#I know. Such simple words and yet it meant everything-that understanding.

[mirrorcatcreditcard]

Take I haven't seen in the fandom yet:

Luka doesn't want to be freed.

"Now, MirrorCatCreditcard," you may say, "that's nonsense. Any human would want freedom from that system."

If you're thinking I'm gonna convince you that Luka doesn't know he wants freedom yet, you're wrong. I'm here to talk about indoctrination/conditioning, grooming/emotional manipulation, my own experience with those topics, and how all of the above connects with Luka as a character. If a deep dive like this is too much for you, please tap out for your own sake.

Luka's life was planned before he even existed. There has never ever been an alternative option. There is no life for Luka as anything but what Herperu chose. Everything in his life has been planned to have him be the perfect pet human idol. That is what he must be.

Fandom, I don't think most of you actually understand this and have dissected what this means (shout-out to the Luka stans who are getting there/have guessed similar things). These words we know have alternatives and are not set in stone are Luka's "gravity makes rain fall to the earth" and "water makes things wet." They are facts so deeply ingrained within him that even if shown the contrary he remarks that the person showing them is just disillusioned.

Take his commentary on Mizi and Hyun-A in the art book. He looks down on Mizi for not being able to control any of her emotions. How does he talk about Hyun-A? He has her at 70% affection yet shows a patronizing attitude—she's the one in denial at reality.

Now, how did we get here? How is a human so "delusional" and set in the control?

He's been conditioned.

Some of you don't know what I mean by this from experience and/or research, and count yourself fortunate that you don't. I pray you never experience such things firsthand. Don't worry about ignorance. Familiar or not, I will explain.

When you are surrounded by only one truth and reality, that is the way you interpret life. If a parent tells a child "the moon goes to sleep during the day," until the child learns otherwise, that's what they believe. Now take that child-like belief and add some toxic environments to the mix. With time, any other kid would learn that the earth rotates from their peers or adults around them. But if the creatures around them all say and believe the same thing "the moon goes to sleep during the day," then that is what the child continues to believe. Years of that same thing being the only truth make that false knowledge into a fact in the person's head, and everything that supports that fact is taken as truth or on the right path to truth.

"This is kinda silly though," you guys are no doubt murmuring, "All of this is a hypothetical. Give us something that makes sense or that someone could actually see happen in our society."

I'll give you my own experience then. My parents taught me that God is real. My parents taught me that I will be damned I do not follow the commandments of the scriptures. I didn't need to worry though. As long as I was obedient to the God who loved me and wanted what was best, I would be saved despite being born an awful sinful human. I was homeschooled, only interacted with people of similar beliefs, and taught that people too different from me in ideology or with radical beliefs against my own were trying to harm me and my family. I believed the people who raised me because why would people who love me lie to me? My task was simple. I needed to obey God and love everyone, especially them. Love meant giving up my entire being and living only as servant and sacrifice. After all, being selfless to the utmost was the greatest form of love.

Let's go back to Luka. His guardian, Herperu, when questioned about any surprises while training Luka, stated not only that he was the one who endured the "tough moments" but also that "(Luka) owes his success to me, and naturally, he should be grateful." This sentiment is echoed by Luka in his interview (shown on Patreon). My god, it's giving parents with disabled kids who brag on social media about how much trouble their kid is and how much they do for them. Sickening. This shows exactly what environment Luka has lived in though.

When you are manipulated into having something as your reality, everything else is fiction and delusion.

Let's review what exactly is Luka's reality.

Heperu is the one suffering if Luka has any difficulties being obedient.

Gratitude is what Herperu is owed because he goes through so much trouble to make Luka a star.

Love/care is shown by owning another's autonomy.

Emotions and bodily reactions exist, sure, but someone should be able to control them; and if they can't, someone should control those reactions for them.

Segyein are superior and the good ones for dealing with humans. Humans must be disciplined and shaped to how an segyein wants it to act to be considered deserving of this goodness.

(Luka)'s perfection is defined by his guardian.

Luka's life is directly connected to being the perfect performer. His guardian praises his abilities with the statement that no other pet human will ever be as perfect as him yet leaves an underlying threat saying that it will be no good if a pet is not trained properly. This has probably been mentally (if not physically) beaten into Luka's mind: his greatness doesn't stop him from being able to be disposed of. The human instinct to want to live has been explained to him as Heperu's wish for him to live and that has been further distorted as a duty to live for the stage he has been placed on.

Luka believes fully that there is a debt in play here. In his interview, he mentions repaying love. He thinks the relationship between fan and idol is completely normal, encouraged, and healthy. Performance is the most important thing. Being where he is is a privilege.

There's a chain here:

Heperu indoctrinated Luka into believing what he says is all true.

The guardian manipulated him easily to do what he wanted with his body and mind.

The years have been spent constantly conditioning Luka to be the god who encapsulated fantasies for the audience.

He is continually being groomed to exist for the entertainment and enjoyment of segyein.

Circle back to my first point of this post. Luka does not want to be freed. He doesn't know what freedom actually is. He sees freedom as either foolish denials of reality (and doesn't consider that actual freedom) or as controlling the song and stage when he performs (something he learned from Hyuna). He cannot want something he cannot understand. He cannot want freedom in the sense the fandom keeps speaking about.

It's funny. From the moment Luka was revealed to be hated by the fandom, I wanted to know why. Instead of digging and finding horrific deeds, I instead found a character who portrayed my own traumas and experiences. I instantly attached and delved deeply into learning about this thirty year old singer. Why does he express himself in a certain way? Where do we first see mention of him? Who does he have emotions towards? How was he trained? What makes Luka himself? I have past essays/replies to other's theories if you're interested, but in this one I got personal and didn't sugarcoat the facts. If the fandom can't handle deep thought, we shouldn't be discussing this incredibly profound and depth-filled web series.

As always, thank you for your time, and I hope my thoughts allowed you to open your mind to new things. Mostly, I hope you enjoyed them 🫶

[acourtofquestions]

And because he was the only person who saw everything she was and did not walk away from it, Aelin said, "I wanted that fire to be for Maeve."

"I know." Such simple words, and yet it meant everything-that understanding.

"I wanted it to make things ... better." She loosed a long breath. "To wipe it all away." Every memory and nightmare and lie.

"It will take a while, Aelin. To face it, work through it."

"I don't have a while." His jaw tensed. "That remains to be seen." She didn't bother arguing. Not as she admitted, "I want it to be over." He went wholly still, but granted her the space to think, to speak.

"I want it to be over and done with," she said hoarsely. "This war, the gods and the Wyrdgate and the Lock. All of it." She rubbed her temples, pushing past the weight, the lingering stain that no fire might cleanse. "I want to go to Terrasen to fight, and then I want it to be over."

She'd wanted it to be over since she'd learned the true cost of forging the Lock anew. — Had wanted it to be over with each of Cairn's lashes on the beach in Eyllwe. And all he'd done to her afterward. Whatever it might bring about, however it might end, she wanted it to be over.

She didn't know who and what it made her.

Rowan remained silent for a long moment before he said, "Then we will make sure the khagan's host goes north. Then we will return to Terrasen and crush Erawan's armies." He brought her hands to his mouth for a swift kiss. "And then, after all that, we'll see about this damned Lock." Uncompromising will filled his every breath, the air around them.

She let it be enough for both of them.

Tucked away his words, his vow, all those promises between them and extended her palm in the air between them.

[aemondsbabe]

Deliverance

summary: following your nephew's death, you find aemond in need of comfort. as his older sister, who are you to deny him?

pairing: aemond targaryen x sister!reader

warnings: mature/explicit, 18+ (minors dni!), no use of y/n, afab reader, canon typical incest, mentioned canon death, infidelity technically but reader's husband is cool with it and understands that she comes from a weirdo family cough cough incest cough, lactation kink, hurt/comfort, piv sex, unprotected sex, cockwarming, titty sucking, angst but happy ending, otto cameo ew, let me know if i missed anything!

word count: 7.4k

a/n: *slams fist on table* i need for him to suck on my boobie

likes, comments, & reblogs are very appreciated but never required!

gif creds to @feodor-dostoevsky

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“Shall I fetch Maester Orwyle once we return to your chambers, Princess?” Your handmaiden, Edyth, questions as the two of you make your way up one of the many winding staircases in the Red Keep – each step making you wince. 

“Yes, please,” you sigh, ever grateful that she had always seemed to have a knack for predicting your requests before you had the chance to voice them, “Perhaps tell him to prepare some of the same soothing balm he gave to Helaena?” 

“Of course, Princess,” Edyth nods, a small smile tugging at the corners of her lips, ever the optimist, “I believe it should help with your aches, I remember it seemed to help the Queen after…” She trails off, breath hitching in her throat.

A heavy silence seems to fall over the two of you, the same that had been blanketing the entirety of the palace for the past few days. You swallow thickly, battling against the lump suddenly growing at the back of your throat and merely nod your head in simple understanding, offering her a tight-lipped smile, “I’m sure it will be of great help, Edyth, thank you.” 

Ever since… it had happened, the Red Keep feels as if it’s made of eggshells, like one small gust of wind could knock it right over. Everyone’s so on edge, terrified of saying too much or too little, the wrong thing at the wrong time. The stress of it all seems nearly suffocating, though you still have a feeling the worst was yet to come. 

Suddenly, someone calls your name from behind you and you turn, smiling once you see your grandsire striding toward you.

“A raven arrived earlier from Gwayne,” Otto explains, deep voice carrying down the empty hallway, “He’s reached Oldtown safely, everything seems to be well there.”

“Oh, wonderful,” you nod, grateful for news of your husband.

“Indeed,” he continues, “Daeron seems to be in good spirits, happy to come home; they’re to depart tomorrow, as scheduled… forgive me, I meant to tell you before supper but it seems to have slipped my mind.”

“Everything has been so hectic of late, please don’t trouble yourself. He arrived safely and will be back all the sooner for it, that is what matters.”

“Of course,” Otto nods, glancing out a nearby window, “If you’ll excuse me, I’ve been ordered to attend to His Grace,” he says gruffly, a wry smile on his lips, nodding in the direction of Aegon’s chambers.

You nod at the mention of your twin, brows pinching together with worry. “Be… patient with him, grandsire, please,” you beseech, chest heaving with a soft sigh, “I spoke with him earlier this morning, he’s… well, he’s not himself.”

“Are any of us anymore, I wonder,” Otto mutters, fixing you with a tight smile before taking his leave, striding quickly down the hallway. Your brows furrow at that, you can’t help but throw Edyth a questioning look before the two of you continue toward your chambers. 

“Seven Hells,” you grumble, quickly bringing a hand to your breast as you climb another, blessedly shorter, set of stairs, “Perhaps check the nursery first, yes? Daena may be stirring still…” You know better, even as the words leave your lips. 

Your daughter has finally begun sleeping soundly through the night recently and while that is cause for celebration, you certainly won’t miss the past eight moons of late night feedings, your poor breasts are paying the price – your body not yet caught up with the lessened need for milk. 

“Yes, Princess,” Edyth replies with a little nod, walking alongside you.

The two of you are almost at your chambers, finally turning onto the hallway where the family apartments are housed, when you hear it – a muffled, barely there cry. The sound makes you pause in your tracks, head swiveling, unsure of exactly where it came from and it’s then you notice that the door to Aemond’s chambers is ajar. 

That in and of itself is strange indeed, your little brother valued privacy above all else, so you stride over only to pause at the entrance, hand poised midair as you reach for the door handle. Your heart clenches when another soft sob pierces the quiet of the hallway – a mournful little noise, one you’d expect more from Aegon. 

Turning back to Edyth, you lead her a few feet from the door, knowing Aemond would hate it if he knew someone, anyone aside from you, had overheard him. “Go to the nursery,” you instruct, making sure to keep your voice low, “Make sure Daena is well, then you’re free for the evening.” 

“But, princess, what about –”

“Nevermind it,” you murmur with a shake of your head, “I’ll send for the maester later myself.”

With a nod, she scampers off further down the hallway, leaving you alone by your brother’s door. Stepping back over toward the threshold, you bite at your bottom lip, wondering if you should go in at all – if it would be more merciful to simply pretend you hadn’t heard anything at all. 

But then it happens again, another pitiful sob sounds from beyond the cracked door and you’re unable to help yourself – Aemond had always come to you with his troubles when he was younger, surely now would be no different. With a little breath, you push the door open just enough to slip through it and thank whichever Gods may be listening when you’re able to press it closed with hardly a sound. 

Peeking around the screen your brother has beside the door, it feels as if your heart shatters in your chest. He looks so… small, so fragile, the complete opposite of the towering, formidable man he’d become in recent years. It’s clear he didn’t hear you come in as he stays seated in a chair near the door, his back to you; his shoulders shake with gentle cries while he hunches over, head cradled in his hands. 

The disarray of his normally spotless chambers startles you once you let your eyes flit over the space – papers are strewn about all across the low table he keeps in the little sitting area, some scattered across the floor, crumpled up, or ripped to pieces. His bedsheets are halfway ripped from the bed and lie in a pool at its foot, along with the remnants of a candle, now merely a translucent puddle on the dark stone floor. 

Taking a step forward, you softly call his name, trying your hardest to keep your voice as low and soft as possible, though you’re hardly able to get the first syllable out before he bolts up from the chair with a strangled gasp and spins toward you. 

“Oh, Aem,” the words fall past your lips in a soft sigh, pulled from you by the startled expression on his face – eyes wide with the fear of being caught so vulnerable. His sapphire eye seems to sparkle with just as much emotion as his pale purple one. 

“Sister, I –” He starts, hastily wiping his hands over his cheeks, chest heaving while he tries to calm his harsh breaths, but you’ll have none of that.

“Shh, whatever excuses you have, I’ll not hear them,” you murmur, quickly walking the few feet over to him and enveloping him in a tight embrace, just as you used to do when he would come crying to you about the tortures Aegon or your nephews put him through in their youth.

Your brother stays stiff in your arms for a moment, tense and wary, though he slowly relaxes as you rub a hand over his back, smoothing out his long hair. You yourself relax once he finally winds his long arms around you and rests his chin on your shoulder with a soft sigh, the tension in his shoulders finally releasing. 

“Tell me what distresses you so?”

“I… Jae– the boy,” he stammers, stumbling over his name. You understand, just saying your little nephew’s name seems to somehow make the pain of the loss even worse. Yet, something in your gut tells you there’s something else going on, that Jaehaerys’s death is not the only thing causing your brother such anguish.

“Aemond…” you gently press, bringing a hand up to cup his cheek as you pull back just enough to meet his gaze, “I cannot help if you won’t tell me–”

“Tell you what?” He counters, tone growing too defensive too quickly, “My nephew’s death brings me sorrow, sister. The loss of a young child is a… distressing thing.”

“You know that’s not what I mean!” You counter, trying desperately to keep your voice calm, even when Aemond backs away from you with an exasperated sigh. You’re no stranger to this game – ever since he lost his eye, your brother has guarded his emotions carefully. Getting him to speak honestly about them was about as hard as keeping a bottle of Dornish wine from Aegon’s grasp. 

He gives you a sidelong glance as he paces about the room, lips pressed into a thin line, jaw clenched. Worry only blooms brighter in your chest the longer you watch him; so agitated and so guarded, closed off like an abused animal. 

“It… it’s nothing,” he mumbles finally, voice short and clipped, “Nothing important, sister, I assure you.”

Unconsciously, you wring your hands worriedly, heart clenching; you want nothing more than to reach out and comfort him, yet you know from experience that it was better to let Aemond come to you. 

“Well, surely it cannot be nothing if it has upset you so, sweetling.” 

His nervous pacing comes to a screeching halt at that and he squeezes his eye shut, fists clenched at his side – his whole body tense like he’s trying desperately to keep some invisible dam within himself closed. 

You reach a hand up instinctively when he bites at his bottom lip and turns his head away from you, shoulders shaking with silent sobs. “I–,” he croaks, the tightness in his voice makes your breath hitch in your throat; every maternal cell in your body is screaming at you, pleading with you to hold him, “I don’t w-wish to burden you.”

“Baby brother,” you sigh, finally going to him, practically running the few feet over to where he stands. Your arms encircle him instantly, pulling him into a tight embrace – one hand rubs over his back while the other cups the back of his head, holding his face against the crook of your neck, “You could never be a burden to me, never.”

That seems to break him and he gasps, breathing warm against your neck, before he finally lets go and his shoulders heave with sobs while his hands cling to you desperately, fisting into the fabric of your gown like he’s afraid you’ll disappear. A tightness grows at the back of your own throat, not used to seeing him be this raw, this open, in what feels like lifetimes. It breaks your heart to think he’d been holding all of this in, determined to be the strong, silent soldier like everyone expected, while he dealt with such sadness all alone. 

“Shh, shh, Aemond, you’re okay,” you murmur gently, eyes widening when he sags against you, his knees giving way only for a second. “Here, come,” you instruct, taking one of his hands in yours and leading him to the small seating area in his chambers. You urge him to sit on the sofa he has there before joining him yourself, a bit surprised when he all but throws himself against you again – practically laying his head in your lap as he sobs, cheek pressed against your chest in a way that makes you wince from the tenderness still there, not that you’d ever scold him for it. 

“There, that’s much better, hm? Comfortable?” You ask, simply trying to draw him back to the surface. 

He doesn’t reply, something that doesn’t really come as a shock to you given how harsh his cries are, leaving him breathless against you. Deciding to let him get it out, you stay quiet, merely shushing him every so often as you run your fingers through his pearlescent hair.

After a long while, he seems to settle some and tears begin running down his cheeks silently rather than racking his body with savage cries; he lifts his head from your lap and rests it instead against your shoulder, gazing up at you as if you’re an angel sent from the heavens themselves. The intense tenderness with which he looks at you makes you blush, yet your brows furrow slightly at the darkness still there – lingering in the lilac of his eye. 

“I have… I have done something terrible.”

Your brother's murmured confession only serves to confuse you further and you shake your head slightly, heart clenching in your chest as you silently wonder what in all the Seven Kingdoms he could possibly mean by that. 

“Aemond,” you start, knowing not to pry – to let him tell you, “There is nothing you could ever do that would make me think any less of you.”

He stares up at you for a long moment, eye flicking across your face like he’s checking for even the barest hint of deception, yet he finds none – your words are true. 

“You… promise me you will not hate me.”

“I promise, sweet brother,” your brows pinch together at his words, wondering what could possibly be bad enough for all this, yet you can’t stop the corners of your lips from quirking into a sad smile at his request; that uncertain lilt in his voice reminds you so much of when he was younger, “There’s nothing you could do that would make me hate you. Nothing.”

“I…” He starts, pulling away from you as he sits up, sparing you one last glance before staring off into the fireplace, “I am the… the reason Jaehaerys is dead.”

“What?” The word is pressed from you, leaving your lips as little more than a breath. You stare at him as if he’d sprouted a second head, utterly perplexed. How in the Seven Hells could he have ever arrived at that conclusion? Taking one of his hands in yours, you lean a little closer, “Sweetling, what in the world do you mean?”

“They were here for me,” Aemond rasps, wincing as if the words themselves are painful, clawing at his throat on their way out, “They were… Gods, they were sent for me and – and when they couldn’t find me, they… H-He died because I was not here, because they could not f-find me…”

“Oh, my love,” you sigh, the backs of your eyes stinging as he presses himself against you again, tucking his head into the crook of your neck, “Aemond, you couldn’t have known, none of us did. You couldn’t have known…” You repeat, like saying the words again and again will make him believe them. 

“I s-should have,” he whimpers, voice breaking over a sob, “I should’ve k-known, I sh–should’ve been here…”

You hold him tightly, practically hauling him onto your lap as his tears leak over your skin, running into the valley of your cleavage like a river, though you pay it no mind. “Shh, sweetling, shh,” you murmur and press a soft kiss to his forehead, “It’s not your fault, dear one, it’s no one’s fault but the vile men who took him and our… our coward of a sister who ordered it done.”

He stays silent for a moment and you can feel the gears in his brain turning, working furiously as he tries to internalize your words, wanting desperately to believe them but unable to let himself. You sigh softly when you feel him shake his head against you, so determined to cling to guilt. 

“If… if I had n-not been at the…” 

“At the where, brother?” You press, clinging to anything you may be able to use to shift the conversation. 

“...The brothel…” he mumbles after a long pause, the words so muffled against the column of your neck that you have to strain to hear them. His words shock you, the complete opposite of anything you’d been expecting. You try your hardest not to let that show, even as a strange sense of jealousy wells up within you – a sense of possessiveness you’ve always felt for your little brother.

“Well, you… you are a man grown, my love,” you heart hammers in your chest, loud enough that you wonder if he can hear it, “If you wish to lay with–”

“I didn’t… I–” He stammers, clinging to you tightly as he shakes his head, an urgency in his voice you can’t quite place, “That’s not what, I… I mean, I–”

“No matter,” you cut him off, aching to see him so distressed, “Whatever you do there, sweet brother, it’s your… right to do it.” You struggle to get the words out, the sense of protectiveness rising viciously in your chest makes your throat feel tight. 

He lifts his head from your shoulder again and eyes you for a long moment – for what, you aren’t sure. It’s almost like he’s surprised not to be meant with disgust or contempt; you wish you knew why.

“It doesn’t matter,” he finally mumbles, glancing away from you, ashamed, “I should’ve been home… I should’ve been here to protect my family.”

“Aemond, please,” you sigh and sit up slightly, moving to cup his cheeks in your hands, wiping at his tears with your thumb, “It is not your job to protect us, we have guards for a reason… if anything, this atrocity is their fault but it is not yours, do you understand?” Your eyes bore into his as you speak, desperate to make him understand, to rid him of this misplaced guilt. 

“Do… do you still love me?” He asks after a long moment, voice so timid, so meek like he’s already preparing himself for your rejection, that it makes your heart twist horribly in your chest. 

Still, you cannot help but huff out a little laugh, lips lifting into a sad smile at the utter ridiculousness of the question. “You are my dearest brother,” you murmur, leaning forward to press a kiss against his forehead, letting your lips linger on his skin for a second, “Of course, I still love you, Aemond. I have loved you from the moment you came into this world and I shall never, never stop – the Gods themselves could not make me.”

The two of you are quiet for a moment, save for a small hum from your brother as he nods. His arms encircle you again and selfishly, you enjoy it – being this close to him again, like he was a little boy once more. He’d been all but attached to you at the hip before that dreadful night, following you about the Keep and telling you all sorts of tales about various histories of the Realm in that sweet voice of his. 

All of that had stopped that night and, at first, you had assumed that he merely thought himself a man grown afterwards – a man who had finally claimed a dragon, a man who no longer needed comfort from an older sibling. The sadness in his voice when he speaks again, muffled against your shoulder, tells you otherwise.

“Mother doesn’t love me anymore,” his voice is flat and detached as he breathes out the words, like he’s informing you of some tragic, unavoidable accident. 

“Aem, of course she does. She loves you very–”

“No,” he cuts you off, sitting up once more and shaking his head, “Ever since that business with Luke, I… she can hardly bring herself to look at me. She won’t speak to me outside of Small Council meetings and even then she tries not to, ‘tis plain to see.”

You open your mouth to say something, anything, but nothing comes, leaving you to swallow around the lump that grows at the back of your throat once again. What are you to say? He’s… Gods, bless him, he’s right, you’ve seen as much to know. 

“You are the only one who has never abandoned me,” he starts, eye sparkling in the candlelight as tears begin welling up within it once more, “Everyone else has left.”

“That’s not…” Your voice fades as you sigh, knowing that arguing with him now will do no good. Instead, you simply hold him tighter and brush a few stray locks of hair from his face. “I can promise that I shall never leave you, sweet brother.”

He grows quiet for a moment, slumping down against you until his head rests in your lap and his body curls up onto the sofa. Silently, you resist the urge to cradle him, to hold him against you as you do Daena when she wakes from a nap with a start, crying out from her cradle. 

He is a grown man, you remind yourself, yet it does nothing to stop the strange ache in your heart. 

“They all used to taunt me, surely you remember, when we were younger,” he mumbles, eye fixated on the fire crackling in the hearth, even as he clings to you, “First for not having a dragon, then for not having an eye.”

You hum in affirmation – you do remember it, sadly. You remember it all very well; he had slept in your chambers for a week after the incident with the pig, not wanting to be left alone at night with the memories of it. You remember having to hold him back at the table when Aegon had poked fun at his eyepatch during supper, about a month after his eye had been gouged out. 

You remember that night too, when he’d come to you with tearful apologies, murmuring sorries again and again for accidentally nicking your hand while trying to brandish a knife against his brother. 

“I have always been an outcast.”

A smile tugs at the corners of your lips despite the circumstances and you sigh softly, brushing your fingers through his long strands of hair, “I quite like you being different… perhaps if you weren’t, we wouldn’t be as close, hm?”

Aemond goes quiet at that, stills in your lap with a little sigh before simply burrowing against you even more, curling in on himself tighter. 

A soft coo leaves your lips, strands of his long hair passing between your fingers like silk. “What say you stay with me tonight, yes?” You offer, the thought of him in the dark carrying all this alone grief makes you feel ill, “We could even cuddle, if you like? Just as we did when you were younger.”

A short beat of silence later, all you get is a little, “Yes, please,” mumbled against your abdomen. 

“I don’t deserve you,” he murmurs later, the two of you finally lying together atop your bed, cuddled closely against one another just as you’d promised. You’d each taken time to get ready for bed and Aemond seems a little better for it, no longer as distressed and teary now that he’s had the time to collect himself. 

Your hand carefully cups the side of his face that isn’t pressed against your pillow, that isn’t buried in the crook of your neck, as an astonished huff of laughter escapes your lips as they curve into a sad smile, your brows furrowed. “Why in the world would you think such things?” Even as the question is whispered into the quiet of your chambers, you know the answer – Aemond has always been this way, always one to reject comfort, even when it is so freely given, even when he himself seeks it out. 

If only he could see himself as you do. 

“I… I have done so many shameful things, sister, I…” His voice breaks when he cuts himself off and you can feel him tense in your hold, “‘Tis the simple truth, I don’t deserve you.”

You hum softly, combing your fingers through his hair while you mull over his words, silently wondering why he has always been like this – why you have always felt so unworthy of softness and kindness and love. 

“Well, it is not my truth,” you murmur after a moment, eyes flicking over the long line of his body, hidden by your silken bedsheets. In the time each of you had taken to ready yourselves for bed, you had changed into a nightgown and he into a simple nightshirt, leaving your bare legs to tangle together, “Would you like to know what I think, my love?”

You feel him inhale against the crook of your neck, sucking in air like he’s steeling himself for disappointment, yet he still lifts his head and peers up at you. His lilac eye searches your face for a long moment, looking for even the smallest indication of displeasure in your features, only to find none. 

Seemingly satisfied with his assessment, assured that surely whatever you were to say would not hurt him too badly, he nods. 

Sitting up just enough to better see his face, you look at him with nothing but adoration as the two of you rest shoulder to shoulder, backs against the headboard. “I believe you deserve every kindness in the world, Aemond. And I believe even that would be too little,” your voice is hardly a whisper when you speak, like this is the deepest of secrets meant only for his ears, “You deserve nothing but happiness, sweet baby brother.”

He stares at you for a long moment, eye wide and glassy while his chest aches as your words seep into him like a soothing balm. You can see his Adam’s apple bob in his throat as he swallows, eye squeezing shut for a moment while he processes your words – so sweet they nearly stung. 

A soft coo bubbles from your lips when you see his chest rise and fall rapidly beneath the linen of his nightshirt, and you lean into him all the more when one of his hands reaches out and grabs one of your own, squeezing it like it’s a lifeline. 

“Shh,” you soothe, giving him a sad smile when his eye finally opens again, gaze immediately finding yours, “Sweet boy.”

He lets out a shuddering breath before looking away from you once again, mind reeling. Not knowing what to do, overcome with so much emotion his heart feels as if it’s adrift at sea, he brings your hand up and presses a soft kiss against your knuckles before holding it to his cheek and sucking in another little breath as his bottom lip trembles. “Please don’t ever leave me,” he whispers finally, voice tight and hoarse. 

Cupping his face, you caress your thumb over the scar beneath his eye softly and lean over just enough to press a soft kiss against his cheek. “I will never leave you, Aemond, I swear it.”

He shudders once more before letting out a shaky breath, eye filled with a wild desperation. Before you can register the movement, his hands are suddenly gripping at your waist and hauling you onto his lap, your legs on either side of his, as he buries his face into the crook of your neck once more, apologies already muffled against your skin. “I-I’m sorry, I – Gwayne will… will hate me but –”

“Shh, sh, sh, sweetling,” you murmur, despite the small, barely audible gasp that leaves you at the sudden movement, so wholly unused to this as half of you tries desperately to comfort you while the other half wonders if you should put a stop to this, “Gwayne knows, my love, he… it’s okay, he knows.”

A sob is wrenched from Aemond’s lips, warm against your neck, but he nods nonetheless, sighing when you begin carding your fingers through his hair once more, smoothing out the long, pale strands. Slowly, he relaxes again, arms wound securely around your waist while his breath evens out. 

You’re about to say something else, though your breath hitches in your throat when he begins peppering your neck with soft, chaste little kisses – feather-light down the column of your neck. He stops after a second, noticing you tense up on his lap, eyes wide as a million thoughts swirl in your mind: Is this okay? Should you stop this? This is your precious baby brother, the one who used to cling to your skirts when he was sad, who used to come to you in the night when he woke from a nightmare… 

He leans forward once more and nips at your earlobe, making your heart stutter in your chest, “Can… can I try something?”

Your head reels at the sudden change in his touches, needier now, though for an entirely different reason, yet still your mind reels – piqued with curiosity. “What is it you wish to try?” You question after a moment, voice scratchy from the sudden dryness at the back of your throat. 

Silently, Aemond relishes this; something about you, you his normally strong and carefree older sister, being this flustered because of him makes his heart flutter in his chest. Dipping his head, he resumes pressing soft kisses against your skin, though they linger now – teeth nipping before he soothes the small bites with a swipe of his tongue, drawing ever closer to the pulse point in your neck that beats so wildly he can feel it beneath your skin. 

“Aemond!” You all but wheeze when he suddenly grabs at your hips, his own firmly bucking up against you. A shock goes down your spine at the evidence of his arousal pressing against you, two thin layers of fabric doing precious little to mask the feel of it. Again, you tense up, practically jumping out of your skin as you pull back just enough to gaze down at him, your eyes wide, blinking rapidly, as they search his. 

This was the last thing you expected tonight, the last thing you’d expect from him at all. “Wha – I…” You stammer, dumbstruck while worry and uncertainty cloud your mind. 

Aemond shushes you now, long fingers squeezing at your bare thighs now that your nightgown has ridden up enough to reveal them. “It’s alright, it’s alright,” he murmurs, rubbing his thumbs soothingly against your skin, “Do you trust me…?”

Your throat bobs as you swallow thickly, heart hammering in your chest. You should be the one comforting him… what in the Seven Hells has happened? Is… is this the comfort he needs now?

Even still, you nod your head at his question; of course you trust him, you’d trust him with anything… even this. 

A smile grows on his lips when you acquiesce, a pleased glimmer in his eye when he lifts his hands to your hips again, his grip firmer this time. “Good… good, sweet sister,” he hums lowly, rutting his hips up against you once more, lilac eye watching you with keen interest. 

“A-Aem…” You gasp once more, the feel of him against you so intense it sends a shiver down your spine, even when your brows furrow as your eyes flutter, threatening to slip shut. His movements press a small whimper from your lips and you can feel the sting in your cheeks as they flush, chest heaving while your hands grab tightly at his shoulders. 

The smug look on his face slowly morphs into one of wonder and his eye flits over your face greedily, like he doesn’t want to miss a single second of seeing you like this – already so strung out over him. 

He moves again, the feeling of your soft core pressing against his growing length through the thin linen only serving to drive his urges further. “Gods, you look so beautiful like this…” He murmurs, in awe at having you like this, and all to himself. Unable to help himself, he leans forward yet again and pulls you closer as his lips settle once more against your neck. 

Instinctually, your head tilts to the side, giving him room to kiss over your skin. His movements against you cause you to shiver in his grasp, even if a small part of you was still uncertain, hoping this wouldn’t change your relationship with him for the worse. 

The slow grind of his hips causes his nightshirt to eventually ride up his legs as well, and you gasp anew, jumping once more when his length suddenly presses against your center, unhindered by fabric. 

“Feel what you do to me?” He purrs, letting out a low groan of his own. 

For a moment, all you can do is stare at him, lips parted ever so slightly while your chest heaves, silently wondering if this is truly happening. Almost imperceptibly, you nod your head, shuddering at the feeling of his cock pressed against you, already twitching. 

“L-Little brother,” you gasp, breathless already.

Aemond smirks at your response, your whimpers and soft gasps going right to his head. He grabs at your waist still, bucking against you in slow, almost teasing movements. A low, pleased hum vibrates him in his chest when he feels how wet you are against him – the heat radiating from your center nearly stifling. 

The longer this goes on, the more you can feel your resolve crumbling, any small bits left of you that wanted to put a stop to this slowly fading away. Distantly, you can’t help wondering if this is how it’s always been meant to be, if this was the only logical conclusion your paths could reach, the outcome of such a close bond. Perhaps, you have always been made for this. 

“Aemond,” his name falls from your lips in a soft sigh and you finally lean against him heavily, pressing your chest against his unthinkingly. “Shit!” You gasp only a second later, jolting as if stung by a bee, brought back to reality by the ache in your breasts. 

“Sister?” Aemond questions, freezing beneath you while he looks over your face, his hands rising to cup your cheeks protectively. 

You start to answer, to explain, when you feel a sudden tingling sensation at your chest and, judging from the look on your brother’s face, an explanation would be a moot point by now anyway.

“Gods grant me mercy,” he sighs, eye wider than you’ve ever seen it as he stares, near open-mouthed, at your chest. Glancing down, your cheeks flush at the sight of milk dampening the linen at your breasts, leaving it all but translucent. 

Again, you go to explain, only to stop yourself in your tracks when his tongue darts out, licking over his bottom lip. Your head spins when you notice his chest heaving as he stares at you with a nearly savage hunger, eyes fixed on your breasts like his universe has been narrowed down to a pinpoint. 

“Aemond?”

“Please,” he groans, swallowing thickly and licking over his lips once more, practically salivating. His eye flicks up to yours for only the briefest of seconds before zeroing in on your chest once more, “Sweet… sweet sister, please.”

Again, the energy in the room seems to shift, Aemond once again begging you for comfort, bowing to your whims. Quickly, you shush him while one hand threads into his hair once more as you bring his head back against the crook of your neck, settling him there while he groans against your skin, rough hands slowly trailing up your waist before halting at your ribs. 

Your other hand busies itself with snaking between the two of you and impatiently batting your clothes away before your fingers finally curl around his length, causing the both of you to let out soft cries. 

“Shh, sweetling,” you coo, chest heaving while you position him at your entrance, sighing as he desperately mouths at your neck, “I know what you need, I’ve got you.”

Again, twin moans fill your dimly lit chambers when you slowly sink down on him. Whimpers are punched from your lungs at the feel of him steadily filling you, his chest rumbling against yours as he groans deeply, hips jolting beneath you. 

“Gods,” you sigh when your hips are finally pressed tightly against his once more, panting and letting your eyes fall shut while you give yourself a moment to adjust. 

The feel of him borders on overwhelming – pressed so tightly inside of you, around you, the very air in your room filled with the heady, herbaceous scent of the bath oils you know he favors. You imagine he must feel the same as he trembles beneath you, fingers and hips twitching with barely contained desire. 

Finally, your need to comfort him, to protect him even from himself, rears its head again and you relish the breathy sigh that leaves him as you begin to move your hips. It’s a grinding motion, soft and gentle – what he needs now, to be treated with care. Still, the movements send shockwaves up your spine as the pale hairs at the base of his cock rub perfectly against your pearl, creating a delicious friction to spur you on. 

“So good,” he breathes, warm against your shoulder as he leans forward, kissing at your neck, “You feel so good, sister, you… you are s-so good to me…”

“Just as you deserve,” you murmur, combing your fingers through his long hair once more before your hands travel down to the hem of his nightshirt and you begin impatiently tugging at it, pulling it over his head and grinning at the soft, nearly petulant, whine he gives at having to separate from you even for a second. 

Still, some instinctual force seems to drive you, a need to feel his skin against your own, and you waste no time before pulling your own nightgown up and over your head as well, leaving nothing to separate the two of you. 

The groan that leaves him when your chest presses back against his own once more is like nothing you’ve heard before – a sound of the purest relief, like he’s found some oasis in the desert. His eye opens again and the rhythm of your hips stutters only for a second once it finds yours. The lilac is almost completely overtaken by black and yet, he still regards you as if you are an angel sent from the heavens themselves, stares at you with such reverence that your heart flutters in your chest. 

Something clicks for you then as he whimpers beneath you, his own hips beginning to buck up against your own as the lazy tempo you’ve settled into slowly starts to pick up. You understand, now, that this is merely another step, an added turn, in the so carefully balanced dance the two of you have constructed.

And if this is what he needs to be comforted, then you’re more than happy to give it. 

“My good boy,” sigh, moving against him with renewed vigor, grinning when he lets out a hitched moan, “Is this what you needed?”

“Yes, y-yes,” he nods, his eye never leaving your own as he ruts beneath you, the choppy movements only adding to the fire slowly building within your veins, “Please, sweet sister, please…”

You don’t need to ask to know what it is he means, nodding before he has time to stutter out another word, “Take what you need, my love.”

Another breathy groan sounds from him as he quickly descends onto your chest, tilting his head down and immediately capturing your sensitive nipple between his lips, one hand coming up to gently cup your breast, holding it steady. The feeling of relief that flows through you when he starts suckling is nearly disorienting, the dull ache in your breast slowly fading away with each mouthful of milk he pulls from you, greedily taking a few mouthfuls from one breast before switching to the other.

Your fingers stay anchored in his hair while your hips work against him, your high building more steadily within you now that your breasts no longer feel ready to burst. You pant as you gaze down at him, eyes half-lidded while you watch his lips move against you, lilac eye still fixated on you. 

Below you, Aemond is halfway convinced he’s died and somehow the Gods have seen fit to spare him the Seven Hells. His head spins as he drinks from you, the taste of you by far the sweetest, most decadent thing he could fathom. As the knot in his belly grows ever-tighter, his suckles become more greedy, frantic, not knowing whether you’ll allow him this pleasure ever again. 

“Please, f-fuck,” he sighs, the words punched from his lips as he pulls away from you just enough to speak, uncaring as dribbles of milk leak from the corners of his lips, staining your skin. His hips practically move on their own accord as he mindlessly grinds up into you, seeking out the warmth and safety he knows he shall only ever feel within you. 

Above him, you nod, swallowing thickly against the dryness at the back of your throat, cheeks flushed while you watch him unravel. Snaking a hand between your bodies once more, your fingers quickly find your sensitive, aching bud and rubbing at it with a practiced precision. 

“Gods, sweet little brother,” you breathe out, pleasure zapping down your spine. You frantically nod again, frantic this time, just as your high washes over you, “Come, Aemond… Gods, let go, little one.”

His suckles turn more into little biting nips while he gasps against you, trembling beneath you when he finally lets pleasure overtake him – eye squeezing shut at the feel of your walls clenching tightly around his cock. 

The warmth of him filling you only spurs you on more, your breaths ragged against his forehead while you feel yourself tense and relax again and again, grabbing at whatever parts of him you can reach. 

You each go still after a few moments, panting against each other. Aemond is practically limp beneath you, lazily nuzzling his face against your chest, satiated smile just barely tugging at the corners of his lips. Chuckling softly, you pepper his forehead in sweet kisses, relishing the contented hum he gives in return. 

When you go to get up however, intent on fetching a cloth to clean you both up with, he reaches for you with a small whine as he grabs at your thighs.

“Don’t, please,” he murmurs, brows furrowed when your eyes meet, “Stay…”

“You… you want to stay like this?” You question, your heartbeat quickening as he quickly nods, “You wish to stay –”

“Inside,” he finishes quickly, Adam’s apple bobbing when he swallows bashfully, cheeks flushed, “I… I feel safe like… like this.”

“Then you can stay, silly boy,” you answer with a grin, kissing at his forehead once more, “Here, let’s just…” You murmur, tilting your hips to the side ever so slightly, attempting to pull him with you.

Blessedly, he seems to understand and follows you willingly, allowing you to maneuver the two of you onto your sides. After a moment, you’re comfortable once more, each of you lying on your side and facing the other, one of your legs slung over his narrow hips to keep him pressed tightly within you. 

“Good boy,” you sigh softly, smiling when he shivers against you. 

The two of you stay like that for a while, your hands gently caressing his soft skin or running through his hair while you hold him against you. After a while, his lilac eye finally flutters closed and you can’t help but marvel at how much younger he looks like this – relaxed and spent while he lies against you, like the weight of the world has been lifted from his shoulders. 

After a while, he seems to grow restless again, nosing at your chest until he finds what he desires. You sigh softly as he pulls a nipple into his mouth once more, suckling at it contentedly while he peers up at you sleepily. 

“There you go,” you murmur soothingly, coaxing him to lift his head just enough for you to lay an arm beneath it, allowing you to caress his shoulders while your other hand cups gently at the side of his face, thumb sweeping over his soft skin. “Take what you need, sweet one,” you coo, smiling as he quickly returns his lips to your breast, “You’re safe, I’ve got you…”

thank you for taking the time to read! hope you enjoyed! :)

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[happy74827]

A Smile From Hell

[Homelander x Female!Reader]

Synopsis: Despite the amount of unpredictability The Homelander has, he still catches you off guard with something as small as a smile.

WC: 3576

Category: Angst, Supe!Reader {TW — Homelander for obvi reasons}

In honor of Season 4’s weekly releases, this one is for the Antony Starr girlies (and you @summerrivera777777)

『••✎••』

John fucking terrified you.

He terrified everyone, really.

He had the power to level an entire city block with a glance. He was strong enough to crush a man's skull with one hand and fast enough to catch a bullet. He was an unstoppable force of nature. He was The Homelander, and he was a threat to anyone who stood in his way.

But, the thing was...

You knew everything about him. Everything.

And he absolutely despised that, but there was nothing he could do to change it. You had seen him at his most vulnerable and pathetic. You had seen his humanity, it’s amazing he still has any after the way Vought has abused him, and you had seen his inhumanity.

Jessica, or Sister Sage, had confronted you on several occasions, trying to get you to tell her your secrets. She wanted the upper hand on her arch nemesis, the only one in the world who was a threat to her. It was her mission to end the reign of the superhero she hated most, and she was willing to do anything for it.

You could see right through her, and you didn’t need magnificent amounts of intelligence to do so. You could see the fear in her eyes. You could see the doubt in her face, hear the strain in her voice, feel her uneasiness when she was near him.

John knew it, too. He just simply chose to ignore it. He had grown used to being the scariest man in the room. It’s been that way his whole life, and it seemed it was going to stay that way.

But, despite all that fear, she came to you for answers. Again.

And this time, the question was a simple one. It was so simple, yet completely understandably complicated.

How are you allowed to live?

That was a question that stumped you. It took you a long time to grasp the meaning of it, the specific answer she was looking for.

After a few clarifications, you finally understood what she meant.

She wanted to know why John allowed you to live. She wanted to know why he hadn’t killed you. She wanted to understand why you were the only person alive after calling him by his name.

Not his stage name, his real name.

For being the most intelligent person on the planet, you’d think that she’d be able to understand it. I mean, the answer was right there, in front of her face. She didn't need to be a genius to figure it out; all she needed was a little more insight.

A little bit of understanding.

"Respect," you said, your voice soft. Your words were clear, though, and she heard them perfectly.

The confusion on her face was evident, as was her disbelief.

"What?"

"It's respect. Anyone I respect is someone that deserves my respect."

She snorted.

"Right," she said. "Like he could actually respect anything other than himself."

"He's capable of it if that's what you're thinking," you told her. "And this isn’t about him respecting me; it's about me respecting him."

She narrowed her eyes at you, her suspicion rising.

"Why would you respect him?" she questioned. "You're not blind; you know exactly who he is."

Yes, you did. You knew more than most, and compared to The Seven now, you probably knew the most. His actions? Completely unredeemable. He was, in fact, a monster; there was no arguing that. He was a horrible, twisted, monstrous individual; no one would deny it.

His actions weren’t excusable, but he had an explanation. A reason for why he was the way he was.

He wasn’t born a monster; he was turned into one. That… that was the respect part. You respected him because you respected his story. You respected his pain. You respected his anger.

You respected his past; anything after that was on him.

"I don’t like using stage names to those I respect enough, so I call him John. He allows it because he knows I don’t mean it the way others would if they used his name; it doesn't hold the same power with me."

She rolled her eyes at you.

"Same goes for you, Jessica; I have no desire to call you Sister Sage."

Her flinch was barely visible, but you still caught it. Again, what is intelligence if not knowing the chances of a particular outcome?

"I’ve noticed you don’t call Deep or that fire chick by their real names."

You just smiled, leaving her to solve that answer for herself, and it didn’t take long at all. You knew the exact moment she came up with a conclusion. She was quite predictable, in that regard. Maybe you should’ve been the big-brained hero instead.

And now, you really should’ve been because when you turned down the hall, catching wind of the elevator doors opening, you knew he had listened to it all.

But you didn’t say anything, and you really didn’t say anything after a simple glance at him.

He was completely drenched in blood, a look that would terrify even the toughest of men. But not you, oh no, you were very used to that. He’s done a lot worse.

Besides, you were too distracted by the fact that the blood wasn't his. Too distracted by noticing how this time was different. He was smiling, but it wasn’t his usual cruel smile. This time, it was genuinely happy.

Relief, almost.

It reminded you of the night you two bonded. No, not that type of bond. The bond that told you both that you weren’t alone.

He had a friend, but he wasn’t really your friend. You don’t believe you could ever consider him one. Not really, not with the things he has done.

But, still, you were the closest thing he had to a friend. You were the closest he had to an equal, a person he could relate to. Jessica carried the same intelligence (obviously a lot more), but the similarities between the two of them stopped there.

You had a similar history but different outcomes.

And that reveal between the two of you happened that night. This was way back, even before Starlight joined. Back when The Seven was in its prime.

Stillwell threw a party, something she always loved to do before Teddy became her focus. It was the usual: people in fancy dresses and suits, lots of champagne and liquor.

The difference, however, was the main focal point. Usually, given Vought’s status, all of The Seven members were the main event. Everyone was mandated to wear their hero outfits. It was a great way to advertise and get people to buy more of the products.

The theme this time, however, wasn’t about the group. It wasn’t about any of you. For the first time in a long while, John wasn’t in the spotlight.

Due to this, Stillwell banned everyone from wearing their costumes. No capes, no spandex, no leather, no masks. Just suits and dresses.

It was nice, actually. A little break from the norm. It felt good to go a night without the tight leather on your skin. You were actually surprised at how well it was received.

The rest of the members of the group seemed to be having a wonderful time as well.

Except for one.

He was standing in the corner, glaring at everyone. Madelyn had an entire argument with him about the suit. You weren’t there, but you knew exactly how it went.

His costume was a part of him. It was a symbol. It was a mask. A representation. An embodiment of who he was. Without it, he was a naked target.

Madelyn clearly did not give a single shit. In the end, the argument resulted in the two of them getting into a screaming match, causing him to storm off in a fit of rage.

So, there he was, standing alone, seething at anyone who passed him. Madelyn won; of course, she did, and she didn't even bother trying to apologize. She wasn't sorry.

She was just mad that he refused to listen in the first place.

But, hey, that wasn’t your problem. You were enjoying yourself. The night was going pretty well; the alcohol was flowing nicely, and the music was just right. You were dancing and laughing and having a great time.

But, of course, things weren't always easy for you.

You weren’t expecting it to last long; you weren’t one to have good luck. You knew, deep down, that the night was going to come crashing down on you. You were just waiting for the ball to drop.

The ball dropped the moment you decided to go cheer up the sourpuss.

It was obvious the way his shoulders tensed, and his head tilted ever so slightly. He knew you were approaching. He was aware.

"Don't," he said.

He was clearly angry, and you weren’t smart enough not to push. This is where Jessica’s powers would have benefited you greatly.

You ignored his warning, walking up beside him, mocking his stance.

"You okay?" you asked, your tone soft and light, a hint of playfulness.

His eyes flicked over to you, and the glare he gave was terrifying. His eyes were so intense, and his teeth were clenched. You could see his jaw tensing.

He was a volcano, ready to erupt.

You could practically see the steam coming out of his ears.

"I'm fine." Humorously enough, it sounded like the opposite.

"Really?"

He turned his head to look at you, his anger increasing by the second.

"Don’t you have anything better to do?"

You shrugged. "Yeah, but I'm choosing to talk to you."

He looked away from you, grumbling, "And why's that?"

"Because you’re ruining the party," you answered. "Miserable face and all."

He rolled his eyes. He actually does this a lot, believe it or not. It's the only expression he has besides anger that isn’t fake.

"And why do you care?"

You shrugged again. "I care about enjoying myself, and I can't do that when you're moping."

He turned his head towards you. He was not amused.

"Go find someone else to entertain yourself with.” He pointed behind him. "I’m sure Deep will be glad to show off his fish facts."

That one caused you to make the same face he had moments ago. The absolute look of disgust on your face was enough to bring a smug grin to his own.

He knew exactly what he was doing.

"Don't make me throw up, John."

The name.

It was a simple slip-up, nothing more. But, of course, it meant so much more. This was before everything, so it doesn’t seem likely that a slip-up like that wouldn’t result in consequences, but it secretly was a turning point.

He could've killed you.

He could've easily grabbed you and thrown you across the room, and no one would be able to comprehend what had happened until after you were unrecognizable.

He didn't, though.

No, instead, he stared at you, his face blank, and his mind processing. You were nervous, of course. You had no idea what was going on in his head.

After a minute, a look of realization came upon him, and you could see the exact moment the gears started turning.

Then, a simple hum fell from his lips. One said he wasn’t expecting it but was deciding whether to accept it.

Then, after a few seconds, his face relaxed. His jaw was unclenched, his eyes softened, and his eyebrows relaxed.

"Let’s have a chat."

Uh oh. That’s a code red—a sign of danger.

You were so done.

And yet, for some odd reason, you followed him. You don’t know why. It was a stupid move, in your opinion. You should've run while you had the chance. You should’ve listened and just punched fishlips or something.

You didn’t, though.

You followed him, allowed him to fly you somewhere private, and just waited. You waited for your imminent doom. You were going to die; you were sure of it.

But, for some reason, your death never came.

Instead, the two of you landed on the tower’s roof, the cold New York air hitting you hard. He had set you down on your feet and went all the way to the railing.

You stood awkwardly, waiting for him to turn around with those beams in his eyes, but they never came.

He was just looking out into the city, his back turned to you, his hands on the railing.

After a few minutes of silence, he turned his head, looking at you through the corner of his eye.

"Aren't you going to ask?"

Ask what? What was there to ask?

There were plenty of things to ask, actually, and yet you had no idea what the right thing to ask was. Because, again, even here, he was unpredictable and unreadable.

You didn't want to anger him; you knew that for sure. But you were also tired of his mind games. It was a constant battle of wit, and you were sick and tired of being left in the dust.

So, you chose something simple to say. Something easy, yet not so simple to answer.

"Are you going to kill me?"

You wouldn’t be surprised if he turned around with a smile and answered yes.

He didn’t, though. Oh no, he stayed turned, staring into the city, his eyes searching. Searching for what you didn't know.

"No."

Simple and clear.

You didn't respond, and he didn't elaborate. It was silent, and it was cold, and it was a tense moment.

But you didn't leave. You just watched him, watched his movements. The way his shoulders hunched over, his head tilting down, the grips on the railing, the way his hair slowly became unstuck due to the wind.

You always thought his hair looked better when it wasn't slicked back, but this is the first time you've ever seen it that way. It was… it was nice.

Then, his shoulders relaxed, and his head straightened. He didn’t turn around, and he didn’t speak. He just looked over his shoulder at you, his eyes piercing yours.

Even with a few strands of hair on his face, his eyes were so sharp and clear. So blue. So cold.

It felt like they were reaching deep into your soul.

It was terrifying. He was terrifying.

"Do you remember your parents?"

The question took you by surprise. It wasn’t what you were expecting, but then again, this whole encounter was the definition of unexpected.

"Yes. Why?"

His eyes scanned yours as if looking for a lie. Then, he turned back around, leaning on the railing.

"I can't remember mine," he said. "Sometimes I wonder if I even had them."

Oh. Oh. This was huge. This was a big one. You had to search deeply even to find out his actual name. Now, here he was, telling you of his past.

Of all people, he chose to tell you.

You didn’t know how to feel about that.

You were honored, yes. You were excited, definitely. But, most importantly, you were worried. Is this him letting you in? Or is it him preparing you for your demise?

It was an unknown territory, a field of landmines. You knew a lot about his past already, but now he was aware of the fact that you knew. He knows, and yet he is still giving you the information.

Why?

"I mean, it doesn't make sense. Everyone has parents, right? And I couldn't have been born out of nowhere. So, I must have had parents. A mom, a dad, some form of guardians."

His face was scrunched, and his eyebrows were furrowed. You could see the way his brain was working. He was really thinking about it, wondering how the pieces fit together.

He was struggling to make a connection, and he was mad at himself for not having it.

"I'm assuming your childhood wasn't the best," you said. You knew it was a risky move, joking about his past, but so far, he seemed to like the boldness and humor.

And he did, in fact, let out a snort.

"Understatement of the year."

You smiled but quickly stopped. It was a serious conversation, and smiling probably wasn’t the appropriate reaction.

Silence filled the space again, and he was back to thinking. He was trying; he was really trying. But he just couldn't.

It wasn't the fact that his parents were a mystery; he's come to terms with that. It was the fact that he couldn’t remember anything.

All he remembered was the torture, the pain, the experiments… nothing about how he got there. Nothing about the people before the scientists. Nothing about a home. And the fact that they were currently building a fake one for him made him so angry.

It was a mockery—a complete joke.

He felt all of these emotions and yet couldn't express them.

And he was frustrated. He was pissed off and tired and angry and sad and empty and-

"Did you rip off your tie?" Your eyes had caught sight of his bare neck, the black fabric missing.

It was the only way to pull him out of his head, and, to your surprise, it worked. You could see the moment he snapped back to reality, the moment he was pulled away from his mind.

"Yeah," he answered. "It was suffocating me."

You could tell.

His hair became more unkempt due to the wind. The strands of hair on his forehead were getting in the way, and it was getting annoying. Not for you, no, but for him.

For you, it was… humanizing. It made him seem a little less like a god.

He lifted his hand, his fingers gently combing through the locks. It was a struggle, a normal struggle that you've had with your own hair.

Plenty struggle with deviating the locks away from their desired location. You've had your own fair share of moments.

But this was the first time you'd seen him experience it. The first time witnessing him do something so simple and basic.

Such a human thing. It had you wondering what else he was capable of.

He sighed, his hand dropping back to the railing. Again, it is a normal thing to happen. But, it had you smiling, the corners of your mouth curving ever so slightly.

The action did not go unnoticed.

"What?" he asked, not even bothering to turn around.

You shrugged. "I've just never…"

Your mind kept changing images. His hair, his eyes, his shoulders, his jaw, his nose, his ears, his neck, his hand, his lips, his chin, his cheekbones, his eyebrows, his skin…

Everything is listed in your mind, including the little imperfections and details that make him, well, him. This was the first time you saw him anything other than perfect.

The perfect monster he was, the god of all men. The man of the century, the one to take the world by storm. The strongest, the smartest, the best.

The symbol, the image, the mask.

The facade.

This was the first time you saw him as just a person. A human being. Just a regular guy.

"Sometimes I wonder how different life would be if you were…"

Normal.

The word was at the tip of your tongue. You could've said it; you should've said it. It was the truth. It was obvious.

But you couldn't.

He knew where your sentence was going, though. Of course, he did.

"If I was… what?" He still wanted to hear it. He was looking for validation, and he wanted it from you. His eyes were on you, his body turned, but there was this one odd thing.

A smile.

It wasn't his usual one. The one you were used to. The one that made everyone scared and uneasy. No, this was a real smile.

A soft, small one, but still a real smile.

A true smile. As if he knew the words you were going to say, as if he knew your thoughts, and he found them amusing.

You found him amusing.

And just because of that, you didn’t give him the validation.

"It’s fucking freezing out here," You coughed in hopes of successfully changing the subject. "I’m gonna get a jacket."

He was going to argue, but you were already walking off, telling him you’d take the emergency ladder down.

Nothing was spoken about that night. No words were exchanged.

But something had changed. Something had shifted. You weren’t quite sure what it was, but it was something.

So, seeing that genuine smile again in that elevator was a shock.

He had the same face as he did on that roof. It was that smile. That one specific smile.

Capable.

That's what it was.

He was capable.

He was capable of feeling and being human. He was capable of being something other than a monster.

He was capable.

All he said to you when you walked by was a simple goodnight. Something so small, yet so big. This time, those words seemed to have a little more meaning.

So, just to raise his unsettling mood, you winked and said, "Goodnight, John."

Again, a smile.

The smile.

It was hard to continue walking, and it was even harder not to turn around. But you did.

You did it knowing you were going to have a hard time sleeping. Knowing that, no matter what, you weren’t going to forget that smile.

The demon that still had a little bit of humanity in him.

A demon that was capable.

[dollfacefantasy]

Hold My Calls

pairing: leon kennedy x fem!reader

summary: you teasing leon about his flip phone leads to some fun

cw: nsfw (18+), smut, p in v, oral (f receiving), fucking during a phone call, age gap, daddy kink, praise/degradation, over-stimulation

word count: 2.9k

a/n: hey everyone school is kicking my ass rn, but i am back with another one. thank you so much for the support on my last post that meant the world to me. i don't care if this is not technologically accurate or whatever just let me be delusional in peace. as always comments and reblogs are appreciated and i will give you special smooches in return <3 also thank you too my loves @tosuckmyweenis @kaitkatme @chasingkennedy @explorevenus @sleepyluxe @death-paint @petitecolibri for helping me come up with ideas for this one and/or beta reading - ily all sm :)

When you started dating Leon Kennedy, obviously you knew there was an age gap. You figured it wasn’t a big deal. He’s only thirty-six. That isn’t that much older. And for the most part, that was true. The difference in years never seemed to play a huge part in how you loved each other. But there was one thing that reminded you of this man’s age.

He had a fucking flip phone.

Honestly, it didn’t even say much about his age. It highlighted his stubbornness. He was not incompetent. His job had him working with all kinds of shit that you didn’t even try to understand, so it’s not like he can’t work a smartphone. He just doesn’t want to.

It didn’t really matter. If anything, it was kind of cute. The way he fumbled with the buttons that were too small for his fingers. The loud chiming ringtone that he would grumble about yet never turn down. The sight of him trying to find the right distance to hold the phone away from his face so he could read the font. You had heart eyes on your first date when this man popped in a CD because he couldn’t use the aux with his flip phone. They were simple quirks, but they were just so endearing to you. You’d tease him about being outdated, and he’d put up with it cause it was you.

“Why do I need anything more? This thing can call you, and that’s all I really need,” he’d say with a teasing expression when you’d crack a joke.

You’d roll your eyes at the excessive charm, but you couldn’t help smiling. “Yeah, but-”

And he’d cut you off with a kiss. “Trust me. I like it. It’s simple. Plus it’s like indestructible. But if I ever want an upgrade, you’ll be the first to know.”

The only time Leon ever considered ditching his trusty flip phone and upgrading to something more advanced was when you would send him nudes. Seeing the masterpiece that is your body reduced to a handful of pixels on the tiny screen drove him fucking wild. Upon hearing the chime of his phone and seeing the small image of you gracing his screen, he’d find a moment alone to try and see the details. He’d hold the phone two inches away from his face trying to make out every last curve. Days when he got those pictures ended with nights where you got fucked on every surface in the house.

He’d come home from work, his eyes full of lust before he even saw you. You’d glide into the room with a knowing smile on your face. You wanted him just as bad as he wanted you.

“Hi, baby. How was work?” you ask, feigning innocence. You close the distance between the two of you and wrap your arms around him.

“Oh, you care about my work now, huh?” he asks, a smirk creeping onto his face as his arms return your embrace, “Doesn’t seem like it when you send me those cute pictures during the day, distracting me, making me think about you when I should be focused.”

Your lips part and your eyebrows raise in mock offense. “I only send those to help you, motivate you,” you tease as your fingers coast along his biceps, “Maybe if you had a real phone they wouldn’t bother you so much. You’d be able to see everything clearly and not be left imagining.”

“I don’t need to stress about pictures though when I got the real thing waiting at home for me every night,” he purrs as he leans in and starts kissing you.

You return the kiss with the same level of passion, lips moving with his as the two of you stumble over to the couch. You fall back onto the cushions with Leon on top of you. His hands already roam your body and begin removing articles of clothing. He wasn’t in the mood to take his time after having that grainy image of you gnawing at his mind all day.

“Fuck, baby. Every time… I can never get enough,” he grunts as he yanks your top over your head and tosses it to the side. His hands rub up and down your sides, the rough pads of his fingers dragging over your sensitive skin and making you squirm. In no time though, they’re on your breasts. He kneads the plump flesh as his lips trail down to your neck and collarbone, leaving a trail of saliva-coated skin in their wake.

He’s all over you all at once it seems. It’s overwhelming in the best way. You’re moaning and writhing on the couch, nearly trying to hump his leg while one of your hands tugs at his hair. You bite your lip and whimper as his lips move down over the swell of your chest.

He grabs your hips firmly and presses them down to the couch. His half-lidded eyes look up at you momentarily. “Quit squirming,” he breathes. He gives your chest a few more kisses while keeping his eyes locked with yours. “Need time with my pretty girl after I’ve been aching for her all day.”

You give a weak nod and focus on controlling your movements as he tugs your shorts off and drops them.

“Good girl,” he mutters before attaching his lips to one of your nipples and swirling his tongue around the peak. He hums in satisfaction as he feels the bud in his mouth. His fingers lazily stroke up and down your folds over your panties. He disconnects his mouth momentarily and looks up at you again with a smirk on his face.

“So wet already?” he teases, now being his turn to look smug, “You want me just as bad, don’t you? That���s why you send those pictures right? You’re missing Daddy while he’s at work?”

“Mhm, miss you so bad. It drives me crazy,” you say. A whimper escapes you as his fingers apply more pressure and his movements more strategically target your clit.

“I can tell. Makes you act like a little slut, huh?” he asks before he kisses down your stomach to the hem of your panties.

You feel your face getting hot at his comment, but you nod anyway. You bite your lip and keep your eyes locked with his.

He chuckles at your timid confirmation. “That’s ok, honey. Daddy’s here now. I’m gonna make sure you get all the attention you need. Can’t have my girl left wanting,” he says, pulling down your panties and putting them with your other discarded clothes.

He loops his arms around your thighs and pulls you closer so that you’re angled in a way he can reach you from his position on his knees. Your back is flat on the couch, and your legs are held over his shoulders. He doesn’t waste time, licking a stripe up your cunt and then delving his tongue inside of you.

Your head falls back onto the cushion in response. A moan escapes your throat at the sensation. Your sounds only increase in frequency and volume as he grips you tighter and fucks his tongue in and out of you. He watches you, relishing how he can pleasure you with so few touches. His tongue laps up your wetness and his mouth finds your clit again, sucking and flicking against the bundle of nerves just how you like.

His name and a variety of expletives leave your mouth while your hand slides into his hair and holds the blonde locks. Your hips twitch from the rising feelings of ecstasy in your tummy, but Leon’s hands keep you firmly in place. He devours you like a starved man, the hours of torture that little picture inflicted on him all paying off right now.

He’s skillfully swirling patterns onto your clit and occasionally exploring your insides. He knows you’re close because he can feel the way you’re pulsing and hear the way your moans and whines reach that slightly higher pitch. It only makes him work with more dedication.

“That’s right, sweetheart. C’mon, give it to Daddy. Let me taste it,” he grunts as he continues working you to the edge.

You cry out, your thighs quivering and your hips bucking as you succumb to release. You’re moaning with abandon, fingers clutching his hair as tight as possible. He groans into you from the sight in front of him.

You ride the high and he continues with his mouth throughout. When you reach the seeming conclusion, your chest is heaving and your limbs feel heavy, but Leon doesn’t stop. He continues on as if you were still on the way to your climax instead of coming down.

“Too much,” you whimper as your hips jerk and your hands make a weak attempt to push his head away, “Daddy, please.”

“Daddy, please?” he mocks with a laugh, “But this is what you wanted, babydoll. You wanted my attention, didn’t you?”

You whine, hips still squirming as your retort dies in your throat. It felt euphoric, it was just so much. This was what you wanted though.

“That’s what I thought,” he says before burying his face between your thighs again.

He continues eating you out until you’re an absolute mess. Your eyes are rolling back, nonstop whimpers fall from your lips, and your twitching thighs are clamped around Leon’s head. It was what he’d been wanting to see since he’d heard that chime in his back pocket.

“I’m gonna cum,” you slur. Your head felt cloudy from the numerous orgasms he’d brought you. A strangled cry tears through you as your body moves like it’s possessed. You convulse on the couch while his mouth makes you see stars for the umpteenth time.

Tears prick at your eyes from the intensity of your release, and finally, he starts easing off of you. He pulls your thighs off of his head and leans back. He wipes his chin that’s coated in your slick and licks his fingers. Seeing that alone has you clench around nothing which in turn spreads a smirk on his face.

“Good girl, baby,” he coos, planting a kiss on your inner thigh, “You did so well. I’m proud of you.”

He stands up from his knees, grunting as he gets to his feet and taking a moment to stretch. You can tell the extended amount of time in the position put some strain on him. Your lips curl into a small smile while adoration fills your hazy eyes.

“Your joints locking up on you, old man?” you tease with a quiet laugh.

“Don’t start,” he says, trying to sound stern, but you can see him suppressing his own smile, “Especially since I know you want more.”

That shuts you up because he’s right. He shakes his head and makes a mock sound of disappointment.

“I know you, baby. My dirty girl. Made you cum how many times, and you still want more,” he says. He begins stripping off his clothes into a pile next to yours. “My little whore would never turn down a chance to take my cock.”

Once his clothes are off, he languidly strokes himself a few times and climbs on top of you. He peppers some kisses on your face and starts to slide inside you. You were more than ready but still sensitive from the recent series of highs.

“Don’t worry, sweet girl. I’ll get you full of my cum in no time. Fuck all that neediness right out,” he murmurs into your ear, his breath on you sending chills down your spine.

You mewl and tighten around him in more ways than one. Your arms cling to his torso that hovers above you while your walls squeeze around him to take him deeper. He grunts and his head falls forward a little as he feels sparks of pleasure in his abdomen.

“There you go, angel. Taking me so perfect. My pretty girl. Made for me,” he says into your ear as he sinks into you completely.

You nod mindlessly, your head fogging up again as he fills you. He presses sloppy kisses to your neck as he starts pumping in and out. You’re both breathing heavily and allowing the pleasure to take over. One of your hands slides to his hair to rub his head while his hips snap against you.

He’s falling into the perfect rhythm with you, one that’s driving you both toward the goal line, when suddenly you hear a muffled guitar strum coming from the floor. Leon groans and you burst into laughter as you hear the ringtone you had set for him as a joke.

His movements get weaker as his focus is drawn elsewhere, but he doesn’t stop rocking his hips. He reaches down to the floor where his phone is ringing in the pocket of his crumpled pants. He fishes it out and shifts so he’s kneeling while drilling into you.

He holds the phone up and squints to read the tiny caller ID on the flip phone which makes you laugh harder through moans. He smirks at your laughter and clamps a hand over your mouth. “Shut up, I gotta take this,” he says teasingly.

He whips open the phone, the maneuver causing you to moan and squeeze around him again. He winces at the sensation, nearly unable to restrain himself from giving into his carnal urges to groan and slam into you harder.

Your eyes widen as he brings the phone to his ear without stopping his hips and in the most monotonous voice says “Kennedy here.”

It’s good that his hand is over your mouth to keep you quiet. The contrast of his movements and that voice have the sparks of pleasure igniting into flames in your belly. Seeing how he handles his dumbass flip phone so smoothly has your arousal nearly pooling on the couch.

He listens to the call while grinning at you struggling to keep yourself somewhat under control. “Uh-huh. Yeah. Sounds about right,” he drones as the person on the other end goes on and on.

His strokes are just as deep as before, nudging you in the perfect spots repeatedly. Your eyes roll back as you feel yourself getting near the peak. A soft whimper escapes you, loud enough to pierce the barrier of Leon’s hand. His hips sputter at the noise and his face contorts. He lets out a quiet grunt but quickly catches himself before losing it further.

“What? Yeah, I’m listening,” he says, his tone growing a little impatient, “Look, I’m just wrapped up in something right now. Could you not have just told me this before I left?”

You know he’s getting closer himself and struggling to hold back. You can tell from the way his jaw is clenched and his eyes are projecting his rising frustration he has for the person who made this call.

“Yes, I understand. I’ll deal with it tomorrow,” he says, effectively ending the conversation. 

Then, to hang up, he doesn’t press a button. Instead, he flicks his wrist and shuts the flip phone with a clack.

You throw your head back against the couch cushion and a loud moan rips through your throat. You shudder as a wave of pleasure courses through you after witnessing something so unexplainably hot.

His eyebrows raise in amusement, noticing how much you enjoyed that. “Hmm, I’m not hearing any complaints about the phone now,” he says. He’s trying to tease, but his voice is husky with arousal. He maintains his grin as he drops the phone to the floor again and returns to his previous position which was closer to you.

“Careful, you’re gonna break it,” you whimper.

“Nah baby, I told you that thing is indestructible,” he breathes and starts pounding you into the couch mercilessly.

You bite your lip and resume clinging to him, your fingers digging into his back. You both are panting, expressions going lax as you focus on chasing the high.

“Daddy, ‘m gonna cum,” you mewl, unable to contain yourself for much longer.

“Go ahead, sweetheart,” he says into your ear, his voice taking on more of a growl, “Daddy’s right there with you. You deserve it for being so good for me. Being nice and quiet while I was on the phone.”

As soon as you have permission, you give into another release. Your legs shake and your arms cling to him tighter as the euphoria shoots through you. You’re gasping for air and whining while squirming beneath him. Soon it’s just too much for Leon. He tightens his grip on you and slams deep before groaning and draining himself inside of you.

He rocks in and out a few more times before slowly pulling out. He then sits up on the couch and sinks back into the cushions. You follow by sitting up as well and curling up against his side. He pulls you into his lap, stroking your hair away from your face and kissing your forehead. The two of you sit in comfortable silence for a while until he gazes down at you with a smug look in his eyes.

“I knew the flip phone was a turn-on,” he says, clearly pleased with himself.

You scoff. “It is not. It was just… it was the situation,” you defend.

“Sure, but you were tightest when I was messing with the phone,” he says knowingly.

“That doesn’t mean anything.”

He laughs at your stubbornness and gives you another kiss. “You can admit it, baby. I won’t judge. Really, if you like it that much, maybe I’ll show you how strong it can vibrate later.”

[azullumi]

LAST NIGHT I DREAMT OF THE STARS AND YOU, PT. 1

premise — because that’s just how they are; alternatively, “the type to” trend with hsr characters. characters — ruan mei, veritas ratio, aventurine, and robin content tags — gender-neutral reader, established relationship, fluff, slight angst, not proofread, word vomit in some parts, 1.6k words ; headcanons

note from me — seasickness took me out and the fact that i have a 9 hr road trip tomorrow is already making me dizzy. i hope i’m asleep for the 3/4 of it,, also this has a pt. 2 which i’ll upload later on !! anyways i wrote this in between my vacation and trip and in between the long-ass separate fics with sunday and aven so sorry if it seems rusty or out of my style 🙏

RUAN MEI, (lies in between the line of a good lover and a bad lover) the type to be unable to express her affections for you through words and settles with small and simple gestures that she has observed and seen from everyone around her; having never understood “love” and never knowing how to correspond with such, she’s left silent and confused like a lost child in the wake of it. She’ll find herself staring you quietly, memorizing the lines of your face and how it creases and contorts into different expressions, studying each crevices and edges of the parts that makes up your being to bury you in her memory, and there’s a smile that tugs on her lips every time her gaze falls on you. Oh, she wishes she understood what it all meant (she simply and devastatingly adores you).

RUAN MEI, the type to subconsciously write your name on paper whenever she’s distracted. it’s a small habit she does, one that makes her smile whenever she notices the letters spelling out your name. She has ruined, tainted several of her papers, even important ones, with just a single word, a set of letters that composes of what makes warmth seep into her chest when her mind drifts into the thought of someone—you.

RUAN MEI, the type not understand the underlying reason behind her actions—why she spends the time and makes the effort in between her busy schedule and pile of papers to make sweets for you, why she lets you do her hair despite how messy it often turns out when you braid it and how she can never find the strength in herself to “fix” or disturb the state of your work, why she always seek for the warmth of your hands whenever she’s feeling uneasy or stressed, why she always lean to your shoulder or to your touch when you caress her cheek, and everything. It’s a puzzle board of missing and scattered pieces, unable to comprehend the full image of the mystery—and yet, she still delves into the enigma of her feelings that is intertwined with your existence. Maybe one day she’ll come to know it all and maybe it will be the time when she can finally be honest to herself.

VERITAS RATIO, the type to want to know every single thing you and remember all of it. Perhaps it’s the bare minimum, perhaps it’s something that he just does. “They don’t like that,” He would say when an arrogant fool would even try to give you (or do) something, and he’s there, witnessing it all, knowing the things that you prefer and like. He knows what flowers that you like, knows your favorite color, knows the way you prefer to sleep, knows the small habits that you do when you’re nervous or scared or happy, knows every little detail that paints the whole of your existence. Isn’t it simply just lovely when someone desires to know you from the inside and out? Even if it’s just a little bit, he feels more closer to you in this way.

VERITAS RATIO, the type to be sweet and reassuring towards you (through words and actions), even though he may come off as mean, blunt, or rude towards others. Sure, he may call you an idiot sometimes but he’ll never go past that nor reach the line of degrading and distasteful remarks because he never wishes to hurt your feelings; if ever he did, he’ll apologize and tell you it’s not his intention. “Fool,” But the affection that edges into the tone of his voice cuts the thread of disdain that sews into the word. Oftentimes when texting and it’s easy to misunderstand the tone of one’s message, especially his tone, he’ll reassure you that he didn’t send it in a way that he’s angry or scornful: “The ‘Ok’ that I sent is not a mad ‘Ok’, I am in a rush and could only type that out. I’m not angry.”

VERITAS RATIO, the type to entertain your questions no matter how stupid it can be; he’d give you the answers every single time. He doesn’t mind being treated like a walking encyclopedia or dictionary if it’s you—he’d hate it if you were going to ask someone else instead of him (although he probably never told you that discomfort). I mean, you have a well-known member of the Intelligentsia Guild, someone who parallels a genius, just right at the tip of your fingertips, why bother asking someone else?

AVENTURINE, the type to like listening to the sound of your breathing, the sound of your heartbeat (to listen to the sound of you blinking, to listen to your hands soothe). It’s comforting, in an odd way, and he never tells you but it helps him fall asleep—watching the rising and falling of your chest, seeing your calm face wrinkle ever so often while you sleep. He keeps the sound of your heartbeat close to the pocket on his chest, weaving the rhythm of it to his pulse, and before he knew it, the dawn will come in quiet solitude.

AVENTURINE, the type to be always on fight-or-flight mode. Perhaps it’s the way that he grew up, perhaps it was the harsh and cruel environment that he’s in, but he’s always on guard, seemingly on defensive mode as if danger lurks at every dark corner. His shoulders are always tense, his hand either hidden or playing with the ring on his finger, it’s like he never can’t seem to relax himself even when he’s in the comfort of your arms. It follows him everywhere, trailing behind his feet, and forces him awake at night—he doesn’t even know where the fear, the anxiety, is coming from, he just knows it’s there. One wrong step and his thoughts will come crashing down like cold downpour, one wrong move and you’ll come to leave him. Sometimes a little reassurance comes a long way and it’s all he needs when his mind is being tormented. (He will learn to live with it, even if he can never seem to understand or know it. He will come to know peace as if it’s all he had in his hands when the sun first held him).

AVENTURINE, the type to immediately smile after a kiss. It’s utterly affectionate; parting, staring deeply into one’s eyes with his cheeks dusted with a certain color and he’s grinning—warmth beams from his expression and there’s a certain feeling that intertwines into his gaze and he knows it’s love because it’s all he feels whenever he looks at you. He’s the type to laugh into a kiss, feeling ticklish all over his bones as if your hands are ghosting the sensitive parts of his skin, and you’ll ask him, “What?” but he’ll only answer with, “Nothing.” He’s not drunk, the ache of wanting simply swells up in his chest and all he can think of is how much he adores you.

ROBIN, the type to try and make time for you. Her schedule is always packed, filled with all kinds of events and tasks that she needs to do. It’s overwhelming, everything feels overwhelming for her and it’s hard to know which one she should prioritize first not when she has a lot of things on her hands. Sometimes she feels lost, feels the weight too heavy on her shoulders, feels like her feet are tied to the ragged earth, feels the cage closing on her. She tries so hard to be the perfect lover for you, to become someone that will reach beyond your expectations; she cradles that perfect image, broken in all of its edges, that were constructed for herself close to her chest even if it feels like a knife to her heart. But really, all you need is for her to be herself (not the star that everyone admires and wishes to reach) and sometimes, that’s all she needs to hear from you—that she doesn’t have to hold on to the shattered chains when the coldness of the metal reminds her of what she has to carry.

ROBIN, the type to go on all kinds of dates with you, silly or not, and even matches clothes with you. She’s usually the one to make the invite to match, thinking that it’s cute and the both of you rarely ever has time like this so why not make the most out of it; who are you to even say no when she’s beaming at you so warmly? She has all of her options laid on the bed, displayed on clothing hangers, asking you what you’re going to wear or what color do you want. It’s lovely, sweet, seeing her like this and you could only pray to whoever aeon is listening that nobody comes to ruin the day the both of you rarely have for each other.

ROBIN, the type to bring you all kinds of souvenirs and gifts from her (universal) tours, sometimes having bought too much that you don’t know what to with some of them; the type to send you letters every time she’s away so that you won’t worry for he, especially knowing what happened last time, the type to always try to keep in touch and keep you close no matter the stars between you and her. She’ll ask for one thing that you own that she can carry with her person, making a promise that she’ll come back and return it—the item a testament to her vow—, but for the meantime, she’ll keep it so she has a little piece of you everywhere she goes and she can say that you’re always there by her side.

DRUM ROLLS PLS *dundundundundun* special mention to the one and only beloved feli @dr-felitas !! i think i owe you a lot of end notes so here i am :3 also i’m sorry if i publish this and i still haven’t responded to your messages (if you have sent me cause im on dnd to avoid my dumbass from checking and looking at the phone during car rides knowing that i get motion sick) ANYWAYS i would like to begin this with i love you mwamwa, you’re one of the sweetest and most wonderful souls i have ever met and anyone who tells u otherwise will get a boulder thrown to their head 🫵 im glad to have met you, that my anti-social ass went ahead and messaged you despite the fact that we only talked once or twice AND IT WAS OVER ASKS OR COMMENTS BUT YEAH !! idk what or where i’ll be if i hadn’t done that; maybe not replying to my friends idk (again im sorry if i take business days to answer i sometimes get busy or i sometimes dont have the energy :3 i hope u still love me hahahaha… *slides down the wall*) again, i really appreciate and adore you for everything. you are a brave and kind person and i only hope for the good things for you. don’t be too mean or harsh to yourself 🫂 know that i’m always here to listen to you no matter what you’re saying. you’re never a burden to me and i hope you’ll come to see just how you shine and radiate with so much warmth and kindness, it’s like love itself is found in you. ily lottss mwaa <33

sunday, himeko, welt, gallagher, and jing yuan next !!

© azullumi — do not plagiarize, copy, repost, nor translate any of my works.

[flowerandblood]

The Price of Pride (17/?)

[ canon • Aemond x Royce • female ]

[ warnings: sex content, unprotected sex, targcest stuff, smut, the angst, jealousy, possessiveness, remorse and denial, sexual tension, people caught having sex lol ]

[ description: Prince Aemond finds a solution to the disproportion in the number of dragons between Dragonstone and King's Landing: he decides to find dragon blood and, like his half-sister, train dragon riders. He takes as his target the daughter of Daemon Targaryen and Rhea Royce, whom he abducts and imprisons in the Red Keep. Slow burn, darkish, insolent, arrogant Aemond. I have combined several requests here: (dragon blood female & prisoner female). ]

* English is not my first language. Please, do not repost. Enjoy! *

Next chapters: Masterlist

_____

I love you.

He knew such words existed, and he knew what they meant, but he had never before heard them spoken aloud, moreover towards himself – this confession, spoken in such a way and at such a moment, took him completely by surprise.

Her words about his relationship with Sylvi astonished him, but also disheartened him at the same time – he was furious, knowing that Aegon had mentioned her in front of his wife to distance them from each other, to sow doubt in her heart.

To make her believe that the man's promise was worthless, and that he would continue to visit her.

The truth was that he had not been in the brothel since his nephew had been assassinated – not because of his brother's words or his failure to protect his son, but because the day after, his attention had been diverted for good by a completely different person.

His cousin, in his arms, wet and warm under his fingers, her gaze fixed on him, only on him.

He had always dreamed of someone looking at him like that.

Of someone needing him.

Sylvi didn't need him, only his gold coins and his influence, which didn't surprise him at all – everything divided them, and he was paying her to be for a while what he thought he needed.

Apart from the purely sexual release, her presence allowed him to calm down and relax, to find in her arms the warmth and tenderness that his mother had denied him for some incomprehensible reason.

Nevertheless, how could something that was a bought lie compare to something that was truth given out of the need of the heart?

Therefore, he decided that, knowing that he would certainly regret it later, he would now, in the privacy of his chamber, say something that would make her understand that she too was his first in many ways, although she did not know it.

"– my lips never touched hers – never caressed her down there –" He whispered in trembling voice into her mouth between sticky, warm kisses full of their tongues, feeling like a fool – he groaned, surprised when he felt her hot, dripping cunt squeeze his erection tightly in response, her whole body breathless under his fingers in pleasure.

She needed this, he realised suddenly.

She needed his reassurance that she was special to him.

Of course she was, he thought, as if it were obvious.

That was why he had taken her as his wife.

But he couldn't say it out loud.

"– then, in the library – it was my first kiss –" He breathed out instead, wanting her to understand that he had discovered the most intimate of touches with her, lips pressed together in a sticky, warm, sweet caress that he bestowed upon her even now, panting into her mouth with loud clicks of their saliva, pounding into her hard and fast, feeling that his length was all aching and swollen, deliciously close to his release.

"– don't leave me –" She mewled into his mouth, digging her fingers into the bare, sweaty skin of his back, rolling her hips back and forth in rhythm with his thrusts, welcoming him inside her soaked, tight little cunt again and again.

Don't leave me.

They were such simple, safe words, and yet so beautiful – proof that all she wanted was for him to be by her side, just like he had been until now.

I want this, he thought.

A husband's place is with his wife.

"– never –" He gasped, sliding his hand lower, between her thighs, blindly finding her swollen, tender bud – she moaned as he began to tease this spot with lazy, circular strokes of his thumb, chasing his peak inside her, listening to the slaps of their bare skin against each other.

"– I love you –" She cried out and he felt his mouth open wide in disbelief, thinking he had overheard himself – something on the verge of a sigh and a groan left his throat as his cock throbbed hard deep inside her, her hands clenched on his soft buttocks.

"– I love you – I love you – I love you –" She repeated as if in a trance, looking at him with tear-filled eyes, her gaze hot and tender, her body pressed against his in a closeness that took his breath away – her fleshy core was deliciously warm, pulsing against his erection, her small, puffy nipples rubbed against his chest with each rough thrust of his, bringing him closer and closer to the strongest fulfillment of his life.

He knew he was going to come very hard, he could feel it in the tension and squeeze in his lower abdomen – his mind was completely numb with pleasure at that moment and maybe that was why those words had suddenly left his lips.

"– me – me too – f-fuck, I love you too – ah –" He mumbled with difficulty and sighed, closing his eyes as a wave of sudden, wonderful, aggressive release shook his loins, making him momentarily unable to see or hear, allowing him only to feel that wonderful, familiar relief of having filled his wife with his seed.

They embraced each other tightly and just lay there, letting their bodies rest, not saying anything or moving, panting heavily, shocked by what had happened between them.

Sleep did not find him that night – he lay, holding her in his embrace and looked ahead, again and again repeating that moment, cursing himself in his mind.

He felt a sense of discomfort at the thought that he had confessed to her that he reciprocated her feelings, that in an act of elation and euphoria, being deep inside her, he had let those words leave his lips.

He was weak, he thought with rage.

He had exposed himself to her.

Just because she was his wife didn't mean she should know everything that was on his mind or heart.

He rebuked himself for his behaviour in his mind, recognising that he needed to distance himself from her – just for a while, to calm down and return to a balance where he was able to control himself and his behaviour.

In the morning, he was awakened by her touch – he murmured contentedly, feeling her fingers lazily combing through his hair, making a pleasant, warm sensation fill his chest.

She held him close to her, snuggled between her breasts, locked in her arms, as if she was afraid to let him go – he could feel that she was awake, her heart against his cheek restless.

"What's it?" He whispered, not opening his eye – her fingers froze in a half-motion, as if his voice frightened her.

"Forgive me. I'll never do it again." She mumbled quietly like a small child who feared punishment for his misdeed.

His eyelid opened in surprise, the sting in his heart testifying that for some reason her words had caused him pain.

I will never do it again.

Do what?

You'll never say you love me again?

Good, thought a part of him, while the other screamed with rage, his throat, however, did not leave a sound.

He heard her draw in air loudly, her face snuggled against the top of his head in a gesture of naive despair and helplessness, her fingers clenched tightly on the bare skin of his arms.

"Please, do not reject me. Forgive me for my weakness." She pleaded, and he pressed his lips together, swallowing with difficulty, an unpleasant squeeze gripping his throat.

Forgive me for my weakness.

I forgive you.

I am weak myself.

I can't.

I must push you away, but only for a moment.

I do not love you.

I am afraid of what I said.

"Say it again." He demanded dryly, for some reason saying those words and no other.

"What?"

"Say it again. And then again and again." He commanded.

You are weak, not me.

Show me how much I've broken you, who you've become for me, he thought, trying to feed the ravenous, terrified part of his ego.

She surprised him when she let go of him abruptly, rising from his bed – he lifted himself up on his elbows, looking at her with his mouth wide open, horrified when he saw how, standing with her back to him, she put her nightgown over her shoulders, only to simply walk out of his chamber without a word.

He watched the door close behind her with a quiet creak of wood, feeling his body quiver, hot, burning tears of shame under his eyelids.

I don't love her, he assured himself.

I desire her, I respect her, I care for her like any good husband would, but I don't love her.

These words, naïve, feminine, affectionate, once he regained his cold judgement, disgusted him.

He decided that he had opened up too much to her, and despite the warm affection he actually held for her, he felt he should take a few steps back.

Whatever that meant.

Although he had convinced himself that a good thing had happened, he felt an uncomfortable squeeze in his heart eating his morning meal alone for the first time since their nuptials.

There was something frightening and sorrowful about this state of silence and emptiness, filling his soul with grim despondency.

He didn't know how to overcome what was happening inside him and he didn't know who he could ask for advice.

Would his grandfather know what was right?

What should a man do in such a situation?

His pondering, despite the fact that their army was due to move on Harrenhal in the morrow, had him standing in the Hand's tower, pacing around his grandfather's chamber thoughtfully.

"I see that something troubles your soul, my grandson. Relieve your conscience and share your concerns with me." He encouraged him in a calm voice, but he was no longer sure he wanted to tell him.

What if he thought his worries were childish or naïve?

"My wife." He began, but closed his mouth and swallowed hard, feeling an uncomfortable sensation in his stomach, a drop of cold sweat trickling down the back of his neck.

"She came to my chamber all drenched in tears. Aegon's words raised concern in her as to whether I would return to the places and people I had visited before she became my wife. I longed to soothe and comfort her, to reassure her that this is not my desire. She confessed her feelings to me. Her love. I responded to this confession, but I regret it. I feel that I lied to her." He said in shame, looking away, unable to bear his gaze or reaction.

Otto was silent for a long moment, looking at him thoughtfully.

"I deeply loved your grandmother. I am not ashamed of the fact that I held a deep affection for her, a gift bestowed upon us by the gods themselves. Love is a dangerous feeling, dulling the mind and judgement, that's true, however, used properly, it empowers a man, making him stronger." He finally replied, surprising him completely.

"How?" He asked immediately, feeling a strange kind of hope, though he didn't know for what.

His grandfather let out a loud breath, looking at him with pity.

"A man must have two faces: the one meant for himself, and the one meant for his enemies and allies. The former hides all his needs, desires, thoughts and feelings that no one can know about. His secrets. Their weight can crush, make the wall between one face and the other crack, allowing our enemies to see our weakness. The gods to protect us from this in their wisdom have offered us wives. In their presence we can be little boys or grouchy, tired old men, in their arms we can cry and lose hope, be weak to wake up strong the next day. To survive it by their side."

He stood looking at the table on which dozens of parchments, books and maps were spread out, feeling his heart pounding like mad, analysing his every word.

"What if my wife turns out to be my enemy? If she uses her knowledge against me to destroy me?" He asked in a trembling, cold voice, tracing his fingertips over the cold wooden tabletop.

"Then, my dear grandson, we will find you a new wife."

The conversation with Otto relieved and terrified him even more at the same time – the chaos in his head made him decide to focus on preparing for the battle by gathering a meeting of his commanders later that day.

He swallowed hard, feeling his heart thump harder in his chest as his wife arrived at his summons to discuss the plan of action with him, Criston Cole and his uncle.

She looked at him and although her face was gentle, the sadness in her large, dark eyes made his chest fill with grief.

They both lowered their gaze and he grunted loudly, placing both hands on the table, leaning over the map, looking around at those gathered.

"My wife and I will travel evenly with the army, protecting it from the sky. We won't be able to get a surprise effect here anyway – Rhaenyra, deprived of Rook's Rest, won't have time to join their forces." He said, pointing to one of the dragon figures set up on the map.

"What if the new dragons and their riders join the fight?" Gwayne asked, and his wife gave him a quick, horrified look.

"What?"

Everyone around her fell silent, looking at her uncertainly.

He hadn't told her about it.

He didn't know how.

"Princess Rhaenyra has three new riders, my Lady. Their dragons pose a huge threat." Ser Criston explained.

"The word that your father took a girl younger than you to his bed and made her a dragon rider has not reached you?" Gwayne sneered.

He and Criston threw him a quick, horrified glance, but it was too late – when he looked at her he saw that her eyebrows arched in pain, her lips parted in disbelief, her eyes glazed over from tears of shame.

She looked at him regretfully, asking him why she had found out this way, but there was nothing he could do or say in the presence of others to comfort her.

Gwayne laughed upon hearing their silence, clearly not believing that his nephew had concealed this from her.

"The whole of Westeros is gossiping about the fact that this is why Rhaenyra sent him away to Harrehnal. Apparently he enjoyed taking hot baths with her –"

"– enough." He commanded coldly, casting him one stern, warning glance. "Do you also wish to have a conversation about my mother, or can we move on to planning this fucking war?"

A long, uncomfortable silence fell around him.

Over the next few hours, he, Criston and Gwayne discussed aloud every step of the battle preparations, where their troops would be stationed and what specific signals from land and sky would mean, his wife, however, did not say a word.

When he finished the meeting she simply left, without throwing him a single glance.

He had a premonition that this would happen, but when evening came and she did not come to his chamber, a cold wave of disappointment surged through his body. He hid his face in his hands, internally torn and conflicted, not knowing what he felt or wanted, how he could regain what they had.

For some reason, what they confessed to each other and what happened next brought him completely out of balance.

He decided in the end that if she wanted solitude and resented him for withholding his knowledge of his father from her, he should let her calm down.

She was his wife now, not his prisoner, and she had the right to decide whether she wanted to see him or not.

His sheet was cold under his body when he lay down on it, his bed big and empty. He ran his fingertips, snuggled with his cheek against his pillow, over the place where she usually lay, imagining that she had slept there.

Was she now lying in her chamber and wept?

Did she need him and his arms?

Her husband's protection and tenderness?

His fingers entwined in her hair, his lips pressed to the top of her head?

He pursed his lips and rose, recognising that when he threw the cloak bearing his family crest over her shoulders he had taken her into his care.

A few paces barefoot down the corridor in only breeches and a thin linen shirt were enough for him to reach her chamber – he stepped inside opening the door quietly, nothing but darkness around him.

He heard her breathing and noticed after a moment her silhouette lying on the bed – although with one eye he had difficulty discerning details in the darkness, he could see her parted lips, her cheeks shining from tears in the moonlight.

He approached her as the door closed behind him with a quiet clatter of wood and slowly lay down beside her – he looked at her, at her face, before lifting his hand, letting his fingers gently stroke her hair.

"– lēkia –" She mumbled and threw herself into his arms, sinking her face into his chest, his hands enclosing her in a tight, safe embrace.

For some reason, he felt relieved.

Her familiar scent, her warmth, her soft body made him feel his muscles, painfully tense all day, begin to relax.

"– why didn't you tell me? –" She whispered with pain.

He swallowed hard and closed his eyes, running his fingers through her smooth hair.

"– I didn't know how – forgive me –"

He heard her suck in a breath and sob quietly, burying her face in the crook of his neck.

"– he chose her – he preferred a strange girl to his own daughter –" She wailed.

"– a good thing happened – you heard yourself what he was doing to her – what he might still be doing to her – he would hurt you, zaldrītsos –" He whispered, lowering his head, so that he pressed his forehead to her shoulder, enveloping her in his tight embrace.

He felt a sense of satisfaction when her small fingers clenched on the back of his shirt, when she snuggled into him as if she wanted to melt into one with him, when their legs intertwined in a disarray, making him feel her with all of himself.

"– stay –" She pleaded, and he hushed her, running his knuckles across her cheek, down to her jaw.

"– sleep, hāedar – your husband is here – by your side –" He whispered reassuringly, again and again placing a gentle, wet kisses on her soft, hot cheek, stroking her neck and back with his broad hands.

They spent that night with their foreheads pressed together as if they were little children, brushing each other faces with their fingers, saying nothing.

There was something beautiful and reassuring in that silence full of understanding, in the sense that they were both afraid of what they had said, while at the same time willing to stay beside each other, to find the path that was meant for them together.

The next day was one big chaos – they had no time to neither speak to each other nor do anything else, preparing to leave the Red Keep even before dawn.

His mother came out to bid them farewell and squeezed his hand, saying she would pray for their safe return, but he wasn't sure he believed her.

He and his wife mounted their dragons and at last took to the skies, moving behind their army to face their destiny.

Although he had been thinking about this moment for years – about himself, flying on a great, powerful beast as the ruler who would free the Kingdom from his sister – now, flying on Vhagar, with long hours to think about it, he felt tension and anxiety.

What if other dragons joined the fight?

What if he was leading them to their doom?

He glanced to the side, spotting the figure of his wife and Sheepstealer not far away, gliding beside him in the skies, feeling a squeeze in his throat.

Now that he finally had everything he wanted, doubt gripped him.

Was this the feeling that Aegon was trying to drown out with cups full of wine?

He looked ahead and swallowed hard, feeling small.

Feeling weak.

As planned, Cole called a halt for their troops after a day's march at sunset – both he and his cousin had landed near the camp. As he slid down the ropes from the gigantic body of his dragoness he saw that his wife, like him, was barely on her feet after many hours of travel.

When they reached their camp, they wordlessly walked into his tent and both fell onto the makeshift bed his soldiers had set up for him, dressed as they stood, falling asleep in the loose embrace of each other's arms.

The next day he was awakened by someone else's conversation – he frowned, reaching his hand further out, searching for her body next to his own, meeting the cold bedding. He opened his eyes, recognising her voice, and twisted onto his back to look at her and the man she was speaking to.

"– my Lady, it's impossible –"

"– this is my final decision – are you questioning the order of the Prince Regent's wife? –" She asked coldly.

"– hāedar –" He said softly, and she looked at him.

"– I will prepare the food we will eat myself –" She said.

He sighed quietly, rising to sit down, massaging his sore nape with his palm.

"– our grandfather chose our cooks personally –" He replied calmly.

"– my soul will be calmer if I do it – let me, valzȳrys –" She said in a way from which he felt a pleasant warmth in his heart.

She was committed to him and to their cause.

She was faithful to him.

"– if it is to soothe my wife's soul, so be it – our cooks will be at your service –"

As he went out to look at the state of his army and to make sure his soldiers were ready for what was to come, he spotted his wife returning from the depths of the forest – a quiver full of arrows and the bodies of several dead quail hung on her back, the bow he had given her as a gift on the occasion of their betrothal in her hand.

The sight of her evoked something between admiration and satisfaction in his heart at the thought that his wife was so resourceful and organised, independent and fearless, in some fascinating way combining qualities he deeply valued.

These feelings, however, were quickly replaced by frustration when he noticed that he was not the only man looking at her.

Several of them were speaking to each other and grinning, bent over the bread they were shoving into their mouths, looking at her in a way he didn't like.

He never wondered if the other men desired her – he seemed to simply think that they knew they should keep their impure thoughts and looks to themselves knowing what would happen to them if he found out about it.

However, seeing his uncle walking towards her with a light step, chatting to her as if they were friends was the first time he asked himself what would happen if she was the one who wanted someone else.

A man with both eyes, who would not have power over her, who would not cry in her embrace like a child.

Who would not be weak.

He felt a sense of discomfort when he saw that his wife, though not looking in Gwayne's direction, busy preparing meat in a small cauldron over the fire, had grinned at something he had said, her lips curved in a smile filled with amusement.

He clenched his hands into fists, feeling an unpleasant sting in his heart indicating that he did not want her joy, her eyes burning with warmth, to be directed towards anyone other than himself.

"My Prince." He heard the voice of Criston Cole, which snapped him out of his reverie. "We still need to discuss a few things."

"Yes." He said dryly, watching as his uncle crouched beside her on the grass, looking at what she was doing, talking to her about something, probably teasing her as was his nature. "Indeed."

After determining his next steps and assessing the distance to Harrenhal, he flew on a solitary patrol around the area where his army was resting, wanting to make sure they were in no danger from the air.

When he returned to their camp, assured that they were safe, his wife came out to meet him.

"You need to eat, lēkia. I have prepared a quail stew. I think it came out exceptionally good." She said lightly with a smile that he adored, but this time it aroused his frustration.

Why was she suddenly so cheerful?

Why was she gushing with humour?

"Mmm." He hummed and stepped around her, feeling that his jaw was clenched in anger.

The truth was that he was hungry, so he would have eaten anything she gave him, however, he had to admit that the smell coming from the cauldron over the hearth promised something tasty in his mind.

His hāedar ladled a portion of meat with vegetables into a wooden bowl and served it to him along with fresh bread – to his frustration, he saw that his soldiers were watching them, amused apparently by the fact that his wife was playing cook.

He sighed and began to eat – he licked his lips after the first spoonful, having to admit in his spirit that the meat was delicious and crisp, the sauce was well seasoned and the vegetables melted in his mouth.

It was apparent that she had indeed cooked more than once while hunting in Runestone with her cousin, however, he himself did not know what he thought of it.

On the one hand he was proud of her, on the other he felt that she was exposing them to ridicule for no reason.

It was inappropriate for a woman of her status to do such things.

"Do you like it?" She asked hopefully, and he merely nodded, consuming the contents as quickly as he could so that the people around them would stop looking at them.

As soon as he had finished, he stood up and moved towards his tent, seeing out of the corner of his eye her slightly parted lips and a sad look full of disappointment.

He felt a squeeze in his heart at the thought that he was pushing her away again, although he didn't know for what reason.

It frightened him that his feelings towards her were becoming more and more complicated, and he himself no longer knew how he should behave in her presence.

Their marriage wasn't like his parents' – his mother and father didn't dine together every morning, didn't spend every night in the same chamber, didn't confide in each other and certainly didn't share the same intimacy as he and his wife.

He had no point of reference, something to which he could relate to understand what was good and what was bad for their marital relationship and their future together.

The marriage was going to serve to extend his lineage, of that he was sure: his wife was going to bear him children.

But what if that didn't happen?

If she turns out to be infertile?

What if she gives birth to his child?

What if he loses her then, if the child becomes a problem, something that makes her no longer only his?

He tried to repeat his grandfather's words in his head, but instead of calming down, he felt himself panicking more and more, thoughts of Harrenhal, her and Daemon making his heart pound like a mad.

"– lēkia –" He heard her voice behind himself and he shuddered, terrified, glancing quickly at her over his shoulder.

She was standing in the entrance to his tent, looking at him uncertainly, watching him in a way from which he felt like embracing her, comforting her, soothing her.

She was sad – he could see it in the way her eyebrows arched, in her gaze, in her mouth, in her tired figure.

He was hurting her with his behaviour, with the fact that he was unpredictable, that she didn't know what to do to please him.

He extended his hand towards her.

"– my soldiers like to look at you – ah – they follow you with their eyes – they lust for you –" He breathed out, slamming into her with rough, violent thrusts of his hips, holding her buttocks in his hands – her bare flesh was warm and soft under his fingers, her back arched, pressed against the bedding of his bed, creaking with his every movement.

She gasped, hearing his words, her palms clenched on his arms, wanting to feel him – he was looking at her with his mouth open wide, panting hard, kneeling in front of her in such a position as to hit the spot between her plump, delicate walls again and again.

"– would you like it? – to feel one of them inside you? – or maybe my uncle? – you laugh so sweetly beside him –" He cooed, there was, however, a note of mock threat in his voice, his short nails digging hard into the silken skin of her butt cheeks making her squirm softly, her cunt clenched tightly around his hard, swollen manhood.

"– n-no – no – no – no, please –" She whimpered and he grunted loudly, feeling a wonderful squeeze in his stones at her words, pleading and full of desperation – her eyes were full of tears, her sweet face rosy from exertion and sweat, a moan of delight rising from her throat each time the thick part of his manhood stretched her tight slit, opening it wide.

"– no? – are you sure? – this little cunt doesn't want anyone else? – hm? –" He growled, quickening his pace, smacking into her so hard that they both began to pant loudly, the loud splats of flesh against flesh spreading around them.

He leaned down and rested his hands on either side of her head, letting her legs cross over his back, her hard nipples pressed against his chest as he felt her hot, leaking womanhood more, deeper, harder.

"– no – you – p-please – I want you –" She babbled, tears one by one running down her cheeks as she clenched her eyes shut and burst into sobs, throwing her head back, the fulfilment that shook her body apparently so strong she couldn't take it.

He kissed her and groaned loudly in pleasure, feeling the squeeze of her spasming core, sliding his tongue again and again between her teeth, stifling her cries.

He heard someone walk into the tent, apparently wanting to inform him that their army was ready to march out, he, however, didn't even look in that direction, too busy chasing his peak, which was so wonderfully close, to think about someone seeing his wife's bare body.

"– get the FUCK out –" He hissed, pressing her body against his so as to cover her, only to finally gasp in relief at the feeling of his seed spilling over her warm, fleshy insides.

Indeed, whoever had come inside withdrew immediately, leaving them alone, panting, welted and sweaty from the exertion. When he sank down on top of her they embraced each other tenderly in what felt like a subconscious, natural reflex, snuggling into each other's naked bodies.

He murmured, feeling her fingers trailing from the side of his waist and down his back – a wonderful, pleasant, warm shiver ran through his spine. In response, his broad hand stroked her buttock, the other combing her soft, dark hair.

"– I'd like to stay like this –" She whispered.

He hummed at her words and placed a warm, wet kiss on the top of her head.

"– me too –" He confessed softly.

She looked up at him and their foreheads touched in an innocent, childish gesture of tenderness. The tip of his nose ran over hers, and she smiled sweetly, just the way he liked.

"– that's it – that's my girl –" He cooed, and she smiled even wider. Her fingers sank into his hair as she kissed him, her puffy lips wonderfully moist and fleshy under his, caressing him with loud clicks of their saliva.

"– mmm –" He murmured, running his fingers over her cheek, putting his arm around her waist – she threw her leg over his hip and he pulled her closer to him, feeling his erection throb inside her again, slowly expressing his readiness to take her once more.

"Your Grace. We need to set off." He heard the impatient voice of his uncle, who was apparently still standing outside his tent.

He closed his eyes and licked his lower lip impatiently, her tender kiss and the warm embrace of her arms meant to tell him that she, too, was suffering from the fact that they had to separate.

To stop being one body.

He slid out of her slowly with a quiet click of her slick, wet walls and kissed the top of her head, lifting himself from the bed. He tied his breeches back on and looked at her, noticing that her eyes were fixed on his standing figure.

His wife watched him, lying on her back on the soft furs spread on his bed, bare and beautiful, her long hair forming waves around her gentle face. She smiled with satisfaction at the way he looked at her, and turned onto her stomach, crossing her legs, lifting her calves up, resting her chin on her hands.

He huffed and approached her, bending over her buttocks – he bit her, sinking his teeth into her soft skin, and she hissed, surprised.

"– ñuhon (mine) –" He murmured coolly and spanked her silken buttock with all his might, making her squeal, leaving a red mark of his large hand on it.

He threw her only one warning, stern look, from which she pressed her lips together, knowing what he wanted to say.

She was to stay away from other men.

Her gaze was to be fixed only on him.

He looked lower, between her thighs and swallowed hard, noticing a thin trickle of his spend dripping from between her pink, swollen slit. He collected some of the moisture with his fingertip and pushed it back where it belonged – deep inside her.

She gasped innocently when he did so, surprised – her walls pulsed greedily around his finger in desire, and he felt his manhood twitch in his breeches, all hard and sore.

"– we'll finish this conversation later –" He said, realising that they were already late anyway.

They had to leave.

His uncle's gaze expressed disapproval when he left his tent, already dressed in his riding attire – he moved ahead without even bestowing a glance on him, but Gwayne followed his footsteps.

He saw his wife's bare body.

Something that belonged only to him.

It was his joy, his prize, his possession.

He felt his jaw clench with rage when he heard his voice behind him.

"Have you already forgotten that we are at war? Is that why you brought her with you? To cook for you and warm your bed?" He asked dryly.

He stopped and turned towards him, his hands clenched into fists.

"Do you not see the mighty dragon flying over your head at Vhagar's side, or are you blind?" He asked with a sneer.

His uncle grinned piteously at his words.

"It is not me who is blind, dear nephew, but you. The whole camp is whispering about how you made your wife into your slave." He said, and in some sudden, subconscious reflex, he grabbed him by the throat, clenching his fingers against his skin – Gwayne reached for the hilt of his sword, but hesitated.

"– you are not worthy to kiss the ground she steps on – you have neither her humility nor her devotion – you are just a plain, vain, insolent lord who will be soon a fat old man sitting in his fortress, dining from morn till dusk –" He growled, digging his fingers harder into his neck and let him go, pushing him back.

He noticed his wife's shocked look in the distance, her questioning gaze and horror.

"– does anyone else want to insult my lady-wife? – does anyone else want to call her a slave? – a servant? – a cook? – hm? –" He called out towards the men turning their heads away, looking everywhere but at him.

He grinned broadly and chuckled, walking around them with his hands folded behind his back.

There was complete silence.

"– this woman is a dragon rider – she is my blood – she is my wife – and our chance to win – to change the fate of the war – and you repay her like this? – mocking the fact that she ensures that I am not poisoned? – by looking at her as if you had never seen a beautiful woman before? –" He continued and heard one of the men speak up from the crowd.

"– what difference will she make when Rhaenyra has as many as three new dragon riders? –" He heard and froze, feeling his heart begin to pound like mad.

What was he supposed to reply to those words?

He looked at her quickly in a gesture of despair, like a small child trying to catch hold of its mother's skirt.

"– they will not remain faithful to her –" His wife said, startling him and everyone gathered. "– the title is not worth the price of a life – at the sight of Vhagar and Sheepstealer they would panic, knowing that Meleys stood no chance with Vhagar herself, let alone two dragons – Sheepstealer serves me, and our bond gives me confidence that he will obey me in a moment of trial –"

"– were you not an heiress of Runestone yourself? – did your mother not enjoy the same rights as Rhaenyra? –" Someone else shouted, and she answered with a certainty that surprised him.

"– yes, it is true – however, my mother is dead, and I relinquished my rights to Runestone to my cousin – I did not want to share her fate and be married to some old lord like a mare – I married our Prince of my own free will, believing in his cause and his person �� my husband is the rider of the mightiest dragon living in this world, who has already led you to victory once – why do you doubt him now? – did he not protect you then? – now I will protect you too, by his side – do not be afraid – have courage –"

He looked at her shocked, breathing heavily through his mouth, thinking in disbelief that he felt warm tears under his eyelids.

It was the first time someone had supported him in public, on top of that so strongly and unequivocally – she stood in front of him, looking at him in a way that melted his heart.

I am unable to push her away, he thought with regret and relief.

I need her by my side.

Although the hot feeling filling him overwhelmed him, it also gave him a sense of pride and fulfilment, as if he had come to terms with the fact that whether it was meant to be, their marriage would be difficult and complicated, with no easy answers, no easy solutions.

Without her, he was a chaos of his thoughts, his insecurities, his desires, his pride, his prejudices, his anger.

Her calmness, her certainty, her devotion, her tenderness soothed the pain in the open wounds of his heart like a balm, bringing him relief.

When they finally moved together to Vhagar's liege, they did not speak to each other, he felt, however, that the atmosphere between them had finally eased. He swallowed hard, again and again recalling her words in his mind and glanced at her over his shoulder.

I married our Prince of my own free will, believing in his cause and in his person.

He wanted to tell her how much this confession meant to him, these words spoken in the presence of everyone, but he could not.

He didn't know how.

He met her curious, warm gaze, but looked away and lowered his head in shame, wondering why he had such difficulty putting his thoughts into words.

He shuddered when he felt her hand on his arm, which stopped him with a gentle movement.

"– lēkia –"

He turned to her again, looking down at her – involuntarily his hand, clad in a black leather glove stroked her head, sliding lower to her neck, his thumb sinking into the soft skin of her cheek. Not even a moment passed and they reached out and kissed, locking into each other's embrace.

He knew they didn't have time for this, but her lips were too moist, too sweet, her breath too warm, her scent too beloved, too familiar. They panted against each other's throats, sinking again and again into the softness of each other's mouths, holding each other close, her body pressed against his must have felt that he was completely hard.

"– I'll reward you for this –" He exhaled, rolling his tongue teasingly over her palate with the tip of it, making her let out a quiet, shy moan. "– I'll lick you all night – you'll beg me to stop –"

"– yes –" She mewled into his mouth, responding simultaneously to his words and the movement of his fingers sliding down between her buttocks, digging into her womanhood hidden beneath the material of her leather breeches.

Her hands tightened on his hair as her hips began to rock to the rhythm of his strokes, teasing his throbbing, swollen erection at the same time.

"– mmm –" He gasped, knowing that they should stop, that they had to set off now, yet he couldn't stop touching her, feeling how eager she was, how much she wanted it.

"– would you rather I did it now? –" He huffed, involuntarily smiling, amused to hear that nothing but babble was coming from her mouth.

"– I – we shouldn't – yes – mghmm –" She whimpered into his mouth between another greedy, sticky, hot kiss and the next, a low, throaty grunt escaped his throat as one of her hands slid down his waist lower, running over the hard, twitching bulge in his breeches.

"– fuck –" He breathed out and groaned with rage, clenching his fingers tighter on her body as he heard the sounds of trumpets in the distance, indicating that their army was moving on.

They looked at each other, panting loudly, all welted with thirst, grabbing each other's cheeks and kissed in a way they had never done before.

Like equals.

Like husband and wife.

"– go –" He exhaled, pressing his forehead against hers, closing his eyes.

He felt exactly as he did then, that day when she had tamed Sheepstealer.

Take me home, she said then.

His little sister.

She nodded and kissed him again, her caress sweet and tentative, moist and warm, making his cock pulsate hard in his breeches, pushing against her abdomen.

He sighed as she let go of him, as she threw him one shy, gentle smile and turned away, running towards Sheepstealer, leaving him alone, quivering with desire and lust.

If he hadn't been sure before, that day he had gained certainty.

He had fallen in love.

[uzurakis]

I’m not sure if this is the place to request, but I’ll leave it here. 🥹💪🏻 I hope you’re doing well! I really enjoy your work. Do you think the JJK men will ever be in a romantic relationship with someone? I sometimes feel they won’t find someone because of the dangers they face. Could you write a scenario where they love you so much but don’t want to get you in their life because you can get hurt being in love with them🥺🙏 (Please include Inumaki and Goji; I love the way you write him so much. Thanks!!! ♥️♥️♥️)

I DON’T WANT U GETTING HURT CUZ OF ME!

featuring: nanami kento. fushiguro toji. fushiguro megumi. gojo satoru

n. i’m doing well, i hope u’re too, nonnie. i don’t write for toge as i’ve stated in my rules, but i surely do write for gojo; so here it is ^^

NANAMI KENTO was meticulously grading papers late at night, the soft rustle of pages the only sound in his otherwise silent apartment. his mind, usually focused and disciplined, kept drifting back to you. he clenched his fist, pushing the thought away as he forced himself to concentrate on the assignments in front of him. “i can’t let them become a target,” he told himself repeatedly, jaw tightening with each repetition.

the pile of papers slowly diminished, yet the nagging worry in his heart did not. he knew the dangers of his occupation as a jujutsu sorcerer all too well. allowing you deeper into his life meant exposing you to those same dangers, and that was something he could not bear.

later that evening, he dropped you off at your home. his demeanor was more reserved than usual, his words carefully measured. “always be aware of your surroundings,” he said, his voice steady but lacking its usual warmth.

you looked at him, sensing something was off. “kento are you okay? you seem . . distant.”

he forced a small smile, though it didn’t reach his eyes. “i’m fine. just tired from work.” he glanced around, scanning the area out of habit. “remember to lock your doors and windows. and if you ever feel unsafe, call me immediately.”

though, you nodded, feeling a pang of concern. “i will. but, kento, you can talk to me, you know? if something’s bothering you . .”

the man looked at you. if the situation, if the life he chose had let him, he wanted to tell you everything, to let you in on the turmoil he felt. but then, the reality of his world crashed back in. “i know. thank you.” he reached out and gently squeezed your hand. “just . . take care of yourself, alright?”

you squeezed his hand back, feeling the tension in his grip. “i will. you too, kento.”

FUSHIGURO TOJI loved you more than he could ever express, but his world was dark and filled with danger. knowing this, he made the hardest decision of his life and left you in the dust. watching you from the shadows, his usual smirk was replaced by a look of concern and gloom. he kept his distance, observing you from afar, ensuring you were safe without revealing his presence.

fast forward, as you walked home from work, you sensed someone following you. your heart raced, but you continued walking, pretending not to notice. then, you heard his voice, low and rough, but unmistakable. “stay away from people like me.”

you froze, turning around to find the guy standing a few feet away, partially hidden in the shadows. “toji?” you whispered, heart aching at the sight of him.

he stepped closer, but not close enough to touch. “don’t search for me. my world . . it’s too dangerous for you.”

tears welled up in your eyes as you took a step forward. “why did you leave? you didn’t even give me a chance to understand.”

toji clenched his fists, the pain evident on his face. “i left because i love you, for heaven’s sake! because i know what happens to people who get close to me. they get hurt, or worse.”

“. . i can’t let that happen to you.”

he sighed deeply, his shoulders slumping whilst you were left with zero words. “it’s not that simple. every day i’m in your life, you’re at risk. the best thing i can do for you is to stay away.” he looked back at you, “just promise me you’ll be safe. stay away from people like me.”

FUSHIGURO MEGUMI often debated whether he should distance himself to keep you safe or savor every precious moment he had with you. this internal conflict left him feeling frustrated, and he struggled to reconcile his feelings with the reality of his dangerous life.

to protect you, megumi kept your interactions brief and guarded. he feared that his enemies might use you against him, and the thought of you being dragged into his world was unbearable. he knew you deserved a peaceful life, free from the horrors he faced daily.

later that evening, you approached him, sensing his uneasiness. “megumi . . is everything alright?” you asked gently, concern shown in your eyes.

he looked at you, his expression conflicted. “i, i’m fine,” he replied, though his sentence lacked conviction.

you stepped closer, refusing to be deterred. “fushiguro megumi, how many times i’ve said that you don’t have to hide from me? i can see something’s bothering you. now please, talk to me.”

megumi sighed, running a hand through his hair. “it’s not that simple. being with me . . it’s dangerous. the enemies could use you to get to me. i don’t want to see you get hurt.”

touching his arm, you reached out. “baby, i understand the risks. but i also know that i love you, and i want to be with you, no matter what.”

“but you shouldn’t be dragged into this. you deserve a normal life, without all this danger.”

“i don’t care about a normal life,” you said with all your will. “i care about you. and i want to be by your side, even if it’s not easy.”

“i just . . i don’t want to lose you.”

GOJO SATORU seldom joked and flirted like he used to, his demeanor growing more serious whenever he was around you. he often caught himself staring at you, lost in thoughts of a life where he could protect you without the constant fear of danger.

he was the strongest, after all, wasn't he? sometimes, he felt confident that he could keep you safe, that he could shield you from any harm. but a part of him couldn't ignore the nagging doubt; the countless enemies he had made, the unpredictable nature of the future. he could protect himself, but what about you? could he always make it in time when the clock struck?

currently, you both sat on the balcony, the city lights twinkling below. gojo's gaze was distant, his mind clearly preoccupied. you reached out, placing a hand on his arm. "satoru, what's wrong? you've been so detached lately."

he looked at you, those usually playful blue eyes now seemed duskier. "i've been thinking about us, about your safety."

you frowned, concern etching your features. "my safety? satoru, i know your job is dangerous, but we've talked about this. i want to be with you, no matter what."

"it's never that simple. i have enemies, powerful ones. i can protect myself, but . . what if something happens to you? what if i'm not there in time?"

trying to offer reassurance, you brushed his shoulders. "you're the strongest sorcerer, satoru. if anyone can protect me, it's you. but i also know the risks, and i'm willing to take them because i love you."

his expression softened, but the worry didn't leave his eyes. "i love you too, more than anything. but i can't help but think about the future, about the dangers. i don't want you to get hurt because of me."

"we'll face whatever comes together. i trust you, satoru. and i know you won't let anything happen to me."

he pulled you into an embrace, holding you tightly as if trying to shield you from the world. "i promise i'll do everything i can to keep you safe. but you need to promise me you'll be careful, too."

@uzurakis

[lowkeyerror]

The Family Business Ch. 17

WandaNat x Reader

Word count: 5.1k

Ch. Notes: Angst, mentions of physical abuse, mentions of death, mentions of child abuse, suggestive themes, nudity

Summary: The family has a meeting to discuss the events that happened in Dragos absence. The aftermath of that meeting forever changes the landscape of the business and the family.

An: The final chapter of the series! Oh my god, I honestly can't believe I hunkered down and finished it out 😳. Thanks for being patient with me. I'm sorry if things feel rushed or out of plac, but I hope you guys like the end 💜. Maybe I'll write a smut epilogue but no promises.

Series Masterlist | Masterlist

In life there are no certainties. Nothing is exempt from the winds of change; whether it be drastic or subtle. Wants and needs shift as growth and understanding occurs. These changes are often difficult and perplexing for individuals to comprehend. How can one’s life purpose be evaporated in a simple instance? What has the power to make one question everything they thought they knew? The simple answer to these questions can be found in relationships. Nothing has the power to change a person more than other people.

For Wanda, all she had ever wanted was to carry her father’s legacy; to elevate what he created, to become everything that he needed her to be, the head of the family business. She trained her entire life for this, lost her youth for it, missed moments she’d forever regret for it. Taking on her father’s mantle was the driving point of everything she did. However, now, when her dream was closer to reality she was unsure if she could accomplish it.

She hadn’t fell out of love with the business. Her drive to be the best was still there. Everything she sacrificed was a stark reminder of how much she valued the family business. Yet, the decision was harder than it ever had been before. There was finally something in Wanda’s life that was equally important to her.

The relationship she had with you and Natasha evened out the scales tremendously. Seeing her wife stress about her well-being filled her head with guilt. Knowing about the scars that plagued you physically and mentally swayed her farther away from her dream.

As much as Wanda wanted to be in charge, she also wanted what was best for her relationship.

This was all hypothetical in her head. There was a chance that she wouldn't even be considered to fill her father’s shoes. The offer could be extended in your direction. Dragos had mentioned it upon Wanda’s return, how integral you were to the business. Though she didn’t doubt her father’s words, she greatly underestimated just how important you were.

You were truly the glue that held it all together. Your mind was equipped for this line of work. Even when confronted with hard decisions you always made the right choice. There was nothing that escaped your radar, and it had saved the business multiple times. The chances of the business thriving in Dragos absence without you were questionable. If you weren't around Wanda could've lost everything that they worked for.

You gave everything you had to offer; to not only the business but the family itself. All while being selfless. There were no lines that you wouldn't cross for them. Even if it meant putting yourself in danger. The only thing that was prohibiting you from leading was all of your insecurity.

You had never even considered the fact that the business could fall into your hands. Wanda believed that was part of what made you such a good leader. It all came so naturally to you that you hardly even noticed it yourself.

If you were to decide that you wanted to run the business, Wanda could not hold it against you. To Wanda, the sacrifices that you had made were greater than her own. You deserved to have this if you so desired.

A selfish part of the red head wanted you to turn away the offer if it was presented, but the rationale part kept her in check. Wanda was having trouble deciding what she would do herself, so who was she to make such demands?

Wanda already struggled with feeling selfish for dragging Natasha into this mess. Her wife had gotten shot because of her. From the beginning Natasha was here to support her. As things fell apart Natasha’s loyalty never wavered. The spy just wanted her wife to accomplish her dreams.

Be that as it may, Natasha’s personal experience working in dangerous fields her whole life gave her a better sense for these things. There was little that Wanda could do to quell the worry in the Russian as things unraveled. Natasha had seen this story unfold many times across many identities and she was afraid.

This had been Natasha’s life as far back as she could remember and at some point she became numb to it all. That numbness faded when she saw the adverse affect it had on you and Wanda. Natasha cared too much about the two of you to watch idly as this lifestyle consumed you.

Truly walking away from this sounded like a dream to her. Natasha was ready for all of the domestic aspects of life. However, if either one of you wanted this, she could never deny you. She knew when she married Wanda, that this was the younger woman’s dream. This in a sense was her wife’s life work, and she could never deny Wanda the pay off. With you, you were so young that she would understand wanting the opportunity to experience the true magnitude of being in such a powerful position.

It was a conundrum for all of you.

“Are we ready?” Wanda asks as she parks in front of her parent's house.

Natasha lets out a large sigh, “Whatever happens in there, I love you both, no matter the decision."

You give a small smile, but it’s clear that this is weighing heavily on your mind “I love you too.”

“I love you, let’s do this,” Wanda leaves the car first. Her nerves are apparent.

The tension in the air did not dissipate upon entering the home.

Flora greets the three warmly but holds onto you a little longer than the rest. She squeezes you tightly and whispers in your ear, “Thank you.”

You squeeze her back before letting her lead you all to the kitchen.

A large feast spans the entire length of the table. You can make out bits and pieces of the Maximoff's favorites. It smells heavenly and you’re certain it tastes even better, but your nerves stop you from diving in.

Dragos sits at the head of the table picking indifferently at his food. Pietro sits to his right, staring intently at the three of you. Wanda takes a seat across from her brother and you take your place next to her, while Natasha did the same next to you.

Your hand finds it’s way into the spy's needing the help to steady your nerves. For a long movement no one says anything.

“I brought everyone some water to help you with the talking,” Flora sits glasses in front of everyone before standing behind her husband. Her hand rests diligently on his shoulder. The gesture seemingly gives him the boost he needs to start the conversation.

“We have got a lot of things to address. So let's get started. The Kingpin problem has been taken care of. He won't be threatening this family anytime soon and it's all thank to Y/n.”

You shrink as the man mentions your name, “Thank you, Papa.”

“No, thank you Y/n. Without you not only would I have lost my business, but also my life. I owe you my life. I’m so proud of you, moya ditya,” he speaks again.

Wanda shifts in her spot. Her father skipped right over her own contribution while he was away.

“You owe me nothing of such magnitude Papa. You’ve saved my life just the same. I couldn't have done any of the work alone. Having Wanda, Pietro, and Natasha on my side made things easier,” You give everyone their props.

Dragos follows her lead, “Oh yes, thank you all for stepping up when I needed you to. Your efforts will be heavily compensated."

“ The only thing I want is for you to be honest with me. What happened with my mother?” Your eyes look directly into his.

Wanda’s hand finds your thigh to give you some comfort. Natasha squeezes your hand under the table.

“Well I want to know what’s going on between my sister, her wife, and you,” Pietro chimes in.

“Excuse me?” Wanda almost gets up, but you place your hand on top of hers.

“We can discuss that after the both of you tell me why my mother is dead and why I am the last to know.”

Pietro’s face shows a bit of irritation, but Dragos decided to interfere before things get worse between you two.

“The first night you stayed here, when we found about your abusive home, I knew I didn’t want that woman near you again. So, I had some guys steak out your home. They watched for a few days. It took 4 days before she started searching for you.”

You sat through the story bouncing your leg like crazy, but your upper half was still.

Dragos continues, “She didn’t start at the school but once she got there, she began hyper stalking you. Noting your classes, trying to track your way back here, and getting too close to you.”

“We were protecting you,” Pietro defends.

Dragos holds his hand up silencing his son, “ She found her way here one night. Pietro opened the door they had a heated exchange. It caused quite the commotion. Flora and I were awoken by the screaming.”

“Where was I?” You interject.

“Here, but we assumed that maybe you were used to the noise so it didn’t wake you,” Flora adds quickly.

“Your mother put hands on my son, something I was willing to look past. However, when she tried to do the same with my wife, my willingness dwindled swiftly,” Dragos eyes darken similar to the way Wanda’s often would.

“The way she demanded you as if you were nothing more than stolen property, like she was entitled to you. It was clear she only wanted you to have something that she could control Y/n, she deserved what she got,” Pietro speaks passionately.

“Enough,” Dragos speaks calmly with an edge in voice, warning his son yet again.

Your eyes were glossy as they bored into your best friend’s soul. His temper falters under your gaze. He squirms uncomfortably, but refused to look away.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Your tone levels and as quickly as the tears began to form, they disappear.

“We-”

You shook your head, “No, since he has so much to say I want to hear it from him. Why didn’t you tell me Pietro? I trusted you with parts of me that I didn’t share with anyone else. You knew that even after the years passed, I still had emotions lingering surrounding my mother. I talked with you so many times and you comforted me, you held me as I cried. Yet the whole time you knew she was dead and said nothing. Why?”

The sorrow in your eyes was replaced by a flame of anger. Your jaw clenches thinking of the many opportunities he had to come clean, but never did. The feeling of betrayal crept into your veins the longer it was silent.

“Answer me,” your hand slams on the table startling everyone.

“I didn’t want to lose you, Y/n. I regret not telling you, but how could I? I wasn’t sorry, I’m still not sorry for what happened with that woman. How many times did you come to school battered? How many times were you exhausted from staying up out of fear that she would hurt you? She blamed you for the death of your brother, when you were only a child.”

You shake your head, “That’s not enough.”

“ What do you want me to say Y/n? I didn’t think you could handle it. You were slowly recovering from the damage that she caused and telling you she was dead would’ve done more harm than good,” the blonde man grew exasperated.

You scoff, “I understand why you didn’t tell me when I was younger, but that was how many years ago Piet? I’ve grown, I changed, I matured and you never once considered telling me.”

He looks down unwilling to meet your eyes. The shame finally settling across his features.

“I just felt like too much time had passed,” he mumbles.

“We all kept this from you. It wasn't just him, “ Dragos tries to lessen the pressure on his son.

Your eyes cut over to older man, “I’m aware. I’m not happy with the dishonesty on any part of equation. It irks me that I had to hear it from Fisk. If he wouldn’t have said anything, I would still be in the dark.”

“Wanda would’ve probably told you,” Pietro says under his breath.

You stand up with little regard for the table in front of you. Wanda and Natasha watch carefully, but don’t make the move to stand yet. Your hands grip the edge of the table and you can feel your body pulse as you look at the man.

“I didn’t want to hear it from Wanda, you fucking idiot. I wanted to hear it from my best friend. I wanted the guy that I told everything to afford me that same respect in return,” each word carries more hurt than the last.

“Everything except for you being in love with my sister,” he rebuttals.

You frown, “In what world is me being in love with Wanda on the same level as you hiding the fact that my mother is dead?”

That silences him.

“Maybe we should move on?” Dragos suggest, but you decline.

No, he is in the wrong. You all are in the wrong and there’s only one person who has apologized to me. I’m not moving on until, I’ve at least heard an attempt at an apology,” you stand your ground.

Dragos nods and gestures to your seat. You slowly sit down. You feel the sincerity as his eyes find yours, “Malyshka, I’m sorry for keeping this from you. It was never my intention to cause you any more grief in life. There was no excuse to keep this from you so long. Please forgive me.”

The apology from Dragos seems to trigger something in Pietro. The defensive nature of his posture drops. You knew the man didn't want to admit he was wrong. He wanted to validate his deceit under the guise of protection.

“Y/n, I- I’m sorry for letting you down. I was just doing what I thought was right, but I never considered how that would affect you. I should've been honest with you.”

You look at the two men, taking their words at face value, “Thank you.”

Dragos clasps his hands together, “ Alright, next on the agenda. I think before we get to what I had planned here, that we should talk about you three.”

Wanda speaks first, “What is there to talk about?”

Dragos can’t help but roll his eyes, “Well a moment ago it was mentioned that Y/n is in love with you.”

“Is that a problem?” Wanda’s defensiveness is akin to her brother’s.

“No, but you are married to another woman. Look moya ditya, I do not wish to be involved in your love life, but this is… a lot to digest. First you come home with a wife and now this,” Dragos speaks cautiously.

Wanda runs a hand through her hair, “I know, I’m sorry for snapping. I have no plans of leaving my wife, but I also have no plans of leaving Y/n.”

Natasha adds, “We have something unique, but it’s just as special as any other relationship. I care for both of them deeply.”

“I didn’t want to like Y/n. She was my little brother’s best friend, our age gap alone made me hesitant to explore those feelings. I didn’t want to be another person in her life to take advantage of her. I had known before I left that I had some kind of feelings for her, but I didn’t want to tell her that. I didn’t know how long I was going to be gone and she was 21, with a bright future ahead of her.”

“We had all seen something between you two, which is why I was shocked to see you come back with a wife,” Flora admits.

Wanda takes a look at her wife, “Natasha is the only reason I’m here with you now. I would not have survived those years without her. I love her and I’m sure of it.”

“And you’re ok with this?” Dragos questions Natasha.

“When I came here, I saw right through Wanda. I knew about her feelings, but as I began to spend time with Y/n I understood more. Y/n is special, I’ve never met anyone like her. So driven, so compassionate, strong-minded, empathetic. Loving her was just too easy not to do. We talked about it, it was difficult to get Wanda to open up, but once she did, we decided what to do together. It only made sense to see if Y/n was interested in us."

“And you Y/n?” Flora presses.

“I’ve always had issues feeling safe because of the way that I was raised. For a long time there was never a day I went without looking over my shoulder. Even after becoming part of this family. The only time I feel safe is when I’m with Wanda and Natasha. I can let my guard down and be vulnerable without being afraid. They’ve shown me that I don’t have to choose between being strong and being open.”

“You’re all consenting adults, and I can tell that you all care for each other. So I won’t question it any further,” Dragos supports the three of you with a nod.

“If you hurt my best friend, I will never forgive you,” Pietro glares at Wanda.

“Hey what if she hurts me?”

Pietro glances at you briefly, “She wouldn’t.”

“Last thing everyone,” Dragos takes a deep breath and looks around the table. He struggles to find the words, his wife’s hand squeezes his own

You all sit up straighter in anticipation. This was the moment that you all feared to some extent.

“Kids, I’m getting old. This whole situation has shown me that I’m not immortal. I almost lost my life more than once and I’m only here now because of this family. When we moved to this city and I decided to pursue this type of work, I knew a day like this would come. A day where I wouldn’t be able to do it on my own anymore. It has snuck up on me.”

“Papa what are you saying?” Pietro asks for clarification.

“I'm saying that it’s time that I picked a successor. I’ve thought about this for a long time now. This is not a decision I’m making in haste,” he speaks as though he had rehearsed this many times.

“ This business means a lot to him, to our family,” Flora says while comforting her husband.

“ Wanda, I want you to run the family business,” Dragos says.

Wanda sputters, “ Papa I-"

“ And I want you to do it with Y/n,” he finishes.

“You want-"

He nods, “I want the both of you to head the family business. If I’ve learned anything while running this place it’s that it is a lot for one person to do. So I thought the easiest way to combat that is by having 2 people in charge. There's no one I trust as much as the two of you. When I was in my coma the two of you were each briefly in charge, but imagine how it would be if you truly worked together on this.”

You and Wanda exchange a look and the older woman speaks, “Papa we’re flattered, honored really, but do you think we can have a moment to discuss amongst ourselves.”

The grin on his face says it all, “Of course, go chat in your old room and come back whenever you're ready.”

Wanda, Natasha, and yourself calmly walk upstairs. You all make yourselves comfortable on Wanda’s bed before anyone spoke.

“ We didn't plan for this,” you open the floor.

“I know,” Wanda says.

Natasha sighs, “So what’re you guys going to do? “

“I don’t know,” Wanda answers truthfully.

“Y/n?”

You speak softly, “I didn't know that this could be an option. I’m not going to lie, the prospect of doing it together seems more appealing, but I know we talked about leaving this life behind.”

“Is that what you want?” Natasha questions.

“I just want to do whatever it's going to keep us together,” you say truthfully.

Natasha relents, “I can tell this something you both really want.”

“ Natasha-”

“Let me finish baby, I’m never going to get in the way of your dreams. I’m not going to ask either of you to pick between our relationship and this opportunity. As for myself, I will be honest; I’m older than both you and I’ve had my fill of being in the line of fire,” Natasha explains.

“I don’t want to do this without you, Natalia,” Wanda keeps her tone gentle.

“You won’t be doing it without me. You have my full support and if I can be of any use without herring my hands dirty, I’d like that,” Natasha’s hand cups her wife’s face.

“Nat I'm willing to turn it down,” you say watching their exchange.

“Lisichka I’m not asking you to turn it down. You want this Y/n, and you deserve it. I would never take this from you. I’m proud of both of you,” she places a gentle kiss on your forehead, and does the same to Wanda.

You turn your attention to Wanda, “You want to do this with me?”

“I want nothing more,” she reaches for your hand.

You stand up and extend it to her; she did the same for Natasha.

“Let’s go start a new chapter together.”

And start a new chapter you did. Dragos retired leaving the family business in your capable hands.

Things ran a bit differently under the leadership of you and Wanda. Neither of you were willing to sacrifice certain aspects of domesticity that you dreamed of. So, it was your idea to work towards legitimizing the company that was used as a cover.

The more the company became reputable the more stock you could invest in it. There wasn’t a way completely remove yourselves from criminal activity, but Wanda worked to refine the illegal activities you were involved in.

She wanted to minimize the need for violence amongst the city. While the business still focused on trading goods, Wanda made sure to keep the distribution of those goods in mind. Wanda chose that certain supplies would go into the communities that needed them most. She began to open resources for food, clothing, and medication as a way to give back to the city.

There were still some who sought to claim power and rebel against your family, but they were not only outnumbered but outsmarted at every turn.

Eventually those long overworking hours turned into normal 9 to 5 shifts leaving you with ample time to enjoy the company of those you cared for.

“ What are you making?”

You mumble against the skin of Natasha’s neck as your arms snake around the waist of the former spy.

“Pancakes. No work today, Lisichka?”

You place a light kiss on her neck, “Nope, I’m going to be home the next few days, Wanda too.”

“She’s in the gym, if you’re wondering,” Natasha answers the question on your mind.

“In home gym was a good call wasn’t it?” Your eyes stay closed as you speak.

It wasn’t too long after you and Wanda decided to take charge of the family business, that you all decided to finally move in together. With your connections and high budget, you moved into what you could only describe as your dream home.

“Perfect call pretty girl.”

You feel your face heat at the flattery, “It’s too early to be this flirty.”

“You’re the one who came in here kissing my neck,” she rebuttals.

You whine, “Can’t help it, your skins so soft Natty.”

You trail kisses from her neck to her shoulder and back again. You continue the trail all the way up to her cheek, using your hand slightly to turn her head, before pecking her lips. She doesn’t let you slip away that easy, turning around so her hands find themselves locked around your neck. She deepens the kiss and you begin to melt.

“You’re going to burn the pancakes,” you mumble against her lips.

“I can make more,” she replies causing you to chuckle.

You pull away from her, “This will be continued later, promise.”

She pouts, but turns her attention back to the stove, “Go tell Wanda breakfast is almost ready. No funny business without me.”

You give her a salute, “Yes chef! I can promise only a little funny business chef!.”

She raises an eyebrow at you, but you put your hands up defensively.

“Don’t tell me that you can control yourself around your wife when she’s all worked up from her routine.”

It’s Natasha’s turn to chuckle, “Touché.”

You try your best to enter the gym quietly, hoping to catch a glimpse of the woman in action. Your mouth begins to salivate at the sight of Wanda in her workout gear. Her breathing is labored and her muscles are bulging as she deadlifts a weight.

“I have to be the luckiest person alive to get to see you like this,” you let your presence be known.

Wanda sits the weight down gingerly, before glancing over at you, “Good morning, baby.”

“Good morning indeed,” you say shamelessly checking her out.

“Like what you see?” She bend down taking a swig of her water.

“Oh I’m utterly in love with the view at this point I can't think of anything that could make it better,” you approach her.

“No?” Wanda stands up straight so that she can be more level with you.

“Nope,” you pop the ‘p'.

Wanda gets into your personal space, lips ghosting your ear, “I can think of a couple improvements.”

If Natasha wasn’t waiting in the kitchen, you knew you’d take Wanda right there in the gym, “You drive me crazy in the best ways.”

She pulls back quickly and giggles at how flustered you are, “I think its somewhere in the job description.”

You lightly shove her shoulder, “Whatever, Nat’s got breakfast ready if you want to shower real quick and join us.”

Wanda smirks, “Care to join me in the shower?”

“I promised no funny business,” you frown but that only causes the redhead to laugh.

“My poor baby, maybe the three of us can squeeze into an afternoon shower,” she teases you.

You were about to make a snarky reply, but Wanda shimmies out of her workout top leaving you speechless. Her tights soon follow as she turns her back to you. Slowly she walks her way to the gym shower making sure to put an extra sway in her hips.

“You’re so cruel,” you lick your lips as you watch her.

She turns around and sends you wink, “All good things come to those to wait little krolik.”

You huff and make your way back to the kitchen as a flustered mess.

“ How did it go?” Natasha asks.

Instead of answering her, you march over to her and hungrily kiss her before childishly plopping into your seat at the table.

“Your wife is a menace,” you cross your arms over your chest.

“I know it’s one of my favorite things about her, “ Natasha smiles as she sets everyone’s plate at the table.

Wanda is out of the shower by the time Natasha is done and setting the table. She takes a seat across from you waiting for Natasha before she starts eating.

Once everyone is seated you begin to eat. Light chatter fills the silence as you so speak casually. After everyone is done you gather up the dishes and quickly wash them.

“Any plans for your lazy days?” Natasha asks the crime lords.

“Just quality time malyshka,” Wanda responds.

“Yep, Pietro and Monica are going to be taking care of business for us,” you add.

Natasha grins, “So what I’m hearing is I have you both to myself?”

You nod your head, “Yes mam. Might I suggest we jump straight to desert now that breakfast is over”

Wanda tosses her head back with laughter, “So one track minded this morning, little krolik. I thought I might have to fight you off in the gym.”

“Right? She almost made me burn the pancakes,” Natasha agrees with Wanda.

You roll you eyes, “First of all, you left out the part where you took all your clothes off and strutted away from me. Second of all I was just greeting the love of my life while she made breakfast. I’m innocent here.”

“Are you really?”

You hum in response, “I’ve been told I can be pretty delicate.”

The two women share a look before closing in on you. As you stand between the two redheads; doe eyes meeting their dark ones, a tingle runs through your body.

“Then I guess we should be careful with you bunny, “Wanda’s hand squeezes your waist.

Natasha shakes her head, finger resting just under your chin, “I think we should test out how delicate she is. What do you have to say little fox?”

“This must be heaven.”

The women laugh at your words, Natasha is the one to speak, “You’re adorable sweetheart.”

“Yes very adorable, but if you keep me waiting any longer I’m probably going to die,” you look at the women desperately.

Wanda lays a playful smack on your ass, “ To the bedroom.”

You let out small chuckle and run in the direction of the room. Wanda and Natasha chase after you in a fit of giggles.

Life had become kind to you over the years. Affording you times of joy and gratitude that you struggled to find in your younger years. You had a family that would do anything for you, a position of power that no one could take from you, all while keeping those beautifully domestic moments between you and the women that you loved.

You finally accepted that there was a secret strength in your delicate nature. Something that you were once ashamed of now was shown probably on your sleeve. In part you owed it to the family business, but in actuality it was all because of the family.

Taglist: @natashaswife4125 @autorasexy @alexawynters @blkmxrvel @toouncreativeforausername @likemick @sgm616 @bstvst @dorabledewdroop @sapphic-simp4015 @natty-taffy @justarandomreaderxoxo @mmmmokdok @tarathia @bgwlsmahf25 @lezzylover @og-kxsh-420 @vanessashands @untoldreader @sxlfishbrokenheart @marvelgirlx @elle161989 @falloutboy-lover

[levisjinchuriki]

satisfied - kento nanami

summary: you confess your previous partners have never made you cum before. with nanami, that just won't do

warning: nsfw!, 18+, smut, cunnilingus, oral, fem receiving, fingering, nanami cursing, orgasm, fluff

you hadn’t meant to say it aloud—you certainly hadn’t planned on telling kento something so personal over a quiet night at his place. but there it was, out in the open– you’ve never cum before. 

nanami pauses, wine still in hand, his eyes narrowing slightly as he registers your words.

“you’ve… never?” he asks softly, his voice carrying a mix of surprise and concern.

“well…no. not with a partner, at least” you murmur. you look away, fiddling with the couch pillow nearby. your relationship isn’t new, but nanami is a gentleman and hasn’t crossed that line just yet. 

“can i ask why?”. he doesn’t want to be rude, but it’s shocking that no one has ever made you finish before. 

the question hangs in the air, and for a moment, you hesitate, feeling the weight of his attention, the openness in his request. no one had ever asked you that before. you take a deep breath, gathering your thoughts, and try to put words to the things you’ve always wanted but never dared to ask for.

“no one’s ever focused on what i like, i guess…” you start. nanami frowns. 

kento’s voice is a low murmur in the quiet space between you, his gaze warm but intent as he watches your expression. "what do you like?" he says softly, his hand gently tracing along your arm. kento’s gaze remains fixed on you, gentle yet intensely focused, as though he’s savoring every word you say. there’s no pressure—just a pure, open curiosity, a desire to understand you in a way no one else has.

your cheeks are warm, but his steady gaze reassures you. “i… i like when things are intentional” you begin, your voice a bit shy. he nods, encouraging you. 

his hand brushes over your skin. "good" he murmurs. it’s simple, but his praise sends a thrill through you, filling you with a quiet excitement. kento leans closer, his whole presence focused entirely on you. “anything else?” he asks. his tone is inviting and you know you can trust him. 

the words come easier now, slipping out as if they were waiting to be heard. “i like when things are slow. i want to feel like i’m the only thing on your mind. and i want to feel… cherished. like everything you do is just for me”. your cheeks are pink as you finish. nanami appreciates your honesty. he waits patiently for you to finish, wanting you to be heard. 

“you are the only thing on my mind,” he says softly, his voice deep with a seriousness that leaves no room for doubt. “from the moment i met you, that’s how it’s been”. 

your heart pounds at his confession. you take in a breath. his confession is both romantic and incredibly attractive. the intensity of his gaze makes your heart race, and he smiles faintly, as though he can sense the effect he’s having on you.

he brings your hand to his lips, pressing a kiss to your knuckles, lingering there for a moment before he meets your eyes again. “may i?” he asks. he doesn’t have to say more for you to understand what he means. you nod, heart racing. nanami stands and extends a hand for you to take. you place your hand in his, letting him lead you to the bedroom.

when he reaches the bed he turns to you, leaning in close and gently cupping your face. 

“do you trust me?” he asks. you nod, your breath hitching slightly, anticipation and excitement swirling within you.

"yes". you trust him completely, and you know he’s about to make this an experience you’ll never forget.

kento gently guides you toward him, leaning in. his kiss is slow, unhurried, each movement of his lips against yours full of intention. you hum softly against him. there’s no rush, no need to get anywhere too fast. 

you hear a pleased exhale from kento. he pulls you even closer, his hands moving with the kind of precision that reveals his deliberate nature. his hands slip to your shoulders, fingers skimming down your arms as he deepens the kiss with an insistent tenderness that leaves you breathless, your mind slipping further from coherent thought. kento's touch travels down your body slowly, lingering with deliberate care as he explores every inch of you. his hands slide over your hips, giving your skin gentle squeezes and rubs like he’s worshiping you in every way he knows how. 

you let out a sigh as his lips brush over your jaw and down to your neck. his hands continue their journey, exploring you with a tenderness that no one else has. he’s grateful for every second, every touch he’s allowed. his touch is soft as it is purposeful, fully immersed in the experience of bringing you pleasure. there’s purpose in every touch, as if he’s engraving each sensation into his memory, wanting to give you exactly what you like, what you need. 

his fingers slip beneath the fabric of your shirt as he begins to rid you out of your clothes. he undresses you with a gentle care that makes you blush. once you’re bare for him, kento gently lays you down on the bed, his hands supporting you as he settles you against the mattress. he hovers over you, his gaze taking in all of you, eyes filled with an appreciation that’s pure and genuine. 

“you’re so beautiful” he murmurs, his voice low and warm, the words spilling out like a confession. his hands explore you slowly as kento’s lips trail lower, pressing soft kisses against your skin that leave you breathless, your pulse quickening under his attention. he listens to every reaction, lips finding each sensitive spot. his hands cradle your hips, fingers pressing gently into your skin, steadying you as he kisses his way down. 

when he hovers over you he takes a moment to appreciate how wet you are before dipping his head between your legs. his tongue slowly trails its way from your entrance to your hood, getting a full taste of you. nanami lets out a deep hum. 

“oh-fuck yeah” he sighs. the tone of his voice sends a chill through you.  

you bite your lip to hold back a desperate moan. he’s barely started and you’re already crumbling beneath him.

“don’t hold back” he murmurs, his voice a deep, sensual rasp that makes you whimper. “i want to hear you.” you feel yourself melt. nanami is attentive, listening to each sound you make. and each time he feels you react, he pauses to murmur words of encouragement, his praise quiet but sincere.

you gasp and instinctively try to squirm away as he inserts his thick fingers into you. the stretch of it alone feels impossibly good. nanami brings your hips back to him. “let me take care of you” he whispers against you as he eases his way in. and you do, surrendering to him completely and letting yourself feel everything he’s offering.

your moans fill the room as nanami takes his time to pleasure you, both with his lips and fingers. he takes his time to find every sensitive spot with just enough pressure to build you up slowly, 

for the first time, you feel like your pleasure truly matters, that someone is as invested in your experience as you are. he listens to you carefully, focusing solely on your pleasure. he adjusts his touch and his pace, responding to each shift in your body until he hears your moans increase in pitch. the sensations are more intense than anything you’ve ever felt before.

the pleasure builds slowly, each wave more intense than the last, until you’re on the edge, teetering between control and complete surrender. his name falls from your lips, trying to warn him of the sensation no one’s ever made you feel before.

when nanami finally brings you to that breaking point, his name spills from your lips in a breathless cry, your body shuddering as waves of pleasure crash over you. the release is overwhelming, an intensity that leaves you trembling underneath him. he fingers and tongue don’t stop, working you through it so you can feel its full effects.

when nanami finally brings his actions to a halt, you’re fully satisfied, brain fuzzy and body feeling like you’re floating. he holds you close as you come down, his touch gentle and his lips pressing soft kisses along your forehead, your cheeks, your jaw.

with nanami, you’ll never have to worry about not being satisfied. he’ll focus on you for as long as you like. he wants you to enjoy every experience with him because it’s everything you deserve. it's a promise that he’ll continue drawing out every ounce of pleasure he knows you’ve never felt before.

--

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆ thank you for reading!! everyone is welcome to leave feedback and requests in my inbox!! (please leave a request, i love receiving them!!!) let me know if you want to be added to my permanent taglist! ⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆

this was inspired by a fic i read last month by @obsesssedblerd

[ficnation]

Chapter 1: Dig In

Series: “Eat Your Heart Out” Pairing: Hannibal Lecter x Female! Reader x Will Graham Word count: 4,6k+ Warnings: canon-typical warnings

Main Masterlist

NEXT CHAPTER

Will Graham hasn’t seen you in years—years that felt like centuries to him. When you greet him, your voice is like a songbird’s serenade—sweet, peaceful, and meant only for his ears. It was a melody he missed dearly yet never dared to summon in his mind, even as the memories of you bled into his dreams.

“What are you doing here?” he asks, voice breaking at the last word. The question is not hostile, but it’s not friendly either. He knows you didn’t expect him to greet you like an old friend would. You know him too well for that—or at least you knew him before Hannibal Lecter barged into his life.

A smile crawls up your face, but it never reaches your eyes. You came here because you know, you know someone’s version of the story. But you crave to see the truth—to find out exactly what happened—and you know that Will is the only person who can provide you with the answers you’re looking for.

Jack Crawford raises his hand, his palm facing Will in a silent greeting—almost a peace offer. He keeps his distance as he lifts your suitcases out of the trunk of his car. He’s the one that called you, told you everything you needed to know, how Will lost his mind, how he keeps insisting that an innocent man—someone he considered a friend—is the Chesapeake Ripper.

Will can’t help but snicker at the thought of how this conversation went. You don’t seem bothered by the change in his expression—you hardly ever were, and he was always surprised by your unflappable composure.

“I’m going to stay with you, Will.” It’s not a question nor a suggestion fueled by concern over his well-being. It’s a declaration, and he has absolutely no say in this matter. Jack Crawford has already made that decision for him, and Will is in no position to object—he’s well aware of it.

Will nods and gesticulates to the door of his house. It’s a reluctant invitation forced out of him by his boss’ incessant gaze.

You don’t let him think about it for much longer, fearing he’ll withdraw the offer. You walk up the stairs of the porch and cross the doorstep. The inside is no warmer than the bitter winter on the other side of the door. You shiver slightly, wrapping your arms around yourself for heat.

A flock of dogs runs up to you, wagging their tails in excitement. Some of them you’ve already met before, and some of them seem like recent additions to Will’s collection of strays. You pat each dog on the head as you take off your boots by the entrance. You note that you no longer feel like you are just another stray Will has taken into his home.

The warmth of the friendly dogs quickly makes you forget how much you don’t belong here; you enjoy their company for a moment before reluctantly moving on to explore the room.

Not much has changed since the last time you were here. Will’s bed is still in the room, and you remember the time he confessed to you that it makes him feel more aware of his surroundings—gives him a sparse flicker of safety. He has easy access to the windows overlooking the outside, and he hears whenever someone walks up the stairs to his porch. It’s a small shred of comfort to cling to in the midst of his torment—you understand his reasoning.

The fireplace is the same one you used to warm up in front of every morning when you slept over—just surrounded by more dog beds than before. The old, simple in their design but surprisingly comfortable armchairs stand in their designated spots. Dog toys litter the carpeted floor, while books and familiar trinkets overwhelm the shelves, though if you look more closely, you find new additions mixed in with the old.

“Nothing has changed,” you say to yourself and the chill air of the room. You don’t hear Will’s footsteps as he joins you in the heart of his house.

“I did.” His words make your head whip around to face him, your eyes finding his. There’s a certain darkness in his statement—one you recognize.

The brown curls on his head frame his face in an untamed mess. He’s beautiful, and you find yourself still affected by his proximity.

“I don’t think you did.”

“You’ve been here for seven minutes, I can’t imagine you know much,” Will retorted.

“I know you, Will.” You meet his eyes for a few seconds—it doesn’t take much longer for him to look away. He hasn’t changed.

“Not anymore. Believe me,” his voice is certain and steady, but his hands shake as he reaches for your cozy black coat.

You let him slide it off your shoulders—the chill of the room refreshing. Will Graham isn’t a gentleman—he’s never conformed to society’s expectations. The gesture isn’t meant to impress you, make you swoon, or simply check a box. He does it because he still feels something toward you—he still cares.

You don’t talk much after that. Will makes some space for your stuff in his closet and leaves your suitcases in one of the many empty rooms. You thank him with another smile that doesn’t reach your eyes—there’s too much worry in them to convey your gratitude.

He goes on a walk with the dogs while you decide to take stock of his fridge and cupboards in search of any ingredients that you could possibly turn into a late dinner—french crepes filled with whatever jam or other sweet spreading he has in his kitchen.

You make yourself cozy in one of the armchairs in front of the crackling fireplace, your legs tucked comfortably beneath you when the door opens, and a blast of cold winter air rushes in along with seven dogs, melting snow clinging onto their fur stubbornly. They sniff around the room in search of the source of the sweet, delicious smell.

Will follows in their steps, taking off his boots by the door. It won’t take long for his socks to soak up the drops of water scattered over the floor—remnants of the snow shaken off by the happy furry beasts. He says nothing for a few long minutes, merely taking in your form, the sweet smell, and the cozy atmosphere. It feels like you belong here, even if just for a moment until you deem him deranged and leave again for long years.

“Crepes?” he asks finally, sliding off his heavy jacket. Will imprints on his memory the image of you so peaceful and comfortable in his home, in his presence.

You hum in response, sticking the fork back into your mouth. “I only found jam and peanut butter.”

“It’s an accomplishment you found anything at all.” He chuckles but isn’t truly amused by it—it is a pitiful sound.

The brunet disappears into the kitchen, and when he returns, his plate is filled with food. He sits down in the other armchair with a heavy sigh—a sound so murky only an old man could make or someone so exhausted with life they didn’t see a point in it anymore.

“I believe you, you know?”

Will’s head shoots up in your direction; he almost chokes on his crepes. He didn’t foresee that at all—the thought of you believing him without even hearing his side of the story, believing in his conviction that Hannibal is the Chesapeake Ripper without even asking for evidence. When everyone around him considered him delusional and regarded his accusation with ignorance or anger—you believed him. He straightens up in his seat, looking at you expectantly, begging silently for you to continue.

“I suppose Jack didn’t tell you why exactly am I here, huh?” Will shakes his head, making you sigh deeply as you mindlessly stab the remaining crepe on your plate with the fork—he notices the anger simmering behind your irises. “Figured. They found my father’s killer in our old house.”

“Dead?”

You nod in confirmation.

“Suicide.” Your voice isn’t relieved; it doesn’t incandesce with light like it should.

Will knows that sometimes, even when the murderer is caught or killed, it takes a while to really settle into witnesses’ minds, and sometimes, they never taste that sweetness of relief for the rest of their lives. Yet, it doesn’t seem to be the problem in your case.

“He was missing a lot of blood and it didn’t appear to be anything abnormal back then so they considered the case solved. Let us come out of hiding.”

“Except it wasn’t a suicide,” the man finishes your thought. He’s right—like always. “Someone wanted you to come back… The real killer?”

He looks at you for confirmation, but his idea seems to be too facile—child’s play. If that were the case, the FBI wouldn’t let you stay with him without protection—unless they considered him your protector. Something feels off about it.

“Will, my sister was killed by the Chesapeake Ripper.”

Will stares at you with his eyes wide open. He’s looking at your face in a way that he’s never looked before. He can finally see you, your emotions, and despair—the mask you hid them under shatters into crumbs and floats away with his shaky breath. He hears the misery in your voice now—almost sees your winsome heart smashed into a million pieces inside your chest.

“I’m so sorry… I—” Will’s words are automatic as he processes your statement. He stays perfectly still in his armchair. “I didn’t—”

“What’s done is done, Will,” you interrupt him, shaking your head—a silent plea that he doesn’t blame himself for it. It doesn’t help—he still does.

The moment you stop talking, he can hear the faint ticking of the watch on your wrist. He looks at you, waiting for more to come, but you stay silent. Your eyes linger on your plate with a half-eaten crepe—the jam spilling out onto the white ceramic canvas; you seem to be contemplating something.

He remembers back on that stormy night when you came home at the end of a particularly complicated and brutal investigation—soaked and chilled to the bone. You had a small cut on your arm, not big enough to require stitches, but he wanted—no, he needed—to clean it up and kiss it all better, anyway.

Will could tend to a cut on your skin, but he couldn’t scour the one on your soul—he couldn’t kiss it all better. He always felt the need to fix things—fix you. Now? He has no idea how to take that pain away from you.

He knows he should be glad to see you—glad to see you again. But right now, there’s only sadness, confusion, and guilt because, somehow, this isn’t quite you. There has been this beautiful, bright light shining from you, but it’s missing, and the man feels the loss of it inside. He wants to reach out and take this sadness away from you, comfort you, and bring back that light you always had. He almost wants to cry—he doesn’t even know why himself.

Will swallows hard and finally speaks, voice shaking, “Can I ask you something?”

He hesitates as if afraid of the potential answer. The only thing keeping him from sinking into emptiness is your presence, and asking the wrong question might have a devastating effect. Will looks at you—eyes pleading for understanding.

“Yes. Of course…”

“What did he take?” He almost doesn’t recognize his voice. It seems to be a mere whimper—a noise buried deep within a wounded animal’s throat.

“Her heart.”

Your words strike him like a bullet. Will closes his eyes, trying hard to keep the salty water from filling them. The loss of one heart was unbearable, losing another one physically… He tries to find a reason not to be angry at fate—but there is none. The world gave you back to him, but at what cost?

He reaches out, taking your hand in his. His touch seems reassuring and gentle, but his eyes betray his anger. “I never should have let you leave...”

You ignore his words, looking into the void, and continue, “Her lungs.”

Another cruel twist of the dagger in his gut. He feels your hand squeeze his, almost as if it were asking for comfort. Yet, Will cannot be a comfort at this moment—he is too enraged at the thought of such brutality.

His gaze turns cold as stone, his hand tightening around yours as he holds back the emotions boiling up inside him, threatening to explode and tear everything apart. His eyes remain closed—unwilling to see any more of your pain. You can feel the anger radiating from him like heat.

If she stops breathing, my heart will stop with it—those were his words to Hannibal. Another therapy session he now deeply regrets. It is his fault—his fault that your sister died. And amongst all the hatred, anger, and remorse, he feels a bone-chilling relief that it wasn’t you in her place.

He knows it’s twisted to think like that; he shouldn’t even feel like that, but he can’t imagine his life knowing you were buried deep—six feet beneath the earth he was walking on and still breathing. He doesn’t know whether it was Hannibal’s well-thought-through plan or his fucked up mistake, but Will is grateful.

You are breathing, alive, and your pulse is beating fast beneath his tight grasp. He does not want to let go of it—not yet.

Will opens his eyes, still unable to see your face, yet so very relieved. He doesn’t let go of your hand, his fingers running over your knuckles as if, by touch, he can somehow reassure himself that you weren’t his imagination.

The anger inside him still roils, but he no longer shows it. The only hint of his discomfort is the tightness with which he holds your hand.

“I won’t let anything happen to you,” he mumbles out, almost inaudible.

“No, Will, I won’t let anything happen to you.” You meet his gaze, your eyes almost begging. “I can’t lose you too. You’re the only one I have left.”

Will smiles at you sadly. His eyes filled with a strange light, his fingers running through your hair. Your plates have been long forgotten on the nearby windowsill as he leans forward and carefully touches your cheek, running his forefinger across your lips and down to your chin.

At first, you think the gesture is affectionate—intimate. But then you notice that he’s trying to remember your every feature. It’s painful to think that someone who loved you so dearly might have forgotten your face, the feel of your skin under his touch. Maybe it’s this thought that makes your eyes well up with tears; maybe it is the gesture itself. Or possibly even both.

This moment feels so real, so raw—you are tempted to believe in it, to be hopeful for your future, at least for a moment. But after all you went through, you know that hope is a dangerous thing, and it can turn against you. It’s been so long since all your hopes have been crushed you almost forgot how to have them... And just like that, the moment vanishes, and reality crashes back.

Later that night, when you come out of the shower and crawl into his bed—your clothes sticking to the slightly damp skin, your hair in an unruly mess—he simply opens his arms.

“You claim to be my friend, yet you sleep in my bed like a lover would,” he says—he still remembers the words you whispered to him when the roles were reversed.

Will smiles at the irony, his arms wrapping around you. Your hair is still dripping, the water sliding down your neck and onto his chest. It trickles down in rivulets to his stomach, creating wet spots on his shirt, but he doesn’t seem to care.

You notice his grip is tighter than usual, yet you feel no pain, no discomfort. If he wanted to hurt you, he would. But you’re safe here—in his arms. Safer than you’ve ever been.

“Don’t pretend you don’t love having me in your bed,” you mumble against his neck, your minty breath tickling his skin.

His body shivers, and a soft sound escapes his lips. Your words remind him of the years of loneliness, of his body yearning for your touch. The sound is almost a whimper, and you feel his fingers twining in your wet hair.

The feeling is intoxicating. For years, he couldn’t touch a woman, didn’t even dream about having one so close to his skin, couldn’t feel someone’s body pressed tightly against him in a bed because they weren’t you—they dimmed in comparison. He missed it; he missed this connection, this skin-to-skin contact.

His hand lingers in your hair, the other one tracing your skin, exploring every inch of it, memorizing every imperfection, every bump beneath his palm.

“You haven’t been with anyone else, have you?” It’s not really a question—more of a sure statement—because, after all, you know Will like the back of your hand.

His head shakes, and both of his hands now run down your body. Will takes his sweet time exploring every inch of you—your hips, thighs, your stomach, and neck.

“I haven’t,” he whispers, almost embarrassed. As if his body belongs to someone else, and giving it to you now is a betrayal of that person.

Betrayal of you—the one he once knew—because he’s not entirely sure you’re still the same person. You were always so cheerful and full of life before—anything you touched, growing wings, flying out of the confines of its cage.

He yearns for this contact, craves a woman’s body—craves your body. He touches your skin, lightly running his fingertips over it, trying to bring back the memories from before. Will’s mind spins, trying to place the puzzle of you in the present.

He holds your face, trying to remember the way your eyes shined, the smile on your lips, the way your hair used to look. The feeling of your body, skin to skin, is almost painful. Your lips are so close, your heart beating so fast…

Winston jumps onto the bed, the weight and heat of his furry body on your calves makes you both pull away hesitantly.

“Sorry,” you mumble out the apology into the stillness of the air.

Will looks at you with a soft smile and a faint blush on his cheeks. “It’s fine.” He glances over at the dog. “What’s the matter, little fella? Can’t sleep?” He reaches over to pet the dog, then he turns his attention back to you.

The atmosphere changes completely, filled with the sounds of the night and Winston’s heavy breathing. Yet, although your physical proximity to Will has changed, you still feel connected to him in a way that only two people who are truly close can. The warmth of Winston’s body seems to melt the tension.

The dog snuggles up against you both, the three of you creating your own little world of peace. Will is the first to speak, “I’d rather be in bed with you only,” he sends you a smirk, “but I would still get the same amount of hair on my clothes.”

You feel your lips part in a grin; your breath catches in your throat, and it takes a moment before you’re able to answer his playful jab.

Will catches you in this moment of surprise as if he can smell your anticipation in the air. His hands wrap around your waist, dragging you closer until your bodies are pressed snugly once more.

When he smiles at you, it’s as if the world stops briefly. Your eyes lock, and for a second, there is nothing else but the two of you.

“It’s a sad thing your smile is so rare,” you whisper, your fingers tracing his stubbled jaw.

Will's heart pounds in his chest. He takes your hand in his, running his fingers along your skin. There's always been an undeniable spark between you, but this time, it feels different, more intense. Like if you let yourself go and let the spark ignite, the fire will burst out of your chest.

Will leans closer to you; your noses are almost touching. His brown eyes are so close you can see every detail in them despite the darkness of the room. You can feel the tension in the air, and you know what would break it...

“Will, I... I can’t—” You stumble over your words, gaze parting from his.

Your stutter is cut short by Will’s lips touching yours. A soft sound escapes him as if he’s been waiting for you to stop speaking so he can taste you. His tongue slips over your lips, exploring your mouth.

This is not the clumsy, almost animalistic lust he had for you in the past—it’s something different. Something tender, almost sweet.

Your hands fall limply onto the duvet, your heart beating faster, your breath catching in your throat as you sink deeper into the kiss. You don’t want this to end… So you pull him closer.

Seemingly annoyed by the nonstop movement, Winston jumps off the bed and retreats to his place by the lit-up fireplace. You almost giggle at that, but you’re far too busy with kissing Will’s lips raw.

Your hands find their way onto his neck next, your fingers running through his curls. With lips almost glued to his, you pull him back every time he tries to move.

The sound of your heavy breathing is enough to make his heart pound in his chest as if his very blood is racing. He’s holding you so tightly you fear you might break. Will breathes in the smell of you, almost intoxicated by it. Your scent enriches him—sends his emotions into a whirlwind.

After a moment, he manages to pull away, gasping for breath. He is still holding you, hands pressed against your back, as if not wanting to let go. Will tries to catch his breath—it feels like his entire life is contained in those few moments.

His eyes find yours, looking for some reassurance, as if he expects to wake up from a dream any moment now. He opens his mouth to say words but can’t find any. All he can do is look at you, so beautiful in the darkness. Will closes his eyes as if trying to cling to this moment.

“I’m glad I’m back. Despite the circumstances...” Your fingers play with his curls, your breath just as shaky as his.

“You’re back...” Will murmurs, looking at you relieved, touching your face as if to make sure you’re still here. He wants to speak, to tell you everything that is going through his mind, but when he opens his mouth again, no words come out. He tries to collect himself—tries to bring his heart to your level.

“It’s been a long time... We should probably talk. You know, just to catch up.”

“You like talking now?” Your grin is electrifying, it sends heat down the man’s body. But when he notices it doesn’t reach your eyes, his neediness crumbles.

A veil of insecurity falls over his face. “No… I don’t like talking. But I still do it if I have to, so can we just…” Will gestures to the two of you, the room—just a sign of exasperation and need to do this now. He swallows hard, trying to find his voice. “It’s just... it’s been a long time. And I... you know... there is just a lot that happened.”

“Will,” the way you say his name halts him, “it’s okay if you want to talk.”

He blinks slowly, suddenly confused—why did he even try to lie about it? Hannibal gave him his voice and showed him the power of his words—the good one and the evil one.

Will lets out a deep breath and then closes his eyes. It’s always been hard for him to tell people how he feels. Especially when he wants to say more than any amount of words can describe—and there is a lot to describe. There is so much he has to tell you, and yet when he tries to form the words—to get them out—his mind goes blank.

He opens his eyes and looks at you for help, but you look just as confused as before. “I don’t even know where to begin,” he says softly. “So much has changed.”

“You haven’t. Not as much as you think you did.”

He sees the impossibly black creature in his peripheral vision. It stands behind you, completely still, and its antlers seem much more massive than ever before when he catches their shadow falling onto you. He wants it to be gone so badly, but deep inside, he knows it’ll never vanish if Hannibal is still alive, and maybe even after his death, he’ll never get his peace back.

“Your opinion will change quicker than you realize.”

The creature’s still there, Will looks it straight into its void of color eyes. It’s just in his mind, yet the shiver that runs down your spine tells him you might feel its presence, too. He hates that he can’t tell if it’s his imagination or not or if you can indeed see it, too. A feeling of dread seizes him, a cold sensation that runs up his arms and into his bones.

“Hannibal...” he whispers, but when he looks around the room, he sees no sign of the creature. The sense of dread lingers, nevertheless.

“The Chesapeake Ripper?” you question, and he tells you all about it. All about Hannibal’s mind games—what he did to him and then what he undid.

Will tells you about the therapy sessions, his transformation, and the darkness that took hold of him. He talks about his memories of your sister, about his guilt, and then he moves on to you—your absence and the reason why you left. The void he felt for all those dark years without you—until he was given the chance to have you back, a light guiding him back into reality. And you listen carefully to all of it; you let him speak his heart out until he no longer feels the need to speak.

When he is done telling you everything, Will falls silent. It feels like he laid bare his soul, exposing his most intimate thoughts, yet you still lie in front of him, unchanged. He looks at you, almost expecting you to leave. After all, how much can a person handle? But your gaze is still strong; you still care about him at least a little…

It’s almost as if you’re reading his mind. “I still care about you, Will. My feelings never changed and they never will. I’ll do anything I can to help you get him.”

His eyes soften at your words, and he closes the distance between you two. Slowly he kisses your lips, tasting your breath, feeling his mouth move against yours. The sensation is so intense that it almost sends sparks through Will’s body.

“I’ve missed this,” he whispers into your ear before he turns your head and kisses you again. His hands rest on your back, pulling you in even closer as his tongue dances against yours. “And I’ve missed you. So goddamn much...”

Will pulls away, breathless, as if his entire body is aflame. He looks at you, studying your face so intently it’s almost as if he wants to burn your image into his brain. “So much,” he repeats softly.

He rests his head against yours, breathing in the sound of your heartbeat, listening to the rise and fall of your chest. “You’re here. You’re really here.” He exhales a sigh of relief as if your presence is the sweetest gift he could have ever wished for.

[halaboyz]

did you like her in the morning?, yunho

ateez bf! yunho x fem! reader angst angst angst angst (pre-breakup) wc: 1.5k warnings: desperation idk, mentions of cheating, a whole lot of cursing, mention of k-word and d-word for the sake of the argument a/n: you voted for him YOU GOT IT ! this has two POVs, the other one (the actual arranged marriage) is here ! i think this hurts more idk !!! don't ask me ,, i alternately use jeong and yunho in the dialogues bc "jeong!!" feels a little bit more powerful and "yunho" seemed soft so don't bash my head for that !!

"...Can we talk?" Yunho calls over the phone a few minutes of silence after the line got connected. He sounded awfully serious, yet so soft-spoken.

"Of course, Love. What time do you get home?" You coo, staying calm amidst the anxiety building up. "I've also got groceries I just picked up to cook so if you want to eat something, tell me,"

"No, y/n. I meant now. Can we talk now?" You hear him sigh, and you could make out in your head that he was slightly shaking his head and massaging his forehead.

"Okay, since you seem so head-straight about it. What is it?" You surrender, putting your groceries down and sitting on the couch. "Are you okay?"

"Yes. We just need to talk," Yunho quickly shuts you down, as if he was in a rush to let everything out. "I... I'm not going home."

"..Okay? We'll see each other tomorrow night though, right?"

"No, I meant I'm not going home. Anymore." And silence. It wasn't even supported with any explanation. Any kind, any type. As if you were just to accept what he's saying.

"What do you mean, Yunho?"

"I'm not going to go home anymore, y/n. Not anymore." It was that simple. It was just like that. Told like news, and he wasn't even fazed while you were nearly on your knees to understand.

"Love, I don't understand. What do you mean you're not coming home? Hmm?" Your voice wavered as you begged for him to say something.

"I'm not going home anymore, y/n. What's so hard to understand?" He exasperatingly replies, making you furrow your brows.

"I asked what you fucking meant! Make me understand, Yunho! You can't just drop a bomb like this and act like I'm the dumb one here!" You exclaim through the phone, jumping on your feet and then going back and forth the living room and the front door. "I know we're not getting along the past few weeks but god, Yunho. Let's at least work it out,"

"I'm getting engaged, y/n." You wait. You wait, and wait, and wait. For further excuses. Further explanations. Anything. If you thought that the words 'I'm not going home anymore,' was a bomb, this was self-destruction. You shouldn't have asked, huh?

But when it was followed with nothing but silence and his sighs, you scoff in disbelief.

"...That's it?" You just... held on. He was being ridiculously funny that an insignificant, lifeless laugh comes out of you.

"Dad set us up."

"So, that's it?" You reply quickly when all he does was take his time sculpting an acceptable answer, but he was greatly failing at it. So when you replied that quickly, he doesn't try anymore. "Come home, Yunho."

"No, y/n."

"Come home and fucking explain looking at me in the eyes, Yunho. I'm not going to make any engagement happen if you're not going to come home, Jeong. So come home if you really want that and, end us. I'll even pack your things with my own two fucking hands," And you were stern. Yet you mean the other way around.

Just to prove something, you don't want him to come home. So that no engagement was going to happen in your territory. As you end the call in a hurry, you fall down to your knees as you sob, it was better to sob all by yourself than have Yunho standing in front of you in minutes, hours...

To which he is.

As you were hugging your knees, unable to move from your place on the floor leaning on the couch, you hear your front door opening to your horror.

Yunho, standing tall and mighty before you, as if he even dropped everything just to come home. To come home and end everything; to come home and ruin you.

He stared right at you, love long left his eyes. It was clear through your teary eyes, and it wasn't as hard for him to let go as it was with you.

"You want to leave so bad you really came home, huh?" A chuckle of some sort leaves your lips, wiping your tears.

"Are we going to make things hard for the both of us, y/n?" He starts, and he doesn't break eye contact as he slowly steps closer to you. Close enough to hear him better, far enough not to reach him to hold him back.

"It's not hard for me though, Yunho." You say out, coming as a whisper that shakes. "It's not hard for me holding on to you, Yunho. I've loved you all these years and we've had rough patches too, but it was never hard for me to always, always choose you."

You've come to think Yunho's silence was a tinge of hesitation, or so you hope. Because Yunho doesn't respond.

"You don't look like you're having a hard time too, only that we meant totally different things." You chuckle lifelessly, sniffing. "You don't look like you're having a hard time letting go of the woman you dated for five years."

"Y/n. Stop it. It wasn't an easy decision,"

"Wasn't an easy decision, for whom, Jeong?!" You've risen up to your feet to step closer to him and have him a good look of your disheveled appearance. "You're twenty-five for fuck's sake! Would your dad kill you if you went against him for once?!"

Your pushes were harsh and so you wanted it to be painful as well. But god you wished these number of pushes that hurt him amounted to the pain you were also carrying.

"Would you die if you fought for us once, Jeong?!" Yunho tries grabbing your arms but you only broke away. "You gave them the right of the decision, but how about me, Jeong?! How about me?! Am I invisible or something?! Because for all I know, I'm still fucking here!" Falling to your demise as your knees hit the floor once again.

And Yunho just watches.

"...I'm still here, Yunho..." Your hands grab his index finger ever so desperately to hold on to him. It was like hanging to your life. Because everyone knows he was your life. He was someone you'd choose a hundred times over, return to earth for, and die a million times for.

Yet he can't do anything for you. He can't fight for you, he can't stay for you, he can't.

"I wish you'd fight for us like how I do, Yunho..." You sob helplessly, leaning your forehead into his hand that you held.

Yunho watches. Just watches. You had no idea how he felt, or what he was thinking. You don't even get to think about that. You were overwhelmed with your own, so how could you even think of him now?

"We were meant to end this way or that way, y/n," Yunho mumbles, head turning to his side to avoid looking at you.

"...So you took the way you'd ruin me best," You nod unknowingly, hands slowly slipping away from his finger. "Okay."

Yunho looks at you, and how your hands slowly dropped.

"Leave." It barely leaves your lips. You don't want him to, of course, but you were done.

You were done fighting for someone who can't do the same for you. You were done holding on to something you're only slipping away on.

With courage, you meet his eyes once again as you stretch your neck up in dejection. And for the first time when Yunho step inside your shared apartment, you saw emotion in his eyes.

That is, of empathy.

He looked at you as if you were such a pitiful thing, in denial of what he made you.

In ruins. Who was taking each of her broken parts and hugging it all in desperation to keep it and everything together.

He made you like that. And now was he thinking that this is the reason why he took the easy way out.

Because if you took much longer to stay, to find more reasons to love each other, and someday just find you or Yunho in this position of yours, in despair, in shambles, and probably much even worse, he'll take the easy way out. He always will.

And you didn't deserve that now, nor will you ever.

"Leave," So you glue all your broken parts and glare at the man you loved, you once ever so loved, stern in tone and harsh in glare. "And like I said, I'll even pack all of your things for you. So leave, Jeong."

You may or may not have, still, prayed for him to stay. For the last one.

But when he doesn't, and your met with his back scrambling to the front door and closing it, you can't help another surge of tears flow as your broken parts get much more broken than it was before.

So much for gluing it back together for a mere thirty seconds.

He left in thirty seconds.

permanent taglist: @sunlightwoo

networks: @kflixnet

[ruewrote]

𝑓𝑜𝑟𝑒𝑣𝑒𝑟 𝑤𝑖𝑡ℎ 𝑦𝑜𝑢.

PAIRING: evan buckley x fem!reader WARNINGS: worries of future of relationship, no use of y/n GENRE: angst to fluff SONG INSPIRATION: based off of tightrope by michelle williams WORD COUNT: 1.5k REQUESTED: yes

navigation | ask | evan buckley masterlist

you always knew loving buck wasn’t going to be simple. he was magnetic in a way that pulled you in, but with that same intensity meant there was always something just outside of your reach. a sense of unpredictability. 

from the moment you met him, there was a charge that made everything with him feel alive. the late night conversations, the lazy mornings, the spontaneous laughter. it was all beautiful, but it was never easy. not with his job, not with the constant risks he took every single day.

and yet, here you were.

tonight, that all too familiar feeling crept back in, that gnawing unease you’d been trying to push down. buck wasn’t home yet. you sat on the couch, staring at the clock as it ticked away the minutes, trying to ignore the worst case scenarios playing on repeat in your mind. it was past midnight, and your phone was quiet. too quiet.

this wasn’t the first time you’d sat in the dark, wondering if he was okay, wondering if tonight would be the night he didn’t come home. that was the reality of loving someone like buck. someone who ran toward the danger, who put himself in harm’s way for others. you admired that about him, the way he cared so deeply, but sometimes it left you hopeless.

a sigh escaped your lips as you ran a hand through your hair, the tension building in your chest. you hated this feeling, hated waiting like this. most of the time, you could manage it, push it to the back of your mind. but tonight? tonight felt different. maybe because of how late it was or the heavy silence in the apartment, but something inside you twisted painfully as the seconds dragged on.

just as you were about to grab your phone and text him again, the sound of keys in the lock jolted you out of your thoughts. the door opened slowly and buck stepped inside, his shoulders slumping with exhaustion. relief flooded through you at the sight of him, he was okay. he was safe. but the knot in your chest didn’t unravel right away.

“hey,” he said softly, closing the door behind him and tossing his keys on the entryway table. he looked worn out, his face smudged with soot, his hair a mess. “i’m sorry i’m late.”

you swallowed the lump in your throat, trying to keep your voice steady. “you didn’t text,” you said, sharper than you meant to. it wasn’t anger, more like the fear spilling out before you could control it.

buck’s brow furrowed as he walked toward you. “i know. i’m sorry. we had a crazy call, and i didn’t have a chance to check my phone. i should’ve texted as soon as i could. i didn’t mean to make you worry.”

the apology should have been enough, but the words didn’t soothe the ache you’d been carrying. you stood up from the couch, crossing your arms over your chest as you looked at him. “i know you can’t always text me, buck. i get that. but…you don’t understand what it’s like sitting here, not knowing if something’s happened to you. not knowing if you’re okay.”

his expression softened, and he reached for your hand, but you pulled away, stepping back. the space between you suddenly felt wider, like there was something unspoken lingering there, something neither of you had addressed yet.

“i can’t keep doing this,” you whispered, your voice wavering despite your best efforts to keep it steady. “every time you walk out that door, i wonder if it’s going to be the last time and tonight… tonight i couldn’t shake the feeling that something had happened.”

buck’s face fell, and he looked down at the floor, guilt flashing in his eyes. “i’m sorry,” he repeated, quieter this time. he took a deep breath, his voice thick with regret. “i didn’t mean to scare you. i didn’t–”

“it’s not just tonight,” you cut in, shaking your head. the frustration in your chest bubbled up before you could stop it. “it’s every night. every time you go on a call. i’m terrified, buck. terrified that one day you won’t come home. and i don’t know how much longer i can handle it.”

there. you’d said it. the words hung heavy in the air between you, and the silence that followed felt deafening.

buck looked up at you then, his eyes filled with something you couldn’t quite read. guilt? pain? he took a step closer, his hands reaching out for you again, but this time, you didn’t pull away. his fingers wrapped around yours, warm and familiar, grounding you in the moment.

“i know,” he whispered, his voice barely above a breath. “i know it’s hard. i know i don’t always make it easy for you.” he paused, searching for the right words. “but i love what i do and i love you. i don’t know how to make you feel better about this, about any of it, but i promise you, i’m always going to do everything i can to come back to you.”

you blinked back the tears threatening to spill over, your heart aching at the sincerity in his voice. “but what if one day you can’t?” you asked, your voice cracking. “what if one day something happens and you don’t come back?”

his grip on your hand tightened, and he pulled you closer, his free hand coming up to cup your cheek. “i can’t promise you that nothing will ever happen,” he said softly, his thumb brushing across your skin in a gentle, comforting motion. “i wish i could, but you know i can’t. but what i can promise is that i’ll always fight to come back. no matter what.”

you felt a tear slip down your cheek, and buck wiped it away with his thumb, his eyes never leaving yours. there was so much emotion there, so much love, fear, and vulnerability and for a moment, you didn’t know what to say.

“i don’t want to lose you,” you whispered, your voice barely audible.

“you won’t,” he replied, his voice firm but gentle. “i’m right here. i’m always going to be right here.”

he wrapped his arms around you, pulling you against his chest, and you let yourself sink into him. his warmth, his strength. it was all so familiar, so comforting, and for a moment, the fear melted away. you could hear the steady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath your ear, and it grounded you, tethered you to this moment.

you didn’t know how long you stayed like that, wrapped up in each other, but eventually, you pulled back just enough to look up at him. his hands slid down to rest on your waist, his fingers tracing small, absentminded circles on your skin.

“i hate that i’m so scared all the time,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. “but i love you, buck. so much. and that’s why it’s so hard.”

he nodded, his eyes softening as he leaned down to press his forehead against yours. “i know,” he said quietly. “and i’m sorry i’ve made it harder. i don’t always think about what it’s like for you, waiting here, wondering. but i swear, i’ll try to be better. i’ll do whatever i can to make this easier for you.”

you closed your eyes, letting his words wash over you. it was a promise, one you knew buck would keep. he was reckless at times, but he was also loyal to a fault. if he said he’d try, you believed him.

“i just need you to talk to me,” you said softly. “let me in when you’re scared or when something’s bothering you. don’t just keep it to yourself.”

buck smiled, the corners of his eyes crinkling as he nodded. “deal. but only if you promise me the same thing.”

you let out a soft laugh, your chest feeling a little lighter now. “okay. deal.”

he leaned down and kissed you then, slow and sweet, like he was savoring the moment. when he pulled back, there was a quiet intensity in his gaze that made your heart skip a beat.

“i love you,” he said, his voice thick with emotion. “and i’m not going anywhere. you’re stuck with me, whether you like it or not.”

you smiled, feeling a wave of warmth wash over you. “i like it,” you whispered, wrapping your arms around his neck. “i love you, too.”

later that night, you lay in bed with buck beside you, his arm draped over your waist, holding you close. the soft rise and fall of his chest was soothing, a quiet reminder that he was here, safe and sound. you pressed yourself closer to him, letting the warmth of his body chase away the lingering fear that had settled in your bones earlier.

buck shifted beside you, his fingers brushing against your arm as he spoke, his voice low and sleepy. “i know it’s hard,” he murmured. “but we’ll figure it out. together.”

you nodded, your heart full as you closed your eyes. “yeah,” you whispered. “together.”

and for now, that was enough.

comments and reblogs are appreciated ˗ˋˏ ♡ ˎˊ˗

© ruewrote 2024.

[bluetoes-andstuff]

A Hidden Desire

Chapter 1 - Curious Fascination

Summary: Caesar rarely has time to reflect, and when he does he always finds himself falling down this same path...

Rating: T (Eventual NSFW)

Word Count: 2.5k

Relationships: Eventual Caesar x Fem!Human Reader

Warnings: mentions animal mating, and sexual themes

Next Chapter

***If you are under 18 I would advise not reading, this is not an explicit chapter but this will be a story that explores nsfw themes later on. Best to just not go down the path to begin with. Be safe***

Caesar sat alone outside his nest, legs hanging over the edge of the porch wrapped around his home. The early morning sun filtered through the canopy of trees below, casting dappled shadows on the floor of the colony, a mosaic of light and dark as his people began to awake. It was in these quiet moments, away from the watchful eyes of his fellow apes, that Caesar allowed himself to ponder his life thus far. And despite his attempts to stray from the thoughts, more often than not lately, his mind was drawn towards the mystery of humanity.

Perhaps it was the absence of humans that had drawn this interest, or maybe it was a slow build of his pent-up, biological desires. Despite the scars of betrayal and the bitter memories of conflict, a stubborn fascination with humans lingered in Caesar's heart. It was a curiosity born not of naivety, but of a deep, unshakable connection to his past. Raised by a human father, Caesar had been nurtured with love and compassion, qualities he had come to cherish and emulate. It's what has contributed to his success as a leader and guide for ape kind.

Caesar knows who he is… he is an ape; he is not human. He is proud of where he is and how far he and his people have come. They’ve established their own community and developed a society. And he has the right to take full responsibility for all of it. Yet, there were still moments when Caesar found himself longing for the simple human experiences he once shared with his father. He missed the quiet evenings spent reading books together, the way his father’s voice would bring the stories to life. He missed the warmth of a home, the smell of fresh cooking, and the classical piano music that would echo through the halls during rainy days. These memories were bittersweet, a reminder of a time when the world, to him, seemed simpler, and the lines between ape and human were not so starkly drawn.

Despite these things he missed, he was still able to look back, smile, and move forward with his day, knowing that this was exactly where he was meant to be. There were other things though, about humanity, that had always drawn upon a certain kind of curiosity, even to this day. A curiosity and fascination that he was never quite able to quench even when he lived with his human family. He had been too young to fully grasp the concept at the time. He was just coming to the age where his body yearned for that understanding and developed interest when everything began to fall apart.

Humans had intriguing courting rituals. The displays of affection he saw between his father and mother were just commonplace when he was growing up with them. He assumed it was normal, but it most definitely was not. His years with his own kind have been enlightening for him. All those things he saw among humans, being through courting, affection, even mating… he assumed he would one day experience that as well, but these rituals were not normal amongst his kind.

He had held onto that desire to understand, know, and feel those same things he had witnessed among not just his parents, but the other humans he had seen on television, in books, and in the videos he had begun to stumble across in his curious search for answers. He’s come to realize that the only way to fully understand those feelings would be to experience it himself… but at this point it was simply out of the question. Humans have been gone for a long time, and he had his people to worry about, he couldn’t get distracted by some human-indoctrinated fantasy. He’s come to accept that.

During their first year in Muir Woods, he had done his fair share of “messing around” as humans would say, trying to find a proper mate to fulfill those human needs he was still clinging to, but there hadn’t been a single one that had been capable of satiating him. They didn’t make the noises like he was hoping, and out of all the ones he’d taken back to his nest, only Cornelia had agreed to lie on her back while he had his way with her, she did not question him like the others had with his odd request… The ordeal had been uncomfortable, and she had squirmed far too much for there to have been any enjoyment. And every time… It was short. By the time he was beginning to feel that urgency and burn in his gut, the females were no longer interested.  There was no intimacy or “foreplay” as humans say.

None of it was human like he craved.

It took him some time, but he had to accept that the desires held in his heart were not meant to be fulfilled. It was an unnatural feeling he craved as an ape and he could not jeopardize the apes’ future for his silly human-influenced lust.

So, Caesar married Cornelia more out of the convenience of friendship than love. They were well acquainted with each other, and as the leader, he was expected to take on a mate to produce an heir. Cornelia was strong and kind, qualities that made her a fitting partner in the eyes of the colony. Her frequent respect and loyalty without question to Caesar opened a door for him that brought enough satiation to distract him from his human feelings. She was always willing to appeal to his odd human fantasies even without knowledge of where he got such wild ideas. 

Their relationship had been one of mutual respect and understanding. Cornelia had always supported Caesar’s leadership, offering wise counsel and a steady presence. She understood the burdens he carried and stood by him through the many trials they faced. Though their bond was not one of passionate love, it was built on a foundation of trust and shared responsibility.

She bore him twin sons, Blue Eyes and Cornelius. The birth of his sons was a moment of joy, but it was also marked by profound sorrow, as Cornelia did not survive the ordeal. Twins amongst chimpanzees were extremely rare as well as extremely dangerous for the mother. It was a surprise marked with excitement and dread, both parents knowing the cost it may have.

Caesar mourned for her deeply, not just for the loss of a companion, but for the future they might have shared. Her death left a void in his heart, a reminder of the fragility of life and the sacrifices made in the name of survival. Now, with the weight of leadership pressing down on him, Caesar faced the expectation to find another mate. Yet, he had no desire to choose from among the apes in his colony. His heart was not ready to open again, and the memories of his human upbringing made the prospect even more complicated; those feelings and desires that have chased him his entire life resurfacing.

He twisted around to glance inside his hut to see both his sons still fast asleep. They were curled around each other, Cornelius’ head tucked up beneath Blue Eyes' chin. Caesar felt a pang of longing. He wanted to give them the same warmth and security he had known as a child. The legacy of his father, the human who had raised him, loomed large in his mind. A legacy of love and understanding, one that he hoped to pass on to Blue Eyes and Cornelius, even as he navigated the complexities of his own heart.

He doesn’t picture ever being able to bring another female into his life like he did their mother, there being no foundation of attraction or desire, nor a mutual respect like he and Cornelia did. Yet, he knew that for the sake of his sons and his people, he would need to find a way to reconcile his past with the future that lay ahead. Eventually, he will have to find another mate… a Queen like the colony deserves… and a mother like his sons deserve.

Caesar watched the sun continue to rise above the canopy of trees, lost in his never-ending thoughts. The gentle rustling of leaves and the distant calls of birds provided a soothing backdrop to his reflections.

Suddenly, a familiar presence approached from behind, taking a seat beside him. Rocket looks sideways at him with a kind smile, and Caesar returns it, lifting his arm to place it around his friend’s shoulders.

“Thinking about the past again?” Rocket signs.

Caesar nodded, a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth as he turned away to look over the trees once more. Rocket had a way of lightening the mood, even in the heaviest of moments.

“You know, it’s been a couple of winters since Cornelia…” He hesitated, then continued with a teasing grin. “Maybe it’s time you found someone new?”

Caesar’s smile faded slightly. He appreciated Rocket’s concern, but the idea of going through the process of finding another mate felt distant and unappealing. He signed back, his movements deliberate and calm.

“I’m not interested, Rocket.”

Rocket raised an eyebrow, clearly not convinced. He signed back with exaggerated gestures, trying to coax a different response.

“Come on, there are plenty of females in the colony. Strong, kind, beautiful…” He paused, then added with a gleam in his eye, “And they all admire you.”

Caesar shook his head, his expression serious. He appreciated Rocket’s efforts, but his heart wasn’t in it. He signed slowly, choosing his words carefully. 

“I’m well over Cornelia. It’s not about her. I just… don’t feel that way about anyone here.”

Rocket’s playful demeanor shifted to one of concern. He signed back, his movements slower and more thoughtful.

“But why? What’s wrong?”

Caesar hesitated. He knew Rocket wouldn’t understand the full depth of his feelings, the complex mix of his human thoughts and desires, and the expectations of his role as leader. It is not something he thinks he can repress twice over. He signed back, his movements gentle but firm.

“It’s complicated. You wouldn’t understand.”

Rocket looked at him for a long moment, then nodded slowly. He didn’t push further, sensing that this was a boundary Caesar wasn’t ready to cross. Instead, he offered a supportive smile and signed back.

“Alright, my friend. Just know that we’re here for you, no matter what… If you ever have certain needs…. Without wanting a mate, we can work something out.”

Caesar nodded, grateful for Rocket’s understanding, and amused at the irony of his suggestion. As his friend turned to leave, Caesar grunted. His time of reflection has ended, and the quest to begin the day's chores is soon to begin.

Caesar walked into the colony, where the other apes were busy with their daily tasks. The air was filled with the sounds of chatter and activity, indicative of the thriving community they had built. Caesar felt proud as he observed their bustling life. As he navigated through the colony, he received respect and admiration from those he passed. The apes looked up to him not just as their leader, but as a symbol of hope and promise for their future. He paused by the central fire, where Maurice was tending to the flames.

“Caesar, you seem troubled this morning.”

Caesar sighed, sitting down beside Maurice. He had never spoken outright about his ‘problem’, but he had a strong suspicion that Maurice already had a general idea.  He had seen the way Caesar had looked at human women, and he had been the one Caesar spoke to about his frustration with ape mating rituals. The orangutan was wise and perceptive, sometimes a bit more so than Caesar would like. But at a time like this, having a friend to speak with about his problem, however discreet it was the way they spoke, it brought on some relief. He signed slowly, his movements reflecting the weight of his thoughts.

“Rocket thinks I should find another mate. He doesn’t understand why I can’t.”

Maurice nodded, his eyes filled with an understanding deeper than another ape would reflect about this issue. He signed back, his gestures calm and reassuring, speaking prudently just as Caesar did.

“It’s not easy to move on from the past. But sometimes you must follow your heart, Caesar, despite how you may think it will look to others.”

Caesar felt a relief wash over him unlike any other he’d felt before. Hearing his dear friend’s indirect approval and understanding helped distinguish the guilt and disgust he’s felt towards himself since coming to the woods.

“Thank you, Maurice. I know I will never be able to act on my feelings, but hearing your words of acceptance brings me relief.”

Maurice smiled, placing a hand on Caesar’s shoulder. The fire crackled softly, casting a warm glow over them. At that moment, Caesar felt a sense of peace. He knew that the journey ahead would be challenging, but he was not alone. This was something he could get past. He has matured very much through the years, he is capable of putting his desires behind him for the sake of his sons and his people.

The tranquility of the moment was interrupted by the sudden arrival of Koba’s scouting party. The group of apes, led by Koba’s most trusted scouts, moved swiftly through the colony. Caesar and Maurice exchanged a glance before rising to meet them.

The lead scout, a burly ape named Grey, signed quickly, his movements sharp and precise.

“Caesar, we found something. A small human camp, not far from here.”

Caesar’s eyes narrowed, his mind racing. The presence of humans so close to their territory was a cause for concern.  They hadn’t seen humans nearby for several winters now, and who knew what they were up to… He turned to Rocket, who had just joined them, his expression a mix of curiosity and apprehension.

“Rocket, find Koba. We need to check this out. Gather a small group. We leave immediately.”

Rocket nodded, his playful demeanor replaced by his serious resolve. He signed back.

“Understood. I’ll get the others.”

As Rocket moved to assemble the team, Caesar turned back to Grey.

“Tell me more about this camp. How many humans? What are they doing?”

Grey signed back, his gestures deliberate.

“There are only a few men, one woman. They seem to be setting up a temporary shelter. We didn’t get too close, but it looks like they might be staying for a while.”

Caesar nodded. The presence of humans so close to their territory could mean many things, and he needed to understand their intentions. He turned to Maurice, who had been listening quietly.

“Maurice, keep an eye on the colony while we’re gone. Make sure everyone stays alert.”

Maurice nodded, his expression serious.

“Be careful, Caesar.”

With a final nod, Caesar turned to join Rocket and the others.

Thank you all so much for reading! I have much planned for this story and I hope to keep this inspiration train rolling! You all would be much help to get it to continue, by showing your support. If you would like me to make a tag list just let me know and I can definitely make that happen. I'm very excited to kick start this story!

[princesskenny1998]

MHA | Bakugou Katsuki x f!soft!reader ~ Background

Bakugou Katsuki wasn’t the type to notice people outside of his small circle. If someone wasn’t powerful, competitive, or didn’t spark his interest as a rival, they were simply background noise. And yet, there you were—a quiet, soft-spoken girl who had somehow caught his attention, despite everything that would have normally kept you invisible to him. You weren’t even in the hero course at UA. You didn’t attend combat training, nor did you possess some flashy quirk that screamed for attention. Instead, you preferred to stay in the background, almost as if you belonged there. But the more he caught glimpses of you around the school, the more he found himself intrigued.

It all began when he noticed you in the library one afternoon. You were sitting by yourself, reading a thick novel with the edges frayed, your brow furrowed in concentration. Katsuki had been searching for a book on battlefield strategy, but his attention drifted over to you. He hadn’t meant to stare, but he’d found himself watching as you turned each page with care, as if you were savoring every word. Your quiet, unassuming nature was foreign to him. Katsuki was so used to the loud, the bold, and the ambitious that you seemed almost unreal in comparison. Still, he tried to brush it off. But after that day, it felt like he saw you everywhere.

One rainy evening, he saw you sharing an umbrella with a younger student outside of UA’s dormitory. The way you stood there, holding the umbrella high enough to keep the kid dry while you got soaked yourself, struck a strange chord within him. You didn’t seem to mind being wet, either, as you smiled and patted the kid’s head, laughing quietly when he waved goodbye and ran off. It was such a simple act, yet Katsuki found himself dwelling on it long after the rain stopped.

It wasn’t until a few days later, in the hallway, that he got the chance to actually speak to you. He’d been rushing to his next class, not paying attention to his surroundings, when he nearly ran into you. You looked up at him, startled, with wide eyes that quickly turned into an embarrassed smile. Katsuki raised an eyebrow, half-expecting you to freeze and stutter some kind of apology, but instead, you just stepped aside, keeping your head down, and let him pass.

“Sorry about that,” you murmured, so softly he almost didn’t hear.

For reasons he couldn’t quite understand, he paused, watching you walk away. Something about your quiet demeanor, the way you seemed almost invisible but held a quiet strength, intrigued him.

“Hey,” he called, before he could stop himself.

You turned back to look at him, eyes widening slightly. “Yes?”

“Uh…you’re… in the general course, right?”

You nodded, looking a bit surprised. “Yeah. I am. Second year.”

He shifted awkwardly, trying to ignore the strange, unfamiliar feeling tugging at his chest. “I’m Bakugou. Bakugou Katsuki. Third year, hero course.”

You gave him a shy smile, nodding politely. “I know who you are. Everyone does. You’re one of the top hero students.”

Something about your words made his chest swell with pride. But the fact that you hadn’t said it in awe or admiration, just as a simple fact, somehow made it more…meaningful.

“Do you…like it here?” he found himself asking, almost surprised by his own question.

You hesitated, clearly not expecting him to ask something so personal. “It’s…fine. Different from what I’m used to, but fine.”

He didn’t know why, but he felt the urge to know more. “What did you do before coming here?”

“Just normal school stuff, I guess. I didn’t really stand out.” You smiled a bit self-consciously. “I wasn’t trying to become a hero, so I guess I’m just here to learn what I can.”

There was a sincerity in your tone that made him feel oddly at ease. Katsuki wasn’t sure why he was continuing the conversation, but he couldn’t seem to help himself.

“Well, maybe that’s a good thing. Hero work isn’t for everyone,” he muttered, almost to himself.

You laughed softly, and he looked up, surprised by the sound. It was a quiet laugh, but there was warmth in it that made his heart skip a beat.

“You’re probably right,” you replied, smiling. “But I think people like you make the hero course worth it.”

Katsuki blinked, taken aback by your words. He was used to people admiring him, even fearing him, but something about the way you said it, so matter-of-factly, struck him. You weren’t trying to flatter him or seek his approval; you were just being honest.

As you walked away, he found himself staring after you, feeling a strange warmth in his chest. For the first time, Katsuki felt something he couldn’t quite put into words—something that made him want to see you again.

After that, Katsuki found excuses to cross paths with you. He’d linger in the library, where you usually spent your free periods, or accidentally end up in the same cafeteria line. And somehow, each encounter led to a few more words exchanged, a few more glimpses of that quiet smile that left him feeling both annoyed and fascinated.

To you, Katsuki was a mystery. He was intense, with a reputation for his explosive temper and arrogance, yet he always seemed softer when he spoke to you. It was almost as if he had two sides—one for everyone else and one just for you. And you couldn’t deny that you found yourself looking forward to these chance encounters, even if they made your heart race and left you blushing.

One afternoon, as you sat in the library, buried in a book, you felt a shadow loom over you. Looking up, you found Katsuki standing there, hands in his pockets, looking unusually serious.

“Mind if I sit here?” he asked, his tone surprisingly polite.

You nodded, gesturing to the empty chair across from you. “Sure. It’s a public library, after all.”

He smirked at your joke, pulling the chair out and sitting down, his gaze fixed on you with an intensity that made you blush.

“So, what’s so interesting about these books?” he asked, nodding toward the stack of novels you’d collected.

You shrugged, feeling a bit self-conscious under his gaze. “They’re just…an escape, I guess. I like getting lost in other worlds.”

“Huh.” He leaned back in his chair, watching you with a thoughtful expression. “Never thought about it like that.”

There was a pause as you both sat in comfortable silence, and you couldn’t help but notice the way his gaze softened whenever he looked at you. It was as if he saw something in you that no one else did, something that even you didn’t fully understand.

As the days went by, your encounters with Katsuki became more frequent, and soon it became clear to both of you that there was something more between you. One evening, as you walked together down a quiet corridor after class, he suddenly stopped, his hand reaching out to gently grasp your wrist.

“Hey,” he said, his voice surprisingly soft. “I…I like you.”

You looked up at him, your heart pounding as you searched his eyes for any sign of hesitation. But there was none. Instead, you saw a raw honesty, a vulnerability that he rarely showed to anyone else.

“I like you too,” you replied, your voice barely above a whisper.

He let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding, his hand moving to gently cup your cheek. “Then…can we…try this? Whatever this is?”

You nodded, your cheeks flushed as you smiled up at him. “Yeah. I’d like that.”

And from that moment on, Bakugou Katsuki became a part of your world, his presence a constant source of warmth and strength. Though he was still his usual brash self around others, he was always gentle with you, always careful to keep you safe and happy.

As the weeks passed, the two of you became inseparable, your quiet strength balancing out his fiery temper. And though Katsuki wasn’t one for grand gestures or flowery words, he made it clear in his own way just how much he cared for you.

One evening, as you sat together under the stars, his arm wrapped around your shoulders, he leaned down to press a soft kiss to your forehead, murmuring, “You’re mine, got it? No one else gets to see this side of me but you.”

You smiled, feeling your heart swell with happiness as you snuggled closer to him. “I wouldn’t want it any other way.”

[kiwriteswords]

May I please request “Discussing things that set themselves up to be hurt and trusting that the other won't take advantage of it” with Hotch and a female reader who has issues with trust and intimacy?

Hi!! Thanks so much for requesting a short drabble! I hope you enjoy!

Drabble Prompts | Other Writing | Ao3

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x Fem!Reader!

Word Count: 1k

Rating: Everyone

TW: Canon typical themes, trust issues

A Leap of Trust

The BAU had wrapped up a long, draining case that left everyone emotionally spent. As the team packed up their things to head home, you found yourself lagging behind, lingering in the conference room. You didn’t quite feel ready to leave yet. It was easier to bury yourself in work than to face the quiet of your apartment, the silence that would force you to think—about everything.

You heard the door open behind you. "Y/N," Hotch's deep voice carried through the room, soft and careful. "You okay?"

You turned, managing a small smile. "Yeah, just catching my breath."

Aaron's brow furrowed slightly, a look of concern passing over his features. "This case was hard," he said, stepping closer. "You don't have to hold everything inside, you know. I'm here."

You sighed, knowing that he meant well. But trust, for you, was not something that came easily. It hadn’t for a long time. Your past was full of people who had promised to be there for you and then left when things got complicated, leaving you to pick up the pieces. You weren’t sure how to explain that to Hotch, not without sounding broken.

"I know you're here," you replied softly, eyes on the file in front of you, tracing the edge with your fingertips. "But it's not that simple, Aaron."

He didn’t push you. Hotch had always been patient with you, but you could tell that he was waiting for you to let him in. It wasn’t that you didn’t want to; you did. But that made it scarier. Trusting him meant handing over pieces of yourself that no one had seen in years, and trusting that he wouldn't break them.

He took another step, standing beside you now. His hand rested gently on the back of your chair, not quite touching you, but close enough that you could feel his presence. You could always feel him.

"What is it that's holding you back?" His voice was quiet, understanding. "You don't have to pretend with me, Y/N."

The vulnerability in his words caught you off guard. It was like he knew you were struggling, and not just with the case. You swallowed, feeling the weight of the moment settle between you. If you didn’t say something now, you'd only keep pushing him away. And maybe, just maybe, you were tired of doing that.

You shifted in your seat, finally meeting his eyes. "I'm… I'm scared," you admitted, the words coming out barely above a whisper. "I'm scared of letting someone in, of trusting that they won't hurt me. Every time I’ve trusted someone in the past, they’ve taken advantage of it. And I can't…" You paused, struggling to find the words. "I can’t go through that again."

Hotch's expression softened, and he moved to sit beside you, his eyes never leaving yours. "I understand why you would feel that way," he said, his voice steady, grounding. "And I won’t pretend to know everything you've been through. But what I can tell you is that trust is never a guarantee that things won’t hurt. It’s a leap of faith."

You felt your chest tighten at the thought. "But what if I get hurt again?"

"Then you tell me," he said, his voice laced with sincerity. "And I promise you, I will never take advantage of that trust. I’ve seen what it looks like when people use that against others, and I won't let that happen to you. Not with me."

His words made you feel seen, really seen. And for a moment, you let yourself imagine what it would be like to believe him, to believe that he wouldn't hurt you. It was terrifying, and yet something inside you whispered that maybe, just maybe, he was different.

"I want to believe you," you whispered, your voice barely audible.

"You can," Hotch replied, his hand slowly reaching for yours. He paused, giving you the chance to pull away, but you didn’t. You let his fingers lace with yours, his warmth seeping into your skin. "I know it’s not easy for you. And I know this is a risk. But I’m not going anywhere, Y/N."

You looked down at your joined hands, feeling the weight of his words. It wasn’t just about the physical touch—it was about the trust that came with it. The trust you were giving him, even if it was in small doses.

"I don’t know how to do this," you confessed, your voice trembling slightly. "I've never been good at… trusting people. At letting someone in."

Hotch's thumb brushed gently over the back of your hand. "Then we take it slow. We figure it out together. And if you need space, or if you feel like it's too much, you tell me. We’ll move at your pace."

The way he said it—so calm, so assured—made you feel like maybe you could trust him, that he really wouldn't hurt you. He wasn’t asking for more than you could give, and that meant more to you than he would ever know.

You nodded slowly, taking a deep breath. "Okay," you said, your voice steadying. "Okay, we take it slow."

Hotch smiled then—just a small, barely-there curve of his lips—but it was enough to make your heart skip a beat. He brought your joined hands to his lips, pressing a gentle kiss to your knuckles. "Thank you for trusting me."

For the first time in a long time, you didn’t feel the need to pull away. Instead, you held on just a little tighter, a little longer, feeling his warmth settle into the cracks of your guarded heart.

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