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wiltedreamofbaldursgate · 1 year ago

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Steady Hands, Frame My Love

characters: Astarion x race/class neutral fem!Tav/reader word count: +3.2k Rating: M trigger warning: mild-ish sexual content. bad eyebrows. This hasn't been beta-read nor am I a native speaker. read on ao3 read more BG3 one shots

Entrusting you with his face isn’t easy for Astarion, which is exactly why you’re so nervous about the whole thing to begin with. You want to do your very best—make him look his very best so that Astarion can feel good about himself. You couldn’t bear anyone making a bad comment on his appearance when he trusts you to be his mirror.

“Come out, spawn. There is no use in hiding.”

You know there is trouble when you spot Lae'zel in front of Astarion’s tent. Her tiny nose is scrunched up in a way that would be cute if it didn’t mean she wants to skin someone alive. The perfectly sharpened blade twitching in her hand is just another hint that she’s out for blood. You almost can’t blame Astarion for hiding from the Githyanki warrior’s wrath—almost, because it’s within every reason to assume he’s brought her wrath upon himself.

Taking a quick look around camp, you find that everybody is suspiciously busy minding their own business for once, skillfully ignoring the one-sided commotion in front of your lover’s tent. You can’t really blame them either; it’s been a very long day, and everybody wants to get some rest before dinner. You have half the mind to do the very same when Lae'zel’s intense gaze suddenly locks with yours—an honest rookie mistake.

There’s no use pretending you haven’t noticed her now, so you put your journal aside and approach the red tent with long strides and a smile that you can only hope will have a calming effect on her. Unsurprisingly, your hopes are shattered instantly.

Lae'zel doesn’t wait for you to friendly inquire about what the fuck the matter is this time; before you can even open your mouth, she’s all the way in your face.

“The spawn does as he pleases!”

Lae'zel would need to get a great deal more specific when it comes to Astarion, but you refrain from telling her so, opting for a questioning look instead.

The young warrior shakes her head, annoyed that her explanation isn’t sufficient enough for your small istik brain to comprehend.

“It is the spawn’s turn to fetch water from the stream. Thus is his duty,” Lae'zel explains slowly, accentuating every word with a well-placed hiss to get her point across. “A duty he fails to perform.”

You think it is progress that she isn’t waving her sword at you, although she does glare at you as if you were the offending party, which—since your relationship with the pale elf has become common knowledge around camp—you somewhat are.

“Where I am from, we make sure to keep our mates in check, however pleasing they might be. You might want to do the same.”

Maybe not so much progress, after all.

“Haven't I made myself quite clear on that before, Lae'zel?”

Holding her intense glare, you stare the warrior down. You have made yourself clear on occasion—you aren’t Astarion’s keeper.

It takes a moment, but Lae'zel is the first to break eye contact, eventually taking a step back. Not lowering your gaze, you wait patiently for her to continue.

“The spawn would better honour his word, or else…” She spits, not at you, but at Astarion’s firmly closed tent flap.

“I will remind him,” you assure her, not unkindly.

Lae'zel looks you up and down before she inclines her head ever so slightly.

“I trust you will,” she drawls, glaring at the tent one last time before she stalks away.

Left to take care of the issue at hand, you frown at the closed tent flap. As much as Astarion bitches about pulling his weight in camp, it’s unlike him to not do his chores one way or the other. And now that you think about it, he’s set up his tent uncharacteristically fast earlier, too, not even trying to rope anyone in to help him do his work. The realisation that you haven’t seen him since he vanished into said tent quite a while ago settles unpleasantly in your stomach.

“Astarion?”

You step closer to the heavy fabric closing off the tent’s entrance, listening. There’s no answer, although you do hear some hurried movement from within the tent. It’s a good sign, you suppose.

“You good in there?”

The silence stretches for another moment before Astarion finally lets out an exaggerated sigh. Going by the sound of it, he, too, must be standing rather close to the entrance.

“Truth be told, darling, I have been better.”

“Are you hurt?” You ask, not bothering to hide the obvious worry lacing your voice.

When could he have even gotten hurt? Haven’t you checked up on everyone after your earlier fight with some overly pesky, giant spiders? Or is he just messing with you—trying to avoid his laborious chore after all?

It takes yet another moment for Astarion to mumble something incomprehensible in reply. With raised eyebrows, you repeat your question, which earns you another sigh from him, this time more exasperated than theatrical.

“I just so happened to get some acid in my face when we took care of those cursed spiders and—”

“And?” You press, alarmed.

“It’s nothing, darling, really; it’s just—well…”

“Astarion!”

The vampire curses, and you can hear him step even closer to the tent’s opening, closer to you. You’re almost sure that if you pressed your hand against the fabric shielding him from you, you would be able to touch him.

“They're gone,” he says, his voice so low you have to strain your ears to hear him.

Your frown deepens. “What is?”

More mumbling reaches your ear, and Astarion has to repeat himself twice before you can eventually make any sense of his words. You stare at the tent flap in disbelief. You can't have heard right.

“Your eyebrows are gone?”

Astarion inhales sharply. “Must you scream it around for everyone to hear? Come in, come in!”

Not knowing what to expect, you enter the tent.

Astarion has retreated to the shadows; his hand is firmly pressed against his forehead. You stare up at him, trying to assess the situation. He looks pained alright, although you have an inkling it’s more from wounded vanity than actual injury. As you step closer to him, you give him a reassuring smile.

“So, acid, huh? I’m sure it’s not that bad.”

He is not convinced. At all. Wordlessly, he’s staring back at you, his jaw set. Your smile fades.

“Let me take a look?” You try again, feeling your already shaky optimism dwindle further.

He thinks it over for a couple of heartbeats before he slowly drags his hand to his hairline, pushing up the stands of white hair that usually fall so gracefully in his face…

Astarion must’ve drunk a healing potion because the presumably once-angry burns on his skin have already faded into pale red blotches sprinkled all over his forehead. By morning, nobody would even be able to tell the acid burns were ever there—were it not for Astarion’s eyebrows, or what’s left of them, that is.

You instantly force your face into a mask of neutrality. You have to approach this very delicately.

“It’s… salvageable. Really,” is all you can blurt out, though.

Astarion’s crimson eyes grow comically round, accentuated by the lack of eyebrows; he doesn’t believe a word you say, which you can’t really hold against him. You’re talking shit. It’s bad, and you wonder how in the nine hells you haven’t noticed this before.

“You can redraw them here and…there,” you go on for lack of anything better to say—Gods, you really should shut up. “Fill them back in, you know…?”

Astarion wets his lips while you're evading his piercing gaze.

“Why, what a grand idea,” he breathes, shakily. “I never would’ve thought of that myself. If only there wasn’t this one peculiar little thing. What was it again, my dear?”

You cringe. Of course. Of course… How could you forget?

“Ah, right…” You only notice the delicate hand mirror Astarion was holding when it flies across the tent, shattering somewhere on the bare ground farthest from you. “I can’t fucking see my face!”

As if all strength has left his body, Astarion sinks to the ground, where he lets himself fall back into his pile of blankets, arms draped over his eyes. It’s all rather dramatic, but you guess you can’t have one without the other.

Grimacing, because you’re sorry for him, you sink to your knees next to him, gently tugging at his sleeve.

“Do you want me to do it? Redraw them, I mean.”

You can tell by the way Astarion sits up as if struck by lightning that he was only waiting for your offer. Suddenly very close, he considers you with narrowed eyes.

“I suppose you could,” he muses, tracing the shape of your left eyebrow with his index finger. “You usually look presentable enough.”

You let the comment slide, but not without rolling your eyes at him. It’s just show, though, a way to suppress a smile. Astarion thinks he’s sly about it, but you catch him often enough looking at you as if you were the sun at dawn.

Of course, you would never dare mention that to him.

“Give me a minute,” you say instead, already rising to your feet, were it not for the cold fingers curling around your wrist.

Astarion gives you a stern look as he's holding you in place, his nose nearly brushing against yours. “Not a word to anyone about this.”

You give him a solemn look in return as you comb your fingers through his hair, gently guiding some stray locks back into place. “I’ll take your secret to the grave.”

Your hand is trembling just a little—enough for Astarion to notice. Enough for that damn smirk to find its way to his lips. You hold your breath.

“Nervous, love?”

Yes, and it’s stupid because you’ve done this often enough—daily, even. It’s just easier to apply cosmetics on yourself, sitting in front of a mirror and not kneeling in front of him, trying to evade his piercing gaze.

“Why would I be?” You scowl, readjusting the hold on your charred willow stick that has yet to make contact with Astarion’s skin. “Aren’t my eyebrows, are they?”

You shift closer to him, brushing against his leg with your knee, which doesn’t help your case at all. You can’t help feeling a little shaky when he’s this close—and he knows it.

“No need to tremble like a virgin, then, my sweet.”

Giving him a sharp look, you draw back a little, although you don’t make it far.

“Maybe you just need to come a little closer still,” he purrs as his hand takes hold of the back of your knee, pulling you onto his lap in one swift motion. “Might be less distracting for you…”

For someone close to having a meltdown less than fifteen minutes ago, he’s surely having lots of fun now. Biting your lower lip, you adjust your weight, straddling Astarion properly. Trying to ignore the hard body pressing against yours, you assess the natural growth of his eyebrows again, eventually setting the tip of the charred willow stick down on his skin, only to remove it again. This won’t work like this.

“Honestly, can you please just close your eyes?”

Astarion scoffs. “Should I blow out the candles, too, while I’m at it? Leave the nightdress on?”

“Shut up, or you’ll end up looking like a clown.”

That eventually does the trick. He gives you one last look that is somewhere between peeved and wary before he closes his eyes.

Entrusting you with his face isn’t easy for Astarion, which is exactly why you’re so nervous about the whole thing, to begin with. You want to do your very best—make him look his very best so that Astarion can feel good about himself. You couldn’t bear anyone making a bad comment on his appearance when he trusts you to be his mirror. The thought alone makes you shudder.

Astarion’s hand wanders up from your knee to your hip, giving it a gentle squeeze; this time, his touch is more encouragement than teasing.

After taking a deep breath, you lean back in.

With steady hands, you begin to redraw the missing parts of his eyebrows. Taking your time, you make sure to follow the natural shape of them; to blend out the colour where the charcoal comes off as too stark a contrast to his white hair.

While you’re working, Astarion doesn’t move one bit, eager—for once—to not fluster you. It’s not until you lean back to consider the fruits of your labour that he opens his eyes again.

“And?”

“Well,” you muse, “you look presentable enough.”

He scowls as you throw his own words back at him; you suppress a laugh before you take his face between your hands.

“If I could see the stars right now, I could not tell them apart from you,” you proclaim, mimicking his dramatics once again. It’s not as funny when you do it, so you’re quick to add, “You’re as beautiful as ever.”

You mean it, and Astarion knows it; trusts that you do. He leans forward to brush a kiss against your lips, hugging you to him, which is as much thanks as you expected to receive.

“Will you do it again tomorrow? And the day after,” he mumbles into the crook of your neck, “please?”

“Of course,” you assure him, deepening the embrace, “until they’ve grown back.”

Astarion hums in agreement and you remain like this for a moment before you pull back to look into his eyes, which are once again framed by a pair of sharp eyebrows accentuating his perfect features.

“I should’ve noticed earlier,” you say, at last. “I’m sorry. I’m not a very good mirror, it seems.”

Astarion frowns at you, the intensity of his gaze taking you aback as it is wont to do.

“Don’t be,” he urges, gently taking your dominant hand in his. He runs his fingers along the back of it, careful not to put too much pressure on your still-raw skin. His touch stings nonetheless, reminding you of your own acid burns that have yet to heal—those spiders really are a menace. “You should be more careful, too, you know? You’re the only working mirror I have.”

You’re lying flat on your back before you can even gasp in surprise. To your embarrassment, your legs have already wrapped around Astarion’s waist; all you can see is that damn smirk on his lips as he’s towering over you, his face barely a finger width away from yours. Your breath hitches as you take him in; nobody has any right to be this beautiful.

“It would be a shame if I lost it, my precious little mirror,” he sighs before pressing his lips to yours.

It’s a far cry from his earlier kiss—heated, needy. Knowing you don’t stand a chance against his tongue gliding over your lower lip, you open your mouth to him, slowly losing yourself in him. There’s really nothing easier than that.

Your hand moves to the back of his neck, pulling him even closer as your fingers dig through his locks, eliciting a low moan from him. This is a lot more thanks for your service than you’ve expected, but you find yourself unable to complain. Your mouth is far too occupied for that anyway.

It’s almost obscene how easily Astarion can undo your stays and by the time his hand finds its way underneath your thin shirt, your mind is long clouded by lust. Leaving goosebumps in its wake, his hand glides over your belly up to your sternum before it firmly cups your breast. The lazy pace of his thumb drawing circles around your hardened nipple has you aching your back, trying to ease the wet heat gathering between your legs.

Wet.

Somewhere very far in the back of your mind, you remember that you had a reason for coming to him earlier—way before you ended up on his lap, let alone underneath him. Let alone this damn wet. What was it again?

You break loose from Astarion to take a quick breath. Not wasting any time away from you, his lips begin to trace along your jaw, your throat, your collarbone; his wicked grin is painfully obvious against your skin. By the time you realise Astarion is scheming something, he’s already pushing his knee under your ass, repositioning you so that you can feel his hardness pressing against your core. You hiss at the sudden contact.

Ah, right—hiss! Lae'zel.

You throw your head back with a sigh as Astarion begins to grind his hips against you, making any thought of the Githyanki warrior evaporate quickly. Fuck Lae'zel and her sense of duty and honour. You can just sit out her wrath with Astarion right here, right now, however long it may take. It doesn’t really matter that you’re not sitting much, either.

But then again, maybe this is why your companions take offence at you the moment Astarion is stepping out of line, although you’re sure they would be biassed, too, if they knew how positively divine he feels—especially when he’s teasing the waistband of your trousers with his long fingers as he does now. Your hips move in answer to his touch, and yet…Fuck.

You groan. Not with pleasure but from your own sense of duty. The others trust you as much as Astarion does; that’s why they somehow thought it wise to make you their leader. Almost annoyed with yourself, you prop yourself up on one elbow, pressing your hand against Astarion’s chest, telling him to stop before you’re way past the point of no return.

He raises an eyebrow at you. His hair is messy and his lips are red and swollen from your kisses and by the Gods you want him to fuck you. It takes you a very long moment to gather yourself.

“Now that we took care of your issue,” you pant, tracing the shape of his left eyebrow with your index finger, “you might wanna go fetch water if you don’t want Lae'zel to wipe them off right away.”

Tilting his head, Astarion gives you a long look. His fingers keep digging into your thigh which has you grinding your teeth to suppress another sigh. He doesn’t buy your attempt at keeping order and peace, not when he can undoubtedly feel you trembling with need for him. You’re not even protesting when he leans back over you, one arm next to your head to support his weight.

“So, what?” he breathes against your shoulder before planting a hot kiss against your skin. And another. And another, as he is slowly kissing his way down your body. “You said you would redo them over and over and over again, didn’t you, darling?”

Holding your breath, you watch your shirt being pushed up the lower he’s moving down on you, gasping only when the crisp evening air caresses your exposed chest.

Astarion’s trail of kisses comes to a halt right below your belly button. His crimson eyes are looking at you expectantly but you’re too preoccupied with his fingers slowly undoing your trousers to make any sense of his wordless question. You swallow.

“You did say that, didn’t you?” He repeats, the amusement evident in his voice.

“Yes,” you nod rather enthusiastically. “No problem. Not at all.”

“That’s what I thought,” Astarion grins, finally freeing you of your trousers to see how pathetically ready you already are for him.

Duty can wait a little longer, you decide as you give yourself over to the pale elf. You only promised Lae'zel to remind Astarion of his chores, not that you would make him do them, you reason.

You’re not his keeper, after all.

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loveanddeepspice · 9 days ago

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𝕋𝕖𝕞𝕡𝕥𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝔾𝕣𝕒𝕔𝕖

✞ synopsis: you've come back to the small town you grew up in for a visit. though your relationship with the catholic church and faith in general have been strained since you were younger, you find yourself drawn back to the church... or more specifically... the new priest... you aren't ready to share your secret sin with him... but you may not be able to help yourself.

✞ pairing: sylus x curvy fem!reader

✞ rating: 18+ (minors do not engage)

✞ cw: religion (catholicism), priest, lapsed faith, adultery, priest kink, suicidal mention, dead parent, sex, masturbation, drugs (marijuana), mentions of other drug use, drinking (more will be added when/if they arise)

✞ disclaimer: this fiction explores a romantic relationship between a lapsed Catholic and an unconventional priest. it is not designed to be inflammatory or critical. catholic authors were asked to participate in the process. we hope you enjoy it, but we know that these topics can be sensitive, so please skip this fiction if it will in any way offend you.

✞ chapter: 5 / ?

✞ co-authors: redbriony, confuseddoughnut (they do not have tumblr)

✞ ao3 link: here

✞ chapter synopsis: a series of risky decisions gets you into more than one kind of trouble.

✞ index: chapter 1 | chapter 2 | chapter 3 | chapter 4 | chapter 5

Please comment on this post if you want to be added to the tag list for updates!

The next few days were spent in the confines of your childhood home, your bed almost becoming your permanent address as you thought about that kiss. The kindness and how the words expressed resonated with you in a way you hadn’t felt in a long time. But more than anything, how the kissing Father Sylus had made you feel - the tenderness of it all. But surely you were getting ahead of yourself and even found yourself a little disgusted with yourself over the whole encounter.

But he had just been so close, too sweet, and his face was so beautiful, and all you wanted to do was press kisses all over him.

But it’s wrong, isn’t it?

Something inside you rebelled against the idea for obvious reasons. Any resolve you had would disintegrate when you decided to act or speak on it.

But then, one evening, Rafayel called. You barely answered in time because part of you was hoping it would be someone else.

“Hey babe, just wanted to check up and see how you’re doing. Haven’t heard from you.”

You blinked, frozen for a moment as you twisted into a sitting position on your bed. “Fine. What’s up?”

He chuckled, and you weren’t sure if he was annoyed. You felt slightly upset at yourself for not reaching out when you could have. A normal rekindled friendship typically involves a friend being there for the other, especially after what he revealed to you. But before you could follow up with an apology, he spoke again.

“Nothing in particular. I wondered if you wanted to get some of the old gang together and go up into the woods like we used to.”

You knew the place he was walking about, the old lumber yard out in the middle of the woods where the kids from town used to gather. It had been a favorite spot to hang out, build bonfires, other illegal shit teenagers liked to do when they wanted to get away from their parents.

“What do you mean ‘the gang?’” You asked.

“Well, uh, it’s just gonna be you and me. When I tried to call anyone else from school, they either laughed at me for being back here or didn’t answer.” You could hear his nervous laugh when his words cut off. “Still a small town, and everyone is the same.”

You couldn’t resist, though. Even if you were a bit too old for that behavior. Reliving your past was one of the reasons you returned home in the first place. “I have nothing better to do, so yeah. Sounds great.” You paused, wondering if you had said the right thing, hoping that Rafayel understood what you meant. “Sorry, I’ve been…not myself lately. Lot’s on my mind.” You rubbed the back of your knee with your fingers before standing, keeping the phone to your ear as you crossed the room to where your suitcase lay open on a chair.

“I get it.” He responded with a laugh, light and airy in a way that made you smile. “Life is pretty shitty, especially for people like us who - well, you know.” There was a hint of apology in his tone as you heard him open and close a door. “This is the perfect opportunity for me to listen to you now.”

“I kissed the priest.”

“Fucking, what? The hot one?”

You sat on the edge of the bed, leaning forward a bit, a bit shaken now with your admission. Even though you had spoken it out loud, you still felt as if you couldn’t totally come to grips with the situation.

“Well, yeah. He’s the only one.” You said, curling your hand around the hem of the comforter. “And I’m also in love with a married man. I’m losing it. This is what happens to people who don’t peak in high school or something!”

Rafayel said nothing, obviously processing. Then he began to chuckle, which turned into a laugh. Then, he let out the most ridiculous roar of laughter.

“Wow,” he managed to gasp out after a bit, only to laugh again. You could imagine how his shoulders probably shuddered as they shook and the grin plastered on his face. “Okay, once Talia goes to bed, I’ll grab her car and pick you up. And then you’re explaining this whole damn story to me. Got it?”

“Got it.”

“I can’t even comprehend this,” Rafayel breathed after you recounted your tale of how you ended up back home, finishing off with the way Father Sylus had kissed you and the way your panic overtook you. He shook his head, hands clenching and unclenching, brow knitted as he looked at you.

The two of you sat in Talia's car, parked outside the old lumber yard in the woods. The empty dirt parking lot was bathed in the moon's light peeking through the clouds. The bowl on the dash between you both served as a reminder that some things hadn’t changed and that this was the first place you had smoked weed.

Rafayel picked it up, fingers curling around the glass as he brought it to his lips. The flick of the lighter illuminated his face in the dark car, shadows dancing across his cheekbones as he inhaled deeply. You couldn’t blame him for his reaction.

When he passed it to you, you mirrored his actions, feeling the smoke fill your lungs and the earthy taste coating your tongue. You held it in briefly before exhaling slowly, leaning back into the passenger seat.

“And Xavier asked me out.” You said.

Your friend’s face contorted in disbelief before he let out a short burst of laughter. “You’re joking, right?”

“Nope.” You giggled and looked out towards the old building before you, wondering how he could think you were making any of this up.

“Damn, you have three guys chasing after you, begging for scraps. I bet the doctor has loads of money.” Rafayel clicked his tongue thoughtfully. “This is every girl’s dream! I don’t understand what the problem is.”

And as if it suddenly hit him all at once, he started to laugh, and the laugh turned out to be contagious. You both soon ended up in a fit of giggles inside the growing colder car.

“I mean, what am I supposed to do? Ask him to leave his wife?” You huffed.

“Relax! Think about it. People get divorced all the time.” The high was definitely setting in as Rafayel rested his head on the back of the seat. “And if he’s as hopelessly infatuated with you as you said, he might do it anyway.”

“Rafayel! That’s horrible.”

He leaned in and playfully nudged your shoulder, saying, “I can’t help but be honest with you. Who would I be if I wasn’t?” He caught the look on your face and rolled his eyes, flicking the lighter absentmindedly. “Or, you know, you could just call him up and give him a piece of your mind. Maybe that will push him right in the direction of Silver Springs.”

You rolled your eyes and muttered, feeling the familiar laziness creeping into your body. You barely resisted the urge to snort at his suggestion. “The Fleetwood Mac song?”

“Yeah, Stevie cursed him, you know. Lindsey. In ‘97. Hexed him right on stage in front of everyone. So if I were you, I would call him up and tell him what direction he can shove his thumb up his own ass.”

You laughed again, shaking your head at Rafayel’s ridiculous suggestion. The pot was doing its job, making everything seem way funnier than it should be.

“I don’t know, man,” you sighed, sinking further into the seat. “Even if Zayne does leave his wife for me, which would be so wrong, what about Father Sylus? I mean, I kissed a priest, for Christ’s sake!”

Rafayel took another long drag from the bowl before setting it between you in the cupholder, smoke once again billowing in the car as he responded. “Hey, forbidden love is the hottest kind. And I figure if I’m going to get any entertainment out of this town, it’s gonna be from you at this point. So just call the fucking doctor while I’m still high.” With that, he shoved your shoulder, and you turned and shoved him right back.

You grumbled as you reached for your phone, unlocking it as the smoke settled around you. You scrolled through your contacts until your thumb was right over the number. It was so tempting, especially with the encouragement of the young man beside you - but you stayed still.

You’ll never get away from the sound of the woman that loves you.

“Fuck it.” You breathed deeply, heart hammering, and hit the phone symbol. As soon as you heard the first ring, you nearly jumped.

Why do I do this? A mantra in your mind, like a worm in your skull, beating against the insides repeatedly with a tiny hammer.

You waited, putting the phone on speaker so the idiot beside you could hear. After a few long rings, you were about to hang up when there was a click. An unfamiliar voice picked up instead of the one you were used to, and the wave of anxiety almost made you dizzy.

“Hello?” Her voice was soft, not as straightforward or bubbly as you had imagined she would sound.

Silent, you swallowed thickly, and along with the fear, you felt the ache settle in once again. The sharp guilt began coiling around you. You looked toward Rafayel, who suddenly looked just as panicked as you. He quickly grabbed your phone, raising an index finger to his lips and giving you a stern look.

“Hi! Uh, I’m calling about your car's extended warranty!” Rafayel quickly stated, cutting off whatever the woman was about to say next. Then, he turned and threw your phone out of the open window.

The two of you stared at each other blankly. Then, all the adrenaline hit you at once, and the numb haze obliterated.

“Oh my God, fuck!” You managed to say, trying and failing to fight the delirious laughter that began wrapping through your body. You barely noticed your vision clouded with tears, and your next laugh came out mixed with a sob. “That was his - and you just - HA! You threw my phone out the window!”

“Listen, Y/N, I don’t think that was a good -”

“FUCK.” You kicked the dashboard with your foot, the glove compartment popping open and spilling its contents onto the car's floor. “How could you throw my phone out the window like that?” you cried, turning to glare at Rafayel through your tears.

He held up his hands defensively. “I panicked, okay? I didn’t want you to do something you’d regret later. That was his wife on the phone, not him! What were you going to say to her anyway?”

“I don’t know!” you wailed, burying your face in your hands. The high rapidly dissipated, ruined, and replaced by a growing despair. “I’m a horrible person. What am I doing with my life?”

Rafayel sighed and scooted closer, draping an arm lazily around your shaking shoulders. “Hey, you’re not a horrible person. Do you want a Xanax?”

“No, I don’t want Xanax! Go get my phone!”

“Okay, okay! Just chill out.” Rafayel moved to open the car door but paused, a muttered curse leaving his mouth before he hurriedly attempted to clean up the drug paraphernalia scattered on the console. Then he turned just in time to have a flashlight shone in his face. In all of your agitation, it appeared that neither of you had noticed the other vehicle that had pulled up.

“Hi, Tara.” Rafeyel greeted the deputy at the window with a thinly veiled hint of irritation as he shielded his eyes with the back of one hand. “Good to see you.”

Tara looked at him, and then her eyes landed on you and widened slightly, her mouth parting as she put the two of you together. “Really? You’re back home?”

Tara was only a couple years younger than you, and there was no surprise that this was her chosen profession. You remembered how she used to hang around all the time in high school, staying behind and hoping you’d ask her to hang out to go to a party. Even back then, it was as if you couldn’t shake her, the girl pursuing anything and getting into anything she could think of.

“So, uh.” Tara leaned over and peeked into the car, leaning her free hand on the window. Perfectly manicured nails and the same cherry red lipstick; her features and skin soft. “What are you guys doing?”

You started to laugh again, unable to resist the odd delight rippling through you. Rafayel tensed, and his lips pressed together as he looked at you in warning.

“Nothing, officer.” You answered with a grin. “Don’t you have more important things to do? What’s all we ever did when we came up here?”

Rafayel slapped a hand to his forehead. Tara scoffed and looked around nervously, as if confused as to how you reached the admission you realized shouldn’t have slipped out of your mouth so easily. Her sudden lack of boldness reminded you of the faux courage she often displayed when she was younger, which was why you were never that close with her.

As long as you’ve known Talia, she was the type to call the priest whenever something happened. Even though you partially expected it, you were still on edge seeing Father Sylus walking into the tiny police station with her.

You were sitting on a bench with Rafayel, feeling angry and frustrated, and your high completely came down when the two of them walked in. Your head snapped up at the sight of the tall man next to Talia, looking composed and put together while she looked like she had just taken a sleeping pill. It truly was no surprise to see Talia rushing in to rescue Rafayel from whatever trouble he had gotten himself into.

“Rafayel.” Talia’s small, five-foot frame was in front of her nephew. “You…” She rubbed her temples and let out a groan.

“Sorry, Talia.” He held up his hands, which were cuffed together, a bit of a chuckle leaving his mouth as if he thought this was the most amusing thing that could possibly happen to him.

You averted your gaze again, the memory of the kiss burning in your mind, and you couldn’t bear to look up. A fresh wave of shame washed over you. Talia’s exasperated voice faded into the background as your heart pounded.

“Come on, let’s get you two out of here,” Talia finally said with a sigh. She turned to Tara, who was seated at the desk nearby. “I’m assuming there won’t be any charges? They were just being stupid, right Tara?”

Tara glanced between you and Rafayel, conflict flickering across her face. You could see the gears turning in her mind, weighing the social capital to be gained by letting this slide versus following protocol. After a tense beat, she sighed and waved a dismissive hand.

“Yeah, yeah. Come on, let’s go fill out the paperwork.”

Talia nodded curtly and followed Tara out of the room, and an awkward silence descended, thick and lingering, although you couldn’t pinpoint the cause of it. You kept your gaze fixed on the scuffed linoleum, tracing patterns with your eyes.

“Hey, Father,” Rafayel said, “What’d Talia say when she called you?”

“She asked for a ride, said she would kill you, and needed someone to perform the last rites.”

Rafayel let out a short laugh at Father Sylus’ dry response, but you remained silent, still unable to bring yourself to look at the priest. Your mind kept replaying that moment - the gentle press of his lips against yours. How could you face him now, after what transpired between you? What would you even say?

“Right.” Rafayel hummed, “Suppose I should thank you then. Potentially saving my soul and all that.” He nudged you with his elbow, “Ain’t that right, bestie?”

“Yeah, thanks.” You mumbled, only lifting your head when Tara appeared in front of you to remove the handcuffs from your wrists. Talia moved before her nephew, jingling her car keys before dropping them into his hands.

“Let’s get out of here before I change my mind, Rafayel,” She grumbled. He flashed her a cheeky grin but wisely kept his mouth shut this time.

“I can take Y/N home.” Father Sylus nodded toward you once you stood and shook out your wrists. Nervously, your eyes flickered to Rafayel, who looked terrified for you for a brief second before mouthing the words, 'Touch his butt.'

A moment later, you found yourself outside the police station next to the priest who had consumed your thoughts since that ill-advised kiss. You shivered in the harsh autumn breeze that cut straight through the light jacket you wore. You risked a brief glance at Father Sylus. He stood without a jacket, radiating heat, and for a moment, you wanted to press against him to feel that warmth.

You found your words. “I - I can get home on my own,” you said, a bit harsher than was necessary. “I’m an adult the last time I checked.”

Father Sylus paused at the bottom of the steps and turned around. There wasn’t any tension or hesitation in his tone, just like the other night. He was just genuinely inquiring. “How are you feeling, Y/N?”

Shivering slightly and wrapping your arms around yourself, you looked toward the man and offered a smile. Your voice had the faintest tremor as you tried to joke, “I’ve been better.”

Father Sylus glanced at you from the corner of his eye as you fell into step beside him, releasing a little snort at your sarcasm, a gesture that, for some reason, sent a hot rush of awe through you.

“That’s all right, Y/N.” He said with a sad smile. “We can talk about it later if you want. For now, the important thing is getting you home.” Reflexively, his hand came to rest on the small of your back as he steered you toward the parking lot.

Just the brief caress of his warm hand on your back made your thighs clench. It didn’t mean anything, you told yourself, but your stomach churned as the sweet electricity of his touch rushed through you.

Stop it, you told yourself. He was just showing you where he had parked. Yet his lingering warmth was flooding your senses. Swallowing thickly, you pinched your brows together and hoped you didn’t actually upset him in any way.

“Should I be worried?” he asked.

“About what?”

“The things you’re into.”

Stopping, a hard lump formed in your throat, and the entire world fell into a hush. The nearly pitch black parking lot of the police station, the night chill, the beautiful priest that just - was he teasing you, now?

“Again. I’m in my twenties. Weed,” you snapped, emphasizing the last word, “Isn’t a big deal.”

His palm felt scorching through your jacket as he closed a hand around the top of your shoulder, squeezing gently.

“Hey now,” He said, making your breath hitch as you stiffened slightly. “It was just a question.”

You said nothing, simply sliding into the passenger seat of Father Sylus’s car.

A quiet settled between you two in the car, then. All you could do was look out the window at the dark neighborhood and overanalyze every word, every touch, trying to pinpoint exactly how you felt. But how could you even explain that the man beside you gave you the thrill of wanting to do something terrible? Because there had been a moment with him, something that broke the reality of the relationship the two of you had. It didn’t necessarily feel awful, more like an unspoken truth waiting to be expressed.

You tried to control your emotions and thought process, registering that you were in front of your house now. Just as you were going to say goodnight and grab the door handle, you heard Father Sylus speak.

“I owe you an apology for the other night.” The quiet murmur was easy to miss, but you did everything possible to hang onto the sound. A mix of breath. You looked back at him, trying to catch his eyes in the darkness only illuminated by the porch light from the distance.

“I don’t want to make things difficult for you.” He continued, “I’d still like for us to talk.”

As tempting as it was to open the car door and leave, the ache in your belly nearly overwhelmed you. A terrible, crushing sense of longing settled in. Knowing where the lines were drew a blank in your mind. Where the hell were you supposed to draw the line? Fuck, was this situation genuine, or just one of opportunity?

“Can I ask an inappropriate question, Father?” You choked out, swallowing the lump of anxiety that wound its way around the base of your neck. You watched as he shut the car off.

“What is it?” He wasn't looking at you, but the hand still on the wheel tightened slightly.

Inhaling deeply, your heart thumped at an aching speed as you murmured your question, your voice beginning to betray how much he affected you. “Do you kiss a lot of girls?”

“I beg your pardon?”

Why the hell did you mean to bring that up? What good would knowing do, even? Right, of course, you would just go ahead and ruin the image of purity - what was the worst that could happen?

“Well,” You continued, unable to stop yourself but choosing your words carefully, “You kissed me. So, do you kiss a lot of girls?”

Father Sylus was quiet for a long, brutal moment. You felt sweat bead on your skin despite the car being cool. Clenching your fists and digging your nails into your palm, you try to brace yourself. You hadn’t intended to ask your question so outwardly , but what other way was there to put it?

“Y/N, you’re trying to minimize our connection,” he said. He took a deep, steadying breath and then rubbed a hand over his brow. “And I can ignore it. I can try to pray for the strength to bear it.”

Then, he met your gaze directly. In the light from the porch, you could see how his crimson eyes tore into you, emotion suddenly exposed and bared. For the second time, he had allowed you to glimpse what was hiding under the careful mask he put on.

You almost flinched as he touched your knee, his tone dropping. “But I won’t diminish it.”

You found yourself falling, then, into those wounded eyes. You slid your hand forward and set it over his, the heat from the simple touch making you feel like you had touched an ember.

Before you knew what you were doing, you leaned across the center console to kiss him, slow and sweet.

Please don’t push me away.

For a moment, you feel his surprise. However, just before you pull away, he pulls you forward, one warm hand sliding up your back and the other threading through your hair gently, reverently.

You moan softly into his mouth, and his grip tightens slightly. He deepens the kiss, pressing his tongue into your mouth. You lose yourself in the feel of his lips on yours, his hands on your body.

The gentleness he handles you with stokes the fire within you, warming you from the inside and slowly turning into a fever. You long for him to hold you tightly, to show you he wanted you too - you need that affirmation.

Then his lips grazed the shell of your ear, voice husky and warm. “You’re far too close for your own good.”

What sort of torment was this? All these words hung in the air that you wanted to say, but none came to your mind except for -

“Fuck me,” you rasped. Your face felt hot as the words spilled from your lips, driven by the intensity of your want. “Please, I -”

He silenced you with his mouth, capturing your lips again. His kiss is no less intense and consuming but maintains a level of restraint that a part of you hoped was rapidly crumbling. Your hands move on their own accord, reaching for his belt.

A hand on your wrist stops you before you can go any further, his skin like silk against the pounding pulse point of your wrist. It was a heavyweight, slowly making its way up to where your heart was beating wildly.

He’s looking directly into your eyes when he brings your hand to his mouth, kissing your knuckles gently.

“No here, sweetheart.” His voice is feather-light as he speaks. “Not like this.”

While he let go of your wrist, something unseen held you in place. But it was only momentarily before the horror of what you had tried to do crashed over you.

“Oh, fuck, I’m so sorry, I - what the fuck am I doing?”

With the state you were in, it wouldn’t take much for the well of tears to come. Unable to look at him, you unlocked the car door and pushed it open, nearly tripping on your feet as you stumbled onto the pavement.

You didn’t look back, fearing falling apart, and slammed the door shut.

Rather than going through the front door, you circled the house and went up the back porch through the kitchen. Once inside, you walked past your dad in the living room, who was sleeping on the couch with the television blaring and a near-empty bottle of beer within arm’s reach.

You went into the bathroom in the hallway, shut and locked the door, then slid down onto the cold tile.

The rejection shouldn’t have hurt as much as it did. No, this was different. Something deep inside, something raw and fiery, made the ache grow exponentially. It was the memory of the touch, the intoxicating mixture of scents.

Anger clawed its way to the surface because you couldn’t even wrap your head around what you felt. How pathetic, how foolish, how humiliating.

Clutching the sides of your head, you let out a scream, frustration causing your body to shake.

You wanted so badly to disappear.

Did God have a sense of humor or something?

tag list: @celestialforce @readerxyourbabe

#lds #love and deepspace #lads #l&ds #lads sylus #lads rafayel #lads xavier #lads fanfic #sylus x reader #sylus x you

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sotwk · 9 months ago

Text

Taken (Eomer x unnamed OC) - Part 3 of 3

Part 1 / Part 2

Summary: After having his proposals and professions rejected by the woman he loves, Éomer still refuses to be dissuaded. He vows to continue fighting for a future with her--even if that means having to let go for the time being.

Word count: 6.7k

Dedicated to anyone who has ever known the pain of loving someone you could not have. <3

Content: Boromir lives (!), angsty romance, declarations of love, jealousy, mutual pining, class division, shield-maiden, Éomer King, Rohirrim OCs, post-RotK, non-canon pairing

Rating: T (Teens and up)

Warnings: Sensuality gets steamy, but nothing explicit. Mentions of old battle injuries.

To Read on AO3: Link

Taken

PART THREE

Third Age 3019 May 6

Minas Tirith, Gondor

“If you would allow me to propose something your Grace, I--”

“Éomer.” The King of Rohan growled the ungentle correction with an irritated shake of his head. “If I have leave from your king to continue calling him Elessar, then I will not abide frivolous formalities from you…Captain. And speak freely! It is your candor that I came here for, as much as your counsel."

Boromir chuckled faintly. “Very well.” He downed the last of the wine in his goblet before picking up the jug to refill it, then reaching across the table to serve his guest as well.

While Éomer took a hearty swig, Boromir used the extra seconds of silence to weigh his next words. The noble horse-lord had done most of the talking since his arrival at the house not an hour ago, rambling on with barely contained agitation that would have frightened or offended anyone unfamiliar with his character. But Boromir had known Théodred’s cousin since he was a child, and while he was not nearly as close to Éomer as he had been with the late Prince of Rohan, their friendship had deepened enough--especially over the past few months--to familiarize Boromir with the trigger points of his temper.

And Boromir had never before seen him more sensitive about a topic than the matter they had at hand.

Love certainly wields such terrible power over a man, the Captain-General of Gondor mused, before clearing his throat.

“I will gladly fulfill your request of watching over her in your absence, making sure she is well-treated and wants for nothing,” he began. “But a soldier can quickly grow restless without sufficient martial exercise.”

“I agree.” Éomer leaned forward to fold his arms across the table. “Has she not been here long enough for your men to grow accustomed to seeing her at the training grounds? None of them need spar against her or even alongside her if they do not wish to. She would be content to practice drills on her own. In fact, she may even prefer it.”

“My men will tolerate her presence just fine. The valor she showed on Pelennor was well-witnessed, and stories of it have circulated around our garrison,” Boromir said. “I admit she may inevitably overhear crass remarks from some passing boor among the citizenry. A woman warrior still remains an oddity in these parts. But I am sure she did not come to her status without learning how to weather such criticisms.”

“Yes.” Éomer stared at the empty goblet he rotated slowly between his hands. “She has had to bear with a lot of ignorant talk over the years.”

“Which is why I propose taking her as a member of my company while you are away. Just temporarily,” Boromir added quickly, noting the immediate change in the horse-lord's demeanor. “It will help her feel more at ease while here, separated from you and her countrymen, if she had a group to belong to.”

“She has already taken a strong liking to your Aerdis. Which, I must confess, took me by surprise.”

Boromir smiled at this, his fool heart ready to burst with joy at every casual mention of his betrothed. “My lady is an easy one to love,” he said simply. “And indeed, the two seem to enjoy each other's company. I am certain Aerdis would be happy to continue acquainting her with all of her treasured haunts within the city and even beyond its walls. But…”

He rubbed his jaw slowly, ever the unconscious tell of his discomfort with the situation at hand. But it was no use dancing around the real counsel he wished to present to Éomer King. “When it comes to daily labors, a shield-maiden will likely be happier with work better suited to her talents.”

Éomer cocked an eyebrow, clearly undeceived by Boromir’s attempts at off-handedness. “What sort of work? I sense you have something specific in mind.”

“I do,” Boromir admitted. “And I shall explain it to you plainly, although I will first say that it is both a suggestion and a request for a favor.” At this point he considered offering Éomer another refill of his drink, but the deepening scowl on the man’s face made him think better of it. “As you may have heard, I have been charged by King Elessar to lead the delegation that will treat with the Southrons. Sadhar has already come forward with an offer to parley, as soon as next month.”

Éomer’s eyes widened; he caught on even faster than Boromir had expected him to. “And you wish to include her in your delegation?”

“With your approval, yes.”

“You do not have it!” Éomer exclaimed. “And how could you propose such a thing?! Have you forgotten how she was so nearly dragged off by those animals to be taken who knows where for purposes I dare not even think of?”

“Are you really asking that of the man who came to her aid?”

It was a risky move to prod at that wound, but Éomer looked properly chastised by it. “You rescued her,” he conceded. “And for that I shall eternally be in your debt. But I cannot pretend to understand why you wish to involve her in any dealings with Harad.”

“You must see why I thought of her,” Boromir insisted. “You, who can personally attest to what she is capable of.” But Éomer continued to look too distraught to think, so he laid the rest out. “I can count on the fingers of one hand every person I know who can speak a Haradric dialect with reliable accuracy. Half of them died in the war.”

Éomer rose abruptly, nearly knocking over his chair in his state. Muttering indistinctly, he turned his back to Boromir to glare out the nearest window and brood at the rain lashing against the glass panes.

“When Théodred used to boast to me about her, I dismissed it as a mentor's pride in his fanciful protégé,” Boromir continued. “I suppose I too allowed myself to be distracted by her sex. But she really is a hidden gem in your Éored, is she not? Your cousin invested in her training with great thoughtfulness, and it has borne fruit marvelously. He really believed--”

Éomer slammed the heel of his hand on the window frame. “Théodred was not the one hopelessly in love with her for so many years! There lies the difference!” he snapped. “So when you ask for my consent to take her to meet with our enemies, consider that you are asking me to risk the life of the woman I absolutely refuse to live my own life without!”

And while Boromir reacted with silence, he stood there, breathing hard, one fist on his hip and the other hand pressed over his forehead. “Forgive me,” he mumbled. “The wine, I…and I have scarcely slept since--”

Boromir waved off the apology. “I understand your agony well. It was not long ago that I lived through the same, and just mercifully survived to a happy end. I am on your side, Éomer. I know politics and duty might make the lines difficult to discern, but I hope you can believe that.”

“I believe it.” Éomer made another weary swipe of his hand across his face. “At least I think I do. Too many things are changing too quickly, and I fear a failure to keep in step shall result in my simply being dragged along behind everyone else like an unhorsed sot.”

“Then maybe there is wisdom in her request to stay behind and out of your way. The time apart may provide you the focus you need to regain your footing.”

The tired lines on Éomer’s face tightened again. “And why must time apart involve setting her on a perilous road?”

“The mission carries little chance of peril. Peace talks, even with Harad, are nothing compared to everything she has survived to get this far. You know this.” Éomer brushed past Boromir to return to the table, but the captain’s frank reproach pursued him. “Separation from her is what you dread, not the Southrons.”

So furiously did Éomer scowl at the table surface that for a moment Boromir thought he might turn the heavy shelf over in a fit of rage. Instead he seized the wine jug, poured himself a gobletful, and drank it in two forceful gulps.

“I had hoped you could give me counsel on how I might change her mind, and convince her to simply come home,” he finally said. “Perhaps even quell her doubts in the future she can have with me.”

Underneath the anger and frustration, Éomer’s raw misery lay bare to Boromir, and suddenly he felt a swell of compassion for the young king. Would that he could offer a swift resolution to his predicament, instead of mere commiseration for the challenges that still lay ahead.

“However hard it is to hear, separation is the soundest advice I can give you today,” Boromir said. “Time and distance are most effective at calming the storm in one's mind, so that the heart may have its chance to be properly heard. Many have learned this from experience, myself included. I believe it shall be the same for your lady.”

Éomer's shoulders heaved in a ponderous sigh. “If only it did not feel like such a gamble.”

Boromir could not help a chuckle. “Then I regret I must tell his majesty, that you cast your first of many dice the moment you let her take your heart. But in the end, you shall be the one to decide how much you are willing to risk, and you alone decide when you are done.”

The anguish that resurged on Éomer's face was almost a relief to Boromir. The King of Rohan was wise enough to already know the graver half of the truth: that his new throne was in many ways a cage, and there was very little a good ruler could afford to risk in pursuit of his own desires.

* * *

“Take the names of any fools who might give you trouble,” Léodor said, unhooking the reins of his horse to start leading it across the muddy yard. “I can sort them all out on our return.”

You laughed as you followed him to the edge of the farmland property, marked by the scorched ruins of what had once been a granary. “Do you really think I could wait that long without sorting such fools out myself?”

“Anyone with the gall to harass a rider of the king’s Éored deserves a second dose of thrashing, or a third or fourth.” Your friend turned to grasp your forearm and give it a firm squeeze. “Although I sincerely hope these men of Gondor would know better, for their own sakes.”

“They are our allies, now more than ever before,” you reminded him. “And I have every confidence in their courtesy and hospitality.”

“Perhaps if you were less of a recluse and better at making friends, I would not worry so.”

Your knuckles barely grazed his sleeve as he darted away and promptly swung up to the safety of his saddle, chortling and calling, “You are only proving my point, sister!”

“Waste not a thought or care on me, and focus them all on your family!” you retorted, and stepped back as he spurred his horse forward. “Westu Léodor hál!”

You watched him gallop off across the plains of Pelennor, back to the distant towers of the White City. Tomorrow, he and the rest of the Éored would finalize preparations for the greatly anticipated journey home. But as soon as he heard that you had been tasked with staying behind, to remain with the body of Théoden King, Léodor alone took the time to come looking for you.

Whatever his suspicions regarding Éomer's selection of you as the one to leave in Gondor, Léodor spoke nothing of them. He was content to spend his entire visit sharing the cask of ale he brought, and talking your ears off about all the things he planned to do with his wife and son and infant daughter upon their reunion.

How far your relationship had come, you mused, as you watched the shrinking speck finally melt into the shadows of the deepening twilight. With him and with the rest of the men in your company, when you had once sworn, in tears hidden, that they would never accept you. Now their departure would sting as though you had been orphaned for the third time.

It is only for several weeks, you told yourself, to ease the weight of doubt that sat upon your chest. As you turned to walk back toward the cottage, a fierce wind rose and ripped off the cloak that was loosely draped over your shoulders. With a startled cry you grabbed for it, but not quickly enough to save it from landing in a large puddle.

You retrieved the soaked fabric from the mud with a sigh. A fat raindrop landed squarely on the top of your uncovered head, and was immediately followed by another and another. Spontaneous rain had been pouring on and off over Gondor since the King’s coronation, and you heard the locals welcome and praise this tumultuous weather as a blessing, a sign of war’s filth being washed away to cleanse the lands for rebirth.

Shielding your eyes from the sudden deluge, you looked up at the roiling clouds overhead, further entranced by the sight of jagged lightning flashing over the White Mountains. But when your gaze dropped back down to the horizon, you were alarmed to notice a horsed figure crossing the fields through the storm, approaching fast, in your direction.

It was him. Without proof of his face or voice, or even the support of logic, you just knew. It was him.

The very thought of that froze you, mind and body, in place. Pale and immobile and increasingly drenched, you stood like a deeply rooted tree while the rider drew closer and closer, on a horse powerful enough to sustain its determined gait over the sodden ground and lashing winds. Dumbfounded and dazed, you remained, until at last he came to a stop just several yards away. He dismounted Firefoot, his heavy boots squelching in the muck, and that sound snapped you to your senses.

“My lord,” you rushed forward with the soiled cloak twisted uselessly between your hands. “The stables are around the back. Let me take Firefoot there while you get out of this rain.”

“I shall stable him,” Éomer said sternly, but not unkindly, to warn you against arguing. “Go and wait for me inside the house.”

Without speaking another word or sparing a backward glance, you obeyed your king. You shut the cottage door behind you to keep out the ill weather, hung your wet cloak on a peg, and crouched by the warmth of the fireplace to dry off as best as you could. You kept your jittery hands busy feeding the flames with more wood, but your mind refused to be calmed as easily.

What is he doing here?! The agreement had been for you to report to him the following day, to receive in full detail your last set of orders before the entire Rohan contingent departed. Éomer had granted your request to stay behind quickly enough, and with so little argument that you had hoped perhaps the issue between you was settled, at least for the time being.

If he was not prepared to completely abandon his fatuous notion of asking you to marry him, then time apart would surely set his mind back to good sense. The Éomer you knew could always be trusted to do the right thing. You clung firmly to this thought while you waited the agonizing minutes for him to return from the stables.

As soon as he entered, you offered him the last clean towel you could find to dry himself with. He raised his eyebrows at your attempt to give him royal treatment, but graciously swiped the cloth several times over his face, neck, and hair, before tossing it over the back of a chair.

“So this is the place.” He peeled off his riding cloak to reveal clothing underneath that was just as soaked as yours; he may as well not have bothered with the outer garment at all. “You said it belonged to Lady Aerdis’s late…uncle?”

“A relative of sorts,” you said. When you confided in your new friend your wistful desire to be housed outside the city, where you could have more quiet and solitude, she had been quick to offer the empty cottage in near Pelennor that was recently willed to her by deceased relations. “There are things I can work on to help restore it while I am here. Even my meager skills will serve a farm better than sitting on my hands in the city barracks watching everyone else in their labors. I wish to remain useful, and do my part in the rebuilding.”

“I understand. You have explained all that, and well,” Éomer said slowly. “But regretfully, I must rescind the permission I granted for you to live outside Minas Tirith. You can stay here for the remainder of this week, to rest and do as you please. But afterward, I would like for you to go back to the city and remain there until my return.”

You bit back a protest, determined, now more than ever, to reaffirm your position as his servant. “May I ask what I am to do there, then?”

“Lord Boromir petitioned me to loan you to his company, and I granted it. He shall assign your duties, and you will take your orders from him while I am gone.”

Although it surprised you to hear this, it was a welcome prospect. Of all the men in Gondor you liked and trusted Lord Boromir the most, having known him since you were just a girl, albeit not intimately. This would provide an opportunity to improve on the connection. “Lord Boromir honors me with his request. And as always, it shall please me to do as my king commands.”

Éomer responded to your formal pledge with a weary sigh. He braced his hands on the back of the chair in front of him, and the way his knuckles whitened in the tightness of his grip, while he searched for his next words, did not escape your notice.

“Make no mistake, this command does not align with what I desire,” he said thickly. “Leaving without you violates every instinct in my body, but if that is what must be done to make you see reason, then I shall bear it.”

“Reason?” you repeated stiffly. “What conclusion are you hoping I might come to?”

Éomer raised his eyes from the floor to meet yours across the room. “I know you believe that putting distance between us may somehow alter how I feel about you. But I in turn believe the time apart will help you accept how deeply in love you are with me.”

The heat that flooded your face burned through your mask of composure. “I am not--”

“Enough.” The sadness that bled into that single word made it a plea instead of an order. “I did not come to reopen discussions on the matter. Especially not if denials are all you have left to say to me.”

“Then pray tell, what has my lord come for?” you challenged him behind your icy courtesy. “How else may I serve you, Éomer King?”

The hurt that crossed his face came on so suddenly, looked so profound and real, it was as though you had physically struck him. He stared at you in a dead silence, and you forced yourself to hold his gaze while you held your breath, guilt sinking into your gut from the knowledge that you were the wretch who had gone too far.

“Nothing,” he said quietly. “Clearly there is nothing more to say, other than farewell.”

He picked up his cloak, turned, and left, leaving you utterly dumbfounded, staring at the door that slammed shut behind him.

The longest seconds of your life passed before your shock and indecision were overcome by a wild hysteria that made your entire body grow cold.

You leapt for the door and wrenched it open, and stepped into the downpour in time to see him vanish around the corner of the house, heading back to the stables.

The loss of him from your sight smashed through your bravado, and you cried out into the storm.

“Éomer!!”

Before you could grasp your reasoning for why you did it, or what you planned to do next, he reappeared, every footstep leaving puddles as his approach backed you up into the cottage. His eyes bore down at you, his expression now guarded and inscrutable and expectant. Gusting wind drove in sprinkles of rain through the door left open and ignored.

I am sorry. The whisper sitting on the tip of your tongue was smothered by a hostile inner voice.

Let him go. It is your duty. It is what’s right.

But your stolid face collapsed under the weight of your anguish. A grimace squeezed out the tears that blinded your eyes, finally betraying your shameful truth. I do love you, Éomer.

Gentle fingers settled lightly over your lips, stilling their feeble quivering. A voice even warmer and more tender than this touch eased your struggle.

“I do not need words. This is enough.”

As the hardened pads of those fingers brushed across the plane of your cheek, you closed your eyes and at once forgot all else that existed. Such was the power of his touch that for years you so vigilantly avoided, until that fateful moment of weakness after the coronation exposed your secret. That moment could never be undone, no matter how hard you tried to bury the truth now.

Éomer murmured your name, his breath warm on your temple, and then his hands stilled where they lightly cupped your face. In that pause lay a question, and the last time you answered it, you had hurt him. Foolish liar that you were.

“Yes.” The whisper passed from your lips to his as his mouth wasted no time seeking yours. You clasped your hands around the back of his neck, urging him closer as your own hunger surged. You felt the tremor that ran through his shoulders when you slipped your tongue against his. How could you have ever chosen to cause him pain, when you could have given him this instead?

He broke the kiss to let you catch your breath, but nuzzled your chin upward to gain access to your neck, so his lips could continue their quest to the hollow of your throat. You gasped at the scrape of his teeth on your collarbone, then moaned when he remedied his offense with reverent strokes of his tongue. His arms wrapped fully around your waist, pulling you greedily against him, fingers threading and tugging at your hair as he moved his worship to your shoulders.

But it was your touch, the scrabble of your hands over his hips and stomach as you held on to him for balance, that elicited a low growl. In just a few hurried steps, he backed you to the furthest corner of the cottage, until the side of the bed hit the back of your legs.

Your name was still the only thing he could utter, muffled in between the kisses he could not stop lavishing on every bit of your skin he could reach. Your hands found their way to his hips again, this time sneaking underneath the wet fabric that clung to his torso, then brazenly gliding upward, past his belly to the taut muscles of his chest, high enough for your thumb to circle his nipple.

An ungentlemanly word suddenly rumbled from Éomer King's throat, so startled was he by the sensual touch. Within moments his shirt lay discarded on the floor, your back made contact with the mattress, and there he was, leaning over you, bare from the waist up to your hungry eyes. You gave yourself an extra second to appreciate the sight before hooking a hand over his nape to yank him back into a kiss. The fervor in his response left you writhing and whimpering and completely vulnerable in your weakness.

A deep haze settled over you as you began to lose yourself to the pleasure of his ministrations. With every inch of you, you wanted this, and the way your body reacted to his every action, shaking in desperation for more, would surely tell him that. And yet… yet as you felt his fingers grope for the fastenings of your dress, felt his palm brush the back of your knee to your thigh, felt his hardness press against your hip… something inside of you jerked in reawakened panic.

“Éomer. W-wait.”

So soft was the protest, you were not even sure you had said the words aloud. But almost immediately, Éomer stopped and pulled back. He took one look at you, your disheveled state, and whatever expression lay on your face, and he sat up fully, turning away, dragging your heart out of your chest with him.

“Éomer, please. I am… I just…”

“No, I understand and I agree. To carry on would be unwise.”

He rubbed both hands roughly over his face, shaking away the stupor induced by his desire.

“All these years I have ordered the men to give you the respect you are due. I cannot risk your virtue or reputation now, however long I have wanted this. Wanted you.”

You moved to sit on the edge of the bed next to him. “You are my King, and it is my duty to protect you and your reputation. We must behave prudently.”

He nodded, but still looked so pained you could not help but lift your hand to try to soothe the scowl from his face. He angled his head to kiss the inside of your wrist.

“I will have you,” he muttered, his diverted gaze making it seem more a promise to himself than to you. But when he turned his eyes back on you, the wanton lust pooling in them stirred the heat in your belly. “I will wait for the right circumstances, however long it may take, but I will have you.”

He rose and walked a few steps across the room, perhaps in need of distance from you. As he stood closer to the fireplace, the light illuminated a view so rarely seen by anyone, many people in Rohan had come to believe that Éomer was simply hale and hard of body beyond the limits of mortal men.

The numerous scars that decorated his body testified to both his fragility and his strength. Many of his wounds had been tended to by you on the battlefield, carrying terrible memories that were now also moments of pride and achievement that you shared with him.

Éomer seemed to feel your intent gaze upon him, and he stretched out a hand to you, beckoning you to rejoin him. As soon as you were within reach, he wrapped his arms around you again, drawing you against him, sighing contently as your touch drifted over the bare skin of his chest and shoulders.

Your hand moved with intention, skimming down to his lower abdomen, probing carefully for the large scar you knew sat just below his ribcage. That injury was less than two years old. It still amazed you how it had managed to heal with little issue, under the constant strain of the many violent battles Éomer fought in since.

So close. A chill ran through you as the memory rose unbidden: you pressing down hard to staunch the bleeding, screaming for someone to help carry the barely conscious Marshal to the nearest shelter, where you could safely attempt to clean and suture the wound. If the orc blade had sunk in only a fraction of an inch deeper, it would have been beyond anyone's power to save him. You came too close to losing him that day.

Eomer's lips brushed against the shell of your ear as he interrupted your reminiscence with a whisper. “How can you still doubt that we belong together, when already you are part of me?”

Your fingers passed over several other scars from injuries you had tended to over the years, and came to rest over the tattoo on his upper right arm. The black dragon curled around the edge of his shoulder was identical in design and location to the mark borne by every rider in your Éored. Your possession of that dragon mark bound you to Éomer intimately, but also defined your role in his life. Sharing his bed, or even being with him just once, was not your place.

“None of these give me any right to claim you,” you said softly. “You must still marry. And it is your duty to marry well.”

He caught your elbow as you started to move your hand away, and guided it back to slide over his waist, to rest over the scar once more, willing you to hold fast to the memory it carried, and hold fast to him.

“What does it mean to marry? Is it not just the giving of one's entire self--mind and body, heart and soul--to another?”

He hooked a finger underneath your chin, urging your downcast gaze to rise and meet his.

“How am I to dispose of things that are no longer in my possession? I have long been taken, solely and utterly, by you.”

And with that gaze he set upon you, you wondered: how many glances must have he given you in secret all these years, with eyes that burned with something more than the devotion of one comrade-in-arms to another? What willful blindness had you clung to for years, for you not to have noticed it?

“I must fulfill my duties to Rohan, this is true. But not even a king can be asked to do the impossible.”

“But to wed a great king to a lowly servant--” You shook your head. “Many would argue that is the real impossibility.”

A new expression akin to anger flashed across Éomer’s face. Before you could wonder what you might have done wrong, he dropped to his knees before you, both knees, his hands wrapped tightly around yours.

“My lord!” you cried, aghast that he would debase himself, even in private. You tried to force him back up, but he would not budge.

“Never speak of yourself as lowly again,” he admonished. “King or peasant, there is nothing more lowly or humbled than a man so wretchedly in love, as I am with you.”

“Éomer…” You sank to the floor with him. “If only things were so simple. I wish it could all happen as you say, but I just do not see how. I do not know what can be done.”

“Let me hold your love for a while longer, and wait for me,” he said gently. “That is all I ask. The rest is mine to accomplish. As long as your heart is mine, and I know you have given it to me freely, I will fight for my right to keep it.”

You felt his grip around your fingers grow tense in the long seconds of silence that followed. At last, you brought his knuckles to your lips, kissing the hands you adored with such devotion.

“When you leave, you shall take my heart with you,” you whispered into his palm. “But I fear it will be a greater challenge than you believe, to keep others from wresting such an unsuitable offering from your hands.”

“They may certainly try, if they wish to test me.” The ice in his tone unsettled you, even though that veiled threat was certainly not for you, while the warm caress on your cheek was. “Not for a moment will I appear unclear or undecided when it comes to my intentions towards you. I will never make that mistake again.”

“B-but the Council of Eorl. The lords…”

“They answer to the King,” Éomer interrupted. “Do not privileges, as well as duties, come with this crown? Trust me. Please.” He bowed to rest his forehead against yours. “While we are parted, I will prove to you that it can be done, that I will do whatever I must to marry you, and to honor and protect you thereafter.”

“Marry?” you murmured. The idea still seemed no more than a ludicrous fantasy. But then Éomer kissed you again, deeply, as though determined to memorize the taste of your lips, urging you to focus on the present moment.

Because he was yours, even if just for that night. Even if by dawn, it could all crumble under the pressures of the world outside these walls. Éomer loved you, and held you in such high regard to want you as his wife and queen. You would swear to anyone that this knowledge alone was already a dream fulfilled.

And yet. If you were brave enough to hope, maybe…just maybe, this would not be the last impossibility to come true for you.

* * *

They do not know. Hundreds of Gondor’s citizens bearing streamers and flowers lined the streets of Minas Tirith that morning to join King Elessar in sending off the departing Eorlingas. But it occurred to Éomer how strange it felt that none of them had any awareness of a matter that was not only monumental for him personally, but carried significant consequences for all of Rohan.

Soon that will change, the young king vowed to himself. Soon his Council will hear the truth, and afterward all of Rohan, and then the rest of their allies. But for the moment, discretion--no matter how bitter the pretense tasted.

No one except for Lord Boromir and his betrothed, the lovely Lady Aerdis, who both stood next to her, understood what truly lay underneath the courteous gestures exchanged between the King of Rohan and his shield-maiden. A simple bow, an exchange of a few words, and a locking of gazes that was all too brief. Had they not spent that one evening together, Éomer would have remained trapped in the false belief of her indifference towards him. The memory of her kisses would have to suffice for a while, and he could only hope he had given her enough to remember him by, as well.

He brushed the edge of his hand over his lips just as he turned away, and forced his feet to carry him down the line of assembled well-wishers.

A noticeable hush descended on the crowd of onlookers as Éomer came to the end of the road where, closest to the ruins of the Great Gate, the King of Gondor himself met him, flanked by none other than Imrahil, the Prince of Dol Amroth, and his only daughter.

“Lady Lothíriel.” As Éomer took the hand she courteously offered him and brushed a kiss on her fingers, he became aware of the wan smiles that surrounded them, and the unsubtle tittering of a few ladies watching. “Your presence this morning is an unexpected and most delightful gift.”

Lothíriel was astonishingly beautiful indeed, with such radiant grace and sweet smiles, that it would not have surprised Éomer if many citizens of the White City came out just to catch a glimpse of her. “I wish you, Lady Éowyn, and all your men a safe journey, your Grace,” she said. “And may you have great success in your labors, so that we can soon celebrate your speedy return.”

“You are kind, my lady. I certainly hope for the same,” replied Éomer. “We leave behind treasure beyond price here and shall be eager to return for our own.”

Two Rohan lords had already swooped in to engage Imrahil in quiet conversation, and only stepped aside when Éomer himself approached to exchange farewells. Éomer’s admiration for the Prince only grew the more he learned about him and spent time with him, but the unabashed thirst of his counselors for Dol Amroth’s friendship irritated him. Yet another issue he intended to settle in the ordering of his House’s affairs.

Finally, Éomer came before Elessar, who embraced him tightly and honored him with a bow, from one king to another. “Worry not, my brother,” the man once called Aragorn said quietly to him. “I shall see to it that they are cared for, these ones whom you so dearly love.”

He smiled at the look of mixed wonder and apprehension on Éomer’s face, and dipped his head in another show of reassurance and of farewell.

With that, the Rohirrim set off on the North-way in a procession over a mile long, accompanied by the fanfare from the people that continued to line the road stretching across Pelennor. Countless flags in a multitude of colors and sigils from the different regions of Gondor fluttered in the air, and from every direction, enthusiastic cheering and waving followed the Riders across the fields.

At the head of the procession, behind his standard bearer and with Éowyn at his side, Éomer quickly fell into a brooding silence that did not escape his sister’s notice.

“I truly did not think I would ever see the day when the two of you would be willingly separated,” she said lightly. When Éomer looked at her with raised eyebrows, she shrugged. “I am sure you have good reasons for choosing her to stay behind with our uncle.”

“Many reasons,” Éomer grunted.

Éowyn regarded him thoughtfully. “Has the time finally come when you would allow yourself to be open with me about these reasons? And the other concerns weighing on your mind and heart? It is just you and I now, Éomer,” she said softly, stretching out her hand to him. “I may not have uncle’s experience or Théodred’s cunning, but I love you beyond words, and would do anything to see you happy. Let me help you.”

Éomer smiled at this, and reached over to take her hand and squeeze it. “Perhaps I can aspire to the happiness you have found with Lord Faramir.”

“Having my affections stolen by a High Man was not what I aspired to,” said Éowyn, trying to look annoyed but unable to hide the blush on her cheeks. “But love, it seems, is the wildest beast of all. It will not be tamed, or bridled, or even reasoned with. It goes where it wills. Éomer…” Éowyn’s sweet face turned stern. “You have suffered enough, and have been forced to carry so many burdens, not least of all our uncle’s crown, which I know you never wanted.”

“It is my honor to take the throne in Uncle and Théodred’s stead,” Éomer said firmly. “And why do you make assumptions about the things I want?”

“I know who it is you have wanted, for a long time now,” Éowyn said with a stout confidence that took Éomer aback. “You are discreet, brother. But I have watched you and looked out for you, more closely than you realize.”

Éomer shook his head. “I am still learning the many ways I have been underestimating you, Éowyn. Soon I shall believe myself unworthy of your care or help.”

“Someone has to care for you, during the frequent times you would not.” Éowyn glanced over her shoulder to make sure they were still out of hearing range of the rest of his Éored. “Especially now that you have left her behind.”

Éomer pressed his lips in a tight line and returned his gaze to the road ahead. “I will be back,” he said. “There is much to do in Rohan before then, but with Uncle waiting in the Hallows, I can hardly afford to dawdle or delay.”

And she is waiting. Éomer caught a glimpse of his sister’s suppressed smile that told him she had already thought the same thing. Another person with strong opinions to contend with.

Éomer spurred Firefoot forward to signal the standard bearer, who promptly blew one quick blast on his horn. As the King took off in a steady gallop, the thunder of hooves rose behind him as nearly a thousand other Rohirrim picked up their pace to match his, drowning out the excited shouts of the Gondorians that started them off at last to their journey home.

Men Tag List: @a-world-of-whimsy-5 @achromaticerebus @aduialel @asianbutnotjapanese @auttumnsayshi @blueberryrock @elan-ho-detto-elan-15 @entishramblings @fizzyxcustard @glassgulls @heilith @heranintomyknife23times @konartiste @ladyweaslette @laneynoir @lathalea @quickslvxrr @scyllas-revenge @talkdifferently6 @emmanuellececchi @ass-deep-in-demons @from-the-coffee-shop-in-edoras @alwayssevvy

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#sotwk fanfiction #eomer #eomer x oc #eomer fanfiction #rohan #lotr #eomer x you #eomer eadig #lotr fanfiction #lotr fanfic #sotwk fic: taken #boromir #unnamed OC

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xxbrightshadowxx · 9 months ago

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I have finally finished Waverider and as I promised I’m , as the same as the other amulet book ratings, I am going to rate this one. And as always, this has spoilers so if you haven’t read it and want to read it, skip it. Also this just my opinion

Book 9:

And my rating is a 3/10. Same as the 8th book for many, many reasons.

This book isn’t as bad as Supernova, but it has as many problems as Supernova.

First off, Trellis, Riva, and Vigo’s storyline was a lie. They literally clear up the false king storyline so fast it gave me whiplash. Literally in the back of the book it says the main focus for the B storyline is going to the elf kingdom and that storyline just ends so fucking quickly. Also how the hell is Gablian alive?! He is not a stonekeepers and blew up at the bottom of the ocean! How did he survive?! Also, you’re telling me Trellis gave up being king that easily?!What?! One of the only things I liked about book 6 is the scene where Trellis tells his people that the false king, Max, was dead just like the elf king was and if they want to save their country and stay alive is to follow him, as the true and rightful king. Then fucking Waverider comes and I am just speechless.

And then they go to rebuild Ceileis(I can’t spell) and tell me if this is only me but, I don’t care for these new characters. Wes, Reieina, Lira, etc. I don’t. I miss the simplicity of Amulet and how none of the characters felt underutilized. Then Kazu Kibuishi decided to shove them in the closet and bring in characters I dont care for. Navin, Alyson, Leon, and Karen were there for only a small percent of the book and even that felt flat.

Also something that pisses me off is how Vigo died. The entire purpose of that little squad was they could break free and not lose control to the shadows. And yet, he loses control to the damn voice? Not to mention, that ceremony didn’t need to happen! They were just paying respects and he loses control so fucking easy! This was just an excuse to kill off Vigo and I hate it!!

Also fucking old Emily came back. I don’t know how but she was here and I’m so confused.

Do you wanna know what I’m confused about?! Everything with Ikol. Like I am so confused, is he dead or is he still there? What was that confrontation between him and Emily?! Like what was happening? It was just so much without any explain for what happened?!

Also when did Emily get so damn strong? Nothing to her seems like a struggle. She takes down those giant stone—thingys(forgot what they are called) So easily. This might just be me but characters who don’t use to have as much power before and suddenly becomes op as hell.

Overall, this book has so many problems. Maybe I’ll find more later or maybe I’ll burn the book in a dumpster. Verdict: this was not worth waiting years for it come out.

#kazu kibuishi #amulet #amulet books #emily hayes #prince trellis #emily #vigo light #waverider #book 9 #rant #book #i want my money back #I do not mean to offend anyone with this rating

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noroi1000 · 1 year ago

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Feeling Warm

Gojo (in toxic relationship) x maid reader

Words: 8k

Warnings: Angst with happy ending, his girlfriend abuse y/n. NSFW

Gojo's toxic girl name is Chloe. I don't mean to offend anyone with this.

Summary: You've been working for Gojo as a maid for two years now. His girlfriend recently showed up. But it was obvious how she used him.However, she did not accept that he broke up with her.He was looking for someone nice and sweet. On your example.You can't buy love, but you can buy fake love.He wanted someone to love him. So could you at least pretend and give him that fake love?

You couldn't do that.

You looked at the girl who clearly showed dislike for you.

You looked at your employer with whom you have been living for two years. He looked at you too.

You felt your wet coat soaking your apron that you were wearing.

Actually, it was your job to do household chores for your employers.

Cleaning, cooking, washing clothes. It's something you do.

Actually, Gojo-san is paying you what he shouldn't be paying. Because maid services are not that expensive. And he pays you more than he should.

Perhaps because he wanted you to be at his house all day when he was at home.

You don't know why he wanted it.

Once every two days when he was gone, you would come and clean his whole house.

And also on the day he was coming, you were there too, cooking him food and giving him a bath.

Sometimes he would ask you to give him a little massage when he was really tired.

He paid you that much, so you didn't say no to him.

Besides, you're not surprised that he asks if you can stay with him since he lives alone in such a big house.

It's like he's paying you extra for your company.

You could even do it without his money. After all, you've known him for two years.

But it's not like you don't need the money...

You get so much out of your monthly salary... You could buy yourself a new house, or even go to work by car instead of taking the bus or train.

But you help your family financially. You have younger siblings and you do not come from a rich family.

You want to support your parents, so you send them some money. Every month.

You leave as much as you need.

One day Gojo asked you how you are at home. Or should he pay you more because he noticed that the maid's salary is small. You told him that he pays you more than he should anyway. Because it was true.

He earns so much... He's so rich. Maybe that's why he thinks you don't make enough money.

He offered you more for an hourly rate, but you refused. You can't take money to sit in his house. It wouldn't be fair. And you're not that kind of person.

If you were doing more, or had much more work, you would have accepted a raise from him. However, you didn't do that much. He already gave you one raise because you got new responsibilities when he trusted you more.

You had the keys to his house. Besides, it took a while for him to let you come into his house when he wasn't there.

You knew he wasn't trusting easily. It wasn't bad.

Besides, you couldn't rob him... He was too nice a man for you.

You washed his clothes, you arranged it, you cleaned every corner of his house. You cooked him whatever he wanted.

You also took care of the garden on his estate.

You did everything right.

You took a job as his maid because you were looking for a job. And you were out of luck. Nothing was possible in your area. And sometimes you missed it because someone else was ahead of you.

In your family, your aunt works as a housewife for rich people.

At her suggestion, you wanted to do the same. If you knew how to cook and also did housework well, why not.

You put an ad in the paper because you didn't know anywhere else.

And a week later you got a call from your current employer.

He reportedly saw your ad in the newspaper while his friend was reading it. He needed someone to take care of his house because he is often busy. So he thought to talk to you.

You were very shy at your first interview. Because your employer was to be a young and very handsome man. He smiled at you, and even paid for your coffee when you met at the coffee shop.

You thought because of how nervous she was, he wouldn't give you the job. However, at the end of your meeting, he said that if you want, he will gladly hire you.

You wore different clothes at his house, and your apron was always there.

You were so tense when you finished something and you were afraid he wouldn't like it.

But he never complained.

You had the hardest time with his clothes and baths.

Because he asked you for all this.

You had problems in the beginning. You were afraid to ruin his very expensive clothes. You were ashamed to arrange his underwear...

You were even more ashamed when he asked you to wash his back while he was taking a bath in the bathtub.

He didn't seem ashamed or anything.

And when he saw your red face, he smiled.

His eyes were magical...

You don't know why, but it was.

The longer you were there, the better you got.

Even though you still blushed when he went shirtless or only in a towel, asking if you could give him a massage because his back hurts.

And your little hands on his muscular back were always something else.

You've been watching massage tutorials online. So you managed to make him relax.

You knew he was a stranger to you, but you couldn't do anything when you saw the lipstick stains on his shirt.

He was just your employer. a free man. You were not for yourself. you were nobody. You were just someone who cleaned and cooked for him.

He had his life. He was a young man. Of course he had needs. And since you haven't heard of him having a girlfriend, he must have met his needs somehow.

Your employer was a young playboy...

Someone whose charm made you feel something.

He was nice to you. He was handsome. He had a sense of humor. Besides, you, like no one else, got to know his childish behavior. And also that he is sometimes spoiled and doesn't care what other people feel. It was probably something others didn't see in him.

However, the real Gojo Satoru was someone who had goofy, irritating behavior. Who laughed at danger and people. Who immediately said what he thought. He was painfully honest.

So you understand why he didn't have a girlfriend or wife. Because it was better to leave the house, pick up some willing girl and then come home.

He once told you that all the women he knows closely say they would never want to be with him. They don't like his behavior.

He told you that as a joke.

And you answered him kindly.

„You're not that bad. If that's your character, you should look for someone who will accept you for who you are. I don't think you're as bad as others make you out to be."

He thanked you for the advice.

And then you noticed that he started looking for a girlfriend.

It was a year later when you met him.

You found out you fell in love with him...

Really...

Your employer was someone who was your type...

At first you thought he was serious and thoughtful. Someone mentally very adult who spends a lot of time at work.

And you got an adult child. Hell of a handsome and rich teacher (?) who is addicted to sweets and eats a lot, and acts childish despite his sometimes scary aura when he's serious.

You don't know if he's just a teacher or someone else as well. But you also don't know why his wardrobe has blindfolds and sunglasses that are so black you can't see anything.

You just don't know much about him.

And you guess you'll never know...

You're just his maid.

And he has a different taste in women...

He wouldn't want a girl whose job is to look after someone else's house.

Plus, you definitely look different than his girlfriend he has now.

Well, Chloe showed up four months ago. Their relationship was different than it is now. Well, Gojo hasn't changed. She has changed.

He, following your advice, was himself.

You couldn't have your crush, so you wanted to help him. You're too shy to tell him that. So you wanted to let go.

Ever since he first met her in the city until he finally brought her home.

And they've been a couple ever since.

He seemed pleased.

But she often told him to stop doing things.

When he asked you if you could bake him a cake, she forbade you, telling him that he can't because if he eats that much he'll get fat and she doesn't want to show up at the beach with a fat boy.

She didn't like some of his behavior. And you knew he was him then. the real him.

She often got annoyed when he played with her.

Until he, too, began to get annoyed with the way she behaved.

Completely different from the beginning.

At first she was nice and even sweet.

Now she was a real bitch.

She practically did not smile at him, sometimes she would come to his house to sit with him for a while.

He understood that she was working.

But at some point he found out that she quit her job.

She even wanted to move in with him, but he said it would be better for her to stay at her house because he is often away.

She didn't like it.

They were still a couple, but their relationship was strained.

They ignored each other. They quarreled often. And it ended up that when he started to get off balance, she ran away in fear, only to come back the next day.

For her there was a rule: sex fixes everything.

And yet she couldn't give him much.

Often her phone rang while they were fucking. She never said who was calling her, but she pushed him away and took the phone to his dressing room to talk.

And those moments that should have been a pleasure for them passed.

It's not like he was hurt. He didn't care. But he also had his needs.

And he complained later, even saying it to you while you were cooking.

Sometimes also when she had finished, she wouldn't let him come because she felt tired.

You often witnessed their quarrels.

They weren't that close after all.

He thought he finally found a nice girl.

However, that was not the case.

He hoped to find love, but he failed.

There was no love between them.

But he sometimes thought it was his fault.

You noticed that he really cares about others.

He was worried that he had done something wrong.

But she just wasn't accepted the way he is.

He also saw his account statements. Well, he let her use his credit card once or twice. And then she was just pulling it out of his wallet.

You witnessed it too.

She was probably transferring money from his account to hers. Because there was no way he would give her access to his account.

She forbade him to behave as he naturally behaved.

So over time, he noticed that she was bragging about him in front of her friends. And that she has new, fashionable and expensive clothes.

For "stolen" money from him.

Throughout the month this is going on, he's been trying to be calm.

Because he thought maybe he could do something to fix what he broke.

You were afraid to speak up, but at some point you got over it and told him it wasn't his fault.

Because it wasn't.

He didn't want it to turn out to be because of him. He really liked Chloe. But that was in the beginning.

She was sweet, kind and caring. Completely different from what she is now.

She didn't like you from the beginning. Perhaps because you were closer to your employer.

But she didn't even want to remember your name from the beginning.

She thought he should have a better maid because you often make mistakes.

But he didn't listen to her.

You didn't answer and apologized. You didn't want to be the cause of their quarrel.

She who hates you. And he who always stands by your side.

Would it be the same now?

"I've told you many times to call before you come here. You can't just walk into my house without asking, you know?"

"I didn't come in here. Your maid opened the door for me. At least she was useful for something after all..." She snarled throwing her wet coat at you. "Hang it up on the hanger, but gently. It's new. I don't want anything to break. Or better yet, dry it while you're here. I guess that's your job."

You caught the coat correctly, which helped your apron.

"Why are you looking at me? I don't pay to stand and do nothing." she said waving her hand at you.

"Sorry..." you grunted and walked away, walking towards the laundry room at home.

"You don't pay her. I do it." he said as you disappeared down the hall.

"But she's our cleaner."

"She's not a cleaner."

"So what is she doing? I believe she's here to clean your loo and wash your pants."

"She's supposed to be here. Unlike you." He growled, crossing his arms over his chest.

She put her purse on the kitchen table.

"Baby, what are you talking about?"

"Don't talk to me like that."

"What's going on? Something happened?" She looked at him questioningly.

"Don't pretend to be worried."

"But I–"

"Just shut up and get out of my house."

"This is our home." She interjected.

"You don't live here and you won't live here."

"Don't you love me? Satoru, we're a couple–."

"So maybe it's time to end it, don't you think?"

"Wha–" she moaned.

You've heard everything that's going on there.

"You're a total bitch who thinks she can take advantage of me and I won't know it. You think you can play with me? Don't make me laugh!"

She walked over to him and placed her hand on his cheek.

He moved away.

He only knew one thing.

That he shouldn't hit her.

Because then she'll make him an even worse monster than she is.

"Get out of my house and don't come back. These are my last words." He growled pointing to the front door.

"Satoru, I think you had a bad day at work. I'll come another time, okay?"

"No! Get the fuck out of my house and don't come back! I'm sick of how much you interfere in my life. Doesn't suit you? get the fuck out. You will not use me for your image. And I won't be with a bitch like you. Also, how's your next boyfriend?"

"You have a fever?"

"Just leave."

she snorted.

"Fine... I'll see you when you're feeling better..." She turned around and started adjusting her high heels. "Servant! My coat!"

Recently, Gojo asked you for one thing...

Don't listen to this person...

"What a bitch! How can you have a maid like that?! She doesn't even come when I call her! I don't want you to have a maid like that! It's not worth anything! How can you still pay her?!"

Her words hurt you.

This happened every time they argued.

She must have said something bad about you. She always put you down.

Is it because you're a maid?

After all, Gojo doesn't treat you like she does...

You really wonder how much longer this poor man will have to deal with her.

He frowned as he walked towards the door behind which you were standing.

"(y/n)." he called softly before entering.

He looked sadly at the fact that you were standing with your coat in your hands in front of the clothes dryer. One hand rubbed your eyes.

I'm sure you must have been sad to see her push you around so much.

"(y/n), give it to me." he said walking closer to you.

He gripped the clothes roughly, crumpling it.

"Sorry, I didn't have time to dry it." you said quickly.

"It's okay." He said smiling slightly at you.

He put his hand on your head.

"I'm going to get rid of that bitch. Don't worry."

You only left the laundry room after you heard the front door slam.

He sighed resignedly.

Even with curses he didn't have the same problem as with her...

What a life with this woman...

If she knew what he did every day, she would run away from him as soon as possible.

If she knew about all the "creatures" he had killed.

After all, his job is to kill curses and ghosts. And also curse users. And some curses can have feelings.

Besides, even something trying to kill him has more feelings than she does.

"Toxic bitch..." he spat out.

He really didn't want her to come here anymore. She just ruins the rest of his day.

Besides, their relationship was destroyed about three weeks ago.

And she still thinks they're fine.

And he constantly comes or invites him somewhere. Even if she's not welcome here.

He honestly told her that he was breaking up with her.

And she came back the next day, trying to convince him that nothing had happened.

He was just a boy with money and good looks to her. Nothing else mattered to her.

And he wasn't as spoiled as she was.

He has heard many times how her friends envy her such a handsome boy. So tall.

And that he has so much money.

He was walking benefits to her.

And he noticed it the moment she showed her true nature.

Sweet and innocent at first.

Then a toxic whore trying to make him crazy.

Plus, she was also taking it out on you. Punishing you for doing your job perfectly.

You were supposed to work for him, not her.

you work for him. Not for her.

So you don't have to listen to her. Especially now that she's nothing to him.

You stood behind him, staring at the back of his head.

His shoulders slumped as he sighed heavily.

He turned to look at you.

"I don't know how many more times I have to tell her we're not together." He laughed and took a few steps closer to you. "I hate fake people."

You looked at him questioningly.

He placed his hands on your shoulders.

"It's good that I can count on you. You're not fake."

You looked at him with brighter eyes.

He was so observant of people.

He even recognized fake love.

While he tries to take care of her and she wants to use him.

"I hope you don't take what she says personally."

"... It's fine... I know she wants to make my life miserable..." you replied with a very small smile.

It was sad that you always have to listen to them argue. And also some screams will always go at you.

"You were right," he suddenly said with his trademark smile. "I should look for someone who will accept me. Even though this sentence at the very beginning seemed so sad to me, now I see that it is sooo true~."

He didn't know if he should keep looking or stop. After all, he could live as he had before. Without someone like that.

And you...

You accept it, don't you?

Scratching the back of his neck slightly, he looked at you out of the corner of his eye.

You looked at him with a slight blush.

He met you two years ago, and he never once saw you change.

You are still the same.

You don't want money because you reject raises.

You live your life according to your morals.

Not like Chloe.

You're not like her.

You are sweet and caring. Nice and soft. You are always there to help him or to do something. You are doing what you are supposed to do.

Bypassing what you would have to do for you.

Being in his house, you live work.

And he knew your house was in a small block and also that you lived alone.

This job for him is your way of earning a living because you only work for him.

He could pay you even more. For being with him and helping him stay mentally healthy.

Because if you hadn't been there when they were arguing, he would have done something other than scream.

But having you there stops him.

And he doesn't regret what he chose.

He knew that keeping you working for Him no longer would be a bad choice.

It was the perfect choice.

For a man like him. For someone who is considered an anomaly and a monster among sorcerers. Someone who cannot be killed. Someone you can't get rid of.

Someone who cannot be deceived and taken advantage of. Because he is smarter and stronger.

No ideals. However, he needed something to distract him from his work.

Since death, which he sees almost every day.

Especially as a special grade sorcerer.

You didn't know he was a sorcerer, and you didn't need to know.

You might think he's kinky because he has blindfolds.

But even the fact that you sometimes thought he was a weirdo was something that felt good to him.

He needed peace. The warmth of the house. A soft feeling. He needed support and love.

Something to distract him from the constant killing.

Something nice.

Seeing your face has become a daily routine for him.

And when you're gone, he worries.

You care for him. You give him what he needs.

Nice feeling.

In return, he pays you to work in his house.

Even though you give him that feeling of your own free will.

"Dinner time is approaching. Would you like something special to eat?" You asked suddenly, pulling him out of his thoughts.

It was weird when he was standing in front of you staring at your face with his hand on the back of your neck. And he never took his eyes off you once.

You weren't even sure if he blinked.

It was a moment of longer seconds.

But he's never looked at you like that.

It was a look he didn't look at Chloe. As if he was thinking hard about something.

He won't fire you, will he?

You tried to break the atmosphere by asking him about dinner.

You cook for him often, so you know his culinary tastes.

He will eat practically anything.

But you don't serve him alcohol because he doesn't like it.

Even though he always has a few bottles of sweet wine in the pantry, he never drinks it.

This is where it lies if guests come to visit him.

And his guests are most often his students, who are minors.

So they drink tea, coffee, water or juice.

The wine will probably stay there for a long time.

The only thing he'll take with the alcohol is cake. But there is one condition - it cannot be felt strongly. Because according to Him, the bitter, pungent taste spoils the sweetness.

So it's simple. You bake him cakes that have nothing to do with alcohol. Same with other food.

You are not a professional cook, but by using recipes from the Internet you manage to cook something.

Let him tell you anything now...

Just to distract you from the way he looks at you.

You feel guilty about his arguments with his girlfriend.

No. She is his ex-girlfriend.

He broke up with her over the phone because she kept running away from the subject.

But she still thinks they are together.

He does not want to. So he shows it straight to her.

Oh god... You really don't want you to be the reason they broke up.

What finally happens is that he takes your side and they argue...

Always been like that.

Every time she insulted you, he took your side.

You must repay him somehow.

"...Will you make an onigiri for me?" He asked suddenly.

Now you don't know if he was thinking about this or something else...

"Of course. Would you like something right inside?" you asked, adjusting your apron.

"... I'm relying on you." He said with a smile, winking at you.

Then he adjusted his glasses on his nose.

You only know one thing about these glasses...

That he has really sensitive eyesight and apparently his eyes hurt when they are not covered.

you understand it. Someone has sensitive hearing, smell. He has a sensitive eye.

And those glasses suit him too.

"I'll take a bath and come. oh! Could you make a little more and pack for me for work tomorrow?"

"Yes." you answered.

"I have one student who loves onigiri. I'd like to give them some too." He said with a smile.

How can someone as caring as him not find someone good?

"You have a wet apron on." He said as his smile faded slightly. He pointed to the white fabric on your body.

"Oh, that's nothing. I'm going to cook anyway." You waved your hand slightly. "Prepare a bath for you, Gojo-san?"

"I'll take a quick shower and be back." He said as he started to walk away.

This man deserves more than he gets from life...

He has no family, many of his friends are gone...

Others, despite being his friends, are also sometimes annoyed.

Why does a nice man like him only get so much?

He's rich, but you don't think he cares about his wealth.

He is content with the simplest things. Homemade food, little things. Even if he likes some expensive clothes.

The people he dated always had something of the artifice.

The women he dated.

He didn't have much emotion to show...

And he didn't want to open up to anyone.

Then why does his mood change so much when he talks to you?

"I'm stupid." He laughed from sitting on the floor of the large shower, a smile on his lips as his eyes were closed.

Feeling the warm water run through his hair and over his skin.

"To you, I'm probably a goddamn playboy who fucks everything I like..."

Even though he said it out loud with a smile and a soft chuckle, there was a little pain in his voice.

Because it was true.

He didn't trust people. He didn't get into relationships. He simply provided an outlet for his needs.

But he also needs trust...

Someone will trust him, but he will not completely trust anyone.

You spend your days at his house and you're not a lying person. You only lie about what's wrong with you.

It's up to you to work for him.

He trusted you.

You will probably never share his feelings because you know him. You know what kind of man he is. You know what he really is. And he's probably not your ideal man.

Money is important in life...

People pay to receive affection...

So maybe he could also pay you to give him some affection?

He wanted home warmth, security and love.

Pleasant moments. Not only sexual pleasure. He wanted pleasant moments spent with a smile on his face.

Maybe if he paid you more and asked for even a fake relationship, maybe you'd agree?

He's happy to come home from work when he knows you're there, waiting for him with lunch.

With the relaxing sight of your smile.

It's easy to say you're friends.

But he would like you to be at his house all the time. When he wanted a feeling of warmth.

He was able to provide you with everything you need.

Everyone would ever give in to money... He wanted you to do it too, and maybe you'd accept money from him to pretend you love him...

There's also a chance you won't agree.

His cunning made his shower last even longer.

He didn't know there was a scene he should know about.

"Chloe-san? I didn't think you'd come back—" You said as the girl pushed the door open to go inside.

Her boots and coat were dripping with water and mud from the rain outside.

"Shut up. Where is Satoru?" She cut you off and gave you the coat again to hang it up.

"Takes a bath." you answered normally.

"No difference. What are you doing for dinner?" She replied indifferently, taking a seat at the table and pulling out her phone.

"Gojo-san asked for onigiri."

"That's disgusting... I want a fresh Parisian roll." she growled.

"Gojo-san wants an onigiri." You replied directly.

"Tch... I really don't understand why he keeps you here if you can't follow simple instructions! He's probably paying you to be his fuckhole. I can't believe he fell so low...

Does she really think you're here as a prostitute?

"I'm doing what Gojo-san asked me to do. Since he asked me to cook it, I'll do it."

"Fine! Make me some jasmine tea!"

You sighed and turned on the electric kettle, poured dried jasmine into the jug, then poured boiling water over it to make it brew.

You poured the tea into the cup you handed her.

She immediately took it into her mouth, suddenly spitting it out at you.

"You're stupid?! It's too hot!" She said standing up.

She put her fingers to her lips.

"It's tea-"

"Shut up! You can't even do that right! Who sane gives hot tea to drink!"

You gave her freshly brewed tea... I wonder why it was hot.

Maybe because you brewed it freshly.

It's not your fault she wanted to drink it right away.

Neither the Gojo nor you drink anything warm immediately after brewing, and you wait until it cools down.

And if she wants the tea to be at the right temperature right away, she demands the impossible.

"I don't want it. Take it!"

She took the plate with the cup in her hand, and instead of giving it to you gently, she handed it to you quickly and let go, causing the tea to spill over your hands.

Reflexively, to avoid more burns, you dropped it through your sore fingers, and the drink spilled onto your apron and your sleeves. Caused a brief sting, but the clothes protected your skin. Luckily it wasn't boiling water, it was hot water.

It wasn't that hot because it had cooled down a bit in the jug. But that doesn't change the fact that your hands are burning.

The cup fell to the floor shattering.

You held your red hands, and you knew she was about to scream.

But before she could, you heard a voice.

"What's going on here?"

"Satoru! Your maid gave me too hot tea! And she even dropped a cup!" She shouted pointing at you.

"It's normal for the tea to be hot at first. And I also know that what you say is not entirely true. Besides, you weren't supposed to come back here." He said, adjusting the towel around his neck.

He looked at you and your little tears in your eyes. The skin after the burn hurts.

He walked over to you and looked at your wet sleeves and apron.

He gently grabbed your reddened hands, and placing his hand on your back, he gently pulled you towards the kitchen which was right next to you, as she sat at the island kitchen table, and he turned on the cool water, gently sliding your hands under the stream.

He stood next to you, holding your smaller hands on top of his, and watched the pain in your face slowly disappear. Just like redness on the skin.

It's lucky that tea didn't hurt you enough to cause severe burns.

"She's so clumsy. You should cut her salary for that."

"I should throw you out of here now."

"What?"

"You weren't supposed to come back here."

"I came to tell you that we're not going to my cousin's party in two. I ordered us matching outfits. The package will arrive here tomorrow. When you have it, let me know." She said standing next to the chair. "Don't deal with her. The floor is dirty. Let her clean it up."

"Nobody's going to listen to you." He told her and turned off the water. "Besides, we broke up two weeks ago."

"I don't accept breaking up over the phone. It's like it doesn't exist." She looked at her nails.

He chuckled, drying your hands.

"Except for the past two weeks, I've been telling you the same thing every time we see each other. I'm not your boyfriend and I regret that I ever was."

"You can't break up with me."

"I can't. Because I already did."

"Without me you have nothing. My friends are important people."

"your friends are. And you are nobody. Do you seriously think I have nothing? Look around." He chuckled sarcastically.

A Gojo saying such things while laughing is ghastly.

"I don't want to see you in my house any longer. I don't want to see your fake face one more time. We understand each other?"

"You're so–!" She started to speak but he interrupted her.

"There's a lot you don't know about me. Get out of here before you find out something you shouldn't know."

His aura was intimidating.

Even you felt a chill hit when he said that.

Some strange energy hit you.

you shivered.

"You know what... Fuck this bitch as long as you want! I do not care! There are so many other better men than you in the world!"

"You finally understood that we're not a couple! Congratulations!" He put his hand over his eyes, laughing like a madman.

Then, seeing his behavior, she left.

He was glad he would never see her again.

"Gojo-san..." you said and looked at him.

His hand was still holding yours.

He looked at you with warm eyes and his crazy smile changed to a gentle one.

"Call me Satoru. Like I told you before."

"I'm just your maid. I-"

"You're closer to me than that fucking bitch was. And you talk to me like we're strangers."

"Sorry..."

"You have nothing to apologize for." he said laying his head on yours. Gently and comfortingly hugging you.

"Dinner will be delayed. And I broke a cup."

"I know it's her fault. Don't worry."

"But-."

He interrupted you.

"Go to my dressing room and get some clean clothes, okay?"

"I'll be home soon anyway. I'll cook you dinner and be back–."

"Nope..." he said firmly.

"I should take care of you, so let me take care of you. Why don't you stay here today?"

"I'm not sure..."

"I'll pay extra for night work."

"I have nothing to do. Unless you want me to do something else. Besides, I don't want any more money. You're paying me too much for a few hours a day anyway."

"Is that important?" he asked.

You thought he was ignoring you, but he was clearly listening to what you were saying.

You take your job seriously and honestly...

Your deal was different than what he wanted to do now.

"So stay as my guest. Take clothes from my wardrobe and feel at home. Because this is your second home, isn't it?"

You nodded.

After all, he was right.

You'll wash his clothes later and everything will be as before.

You went to his room.

He meanwhile grabbed a broom and picked up the broken glass from the floor.

When you came back, you were wearing his gray T-shirt that he wore when he was at home.

Your apron was dirty and you had to start cooking. So you took a T-shirt that you know isn't new.

What would happen if you ruined his expensive T-shirt?

He watched you go to the kitchen.

He saw you weren't wearing new pants.

You told him your pants weren't dirty.

His phone rang and he told you right away it was from his job.

You started making the onigiri the way he wanted.

You had some more work ahead of you because he wanted to take some for the students.

That's why you prepared more rice and other ingredients.

He didn't come back to the kitchen after someone called, and you're guessing he's still talking. Someone calls him often.

But you did your job anyway.

You prepared everything as it was supposed to be, packing the excess into boxes.

You left some for him and waited for him to come back.

According to what you had, you ate with him. So you took two onigiri while eating this.

He still hasn't come back.

It was getting late...

You started washing the dishes you used to prepare the food.

As you were rinsing your plate, very suddenly you felt and saw his hands wrap around your waist.

A common thing when he wanted to tease you or scare you.

He appeared in front of you without a sound.

"How are your hands?" he asked as he watched you wipe the plate and set it aside.

"I'm fine. It's not hurt." you replied while continuing your work.

He was a man of no barriers and often invaded your private space when you became friends.

"Are you sure?"

"Yes." You smiled. It's nice that he cares about you. "The onigiri for you for dinner are in the fridge. I didn't know when you were coming to eat."

"And you?"

"I already ate. I wanted to wait for you, but you didn't come. So substantial. I made about 20 extra."

"Thanks."

He was kind of quiet now... It was a different behavior than usual.

He didn't show you his face.

"Is everything OK?" you asked suddenly.

"Hmm?"

"Are you okay?"

"Yeah..."

You felt something was wrong.

He wasn't sad about what happened. For those three weeks they often quarreled when she suddenly came when he didn't want to see her.

Now it was different.

Maybe he was sorry that she hurt you?

So yes, hot tea on the skin is definitely painful. But not that much.

It was quiet, and he suddenly reached for the faucet, turning off the water as you rinsed the next plate.

You turned your head to the side, looking at the side of his face.

He wasn't smiling. Which only showed that he didn't do it for fun.

"I was looking for someone sweet and nice because I'm used to the way you treat me." He said suddenly.

"Huh?" You groaned as you felt the heat on your cheeks and in your chest.

"I forgot that I don't need to look for someone like this. Because I can have a person close to me who is a perfect match for these characteristics. You are sweet and kind. And it's because of you that I want to feel it. I want to know that there is someone like that with me. Sweet and nice. Why should I look when the perfect person is already next to me?

"I–" you blushed.

"I'll pay you. Double salary. Triple. I'll pay you whatever you want."

You widened your eyes. You didn't know what to say at all.

"I'll give you what you want. For you to be with me as you are now, but in a relationship."

Love can't be bought...

He knew about it.

But he also knew he could pay you to be with him. As it has been for two years.

He paid you because that's how you worked.

It won't be a real relationship, but he'll know then that he's coming back to the warmth of home. To someone who will be waiting for him there.

Even if you don't fall in love with him that way.

Love cannot be bought.

But you can buy fake love.

You may not love him, but he wants you to at least pretend to love him.

That you at least treat him as if you were in love with him.

So he could live the lie he arranged to find what he was looking for.

Since there is no one who can love him for who he is, he can at least make someone pretend to love him.

It was hard for him to say it before, but he fell in love with you.

But he can't force you to love him.

That's why he wanted the person he loved to at least pretend to love him. It would be better than living in a relationship that would never work out.

"... Satoru, I..."

"I'll pay you to be with me..."

Everyone needs money.

You too.

But you don't want to accept that kind of money from him...

Not like this...

You heard the desperation in his voice.

You could never accept such an offer...

Not so...

You don't want to make money off of him by giving him a fake relationship...

You don't want to give him a fake relationship for making him pay you a lot...

You can't do this to him...

He is someone who was close to you... But you didn't want it that way.

"...I can't...I can't like this..."

His grip on your waist lessened.

"I'm sorry..." he said. "I'm sorry I even suggested it... I could have guessed you'd say no... You're not the kind of person who would do anything for money..."

He suddenly turned you to him, and you saw his sad face.

Tears welled up in your eyes just seeing him.

But he suddenly grabbed you and picked you up, placing you on the kitchen counter next to the sink.

"At least let me be with you as much as I want. For this one moment..."

Before you could react, his lips were pressed against yours.

He expected you to push him away. That you hit him.

But you stay still.

Without moving.

You let him kiss you.

And as he pulled away, he saw tears welling up in your eyes.

"Oh no... I'm sorry... It was so sudden... Please don't cry, I don't want you to cry. It's my fault... I didn't mean to impose anything on you." He said quickly and started wiping away your peacefully flowing tears.

With his hands on your cheeks, he thought he was the worst person...

He shouldn't have done that...

"Forget I did that... that I said that..."

"...No..." You placed your hands over his, with a soft whisper. "I won't forget what you did..."

"I..." he began, but didn't say anything until his next words came out. So a long while later. "I don't know what love is... I never knew. But I'd like to tell you that I love you... Because that's probably what I feel for you..."

Her eyes widened at what he said. He tightened his fingers on his hands and your lips turned into a slight smile.

But still a crying smile.

"(y/n)..."

"I never expected to hear those words from you..."

"I know I suck... I know my character is fucking not what you to like... But don't let me live in suspense. Just honestly tell me that you don't want me around."

He was used to not having anyone close to him.

He probably also experienced it when someone told him that they did not love him.

He's already suffered a loss. So he's probably going to be heartbroken now too.

"Just tell me and I'll try to make everything back to how it used to be..." He rested his forehead against yours.

"Why can't you just shut up..." You cried.

You grabbed his neck holding him and put your mouth on his.

He opened your mouth with his, feeling the sign that you let him.

And he connected your lips more demandingly than gently.

He pulled away, keeping his tongue slightly sticking out, watching your tongues connect with a thin string of saliva.

You lowered your head, hiding your red face.

"To means..." he said.

You had your hands on his shoulders.

"...Don't ask me if I'll be with you for money no more! If I can do it for free...!"

His eyes lit up when he heard that.

And then he moved closer to you, hugging you.

A strange weight fell from his chest.

And let you cry your tears on his shoulder.

You didn't know when, but you found yourself in his bedroom.

And he was there to lie down gently on the bed.

And pin you to the mattress with my hands next to your head. Still keeping your thighs on his hips like when you were sitting on the kitchen counter.

He opened your mouth with his thumb, using his tongue to play with yours.

His other hand reached for your stomach, pulling the hem of his shirt up against your body.

"Can I?"

It was the first time he could say he had sex.

Before, he was just fucking.

Today it was different.

The way he gently held your body as his hips hit yours as he stood behind you.

Your hands on the bed so you don't fall.

Your hand sometimes grabs the hand that held your waist before he wrapped his forearm around you.

He then held you upright, letting your hand rest on his hand on your waist and the other placed on his hip as he continued to move his hips like that.

Quickly but gently.

Making you crumble beneath him as his tip digs into your cervix.

You've never seen him naked in such an exposed way.

You never touched him the way you touch him now.

You've never felt the way his big cock straightens your insides, carving his shape into you.

You're supposed to wrap it perfectly, because you'll be doing it more often.

In your house. So here.

You leaned forward, resting your forehead against the bed. You looked down and saw moisture running down your thighs. The combination of your juices with his saliva when he made you orgasm for the first time.

He was experienced. You noticed it. But he didn't get tired of the soft way you moaned and shivered under him. Letting him use your body.

He wanted you to do that for him endlessly.

You never knew your employer had such a big dick.

You couldn't even think about the fact that he had other women in bed before you.

But none of them were with him like you are.

That day you were fired from your job.

At your own request.

Because you wouldn't be able to take money from him since what you're doing is for both of you.

Just like what you're doing now.

Your Clit was swollen as he reached out to rub you.

Adding a little more to the moans.

His bangs were combed to one side as his hair was sticky with sweat.

He didn't want to end it quickly.

He wanted to enjoy your first time together as long as he could.

So he took his time.

He was firm in pounding your hips, but he wasn't doing it to please him.

He always wanted to please him, and by the way the partner he had then.

And now, he wanted to give you pleasure. So he pushed with his hips to hit those points that make you moan the loudest.

He pressed his hips against you to see how well you held him and tightened inside.

To move his cock inside you again later.

To also pull it out and then put it back inside you, watching your pussy expand as much to take it in.

But you took it so well.

Every part of your body was perfectly made to fit his body.

Any mark on your skin, any blemish, it didn't matter. Because your whole body suited him.

Something that doesn't lie. It's not fake. It's not artificial...

It is not possible to buy with money.

Especially when you fell on the bed with your ass up while his cock was still embedded in you. You fell as he momentarily let go of you to shove his length into you as he slid out.

Teasing your sensitive points and clitoris, you clenched on him as you received an orgasm that took the strength from your legs. And he didn't catch you before you lay on the bed, just sticking your ass out to him. Because you felt the constant pleasure coming from his thick length inside you.

He wanted more.

He wanted to know you were his.

Right now and you will.

Pulling his cock slowly out of your thirsty hole, he gently lifted you up, positioning your body on your back, head below the pillows.

He placed your hips on his thighs, slapping the tip against your sensitive clit several times.

Before he pushed himself into you, reaching a new low. Your calves on his biceps as he pushed at a fast pace.

You looked at him with hazy eyes. Sensitive.

But you didn't tell him to stop.

You didn't want him to stop. Not when it's so good...

He kissed you almost all the time. His thrusts became sloppy.

His hands around you as he thrusts into you like there's no end to it.

As he made low grunts into your mouth, and low moans.

Filling your mouth with it the same way it filled your pussy.

He felt warm. Inside and outside.

He didn't want to give away the wonderful feeling of warmth you gave him and you are giving him even more now.

#jjk #gojo satoru #jjk x you #gojo x y/n #jujustu kaisen #gojo x reader #jjk x reader #gojo #gojo satoru x reader #gojo x you #gojo smut

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jexnkookie · 3 months ago

Text

The Law of Attraction (Lawyer! Jung Kook x Reader) [Part 12]

Story Synopsis: Throughout his life, Jung Kook has only ever loved one girl. Despite her being out of his league and of an elite class that he wasn't born into, he fell hard, keeping his feelings a closely guarded secret. When they parted ways, and Jung Kook pursued his law career, he did so with the intent of moving on. But when she unexpectedly arrives back into his life, Jung Kook finds himself once again face to face with his own insecurities, and the girl of his dreams.

Story Rating: M (18+) [Language, sex, depression, alcoholism]

Genre: Angst, Fluff, Smut

Characters/Pairings: Lawyer! Jung Kook x Reader (feat. Jimin x Reader)

Chapter Word Count: 2.4k

Taglist: @cassies-cookies @crisle19 @dream-cvtcher @jimincrystal @jksusawife @jk-190811 @khadeeeeej @kooklovee @lalataegi @lallataegi @mukeovernetflix @rispwn @shellyyy177 @smoljimjim @taetaecatbo @user-190811 @whoa-jo @11thenightwemet11

Previous Chapter | Next Chapter (Coming Soon)

Series Masterlist

“I think I’ll let you start our conversation today. Whatever you’d like to talk about. I want you to take the reigns.”

Dr. Moore’s voice was calm and quiet, but it did nothing to soothe the ache in Jimin’s head, and in his heart. He sat in her office chair, like a scolded child, completely embarrassed of his actions. This was a new low, and it was a wake up call when Taehyung held on to him as he stumbled back to the treatment center in the cold rain. Finding the bottom of the bottle didn’t erase his memory of the look on your face. You were so afraid, fear written on every feature of your face, illuminated by the bar’s neon lights, and he did nothing to even attempt to comfort you. Even he was a mess, tripping over himself and slurring his words, you chose to run to Jung Kook and make sure he was ok instead. Jimin knew, in that moment, that he had lost you. He had used up all of your patience, and what he found was his true rock bottom.

“I don’t know what to do anymore.” Jimin admitted. “I wanted to be sober for Y/N. But, I know she’s not mine anymore. I… I can’t talk about last night. I’m sorry.”

“You don’t want to talk about it?” Dr. Moore asked, and Jimin nodded his head.

“I’m afraid.” He said. “I’m scared to tell my father.”

“Is that your biggest fear right now?”

Jimin thinks for a moment, and he nods his head.

“He’s going to be so angry with me, knowing that I lost her. He was very happy about our engagement… Losing her was my biggest fear, but I know there’s nothing I can do about that now.”

“Why was losing Y/N your biggest fear?”

“Because,” Jimin started, a bit offended. “She’s the love of my life.”

“But now that she’s gone… Your fear is placed back on your father.”

Jimin furrowed his brows and crossed his arms defensively, not understanding her thought process.

“Please correct me if you think that I’m off base, but have you thought that maybe, you weren’t afraid of Y/N leaving because of the love you have for her, but because if she left, it would mean disappointment from your father?”

Jimin’s lips parted to protest, but the words were caught in his mouth. He knew that the heart of what Dr. Moore was trying to point out was true. He loved you, undoubtedly, more than he’s ever loved anyone else. But the root of that fear, much like every other fear in his life, is his father’s disappointment. Parks get what they want. But Jimin didn’t get what he wanted, not this time. His father wouldn’t accept that.

“During our conversations together, Jimin,” Dr. Moore began, leaning in to focus on him. “Something you bring up time and time again, is your fear of your father. It’s an insecurity of displeasing him. It’s what made you angry with your mother’s death, what clings you to Y/N, what began your drinking. You look for ways to escape, or to never be left alone with him. That fear is what we should conquer. Everything else is secondary, and can’t be fixed on their own, without tackling that fear.”

It clicked. For the first time in Jimin’s life, the puzzle pieces were put into place. He was more terrified, and more heart broken, than he had ever felt in his life, but with it came a new kind of freedom.

Jimin spoke with her for a few more moments, attempting to articulate those emotions, and Dr. Moore just smiled supportively. As he worked his emotions out verbally, he could begin to untangle the web of connections. He left her office feeling just a bit lighter. The pain of losing you was still burning, fresh and hot in the center of his chest, and the threat of tears was ever present. But being able to lay out exactly what he needed to unravel inside himself, gave him a new pathway to happiness that could be more lasting. He wanted what was best for you, and he knew very clearly now that it wasn’t going to be him. He still had a long, long way to go.

——————————————————————————————————-

Jung Kook walked into his apartment after a long day of work, and noticed a sticky note on the kitchen counter. Your handwriting spelled out, “Wanted to go out for a bit. I’ll be back soon! :)”

He smiled to himself at the little smiley face at the end as he walked towards his bedroom, and changed out of his suit and into something more comfortable. He took the time alone to video call his mother, who he hadn’t been able to speak in length to.

“Hi, Eomma.” Jung Kook greeted her.

“Oh, I missed you.” She said with a sad chuckle. “How do you like it there?”

“I do.” He replied, looking out the window onto the city. “But I do miss home, of course. It’s hard not to.”

“Home misses you, too.” She said. “But you must be so busy with work, aren't you?”

“Very much.” He laughed, shaking his head. “Eomma, do you remember… Do you remember Y/N?”

“The girl you talked so much about?” Jung Kook could practically hear her smile over the phone. “Yes, I remember hearing about her.”

“You won’t believe what’s happened.” He said, laying back onto his bed.

As he continued to explain to her everything that’s happened, he was oblivious to your presence in the living room, right outside of his bedroom. You had come home from a solo shopping day, and you placed your bags on the coffee table in front of the sofa. You were excited to show Jung Kook your gift for him, as a thank you for all that he’s done for you. But as you walked towards his bedroom door, and heard him on the phone, you couldn’t help but stop when you overheard what he was saying.

“She’s the only girl I’ve ever wanted, Eomma.” Jung Kook said. “You know that.”

“I do.” She smiled sweetly. “I still remember how you came home from Seoul after breaking off your engagement, and you told me you just couldn’t go through with it. You were so upset for hurting her, but you did the right thing by being honest.”

“I didn’t even think I’d ever see Y/N again.” He admitted. “I just… I couldn’t get married, knowing I had feelings for Y/N. I know those feelings are never going away.”

You snuck away to your bedroom, with your breath caught in your lungs. You had already known that Jung Kook had left his engagement because of how he felt for you, but hearing him say that those feelings are something that he thinks will never leave, set an indescribable feeling in your chest. Maybe it was just butterflies, or maybe it was a newfound sense of hope, that there was a lasting calm to be found after weathering the storm. You turned your attention to the bouquet of flowers he had given you, somehow still vividly colorful and in bloom by your beside. Red and pinks painted onto the soft petals, somehow still not wilted. It was a reminder that if you take care of something seemingly delicate, it can be strong.

“Y/N?” Jung Kook asked from the living room, breaking your thoughts. “You home?”

Home. That word wasn’t lost on you.

His voice was the same, but it sounded sweeter somehow. It lingered, taking it’s time and resting comfortably in the room. Your feet took over, throwing themselves onto the apartment’s hardwood floor, and rushing over to find him. He stood in the living room, same stars sparkling in his dark eyes that you’ve become so familiar with. You walked over to him, and took him by surprise when you wrapped your arms around him, and rested your head on his chest. His eyes widened, thinking that maybe something else bad had happened, but no tears came. Instead, you just held him, and he rested into your touch, putting his arms around you too.

“Hi.” He smiled, before placing a kiss to your hair. “Missed you today.”

“I’m really happy you’re here.” You said, looking up at him without letting go. "Thank you.”

Jung Kook’s gaze became incredibly soft and gentle. He knew in that instant, that he had become a safe place for you to run to. So, he kept his arms around you, and somehow managed to pull you in closer, before connecting his lips to yours. Every movement was a promise; the smile he felt your lips turn into as he kissed them, the way his hands traced your curves, how your fingers found his hair to pull him in. They were all promises of a better, but undefined future. Jung Kook knew you wouldn’t leave him lonely anymore, and he knew you understood that he was yours. You just had to let him in.

—————————————————————————————————

A few days passed, and during that time, you worked up the nerve to meet Jimin again. You knew that what you would receive when you met him, was closure. It was the inevitability that you were somehow hoping to avoid.

Love doesn’t die all at once. It’s an unhurried death, with shallow breaths and the slowing of hearts. And like everything else, no two loves die in exactly the same way, because no two loves are ever the same. You didn’t want to know how your love with Jimin would end, but you knew that in order to start again, this was a step you had to take.

When you walked in to meet Jimin, as you had done so many times before, you were taken aback. He sat alone, with an aura of peace in his presence that hadn’t been there for as long as you could remember. He looked at you, and he offered a gentle, knowing half-smile. He could feel love’s slow death too, and much like you, he was in the final stage of mourning. Acceptance.

You sat down in the meeting room, sharing his company on a soft, blue sofa. The air was fragile, and both of you were aware of its unpreventable breaking. Jimin’s knee touched yours, as you sat close together on the edge of the cushions. He wondered silently if that was the last time he would ever touch you.

“Do you remember,” Jimin spoke up, breaking the silence. “How my mother would watch you whenever you jumped off the diving board into your pool, and then try to convince me to do the same?”

“Yeah.” You smiled at the memory. “Mrs. Park would always comment to my mother that I was fearless.”

Jimin laughed with a tinge of sadness, his eyes beginning to water.

“And there I was, shaking as I climbed the latter.” He said. “She watched me, and when I stood up there, looking back down at her, I was so scared. But Eomma would give me a nod, and a smile, and a thumbs up. It was enough to get me to jump, and once I hit the water… I realized, every time, that I never drown, or sunk to the bottom. I always managed to swim back up.”

You watched Jimin as he spoke, but his eyes never met yours as he told his story. He looked down at the floor, as though he could visualize the pool below him. Jimin transformed in his mind to that scared kid once again, looking down at his mother, who stood right by the water and knew he could make it.

“I think what she was teaching me, is that I don’t have to be afraid to jump.” Jimin said. “I think she knew that no matter what, I would always find a way to… swim back up again.”

“I think so, too.” You smiled, and took his hand in yours. His eyes met yours, and your tears matched his.

“I want to apologize to you, honey.” Jimin said. “For everything. I’m so sorry for hurting you. You never deserved any of it. I know I haven’t acted like it, but when I told you that you’re the love of my life, I meant it. But I also know that I can’t sit here, after everything, and ask you to stay with me.”

His hand tightened its grip on yours, and tears that had been lining the waterlines of your eyes were now overflowing. Jimin had droplets of his own, and he smiled a sad smile. He knew you were exhausted, and he understood that to love you, in this moment, would be to let you go.

“I’m going to miss you, angel.” Jimin said, his voice almost a whisper as he committed your features to memory. “I’m sorry. I hope you know that I’ll always love you, no matter what. And if you ever need anything… If you’re ever lonely… I’ll be there.”

You nod, unable to speak.

“I love you, too.” You said with a sad smile of your own. “No matter what.”

Jimin leaned in, and stole one last kiss from your lips. He knew he’d never forget how your lips tasted, or how they felt on his. It was tattooed onto his memory, and had been since the first time he had ever kissed you that night on the beach.

You never knew that a kiss could hurt until that moment. It felt like a burning in your chest, like your body was screamingatyou that this is what you need. But you knew it wasn’t. Your heart felt like it was being ripped away from you, leaving your body cold and empty. You were truly saying goodbye to your Jiminie, watching your future together crumble and disintegrate with a few words and a kiss.

When he finally mustered up the power to let go, you reached into your bag, and took out the engagement ring he had given you in front of your families. Jimin watched as you placed it in his hand, and curled his fingers around it. The metal was cold, indicating just how long it had been since it was on your hand.

Words failed the both of you. There was nothing else to say. So instead, you looked at his delicate features one last time, before slowly rising from the sofa, and exiting the room. Jimin, who wanted so badly to chase after you, couldn’t bring himself to move. So he sat alone, watching you walk away, as he held the ring meant for you in his hand.

#jungkook fluff #jungkook #jungkook imagine #jungkook angst #jungkook smut #jungkook fic #bts #bts fanfic #bts fic #jungkook x y/n #jungkook x reader #jungkook x you #the law of attraction #lawyer!jungkook #jimin x reader #jimin x you #jimin x y/n #jimin fanfic #jimin fic

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