mouth, swallowing it up.

your own back arches as a wave of pleasure overtakes you, and leaves you shaking as you're pushed over the edge, and your heart is pounding so loudly, you can hear it in your eyes.

but choso makes no moves to shift you away from his cock, and instead he's letting out a rare laugh, one of joy, as you feel the sticky strings of his pearly cum coat the skin that presses into you.

"you're cute, cho."

his fingers are trailing faint little shapes on your chest, and you realise they're small hearts, and you bite back a grin at how your aged, half-curse, beautiful boyfriend finds romantic gestures with such ease.

"i think you're the most beautiful person in the entire world."

you mock-huff, smashing your lips against his once more, "wanna be on top this time?" surely, he can go another round?

[br0kenangel]

𓈒ㅤׂㅤ 𓇼 ࣪ 𝐌𝐲 𝐝♡ve 𓈒ㅤׂㅤ⭒⠀

Pairing: Unhinged Aegon x Therapist Reader part 3

Summary: after that night, no matter what you do, no matter what you say, no one believes you. You're done. You want to quit being his therapist but you still haven't seen the worst part...

Warning: paranoia, abuse, mental illness.

˚꒰♡꒱‧ Hi there! Before you read this, you should know that English is not my first language. Hope you enjoy!

PART 1, PART 2, PART 4

It had been days since that night—days since the dead doves, the blood on the walls, the police visit to the Targaryen home. Days since Y/N last felt normal.

Now, the walls of her apartment seemed to close in on her. The curtains remained drawn, blocking out the light of day. The once-cozy space was now a prison, suffocating her with silence, except for the incessant scratching at the back of her mind. The feeling of being watched, of not being alone. Every creak, every whisper of wind against the windows made her jump.

She couldn’t eat. She couldn’t sleep. Her body felt weak, and her mind was clouded in a haze of paranoia. Her hair was greasy, her skin pale and blotchy. Dark circles framed her eyes—eyes that were wide with fear, darting around the room, always expecting him. Expecting Aegon to appear from the shadows. She had stopped showering, afraid that if she closed her eyes for even a second, he’d be there when she opened them. Her reflection in the mirror was foreign, ghostly, a stranger trapped in a body consumed by terror.

And her boyfriend…he was tired. More than tired. He was done.

"Y/N, for fuck's sake, you have to stop this," he snapped, his voice breaking the silence like glass shattering on the floor. He stood in the kitchen, staring at her with a mix of frustration and pity, while she sat at the edge of the couch, her legs pulled to her chest, her arms wrapped tightly around them.

"You don’t believe me. You never believe me,” she muttered, her voice hoarse from days of crying, of pleading. "I saw him. It was him. I know it was him." Her eyes were wild, flicking toward the corners of the room as though Aegon might materialize from the shadows at any moment.

Jacob sighed, rubbing his temples. "Y/N, we've been over this a thousand times. The cops checked him out. There was nothing—nothing—to suggest he did anything. No evidence, no signs, nothing. He’s just some guy going through a rough time, and you're his therapist. You’ve taken this too far."

She flinched at his words, the sting of them sinking into her chest. "No…you don’t get it. You don’t see him like I do. He’s dangerous. I’m not safe. He knows where I live. He wants me." Her voice trembled as she spoke, each word a desperate plea for him to understand.

But he didn’t. He was tired of this, of her, of everything.

"You're obsessed, Y/N. Obsessed with this guy. You spend all your time thinking about him, talking about him, dreaming up this whole fucking scenario in your head like you're the main character of some horror movie. But this isn't a movie—this is real life, and you're making shit up!" His voice grew louder, angrier with every word, his patience long gone.

Y/N shook her head, her body trembling. "I'm not making it up. You have to believe me—please. I’m not crazy. I’m not—"

"Yes, you are!" He cut her off, his face twisted with frustration. "You’re fucking crazy, Y/N! Years of being a therapist have finally caught up with you. You’ve absorbed all the bullshit from your patients, and now you’re projecting it onto this guy. Aegon didn’t do anything to you—he’s just some poor bastard who had the misfortune of being assigned to you."

Her stomach lurched at his words. The pain of his accusation was worse than anything she’d felt before. It was like a knife twisting inside her, carving out the last remnants of hope she’d clung to. She couldn’t breathe. She couldn’t think.

"I'm not crazy," she whispered, her voice broken, fragile. She didn’t even recognize herself anymore.

Jacob slammed his hand on the counter, his eyes blazing with frustration. "Then why are you acting like it? Why can’t you just let this go? You're ruining your life—our life—because you’re so fixated on this guy. You won’t eat, you won’t sleep, you’re a fucking mess, Y/N! I can't keep doing this! Every time I try to help you, you just spiral deeper into this delusion!"

Tears streamed down her face, but she barely felt them. "I’m not delusional," she repeated, but her voice cracked, betraying her.

"Yes, you are!" He shouted, stepping closer, his face red with anger. "You’re making this shit up because you’re obsessed with him. Admit it! You’re obsessed with Aegon. You’ve let him get into your head, and now you’re the one who’s losing it."

"No!" she cried, her voice raw. "I’m not obsessed with him! I don’t care about him like that! I’m scared—he’s going to hurt me! I know he is!"

He scoffed, rolling his eyes in exasperation. "Oh, give me a break. You’ve been so wrapped up in this guy, you probably want him to do something, just so you can play the victim. Just so you can have some sick thrill of being the center of his attention. It’s pathetic, Y/N."

His words felt like a slap in the face, each one tearing at her like claws. She stared at him, wide-eyed, unable to believe that this was happening—that he was saying these things to her. The one person who was supposed to protect her, to believe her, had turned against her.

"I can’t do this anymore," he said, his voice quieter now but still laced with anger. "I can’t keep pretending that you're okay, because you're not. You need help. Professional help. Maybe you should check yourself into a fucking psych ward, because right now, you’re acting like a fucking lunatic."

Her breath hitched in her throat. The room seemed to spin around her, her vision blurring with tears. "How can you say that?" she whispered, her voice shaking. "How can you say that to me?"

He ran a hand through his hair, clearly done with the conversation. "Because it's the truth. And deep down, you know it. You're spiraling, Y/N. And I’m not going to stand here and let you drag me down with you."

Silence stretched between them, heavy and suffocating. She felt as though the world had collapsed around her, the last piece of her sanity slipping away.

"Fine," she muttered, her voice barely above a whisper. "If you think I’m crazy…then just go. Leave me."

He stared at her for a long moment, the anger still simmering in his eyes. Then, without another word, he turned and stormed out of the apartment, the door slamming shut behind him, leaving Y/N alone in the dark.

And for the first time in days, the silence felt more dangerous than ever.

Y/N stood in front of the mirror, her eyes red and swollen from sleepless nights. She hadn’t heard from her boyfriend in days, and each missed call had sent her deeper into a pit of despair. But today was different. Today was the day she would finally face Aegon.

Her hands shook as she brushed her hair, her fingers trembling with every stroke. Her reflection looked haggard—dark circles under her eyes, skin pale and sickly. She barely recognized herself, but she needed to pull it together. She had to pull it together.

"He’s just a man," she whispered to herself, her voice shaky but determined. "Just a man… I’m in control. I have to be in control. I can’t let him win."

Her eyes flickered toward the closet. She needed to choose something to wear, something that made her feel strong, confident. Something that would hide how utterly broken she felt inside.

She reached for a black turtleneck, one of the few pieces of clothing that didn’t feel too vulnerable, too exposed. The fabric clung to her body in a way that was both comforting and suffocating, but she convinced herself it was armor. Something to shield her from the weight of Aegon’s gaze. She paired it with dark jeans and boots, feeling the weight of each step as she slipped them on.

"It’s just another session," she muttered, pulling her hair back into a tight ponytail. "I’m going to confront him. I’m going to tell him it’s over. He can’t do this to me anymore."

She stared at herself in the mirror, trying to find some semblance of the person she used to be. Her hands gripped the edges of the sink, her knuckles white from the pressure.

"You're not crazy," she told herself, her voice stronger this time. "He’s messing with you, but you can stop this. You can end this. Just get through today, and then you’re done. You’ll quit. You’ll never have to see him again."

Her heart raced at the thought of being in the same room with him again, but she forced herself to breathe.

"In and out," she whispered, taking a deep breath. "Just…in and out. You can do this. You have to do this."

She tried to picture how it would go. She’d walk into the room, sit across from him like she always did, but this time, she wouldn’t let him get to her. She wouldn’t let his twisted words sink into her skin like poison.

"I’m the therapist," she reminded herself, pacing back and forth now, her boots tapping against the hardwood floor. "I’m the one in control. He’s just a patient. He’s just…" She trailed off, the image of Aegon’s wide eyes and the way he had silently told her to shut up flashing in her mind.

She shook her head, trying to push the memory away. "No, no… Don’t think about that. You’re stronger than this. You’re not scared of him. You can quit. You can walk away."

But her hands wouldn’t stop trembling. She stared at them, willing them to be steady. "Breathe," she muttered, forcing another deep breath into her lungs. "Just breathe."

She grabbed her bag and slung it over her shoulder, the weight grounding her for a moment. "You’ve got this," she whispered one last time, trying to convince herself.

But as she headed for the door, the creeping sense of dread wrapped around her, cold and suffocating.

Y/N sat at her desk, staring at the door, the silence of the room pressing in on her. Every second that passed felt like an eternity, and the knot of anger in her chest only grew tighter. She gripped the edge of her desk, her fingers turning white. She was done with Aegon. Done with his games, his manipulations, his stalking. Today, she was ready to confront him—she was ready to make him understand that she wasn’t going to be his victim anymore.

The memory of the dead doves, the blood, still haunted her. Every night, she barely slept, feeling like his eyes were on her, even when she knew she was alone. And yet, despite all of it, he had gotten away with it. He had made her look crazy, gaslighted her in front of the police and her boyfriend, made her question her own reality. But not anymore. Today, she was taking control. Today, she would end it.

Her jaw clenched as she imagined him walking through the door, with that smug, twisted grin. Her mind raced with the confrontation she had been playing over and over in her head. She would scream at him, shout at him until he admitted what he had done. Until he finally stopped pretending to be some innocent victim.

The minutes dragged on, her heart pounding in her chest as she stared at the clock. And then, finally, the door creaked open.

Aegon stepped in, but something was different. He wasn’t the man she was used to seeing—there was no smirk, no defiance. He looked… broken. Shattered.

Her eyes widened in shock. His face was a mess of bruises, swollen and discolored, with dark bags hanging under his bloodshot eyes. His clothes were disheveled, stained with dirt and blood. He walked with a limp, his steps small and hesitant, like every movement hurt him. His hands were clasped tightly together in front of him, shaking as they fidgeted against each other. He kept his head down, glancing around the room like a trapped animal, flinching at every noise, every movement.

Y/N blinked, completely taken aback. This wasn’t the Aegon she knew—the arrogant, unhinged man who had stalked her, terrorized her. No, this was something else, something… disturbing. He looked like someone who had been run over, like life had chewed him up and spat him out, and now he stood there, fearful and fragile.

For a split second, she felt something almost like pity creep into her chest. But then she remembered who he was. What he had done. And the anger surged back to the forefront.

"What the hell happened to you?" she asked, her voice dripping with disdain.

He didn’t answer. He just stood there, eyes darting around, avoiding her gaze. His lips trembled, but no words came out.

She slammed her hands on the desk, the sound echoing through the room. "Aegon!" she snapped. "What the fuck is wrong with you? What kind of game are you playing now?"

At the sound of her raised voice, Aegon jumped, visibly flinching. His body curled inward like he was trying to make himself smaller, his shoulders hunching as his knees gave way. He dropped to the floor, hugging his knees to his chest, rocking back and forth like a scared child.

Y/N’s anger faltered for a moment, replaced by confusion and a creeping sense of dread. "Aegon, what the hell is going on?" she asked again, but this time her voice was quieter, uncertain.

He didn’t respond. Instead, he started muttering under his breath, his voice shaky and broken. "What’s the matter?" he whispered, his words barely audible. "What’s the matter, Aegon?"

Her heart sank as she realized he wasn’t talking to her. He was talking to… himself? His voice trembled as he repeated the words, like a broken record. "What’s the matter, Aegon? No. I’m not gonna hurt you. Come here. Come on. What’s the matter?"

Y/N felt her stomach twist as the phrases spilled out of his mouth over and over again, each repetition more unsettling than the last. It wasn’t Aegon’s voice. It was someone else’s, echoing through his broken mind.

She watched in horror as he hugged his knees tighter, his entire body trembling. "I’m not gonna hurt you, Aegon. See? That wasn’t bad," he whispered, tears streaming down his bruised face. "That wasn’t bad. That wasn’t bad."

It hit her like a punch to the gut. This wasn’t some act, some manipulation. Aegon had been abused—horribly, painfully, to the point where his mind had fractured. And now, as he sat on the floor, shaking and crying, he was reliving it. Over and over again.

Y/N’s breath caught in her throat. She had never seen him like this. She had never imagined this side of him—the scared, broken side. The side that had been hurt so deeply that he could only repeat the words of his abuser like a mantra.

Her heart pounded in her chest, her hands shaking as she stood there, unsure of what to do. Part of her still hated him—still wanted to scream at him, to blame him for everything. But another part of her… felt something else. Something terrifying and sad.

She knelt down beside him, her voice soft and hesitant. "Aegon…"

He didn’t respond, just kept rocking back and forth, his tears falling faster now.

"I’m not gonna hurt you," he whispered again, his voice trembling. "See? That wasn’t bad."

She swallowed hard, her mind racing. "Aegon," she said softly, "I’m not going to hurt you either. It’s okay."

He didn’t seem to hear her. He was too far gone, lost in whatever memory had taken over his mind. His eyes stared blankly at the floor, wide and terrified, as if he were seeing something she couldn’t.

She reached out slowly, carefully, placing a hand on his shoulder. He flinched at the touch, his whole body recoiling, but she didn’t pull away.

"Aegon," she whispered again, trying to keep her voice steady. "It’s okay. You’re safe here."

But he wasn’t safe. Not really. Not with whatever had broken him, not with the darkness that clung to him like a shadow.

He rocked back and forth, mumbling, "Come here. Come on, what’s the matter, Aegon? No, no, no, I’m not gonna hurt you."

Y/N felt a chill run down her spine, her heart pounding in her chest. Whoever had done this to him—whoever had hurt him—had left a mark that ran deeper than anything she could understand.

For the first time, she realized she wasn’t dealing with just a stalker or a psychopath. Aegon was something much darker, much more broken than she had ever imagined.

She swallowed hard, trying to push the fear out of her voice. "Aegon," she said quietly, "It’s okay. You don’t have to be afraid."

But as his sobs grew louder, as he curled tighter into himself, Y/N knew that nothing she said could reach him.

The real Aegon—the one who had tormented her, who had done horrible things—was still there, somewhere. But so was this… this terrified boy, trapped in his own mind.

And she didn’t know which one scared her more.

Y/N swallowed down the terror rising in her throat, her hand trembling as she reached out to softly pet Aegon’s head. At first, he flinched, his body jerking away from her touch. But then, as if something clicked in his broken mind, he looked up at her—really looked—and his tear-streaked eyes seemed to recognize her for the first time. His lips trembled as he whispered her name, broken, like a child.

“Y/N…”

Before she could react, he clung to her, his body collapsing into her lap, his head pressed against her chest. He sobbed quietly, his whole body shaking, his hands clutching her as if she were the only thing keeping him grounded. She froze for a moment, completely caught off guard, but then instinct took over, and she wrapped her arms around him, holding him tightly. His tears soaked through her clothes, and she could feel the tremors in his frail, battered form.

“It’s okay,” she whispered, stroking his hair, trying to calm him. “It’s okay, Aegon. You’re safe now.”

His sobs eventually began to quiet, his breathing slowing as she rocked him gently, her voice soft in his ear. “Shh… it’s okay. I’ve got you.”

For a long time, they stayed like that—her holding him, him clinging to her like a lifeline. The moments stretched into eternity, and Y/N could feel his grip slowly loosen as the storm inside him settled. He pulled away slightly, his eyes red and swollen from crying, but he refused to meet her gaze, his head turning away as he tried to wipe at the tears that continued to fall.

“Aegon…” she began softly, “What happened to you? Who did this?”

He didn’t answer. He just stared at the floor, his jaw tight, struggling to control the tears still running down his face.

“Aegon, please…” she pressed, her voice gentle but firm. “You have to tell me.”

For a moment, it seemed like he might respond, but then he muttered something, barely audible. “I… I hate it. When she… when my mother does horrible things to me.”

Y/N felt her breath catch. His mother? She had always known that Aegon’s relationship with his family was fraught, but this? There was something darker here, something that had broken him in ways she couldn’t fathom.

“But it’s okay,” Aegon continued, his voice shaking. “Because I love her. And that’s what matters, right?”

“No Aegon–”

"I didn’t mean to hurt you, Y/N," Aegon said suddenly, his voice softer now, almost childlike. "I was angry that night, but I didn’t mean to hurt you. I just wanted to hurt him. I didn’t like the way he looked at you. The way he touched you."

She swallowed hard, her voice barely a whisper. "Aegon…"

He turned to her then, his bloodshot eyes wide and full of sincerity. "You can hit me, you know. I won’t stop you. You were so angry, I could see it. You can hit me if it makes you feel better."

Y/N’s blood ran cold. "What? No, Aegon, I’m not—"

"You can," he repeated, almost eagerly. "It’s okay. You’re mad at me. You can hit me." He smiled then, a soft, unnerving smile that made her stomach churn. "I won’t even flinch. I promise."

"Aegon, that’s not—"

“You can beat me if it makes you feel better,” he continued, his voice unnervingly soft, as though he were offering her a gift. “It’s okay. I’ll let you do it. I deserve it, right?”

The pit in Y/N’s stomach twisted. His words, his tone—it was as if he was trying to convince himself, not her. Like he was rationalizing the abuse he had endured.

He turned his head just slightly, enough to glance at her from the corner of his eye. “You’re like me,” he whispered.

Her body tensed at his words. “What… what do you mean?”

He wiped at his face with trembling fingers, still not fully meeting her eyes. “Even though your boyfriend hurt you… you still think about him, don’t you?”

Y/N’s blood ran cold. She felt the fear creeping back in—the terror that had been gnawing at her ever since the day the dead doves appeared at her door. The stalker. The horror. It was all coming back.

Aegon finally looked up at her, his eyes glittering with something dark, something sinister. “You love him… don’t you?”

She opened her mouth to say something, but the words wouldn’t come. Her heart was hammering in her chest, the air thick with a suffocating dread.

Aegon’s lips twisted into a smile—that smile. The one she had seen before, the one that sent chills down her spine.

“I hate him,” Aegon said softly, his voice dripping with venom. “I hate the way he treats you. The way he talks to you. Hurts you. He doesn’t deserve you.”

Y/N’s breath hitched. She could feel her pulse quickening, her mind racing, trying to piece together what he was saying—what he was implying.

“Do you know,” Aegon asked, his tone disturbingly calm, “why he hasn’t answered your calls?”

Her stomach dropped.

She hadn’t heard from her boyfriend in days. He had stormed out after their last argument, refusing to answer her desperate calls or texts. She had been terrified, worried sick about him—about what he was thinking, about whether he’d come back. But now, sitting here, listening to Aegon, that fear morphed into something far worse.

He couldn’t have. He wouldn’t have.

Her entire body went cold.

“What… what do you mean?” she stammered, her voice barely a whisper.

Aegon’s smile widened, his eyes gleaming with something inhuman, something evil. He didn’t answer directly—he didn’t have to. The look in his eyes told her everything.

He leaned back, his voice light and playful now, like they were discussing a joke. “Did you open the gift I left for you?”

Her heart nearly stopped.

Gift? What gift? She hadn’t seen anything—hadn’t thought about it. But then, the morning came flooding back to her. The moment she had left the house, her mind too wrapped up in her terror and paranoia to notice anything out of place.

Her blood ran cold as her mind raced with horrible possibilities. The gift. What if it wasn’t just some harmless object? What if it was—

No. No, no, no.

She stood up so fast that she almost tripped, her eyes wide with panic. Aegon was laughing now—a soft, eerie laugh that filled the room, the sound making her skin crawl.

“Oh, Y/N,” he cooed, his voice mocking. “You really should check your door more carefully in the mornings.”

Her mind was spinning, her heart racing. She had to get out. She had to leave. She couldn’t stay here—not with him, not with his laughter ringing in her ears, the sick grin spreading across his bruised face.

She grabbed her keys from the desk, her hands shaking so badly she nearly dropped them. Aegon was still sitting there, watching her with that horrifying smile, his eyes gleaming with delight.

“You’ll thank me later,” he called after her as she bolted for the door.

Her mind was screaming, her heart pounding in her chest as she tore through the office, slamming the door behind her. His laughter echoed in her ears, following her down the hallway, filling her with a terror so deep she could barely breathe.

And as she ran, the only thought in her mind was the horrifying possibility of what she would find when she opened that gift.

@ 𝒃𝒓𝒐𝒌𝒆𝒏𝒂𝒏𝒈𝒆𝒍 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟒. 𝒅𝒐𝒏'𝒕 𝒄𝒐𝒑𝒚, 𝒓𝒆𝒑𝒐𝒔𝒕 𝒐𝒓 𝒕𝒓𝒂𝒏𝒔𝒍𝒂𝒕𝒆 𝒂𝒏𝒚 𝒐𝒇 𝒎𝒚 𝒘𝒐𝒓𝒌𝒔 𝒉𝒆𝒓𝒆 𝒐𝒓 𝒂𝒏𝒚 𝒐𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒓 𝒘𝒆𝒃𝒔𝒊𝒕𝒆𝒔.

[ohproserpine]

ix. deer dolly

see all chapters here apologies for the delay! this SHORT chapter is all about the long-awaited reunion, filled with steamy scenes. no plot points, just pure passion. if this portrayal isn't your cup of tea, feel free to skip to the next chapter: to be posted in a few days. tags: fem! reader, alastor being demisexual/demiromantic, allusions to marital activities, steamy bordering smut, mention of blood and injury, religious symbolism, love as a fucked up obsession

As you shut your eyes, the world around you dissolves into swirling shadows. The darkness envelops you, cocooning you in a sense of weightlessness. Pressed against Alastor, you bury your face into his suit, your cheek brushing against the smooth silk of his tie. The decrepit, torn building fades away, replaced by the crisp, clean ambiance of a hotel room. The air feels fresher, devoid of the musty odors that had clung to your senses before. Light streams in through the windows, casting delicate patterns on the walls that dance and sway with ethereal grace.

"Cher."

Rough lips press tenderly against the side of your temple and a heave escapes your chest, tears tracing silent paths down your cheeks, their presence unnoticed until they meet the fabric beneath your eyes, staining Alastors suit. The noise of your own blood rushing in your ears drowns out all other sounds, leaving you isolated in a world of agony.

Suddenly, the pain in your ankle resurges with a vicious intensity, sending waves of agony coursing through your body. A whimper escapes your lips, barely audible amidst the overwhelming sensation. It feels as though your very being is folding in on itself, ribs straining against flesh, breath catching in your throat. With the adrenaline long gone, every ache and throb becomes magnified, threatening to consume you whole.

"Al, it hurts," you manage to utter, your voice strained with anguish.

Alastor remains silent, his dilated, frenzied eyes locked onto your shaking form. His hand reaches up, lingering where your throat meets your jaw, the sharp points of his claws pressing down with a calculated pressure. You feel a sharp nip, and a bead of blood begins to seep from the small wound, a crimson offering that seems to stir something primal within him.

His mouth waters, and he swallows audibly, his gaze fixated on the trickle of blood.

"Sweet girl," he murmurs softly, the words a stark contrast to the hunger in his eyes. His thumb moves to gently swipe away the tears that streak down your cheeks, his touch oddly tender despite the predatory gleam in his gaze.

Leaning down, Alastor presses a tender kiss against the small wound, his lips a soothing balm against the raw edges of your suffering. A rush of conflicting emotions floods through you—pain, longing, and a desperate craving for his touch. With a soft sniffle, you raise a trembling hand to press against the back of his head, your fingers threading through his hair.

Alastor responds to your desperate craving, his hands flying to your hips as he lifts you effortlessly and lays you down onto a nearby chair. One of his shadows encircles your ankle, causing you to tense instinctively. However, instead of pain, you feel a cool sensation spreading through your skin, soothing the ache and tension. With a sigh of relief, you close your eyes, allowing yourself a moment to relax into the chair.

All the while, Alastor's gaze pierces through you, his eyes dark with desire and desperation.

You're right in front of him, vulnerable and exposed, a temptation too potent to resist. The taste of your blood still lingers on his tongue and he longs to sink his teeth into your soft flesh, to taste the sweetness of your essence as he consumes you with a fervor bordering on madness, leaving marks that brand you as his and his alone. Every fiber of his being yearns to ravage and possess you, to consume you in a frenzy of passion.

But he understands that to yield to his desires would mean risking further harm to you, and he cannot bear the thought of causing you any more pain.

And so, with a tortured soul and a heavy heart, he fights against the primal instincts that surge within him, denying himself the one thing he craves above all else.

As the minutes pass and the pain begins to dissipate, you find yourself panting softly, your chest rising and falling with each ragged breath. Exhaustion and relief wash over you in waves, mingling with the lingering ache that still echoes through your body.

Gazing up at Alastor, you smile, your hands instinctively moving to rest on his lower abdomen, seeking the reassuring warmth of his touch in the dimly lit room.

A silence stretched between you, thick and suffocating.

Alastor's hands remain clenched at his sides, the strain evident in the way his claws dig into his palms, threatening to break through the surface of his flesh. The protection of his gloves is the only barrier preventing the sharp tips from drawing blood.

His intense gaze, like twin flames burning in the shadows, enveloped you in their fiery embrace. Crimson eyes, almost glowing with intensity, held you captive, trapping you in a cage of his unspoken desires.

With each passing moment, it became increasingly apparent that he was relinquishing control, leaving you with the reins in your hands and him at your mercy.

Straightening yourself, you let your nails graze over his abdomen before landing on his beating chest. The rhythmic pulse beneath your touch erratic. Finally, after what feels like an eternity to Alastor, you break the stifling stillness with a voice barely above a whisper. "On your knees."

Alastor's gaze darkens, a predatory glint flashing in his eyes as he pauses for a moment, as if considering your request. Then, with a slow, deliberate movement, your husband obeys, sinking to his knees before you.

Wasting no time, you seize him by the collar, pulling him close as your lips collide in a fevered kiss. The red lipstick you wear leaves its mark on his mouth, staining and smearing across his lips, cheek, and jaw. A low growl escapes him as he tugs off the jacket to his suit before his claws are grazing down your legs, leaving a trail of destruction as the fabric of your stockings tears with an audible rip.

With a breathless whimper, his name rolls off your lips, and Alastor freezes in place. It's as if something inside him shatters, a floodgate bursting open to release the pent-up longing and passion that he's kept restrained for so long.

Suddenly, his arms tighten around you, pulling you closer as he responds to the urgency of your kiss with equal fervor. With a low, primal grunt, your husband pushes against you. Every brush of his lips against yours, every press of his body against yours, speaking of a hunger that can no longer be contained. It's a hunger born of years of yearning and longing, a hunger that demands to be sated here and now.

Both of you lean back, lost in the intoxicating frenzy of desire. The chair beneath you groans and creaks ominously under the strain before finally giving way with a loud snap.

You yelp in surprise as the ground rushes up to meet you, but before you can hit the hard floor, Alastor's arms wrap around you protectively, catching you in a tight embrace. With a swift motion, he pulls you up into his embrace, effortlessly supporting your weight as he holds you close.

With deliberate steps, Alastor guides you to the edge of the bed before gently lowering you onto its soft surface. You land with a huff and a thud, the mattress embracing you like a comforting embrace.

As you settle onto the plush bedding, Alastor follows suit, hovering above you with his arms caging your head. Leaning down, he presses a trail of kisses down the valley of your breasts, each touch igniting a fire within you.

The straps of your white silk dress are tugged down, revealing the curve of your chest as you melt into the softness of the mattress. Your body instinctively arches towards his touch, every nerve alive with anticipation. As his hands explore the contours of your body, your mind succumbs to a blissful haze, thoughts dissolving into a fog of desire and need.

"Al..."

Alastor continued his ministrations, each kiss a fervent prayer offered up to the goddess beneath him. A reunion long overdue, it felt akin to a sacred ritual. With each tender touch of his lips, he sought to worship you in the most unholy of ways, offering himself up as a devoted supplicant at the altar of your desires.

[bookwormjust]

Allergy reaction with the IC

The House of Wind was alive with the warm, familiar sounds of the inner circle—laughter, conversation, the clinking of silverware. You sat next to Azriel, his presence beside you a comforting anchor, though his shadows whispered around the room, as they often did, staying alert for any threats. 

Dinner was a casual affair tonight, with everyone relaxed after a long day. Rhys was at the head of the table, Amren and Mor teasing each other across from you, Cassian boasting about some sparring victory over Feyre, who only rolled her eyes and smirked. Everything felt light, like nothing in the world could go wrong.

You took a bite of the food in front of you, the rich flavor of spices and herbs filling your mouth. But then, as you swallowed, a faint, tingling sensation started in your throat. You blinked, trying to brush it off as nothing at first, but then the tingling turned into something more—a burning.

It hit you like a punch to the chest. Your breath quickened, your throat tightening as panic began to rise in your chest. Bell pepper. You knew that taste. And you were allergic.

Azriel, ever in tune with you, noticed immediately. His hand that had been resting casually on your leg beneath the table stiffened, his shadows stilling as he glanced over at you. “Are you alright?” His voice was soft, but there was an edge of concern to it. 

You tried to respond, but your throat constricted further, making it difficult to breathe, let alone speak. Your chest began to tighten, and you could feel your skin flushing, a telltale sign of the allergic reaction you’d experienced before.

“Y/N?” His voice was sharper now, his shadows curling protectively around you, tightening like a warning. 

You gasped, struggling to catch your breath as your vision began to blur. The room fell silent in an instant—everyone’s attention snapped toward you.

“What’s happening?” Feyre asked, her voice alarmed, and Rhys was already halfway out of his chair, his face a mask of concern.

Azriel was out of his seat in an instant, his wings flaring as he scooped you into his arms. His shadows swirled around the room, the panic in his eyes barely contained as he looked at you. “Allergic reaction,” he growled, his voice low and urgent. “Bell pepper.”

“Shit,” Cassian cursed, pushing his chair back roughly as Mor and Amren both stood, ready to help if needed. 

“We need the healer,” Feyre said quickly, but Rhys was already moving, likely winnowing to get someone.

Azriel didn’t wait. He was already carrying you toward the door, his arms strong and steady, though you could feel the tension in his body. His heart was pounding, and you could feel his fear radiating through the bond. 

He kept whispering your name, over and over, as if saying it enough times would keep you with him. You could feel his panic now, his thoughts racing, though his face remained calm. He couldn’t lose you. Not like this.

By the time he reached one of the sitting rooms where the healer would meet you, your vision was swimming, your throat closing tighter. Azriel held you close, his lips brushing your temple as he whispered, “Stay with me, Y/N. Please, stay with me.”

His voice cracked, just once, and it broke something inside of you. You hated seeing him like this—Azriel, who was always so calm, so composed, now barely holding it together as his shadows lashed wildly around him.

“I’m here,” you rasped, managing to get the words out despite the pain, though they came out weaker than you intended.

“I’ve got you, love,” he murmured, his voice breaking again, though he tried to hide it. “I’ve got you.”

The healer arrived not long after, and in a blur of movement and magic, the tightness in your throat began to ease, your breath slowly coming back. Azriel didn’t let go of you the entire time, his arms wrapped protectively around you as the healer worked. You could feel his fear through the bond, his silent prayers that you would be okay.

When it was finally over, and the healer assured him you would be fine, Azriel’s grip on you didn’t loosen. He held you in his lap, his arms wrapped around you as if he couldn’t bear to let go. 

The others trickled in quietly, relief evident in their faces, but they gave you both space. Feyre sent you a soft, comforting smile, and Rhys squeezed Azriel’s shoulder in silent support before retreating with the others, leaving you and Azriel alone.

You rested your head against his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart beneath your ear. His hand gently stroked your back, but his grip remained firm, like he needed to remind himself that you were still there.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered, your voice still a little hoarse.

His grip tightened ever so slightly. “Don’t you dare apologize,” he said, his voice low but fierce. “I should’ve noticed sooner. I should’ve protected you.”

You shook your head, lifting your gaze to meet his. His hazel eyes were dark, swirling with emotion, but there was a tenderness there too, a love so deep it made your heart ache. “Az, it’s not your fault.”

He exhaled, his breath shaky as he pressed his forehead against yours. “I was so scared,” he admitted quietly, his voice barely above a whisper. “I can’t— I can’t lose you.”

“You won’t,” you whispered back, reaching up to cup his face, your thumb brushing against the stubble on his jaw. “I’m right here.”

For a long moment, he just held you, his forehead pressed against yours, his breath steadying as he grounded himself in your presence. His shadows curled around the two of you, their usual restlessness now a gentle, protective cocoon.

“I love you,” he murmured, his voice soft but full of emotion.

“I love you too,” you whispered back, feeling the bond between you hum with warmth and affection.

He pressed a kiss to your forehead, his lips lingering there as if to reassure himself that you were really okay. “I’m never letting you eat anything without checking it first,” he muttered, the possessiveness in his tone softened by the love behind it.

You couldn’t help but smile, feeling the warmth return to your chest. “Deal,” you whispered, resting your head against his chest again, letting his steady heartbeat lull you into a sense of peace.

Safe in Azriel’s arms, you knew that no matter what happened, he would always be there to protect you, fiercely and without hesitation. And you wouldn’t have it any other way.

[hoe4hotchner]

Rodeo | [A.H]

𝘗𝘢𝘪𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨: 𝘈𝘢𝘳𝘰𝘯 𝘏𝘰𝘵𝘤𝘩𝘯𝘦𝘳 𝘹 𝘉𝘢𝘶 𝘧𝘦𝘮!𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳 𝘊𝘞: 18+, 𝘢𝘯𝘨𝘴𝘵𝘺 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘢 𝘭𝘪𝘵𝘵𝘭𝘦 𝘴𝘮𝘶𝘵𝘵𝘺, 𝘧𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘯𝘥𝘴 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘣𝘦𝘯𝘦𝘧𝘪𝘵𝘴, 𝘴𝘦𝘹𝘶𝘢𝘭 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘯𝘵 (𝘪𝘮𝘱𝘭𝘪𝘦𝘥), 𝘦𝘮𝘰𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘢𝘭 𝘮𝘢𝘯𝘪𝘱𝘶𝘭𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯, 𝘶𝘯𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘭𝘵𝘩𝘺 𝘳𝘦𝘭𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘴𝘩𝘪𝘱 𝘥𝘺𝘯𝘢𝘮𝘪𝘤𝘴, 𝘴𝘸𝘦𝘢𝘳 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘥𝘴, 𝘦𝘮𝘰𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘢𝘭 𝘥𝘪𝘴𝘵𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘴, 𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝘤𝘢𝘴𝘶𝘢𝘭 𝘴𝘦𝘹, 𝘺𝘰𝘶'𝘳𝘦 𝘳𝘪𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘩𝘪𝘮 𝘪𝘯 𝘢 𝘧𝘭𝘢𝘴𝘩𝘣𝘢𝘤𝘬 𝘢𝘵 𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘱𝘰𝘪𝘯𝘵 (𝘺𝘶𝘮𝘮𝘺), 𝘏𝘰𝘵𝘤𝘩 𝘪𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘣𝘪𝘨𝘨𝘦𝘴𝘵 𝘧𝘶𝘤𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢𝘴𝘴𝘩𝘰𝘭𝘦 𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘭𝘥 𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘰𝘯𝘦 - 𝘢𝘭𝘴𝘰 𝘢 𝘥𝘪𝘤𝘬𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘥 --> 𝘐 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘬 𝘪𝘵'𝘴 𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘥 𝘰𝘧 𝘩𝘰𝘵 ;) 𝘯𝘰 𝘩𝘢𝘱𝘱𝘺 𝘦𝘯𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨. 𝘞𝘊: 2𝘬

           She rides it like a rodeo, It feels like I'm in heaven 24/7.

           The bullpen was quiet, a silence that felt louder than usual as you stared at the half-empty file in front of you. The late hours had long claimed the team, but you were still here. So was Hotch, pacing in his office above, the glow from his desk lamp casting a shadow on the wall that you couldn’t help but watch.

           It had been months. Months of something that never had a name, a secret thing between you and Aaron that lived in the spaces no one else could see. The moments between cases, in darkened hotel rooms, and in the hours when the rest of the team had gone home. It started as a thrill, a welcome distraction from the constant pressure of the job. But now, it had turned into something else. For you, at least.

           You sighed, rubbing your temple as the memories crept in, uninvited. The first night you’d spent together. It had been after a long, brutal case, the kind that drained everything from you. You’d both needed comfort, and without thinking, you ended up in his room. One thing led to another, and before you knew it, you were tangled together in his sheets, breathing heavy and hearts racing as you fed the fire burning between you.

           “I’m not looking for anything serious,” he’d said afterward, his voice soft but firm as you lay beside him. “I don’t have time for that. My job… it doesn’t allow for more.”

           You had nodded, even though a part of you ached at his words. At the time, you convinced yourself that you were okay with it. You could handle casual. You could handle being his secret.

           But now? Now it felt like you were suffocating under the weight of what you weren’t allowed to have.

           The door to his office opened, and you blinked, pulling yourself back to the present as Hotch walked toward you. His expression was unreadable, his steps purposeful. The tension in your chest tightened as he stopped in front of your desk, his eyes dark and focused, like they always were when it came to you.

           “Still here?” he asked, his voice was low, as if anyone else was around to hear.

           You forced a small smile. “Yeah, just trying to wrap this up.”

           His eyes lingered on you for a moment, a familiar heat flickering behind them. “Come by my place tonight.”

           It wasn’t a question. It never was. And for a long time, you’d gone along with it, waiting for him to give you more than just physical connection, waiting for him to show you that you meant more to him than the stolen hours.

           But that wasn’t enough anymore.

           You stood up slowly, crossing your arms as you met his gaze. “Aaron… I can’t keep doing this.”

           His brow furrowed, but his face remained neutral. “Doing what?”

           She said she want something more

           The memory flashed in your mind, the way you had ridden him slowly one night, your bodies moving in sync, his hands gripping your hips tightly. His face had been flushed, his breathing ragged as he murmured, “You feel so fucking good.”

           You’d pressed your forehead to his, desperate for the moment to last longer than it ever would. “I want more than this,” you’d whispered, heart pounding. “I want you.”

           But he had pulled away then, lips brushing against your neck before he’d said, “That’s not what I’m looking for.”

           The fluorescent light buzzed overhead, and you wanted to scream at him. How could he act like he didn’t know what you were talking about? After everything - the long nights, the whispered conversations, your tangled bodies in the darkness and shadows - how could he stand there and pretend like nothing had changed?

           It felt like that same weight was pressing down on your chest now, like you were drowning in the space between what you wanted and what he was willing to give. “I want something more.”

           Hotch blinked, his eyes narrowing slightly as if he hadn’t expected this. “We’ve talked about this. You know I can’t give you that.”

           Your breath hitched in your throat as the pain shot through you like a physical blow. The words were mechanical, and cold, just like the man standing in front of you. “You can’t, or you won’t?”

           The overhead lights flickered faintly, casting sterile shadows across the floor as you stood there, your fists clenched at your sides. Every inch of the space felt suffocating. The familiar hum of the air conditioning grated on your nerves, as if the building itself was mocking the tension brewing between you and Hotch. The tension between you both was noticeable, simmering just below the surface, threatening to explode.

           The night outside was pitch black, the glass windows reflecting your own reflection back at you, but you weren’t looking at the windows - you were looking at him.

           There was a pause, and then his jaw tightened. “You know the job. You know what it takes. I don’t have time for—”

           “A relationship,” you cut in, your voice trembling with frustration. “You don’t have time for a relationship, but you always have time for this.”

           The elevator pinged softly behind you, but no one stepped out. It felt almost ironic - like the world was continuing on, unbothered by the storm raging in the room.

           His silence was deafening, his gaze unwavering but cold, like he had already decided you were asking him for too much.

           Your words hung in the air like poison, and you saw the flicker of something - maybe guilt, maybe regret - flash across his face before he quickly shoved it down, burying it beneath that cold, stoic mask he always wore.

           The sound of your breathing filled the space between you, heavy and uneven. The tension was thick enough to choke on, the overpowering silence settling over the room like a suffocating blanket. The light overhead buzzed louder in the quiet, the faint ticking of the clock on the wall mocking the way time seemed to be slowing down, dragging you both through this confrontation.

           You couldn’t help but remember the way he’d brushed you off before, his words echoing in your mind. “Don’t start to care for me,” he’d said one night after another round of heated kisses and secrets. “I’m too busy to feel sorry. This is just… fun.”

           “Fun? Is that all this is to you?” you asked, voice trembling with rising anger. “Just fun? Just something to fill your time when it’s convenient?”

           Hotch’s face remained emotionless, but the tension in his posture told you everything. He wasn’t going to give you what you wanted. His voice was low, almost a growl. “We agreed to this.”

           “No,” you said, shaking your head furiously, your hands trembling at your sides. “You agreed to this. You never gave me a say. I wanted more from the beginning, and you… you made me think that maybe, if I stuck around long enough, you’d give me something real.”

           The sound of your own voice surprised you - raw, vulnerable, and desperate. Your throat tightened as you felt the tears welling up, but you blinked them back, refusing to break in front of him. You wouldn’t give him that satisfaction.

           His eyes twinkled, just for a second, but it was enough to make your heart clench. But just as quickly as the indication of something more came, it was gone, replaced by the same cold mask he always wore. Hotch’s gaze hardened, his eyes narrowing slightly as the tension in the room escalated. “I told you from the beginning what this was. I never made any promises.”

           “You didn’t have to promise anything!” you snapped, your voice echoing off the walls of the empty bullpen. “You didn’t need to say the words because you kept me close enough to think that maybe - just maybe - there was a chance for something more. But you’re just too much of a coward to admit that you don’t want me the way I want you!” You poked your finger into his chest.

           “I’m not looking for a relationship. You knew that,” he said, voice steady and controlled. “I never promised you anything more.”

           Your breath hitched, anger bubbling to the surface. “Oh, so now you’re going to hide behind semantics?” You stepped closer, eyes blazing. “What about the nights we spent together? The things you said? The way you touched me? That didn’t mean anything to you, at all?!”

           His face didn’t change, but the air between you felt like it was crackling. “You’re reading too much into this.” Hotch stood tall, arms crossed over his chest, his expression blank and even colder than usual. The distance between you was only a few feet, but it felt like miles. You could feel the anger radiating off him in waves, the kind of tension that made the air thick, and heavy. He was always composed, always in control, but tonight, you could see the cracks forming.

           “Too much?” You laughed bitterly, the sound harsh and filled with pain. “I’ve spent months giving you everything I have - my time, my energy, my fucking heart. And all you can say is I’m reading too much into it?”

           His jaw clenched, the tension radiating from him now. “I’m not going to apologize for being clear with you. I told you from the beginning what this was.”

           “No, Aaron,” you snapped, your voice rising. “You told me what you wanted this to be. You never gave a damn about what I wanted. You’ve used me. You’ve kept me hanging on just long enough to make me think that maybe, maybe you’d give a shit. But you don’t, do you?”

           Hotch stepped forward, his eyes burning now, his usual calm facade slipping. “I never asked you to wait for anything more. I never asked you to give me more than what we had.”

           The tears stung at the corners of your eyes, blurring your vision as you looked at the man you thought you knew, the man who had held you close in the dark, only to push you away in the light. “You never asked for it, but you knew how I felt. You knew I was falling for you, and you let me.”

           His eyes darkened, the coldness in them almost chilling. “I’m not responsible for your feelings. I told you the truth. If you chose to ignore it, that’s on you.”

           The words sliced through you like a knife, the pain so sharp you had to catch your breath. “You really don’t care at all, do you?” you whispered, voice trembling.

           There was no hesitation in his response, no softening in his gaze. “No. I don’t.”

           “You’re unbelievable,” you whispered, shaking your head as the tears threatened to spill. “I can’t believe I’ve wasted so much time on you. I’m such an idiot.” The words hit you like a punch to the gut, knocking the wind out of you. The tears spilled over now, but you refused to let him see you break. “Fuck you, Hotch.”

           Without another word, you grabbed your bag and turned, walking away from him, from the bullpen, from everything. The quiet click of your heels on the tile floor was the only sound in the bullpen now, each step feeling heavier than the last as the reality of what had just happened sank in.

           “But baby, don’t leave me, don’t leave me though,” his voice echoed in your memory, the way he had held you close after a night together, his breath hot against your skin. But the words had always been empty. A plea for you to stay, but never a promise of more.

           As the elevator doors slid shut, you let out a shaky breath. The ride down felt like an eternity, the dim lighting in the elevator reflecting the cold emptiness you felt inside. You wrapped your arms around yourself, trying to hold back the sobs that threatened to break free, but it was useless. The tears came, hot and uncontrollable, and you pressed your back against the wall, sliding down until you were sitting on the floor, knees pulled to your chest.

           You weren’t running back to him this time. You couldn’t.

[enviedear]

you ate me right up, you spit me back out

⤷ jacaerys velaryon

- ˏˋ 🎧 1.8k words, minors dni  ˊˎ -

“you shouldn’t be out at this hour.” the voice calling out is deep, and even though you turn in their direction, you aren’t able to make them out. a mere rough outline remains, shrouded in the moons shadows. still, you know who stands before you.

“i thought you a prince, my love. not a ward.” you wish the sun was shining, you’re sure he has his usual smirk on his face. both unbecoming and perfectly poised. as are all things with your prince.

jacaerys steps closer, pebbles and fallen leaves sounding under his boots, “my betrothed leaves dinner in haste. her chambermaids unaware of her location—tell me,” a pause from him, filled by his hands finding home at your waist, “have i upset you?”

“no. never that, my love…” you trail off, fingers blindly following the embroidery of his coat. “i fear i am plagued with utter happiness. this is a time of war, yet my days ring with joy. it feels immoral.”

he hums, the sound reverberating to your fingers at his clavicle, “it shouldn’t. you should know i pray for such, for your joy. i’m glad the gods answer my prayers.”

your breath hitches slightly, “you have far more to pray for, my love.”

he presses his forehead against yours, “such as?” his tone is sweetly sardonic.

“your life. your throne. your kingdom.” the reminders of duty ring heavy, but you have a feeling jace is smiling despite.

a soft kiss to your temple, “i pray for all of that too. perhaps the gods are proving how well they answer.” another kiss, “does that help?”

you breathe him in, hints of smoke, sea salt, and grasses flood your senses. the smell of dragonriding lingers on him, you assume as long as he lives he won’t be able to rid himself of it.

“yes,” you say after a moment. “i relent. i will remain happy.”

your words are met with another deep hum from him, followed by a soft chuckle that vibrates through his chest into yours. it's a warm sound that always exudes comfort. he pulls back just enough to stare at you, his eyes barely reflecting the silvery light of the moon. in night’s pale glow, they seem almost otherworldly—like two shimmering oceans of liquid silver. "my sweet girl.” he murmurs, reaching to deftly trace his fingers along the exposed skin of your shoulders.

a gust of frigid night air carries the familiar scent of saltwater and briny air so commonplace on driftmark. you shiver slightly as the breeze nips through your nightgown, but don't pull away from his touch or his gaze. moments of this kind are precious, even if they’re ill-advised. the palace guards must be searching for you right now, both of you, worried about where their young couple has wandered off to at this late hour. a possibility you should have considered before taking your leave.

"should we go back?" you whisper, breath warm against his neck.

he chuckles softly, pulling you closer. "do you really want to?"

you hesitate for a moment before shaking her head. "no, not really. i don’t want this day to end yet."

his hands trail down her arms, leaving a line of goosebumps in their wake. you tremble again, but this time it’s not so much from the cold. he leans in, his lips brushing against the shell of your ear. "then i shall not allow for it. my beautiful bride, i only want you happy." he murmurs, voice low and smooth.

you hum at his praise, turning you face towards his. noses bump one another, and you fight a smile before leaning in. your lips met in a slow, tentative kiss. a kiss filled with longing—all the moments spend wishing to be alone together finally coming to fruition. still, you don’t let yourself get too taken by your betrothed’s saccharine lips. the both of you will have to retire and slip away to your own bedrooms soon. how you wish to share a room, to live as a married couple.

his hands move at your waist, pulling you closer still. you can feel the warmth of his body against your own, entrapping you against him. you’re sure you’ve never felt more at home. you card your fingers through his hair, deepening the kiss. he groans softly, one hand moving up to cup your breast. his thumb brushing against your nipple through the thin fabric of the nightgown, eliciting a gasp to break from your mouth.

you seperate, panting slightly. you peer up at him, eyes alight with desire. jacaerys’ brown eyes mirror your own, his hand still on your breast. "perhaps we should return.” he says softly, voice hinting.

you nod, taking his hand. you make your way back to the castle, steps slow and deliberate. jacaerys sneaks the both of you back into dragonstone, his hands remaining interlocked with yours.

as you make your way back to the castle, his hand tightens around your own. his grip is like a vice, making your pulse race. looking up at him through your lashes, eyes heavy with want. he leans in, capturing your lips in another deep kiss. there's no activity in the halls aside from the two of you, but still, your nerves scream out. this is all so unlike the both of you. jacaerys has never been so outward with affection—if anything it only adds to your desire.

his tongue darts out, teasing your lips apart, and you whine when he deepens the kiss. he pulls you closer, hands roaming over your body. His member presses insistent and hard against you and An intense ache of need uncoils within you. he groans into your mouth, breath hot and heavy.

"come with me." he whispers, his voice low and raspy. "spend the night in my bed."

you hesitate for a moment, but the need coursing through your veins makes it nearly impossible to resist. you nod, and jace grins, taking your hand and leading you to his chambers.

once inside, he shuts the door behind you and turns to face you. his eyes are even darker with the hue of lust. jacaerys steps closer, slowly. you almost feel like one of the sheep offered up to his family's dragons, unassuming and naive. he stops right in front of you, hands gently dipping underneath your nightgown. he slowly undresses you, his hands shaking slightly as he slides your dress off your shoulders.

jacaerys always takes you like a man starved. in a way, he is. without the war, the two of you would be happily married—should be relishing in the joy of naive nuptials. but you aren't. so he kisses at your neck hungrily, lips leaving a trail of heat on your skin. his hands cup your breasts, thumbs flicking over your nipples. you moan, your head falling onto his shoulder as he continues his sacrilege.

he pushes you gently onto the plush bed, his body covering yours. he reaches between your legs. his fingers find you wet and ready, and he groans. "you're always so perfect." he whispers, breath hot against your ear. "do you want me, dōna ābrazȳrys?"

you nod, unable to speak, feeling the head of his cock pressing against your entrance, you feel drunken, as if you had consumed the entire castles’ supply.

"say it." he commands, voice rough. "tell me you want me."

"i want you." you manage, voice trembling with need.

with a growl, he thrusts into you, filling you completely. jacaerys moves inside you, his pace slow and deliberate. he watches you closely, his eyes never leaving yours. you can feel every bit of him, like an indelible brand. the heat and weight of his body on top of yours. each thrust sends waves of pleasure through your body, making you arch your back. you grab at him, his muscles clenching under your touch.

his hands grip onto your hips, the sound of skin slapping against skin filling the room. an absolutely lurid scene. his breath is hot on your neck, teeth nipping at your skin as he drives you both closer to the edge. you wrap your legs around his waist, urging him deeper inside you.

"you feel so good." he grunts, burying his face in the crook of your neck. "so perfect."

you moan as his thrusts pick up pace, your body moving in perfect rhythm with his. the bed creaks beneath you, the furs beneath you tangling around your legs as you arch your back to meet his movements. the smell of sweat and sex fill the air, mixed with the faint scent of dragon smoke that clings to him. his hips slide against yours, pressing into you as he takes you deeper and deeper. your breasts bounce with each thrust, nipples pebbled from the cool air on your heated skin.

jacaerys's breathing becomes ragged, his mouth finding yours once more in a passionate kiss, teeth nipping at your bottom lip. he tastes of honeyed wine and seasalt, divine. jacaerys growls into the kiss, tongues dancing together as he drives harder into you. the bed thumps against the wall in time with your grunts and moans, echoing through the otherwise silent castle halls.

"jacaerys." you moan, the sound barely audible among the creaking bed and the panting of your breaths.

he grunts in response, his fingers dig into your hips as he desperately tries to hold back. the bed groans beneath you, the cold stone floor sharp with the sound. his fingers dig into your hips, holding you close, making you feel a part of him.

"so close, dōna ābrazȳrys." he growls out, his voice hoarse. "so fucking close."

you gasp, your orgasm about to break free. the feeling consumes you, spreading through your body like wildfire, consuming you in its wake. your nails dig into his back, your legs wrapping around his waist, pulling him closer. as the pleasure builds inside you, jacaerys pulls away from the kiss, his lips trailing down your neck and collarbone. you can feel the heat building in your core, every nerve on fire from his touch. you come undone with a loud gasp followed by your lover’s name, repeated like a prayer.

jace isn’t far behind and when he finally reaches his climax, you feel him tense inside you. his body shuddering as he releases himself deep within you. his hot seed pulses out of him, filling you completely before pulling out with a low groan. you gasp at the sudden loss of him, missing the fullness. with a loud sigh, he collapses on top of you, hearts pounding in unison.

he rolls onto his side carefully so as not to crush you under his weight and presses a soft kiss to your forehead. Your fingers ascend instinctively, brushing a stray lock of hair from his brow, your fingers lingering on his skin.

he looks at you with a satisfied smile, his eyes heavy-lidded with pleasure. as he moves closer, his body radiates heat and you feel his strong arms wrap around your waist. you lean into him, enjoying the comforting feeling of being held in his embrace. the sound of his steady breaths like a lullaby, and you sink into the blissful calm of slumber.