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scarlet-star-witch · 4 months ago

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The shackles of duty

Summary: In the aftermath of Aegon's fall in the Battle of Rook's Rest, Aemond envisions his future as King with his Queen at his side

Reader is Rhaenyra's daughter and in a secret relationship with Aemond

Part 2 to His Sacrifice

WC: 2.2 K

Warnings: Implied smut, possessive Aemond, kinda dark Aemond, but not really, he's more pathetic than anything

Aemond stared at the plumes of smoke that billowed from where his brother and his dragon had fallen.

His heart still raced with satisfaction, the adrenaline pumping through his veins keeping him in an almost high-like state he never wanted to come down from. His victorious smirk remained as he turned to the woman beside him who stared at the smoke with a conflicted expression.

“With any luck, Aegon has perished, or at least will in due time.”

She looked to Aemond, the furrow in her brow deep, betraying her indecision and unease.

She always knew what Aemond was capable of, she knew of the darkness within him, but to see it now, displayed so blatant before her very eyes, shook something within her, something she didn’t know she could feel towards the man she had loved for so long.

Aemond grabbed her hands, holding them in his tightly as he turned to face her fully.

“We can go back to King’s Landing. With Aegon’s state, I will be named Regent. I will sit the throne and you will be my Queen.”

“What?” She breathed out, the only word she’d been able to speak in the past few minutes.

“Aegon is not long for this world, surely. It won't be long until I become King. No one can deny us anything now. We can marry, you can stay with me by my side, we can rule together.” Aemond spoke with a franticness that was so unlike him, it unsettled her more than the gleam of desire in his eye in that moment.

“Aemond…”

“We can finally be together.” He reminded her as his hand reached out to grasp her cheek affectionately, the longing he displayed tearing her insides, as if she were being pulled in two radically different directions.

She watched him for a long moment, savoring the sight of that beautiful face she’d spent the past few years memorizing, every perfect dip and curve that never failed to leave her breathless, and emotion swelled as she realized she’d have to break his heart.

“I can’t go with you.” She told him, her voice barely above a whisper, as if it would soften the blow, as if saying it quietly would mean it wouldn’t completely destroy him.

His lip twitched, his smile fading slowly as he took in her words, praying he had misheard her. His grip on her hands tightened, as if he could keep her with him, as if he could forever stop her from leaving his side.

“But…”

“Aemond, you know I cannot go with you. No one will accept-”

“Fuck what they think! You are mine and the second I sit on that throne I can make it so. No one could stop us.”

She shook her head and moved to pull away, but he didn’t let her, his hand sturdy in hers, a look of heartbreak on his face as he felt her hesitation.

“We are at war, Aemond. Our marriage will not solve anything, it won’t miraculously dissolve what is happening in our family, it will only create more chaos.”

“I don’t care.” Aemond spoke through gritted teeth as he stepped towards her, his hands now cradling her face. “I don’t give a shit about this war, you are all I want.”

She sniffled, bowing her head to avoid looking into his eye. It was too painful to see how she was hurting him.

“Think about what you are asking of me.”

“I am asking you to be with me.”

“You are asking me to abandon my mother!” She yelled.

His chest ached, the rush he’d been thriving on suddenly turning to despair as he looked at her, realizing he wouldn’t soon have her in his arms as he had hoped.

“We can fix this.” He spoke with reverence, but it did little to soothe the storm within her.

“Maybe we could have… but that was before- before Lucerys.”

Aemond flinched, recoiling as if she had delivered a physical blow.

“You know my regret for what happened. You know I would have never willingly jeopardize-”

“I know, I know.” She whispered tearfully, her hands moving up to grip at his wrists, feeling his pulse race beneath her touch.

She remembered the night after learning of her brother’s death as she met Aemond on their Island, how he immediately fell to his knees in forgiveness, how he let her scream and cry and rage at him, how they held each other as they cried, knowing the state of their family had broken beyond repair, ruining what little chance they thought they had to one day be together as they wanted.

She wiped her tears and with one last gentle caress to his hands, pulled them away from her, taking a step backwards before he could reach out to her once more.

“I have to go.”

With every step she took away from him, he took a step closer, his face shifting each time she moved, his frown growing deeper and deeper as it abruptly dawned on him that he was about to lose her, yet again.

“Please, don’t do this.”

“I’m sorry.” She choked out, the sight of him blurring as tears sprang to her eyes. She turned and didn’t look back as she climbed upon Vermithor, ignoring the pit that grew in her stomach, ignoring the voice in the back of her head that screamed at her to stay with him.

She didn’t dare spare him a look. She knew she’d cave if she did, that she would fall back into his arms and pretend the rest of the world didn’t exist.

She wiped her tears as she flew, ignoring the pull she felt to her other half as the distance between them grew greater.

A yell of pure rage escaped him as he flipped the table in his room. He grabbed anything he could get his hands on, throwing any and every object he found across the room, destroying everything in his line of sight.

His bed was in disarray, the tapestries that lined the walls torn to pieces at his feet, candles knocked to the ground, trinkets shattered into nothing but dust as he raged.

He only stopped when there was nothing left to ruin.

His chest heaved with exertion as he let himself slump against his bed, burying his face in his hands as he struggled for breath, forcing himself not to let his tears fall.

His mind raced with her words, each like a dagger to the heart, each one tearing away a piece of him, leaving him unwhole and untethered to the one thing in the world he cared about.

Nothing made sense without her. It had only been hours and he was already spiraling.

Simply picturing her beautiful face caused his chest to ache, as if the dagger of her words had been real, causing him to bleed and fade away until there was nothing left of him.

He could not let this be the end.

With a half-formed plan in his mind, he stood with haste and reached for his cloak, ensuring the hood covered his head and stepped out of his room, his steps quick and purposeful.

He would not let her slip away from him again.

Her mind was racing, keeping her from her much needed sleep. She couldn’t stop picturing Aemond’s face, the pain she had caused him stirring her own.

She couldn’t ignore the regret that overtook every inch of her. While she loved her mother and longed to see her as Queen, she couldn’t deny that Aemond had stitched himself within the fabric of her, he was now a part of her she couldn’t ignore.

She didn’t quite know when it happened, all she knew was that it was too late to go back now, too late to pretend she felt nothing for him. She couldn’t move forward without him.

She had to see him.

She hissed a curse and tore the covers off, getting to her feet and dressing in her riding leathers quickly, acknowledging the stupidity of her plan, but steadily ignoring it.

It was easy to sneak out of the castle. She’d been doing it for years now, she could do it with her eyes closed.

It took little time to get Vermithor in the air and on the course for King’s Landing, her heart in her throat as she flew. She didn’t know what awaited her, what danger she would be placing upon her head, all she knew was that once there, Aemond would never let any harm befall her.

It was the only assurance she needed to drive forward into enemy territory.

Suddenly, the bellowing roar of a dragon sounded over the din of the wind.

She startled and narrowed her eyes, the moon providing light for her to see, but as the hulking figure of the dragon coming before her became clear, she soon realized, her eyes widening as she stared back at Vhagar.

A breathless laugh escaped her, pure relief overtaking her as she realized Aemond was in the same state she found herself in, unable to settle for their circumstance.

She pulled at the reins, directing Vermithor to descend, heading towards their Island with Aemond following seconds behind.

The two mighty dragons landed and their riders met each other's gaze, the both of them taking a moment to simply admire each other, their shared smiles of equal relief and awe that they had had the same thought, the same longing to see each other.

Her hands almost shook with anticipation as she untied herself from the saddle.

She felt nervous, as if it were their first meeting in secret, as she approached him, but her reservations didn’t last as Aemond stepped towards her quickly, with no hesitation.

A shaking breath escaped her as she was pulled into his arms.

“I’m sorry.” She whispered weakly, her voice strained as her throat tightened, overwhelmed to be back in his loving arms.

He shook his head and held to her tighter, softly whispering his relief to see her again

Time was lost to them as they embraced, as they held each other as only lovers could.

“I don’t know what will happen next.” She mumbled, hating to break the moment with their reality, but it wasn’t something they could ignore for much longer.

“I don’t either.” He admitted quietly. “But what I do know is that, whatever I do, it will not be without you. I don’t care how many times I will have to chase you down and bring you back to me, I won’t lose you.”

“You won’t have to chase me. I’m not going anywhere.”

His exhale of relief was loud and she barely had time to apologize again before he was kissing her firmly, leaving them both breathless and lightheaded with desire.

His touch was desperate as he laid her down in the dewey grass. It was familiar to them, these fleeting and frantic touches all they could spare in the war that ravaged their families.

He took her with an intensity as if it had been years since he’d felt her touch and not mere days as it had been. She felt more loved than ever before as he lavished his praise onto her, as his lips caressed every inch of her, as he made love to her with the burning passion as only a man in love could.

Their cries of pleasure echoed on the desolate Island, their secret remaining shrouded in darkness and isolation.

As he spilled his seed within her, his call of her name sending shivers down the length of her body, she held him tightly, wishing she could hold onto him forever, wishing she didn’t have to leave his side time and time again.

He wasn’t quick to part from her, laying over her, his hands still eager to touch her, to remember the curves of her body in fear that it would be the last time.

But they would never let it be the last, not as long as they still breathed life.

He left her side with a promise to see her the next night.

There was no mention of the throne, of titles or battles. It didn’t exist in their time together, the both of them determined to blissfully ignore the reality that was slowly crushing them, slowly pulling them further and further apart, no matter how hard they tried to fight it.

He lingered in her mind as she woke alone but sated, the phantom bliss of his touch, bringing a smile to her lips in the early morning. She could still feel the warmth between her thighs, feel the pleasurable burn of the marks he had left on her body.

She smiled politely as her maid entered, placing breakfast down for her.

“Is there anything else I can get for you, Princess?”

Moon tea.

The words were on the tip of her tongue. She trusted her handmaiden, she’d never given her a sideways glance over the past years when she requested the drink. Her mother was still blissfully unaware, which meant her maid was at least keeping her secret.

Yet the words didn’t come, a decision made in a fraction of a second.

“No, thank you. That is all.”

As her maid left, her hand drifted to her stomach, a smile forming on her lips as she wondered what their child would look like.

Hope you enjoyed! I have more Aemond content coming! I literally have a thousand ideas for this beautiful man, so stay tuned xx

#aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen #house of the dragon #aemond targaryen fic #house of the dragon fic #aemond targaryen fanfic

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utterlyotterlyx · 4 months ago

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A Ballad of Storm and Shadow

Azriel x F!Reader

Part One

Summary - Rhys had been content in taking the darkest secret of his family to the grave, but when the threat of Hybern increases, he has no choice but to send a message to another world and pray to the Mother that his call is answered.

Warnings - angst, mentions of war, tension, fluff, touch of sadness and longing

This is a crossover series, some aspects will differ from that in the books. Physical attributes are described in this fic, it is essential to the storyline of the character

Rain spattered against the ledge, the open window allowing the tears of the sky to coat the black glossed paint with their sadness. Azriel watched them inquisitively, noting how each droplet fell further into the room than the last, his shadows pecked along the ground to dry the dampened spots and it was a welcome distraction from the conversation encircling the room.

The storm raged on overhead, cracks of lightening slicing across the sky every few moments, the clouds rumbling their anger throughout the city. A harmony to the idea of war.

There was no avoiding it. The war, that is. It had consumed Azriel's every thought as he played out every possible scenario in his mind, ones where they all made it out alive, and the ones where they all perished alongside Prythian. It was those visions that kept him up at night, flashes of Cassian's bloodied face lifeless against the earth, wings torn and soul withered, were enough to make him desperate enough to the point that he'd give anything to avoid it.

Azriel ran his marred hands over the curve of his leathers, soothing down each muscle and drifting over every glowering siphon attached to his body, doing his best to pull himself from the images that plagued his waking moments and sleepless nights.

If Rhys were speaking then Azriel would have been listening, but, surprisingly, he wasn't. Rhys stared dead ahead, nails digging into his nails beds and jaw clenching along with the reeling thoughts plaguing his own mind, staring right ahead at the corner of the table placed in the centre of the seating area at the River House. Azriel wasn't the only one who noticed, Amren had halted her words to slice through his train his thought, "Are you going to say anything?"

Rhys' gaze pulled from its formerly trained spot at the table edge toward his second in command, and it was clear that there was something he wasn't sharing with his family. His eyes drifted about the room, landing on each one of them in turn before they landed on Feyre and wavered slightly. Azriel couldn't blame his brother for his fear, he had finally gotten everything he had ever wanted after all the horrors he had endured, and now that picture perfect life was being threatened.

But something still wasn't right. Rhys was too consumed in his mind to pay any real attention to what Amren was saying, what plans were being spoken of, and that wasn't like Rhys. It wasn't like Rhys at all to blatantly ignore words spoken that could aid them in their collective efforts against Hybern. Azriel couldn't exactly be too picky about it though, considering he too was ignoring the firedrake fumbling plans into fruition, also too consumed by his own demons.

"The High Lords will be convening in three days time," his words were tense, his eyes burning, "Give me one night to think. We can start on this tomorrow," Rhys ran his hand over his face and leaned back in his chair, inhaling deeply and pinching the bridge of his now.

"The future of this continent, your home, is threatened, and you wish to speak of this tomorrow?" Amren scoffed, her silver eyes dancing under the faelight in warning.

Rhys rose from his seat, having had enough of the incessant drawls of war and death and offered Feyre his hand, a hand that she took willingly and stood at his side, fingers wrapped around his forearm and body drifting beside him, "Yes, I do. I cannot think when this is all you're speaking of, Amren. I am High Lord, and I need to think about how to spare my family and my people from this."

Instead of retorting in a way only she could, Amren contained her fury and buried it deep within her core, "Fine." Amren almost spat at his feet, but he paid no mind to it, he didn’t have the energy to go head-to-head with Amren that night, not when there was a much more pressing matter to attend to.

So, Rhys took Feyre to bed, and made sure that she was sound asleep before removing himself from her embrace. He threw an onyx silken shirt over his body but didn’t bother strewing up any of the buttons, content in allowing the night air to glide across his skin, he wasn’t sure how long he was going to able to appreciate its touch.

The High Lord of Night paced through the River House swiftly, not wanting to disturb any member of his family or alert them to his movements, and as soon as he stood on an ornately stunning balcony, the same he had stood on with Feyre that night on Starfall, did he unfurl his glorious wings and take to the skies, determined to reach the place that he hadn’t visited in over 200 years. A pool of starlight lay within a small valley within the mountains, not too far from the cabin but recluse enough for no one to be able to find it unless they knew that it lay there.

It had been too long since he had been there, but the all too familiar aura curled around him like a lost hound and pulled him down to it. The pool twinkled in greeting, reflecting the endless wonder of the sky above, and Rhys then remembered just how small it was, and just how long it had been since he peered into it or drifted his fingers along its rippling surface.

None other than he knew of what it truly was - not even his mate- it was a thin veil between worlds, a veil he used to send messages through often in hope that they’d find the one intended for, and he would wait for hours at a time for a whisper of a response. One time he had waited an entire day, desperate to hear her voice on the wind, hauntingly mesmerising like a siren to a sea captain, replying to his message with her usual level of warmth and understanding.

Then one day he just stopped visiting the place, the weight of her void had become too much to bear, too much that he had made the selfish decision to try and move on, to live his life in anyway that he could. Part of Rhys thought that she would have commended him for it, that she would have understood and that she was somewhere and knew of his strength, pain, and success of finding his mate.

But it had been so long. Rhys wasn’t sure if the pool was being monitored from her end, and he was terrified that his plea would fall upon deaf ears. But she was the only one who could help them, the only one powerful enough to give them any real chance of surviving. That power was the reason she had been sent away in the first place.

Rhys fell to his knees at the bank of the water, the contact of his markings without their twin flames in the snow causing the pool to ripple and hum with eons old yearning, and the stars within it began to glow, eager and ready to pull his words from his lips and sail them through the veil. He lowered himself to the surface, his face reflecting in the water showing him just how exhausted he had appeared, and the pool knew it, it knew of his desperation and rippled in a way that Rhys was sure it would split open at any given moment.

But, the water settled and shuddered, the gate between him and the one he thought of often still firmly in place.

"I'm sorry that it's been so long," he began, not knowing what to say to soften the blow but wanting to believe that she wasn't angry at him for it, and hoping that she too was thriving wherever her feet carried her. "If it means anything, I have missed you, and not a day has passed where I haven't thought of you," he fiddled with his fingers, his breath sending gentle wisps of steam rising into the air, "I found my mate. You'd like her, I think. She's my High Lady now, things have certainly changed."

"We are going to war. The Cauldron is in the grasp of our enemy and it threatens to devour the continent as we know it, and I fear that none of us with survive the destruction. I suppose I just wanted to speak to you, to say that I'm sorry I haven't visited in so long, and to let you know that I love you despite our distance. I may not survive what's to come, but I just wanted you to know that, and if there's any way you could come and save my ass then that would be greatly appreciated," he spoke the last words with a soft chuckle.

Rhys often thought of what she looked like, she had been only a girl when she was sent away, thrust through a portal with no way of knowing how to get back if she wished it. The day he heard her whisper through the pool had been the best day of his life, and on some level, he knew it still was in a sense. In those days, Rhys knew that she was alive, she may have been struggling but at least her heart was still beating and soul was raining havoc.

He wasn't sure of what he was expecting, he knew the chances of a reply were slim to nothing, but his heart still sank when the pool rippled with intoxicating silence.

Rhys waited another hour at least, but when the stars within the pool began to dim, he knew that it was time to leave. He rose to his feet, his soul solemn and heavy, and he couldn't bring himself to glance backward at the water as he ascended to the skies.

It was a pity really, for if he had turned around for but a moment, he would have seen the pool sparkle to life.

Azriel was curious.

It wasn't often that he found Rhys to be hiding something from him, or any of them for that matter. It was the beauty of their shared family, they knew all of the worst things about one another, from actions to thoughts, and nothing was counted as being too ferocious to accept.

But Azriel knew that Rhys was hiding something, his High Lord had been on edge from the moment he had returned to the River House after sneaking out that night, under the impression that no one had known of his time away. But Azriel knew everything, every single move was accounted for thanks to his shadows and his own keen hearing.

The Shadowsinger had merely thought that Rhys needed a moment to himself to think, but as the time stretched on, it seemed that Rhys was on a mission of sorts, and Azriel's suspicions became clear when he saw his brother the next morning, hair askew and eyes occasionally flickering through the window to a certain spot against the mountain face.

Rhys had worn the same expression for three days, not even Feyre could get him to talk to her about what it was that had him so concerned. But Azriel couldn't miss the longing in his eyes each time he passed by the window, like he was expecting someone to float up to the glass pane and solve all of their problems.

The day had come to meet with the High Lords, and the location had been set at the Dawn Court Palace, Thesan had always been the perfect mediator, besides, Cassian had been banned from Summer which automatically ruled that location from the list.

To Azriel's understanding, Rhys hadn't uttered a single word to anyone all morning, not even a single scold toward Cassian and Mor for their incessant bickering. It was worrying Feyre, Azriel noticed, he saw the emotion sketched into her furrowed brow each time she would try and speak to her mate to only be ignored. It seemed as though only Azriel and Feyre, and perhaps Amren, had noticed it.

The silence continued all the way to the Dawn Court, and Rhys' brooding only lightened when Helion appeared after his lacklustre greeting to Kallias and Viviane, spurring Rhys to remember the reason why they were there, what they had to do in order to give Prythian a fighting chance against Hybern and the Cauldron.

Helion jerked his chin toward Feyre, asking, "Does Tamlin know what she is?"

Rhys, his sadness wavering for a moment as they stood before the doors to the meeting chamber, spoke, "If you mean beautiful and clever, then yes - I think he does."

Azriel watched Helion closely, taking a tentative step toward his High Lord and Lady as the High Lord of Day sent Rhys a unimpressed flat glare, "Does he know that she is your mate, and High Lady?"

Ignoring Viviane's squeal, Rhys answered, picking a loose thread from his jacket and allowing it to float to the ground, "If he arrives then I suppose we will find out."

"I always liked you, Rhysand," Helion said after a lethally dark chuckle, knowing just how powerful he was in comparison to Rhys' brothers; he rolled his shoulders and glanced to Nesta, his gaze lingering whilst he enquired of who she was.

"She is my sister," Azriel didn't miss the muffled flinch that sliced across Rhys' face, "She will tell her story when the others are here."

Skittering steps against the pale golden stone pulled the attention of the Inner Circle toward Thesan who was surrounded by his highly alert Peregryns, beings who seemed a little too on edge.

"I hate to interrupt," Thesan drawled with wary eyes before they landed on Rhys, "But there is a woman I have never seen before in the meeting chamber, she says that you sent for her."

No one could miss how Rhys' entire body language changed from lax to urgent, his posture straightening and eyes boring into the doors of the chamber as though he could see through them; his breathing quickened, and it became apparent that whoever the woman was had been the cause of his ire for the last three days.

Begrudgingly, Rhys followed Thesan's order to wait for the others, Tarquin seemed less than pleased to be stood before Rhys, and it wasn't long until Beron and Eris rounded the corner of the corridor, sneering and spitting their horrid words, sending warning glares to Cassian and Azriel in particular for the scuffle between the two courts over the now High Lady of the Night Court and Lucien Vanserra.

Opening the doors, the woman lounging in the chair facing their entrance was not the person Rhys had been longing to see, Azriel deduced that much from the instant droop of his shoulders before he fully even saw her face. She sat in one of the deep rooted chairs, legs strewn over the arm and a dagger pricking into each one of her fingers, not hard enough to break the skin.

She was glad in a green dress that extenuated her long legs and her utterly wild scent had enveloped the room, a scent of lemon verbena and crackling embers, her blonde hair was well tamed and pinned backward in a loose yet luxurious ensemble, and power poured off of her in searing waves.

"And who exactly are you?"

A grin formed on her lips at the defensive question directed her way by Helion, and she rolled her eyes incredulously in response, sliding her legs from the arm and propping her elbows upon them, "Is that any way to greet a guest?" The tip of her dagger scratched into the wood of her seat, a curved and lethal weapon not of Prythian, "They really don't have any manners," she spoke loudly, directing the comment elsewhere.

Large hands clasped around the back of her seat and a flash of white hair reflected against the dying sunlight, "She did tell us that they were going to be apprehensive of us, Fireheart." The woman hummed, seemingly unphased by who she was trapped in a room with, anyone else would have been quaking in their boots at the knowledge of it.

"I didn't think she was being serious-"

"You haven't answered the question. Tell us who you are and why you're here, or-"

"Or what?" The woman's gold ringed eyes glistened, hungry and bristling with a flame Rhys, nor any of them, had ever witnessed. She rose from the seat, "You'll hurt us? I'd like to see you try."

Azriel stuck to Feyre and Rhys, sizing up the male with the tattoos in an ancient language littered down the side of his face, and that only seemed to make the male smirk, "Don't think about it. You wouldn't last a minute."

Tension simmered in the chamber, the High Lords of Prythian bar one faced the two strangers who looked much like them but were different in every single way imaginable.

Only when a click of heels entered the room followed by an exasperated sigh, did the two strangers grin, their offensive stance dissipating before Rhys' very eyes as they turned to make room for another.

"You'll come to rather enjoy Aelin's wit," a voice as mesmerising as the crashing summer waves called into the simmering silence, a voice so perfect that it had Rhys almost whimpering in disbelief as he took a step forward. Another woman appeared adorning a playful smirk, "And the vein in Rowan's forehead."

Azriel studied her, even his shadows couldn't stop themselves from peeking over his shoulders at the sound of her melodic voice, one so calming that it had them dancing toward it. She was by far one of the most incredible creatures Azriel had ever seen, dressed in an impeccable midnight blue gown that exposed her taut legs, allowing Azriel to see the two markings delicately placed below her knees, the twins to Rhys' own. Her hair was as dark as the night and swaying with each step, eyes as violet as the summer horizon that were lovingly teasing her companions, and she moved with a grace Azriel had never encountered in all of his years. A crown composed of onyx stone flowers and jewels curled around her head and glittered in the slowly decaying light, it was delicate and rested just over her ears, keeping her skin free from the imprint of it.

But it wasn't the crown nor the dress that had really stolen Azriel's eye, no, it was the pristine pair of feathered wings that were tucked neatly behind her back, not wings of an Illyrian, but wings of some form of angel Azriel presumed. They resembled the night sky, black and speckled with silver, and the longer Azriel focused on them, the more he struggled to believe that they weren't enriched feathers of pure starlight.

Rhys loosened a breath of disbelief, and his bottom lip quaked softly as he took her in, eyes trailing up her form and resting on her face, not believing who was stood before him but thanking the Mother all the same, "You came."

With her dress swaying in the breeze infiltrating the room from the open arches of the chamber, she faced Rhys and smiled sadly, taking a moment to drink him in just as he had with her before she answered, "You called."

"I didn't think you heard me," he took another step toward the curve of the pool, slowly but surely closing the gap between them, "You've grown."

"I've always heard you," their features were so strikingly similar, and Azriel was grasping onto any memory or mention of the female before his eyes, "And, if I hadn't have grown in over 500 years I'd be quite concerned."

Rhys laughed, throwing his head back and lips stretching into a smile of pure bliss, he didn't stop his steps this time, no, he allowed his feet to carry him all the way to her and bundled her up in his embrace, inhaling the scent of her deeply into his lungs "Hello sister."

Sister.

The two strangers, Aelin and Rowan, took a step back, serene smiles on their faces as they watched, seemingly understanding what it meant for the Rhys and the female, "Hello you," she replied, wrapping her arms around him and holding him tightly, "Someone mentioned that you have a mate now?"

Rhys pulled backward and sent her a look of wonderment, "I do. Feyre, darling? Would you?" He extended an arm out to her and Feyre wasted no time in joining him, "This is y/n. My sister."

"Well, half-sister, but we don't take notice of the specifics," she grinned at Rhys and softly nudged him, "It's an honour to meet you, Feyre Cursebreaker."

"How do you-"

She waved her hand dismissively, "I know many things."

"It's true, it's extremely annoying," Aelin spoke flatly nestled under Rowan's arm, the fire in her eyes softening.

Glancing about, Azriel became completely aware of just how much the beauty of y/n had captured the attention of all within the room, from the hue of her skin to the glossy black of her hair, from the curve of her jaw to the strikingly vibrant eyes that had stolen Azriel's breath from the moment the light had hit them.

She was undeniably Rhys' sister, but Azriel was sure that Rhys had only ever had one, and she died years ago.

"I'm sorry, but how?" Cassian couldn't help but ask, drawing the attention of everyone to him, he glanced to Azriel who shrugged, confirming that he knew nothing of the female before their very eyes.

Y/N smiled softly, her eyes dimming slightly and promised, "My," she looked to Rhys for a moment, "Our story-" her gaze returned to Cassian, but not before gently floating over Azriel and widening slightly, "-is one for a different day. Prythian is in danger and you need help, I'm here to provide it."

"What about us?"

"One more word Aelin and I'll send you back home, I'm sure Aedion would love to take your place."

Aelin gasped, "You don't mean that."

"Try me. See where you land this time round."

Aelin grimaced, recounting the time y/n had shoved her through one of her fancy test portals to only land in the foulest smelling swamp she had ever experienced. She kept her lips sealed and moved to the seat where she had been sat minutes before with a forced smile, prompting the rest of the occupants of the chamber to do the same.

The Shadowsinger moved with the rest of the Inner Circle, finding his place beside his High Lord and Lady, which was just a stones throw away from y/n, and he found himself completely lost in the scent of a brewing storm, his shadows unwinding from his body as it flooded his lungs and fighting through invisible storm clouds in order to brush against her for even a moment, to taste her skin and shudder at the power laced within it.

Crossing her leg over the other, Azriel watched y/n recline into the comfort of the seat, doing his best to not make his awe so obvious whilst she took a moment to gaze upon every person in the room, her eye lingering on a certain Autumn heir with a level of intrigue before she spoke with a feline grin, "So, you're all on the verge of death. Tell me more."

Author's Note

Trying a different writing style with this one - let me know what you think x

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zomb1eturtlez · 1 year ago

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"At the risk of stating the obvious, no woman can mate with a bull and produce a child. Recognizing this simple scientific fact, I am led to a somewhat interesting suspicion: King Minos did not build the labyrinth to imprison a monster but to conceal a deformed child, his child.

While the Minotaur has often been depicted as a creature with the body of a bull but the torso of a man, centaur-like, the myth describes the minotaur as simply having the head of a bull and the body of a man, or in other words, a man with a deformed face. I believe pride would not allow Minos to accept that the heir to the throne had a horrendous appearance.

Consequently, he dissolved the right of ascension by publicly accusing his wife Pasiphae of fornicating with a male bovine.

Having enough conscience to keep from murdering his own flesh and blood, Minos had a labyrinth constructed, complicated enough to keep his son from ever escaping but without bars to suggest a prison. (It is interesting to note how the myth states most of the Athenian youth "fed" to the Minotaur actually starved to death in the Labyrinth, thus indicating their deaths had more to do with the complexity of the maze and less to do with the presumed ferocity of the Minotaur.)

I am convinced Minos' maze really serves as a trope for repression. My published thoughts on this subject (see "Birth Defects in Knossos"Sonny Won't Wait Flyer, Santa Cruz, 1968) inspired the playwright Taggert Chielitz to author a play called *The Minotaur* for The Seattle Repertory Company. As only eight people, including the doorman, got a chance to see the production, I produce here a brief summary:

Chielitz begins his play with Minos entering the labyrinth late one evening to speak to his son. As it turns out, the Minotaur is a gentle and misunderstood creature, while the so-called Athenian youth are convicted criminals who were already sentenced to death back in Greece. Usually King Minos has them secretly executed and then publicly claims their deaths were caused by the terrifying Minotaur thus ensuring that the residents of Knossos will never get too close to the labyrinth. Unfortunately this time, one of the criminals had escaped into the maze, encountered Mint (as Chielitz refers to the Minotaur) and nearly murdered him. Had Minos himself not rushed in and killed the criminal, his son would have perished. Suffice it to say Minos is furious. He has caught himself caring for his son and the resulting guilt and sorrow ineeses him to no end. As the play progresses, the King slowly sees past his son's deformities, eventually discovering an elegiae spirit, an artistie sentiment and most importantly a visionary understanding of the world. Soon a deep paternal love grows in the King's heart and he begins to conceive of a way to reintroduce the Minotaur back into society. Sadly, the stories the King has spread throughout the world concerning this terrifying beast prove the seeds of tragedy. Soon enough, a bruiser named Theseus arrives (Chielitz describes him as a drunken, virtually retarded, frat boy) who without a second thought hacks the Minotaur into little pieces. In one of the play's most moving scenes, King Minos, with tears streaming down his face, publicly commends Theseus' courage. The crowd believes the tears are a sign of gratitude while we the audience understand they are tears of loss. The King's heart breaks and while he will go on to be an extremely just ruler, it is a justice forever informed by the deepest kind of agony."

House of Leaves by Mark Z. Danielewski

pg. 110-111

#house of leaves #hol #mark z danielewski #king minos #minotaur #the minotaur

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ventique18 · 29 days ago

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~ For you, my love, anything. ~

Raverne x Maleanor with implied Malleus x Gender-neutral Prefect

"Why are you so weak?" The princess asked as she magicked her sword away with a flourish. "I am surprised you've not yet died in battle. One blow and your head could be plucked clean off your shoulders!"

She was clearly exasperated, yet her opponent in this mock battle, the young and newly inducted Duke Raverne, only laughed heartily while he sheathed his own rapier. "There are other forms of power, Princess. Have you ever wondered why I've never fallen? It's not because I'm as physically strong as you. Because there are,"

One step.

"a million other ways,"

Another.

"to make anyone,"

Another, and the princess almost took a step back. Danger. If he as much as laid a finger on her...

"surrender."

"Raverne, don't you dare--"

"Like peace talks!"

The man hopped backward; a merry lilt playing in his voice. At him bouncing on his toes like the usual dumb bird that he was, Princess Maleanor let out an exhale of relief. What was she even nervous about? This man was far too...

"Too kind. You are far too kind." She whispered, only audible to herself. Even if he somehow heard that as well, he didn't show.

Sighing, she started sauntering away from the training grounds. She motioned for him to follow, and he did. "By the way, did you hear? Rowland has recently perished."

"Rowland..?" Raverne's gaze fell to their footsteps, as if deep in thought. "Ah, the Earl."

"Yes. Have you an idea what happened to him?"

"Let me think..."

"Raverne! My good man!" The young Earl Rowland slurred; obviously intoxicated from the rows and rows of alcoholic drinks he had generously procured from the pub.

Raverne had accompanied him there at his request. Rowland had apparently decided on something huge that would change his life forever, yet the uncertainty in his mind had him cold in the feet and repeatedly putting it off like a coward. He had invited Raverne, the kindest and most empathic man in the kingdom, out for a drink or two with the intent of consulting his plans with him.

Rowland slumped on the counter. "My good man, my friend. We are both Fae of feathers and flight, so you might understand."

"What's this about?"

The drunk man sat up, as straight as he could in his state. His hands clenched and unclenched. He opened his mouth to speak, but closed it again. Hesitation. As if what he was about to say was as blasphemous as it could get. "You're aware my estate has fallen in hard times."

Raverne shook his head, "Friend, if you called me here to ask for financial aid--"

"So," The earl's voice suddenly rang clear; as if the very thought sobered him up. "I wish to ask for the Princess' hand. In marriage."

Silence fell across the room.

Rowland swallowed thickly, "So I wanted to ask what you think. You're an intelligent man, perhaps the brightest in the kingdom. If someone would know what the best course of action for anything is, that would be you."

Raverne's gaze slowly met his, but his emotions betrayed nothing but neutrality. No signs of empathy, but no signs of animosity either. "Does the Princess fancy you?"

"No, no-- I don't know. I've only met her a handful of times."

"Then why?"

"I don't even need to become her husband. I know she refuses to marry anyone. I could just be her... Her plaything. I could even become her pet bird! I just need her attention so other wealthy nobles would--"

"Friend." Raverne cut him off. "You've no need to humiliate yourself like this."

"But!"

"Here's what I think," the duke smoothly drew the earl's glass toward him and he began pouring some more wine. "When it comes to the matters of the heart, you mustn't think too much about it. That's why it's called the matter of the heart, and not the mind."

Raverne raised his own, and Rowland clinked it in reciprocity. The duke brought it to his lips, but before taking a sip, said with a smile, "Just do what you wish to do, as if it's the last day of your life."

Raverne returned from his thoughts. He shifted his attention to Maleanor while they continued their way to her rose garden. "I believe the coroner ruled it as alcohol poisoning, no? He had one too many drinks one night and failed to wake up for the morrow."

"Nonsense! How did 'one too many drinks' induce blood to gush out from all of his orifices?" The princess exclaimed. "My theory is that he was poisoned with corrosives. They said he was drowning in blood from his nose, his mouth, his..."

Raverne bowed slightly, taking a peek at her expression. "Do you... care about this man?"

Maleanor blinked. Then her face contorted into that of disgust, as if it offended her that he even suggested such a thought in her head. "Disgusting! I've no desire for weak men. If he's not as strong as I, then I do not want him."

"If that is your strict requirement, then I'm afraid you shall never marry, Princess. How unfortunate that your bloodline must come to an end."

"Pah! You said it yourself, there are other forms of power. If not in strength or magical prowess, then... Someone who..." Unconsciously, her eyes drifted to him. But when she found that he was watching her intently, so preciously, as if she was the only person to exist in his world-- why, she puffed her cheeks in embarrassment and made a show of loudly stomping away from his reach.

"Anyway, go fetch me some tea and biscuits. My good Sir. Duke Raverne."

He laughed, finding her childish antics positively endearing.

"For you, my Princess? Anything."

~~~

He returned from his thoughts.

He had been thinking of the past more than usual, lately. Did he miss her? Of course he did. But more than that, perhaps his thoughts were more excitement, rather than longing. Because his memories were no longer going to be a thing of the past, but of the future.

Of the continuation of his life with her.

"Please, let me go! Let me go!"

But first, he needed to take care of this irritation.

"Why are you struggling so much? Were you not living a worthless life before I saved you from that hell? Kind as I am, I even gave you shelter. Friends. Adventures. Now I'm offering you a greater purpose! Something only you can do."

The child whimpered. But they were not a child, were they? It was just that he had waited so long, far too long, that everything else in the world felt young to him.

"Bastard!"

The cage behind them rattled. He would have looked behind him, but he was afraid to look into those eyes. Those eyes full of hatred. Those same eyes as hers.

The boy just didn't understand. He was too young, inexperienced. He didn't understand his pain.

"Let them go! LET THEM GO!" The boy cried.

Painful. They boy's trembling voice was painful.

"Or take me-- just take me instead! Let me be useful for once!" The boy cried harder; his voice cracking in desperation.

He didn't dare look at the boy. Instead, he put his energy in carefully drawing the runes beneath them. Just a bit more, just a bit more... "I'd rather sacrifice the world than you, dear."

"Then take the world! Take everyone! Take everyone else! Just... Just not them... Not them..." A sob.

Painful.

"This is the only way." He answered, as emotionless as he could muster. "She needs a vessel with a lost soul. A soul with no connection to this world. A soul with nowhere to return to.

"Your mother needs this child to live, my son."

"Stop, stop this!"

A few more inches.

"Don't do it!"

A few centimeters.

"Please, please stop this!"

Soon, very soon, he would see her again.

"I'm begging you! I'm begging you!"

He would see her smile again.

"FATHER!"

"For you, my love, anything."

------

Commentary: I suddenly had the thought of what if? Raverne is actually a lot more evil than Maleanor ever was. It's just that he was so smart, so clever, that nobody caught on. This fic was just supposed to be a comedic exchange lmao but I liked the idea too much so it turned into a short fic.

#twisted wonderland #raverne draconia #maleanor draconia #ventique rambles #malleus draconia #twst yuu #malleyuu #dire crowley

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dany-is-my-queen · 5 months ago

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A QUESTION OF LOYALTY XVI

Rhaenyra Targaryen x reader, Alicent Hightower x reader

Word count: 2.4k

Summary: When dragons of green and dragons of black dance, you have to choose the color that suits you best.

Note: @nnightskiess have not forgotten, hope I don´t make you suffer before the series resumes 😣

Note 2: Thanks everybody for the patience!!! Lots of love.

"It will be okay," you heard the whisper, but the voice was unrecognizable, heightening your alertness. The fire intensified, burning your skin like never before.

You wanted to scream, use your voice to provide support, but in vain. "Y/N," you heard, but where was it coming from? "Y/N," louder now.

"Wake up," you finally managed to open your eyes; Alicent was by your side, concerned. "We need to bring down that fever," she said, trying to get up, and you snapped out of the trance.

"Is Rhaenyra okay?" you asked abruptly.

Alicent hesitated for a moment, then looked away. "Is Rhaenyra okay?" she echoed your question; cursing internally, you took her hand before she could stand. “I was worried about you, I am," she replied.

You squeezed her hand, then brought her hands to your face. Suddenly, a sensation took over your entire body. Silverwing was back. You needed fresh air to decipher the message of that nightmare.

Alicent looked at you with more confusion; you quickly got out of bed, dressed, and gave her a fleeting kiss, but it felt cold. Before she could even react, you found yourself in the dragon pit, facing a youngling who seemed unfazed by your dragon's presence. You regarded him with genuine curiosity.

"Are you new here?" you inquired sincerely. He turned to meet your gaze.

"Not entirely. My name is Addam, my lady."

"They can sense fear, so I advise against exposing yourself if you're not prepared," you advised, soothing your dragon with a gentle stroke.

He chuckled innocently, gesturing towards the cave adjacent to yours. "I haven't quite earned Seasmoke's utter trust yet, but we're making progress."

You furrowed your brow, prompting another laugh from him. "Why the surprise? Don't I have the demeanor of a dragonrider?"

You detected a hint of a familiar gaze in him, reflected in his eyes. "And your second name?"

"Once Rivers, now Velaryon," he declared firmly.

"Did you manage to tame my brother's dragon?" A touch of sadness tinted the conversation. "Whose son are you?"

"I believe it's time we speak to our father."

——————

A few days had passed since that disorienting morning, the unsettling dream, and the revelation of your "brother." You were grappling with a sense of disorientation, and encountering the girl you once held dear was becoming unbearable. Joffrey's arrival in the capital added to your uncertainty, leaving you unsure if his anger towards you would dissipate. You abandoned everyone while intending to be with everybody.

Despite Corlys's attempts to engage you in private conversation, you rebuffed him, as it reminded you too much of your mother. Did she know? If he did, did he share his secret too? It was a burden you couldn't bear to confront at the moment.

————-

Upon entering the room, only Daemon and Rhaenyra were present, apparently engaged in a heated argument.

"Your Grace, did you summon me?" you asked calmly to her, while Daemon sighed in annoyance upon noticing you.

"Here comes your whore," Daemon directed his hatred towards you, never having liked you. What a surprise.

"You will refer to her with respect, am I clear?" Rhaenyra ordered him.

"I've told her a thousand times that you're no longer interested in her, that you chose my brother's widow over her, and that she's the one who has you wrapped around her finger, that she should have forgotten about you a long time ago. You filthy traitor.”

You couldn't contain yourself and stooped to his level, simply recalling the kind of man he has always been and how he forced your sister Laena to stay and perish in a place foreign to her home. Laena deserved someone much better, just like Rhaenyra.

"Why don't you go back to Pentos and stay there for the rest of your days? Here, you'll never be more than a second son, a prince consort, and a first-rate oaf," you spat angrily. He grazed his sword with his hand, gripping it tightly, so you did the same with yours.

"I should have ripped your head off when I had the chance or pierced Dark Sister through your skull like I did with your pathetic, deviant brother. You disgust me just like he did," he confessed to the crime that haunted you for far too long since all the incidents at Driftmark, which instinctively led you to draw your sword in a flash before he or the Queen could react. He was stronger and taller than you, but you managed to bring him down to the floor, threateningly placing the blade at his throat. He just let out an insolent chuckle without attempting to defend himself.

"Oh, fret not, don't want you to be upset with my dear wife afterwards. She had nothing to do with it. We were going to let him go with his fifth-rate knight, but I figured he might do something stupid, as people of your kind often do. So I took care of it," he concluded, recounting his story with the corresponding details. You brought the sword closer to his neck, scratching it slightly.

"Go ahead, thrust it, I dare you," he began. Your body felt on fire, along with your anger and helplessness. You wanted to end him there and then, that cunt was a killer. “Oh, right, you don't have it in you. Could it be that you're reluctant because you'd rather shield Rhaenyra from glimpsing your less flattering traits? Are you afraid she won't love you the same way?"

"Y/N, please stop. I didn't know, I would have never allowed it. The plan and what we agreed upon with Laenor was to escape free of all burdens and responsibilities. If I could go back, I swear I would change it, I would change my decisions. He dithered because of you, he didn't want to leave you behind, nor Laena. I'm so sorry," she sincerely spoke with her voice filled with honesty. "You're better than this."

"But you're not better at fucking her," he murmured arrogantly. That's when you had enough, and with the hilt of Nightrider, you struck him, rendering him unconscious. You couldn't bear to hear any more poison coming from his mouth.

"Y/N… listen," Rhaenyra tried to get your attention, but you weren't interested in hearing her now. You stood up and left the room without uttering another word. Whatever she said next never reached your ears. "Don't walk away from me..”

———-

After Haelena's little one got murdered, the whole funeral ordeal, and all those revenge promises, Alicent ended up at the lake on the outskirts of King’s Landing. She was decked out in this white dress, her eyes carrying regret and fear. She knew things were about to go downhill fast; her mind was stuck on snapshots from her youth—like that time with you on Silverwing, cradling their tiny ones for the first time, holding her mom's hand exploring castles near the Hightower.

You came up, giving her a hug from behind, understanding her need for space but also getting she didn't want to be left alone, especially now. You trailed her quietly, wrapping your arms around her slim waist. The mist lifted, the water thickened. Your face found its way to the nape of her neck, planting a shy kiss; she felt the warmth of your lips, defying the chilly air.

No words were traded that time, and none were needed. Just being there for each other was what you craved at that very moment, just feeling.

———-

The early mornings persisted in tormenting you, and the same phlegm-filled scene was all that your retina perceived after witnessing the decapitation of the primary traitors to Rhaenyra, among them Otto. Your loyalty seemed to have lost its value; no one knew which side you were on, and a sense of unease pervaded your being. Doubt inundated your thoughts, and it inflicted more damage on Alicent than anyone else. It had to cease.

"Y/N…" she called out to you, finding you in the corridors. However, you chose to ignore her, as you had in the preceding days, even after her father's demise. "Will this continue in this manner? You no longer sleep in our room. What has occurred? Please, talk to me," she insisted. Nevertheless, you persisted in disregarding her. You had to act in accordance with what felt right at that moment. "We don't know where Aegon is or if he's well. My father has been beheaded, my children are distant, and Helaena scarcely leaves her chamber. I have no allies here. I feel like I'm losing you too." Her voice broke, accentuating your growing indifference, if that were even possible.

"Tell me why you're trying to conceal it if you have something to say."

You loved Alicent; there was no doubt about that. You loved her enough to spare her from this situation. Or were you merely succumbing to the same cowardice as years ago, when you sought her out solely because Rhaenyra had labeled you a whore?

"I'm sorry about your father," you murmured, still unable to articulate your thoughts.

"She did this, Y/N. She's here to seize everything, not just the throne but you as well. Will you allow it?"

Your countenance reflected an acute internal conflict. Alicent clung to the hope that what followed would be erroneous.

"Do you still love her after all she's done to us? Has she twisted you to her will once again so swiftly?" Each question was infused with pure pain, yet she desperately needed to hear you confess.

Your silence only served to confirm it; you had become mute.

"We've become a love that inflicts pain," you finally articulated.

"Is that all you have to say?"

"Aemond could return at any moment; you need to speak with him."

"So he forgives the lives of the usurpers?" she asked incredulously, displaying annoyance.

"We don't desire more deaths, Alicent. She is our rightful queen—" before you could complete the sentence, you felt Alicent's hand on your cheek. It was impulsive, born out of desperation, driven by jealousy, perhaps a culmination of various emotions; yet, she did not regret it in that moment.

You regarded her with surprise, but it was not unexpected. You had behaved like an immature 16-year-old girl, and she was unwilling to endure it again.

———

Rhaenyra was acutely aware of the imperative to persistently fortify her position within the heart of King's Landing. The lingering skepticism among a considerable number of individuals, who still refused to acknowledge her as the rightful queen, was more than mere whispers. It extended to some influential figures within the court, casting doubt on her legitimacy.

Simultaneously, Rhaenyra grasped the precariousness of abandoning the capital. The impending return of the middle Green brother signaled an imminent counterattack to reclaim the city. Aemond's unpredictable nature made it unclear how he would navigate the situation. Entrusting one of the Greens' scarce dragons to him, coupled with his lack of finesse in delicate matters, heightened the uncertainty.

The ensuing events took an unforeseen turn as the young prince and his dragon loitered on the outskirts of the city, in a secluded village where Vhagar had been observed for several weeks. Uncertainty loomed over Aemond's course of action, but Rhaenyra was wary of potential surprises.

"The Prince is in close proximity. His dragon incessantly circles the vicinity," reported the maester. Rhaenyra's countenance betrayed no overt concern, yet a flicker of resentment tinged her gaze at the mention of Aemond. It was only a matter of time.

"Let's pay my half-brother an unanticipated visit," Rhaenyra declared. Her gaze met yours, and it was evident that her directive for you to accompany her was not a matter of choice but a command. "And lady y/n, you're coming with me."

Your immediate acknowledgement underscored the non-negotiable nature of the order. "Yes, Your Grace," you replied succinctly. "It's prudent to intercept him before he reaches the city. The devastation he has wrought on remote villages, even among his allies, could escalate significantly if he arrives here."

"Exactly. I must engage him away from the populace. His intent is not only to seize my throne but obliterate what is rightfully ours," she concluded.

Daemon's audible discontent with being excluded was met with Rhaenyra's response. "Silverwing surpasses Caraxes in size. Moreover, your presence is essential here in case the usurper decides on an unforeseen return," she retorted, her tone dry and definitive. With an arrogant sigh, Daemon exited the chamber.

———

As you approached the Dragon Pit, you beheld her getting ready to mount Syrax, and your thoughts drifted back to that initial encounter.

"Who can understand the heart of a dragon?"

Another dragon emerged, and your alleged brother Addam, offered a timid smile as he mounted it—a moment reciprocated with your own nod.

—

The journey could've been briefer, but precautions were taken to avoid the townsfolk's prying eyes, where rumors of Aemond's presence lingered.

Out of the dragons' sight, the trio headed to a tavern to strategize. The plan seemed dubious to you, but you complied with the Queen's orders nonetheless.

Rhaenyra donned a chestnut wig, attempting to blend in inconspicuously, a stark contrast to her usual visibility. Addam, an unknown face, posed no issue, and you kept your hood up, adopting an Essos accent for authenticity.

"Ale, please," you asked the provocative waitress, whose intensity wasn't lost on you, making you slightly uneasy.

The Queen intervened, ordering "Water only" once the waitress was out of earshot. Perplexed, you questioned her choice.

"Here with a purpose. Can't afford distractions," she emphasized. Addam, sensing tension, lightened the mood with a jest.

“Can we indulge in a bit of enjoyment?”

“No.” She said stiffly.

Having received complimentary shots, the Queen, annoyed, paid and swiftly ushered you out. Adam stayed behind, kind of aware of the underlying dynamics.

In the rented room, the Queen discarded the wig, sipping wine. Perplexed, you questioned her abrupt change.

"Why the sudden shift? Now you are driniking," you remarked, gently yet seriously.

Concerned about potential espionage, she warned about the waitress being a possible spy. Frustrated, you defended the harmless encounter, asserting your commitment to the mission.

"I don't know why you're acting like this. We're not teenagers. What's gotten into you?" you queried.

Regretful, she apologized, admitting her lapse in judgment.

“I understand. We need to stay focused and vigilant,” she agreed, nodding. “We can’t afford any slip-ups”

“I've come to negotiate with Aemond," she disclosed, surprising you. In a moment of hope, you acknowledged the possibility of averting further bloodshed, honoring Luke's memory, Jace´s memory.

------

Taglist: @nnightskiess @loveislove4 @evattude @lethal-minds @sophiexoxsblog @claymoresword @tired-ninfa @glorioushamsterqueen @barbicent @newcaptainofsquad9 @pindoris @oh-thats-cute @rxscpctals @laenordeservedbetter @voniikg @toot-is-tired @letlovee-in @urmomsgirlfriend1 @valenciavv @the-camilucha @joliettes @itssecret2109 @i-nail-jello-to-walls @cone-fused-mind @livingdreams97

#got #game of thrones fic #rhaenyra targaryen #alicent hightower x reader #rhaenyra targaryen x reader #alicent hightower #hotd #house of the dragon fic #house of the dragon

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janearts · 1 year ago

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okay but what is the state of astarion's kidneys? what has roisia observed in regards to astarion's kidneys? i must now know!

[Anon is referencing this post.]

¯\_(ツ)_/¯ Who knows? Roisia's observations below the read-more.

[Just a wee reminder that I'm not a medical professional. Take everything I say below with a grain of salt as I am just as likely to be flat out wrong. I also want to acknowledge that I'm mixing in some stereotypical vampire traits with what we can figure out about vampires in BG3.]

Roisia believes that Astarion has a partially functioning cardiovascular system. That is to say, he certainly contains blood. He bruises and he bleeds. He can even perish from exsanguination himself. He can experience erections (presumably, anyway). Why he doesn't have a heartbeat is beyond her. Does his blood just sit stagnant in his arteries and veins? What the hell is going on in there?

In the living, kidneys form a pivotal function: they filter the waste (urea) in your blood and create urine to be expelled from the body via the bladder. They also perform a critical function by regulating the blood in your body (volume, pressure, acidity, etc.).

So Roisia knows, for example, that the average medium-sized humanoid has roughly 5 litres of blood in them. The kidneys make sure you stay at whatever level is natural for you, because excessive fluid will increase the pressure on your arterial walls. So the question for Roisia becomes: if Astarion drinks blood to excess, would he experience hypertension or bloating? Or perhaps both? Or maybe neither?

In some form or fashion, the waste that Astarion intakes (e.g., if you're into the vampire version of menstruation sexy times, if he drinks from Roisia's external jugular, etc.) or generates through his own bodily functions needs to be expelled. Does he piss it out? Does he sweat it out? Does he vomit it out? Does it misty escape out of his body while he rests?

The answer could simply be: the waste is magicked out of his body and that's that. If Roisia knew that Astarion urinates, then she would assume his kidney is probably functioning to some degree. If his urinary system is non-functioning, then she would be curious as to how the critical functions mentioned above are managed or if they're even necessary at all for the undead.

TL;DR: Roisia would likely have some sort of idea, but I (IRL) don't have the information I feel I need to even hazard a guess. And I must say questions like this would make Roisia want so very, very badly to take a peek at his insides or at the insides of any vampire or vampire spawn. She is not a Dark Urge character, but that is her dark urge born from an insatiable curiosity to figure out how people—living, dead, or undead—work.

Bonus Points:

Roisia would answer her own questions above with the following theories:

Digestive system could be partially functional if the blood that is consumed is sent to the stomach and then absorbed in whole or in part through the digestive process.

Respiratory system is also likely partially functional. I.e., Astarion can use his lungs (to speak or sigh, for example), but neither a vampire nor a vampire spawn requires air.

Endocrine system is likely no longer functional. (This is my own headcanon so Roisia doesn't have to worry about an unwanted pregnancy.) She knows that the endocrine systems of a Vampire lord are likely somewhat functional due to the existence of Dhampyr. His colder body temperature could be the result of the lack of function of the hypothalamus.

Integumentary system is likely functional to a certain degree. E.g., vampires and vampire spawn are naturally regenerative, but if you were to shave Astarion bald, would his hair grow back to the way it was prior to his death? Skin also helps with temperature regulation and provides a barrier from UV radiation, so it may not be fully functional if his body is a colder temperature and is extremely sensitive to sunlight. (Are his melanocytes dysfunctional or dead?)

Lymphatic system is likely functional to some degree. This would assist the blood consumption + waste removal processes, presumably. It's a bit of a stretch, but since Astarion can experience a diseased condition type (e.g., Flesh Rot, Contagion), perhaps surviving that (after 25 turns) could be spun as an indication of a non-magical immune response?

#Baldur's Gate 3 #BG3 #BG3 Roisia #Astarion Ancunin #Astarion #anon i wrote u an essay on tumblr.com and i am sorry #RIP ur dash

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constantinerkives · 2 years ago

Text

Unholy Matrimony, YJM // (M)

PAIRINGS: GP Demon! Yoo Jimin x fem violinist reader

WARNINGS: bl00d, demonic ritual, use of classical music as a means of summoning a demon, brief mention of religion, violinist reader, YJM is the daughter of the big man downstairs (if you get what I mean), reader's in her early thirties but she offered herself when she was twenty-three, Karina has poetic rizz, overstimulation, multiple orgasms, marking, mating, unprotected sex (stay safe ya'll), breeding, breeding kink, creampie, age-gap, Karina speaks IN LATIN, who are we kidding, KARINA IS THE MAIN WARNING

SYNOPSIS: It's amazing how desperation can lead from one thing to another. You crave to be recognized, to be valued. And it's selfish - but she approves. After all, it's humane - greed. And she'd be a terrible wife if she doesn't support your one-way trip to eternal damnation. But that's where she comes in, to stop it from happening and give you nothing but luxury and comfort. I guess you can say that being married to a devil isn't bad after all.

A/N: Hi guys! this is my first fic, hope you like it <3333 I've also made some modifications from the original story, hope you guys won't mind. Sorry to keep you guys waiting but I was fighting demons (lmao) for the plot of this one-shot, Happy reading <3!

WORDCOUNT: 9, 535 oops this was self-indulgent AHHAHAHA shi-

THIS IS ALL FICTITIOUS AND THEREFORE SHALL NOT BE TAKEN SERIOUSLY.

TERMS AND DEFINITIONS: Melodiam meum - means 'my melody' in Latin Dilecto - beloved in Latin Hermaphrodite - an organism having both male and female sex organs or other sexual characteristics, either abnormally or as a natural condition Brava - well done or very good. It is used to praise a female performer

It's ridiculous

The creature watches with amusement as it eyes the young lady standing alone in her spacious living room. Her silhouette is wrapped in darkness with no source of light other than the soft glow of five white candles circling her. Her face remains in the dark, veiled with desperation with a whiff of mystery.

How desperation can lead you to commit the things you thought you wouldn't do.

"Please," She whispers, "Please work,"

It inclines its head, watching as the young lady pulls out a kitchen knife. The blade glints menacingly in the dark as she positions it atop her wrist.

Do you want to do this?

And cuts her flesh, crimson dense liquid oozes out of her flesh and she directs it to-

The creature sneers. A violin. Her blood coats the strings of the instrument, and traces of her drip down to the floor as she picks up the bloody violin and begins to play a familiar piece; popular with seasoned violinists.

The Devil's Trill Sonata

You are a desperate girl...

She plays with feverish determination all while her wrist continues to bleed. The demon crosses its legs, arms crossed against its chest, and leans comfortably against the velvet settee.

That's it. Keep playing. I am no stranger to greed. Play it with your heart's desires.

Her fingers smoothly transitioned from one note to another, clean and precise. The first movement leads you to a false sense of softness and beauty, and slowly...the devil grins as the young woman slightly loses her balance. She's running out of time, running out of blood. Ah, poor soul. She hasn't even reached the second movement yet. It seems like another soul will perish for nothing. It watches with practiced dismay as the girl's body visibly pales, and she's beginning to lose her energy. She's one push away from knocking a candle and collapsing - losing her life to a meaningless offer.

After all, what the devil played was far superior to what Giuseppe Tartini had played. The creature's lips curl to a sneer. No other violinist had come close to its execution.

Then, with a stroke of luck, the girl regained her composure for some unfathomable reason. The devil blinks, surprised by the sudden change as she grounds her feet against the tiled floors pooling with her blood and strokes the strings violently; the entity's face beams with unbridled pride. The girl plays over four octaves of the note G, with her hands stretched out over three octaves. A move that the daughter of Lucifer can only execute.

Interesting

The human plays with intensity now, and the entity finds itself leaning away from the backrest of the seat, watching with phantom hawk-like eyes as the girl pours every last bit of her living minutes into its piece. For centuries, no one has executed it the same way this mere human did. Anger and envy flash in its eyes as it flicks a hand. The candles' feeble light extinguishes, all except one, and the girl weakly gasps.

The entity hastily stands up from the velvet settee and gracefully stalks toward the confused and terrified girl as she mumbles: "What? What the hell happened - did it work?"

Oh, it did pretty human.

It grabbed the candle as it willed itself to manifest a physical form. The young woman gasps as the creature grabs her by the collar of her blouse, and with its' other hand, it holds the candle next to her features. The woman lets out a pathetic yelp as she looks up only to see two rich ichor irises looking down at her with scorn, envy, and dare she adds amusement.

The demon examines her delicate features, soft brown eyes, fair skin, and a whiff of innocence that crumbles down to greed and desperation.

And fear

It's beautiful

"Have I satisfied you?" The girl meekly starts. Her voice sounds distant. She's hanging on for dear life, and the demon wanted her to fall into the pits of eternal damnation. But it begrudgingly longed for her to play it again. For no human played it as well as she.

The entity narrows its' eyes as the girl begins to lose her balance. Her knees were about to give out if it wasn't for the being holding her by the collar.

The demon leans close, and the girl's eyes visibly shake. It slowly lets go of her collar and reaches out for her cut wrist, its talons almost cutting into her skin. She gasps as she felt a searing burn crawl over her cut wrist.

"Be seeing you," It said, vowed. Before the demon drops the candle and lets go of the girl, allowing her to collapse into her pool of blood before it disappears into thin air.

Years have passed, and you are a renowned violinist of your generation. Here you stand in front of your devoted fans, playing the piece that brought you money, power, and glory in the world of music.

A small smile graces your lips as the curtains close, and the theater erupts in cheers and applause. Another successful concert lands on your plate. You return to your first stance as your posture relaxes, and you make your way backstage. Your handler, Park Sooyoung, her fair complexion glows underneath the lights. Her exquisite red dress hugs her body flawlessly as she approaches you with a wide grin and drapes her arm around your shoulder. "Another successful concert - this calls for a celebration!" She wriggles her brows, and you merely chuckle in reply.

As much as you want to, your muscles crave rest. And a drink.

With an apologetic smile, you reject your handler's offer for a celebratory dinner, promising to eat with her tomorrow, but for now, you need a night's rest.

She understands with a soft smile and gently pats your shoulder. "Of course, you deserve it after playing The Devil's Trill Sonata for almost fifteen minutes." Sooyoung chuckles. "But I'll escort you to your private drinking booth before I, too, call it a night. How does that sound?"

"Perfect," You agree, and the latter takes you to your destination and leaves you to your drink of choice, red wine. Château Lafite Rothschild.

A pleased sigh leaves your lips as you unceremoniously collapse on your seat. Tired eyes examining your surroundings, your booth is a spacious room. Walls wrapped with high-quality velvet wallpaper, expensive paintings depicting pagan Gods, the lights were the same, albeit softer to look at, and plants to give the room a bit of life.

A relaxing sight. You pour your wine and lean comfortably against your seat, your head thrown back, allowing your neck to rest whilst your right hand holds the stem of your wine glass.

That's what life's about, luxury.

And you bathed in it. You crave the beauty of wealth and luxury that your way in life has brought to you.

Just as you're basking in peace, a figure emerges from the shadows in a black blur. You didn't notice it until the atmosphere grows heavy, your skin prickling at the sensation that someone is watching you.

"Indeed, that's what life's all about. Isn't it? Basking in luxury."

"You've done well tonight, Ji Y/N." Says a feminine voice, steely, low, and churning. You snap your head towards the owner of the voice; your face turns bloodless, even at the warm glow of the light, and there sits a resplendent woman wearing a black cropped blazer; underneath it is a matching black tube and matching back trousers and heels. At the base of her slim neck is a layered gold necklace. The outfit was simple, but her features made up for it. The woman sitting before you has a fair complexion that will put the moon to shame, a sharp jaw, plump lips, luscious black hair tied neatly to a high ponytail, and a small face. Not to mention her lean stature and posture. Judging by the way she gracefully sits, she's taller than you. And just like you, she too is holding a wine glass, slim fingers, and perfectly manicured nails secure the stem of her glass.

But something's amiss. Yes, she is human, a beautiful human, and you're no stranger to all things beautiful - but something about this woman's beauty throws you off.

A trip to the uncanny - something about her doesn't match humanity at all.

She lacked warmth, not only in her eyes but her overall presence.

"Who are you?" You demanded, "What are you doing here?"

The woman's lips curl to a grin, showing you her perfect set of teeth. "You don't remember?" She asks in return, unperturbed. Your face twists to a scowl, "I asked you a question." Posture bristling with guarded animosity before you peered over her shoulder. "Security!"

The air grows heavy as the woman holds an open palm up. She is no longer smiling. "That won't be necessary." Her voice was cold and cutting, booming with authority like no other. Then, her grin returns. "Perhaps this shall jog your memory, pretty girl."

She blinks, and her cold, brown eyes change to a rich hue of gold. Menacing and distant.

"Be seeing you,"

On cue, your right wrist burns, causing you to drop your wine glass against the carpeted floor. You back away from her, standing up too hastily, and in return your seat tumbles.

"You," A sharp gasp leaves your lips. No, it's too soon. A cold, hard laugh tumbles from the latter's lips. "My," She sips her drink before gently setting it against the tabletop.

"Are you here to collect my soul?" There it is again, that meek tone. The devil inclines her head to the side, brows furrowed. "Me? Collect you? Oh. No, no. Not yet melodiam meum." You don't know what it means, but the way it rolled off her tongue made your gut churn.

"Then why are you here?" You voiced out.

She eyes you up and down. "You know, my beloved. I am offended by the turn of events." She stands up, and you instinctively back away as she circles the table and stalks toward you. Her hips swayed in a sultry manner as she did. She keeps advancing until your back is pressed against the wall, hands pressed to your sides while the raven-haired enigma delicately brushes her knuckles against your cheek. The contact sends shivers down your spine. Her proximity allows you to inhale her seductive scent. The blend of florals with amber and musk is a perfect balance of femininity and masculinity.

"For years, I watched over you. I made sure no harm came to you and only commanded success to fall into your plate. I blessed you with concert after concert - and I know your love for all things beautiful." The devil purrs.

"So I made myself beautiful for you, dilecto."

Not a single lie in sight. "Who are you?"

"Karina," She replies, "My name is Karina Yoo." The latter pauses. Her gold eyes trailed down from your eyes to your lips.

"Do remember that, my bride. I will walk the earth with you until your time here is due. And the world will know me as your companion, your spouse."

And your vision turns black.

You woke with a groan, your head throbs with pain, and you shift in your bed. The white sheets cling onto your skin as you lay on your side, the sun peeking through your curtains, blessing your suite with its light. You stare up at the ceiling, rubbing the sleep of your eyes, and as you regain your awareness. Well, so are your memories of last night.

Your body quickly turns cold, and you sit up, muscles aching in protest, but you ignore it as you check yourself. You are wearing your sleepwear as opposed to the form-fitting dress you wore for the concert last night. Nothing else seems to be wrong except for the fact that you did not change your dress last night. Who brought you to your suite, then? It couldn't be Sooyoung. She went on her way first.

"You're awake," Says a familiar, cold voice.

The hairs at the back of your neck rise.

Slowly, you turn your head to the tall figure leaning against the doorway to your lounging area. Karina, as she calls herself, is no longer wearing her black suit. Instead, she's wearing a white button-up shirt, black trousers that reach three inches above her ankles, and black oxfords. Her rich, black hair cascaded freely like a black waterfall.

"Karina," You rasped, and the devil's lips curled to a smile. "You remembered."

You press your back against the headboard, posture brustling with animosity as your hands' fists the sheets. "What did you do to me?"

The latter frowns, "I did nothing, pretty girl. I merely allowed your body to rest for tonight before-"

"Before what?" You cut her off breathlessly as your forehead begins to sweat, and your body becomes warm with each passing second - soon, your body is veiled by a thin sheen of sweat, making you uncomfortable as you throw the duvet away from your feverish body.

Your stomach churns harshly, and your eyes sting as you fall onto your side, hands clutching your stomach as you look at the entity standing at the foot of your bed, eyes studying your writhing figure.

"What did you do to me?" You sob as the pain doubles, fiery, almost.

Karina's features break to a knowing smile as if she had seen this before and approaches the side of your bed, the mattress dips at her weight and reaches a pale, slender hand towards you, and you find yourself not moving, too feverish, so you let her touch you. And her touch was soothing.

"Shhh," The raven-haired enigma coaxes, "Your body is reacting to its new owner. Best to let me handle this, Y/N."

New owner?

You couldn't process anything, distracted by her touch soothes your hot skin as you slowly relax into the sheets. A relieved sigh leaves your lips as the pain ebbs away.

"Easy does it," She remarks, "Are you feeling better now, delicto?"

"Yes," You reply curtly as you eye her warily. "Wonderful," She gracefully stands from your bed, "Now rest. I'm sure you have questions for me once you recover."

"No," You protest, and her gaze turns sharp, making you shrink in your bed as she tilts her head. "No? What do you mean no?"

"I have a meeting with a sponsor," You stammer under her piercing gaze. The latter pauses, "You have plenty of time to prepare, rest. I'll take care of it."

"Take care of what?"

She flashed her bright golden eyes at you, and once again, your vision turns black. Three hours later, a scandal broke out.

Italy is known for its warm, Mediterranean climate. Summers are always hot, sunny, and dry.

But no amount of summer dresses can protect you from the cold, piercing gaze of your handler who sits across you in a cafe with her arms crossed and her expression blank.

After Karina took care of your meeting with a sponsor, word got out fast and a controversy broke out with your fans shocked at the fact that you are married. Hence the meeting with your handler, who also knew nothing of the situation.

"So," She begins, "You're married?"

You tried not to cringe as you looked at Karina; who was sitting beside you, drinking her espresso with gusto. She wore a black coat with red lapels, a black turtle neck, trousers, and heels.

"Yes," She replies as she sets down her mug. Sooyoung slowly turns to your 'wife' before looking at you. "And since when were you two married?"

"Seven years," Karina smoothly replies. You two shared a glance. Seven years ago, you offered your soul to her.

"And how come I only knew about this after Mrs. Yoo talked to your sponsor?"

"I wasn't feeling well," You wince, "I told my wife-" This coming off from your tongue is a foreign sensation. "That it can wait, but she insisted."

"Y/N was bone-tired last night." Karina adds, "I'd be a terrible wife if I insist that she gets out of the house to speak to the sponsor, so I took it upon myself to go." You softly cleared your throat, "How did the public react to this?"

"They've seen Karina's photos." Sooyoung leans against her seat, "They approve of her." A wry smile graced her lips, "That adds your wife to their list of 'celebrity crushes' I believe."

You repressed a sigh of relief, "That's good news."

"Don't be too relieved yet," She massages her temples, "You have yet to address this at your conference. I'll have your script ready, and of course, your wife has to follow it as well." She turns to look at the devil disguised as your wife. "Is that okay with you?"

Karina grins and suddenly interlocks her hand with yours. The sudden action surprises you, and she flashes you a look. Your lips form a practiced smile, and you duck your head as if you are flustered.

"Yes, I'm fine with it. So long as this keeps my wife happy."

"Good, the conference starts at 2 PM sharp. Let's get you both ready before then."

Addressing your marriage to the public was easy. The press loved ogling at your 'wife'. You can't blame them though she looked ethereal in her outfit; a form-fitting black, high-neck dress and a black blazer draped over her shoulders, and her hair was freely cascading down to her breasts with diamond earrings as her accessories while you wore white dress. Both of you looked exquisite during the conference, and you didn't forget the way the reporters begin talking all at once upon announcing your next concert and the piece you'll be laying next.

The Last Rose Of Summer by Heinrich Wilhelm Ernst.

Heinrich Wilhelm Ernst is not the biggest name in classical music, but his ‘The Last Rose Of Summer’ is notorious among violinists for being a complete nightmare to play. Ernst was an obsessive devotee of Paganini, the original violin rockstar, and he loved to include stupidly complex pizzicato in his music. Karina's soft lips curl to a smirk as she ends the event by taking your hand in hers. You eye her cautiously. This wasn't part of the script?

Still, she raises your hand and brings it to her soft, warm lips, pecking the back of your palm. Your cheeks warmed as the cameras flashed. Your spouse looks at the press and flashes them a jaw-dropping smile. "We'll get going now. May you all have a nice afternoon." Without another word, she leads you down from the stage and to the exit, where a sleek black car awaits the both of you.

"Take us back to the hotel, please." You told the driver. The man nods and was about to close the partition before Karina speaks up. "Take us to Ratanà, Mr. Giovani. I'll treat my wife to a nice meal after the conference."

"Very well, Mrs. Yoo." The driver replies with a thick accent before finally closing the partition. You glare at the latter while she leans comfortably against the leather cushion and looks at you. Karina arched a perfectly sculpted brow. "Why the surly look, wife?"

"What are you going to do in a restaurant?" You snap at her. Karina guffaws in amusement.

"I'd like to see how the world changed after centuries." She simply answers. "I'd like to see more of the world with my two eyes."

A huff leaves your lips as you turn away from her and cross your arms against your chest. "You still have some explaining to do."

"Which is why a restaurant is a perfect place for it."

"People will hear you."

"I've booked us a private booth." You snapped your head towards her, "You did what?"

"I won't repeat myself, beloved." She chuckles, "As you've said, I owe you an explanation.

The people inside Ratanà gawked at the two of you as soon as you entered the restaurant. The clattering of plates and utensils stopped as well. You flush at the reaction while your wife places her hand on the small of your back. Even with your dress, you can't help but shudder at the contact as she flashes the crowd a charming smile before leading you to your private booth with a female waiter stationed outside your door.

"We'll order later," Karina's smooth velvet voice coaxed the woman into an agreement before finally entering the private booth.

She pulls out the chair for you to sit on, and you begrudgingly obey as she sits across you. Silence permeated the air. Gone is her alluring aura, replaced by enigma. As if all of it was an act - it is.

"Where to begin, where to begin." She mused wryly.

"Why are you here if not to claim my soul, then?" You snap, "Why waste your time tagging along?"

Karina tilts her head. Her intelligent eyes regarded you.

"Well," She begins with a distant smile. "I visited you every two years, watching from afar while you amassed your concerts just to see how your talent has bloomed."

You wait for her to explain further, "I'll be frank, darling." Your gut churns at the endearment. "Throwing you into the pits of hell after your time is done is nothing but an exercise of futility, a talent like yours deserves to have a place next to mine."

Your brows furrow, "Next to yours?"

Her lips curled, "Why do you think you offered your soul to me out of all the demons out there?"

You replied with silence, and Karina narrowed her eyes in disapproval. "Something tells me that you didn't gather the slightest bit of information about who I am, delicto." She leaned away from the backrest of her seat and interlaced her fingers together. "Tell me, do you know who I am?"

"A devil who named herself Karina Yoo."

A scoff befalls her lips, "Foolish girl, you're lucky to have offered your soul to me."

"Why?" You snarked, "If I'm so lucky, why?"

Her eyes flashed, "My father," She hisses through gritted teeth, "Is the angel of music. Lucifer was the angel of music. After his fall, he reigned in Hell and has simply lost interest in that title." Her expression darkens, "Which is why I took that spot while I helped humanity discover it with my profound ability that I inherited from him."

Your eyes subtly widen, "Yes," She growled.

"You're sitting with the daughter of Lucifer. His finest creation, second to music." Her eyes glowed to cruel gold. "And you tied yourself to me, Ji Y/N. You offered your body and soul to me. That makes you mine as I am yours."

Something's not right. Why is there an indirect statement of equality?

As if reading your mind, she addresses it with a softer tone.

"As I've said, my beloved: leaving you to burn in hell would be a waste. I have taste in talent just as much as you have taste for beautiful things. In my millennium of harvesting souls, I am nothing but a sponsor to those who offer themselves to me. I will keep you. I've decided to keep you after hearing you play all these years. And I confess that I envy your ability, albeit you're human. I am still superior to you on all levels, but when it comes to music, we are equals."

"So that makes me your actual wife, then?" You squeaked. Karina lets out a rumbling chuckle, "Oh, yes, darling." You hold her gaze, and this time, it's intense.

"That makes you mine as I am yours." She husked, her eyes tracing your features possessively. "So if you had any lovers or flavors of the day, forget about them."

"So possessive," You remark shakily, and the latter lets out a wolfish grin. "I am a demanding creature, Y/N." She then leans away from you. "We can order now. After this, we can return to the hotel, and you can start practicing the piece you'll perform at your concert next month. The earlier you master it, the better. And I will help you along the way."

She's right, of course, but you wouldn't admit it to her face.

"Alright, call in the waitress."

Your routine is divided from going out with your wife to practicing until your fingers go numb.

The Last Rose Of Summer by Heinrich Wilhelm Ernst was the last of his Six Polyphonic Studies for solo violin. It is a set of incredibly difficult variations for the violin. The first few weeks were nothing but agony as you practiced in a private setting, preferably away from the devil of music.

For days, it's either you couldn't transition smoothly to another note, or you struck a wrong chord. Either way, it's still a mistake.

This complex set—full of every imaginable and unimaginable technical difficulty—includes an introduction, theme, four variations, and a devilish finale. At first glance, an impossible task. This one requires both physical and mental fortitude. And each mistake drains it out of you.

"Jeez," Sooyoung hisses as soon as she sets foot into the room. "Y/N, get yourself off the floor and sit on the couch, will you?"

A tired groan leaves your lips as you force yourself to get up. Your muscles ached in protest as a result of standing for hours.

"You know what," Sooyoung sighs as soon as you unceremoniously plop on the couch. "How about we call your wife, hm?"

"No," You sigh as your tired mind thinks of a lie. "She's busy."

"Busy doing what?" Shit

"Managing her family's financial reports." Yeah, that should do it.

"Don't be ridiculous," The latter admonishes, "Your wife is never too busy for you. I'll call her."

"Sooyoung no-" Too late, she had dialed her number, and you tuned out their conversation. "She says she's on her way." Your handler informs you as soon as she drops the call, "See, I told you she isn't too busy when it comes to you."

"Whatever," You mumble as you close your eyes to get a few minutes rest.

By the time Karina made her presence known, it was already evening. You scowl at her as you groggily sit up. "What took you so long?"

"You looked peaceful," She snorts, "And besides, you're more tolerable when you're not scowling at me all the time."

"What time is it?"

The devil checks her watch. She bought it a few days ago from Bulgari. "6:37 PM, why?"

"Shit, that's late."

"You needed rest," She reminds you as she sits next to you. You lean away, taken aback by her proximity as she looks down at your fingers, "And your fingers were turning purple. You practiced for quite some time and ignored your body's protests for rest. Hence why you collapsed next to this couch."

How did she-

"Sooyoung told me," She answers. "Why force your body to such limits?"

You rolled your eyes, "You sound like my wife,"

"Because I am your wife," She grins, "So take care of yourself."

You blink at her. For weeks that you spent with her, the older woman did nothing but make sure you were comfortable and safe, sure there was bickering, and dare you say banter. But she performed her duties as a wife should. It's baffling, to receive this treatment from a devil of her caliber.

"Why are you staring at me like that?" She questions, her eyes beaming at your attention before you tear your gaze from her. "Nothing, I'm hungry."

"Perfect," She grins, "I discovered a recipe that you might like."

Oh?

"Cooking, you?" You mused, and Karina lets out a carefree laugh. It sounded pleasant. Not that you would say that to her face. "Why yes, pretty girl." She grins, "Now come. I want you to be a witness of me cooking a dish created by humans."

She grabs you by the hand, and your pulse quickens at the contact as she leads you out of the building and to your car, a sleek, gray Bently Continental GT S. The raven-haired beauty opens the passenger door for you. You didn't say anything and entered the vehicle. She closes the door gently and enters the driver's seat, finally driving to your designated hotel.

The smell of roasted lamb chops floods the dining area of your suite. Karina said that it'll be done in a few minutes. Your stomach grumbles at the sight of the delicacy in Karina's bare palms as she places it in front of you. She dusts the lamb chops with garlic, rosemary, salt, and pepper. Your mouth waters at the meal she prepared for you while she sits across from you, eyeing your face with mirth before finally gesturing at your dinner.

"Well? Dig in."

You didn't need to be told twice and began wolfing down your food.

Karina watched you carefully as you ate with gusto before stopping midway. The older woman frowned, "What's wrong?"

You look up at her, "It's not poisoned, isn't it?"

She placed a hand over her chest in faux offense.

"Poison? You?" The raven-haired woman continues: "I would never. You must have faith in me, beloved. I would never poison a pretty girl like you."

Your cheeks change their color to a subtle hue of pink. "Faith is foreign for someone of your caliber, Karina."

"Trust me," She grins, "We're more direct than your trusted angels, beloved."

A hum leaves your lips as you continue to eat. Karina once again watches you before you pause for the second time. "Aren't you hungry?"

"We have a different diet from you humans. Souls, that's what we feed on, your intense emotions, energies."

"Are you feeding from me right now?"

The latter replies with an unbridled smirk, "I am, but at least we're both benefitting."

"Fair enough," You shrug before finishing your dinner.

"Are you having a difficult time practicing your piece?" She asks after you've finished your dinner. A pause, "Yes, but I'll get better."

"Not very reassuring, delicto." She replies as she interlocks her fingers, her expression serious. "Your concert is in three weeks, and your piece has four sections."

"Then what can we do about it?"

"I can help you." Karina offers - no, states. "It'll be quick, and you will save time."

You arched a brow, "By what, cutting my wrist and pouring it over my violin?"

The devil guffaws at your snarky reply, "No, no. You perform. I will proctor your performance and give you feedback accordingly."

You contemplated her offer. It's not that big of a deal. Perhaps guidance from a devil of music could save you time. "Alright," You rub your palms together. "Perfect," She purrs.

"When can we start?"

"Tomorrow," Karina checks her watch, "We'll start after lunch. Is that okay with you?"

You have nothing to do anyways, "Fine by me."

"You missed a note," She looks up from her book. "Again, from the top."

You bite your inner cheek and return to your second stance before slowly stroking the strings. Minutes later, she stops you again.

"Your timing is off."

"Don't I know," You grunt as you return to your first position and begin again.

Hours turn into days. While yes, having Karina monitor your performance saves time, you can't help but feel your patience waning whenever she stops your performance.

"Again,"

"I didn't even miss the note!" You asserted. Karina closes her book and looks at you. You stop yourself from saying more as your bones ache from standing for two hours.

She lets out a hum, a tone that holds no consequence of your assertion.

"I forget that you're human." She says to herself rather than you. "But you have to keep up with me, beloved. Let's take a break. How do thirty minutes sound to you?"

"Wonderful," You groan before you sit on the floor of your lounging area.

It went on for another week with the devil being surprisingly patient with you. Even with your patience cutting short, Karina allows your jabs to fall on her with every mistake you make improves under her watchful eye.

You are forced to stop when you couldn't reach the note. "Crap," You cursed as you messed with the transition to the ending of the piece. Karina took notice of this and tilts her head, "Try to position your hand once more." She instructs, and who are you to disobey? She is your wife, your mentor. And so far, you learn quickly with the techniques she's amassed through the years.

She examines your hand before standing from her settee and moving behind you. You stiffen at her proximity as her pale hand hovers atop yours while the other grasps your waist. A soft gasp leaves your lips as she presses her front against your back. The latter smirks but resumes correcting your finger placement.

"Position your hand like this," She husked. A shudder leaves your lips as her warm breath fans the outer shell of your ear. Your skin tingles at her touch.

"There," She purrs, "Very good,"

But she doesn't let go.

She retracts your hand from the fingerboard of your violin and places it on your hips, securing you against her. "You know," She rasped, "This is by far the closest we've been." She flushed herself against yours as if she couldn't get enough, "As your wife, I've never received an embrace from you, beloved."

"If you wanted a hug," You breathily reply as you lean into her touch. Karina's lips found themselves on the exposed expanse of your neck, ghosting over your skin. "Why didn't you just ask for it?"

She chuckles deeply, and it has your guts churning. "Oh, can I ask for one now?" You balk up a response, and Karina's patience wears thin as she spins you around. Her strength forces you to face her and drop your violin and violin bow. Your eyes blew back at the cruel glow of gold in her eyes. Her black veins surface on the sides of her gorgeous face. Her skin is paler than normal. She uses one hand and grabs your hair from behind, forcing you to look up at her with a hiss.

Your eyes traverse from her eyes down to her kissable lips. Karina notices this and licks her in return. You swallow harshly at the sight.

"I can sense it, Y/N."

"Sense what?" You breathe out, and your wife sharply inhales and leans close. "Your hunger, no, not from food, but for me, beloved. I don't see the point in holding back." Her other hand traverses upwards; to your neck and gently squeezes it, eliciting a gasp from you before she uses that same hand to pull you impossibly close to her.

"Be selfish, be lustful - lose your inhibitions to me, Y/N. I am your wife, your mistress, your servant. Use me as I will use you." She leans closer to the point that your lips are almost touching, her plump lips begging to be kissed by yours.

"Sin with me, darling." Her voice distorts, "For sin is your birthright. Your faith has taught you to deny your desires and it has imprisoned you. Break your restraint. As your wife I encourage it, my love." She sighs as your hand caresses her cheek.

"I am selfish, needy, and demanding. Y/N. And you shouldn't be less than I am. Let me have you, let me spoil you some more, even with the riches that are foreign to the world of the living, allow me to embrace you - you will be my queen. Fair as the sea and the sun."

And while she pours her declaration, Karina Yoo's lips fascinated you. It sickens you all at once, but that is what seduction does to you. Her lips; were plump and inviting. Though you find her frightening at times, you can't help but feel as if you've known her before, that you are perfect for her. If you wanted something beautiful, this woman would be would give it to you. If you have an ideal type, this woman would be your ideal.

You had not known before that you wanted all these things. That you preferred dark hair and a slightly cruel expression, that you wished for tallness, or that a woman embracing you and pouring her confession might thrill you. A whole young life’s worth of slowly collected predilections coalesced in a few moments within you, and Karina Yoo, her eyes glowing with desire, becomes beautiful and perfect.

You shivered, and without thinking, you leaned in to capture her lips with yours. Not on the cheek, not chastely or unchastely, but greedily with your whole mouth. She reciprocates this, she eats your breath in the kiss, and you feel like she would swallow you whole. Your hands shamelessly claw her silk shirt from behind, crumpling the expensive fabric as the daughter of Lucifer deepens the kiss by tilting her head. Her grip on your hair tightens, and her other hand's nails dig against your hips.

Together, your lips move languidly against each other, and the world feels like it's so far away.

You two kiss until your human lungs burn for oxygen, and you push your wife away begrudgingly.

Here you two are, panting and wanting more before she chased your lips with hers. Her mouth is hot against yours. You can taste the feverish desire from her. Suddenly, she bites you. You pull away from her, hurt and surprised as you raise your hand to your mouth. Your fingers are bloody, and Karina's lips were smeared with it. Her eyes gleamed.

You balked. Your lips pulsed where your wife's long, thin canines had cut you.

If you allow her to do this to you, what else will you let her do to you?

Anything,

Karina Yoo, your wife, your mistress, your slave, wiped your crimson blood from her lips. She eyes you with hooded, glazed eyes as she licks it clean.

"Beautiful," She closes her eyes and slowly opens them before her arms circle around you greedily, and your back is suddenly pressed against the mattress of your private quarters.

Her bright eyes are predatorial as she stares down at you. She wasted no time putting her hands on your waist. Her sensual scent invades your nostrils as she presses her lips against yours. You can taste your blood on her tongue as your hands cup her jaw. Karina's tongue glides against your lower lip before breaking into your mouth; only because you let her. She swallows your moan as she slides her tongue in your mouth, and she lets out a guttural growl in reply as your skin becomes hot under her touch.

The older woman leans away and unravels your button shirt, and harshly pulls it off your body, leaving you alone with your bra. Her ichor-hued eyes visibly darken to a hue of copper before her lips attach to the column of your neck. Her hands smoothly go to your back and unclasp your bra, and haphazardly throw it somewhere in the room.

You let out a mewl when she softly bit the center of your neck, followed by a gasp when her tongue smoothens it, she pulls you into an all-consuming kiss, her hands let go of your wrists, and your hands hastily gripped her biceps as her weight doubles making you press against the mattress, her lips muffling your groans and grunts as her teeth bite your lower lip, forcing a gasp out of you and allowing her to insert her tongue inside your mouth, your grip on her tightens as your lungs burn from the lack of oxygen.

She pulls away for a split second, allowing you to breathe before connecting her lips with yours, her hips bucking and thrusting against your clothed core, making you moan into her mouth as lust ignites between your legs. You tilted your head to meet her kiss as your legs circled her waist.

Karina groans, and she thrusts her hips against yours. You feel something poking against your clothed core. It's hard, and it feels good.

As if sensing your curiosity, Karina chuckles deeply. "We're hermaphrodite beings, beloved. I can pleasure you as a man, or woman, or both." She breathes against your lips. "Which do you prefer?"

"You," You mewl as she kisses your neck. "I want what you are right now, even forever."

The latter grins and bites into your neck, eliciting a yelp from you as she traverses her kiss downwards until she reaches the waistband of your pajamas. Karina's lips curl to a smirk, her hands latching onto the fabric of your pants before she effortlessly rips it and throws the torn fabric away. Your eyes widen while hers light up in amusement as she licks her upper teeth.

"Relax," She purrs as her finger hooks the hem of your panties and yanks down. Your cunt flutters at the exposure, toes curling with anticipation as your wife dips down, her tongue takes a bold lick on the seam of your pussy and shuddering when she retracts and swallows.

"Divine," She darkly grins as her hands pry your thighs to spread and latch onto your folds, eliciting a yelp from you as her tongue breaches your walls. You throw your head back when the warm, wet muscle begins to messily move in circles. Your arousal drips down the seams as she alternates from sucking and circling, eyes closing shut as carnal desire begins to take over the both of you. "Karina," You softly moan, "Fuck, so good - more, give me-"

She cuts you off with a growl, sending vibrations against your cunt. The sensation has your eyes rolling back as her tongue thrusts in and out. You plant your feet against the mattress and buck your hips against her face. "Fuck!"

Karina grunts and bites your clit, this sends white-hot pleasure through your body with carnal rapture seeping inside you as the woman withdraws. "Oh, you like that, don't you?" Des[ote your flustered state, your cheeks reddens. Karina hums and licks her lips which are covered in your arousal and her spit. "Let's try that again, yeah?"

She didn't let you reply and connected her mouth to your folds. Beads of sweat form on your forehead as heat bubbles within your body. You bristle in lust as the woman kept lapping your juices, her tongue working hard on sucking and thrusting inside your core, the obscene sounds were enough to lubricate you, your hand takes a purchase of her hair, tugging on it as moans and mewls befall your lips, evidently pleasing the woman who in turn moaned at the taste, doubling the sensation as she bites your clit again.

Your back arched as does this again and again. Triggering a bundle of nerves. "Karina," You whimper, and you can feel her smirk as she finally decided to have mercy on you, her teeth retracting from your clit and deciding to continue back to eating your out, both your juices and her saliva drip down from your ass to the sheets as she continues to ravage you.

And when her tongue manages to find a spongey spot, she immediately flicks it. Her ministrations made you see stars, hips jolting and accidentally grazing your clit against her teeth, making her moan while eliciting a pleasured cry from you. Walls clenching against her tongue, the woman in between your legs is determined to finish you off as her teeth keep biting your clit; helping her stimulate your orgasm as your eyes roll to the back of your skull, back arching and sweat dripping off every pore as your undoing hits you, knocking your breath out of your lungs.

The woman groaned at your nectar, lapping it up until you were whimpering, thighs shaking, and hands trying to pry away her head.

Karina decided to have mercy on your state and pull away with cum-smeared lips that formed into a smug smirk.

Despite your blurred vision, you can see your wife resting her head on the side of your thigh, kissing the expanse of skin before trailing up to your lower abdomen, giving it a soft kiss and mumbling something incoherent before kissing her way up to your lips, her body looming above you her hands trapping your sides as her lips mold with yours, giving you a taste of yourself as your hands caress her upper body, fingers working on with the buttons and belt of her suit to touch her bare, dewy skin.

Karina made it easier for you by snapping her fingers; she is just as bare as you.

Your eyes shamelessly trail down her body. Karina's body is lithe, though her biceps are slightly defined, so are her collarbones, her toned stomach, and...

Your eyes trail lower, and your core throbs with excitement.

So this is what a hermaphrodite being looks like.

Or maybe, that's just Karina adjusting for you. Either way; you'll take her as she is.

The latter grabs your jaw, forcing you to lock eyes with her.

"Let's see," She rasped, "Just how much you can take from me, pretty mortal."

Her body is never far away from yours, always flushed as her lips wrap around the exposed skin she finds. Your hands grabbed her strong back helplessly as she lodged her cock deep within you, veins rubbing and drilling with vigor while you moaned beneath her. "Fuck," She breathed, pulling out before thrusting back in, eliciting a gasp from you as she fucks you with abandon.

Her talons clawed the sheets, eyes screwing shut with every pound.

"Fuck, beloved." Karina softly moans as she drills deeper into you. The force behind her thrust pushes you upward, and she had to lock her arms around you to keep you from leaving her.

Your lips bite her shoulder to muffle a scream when she hits a spongey area. You heard Karina groan softly when your wall clenched greedily, hips snapping back and forth, your stomach coils, your skin burning with carnal want as your legs lock around her waist, ankles pressed against each other as her essence leaks from your abused cunt to the sheets after going at it for hours. The older woman felt her balls tighten, and her cock swelled as she pressed her forehead against yours, mewling as your release made your walls feel tight. You smell the mix of perfume, sweat, and sex from your bodies as her thrusts get sloppier and shallow to the point that she isn't pulling out anymore, her hips pistoning the same vulnerable spot that she had to muffle your strained moans with an ardent kiss as Karina stills her hips, thick spurts of cum painting your walls; you can only whimper; cunt accepting what she has to offer as this also triggers your orgasm, unannounced.

Karina pressed a kiss against your clammy temple, your walls convulsing, clenching around her incessantly.

Your hair is tousled and unruly, and your neck and collarbones were covered in her marks. The woman above you growls and sets her speed, her warm, thick cock drilling in and out in carnal want, ichor-hued eyes veiled with devouring lust as she throws her head back when you willfully clench your walls around her. Your lips chased her neck, nipping her Adam's apple, and she slightly falters. You can see the veins prominently bulging from her neck, beads of sweat running down her beautiful skin, and her sharp jaw on display for you. You drink in the sight as you pull her back to you, her wet hair sliding back, her kissable lips twitching to a smirk, gasping and whining with every clench of your needy cunt.

The raven-haired beauty presses you harder against the bed, her weight doubling as she flushes her body against yours, her dick pistoning in and out of you, raw. Her pace bristles with an animalistic drive, her breath fans your lips, and grunts and hush moans break past her lips with every pound.

"Are you close?" She couldn't control the distortion of her voice while you shamelessly raked your nails against her back. "Fuck," You mewled, "Yes - close."

The daughter of Lucifer mouths your cheek, mapping your features with her mouth as her toned stomach flexes. Your thighs burn with every pound and tears trail down your cheeks, blurring your vision as you choke a sob. The latter groans and withdraws her cock until only the tip remains and slams back in. You dig your nails harder, leaving crescent shapes and red vertical lines along her back to the point that you're aware of how much that would be painful for her.

"Harder,"

You briefly pull away to lock eyes with her, the obscene sounds of skin slapping reverberate in your room, and she looks at you with a small smile. "Use me," She pecks your lips softly, "As I am using you."

And who are you to refuse?

You hide your face against the column of her neck as the appendage kisses your cervix, and she does this again, and again, and again. She fucks you harder on your mattress, deeper, and you are on the verge of letting go. "Don't hold back," She moans.

Her cock twitches inside you, her hands move to the sheets, crumpling it as if her life depended on it while she fucks you carelessly, and your body heats up.

You bite down on her neck, muffling a scream as you cum, and milk her cock dry, legs trembling like a leaf, and your vision blackens. Karina sighs in pleasure as her cock savors your nectar. She bites the juncture of your neck and keeps fucking you through your orgasm.

And finally, she lets out a high-pitched moan and cums. She stills her hips and hides her head in the crook of your neck that's littered with marks. Her cock spurted out thick warm spurts of her seed, her soft lips kissing the side of your neck, your hand circled on her hip while the other one held her nape, both of you panting for breath.

After a minute of silence, she looks up at you. "Can you do one more?"

You nod mindlessly. Of course, one more always meant more than what you thought Karina said.

Because even as a devil, a daughter of Lucifer; she took you to heaven's door multiple times.

You knew that once she had a taste of you she'd never stop.

Karina...that woman is insatiable.

And of course, you'd let her do anything to you.

A moan leaves your lips, only to be silenced by her hand clamping over your mouth.

You'd let her fuck you an hour before your concert.

The devil looms over your face, the light shielding the smirk on her lips while she fucks you against the sectional couch. The raven-haired beauty moves her hips languidly against yours. Her pace is desperate and strong and you claw her Brioni suit that you bought for her two days before your concert. Her pants pooled her ankles, while you're still wearing your bathrobe, or rather what's left of it. How did this start? You just finished taking a bath and walked past your 'wife' who's already done preparing. She said you smelled good. Bullshit.

"Do you want me to go faster?" She asks, mockery evident in her tone. "Fuck - yes!" You choked a gasp as she jogs her hips firmly, and you let your head fall against the couch chanting: Yes, and fuck, your pussy clenches in gratification eliciting a moan from Karina as she licks a line from your neck to your ear.

"Is that better?" She husked, and you moaned again in reply. The devil growls and sets her speed, her used, hard cock drilling in and out of you in carnal want, her blown, brown eyes flashing gold and veiled with lust. She throws her head back to move her hair that's sticking against her sweaty face. Sweat runs down her pale skin, her sharp jawline in display for you. You drink in the sight - like a lewd statue exclusive to you. Not to mention the suit that compliments her lean form, her hair wet and slid back, soft lips twitching to a gasp, chuckle, and groan with every clench of your needy cunt.

You lean up to capture her neck with your lips, tongue licking her Adam's apple before biting it. Karina moans loudly, and you peck her for it before she turns it into a tongue-dancing session. Karina's hands cup your face and press you harder against the couch. Her weight doubles as she flushes her body against yours, her veiny cock pistoning in and out of you, her pace bristling with an animalistic drive, breath fanning your lips.

Karina maps your features with her eyes before she brushes a familiar spot that have you rolling your eyes in return. Her stomach flexes, your thighs burn from her ramming, and tears trail down your cheeks. You're thankful you haven't put any makeup or skincare on for it. Karina gasps, the sight enticing her, and she momentarily stops thrusting. The devil pulls out eliciting a breathy whimper from you as you pull her close, head shaking sideways as your eyes begged her not to pull away. Karina slams back in. You screw your eyes shut as she abuses the spot again. A vicious grin graces her lips as she fucks you harder, deeper in your fitting room with her other hand clamping over your mouth.

You've reached your limit.

You bite her hand to muffle a scream as the strong wave of your orgasm hits you. Karina bites your shoulder, pointed teeth piercing your skin as you milk her dry, your legs shaking like a leaf, and your vision blackens - your energy drains and your skin is covered in a thick veil of sweat.

"That's it," She groans as she cums inside you. Warm, goopy, and generous. She lays on top of you, her arms snaking on your hips while you caress the back of her hair.

While you're fucked out, the latter seems to bask in the afterglow of fucking. Her golden eyes examine your state before grinning and pressing a kiss on your clammy forehead. "Rest," She gently commands with a soft voice, "I'll fix you up later, okay?"

You swallow harshly, throat dry. "Fix me later or fuck me later minutes before the concert starts?"

Karina's chest rumbles with a chuckle, "The former, though I wouldn't mind fucking all night after the concert."

You groan in reply, and she laughs, "I'm serious, beloved. Rest and I'll take good care of you."

To master 'The Last Rose of Summer' is an ambition for most violinists, and with the devil of music as your wife, success never tasted so good before as you have the audience at the palm of your hand.

The spotlight at your divine figure, at your hands that transitioned from one note to another with angelic grace.

Your eyes are locked with the devil in the front-row seat of Teatro Alla Scala, one of the most famous theatres in the world. It was built in the late 18th Century to plans made by the architect Giuseppe Piermarini, at the request of Empress Maria Theresa of Austria. A range of operas, classical concerts, and ballets are performed during the theatre season, which is one of the most important appointments in the Milanese social calendar.

Karina sat there crossed-legged with a smile, wearing her navy blue, double-breasted wool Plume suit, and trousers, inside, she wore a white turtle neck, and her hair is neatly combed and slid back. Her black hair cascades beautifully for you to see as she watches you with pride and acknowledgment.

You couldn't help but mirror her smile.

Something has changed within you, you can't help but glow at the fact that you've brought back a long-neglected virtuoso piece, creating a performance of pure musical delight.

Your body feels like it's on fire. You didn't care to fathom at all as you basked in the attention.

Yes, be selfish, be cruel, my beloved shouldn't be lesser than I

And as you brought the audience to an explosive end, while everyone else applauded, your eyes were only trained on your wife who stands up, amongst the cheers and howls of the crowd, it was only her voice that gave you clarity.

"Brava," She commends with distortion that no one else seems to hear. No one but you. She spoke again in another language, and this time, you understood it.

"Omnis, surge et accipe sponsam meam et aequalem meam. Aperi portas inferi novae reginae tuae; Ji Y/N."

Everyone, arise and welcome my bride and my equal. Open the gates of Hell for your new princess; Ji Y/N.

Fin.

Thoughts? Oh and if you have requests, feel free to flood my ask box skksks

#karina #karina x reader #karina aespa #aespa x reader #yu jimin #aespa smut #karina smut #wlw post #kpop girls #kpop smut #kpop oneshots #kpop idols #fem reader #gxg smut #gxg imagine

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fushisagi · 1 year ago

Text

love and all its cons

୨୧ ━━ ❛ it’s difficult for one to familiarize themselves with the mystery that is your and isagi’s relationship, something that significantly blurs the line between friends and lovers. ❜

word count ⋆ 7.2k (7,278) genre ⋆ fluff, secret established relationship, 5+1 ━ pro-football player!isagi, pro-volleyball player & gn!reader

after months of you and isagi sending each other shy smiles, yearning glances, and dancing around your feelings, bachira decides it’s time for him and the rest of the team to intervene. mission: get isagi a significant other is a go!

warnings ⋆ alcohol consumption, all characters are 20+, everyone is a little bit of an idiot and oblivious, (brief) jealous isagi, i snuck in hinata from haikyuu!! in here bc i love him sorry, that’s it i think lmk if i missed anything!

“Yeah, you’re right.”

Bachira immediately knows something’s wrong when Itoshi Rin of all people agrees with him.

The whole team is taken aback by it, too, showing their surprise with wide eyes and thinly veiled confusion. Towards the back, Reo opens up the news app on his phone, muttering about how Rin’s agreement must be some sort of bad omen, an indication that the world is ending.

“I’m sorry,” Chigiri starts, eyes narrowed, “did you just agree with Bachira? Like, willingly?”

Rin tsks, throwing all of them a look of annoyance. “Yes.”

“Are you sick or something?”

Reo finally makes his concern known, clutching his chest dramatically as he declares, “Oh, God. I really should’ve been a survivalist. Does anyone want to come to the store with me to buy non-perishables?”

Nagi sighs tiredly, rubbing his eyes with the heel of his palm. “Reo, it’s too early for you to be overdramatic.”

“It is 5pm. Practice just ended.”

Nagi responds with a yawn.

Bachira snaps out of his daze with a shake of his head. He grabs onto Rin’s arm despite the boy growling at him to let go, and forces the team into a huddle with a conspiring smile on his face. They watch him warily; a grin like that could only mean trouble, and the last time Bachira managed to drag them into his shenanigans, they ended up being slandered on national television for breaking and entering.

(He had somehow convinced the entire team it would be funny to break into Ego’s house and scare him awake).

(It was not funny. Practices for the next three months were grueling).

“We should set them up together!” Bachira exclaims delightfully.

For a moment, nobody speaks. Then, everyone looks over to Kunigami who, just last week, had come to practice with a venomous bite in his words after going on a date with someone Bachira set him up with.

Almost immediately, everyone’s voices overlap as ideas are shut down and new ones are suggested, unaware of you and Isagi watching them with a mixture of amusement and confusion. While his teammates aren’t looking, Isagi presses a kiss to your cheek and grabs you by the wrist to the farthest side of the field, where the both of you can discuss your plans for dinner without worrying about someone hearing you.

“We should just lock them up in the supply closet,” Reo says.

Kunigami shakes his head. “That would be a disaster.”

“What makes you think that?”

“I just do.”

Zantetsu muses, “Should we send both of them flowers and sign the card so they’ll think they were the ones who sent it?”

Rin scrunches his nose. “I am not spending my money on those two idiots.”

Nagi huffs. “Wouldn’t it be easier if we just told them they like each other?”

Bachira waves him off. “No. There’s no fun in that.” Then, a lightbulb turns on, and he’s clapping his hands with the excitement of a child waking up on Christmas day. “Ah! We make the both of them jealous.”

“No,” Kunigami shuts the suggestion down with a frown on his face. “that’ll create misunderstandings—”

“Awww,” Bachira whines with a pout, “you’re no fun!”

Across the field, you watch the exchange with furrowed eyebrows as Isagi orders takeout on his phone. He follows your gaze, snickering when Reo reaches over to smack Zantetsu’s head but misses and hits Rin in the face instead. Even from here, you hear everyone shouting at each other as Rin attempts to smack Reo but ends up landing a hit on Chigiri when Reo quickly ducks out of the way.

“What the hell are they doing?” you mutter as Bachira tackles Nagi with a giggle.

Isagi shrugs unhelpfully. “Don’t know.”

Someone knocks Zantetsu’s glasses of his face, which results in him gasping loudly. The arguments don’t cease despite the fact that they’re now all on the ground, attacking each other with punches and kicks only meant to bruise.

“You’re friends with a bunch of idiots, babe.”

Isagi, ever the dramatic boyfriend, looks at you as if you’ve said something so incredibly hurtful. “Excuse me, you’re friends with them, too.”

“Yeah,” you say, wincing when Bachira jumps onto Kunigami’s back and starts ruffling his hair, “Yeah, unfortunately, I am.”

attempt one: bachira meguru & kunigami rensuke.

When Bachira tells Kunigami he’s planning on tricking the two of you into going on a date and watching from the sidelines, Kunigami feels he owes it to both you and Isagi to tag along, seeing as the last time he let Bachira meddle with someone’s love life (i.e. his), it ended with a chipped tooth and a trip to the dentist’s office.

(Bachira insists it’s not his fault Kunigami punched his date. Kunigami insists it is because there was absolutely no reason for Bachira to set the date up at a Five Nights at Freddy’s themed party).

This is how Kunigami finds himself lurking behind a blue van as you and Isagi walk across the parking lot, talking animatedly as you make your way towards the entrance of the arcade. Every now and then, Isagi checks his phone with annoyance and you glance at your watch with a frown.

Kunigami phone buzzes in his pocket. He already knows what the notification is before he sees it.

groupchat: blue lock!!! 🥳⚽️❤️‍🔥

isagi 🤓 > where r u guys?

Beside him, Bachira’s fingers dash across his keyboard.

bachira 🐝 > sorry! D: I won’t be able to make it 😣😓 > looks like it’s just you and y/n~~~ 😉😉😉

isagi 🤓 > ??? > what about the rest of the team

bachira 🐝 > they’re all sick unfortunately !! ):

At this point, you and Isagi have already made it to the doors. Kunigami is too far away to read Isagi’s expression, but he looks at you for a long moment, says something that makes you laugh, before he turns back to his phone.

isagi 🤓 > really?? ALL of you are sick???

bachira 🐝 > yep!

Bachira kicks Kunigami’s shin and gestures towards his phone. The taller boy sighs and begrudgingly sends a message to the groupchat.

kunigami 😵‍💫 > yeah > cough cough

Bachira hums approvingly before walking around the car and hastily making his way to the entrance. Kunigami is quick to follow, lowering his head and bending his knees in hopes to not attract any attention with his height.

Once they step inside, Kunigami is forced to lift his chin up as he searches the crowd for any sign of his friends.

“There they are!” Bachira declares excitedly, pointing to a large claw machine before dragging Kunigami to hide behind the pinball machine.

Isagi has one hand on the joystick and the other hovering over a red button, his tongue sticking out in concentration. He leans closer to the glass as the claw hovers over a blue plushie, and just as he pushes the button, you shove his other arm, causing the claw to move forward and come down at the same time. The claw, predictably, grabs onto nothing, causing Isagi to turn to you with a pout on his lips.

“Hey!” he whines, softening when your head meets his chest as your shoulders shake with laughter.

“I’m sorry,” you say in between giggles. When you look up at him, he tries his best to look unimpressed, but he can’t bite back the smile that blooms across his face. “I’m sorry, Yoichi, I really am, but you have to admit it was pretty funny.”

“And to think I was going to win that for you!”

You glance at him, unconvinced, and then to the Snorlax plushie staring back at the both of you. “Yeah, right. You were gonna keep that for yourself.”

It’s silent for two heartbeats before Isagi sighs. “Yeah, I was gonna keep it for myself.”

“You’re a terrible boyf—”

“Um, excuse me?”

Kunigami and Bachira jump in surprise, turning to face an exhausted employee. She has her arms crossed over her chest as she suspiciously looks between the pair of football players hiding behind an arcade game. Kunigami’s eyes widen in realization. He doesn’t exactly know what conclusion this woman has come to, but he knows that two men — with baseball caps on their heads, sunglasses on the bridge of their noses, and masks on their faces — lurking in the shadows of an arcade is bound raise a few eyebrows.

“Oh, hello!” Bachira greets with too much chirpiness for Kunigami’s liking, but he can tell his friend is nervous when Bachira glances at you and Isagi, who still — thankfully — haven’t looked over to the commotion by the pinball machines. “Sorry, we were just… waiting for our turn.”

The woman blinks. “You’ve been standing here doing nothing for five minutes. Nobody’s touched the pinball machine because they thought you guys were going to play.”

Kunigami scratches the back of his neck. “Well…”

He doesn’t continue.

The woman looks at them incredulously. “Well?”

Kunigami looks at Bachira, panicked, silently begging for help. Bachira blinks back up at him and shrugs.

Ever since he met Bachira Meguru, Kunigami swears years have been continuously removed from his lifespan.

“We can’t allow you guys to stay if you’re not going to play any games. It’s company policy.”

“Oh! Then we’ll just play! Um…” Kunigami trails off as he begins patting his pockets, eyebrows knitting together when he feels wrappers, his ID, house keys — everything but his wallet. He looks at Bachira. “I don’t have any money.”

“Well, don’t look at me! I don’t have any, either!”

Across from them, the woman sighs.

Kunigami’s eyes almost pop out of their sockets. “What do you mean? You paid our taxi driver!”

Bachira nods. “Yes, but that was the last of my change.”

Kunigami’s eye twitches.

Over at the claw machine, you and Isagi have diverted your attention towards your friends. Your suspicion is written all over your face and Isagi, with a grin bright enough to rival the sun, has pulled out his phone to record.

“Is that…?”

Isagi snickers. “Yup.”

“I thought you said they were sick.”

“That’s what they told me,” Isagi explains, holding in his laughter as the employee politely asks Kunigami and Bachira to leave the vicinity. “But I think they’re just spying on us.”

Curiously, you ask, “Why would they do that?”

Isagi doesn’t respond. Instead, he ends the video and pulls up Blue Lock’s groupchat, which includes him and all his teammates. He scrolls up to a text from two nights ago.

bachira 🐝 > okay operation set isagi and y/n up is a GO!!!! :D 🥳🥳🥳🥳🥳 > does everyone remember their positions?!! 🫡

rin 😐 > Please shut the fuck up

attempt two: zantetsu tsurugi.

Zantetsu is stressed.

He’s been watching Isagi like a hawk ever since practice started, sticking to him like glue by never leaving his side. He follows Isagi when it’s time for drills, chats with him during break, and joins him to his trip to the water fountain. And yet, despite how much they’ve talked today, Isagi still has yet to mention the flowers.

Zantetsu’s learned the hard way that flowers are expensive, but he still sent two bouquets last night — one to your apartment and one to Isagi’s; he’d even gotten Bachira to sign the cards so it would look like you got the flowers for each other.

(When Reo said the forgery was awful, Zantetsu dismissed him with a roll of his eyes).

But Isagi hasn’t said a word about it. And, during the fifteen minutes you popped by, you didn’t say anything about it, either.

Zantetsu sits on the bench, close to pulling his hair out. On one side of him is Nagi, nonchalant as his thumbs dash across his phone screen; on the other side is Reo, who watches you and Isagi laugh with a look of disgust plastered across his face.

“I don’t get it,” Zantetsu groans, putting his head in his hands. “I checked with the florist six times.”

Reo snorts. “Are you sure you got their addresses right?”

“Yes! Look!” Zantetsu opens up his phone and scrolls through the digital receipt in his email. Reo looks over his shoulder and confirms the addresses with a grunt.

Nagi barely glances at his teammate’s screen before muttering, “Stupid Zantetsu.”

“What! but I did everything right!”

“Well, there’s no one else to blame,” Nagi drawls. “You’re the only one who bought the flowers.”

Zantetsu slips off the bench and lies down on the grass, muttering incoherent complaints while Nagi pays him no mind and Reo starts poking his side with the toe of his shoe.

(What Zantetsu doesn’t know, however, is that you did receive the flowers. Isagi had been at your apartment when you got the delivery and texted you that someone on the team had sent you daisies along with a card that badly resembled his signature).

(There is also the fact that Isagi spends more time at your apartment than he does at his. Five months after Zantetsu ordered the flowers, you and Isagi go to his home to pack up his things so he can officially move in with you, only to find a bouquet of dead roses on his doorstep).

attempt three: chigiri hyoma, mikage reo, & nagi seishiro.

Reo kind of likes the power that comes with playing God.

Ever since Kunigami and Bachira got kicked out of the arcade, Reo’s been plotting. He’s unlike his usual self — instead of bursting with energy, Reo comes to practice silent. He’s scrutinizing Isagi so much that the boy has started avoiding him; he’s been asking you random questions whenever you visit; under the guise of caring for his teammates, Reo has made a shared Google calendar and forced everyone to add their schedules to it (really, he’s just trying to see when Isagi is free so he can set this plan in motion).

And what Reo wants, Reo gets, and Chigiri shouldn’t have been surprised when Reo comes up to him with a 30-slide PowerPoint.

“Hear me out,” he’d said when Chigiri opened the door to his apartment. “I’m a fucking genius.”

Chigiri had no time to reply before Reo was letting himself in.

The party — a trap disguised in diamonds and alcohol, is what Reo refers to this as — is in full swing when Chigiri arrives, toeing off his shoes as he nods to familiar faces whose names he can’t quite remember and brushing off anyone who offers him a drink. He finds Nagi in the corner leaning against the wall, surprisingly off his phone, and staring at two people in the living room.

You and Isagi have taken the couch hostage. While there may be room for someone to sit, Chigiri can see why people don’t. Even from a few feet away, he feels as if he’s intruding when he watches Isagi stare up at you with his head in your lap and your fingers combing through his hair.

There is no way friends are this affectionate with each other.

Chigiri doesn’t have time to dwell before Bachira, who may as well be bouncing off the walls, swoops in to pull Isagi off your lap. He slowly rises, engulfed with sharp irritation that’s wiped away as soon as you place a hand on your shoulder and murmur a temporary farewell.

“They’re stupid,” Nagi mutters. Chigiri silently agrees.

It doesn’t take long for Reo to find them, hyper and euphoric, and Chigiri wonders if he’s either drunk off alcohol or adrenaline. He places a hand on both Chigiri and Nagi’s shoulders before declaring in true dramatic Mikage Reo fashion, “It’s game time.”

Nagi cringes. “But I’m too tired.”

“I gave you the easiest assignment!” Reo exclaims incredulously.

“Luring Isagi into your room sounds far from easy.”

“Would you rather be chasing after Y/N?”

Nagi frowns, glancing over at you. You’re strategically slipping through the crowd to avoid people you don’t want to speak to, politely giving them smiles before you disappear from sight. It’s almost as if the shadows are swallowing you whole and teleporting you to another area in the penthouse.

Nagi shakes his head and halfheartedly wishes Chigiri good luck before beginning his search for Isagi.

Chigiri sighs as Reo slaps him on the shoulder and pushes him out from his safe place against the wall, similar to that of a mother letting her child play in the playground. A rather chaotic, migraine-inducing playground.

With an annoyed huff, he begins walking the perimeters of the penthouse, scanning the crowd in hopes of finding you in your desperate attempts to vanish. He knows you find these rambunctious gatherings more bearable when you’re with Isagi; you may be friends with the entire team (one time he overheard Zantetsu saying you were one of his emergency contacts), but there is nothing that compares to your closeness with Isagi. People have tried and failed to puncture the bubble the two of you live in.

It’s difficult for one to familiarize themselves with the mystery that is your and Isagi’s relationship, something that significantly blurs the line between friends and lovers.

Chigiri may not be as observant as his other teammates, but he can spot love when he sees it. Especially if it is so ridiculously obvious that it might as well be as blinding as the sun.

He finds you in mere minutes — clearly not fast enough for Reo, who he knows is the culprit behind the continuous buzzing coming from his device. You’re in the kitchen, sitting atop a counter, nursing a glass of apple juice. When you see Chigiri in the doorway, you smile, though the tension in your body remains.

“Hi,” you greet. He makes his way towards you, swift but nonchalant. “Having fun?”

“A little. You?” At your grimace, he laughs. “You didn’t seem to be this miserable when I saw you with Isagi earlier.”

It’s bait, you know it’s bait. He expects you to brush it off with stammered words and wandering eyes but instead you shrug, hiding your smile behind the cup. If Chigiri is surprised at your silent admission, he doesn’t show it.

“Yeah, but he’s not here right now, so…”

Chigiri hums teasingly. “You two looked cozy on the couch.”

You snort, downing the rest of your juice before placing the cup in the sink beside you. “He was just telling me about how Zantetsu was trailing after him like a lost puppy yesterday at practice.”

Comparing Zantetsu’s behaviour to that of a puppy is pushing it, but Chigiri decides now isn’t the time to protest. He wonders if you’re aware about the flower mishap — or if you even received the flowers in the first place.

“Did you get flowers a few days ago?”

You raise an eyebrow. “Uh, yeah. It said they were from Yoichi.” Chigiri’s eyes widen, urging you to continue. Maybe, just maybe, he won’t have to resort to locking you in a room to deal with your feelings. “But the penmanship was so atrociously bad I assumed the bouquet was from Bachira.”

All hope disappears. It shows in the way Chigiri’s shoulders droop and the way he rubs his temples, missing your small, amused smirk.

“Okay,” Chigiri clasps his hands together with the type of determination you only see on the football field. “You’re hopeless.”

You scoff. “Excuse me?”

“I know where Isagi is,” Chigiri states instead of offering an explanation.

Getting you to follow him is easy enough. With childlike excitement, you jump off the counter and trail behind him with a smile on your face. There seems to be more energy and pep in your steps, and your smile is so wide Chigiri is surprised you’re able to keep it on your face without your cheeks hurting.

And this doesn’t even compare to how Isagi acts at the sole mention of you. Chigiri wonders if setting the two of you up is the best for his sanity; he’s not quite sure he’ll be able to handle such a chipper, lovesick Isagi everyday during practice.

But then he glances at his notifications, snorting at Nagi’s anguished messages to hurry up, because hearing Isagi talk about you is much worse than watching three cheesy Hallmark romcoms back to back. Perhaps, Chigiri thinks, it would be cruel to not push the two of you together. He can worry about the suffering he’ll have to endure in the future.

Once he’s led you to the end of the hallway where Reo and Nagi loiter just outside the guest room, you falter in your steps. The next few seconds are a flurry of confusion and snappy remarks, and the next thing you know, you’re shoved into a room and the door behind you is locked with an obnoxious click.

Isagi shoots up from where he was previously lying on the bed. “Thank God you’re here. I wasn’t sure if they were just going to leave me in here by myself.”

You sigh, making your way towards the bed. Isagi shuffles to make space for you. His hands find their home around your waist before he uses them to pull you against him.

You grumble as he nestles his face into the crook of your neck. “You were right.”

You feel him smirk against your skin. “Right about what?” he asks with faux perplexity.

“You know what.”

“Hm, I really don’t.”

You huff, flicking the back of his hand, and he responds with a laugh. “They’re trying to set us up.”

“Yeah, that much was obvious, babe.”

“I thought they already knew,” you say, meeting his gaze when he lifts his head up to meet yours.

“I thought we agreed to keep this a secret.”

“No, I know,” you say, but then you gesture towards the door, and add, with bewildered mirth, “but it’s not like we’re being very secretive. I thought they would have figured it out by now.”

Isagi guffaws and despite just how loud it is, you lean into his touch, yearning to hear it again. “Didn’t you say they were idiots?”

“I didn’t think they were this oblivious.”

“And to think that’s what they’re saying about us,” Isagi smiles but it turns serious as he places his chin on your shoulder. “But do you want to tell them?”

You want to say yes. When you first agreed to this secret relationship — to avoid pressing questions and people invading your privacy — sneaking around quickly became tiresome. And it still is, though you admit it’s nicer to interact with your boyfriend in the confines of your apartment and the stadium whenever you visit, away from any prying eyes that could twist every interaction. You feel the most comfortable with him there, away from the public eye, and you know he feels the same way.

However, it might be nice for your close friends to know.

But then you remember how, just last night, you and Isagi were huddled around his phone, laughing at the ridiculous plans his teammates have made in order to get you two alone together. It seems that they’ve forgotten that your boyfriend’s in the chat too, and their naivety has become newfound entertainment.

You’re curious to find out what else they have up their sleeves. When you look at Isagi, you know he shares the same sentiment.

He grins. “That’s settled, then. What do you think they’re going to do next?”

“Bachira seems very adamant about the jealousy plan.”

Isagi snorts. “I kind of want to see where he goes with that.”

Your eyes narrow. “Why?”

He pecks your nose. “Because you’re cute when you’re jealous. And it boosts my ego.” you scoff, but before you can even think about replying, Isagi says, “Hey, do you want to leave and make out in Reo’s room?”

“We’re locked in here,” you deadpan.

Isagi lets go of you and walks towards the door. He points at the doorknob with a wide grin on his face.

The room locks from both the inside and the out.

You let out a disappointed sigh.

Sometimes you worry that the next time you see Reo, he’s going to be swindled out of a million dollars.

attempt four: bachira meguru (again) ft. itoshi rin.

This really could be the best idea Bachira’s ever had — the thing is, though, nobody has the slightest ounce of faith in him. Which, if he’s being honest, is kind of offensive.

(So what if he and Kunigami got kicked out of the arcade a few days ago? Sometimes genius plans fail! It doesn’t mean Bachira’s lost his touch).

The team has found themselves at a gala, surrounded by athletes and sponsors alike in a large ballroom smelling of wealth and prestige. Caterers carrying trays of champagne flutes slip through the crowd with practiced ease, faces painted with polite smiles that do not waver despite the football team’s — read: Bachira and Zantetsu’s — overwhelming excitement.

Rin, who narrowly escaped a conversation with a bubbly volleyball player he barely remembers the name of, walks into a prison as worse as forced small-talk. With Bachira by his side, he scowls as the shorter boy starts unsubtly pointing towards you and Isagi, whispering amongst yourselves with reserved smiles and fond eyes.

“This is stupid,” Rin says monotonously when Bachira suggests that Rin should split you and Isagi apart.

“It’s not!” Bachira argues, growing annoyed at Rin’s apathy. “Tonight’s the best night to make one of ‘em jealous. Hey, what about I split them up and you make them jealous?”

Rin’s response is simple and curt, “No.”

Bachira sighs, though he can’t say he’s surprised.

The night goes on without many bumps in the road. Rin stays by Bachira once he learns that nobody’s willing to talk to him if he pretends he’s preoccupied in a conversation, no matter how one-sided it is. Some of his teammates join in for a bit before they drift away again; Reo stops by to encourage them to talk to sponsors (Rin scowls in response), Kunigami and Zantetsu tell Rin on separate occasions he looks like he stepped in shit, Chigiri halfheartedly wishes Bachira luck, and even Nagi came by for a few minutes to talk to them.

The only teammate Rin hasn’t spoken a word to is Isagi.

He really doesn’t care, but he thinks he’d rather have a conversation with him than have to painfully watch him pine over you. The sight of it bothers him so much he’s actually considering going along with Bachira’s plan, but before he can open his mouth and spout out words he’ll likely regret, somebody comes by and takes you away.

And you let him.

For a moment, Rin’s eyes widen.

“What the—” Bachira squeaks, jaw slack. “Who is that?”

Rin recognizes the man as one of the people he avoided having a conversation with. His hair is bright, matching the excitement in his grin and the radiance in his eyes, and Rin’s pretty sure he’s seen him on billboards and advertisements hanging on the large glass windows of retail stores.

There is familiarity in his touch, Rin realizes. But there is something between the two of you that doesn’t match the atmosphere between you and Isagi — there are joyful grins and clumsy movements, sure, but it all seems friendly.

He frowns, glances at Bachira, only to find him staring at Isagi, and Rin wonders if the champagne has messed with his imagination or if there is actual smoke is coming out of Isagi’s ears.

Well. At least Bachira didn’t even have to lift a finger.

Only a couple seconds pass before Isagi grumbles and stands from his seat, walking over to where Rin and Bachira watch you and the unknown man dance next to the other couples in the ballroom. When Isagi stands in front of them, he is the perfect picture of a man wronged, his usual boyish smile replaced with an annoyed frown.

“Hello, Yoichi!” Bachira greets, though his voice is strained, and his wandering eyes don’t fail to show his discomfort. “We haven’t seen you all night.”

Isagi grunts. “Sorry.”

Rin really shouldn’t find pleasure in this, but he thinks it’s a little funny. However, his face is blank when he states, “Y/N looks like they’re having fun.”

Rin expects Isagi to glare at him with the same intensity he has on the field, but Isagi only pouts. “Uh-huh.”

“Who’s the guy they’re dancing with?” asks Bachira.

“His name’s Hinata,” Isagi grumbles, taking a champagne flute from a passing caterer’s tray. He mumbles a thanks before continuing, “He’s a volleyball player, so they met through that when he first moved to Tokyo.”

“Ah,” Bachira nods. Then, rubbing salt into the wound, he adds, “So they’re, like, super close?”

“I guess?”

“Are they dating?”

Isagi’s expression sours. “Definitely not.”

“How unfortunate,” Rin muses. He doesn’t bother to veil the glint of mischief in his eye, but Isagi is too preoccupied swirling his glass in disgust to notice, “They’d look nice together.”

(Bachira is sure the world has been thrown off-balance. Did Itoshi Rin just play instigator? For the sake of his teammate’s love life? He feels like this moment needs to be documented).

Isagi hums but doesn’t offer anything else. His posture is a lot more rigid than usual and he burns holes into the back of your head with an infuriating amount of infatuated neediness. It is only when the song ends that he relaxes, smiling wide when you part ways with Hinata to make your way to him.

Like metal to a magnet, you attach yourself to Isagi’s side, eyebrows furrowing at Rin’s contemplation and Bachira’s determination.

Shuffling awkwardly on your feet, you flash the both of them a wary smile before asking, “Are you guys having fun?”

Bachira grins and your stomach sinks. You’re not sure if you’re going to like where this is going to go. “Not as fun as you, I bet!”

You share a look with Isagi that only the two of you can decipher. “What do you mean?”

“We saw you dancing with Hinata,” your friend explains animatedly, pointing towards the boy seated at a table with his own teammates. “He’s cute! Have you ever thought about dating him?”

Rin’s face contorts into one of displeasure. Bachira does not have one subtle bone in his body.

You blink. Isagi places a hand on your shoulder and squeezes, an action that doesn’t go unnoticed. “No? He’s my friend.”

“Oh! So, like Isagi?”

Isagi’s hand drops from your shoulder. Beside him, you’re biting the inside of your cheek, but the amusement on your face is as clear as day. “Bachira,” Isagi warns, frazzled and panicked.

Bachira frowns, confused by Isagi’s uneasiness. “What?” he questions, tone light and mischievous. He draws all his focus onto you, and you suddenly feel as if you’ve been shoved into an interrogation room. “It’s just a question! Even Rin said you two would look nice together!”

“He’s a friend,” you repeat, and it feels more like a reassurance for the boy next to you than anything else. “Speaking of which, Hinata wanted to talk to you, Yoichi, about the game last week. He said he wanted to congratulate you.”

Isagi brightens at the reminder of his goal that earned them a victory. “Oh—!”

“Wait,” Bachira interjects, eyebrows raised in curiosity. “You know him? Like, personally?”

“Yeah, we’re friends—”

Bachira gapes. “You have friends?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I meant other than us!” Bachira adds quickly. His mouth is hanging open, and the loudness of his shock has drawn the attention of the other guests, causing you to shrink into yourself. Your hand finds Isagi’s before you tug him away, throwing apologetic glances at any questioning looks you find yourself on the receiving end of.

“You idiot,” Rin hisses, “people are staring.”

Before Bachira can say anything more about his utter shock at Isagi having a social life outside of football, someone taps Rin on the shoulder. It’s an older man, presumably someone who wants to sponsor him, and at the sight, Rin glowers. When he looks over his shoulder in hopes of throwing Bachira under the bus, he sees that the spot beside him is empty.

A few feet away, a caterer yelps when Bachira accidentally bumps into them.

Rin grits his teeth.

(On your way to Hinata’s table, you snort, “And here I thought you liked Bachira’s jealousy plan.”

Isagi rolls his eyes. “Shut up.”

“Aw, don’t be like that, Yoichi,” you coo, which only causes his pout to grow, “I think you look cute when you’re jealous.”

“I hate you.”

You laugh and he tugs you closer to his side. “No,” you say softly, “you love me.”)

attempt five: itoshi rin.

Whoever thinks that Rin is doing this because he cares is way off base.

If anything, he’s doing this for the sake of his own wellbeing. He was stupid to leave this situation in the hands of his teammates, who have yet to make any progress on doing something about Isagi’s ridiculous pining.

This is how Rin finds himself standing in front of you, awkward and out of place, as you slowly place your duffel bag on the bench. Behind you, your teammates are warming up for the upcoming game, throwing the occasional perplexed glance at Rin’s intimidating figure, before deeming it better to brush him off and ask you about him later.

“Rin, hi,” you say apprehensively. “The game isn’t until five.”

“I know.”

“And it’s three.”

“I know.”

You wrinkle your nose at his tone but choose to ignore it so you can put your kneepads on and tie your shoelaces. In the corner of your eye, Rin continues to just stand; he’s so rigid that you’re convinced that a light shove is all you need for him to tip over and shatter on the floor like glass.

When the comfortable silence begins to grow awkward, Rin clears his throat, “I need to talk to you.”

“You could’ve just called me.”

“You wouldn’t have answered,” he deadpans, briefly glancing towards your phone, silenced, and peeking out the side of your bag, “and it’s important.”

“More important than preparing for a game?”

You gesture around you. Volleyballs soar through the air once they make contact with skin, forearms are tinged red, and shoes squeak against the vulcanized rubber floors. When Rin looks at you, you’re itching to leave, eager to part from him and this conversation in order to get your hands on a ball.

Rin hesitates. “Well… no?”

With a sigh and roll of your eyes, you point to the door. “Okay, well, tell me about it later. I’ll see you—”

“It’s about Isagi.”

You freeze.

“What about him?” you ask. Your previous chagrin has quickly been replaced by worry. A mien that’s a mixture of love and panic is painted across your face as you hastily grab your phone (Rin notices your lockscreen is a candid photo of Isagi playing with a cat on the screen) and open your messages.

“He likes you.”

A quiet moment passes.

Then, you croak, “I’m sorry?”

“He likes you,” Rin repeats uncomfortably. “He has feelings for you.”

You stare. Rin prepares himself for the flurry of feelings he’s sure he will be hit with in a matter of seconds. An assortment of disbelief and hope and infatuation that will come once you’ve been snapped out of your still state, face blank as the cogs in your mind begin to turn.

He prepares himself for your emotions.

Instead, he’s met with a harsh shove on his shoulder and the same annoyance that was on your face a few minutes ago. “That’s the emergency?” you exclaim incredulously. “I— This is unbelievable. This really couldn’t wait until later?”

Rin can barely contain his shock. This is the last reaction he was expecting. He’s seen only a handful of romance films, but he knows that they always involve a timid denial of feelings. When he came here, on his day off, with the intention of finally putting an end to everyone’s misery, he expected you to falter and soften before dialling Isagi’s number and confessing.

He did not prepare for your disbelief — not at his words, but more so at him.

“Did you hear what I said?”

“Yes. Thank you for informing me. Now, can you go?”

Rin cannot believe his ears. “Do you understand what I just said?”

“Yes, I—”

“I’m pretty sure he—”

“I get it,” you interject, opting to start pushing him towards the exit. “And I already thanked you for telling me, it really is appreciated. I’ll see you at the game, yeah? Bye.”

With that, you spin on your heel and stomp over to the court, leaving Rin to stand in the door, dumbfounded.

Well, that is the first and the last time he’ll ever do something nice for you or Isagi Yoichi.

Isagi isn’t quite sure what he’s done wrong.

When his teammates take their seats one by one, he immediately notices the defeat strewn across their faces. Alarmed, he asks if they’re alright, but all he receives in response is Chigiri’s fatigued sigh and a sharp glare from Rin.

His eyes find yours once you step onto the court, and with a shrug of your shoulders and a reassuring smile, Isagi sweeps his worry under the rug. He knows you’ll end up telling him what you know later anyway, whether it be in the car or under the duvet, his thumbs rubbing circles on your wrist as you’re both lulled into slumber.

But right now, Isagi redirects all his energy into focussing on the game.

He ignores the chatter beside him, rapid bickering that doesn’t evolve into a full-out argument, and watches as you strike a ball to the floor with impressive ferocity. Isagi is the first out of his seat to shout for joy, followed by the rest of the delighted crowd. The smile of his face is so blinding it might as well light up the entire gymnasium.

After every point you score, he’s on his feet. Pride swells in his chest as your team inches closer and closer to victory. His cheeks hurt from how much he’s smiling, especially since it grows every time you make eye contact with him on the stands, beaming. After each set, Isagi makes a mental list of different things he could do to have you look at him that again.

It is only during the last set when Isagi’s smile drops. The intensity on his face is not dissimilar to the one he dons during a game, and his teammates bristle at the sight of it, unfamiliar to seeing it off the field. They can’t blame his sudden seriousness, though, because while your team is at match point, the opponents aren’t too far behind.

The whistle blows. A player serves the volleyball into the air.

Everything happens in slow motion. Isagi wonders if this is what it feels like to watch his games from the sidelines, with every breath feeling like it may thwart a play and every movement causing anxiety to crawl up his throat like bile.

When your hand touches the ball, spiking it for what Isagi swears is the nth time of the day, time no longer stands still. The crowd roars as you’re crushed into a hug by your teammates, all wearing matching grins of triumph.

The next few moments are the consequence of a split second decision.

Isagi didn’t know he was going to do this when he woke up this morning, the spot beside him cold and a text on his phone reminding him to eat breakfast. He spends the entire day doing the laundry, cleaning the bathroom, and moping in your absence, too busy to even consider going through with an act that could be a PR disaster.

But then you look at him, and you’re shining, and Isagi decides to give in.

He’s out of his chair within seconds, waving off the questioning remarks coming from his friends as he speeds to the court.

(He’s more than grateful that security knows who he is by now, because if he were any other guy, he would’ve been detained the moment his feet touched the floor).

You seem to understand all his intentions by the time he’s within earshot. That’s the one thing about you that Isagi could only imagine wrapping his head around. All it takes is one glance, one second, for you to know what he desires. It almost makes his heart burst, at the realization that somebody loves him so much that they know every inch of him.

“I’m sweaty,” you say once you’ve escaped your teammates’ grasp.

Isagi raises an eyebrow, because when has that ever stopped him? “I don’t care.”

Your face is in his hands within seconds, cradled in delicate fingers that contrast the way his lips move with enough passion to light the world on fire. Curling your fingers around his belt loops, you pull him closer before resting your hands on the sides of his neck with your thumb tracing his jawline.

Being with Isagi under the spotlight like this is exhilarating.

The happiness, however, is short lived.

“What the hell!” Bachira shrieks, and Isagi pulls away — not too far, though — and rests his head against your forehead, sighing. “Does this mean my plan worked?”

Rin growls. “There is no way in hell you’re taking credit for this.”

“Actually,” Reo chimes in, “I’m pretty sure Chigiri, Nagi, and I are the reason for all of this.”

Zantetsu scoffs, immediately pushing past Reo to get closer to you and Isagi. “No, this means you guys got the flowers—”

Isagi lifts his head up, exasperated. “We’ve been dating for five months.”

He had been hoping that statement alone would be enough to get them to shut up.

He is dreadfully wrong.

“What?” Chigiri exclaims. “So, everything we did was for nothing?”

“Wait,” Kunigami interjects, eyebrows furrowed. “So that means you guys have been giggly and insufferable all these months because you’ve been dating?”

You muse. “Yeah, I guess so.”

“And that’s not going to change?”

Isagi throws his arm over your shoulder. “Oh, definitely not.”

Silence.

Then, Bachira tugs Rin’s sleeve and gestures for everybody to get into a huddle.

“Guys,” he says in what you assume is his attempt at a whisper, but you’re close enough to hear, even with the surprised clamor from the audience. “We need to break them up.”

Isagi squawks in protest, letting go of you to force himself into the huddle.

You watch the scene with a fond smile. One of your teammates comes up beside you and murmurs in wonder, “Your boyfriend and his friends sure are something.”

“What, idiots? You can say idiots.”

Your teammate snorts. “Yeah. It’s a little endearing, though.”

You laugh, nodding in agreement, and when Isagi calls you over to help, you take his hand and let him drag you into the circle, shooting down all the suggestions they’ve jokingly made about you dumping him.

You’ve come to the realization that you fit. Right here, next to Isagi, there will always be a place for you. Perhaps, then, that makes you an idiot by association.

(You don’t think you’d have it any other way).

#isagi #isagi yoichi #bllk #blue lock #isagi x reader #blue lock x reader #bllk x reader #isagi yoichi x reader #isagi fluff #bllk fluff #blue lock fluff #fic: love and all its cons

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suguru-getos · 4 months ago

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patience | gojo satoru x f!reader | part 1 |

a/n: here i go with another chapterwise fic :3 but this is mostly self-indulgent because i just need to vent it out ya'll. summary: you've just resigned from your job, life seems hectic and you're on the verge of drowning from all the mental stress. a certain stranger you meet after office at an ice-cream shop, has distracted you from wallowing in your own mess however.

a parted sigh escaped your lips, after thinking long and hard. you decide this was worth it. yes, this must be. this has to be… you have no other choice. would you rather let the stress claw you up inside out? eat you and make you hollow? speaking of hollow, frankly, you don't remember when was the last time you had felt fulfilled. or had felt an ounce of happiness coursing through your veins. there is nothing remotely similar to that in your cut-throat world. someone would say, y/n that's just being a tad too dramatic, you earn a lot of money. you have such a lavish lifestyle, you can afford what you want… then why does your chest tighten every time you wake up? why do you have to remind yourself to breathe… why is that your showers have been extravagantly longer? why is that you end up in your head for days.

you swallow a lump in your throat while you think about all this, the red bottomed heels that you wear are aching, they feel like you'd pass out from the restriction of being so prim and proper all the time. you want to wear soft, fluffy slides, you want to perish, you want to live.

you had been disassociating in your desk for what feels like ages, before sending your manager that pre-prepared email.

hi manager_name,

"as of today (date) I am formally resigning. let me know how I can help with the smooth handover process"

regards,

yes, this helps, this really does help. your stomach lunges down when you hit send though. a pit of bubbling what if's searing through your abdomen.

your watch vibrates just in time, stupid fucking apple watch - "log in about how you feel today", you laugh in disbelief. shit… you feel like absolute shit. what else is one supposed to feel? or maybe, when you think back, you don't know what it is that makes you feel numb. why can't you just be fucking happy. the world surely isn't ending. definitely isn't.

the rest of the day passes by in a haze, you are pulled in back to back meetings where you have to constantly remind yourself to put a smile on your face, to have the tone with which you speak polite, to tell about your reason being you need a break from it all. over and over and over. some of them believe you, some of them don't really. not your problem, not your circus, not your monkeys.

"I'd just like to remind that you can't take any leaves during the notice period. especially for the smooth transition of your roles and responsibilities." your manager hums, eyes carrying foul judgement. "of course, have read the policy." you retort, the thing is, you don't want to sound so judgemental and so snappy… but somehow your brain doesn't function well with all the cumulative stress you've been carrying.

once the hellish meetings get over, you get up from the cabin, plastering the 'I don't give a fuck' face on and walking back to your place. your throat feels dry with all the talking you have done, hands reflexively reaching for your tumbler. you find out it's empty. of course. when the little-est things are capable of pissing you off, then, and only then does this happen.

you get up, walking towards the common water purifier cooler to fill it up, one of your colleagues walking over to you and smiling. "hi y/n" you hate her, she is a condescending bitch if nothing else, amongst one of those people who are highly insecure themselves, and would paint the same insecurity all over others to normalize their feelings. there have been several instances, she's looped you into things she does, which you hate and don't want to be associated with. for example: last week, she says, "oh y/n, we both are so similar and don't tolerate bullshit, I think you can still be fake around the others but jeez, I can't pretend." then don't pretend? and how can she decide what you feel? and what you think? sometimes it's nasty comments about where did you get your clothes from, where is the glittery eye-shadow that you’re wearing from, and then she goes ahead and tells you where it's from… man, you're realizing you're starting to dislike everything and everyone. does overstimulation make someone so snappy you wonder? if that's the case, how can you really get over it? do you need a trip to the mountains? a trip to the beach? what the fuck is it that you fucking need! "oye- y/n" the snap of her finger brings you back to reality. you plaster another smile, "hello, sorry, I was just thinking about something." "have you lost some weight? I don't understand how you get time to do all that with us working full time." there she goes again, you look at your body, if anything, you've gained a few pounds within the last few weeks. "no, I don't think so." "come on, you don't have to lie about your workout routine, be a girl's girl." you want to be a violence's girl and hit her in the fucking head with a chair. "I think maybe the outfit is giving you the illusion that I've lost a few pounds." you hummed, happy to walk away or you'll lose your grip.

after you resigned, the behaviours change. suddenly everyone thinks you're a traitor, someone who can't stay with the group and has to walk away. it's evident with the way they look at you. your eyes glance at the clock, and a wave of relief washes over you. just 30 more minutes, and you'll be off from work. another minute of relief. maybe you should go outside and take a smoke… you sigh and lean back against your chair, gnawing at your lip.

what does it mean to be truly happy? you wonder really… were you truly happy when all your friends/colleagues who have resigned now, were there with you? nope. you'd hate to admit to yourself, and the idea stings your eyes with tears… but you don't remember how it feels to be truly happy. it's pathetic to be in a state of equilibrium or sadness always. 2-3 years ago, you had reached a state of despair and had taken anti-depressants and therapy. they just make you robotic, what even could help… nothing does… nothing NOTHING NOTHING!

after spiralling, while looking completely put together, you get up and leave the work premises. stress-eating, you've been doing that a lot these days. maybe a sugar rush would help, yes, it should help. your feet walk towards the ice-cream shop close to your work, and you mumble, "madagascar chocolate ice cream please." the vendor knows you already, you visit frequently. which is why you know the exact price of the cone and transfer the money to him. "I'll have what she's having" you hear an unfamiliar voice from beside you, you've been stuck in your head so much, you totally ignored that there is a looming, tall man standing next to you. your head tilts up, and up, and up. jesus christ he's tall. his hair are white, and he's wearing glasses. it's evening… why is he wearing those glasses. you'd admit your thoughts evaporated the second you laid your eyes on him. ethereal, handsome, angelic, godly. he looked like an angel. wearing a loose fitted black tee shirt that accentuated his prodding collar bone. he looked rich, you knew he was. the cologne was unmistakable. you are not sure whether you'd like to talk any further, because it didn't feel like he's very much interested, his eyes are still dead set on the menu.

the vendor gives your ice-cream to you first, and then gives him the same scoop. you turn to walk away, when the man mumbles, "I trusted you, and this is bitter." you blink, you…? is he talking to you? you turned around and looked at him. "well, are you talking to me?" satoru's smile turns bigger, you looked so small compared to him, just holding your silly little ice-cream. the work bag and the outfit is a stark contrast to your face though. the little eye bags in your eyes as well. you seem, tired, overwhelmed and exhausted. still, you look beautiful. frankly, satoru is approached by so many ladies, he was intrigued what got you living in your head so much that you don't even notice him standing next to you. women slither around him to get his number, he's had a few… distractions to keep himself sane with his line of work. peculiar. you seemed quite peculiar.

"yes, I am talking to you." he walks closer to you, watching how your face tilts up again to make eye contact. "what’s your name?" he hums, taking another lick of the ice-cream. "well, since you talked to me first, I suppose you should be the one to introduce yourself first?" oh she bites… satoru's grin only turns wider. "satoru gojo. jesus." he laughs, "you know one of my colleagues remind me of you, always snappy and yelling and just… a little weak. it's cute. not her, I mean- she is just a plain nuisance." was this dude being condescending to you? your eye twitches, jaw flexing. "well, I didn't know you were so eager to make opinions about others just from a single sentence." his smile fades a little, "not really, maybe you're just too competitive, miss still hasn't told me her name." you hummed, "my name is y/n" your eyes circle back to him what a handsome fucking twink! "and not my problem you decided to trust a complete stranger and ordered the same ice-cream as mine, only to not like it. I'm not paying for it." satoru chuckles, "of course, I'm not asking you to pay for it, I have more than enough to buy this entire ice-cream chain and seize control of it all over the world, and then, ban your silly little flavour for good." joking… he's joking, but his smile drops when he sees the joke only offended you further. you don't look happy, you only look pissed at him. and perhaps disappointed. "not like I'd do that, over you not telling me your name directly." he waves his hand, dismissing that proposal. "I hope you enjoy having more than enough to buy entire ice-cream companies." you retort, "I have to go home, good bye." of course you have to go home, you are dancing between your two feet in those cramping heels. "those heels are expensive too." satoru comments, looking down at your feet. you look at him, what was even this dude's deal? "okay? yes? I don't know what you mean?" "I mean, the flavour of the ice-cream was expensive, the one you ate, and I hated it. the heels you're wearing, expensive, and you hate it… except you're not saying that you hate it?" those heels were new, and true, they scathed your heel. "hmm, whatever, I like them, which is why I bought them. I didn't trust some random stranger to buy red-bottoms. and I'm happy with them, they're just new. new things take time to adapt. they have to adapt to my feet, I have to adapt to them. if you had been careful enough to adapt to the ice-cream and not giving up on it, you'd have liked madagascar chocolate flavour too." you cross your arms and look at him with a pout. serene, you look serene for once. it’s a different emotion than what satoru saw when he came inside the ice-cream parlour. maybe, you're right. he shrugs, "if I don't like anything first time, first glance, it's not my thing." he responded, and you nodded. "makes sense, I liked these heels, and I will bear the consequences." you squinted. what were you even conversing about with a bloody stranger?

"ah, you don't have to you know?" WHAT IS IT WITH HIM… "I WANT TO!" you're already overstimulated, jesus fucking christ! heels heels heels, ice cream ice cream ice cream YOU WANT TO BE LEFT ALONE! a second or two later, you realize you had lost it on a complete stranger, tears brimming in your eyes, you have been keeping it in for so long even the slightest of nudge would have caused you to collapse. that was the sole reason you came here to have ice-cream in the first place. and now, you've lost it.

satoru's eyes widen a little when he sees your eyes glossy, a stray tear falling from them. "sorry, little girl. uh- I like your ice-cream flavour, it's strong- and it's- chocolatey- and it's- creamy- I like the heels- they really-" oh he's unsure what to say. he did have an inkling that you were someone who didn't seem at her best, he is perceptive enough for that, but he just didn't know that you were so easy to break right now. part of him feels a little guilty, another part of him feels numb, he's seen people killed, he's killed people. what would a stranger's tears be worth?

"that's fine. sorry I've just been having a shitty day." you mumbled, evading eye contact and looking at your feet. "I understand" satoru is quick to comment, smiling again. "y/n, you're too pretty to cry." the next sentence betrays all logic whatsoever in satoru's mind. you blink, attention diverted from the way you had made things awkward to the bubbling compliment. "thanks?" you snort, wiping your tears. satoru smiles, he doesn't know why he said that, but hey, that's the truth. "I usually don't tear up over petty things, it's just these past few weeks have been a mess and I've just resigned from my job so… don't worry I'm fine." your explanation makes satoru grin wider, so protective of yourself. "good, now you don't have to wear those shitty heels anymore, you can wear those comfy and nice side ons? you know? the ones with fur? and wear jammies maybe." you look at him and your eyes soften. YES, YES THAT'S EXACTLY IT!

you nodded, "yeah, and then eventually, I'll be a happy girl." you say this with such doubt it's pathetic.

satoru's heart does something to him when you say it like that, like what do you mean? "you don't sound sure y/n" he pouts, both your ice-creams melting by now. "well, I am half sure, I am fine otherwise anyways.." you look up at him again, god he's pretty, and why were you talking to a stranger! "well, maybe if I can have your number and check for myself?" bold, satoru can be bold when he wants something. "what would you do about it even if I am not happy?" "something different than you…" "why?" "see this is why you're not happy, just relax y/n chan!" he chuckles, because he doesn’t know either. he just, said it in a whim… and he means it, he likes you… the realization of all these feelings is happening so fast for him, he doesn't want you to take him like a fluke. "fine." you mumble, exchanging contacts with him. "I have to go home, I am tired." you mumble, finally walking away. he just nods, waving bye and observing you walk away from him, standing still, just watching like you're the main character in a movie. silly girl, now he's replaying this conversation in his head over and over and over with a silly lovesick grin.

#gojo satoru #gojo satoru x reader #jjk x reader #gojo satoru patience #jujutsu kaisen #jjk imagines #jjk drabble #gojo drabble #gojo x reader comfort #gojo x y/n #jjk x y/n #jjk comfort #jjk x reader comfort #jjk fluff #gojo fluff #satoru gojo #satoru gojo fluff

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