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jinjinxedsoul · 3 days

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When The Sun Loved The Moon - Aegon II Targaryen

CHAPTER 6. UNSPOKEN FEARS

warnings: smut, slight breeding kink, hand job,infidelity (? (Jaella and Harland but mentions of Aegon being with someone else, but they're both fine with it idk middle ages were wild), last scene is not main characters centered but I loved it so I kept it.

A/N: I didn't intend on leaving the smut scene but my bestie insisted so I did. Again, my smut may suck but hey practice makes perfect. Also, yes, I changed the title. Anyways, thank you for reading this I really appreciate it 💕

131 AC

At sixteen, she had yet to find a worthy suitor; in reality, there had been many, but she always found some scandalous flaw that led her to decline their marriage proposals. Rhaenyra didn’t seem too pleased with this, but she remained silent when Daemon reminded her that she had been the same in her youth. The prince was also not very happy with the young and not-so-young men who presented themselves seeking Jaella's hand.

Desperate to find her a good husband, it was decided to organize a grand event to receive the suitors, where they would be evaluated by the princess and the prince to consider the best of their options. Although, without a doubt, Jaella already had her proposal of marriage and made sure that invitations were sent to Prince Aegon and Prince Aemond since both were still single and worthy candidates for her hand. Of course, the princess's interest was solely focused on the elder of the two brothers.

“It seems foolish to me,” the princess commented while her hair was being brushed.

Harland, who had been tasked with bringing news about the event, let out a small laugh.

“I don’t think your mother and Prince Daemon think the same,” he said, shrugging. “It’s an event in your honor; you should be excited. You like these kinds of things.”

“It’s an event to have me chosen as if I were cattle,” she corrected, frowning. Then she waved her hand to signal her maid of honor that she could leave, which the girl did immediately. Once they were alone, Jaella continued speaking. “I don’t need to be chosen. I know what I want.”

“And what is it that you want, princess?” Harland asked, raising an eyebrow and looking at her through the mirror.

Jaella kept her gaze fixed on the mirror, observing her own reflection for a moment before responding.

“Aegon,” she said finally, with a certainty that left no room for doubt.

Harland approached her carefully and took the brush that Jaella’s maid had left, replacing her in the task.

“A knight brushing the princess’s hair?” Jaella asked, allowing him to do it, enjoying the difference that Harland’s less skilled hands made compared to the previous ones.

“Aegon wants you too,” he said, completely ignoring her question. “But until the king and queen accept the marriage proposal, I’m afraid there’s little you can do about it.”

She hummed in agreement, nodding slightly at the boy’s words behind her.

“There has never been a formal proposal,” Harland frowned, looking at her with confusion. “Apparently, my wishes are not that important, and my family has never dared to formally ask for my marriage to Aegon.”

“And... I suppose the princess has a solution for that.”

Jaella smiled widely.

“My mother and Daemon are reluctant to marry me off to him. Perhaps it’s because they don’t trust Aegon as much as I do.”

“Which is quite reasonable,” Harland said, annoyed, earning a light smack from the princess.

“I’m sure Aegon has told his mother more than once that he wants to marry me, but she will never accept it. So, it’s up to me to handle the matter myself.”

“And how do you plan to do that?” he asked, his curiosity palpable.

Jaella turned slightly in the chair to look directly at him, her expression now filled with determination that made Harland’s chest swell with pride.

“I’m going to make my own proposal,” she said firmly. “I won’t wait for others to decide for me. Aegon and I know what we want, and if my mother and Daemon aren’t willing to make it happen, then I will do it myself. I’ll speak with Aegon, and we’ll find a way to present our request in a way that they can’t refuse.”

The young Arryn sighed and nodded gently with a smile, daring to give the princess’s hair a soft stroke, earning a bright smile in return.

“Rest assured, I’ll support you in whatever you need.”

“Perhaps you’ll need to chop off Ser Criston’s head,” she joked, wrinkling her nose.

“Nothing would make me happier,” the slight tension in the room dissipated with the joke. “Is there anything the princess wishes to do today to avoid the fateful destiny of getting involved in the preparations for her engagement celebration?”

“There actually is...” A couple of knocks on the door interrupted her, but instead of bothering her, they made her smile. “Come in.”

“Princess, the ship that will take you to Kingswood is ready.” Decran Stark had entered the room respectfully but relaxed when he saw Harland was there. “Will Lord Arryn be joining us?”

“Of course,” said the silver-haired princess. “When have you ever seen him away from me?”

Harland gave Decran a teasing smile, which the young Stark chose to ignore. During their time at Dragonstone, both young men had developed a closeness with the princess, as one would expect. However, it was clear that there was a noticeable difference in how Jaella treated each of them.

They were frequently seen together in the Conqueror’s Garden or, when the weather was warmer, playing by the sea. They also shared some history lessons and often sat down to read after dinner. It was no secret that the princess enjoyed the company of the two young men more than that of her ladies-in-waiting.

“I suppose he’s never far enough away.”

“I’ll soon be sworn to the princess; it’s what’s expected of me.”

“Well, I could be the one to marry her,” Decran said, smiling smugly at the princess.

Harland let out a chuckle, and Jaella’s cheeks flushed pink. She was accustomed to the meaningless bickering between the two, but she still hadn’t managed to let Decran’s bold remarks affect her. It wasn’t that she was so enamored with him that she considered him a marriage option, but she did like him and was aware that the northern lad had become much more attractive with age.

“If you don’t stop talking about my future marriage, I’ll leave you here, take the boat, and go away for two moons without anyone knowing where I am.”

“Please don’t,” Harland pleaded, visibly distressed. “I like my head where it is.”

“Then let’s go.”

═════𖠁 ═════

The purpose of the trip to Kingswood was to enjoy a day of hunting, but it was well-known that the princess was not very skilled in this discipline, so it meant that she would spend the day playing with Moonfyre while Decran and Harland hunted.

“When do you want to return?” asked Decran, sitting next to her and earning a hiss from the little dragon playing in Jaella’s lap.

The silver-haired princess quickly tried to calm her down.

“Tomorrow. I don’t plan to stay any longer than necessary. I just want to relax before facing the storm,” she replied, shrugging and suddenly turning to confront the northerner. “Do you want to ask me something, Decran?”

“Nothing too serious, princess,” he reassured her with a smile. “My brother, from what I know, is in the capital. I would like to pay him a visit, if it pleases you.”

“I have no objection,” she answered with a reassuring smile. “You’ve already done enough by hunting dinner for us. I’m sure Harland will take good care of me, and there are some guards watching the surroundings. I’ll be fine.”

Decran left the small camp as the sun began to set, and Harland was grateful for it. He really couldn’t tolerate much of the attention the northerner lavished on the princess, finding it desperate, though it was clear that jealousy was fueling his growing disdain for the young man.

It was no secret that the princess favored the young Arryn over the Stark, though many attributed it to the fact that Jaella was closer in age to Harland. The reality was that there was another reason behind the young princess's favoritism.

Since her last visit to King’s Landing, when she had shared the bed with Aegon for four uninterrupted nights, her desire for pleasure had nothing but increased. It had been barely two moons since their return when she found herself fervently needing the prince’s attention again, who was too far away to meet her needs whenever she wished.

Perhaps it was the lack of affection from her uncle that had led her to share the bed with Harland for the first time, but it was not the reason she allowed him to continue visiting her on some nights.

She knew that Aegon was aware of this, but it did not seem to bother the prince that his beloved niece sought to satisfy her desires, even if it was not with him. Aegon appeared to take pleasure in knowing that Jaella was desired by others, that she had the power to attract anyone to her bed. It was as if, in his mind, his sense of possession over her was reinforced by seeing her desired by another, a reminder that, at the end of the day, it was him that Jaella always returned to.

Moreover, over time, Aegon had come to understand the young Arryn, even daring to call him his friend when referring to him. He liked Harland because he did not seek to overshadow him or steal the princess's affections, which were so precious to him. The falcon knew his place and understood that he could never compete with the dragon.

Harland, for his part, knew that his place beside the princess faded with the appearance of the sun in the sky, but this did not trouble him. He loved Jaella and knew that she loved him in her own way, which was enough for him. While he could not have her completely, it was far more than many men could ask for.

“Did you bring the cages?” Jaella asked.

Her face was dimly lit by the torchlight, but Harland could clearly see the smile that spread across her face. The young man nodded and handed over the cages carefully while she tried to catch the small, glowing insects flying around the bushes.

“What do you need these for?” Harland asked, looking at her with curiosity.

“They’re for Princess Helaena,” she replied with a shrug. “The climate on Dragonstone doesn’t support many of these beautiful insects. Jacaerys said that a couple of days ago, two of her fireflies died, so he asked me to bring some.”

Once they had the insects secured, they returned to the makeshift camp they hadn’t strayed far from. They had a bit of bread and warm wine for dinner before going to sleep, making sure to settle Moonfyre in the special cage they had brought for her to sleep in at night.

It wasn’t long before Princess Jaella called Harland urgently. Unable to sleep, the young Arryn assumed she would need his attention, and he wasn’t wrong; the young Velaryon had asked him to kiss her.

The young falcon was quick to obey his princess's wishes and had ended up in her tent that night, ready to do whatever she asked of him.

"No," she had whispered when his hand tried to slip under her dress.

Harland obeyed immediately and a smile took hold of Jaella's lips; in private, the young Arryn was much more submissive than Aegon and although she liked her uncle's possessive attitude, she truly enjoyed the stillness that Harland offered, his willingness to let himself be guided by her desires without insistence or demands.

Jaella was lying on her back between the soft sheets and furs, her legs around the boy's waist and her arms clinging to his neck as he moved on top of her, seeking to relieve the tension in his crotch.

The Velaryon ran one of her hands through Harland's soft brown hair and then caressed his cheek, drawing him towards her to kiss him. A new thrust made her sigh and laugh, taking the opportunity to gently bite the boy's lower lip.

"Calm down" she warned him jokingly "Tell me what you want."

"I need you"he murmured "I want to be inside you"

"You won't" she sentenced, making a pitiful moan leave Harland's lips "But I want to give you pleasure"

Jaella's hand ventured between their bodies, until it reached the brown-haired man's crotch, getting lost under his clothes. Harland trembled pleasantly and the silver-haired girl smiled with satisfaction as she saw the younger man's grimace transform into one of pure pleasure.

The princess gave a light squeeze around his erection, drawing out a small moan that made her own body shudder; her hand began to move up and down his length.

"Princess" he whimpered with his eyes closed.

"That's all you'll get tonight, Harland" she warned him, continuing with the same tortuous rhythm. "Imagine you're inside me if you want it so much."

Harland's hips moved involuntarily, thrusting against Jaella's hand, making the princess's smile widen.

“Again” she said, stopping her movements.

He moved again in an attempt to keep up, his moans becoming more intense as he tried to adjust to the same rhythm as the girl beneath him, his lips parted and she rushed to kiss him almost desperately.

“Keep going” she ordered him mid-kiss, pulling his lip a little harder.

The younger boy's labored breathing prevented him from speaking, but he did his best to make himself understood.

“I can't hold on any longer” he gasped, hiding his face in the curve of the princess's neck, leaving a trail of wet kisses to her lips. “ I need... ”

“ You won't have any more” she reminded him, giving him a light squeeze. “It's not my wish to torture you either, but you won't enter me tonight. ”

His erratic and desperate movements continued for a few more seconds, until Jaella dared to pull his hair with a little more force than necessary, then she approached his ear and shamelessly began to moan, causing him to resume his movements in an attempt to coordinate them with the sweet sounds the princess was uttering.

“I want you to fill me with your seed” she moaned, leaving a languid kiss on his cheek. “Don't you want that?”

“Y-yes” his movements became faster and his brow furrowed for a moment.

Harland's lips parted and formed a perfect circle, a broken moan escaped from his mouth and Jaella felt his warmth empty into her hand. She smiled satisfied and he let his head fall on the princess's chest, with her free hand, she caressed his hair slowly while leaving languid kisses on his temple.

It was rare the time that the princess allowed him to take her; that did not matter to Harland, what he truly treasured were those moments when he could rest at her side while she caressed and kissed him.

“The prince will be upset. So close to King’s Landing... you could have called for him,” he murmured against the skin of her neck, adjusting himself more comfortably with her.

“The prince is already a bit upset,” she said simply. “He’s not too happy about the idea of the event to find me a husband. If I called for him now, he might want to take me away, you know how he is.”

“Impulsive,” Harland muttered. “But I don’t blame him; I’d be the same if I knew they were trying to betroth you to someone else. He’s the most viable option. Doesn’t Viserys see that?”

“The king knows, my mother knows... But I haven’t been able to understand what scares them so much,” she said, gently withdrawing her hand from Harland’s virility.

The brown-haired man hurried to fetch a cotton cloth, then dampened it in the water container within the tent and began to clean the princess's hand with utmost delicacy while she watched him.

“When your mother ascends to the throne, what will happen to her brothers? Don’t you think the queen fears that your mother might remove any obstacle to her claim? She already has Helaena secured; Alicent won't risk losing her eldest son,” Harland said.

“When my mother has a crown, Aegon will have one too,” she replied, looking at him seriously. “I know, I’ve seen it. My mother won’t do anything that could harm her own blood. Helaena is married to my brother and will soon bear him heirs. Aegon…”

“Aegon will fight for you, married or not,” Harland interrupted, finishing the cleaning. “Even a blind person could see that.”

Jaella looked at him. She wished she could be as sure of that, but she knew well the strength of the Hightower poison; she was aware of Otto’s tricks and the queen’s manipulations. She didn’t know how far Aegon had been corrupted by his mother and grandfather.

“And the other two?” Harland questioned, making Jaella look at him with curiosity. “Aemond is very close to his mother, and Daeron… we know nothing about him.”

“There shouldn’t be any problem. They know that my mother is the heir to the Iron Throne. She will have the crown, and no blood will need to be shed for it.”

“If you’ve seen it, then I believe you,” Harland reassured her, brushing his hand through her silver strands of hair. She was about to say more, but he interrupted her. “And we’ll do everything we can to ensure that your marriage proposal to Aegon is finally considered.”

The young princess smiled, satisfied. She liked having someone on her side.

═════𖠁 ═════

The hot water relaxed her aching body. That morning, she had decided to train as well and had pushed herself harder than usual. Her effort paid off, as she managed to defeat Jacaerys in two of their many sparring matches, a feat that Sir Erryk praised enthusiastically. She still hadn’t managed to beat Harland, but she knew it would take many more moons of extensive training.

She could feel the stiffness in her joints and saw some purplish and greenish bruises along her arms as the maidservants scrubbed her body. She grimaced in displeasure, knowing she wouldn't be able to wear the sleeveless dresses that Aegon liked.

“Princess, you need to come out now. The guests will start arriving soon, and your mother expects you to be ready to receive them.”

She really didn’t want to go. The only thing motivating her was the chance that Aegon would be there, and this time she wouldn’t accept a refusal. It was probably her last chance to make a move, so she had to seize it.

“Prince Daemon said that if you didn’t come down soon, he’d come get you himself.”

Jaella rolled her eyes in amusement and nodded slowly, submerging herself in the water one last time before abandoning it for the rest of the day and facing her duties.

“Prince Daemon is aware that bursting into the chambers of an improperly dressed princess could cost him his head. He wouldn’t do such a thing.”

“Don’t test me,” she heard the mocking voice of her stepfather from the other side of the door.

“Get out of here!” she exclaimed.

She heard him laugh, followed by the sound of retreating footsteps. With a heavy sigh, she shook her head and had no choice but to get out of the water. The maidservants dried her off and applied ointments to the areas most affected by bruises, grateful that the prince’s brother always avoided hitting her face. They then scented her with aromatic oils from Lys, a gift from Daemon on her name day.

That day, Jaella had chosen a beautiful blue dress with white sleeves adorned with small pearls at the cuffs. A lovely golden embroidery extended from the bust to the waist, interspersed with pearls of various sizes.

Her hair was half-up in intricate braids decorating the back of her head, while the rest fell freely down her back, almost touching her waist.

She looked beautiful. More beautiful than on any other day, and she knew exactly why, but decided not to dwell on it and instead focus on her plan.

When she was fully ready, she finally left her room and found Harland waiting for her right outside the door. The young Arryn gave a small bow of his head as a greeting, and she flashed him a brief smile, nervously playing with her fingers.

“You look especially radiant today, Princess.”

“Thank you,” she smiled again, this time with a broader and more lasting grin. “Your mother asked me to escort you to the hall. She threatened to cut off my finger if you tried to sneak away, so please, behave.”

“Don’t worry, your fingers will be safe. I’m not planning to run today,” she said with a tone of boredom, prompting Harland to roll his eyes. “The sooner we start this, the sooner we’ll be done.”

And although Jaella wanted to believe that would be the case, the reality was that it took her over half a day to attend to the suitors who had arrived that morning, and none of them had met with her approval, let alone her mother’s. Not to mention Daemon, who had laughed in the faces of two or three elderly men who had dared to ask for Jaella’s hand.

“Can we leave? I’m hungry,” Jaella complained, glancing at her mother. Before the princess could respond, the doors of the hall opened once more, causing Jaella to roll her eyes in exhaustion.

“Princes Aegon and Aemond Targaryen,” was announced, and the mere mention of their names made Jaella’s face light up. “And Their Majesties, King Viserys Targaryen and Queen Alicent Hightower.”

The deterioration in her grandfather’s health was evident. The man could barely walk on his own, his skin looked even more pallid than the last time she had seen him, his hair had become much thinner, and the skin on his face appeared quite damaged. However, Viserys wore a radiant smile that only grew wider when his eyes landed on his eldest daughter.

Jaella felt a lump in her throat. Seeing her grandfather in such a state reminded her of how fragile time was, and instead of diminishing her desire to make a proposal, it only fueled her determination. She knew that if she married Aegon before her grandfather passed away, her mother would have a better chance of ascending the throne without any objections from the queen.

Rhaenyra almost ran to her father with a beaming smile, like a child returning home after a long time. Daemon followed closely and also greeted his brother warmly.

Aemond approached Jaella first, giving her a smile before taking her hand and kissing it as a greeting.

“It’s a pleasure to see you again, Uncle,” she said with a broad smile.

“Likewise,” he replied.

Aegon skipped the formalities as usual and leaned forward to plant a kiss on Jaella’s cheek, gently holding her face with one of his hands and also caressing the opposite cheek. Alicent made a face of disapproval but remained silent, as usual, seeming to be the only one displeased with the situation.

“I didn’t expect Your Majesties to accept the invitation to my daughter’s suitor search,” Rhaenyra said, drawing attention to herself.

“We didn’t come to present a proposal, Princess,” Alicent immediately replied, and Jaella had to restrain herself from lashing out. “But your father was very insistent on meeting the candidates.”

“The candidates who presented themselves today were not what we had hoped for,” Rhaenyra said, not looking at Alicent but directing her words to her father. “But I am confident that Princess Jaella will find a suitor to her liking.”

“It is an important event, without a doubt,” Viserys commented finally, his voice faltering. “Princess Jaella has much ahead of her. I’m sure she will find… what she is looking for.”

"And we’re here now," Aegon interrupted, earning a disapproving look from his mother. "Who better than the king to oversee my dear niece’s betrothal, wouldn’t you agree?"

Daemon let out a laugh that only further irritated the queen. Rhaenyra shot him a warning glance, while Viserys smiled and nodded towards his son, approving of his words.

"We were about to serve the meal; the journey must have been tiring," Rhaenyra said, trying to ease the tension while signaling the servants to prepare.

Alicent, still frowning, adjusted the folds of her dress, clearly uncomfortable with the atmosphere Aegon had created. "We appreciate your hospitality, Princess," she replied formally, her tone distant.

As everyone headed towards the dining hall, Aegon and Jaella lagged a few steps behind. The prince clasped his hands behind his back and walked alongside his niece with a smile.

"I didn’t think you would come," Jaella said.

"We weren’t going to," Aegon replied. "Aemond and I had to work on Dad’s head to get him to take action and let us come."

The princess let out a giggle and shook her head. "How charming," she said, still laughing.

"Well, I had to prevent you from being married off to the first lord who walked through the doors," he shrugged.

"I avoided being married off to the first lord who crossed the threshold," she grimaced. "It was dreadful, to say the least."

Aegon focused ahead and, seeing his family disappear down the hallway leading to the dining room, he stopped. He wrapped his arm around Jaella’s and pulled her close until she bumped into his chest. His hold softened once he had her in his arms; one hand rested on her waist while the other cradled her face, bringing it closer to his for a quick kiss on her cheek.

"I’m not going to let you marry anyone else, alright?" he whispered near her lips. "I’m going to—"

"I’ll make a marriage proposal to the king," she interrupted. He looked at her, confused.

"Your mother won’t let you," she continued. "She won’t, and for some reason, neither has my grandfather. So, I’ll ask him myself."

The prince smiled and nodded softly, still caressing the younger woman’s face.

"You have to be my wife, Jaella," he said seriously, looking into her eyes. "We can't delay it any longer; I've rejected every woman my mother has brought to the Red Keep."

"She must be very upset."

"She and a few families," he said dismissively. Jaella looked at him, surprised, and though she was curious, she didn’t dare ask about the terrible fates some of those women might have suffered. "It's nothing you need to worry about."

She nodded, trusting him as she always did.

"I'll talk to my grandfather tonight... You should talk to him too."

"Yes, I'm sure the plea of two spoiled children will make him see reason," he joked, drawing a laugh from her. Aegon's expression turned serious. "I’ll talk to him, I promise."

"Now let's go to the dining room or your mother will go crazy," Jaella said, trying to pull away.

Aegon held her in place, and Jaella frowned, but her expression softened when she noticed the way he was looking at her.

"It’s been over a year; my bed has been lonely," he murmured, brushing his thumb over Jaella’s lips. "Aren’t you going to grant your future husband a kiss?"

Jaella smiled and felt her heart race as he leaned in, their lips meeting in a kiss that, though brief, was charged with the desire they had both kept at bay all this time.

"It’s impossible for me to believe you’ve been alone all this time," she said when they parted.

"My bed has been lonely," he corrected her, making her roll her eyes. "I didn’t think it was right for another woman to be there after you," he whispered, still caressing her face.

"Keep it that way," she said as a threat, but Aegon just smiled and placed a fleeting kiss on her lips.

"As the princess commands."

═════𖠁 ═════

Helaena was undoubtedly an enigmatic person. Even during the years she had spent in King’s Landing, her own mother had never fully understood her, which made her feel isolated even when surrounded by attention. However, things were different in Dragonstone. Although not many understood her riddles and the visions that appeared in her dreams, she received much more patience and understanding from her husband and her half-sister than from the family she had left behind in the Red Keep. Jaella and Rhaena were also good company for her, and she enjoyed spending afternoons playing with the little ones, especially Joffrey, who loved listening to her talk about insects for long periods.

She felt at peace, but now that her mother had arrived, she couldn’t help but feel a certain anxiety. Alicent had once told her that one day she would come to retrieve her, and she feared that this might be the case. The queen constantly spoke of how Rhaenyra would put their heads on spikes to claim the throne. As a child, Helaena had been terrified. When she was betrothed to Jacaerys, she thought it wasn’t so bad because she adored the young prince, but her mother never ceased to instill fear in her, saying that bastards were inherently bad and that marrying Jacaerys would bring her suffering day and night.

Later, Harland Arryn had secretly delivered the first letter Jacaerys had written to her. In it, the prince expressed interest in getting to know her and allowing her to know him as well, showing her a side of himself that starkly contrasted with her mother’s gossip. When they married, it became abundantly clear to Helaena that everything her mother had said was vile lies—not just about Jacaerys but about Rhaenyra. Especially about Rhaenyra.

Her half-sister had done nothing but protect and care for her, just as she did with Jaella. It was clear that Rhaenyra was made to be a mother of sons, but she had a special affection for the young women in her family. The princess was extremely loving toward her, Jaella, and Rhaena.

Helaena didn’t want to leave Dragonstone, didn’t want to return to King’s Landing, and certainly didn’t want to go back to her mother.

It was Helaena’s custom to take a bath before bed; it helped her relax. And it was Jacaerys’ custom to brush his wife’s hair before they slept, as not even the maids were allowed to touch her hair, so they had had to teach the prince how to manage the task of styling the young princess’s hair.

“Is everything alright?” Jacaerys asked, watching her through the mirror. “Did something happen with your beetles this morning? I saw you looking at them the longest”

Helaena shook her head without looking up at him. She seemed nervous, evident in the way she was torturing her own fingers, peeling the skin at the edges. Jacaerys frowned; she only did that when she was worried, something that hadn’t been common since they had been at Dragonstone.

“I don’t want to leave,” she whispered, still staring down at her lap.

Jacaerys paused his task, setting the brush aside. Moving slowly so as not to startle his wife, he carefully circled around her and extended his hand, waiting for her to take it. He always waited for her to touch him first.

Helaena hesitated for a few seconds but then placed her hand on the prince's and dared to lift her gaze.

"Where, my wife?" he asked gently. "You don't have to go anywhere if you don't want to. Your place is here with me. Where do you fear going?"

"She will want to take me," Helaena said, clinging to her husband's arm, her eyes filling with tears.

"Alicent?" His frown deepened, and Helaena nodded. "She won't take you. I promise."

Almost as if Jacaerys’ words were being challenged, there was a knock on the door, announcing the late-night visit of Queen Alicent. Helaena’s grip on Velaryon’s hand tightened, and her eyes widened in fear. He gently stroked her hand, trying to reassure her that everything would be fine, knowing well that the queen's demeanor would not be hostile, at least not at that moment.

"Your Grace," the dark-haired prince greeted, offering a slight bow of his head. "To what do we owe your visit at this hour?"

"I wanted to speak with my daughter, as we didn’t have the chance to during dinner."

Jacaerys nodded, his lips forming a thin line meant to resemble a smile. Helaena’s gaze pleaded for him to stay, and he considered it for a moment but ultimately decided that it was best to give them privacy

"Very well," the prince said, more to his wife than as a response to the queen. "I won’t go far; I’ll be right outside if you need me."

Helaena gave a soft nod, and when Jacaerys let go of her hand, she quickly reached out to stop him, making a silent request he immediately understood. He leaned in and kissed her forehead, a gesture that seemed to calm her, as if that simple act had given her the strength she needed at that moment.

"My sweet daughter," Alicent whispered as she approached, wrapping her in an embrace that Helaena reluctantly accepted. She didn’t enjoy her mother’s effusive hugs. "How have you been? You've replied to so few of my letters, I feared it was the bastard hiding them from you."

The princess grimaced in displeasure.

"Don’t call him that," she whispered. "We don’t use that word here."

Alicent looked at her as if hurt by her words, but Helaena didn’t meet her eyes, so the pained expression on her mother’s face went entirely unnoticed by the young princess.

"I promise you’ll soon be home again. We’ll crown Aegon, and you won’t have to stay here any longer. He’ll annul the marriage, and you’ll be able to—"

"I am at peace here," she finally said, mustering the courage to look at her mother.

She wished she hadn’t. She regretted it immediately upon seeing how Alicent’s face twisted into one of displeasure. It was the same look she gave all her children, especially Aegon. Helaena didn’t like it.

"Peace... among traitors," Alicent said in a low voice, shaking her head in disbelief. "You cannot trust them, Helaena. They have filled your head with lies. Rhaenyra will..."

"I have seen the dragons dance in the dark if they are not allowed to intertwine their wings," Helaena spat the words with bitterness. "You will make the dragons dance."

The queen swallowed hard, unable to hide the fear that always gripped her when her daughter spoke this way. She did not understand her and did not want to, but Helaena’s words always lingered, haunting her mind.

"My love, I..."

Alicent reached out, trying to grasp her daughter’s arm once more, but Helaena pulled away again.

"You do not hear them, but I do," Helaena murmured, her voice a mere whisper. "The dragons are restless..."

"Helaena," Alicent tried again, her tone firmer, "this is for your own good. Everything I do is to protect you."

But the princess did not respond. She simply turned her face toward the window, gazing at the horizon beyond Dragonstone, as if there, in the distance, lay the future she so feared.

#fanfic #aegon ii fanfic #aegon ii targaryen #hotd #fanfiction #hotd aegon #hotd fanfic #oc #hotd fandom #ao3 fanfic

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ashthewaterghoul · 15 hours

Text

Are You Really Okay? - A DewTom One Shot

They tried to lean forwards for another kiss, sliding forward off the bed to straddle Dew. “No, Phantom. I called red.” Dew said while wriggling out from under Phantom. The hurt in Phantom’s eyes carved a hole in Dew’s chest. “You’re always so good for me, my perfect girl.” He cupped their tear and snot striped face in his hands, “But I’m not comfortable doing anything right now. Not until you tell me what the problem is.” “It’s not me who has a fucking problem!” Phantom blurted out, practically shouting it and they both froze. Phantom never raised their voice. Or, What Dew and Phantom thought was going to be their average hotel night whilst on tour, turns into a much needed conversation neither will soon forget.

Words: 1462

Rating: Mature (it does start off spicy)

Tags: Hurt/comfort, angst, self-harm (discussed not shown), starts spicy but leads elsewhere, safeword use, they/them Phantom, confrontations, Phantom wears a dress and also gets called a 'good girl', grief/mourning, Dew and Phantom need hugs, scars.

A/n: Both Dew and Phantom's anatomies are left ambiguous here because ultimately, it doesn't matter. It can be whatever you want! Mind the tags and enjoy!

Title taken from 'Are You Really Okay?' by Sleep Token. I would say it does sort of set the vibe for the story as well.

~~~

Dew didn’t know what city they were in, and his brain was too fuzzy to remember how Papa had addressed the crowd just hours before. It was their day off tomorrow, so they were in a hotel tonight. The pack had been out clubbing, and after many intoxicating substances, they all split off to make the most of the space and privacy that a hotel afforded but a tour bus did not.

Dew had been staring at Phantom all day. From the moment he noticed them wearing one of Rory’s crop tops to soundcheck, their lovely little curves as they warmed up and seeing that nimble body on stage. When they all showered and changed for their night out, Dew nearly went weak in the knees when he saw Phantom in a tight little black dress that started just under their armpits and ended just below their butt.

So, Dew didn’t know what city he was in, and he didn’t care. All he cared about was that Phantom was finally under him in the hotel room.

Both still fully clothed and hands flying all over each other’s bodies. Their lips were melding together in a filthy kiss that was more fang and tongue than anything, Phantom desperately gripping handfuls of Dew’s black dress shirt which he had purposefully left rather open the whole night, his tattoos and piercings on display for all to see and it had achieved its goal of driving Phantom mad.

“Calm down, Bug, I’m not going anywhere.” Dew chuckled against Phantom’s lips.

Phantom whined, “Please. Need you.” they said, untucking Dew’s shirt out of his waistband and trying to undo what few buttons he did actually fasten.

“I’ve got you, baby. Gonna take good care of you, yeah?” Dew said, moving to kiss down Phantom’s neck and purposefully focusing on a spot in the junction of their neck and shoulder, intent on leaving a mark there.

When Phantom had finished with the final button, Dew helped get the shirt off his shoulders and thrown in a heap on the floor. He pulled back a moment to start working on his belt, and Phantom’s legs wrapped tight around his waist.

“No, don’t leave me.”

Dew saw a certain desperation in Phantom’s eyes that he usually only saw when they had been going for a while or doing more intense scenes, and this was neither.

Read below the cut or on ao3

“Phantom.” Dew threw his belt to the floor and cupped one side of their jaw in his calloused palm, “Are you okay? What’s your colour, Bat?”

“Green, so fucking green. Please, need you.” Phantom said immediately.

“You’ll tell me if that changes, yeah?” Dew asked, face fully serious, no amount of anything would ever stop Dew from making sure they were comfortable.

“Yes, now please-“ Phantom cut themself off by launching their mouth back against Dew’s causing him to chuckle low in his throat.

Dew rolled up what little of Phantom’s dress covered of their lower half, providing a more direct point of contact for the two. Phantom started panting and squirming against Dew, making his own interest pique. Phantom was also letting delicious little moans and whimpers fall out and Dew swallowed as many as he could. He put a hand on each side of Phantom’s torso and bracketed them in. Phantom’s hands went to each of Dew’s forearms and they kept letting little whines fall out as their claws skirted across the uneven skin.

“So fucking gorgeous. All for me.” Dew said.

“Yours, all yours.” Phantom affirmed, their feet kicking at Dew’s waistband to get it to budge.

“Be patient, Bat. I’ve waited all day for this, we don’t want it to be over too quick do we?”

“Fuck, please! Need you. Don’t ever want to go a second without you, I can’t. Please!” Phantom said, tears starting to bead on their lashes.

Dew’s eyebrows furrowed at the sight, knowing something was wrong, but Phantom’s deft fingers were already fussing with Dew’s button and zipper, pushing right against where he’d been burning for them all day.

“Bug-“

“Shut up, please. Want- need you. Dewy, please.” Phantom was practically sobbing. And Dew sobered immediately, anxiety churning deep in his stomach and smothering the flames that had been steadily growing all day.

“No. Bug, no. I’m calling red.”

Dew backed away enough so his core was out of Phantom’s reach.

“No! Dew, please. I need you so bad.” They were sobbing now.

“Not when you’re like this.” Dew said, grabbing Phantom’s hands and bringing them to sit up on the edge of the bed, fixing the short dress back down and cover up what little it could. He knelt down on the floor before them, “Something’s up with you, what is it?”

“Nothing, I promise!” Well that wasn’t convincing at all, “I’m just horny, I just need you, please! Wanna be good for you, wanna be your good girl.”

They tried to lean forwards for another kiss, sliding forward off the bed to straddle Dew.

“No, Phantom. I called red.” Dew said while wriggling out from under Phantom.

The hurt in Phantom’s eyes carved a hole in Dew’s chest.

“You’re always so good for me, my perfect girl.” He cupped their tear and snot striped face in his hands, “But I’m not comfortable doing anything right now. Not until you tell me what the problem is.”

“It’s not me who has a fucking problem!” Phantom blurted out, practically shouting it and they both froze. Phantom never raised their voice.

“Wh- what do you mean?” Dew asked, his hands dropping from their face.

Phantom took a deep breath, steadying their voice against their tears, “We’ve all noticed. It feels like we’re watching you wither away. I can’t lose you.” They rambled.

Dew’s mind immediately understood. He wasn’t exactly making any effort to hide it, but he was hoping no one would notice.

“I can’t help it.” Dew said, backing away in shame as his arms wrapped around his own torso.

“So let us help. Don’t leave us, please.” Phantom begged, crawling over to be face to face with Dew and taking his hand, holding it tight to their chest and putting all his fresh little scars on full display.

“I’m sorry, it’s the only thing that feels right. It’s the only pain I can control.”

Dew’s soul had been in a torrent of hurt since Aether was forced back to Hell, and it had taken a long time for Dew to even accept simply living in the same space as Phantom. But he had gotten over it and gotten better. Or so he thought. It was about a month into the tour when Dew got off stage and instinctively searched for Aether. And in a terribly glorious moment where he completely forgot, he panicked and spiralled thinking that something had happened to Aether, terrified that he couldn’t see his mate. Of course something had happened, it was just months prior.

Since then, Dew had fallen back into his habit of self-harming. He didn’t really know what the goal was, if he wanted to live on, if he just wanted some pain to remind him he was alive. It was just the only thing he could think of doing to fill the void that Aether had left.

“You can’t leave us. You can’t leave me.” Phantom said, “I finally have you, you’re in my very soul. I won’t loose you.”

Dew choked on his tongue as he felt the unbridled emotions filling the shitty little hotel room in who-fucking-knows-where.

“Please, Dew.” Phantom begged, “Stop hurting yourself. It’s hurting all of us too.”

And if that didn’t cut deeper then any blade Dew had put to his skin.

“Bat, I-“

“We all love you.” Phantom said, before putting a gentle kiss to one of Dew’s new scars, “We’re all here for you.” Another kiss, “Just let us help you.” Another kiss.

Phantom went along Dew’s arms and torso and kissed each and every mark, laving it with the love Dew hadn’t shown himself for a while.

“I’m sorry, Bat. I’m so sorry.” Dew said, pulling Phantom in for a bone crushing hug that they returned. It felt as though they thought he would fade away at any moment, and that just made Dew hold on tighter.

“I’ll try, I promise. I’m sorry.” Dew repeated like a mantra.

“We all love you so much, Dewy. I love you so much.” Phantom cried, kissing whatever they could reach without loosening their hold, “Please never forget that.”

“I’ll try, I promise I’ll try.” Dew swore.

And he meant it. With all his heart, with all the love he had for his pack, current and lost, he meant it. He could only hope he wouldn’t be too weak to let everyone down.

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sassmill · 2 months

Text

*rocking back and forth in the dark anticipating salary renegotiation* you have leverage you have leverage you have leverage

#I’m really doing three completely separate jobs as one person #and they would not be able to replace me at what they’re currently paying me if they rewrote the description #based on all of the responsibilities that have fallen on me over the past two years #I’m a manager and scriptwriter and acting coach and hiring team and scheduling coordinator #and group sales coordinator and costume designer and historical dressmaker #and corset maker and mediator and now fucking apparently a curator since they’re asking us to write exhibit material #even though that’s literally not our department #AND sales associate AND all around customer service guru #oh AND intern supervisor???#I’m full time salaried admin making less than 45k in the state capitol #where the cost of living is quite frankly disgusting #I’m going to ask for a title change and a raise #museum musings

0 notes

sailortongue · 2 months

Text

Lima Bean

pairing: kenji sato x reader

summary: kenji makes his intentions clear and a certain reporter is a little too committed to his job

an: ik the title is kinda dumb but bear with me i have an idea (title is still subject to change if the idea falls through). also tags are being kind of silly and I don't know how to get them to act right so if you asked to be tagged but didn't get notified I swear I tried 😭

wc: 2k

navi | prev | series mlist

--------

“I’m pregnant.”

Those two words changed Kenji’s entire demeanor in seconds. His face dropped and his jaw hung open in complete disbelief. “. . . Are you sure?” He asked.

“Positive test, missed period, morning sickness,” you listed off. “I’m going to make an OBGYN appointment anyway just to be 100% sure, but so far yeah I’m pretty sure.”

“Ah,” was all he could say in response, his mind both blank and racing at the same time. Had he really not used protection? Was he that drunk? He tried to think back to that night, but all he could seem to remember was a flash of you under him and his lips on your neck. His face immediately flushed scarlet.

“Are you angry?” You asked, noticing the rapid shift in his complexion.

He rushed to deny your assumption. “No! No, nothing like that. I'm just . . . not sure what to make of this.”

“I know how you feel,” you said wryly. “Just thought you should know, I guess.” You shrugged your shoulders, feeling almost hollow inside with the knowledge that your life was about to undergo a drastic change.

“I appreciate it, thank you. If you don’t mind, uh,” he hesitated, searching for the right words. “I'd like to be present. To be a father.” He thought back to when he took care of Emi and how much he came to love her. He was confident in his ability to take care of his own biological child, even if these weren’t the circumstances in which he imagined he’d have one.

You looked at him as if you were meeting him for the very first time, entirely taken aback by his willingness to step up. Truthfully you'd expected him to deny any responsibility, but there he was, asking to raise the baby alongside you—to step up to the metaphorical plate and be a dad. “Really? And you’re not going to leave at the first inconvenience?”

“No. You have my word on that.” His expression was one of utmost sincerity. “I want to be a dad. Granted, this isn’t how I expected it,” he laughed awkwardly, “but it’s how it happened, and I won't run away from it.”

You gave him a soft smile. “I'll be honest, I didn't expect you to be so noble.”

“Thought I’d tell you to get rid of it or just throw a check at you to never contact me again? I understand the concern, but I want to be there every step of the way.”

“Then, would you like to come with me for my appointment? I haven’t scheduled it yet but . . .” you trailed off, realizing you were asking a very busy man to take time out of his day to accompany you to a doctor's appointment. “Unless of course you’re busy or don’t want to,” you added quickly.

He laughed at how flustered you’d gotten. “I'll be there. No matter the weather, practice, or a game, I will be there. That’s my kid you’ve got in there after all,” he said with a broad grin on his face as he pointed to your abdomen. “And that takes priority over everything else.”

“Wow. You’re smitten with something that’s probably the size of a lima bean right now,” you teased.

“Woah now, that’s our lima bean and I’m going to be the best dad a bean could wish for,” he asserted, imagining teaching his future son or daughter to play baseball with him or helping with homework, even what it would be like to do his daughter’s hair, or perhaps teaching his son how to tie a tie.

He was snapped from his thoughts when you slid your phone towards him from across the table, the screen displaying a new contact. “If we're going to be coparenting we should have each other's numbers.”

He picked up the device to input his number and then checked his own phone. He showed you the screen, a message from your own number displayed there.

It was only when he handed your phone back to you that you noticed how late it had already become. “Oh wow, I didn’t realize the time. I didn't mean to keep you so late,” you apologized.

“No no, it’s fine. I'm glad you, or, Ami, I guess, insisted we have this conversation in person. Think if I had been told over text I’d still be sitting on the couch reading it over and over again,” he laughed.

“That was how I felt looking at the test. It didn’t feel real.” You had a smile that mirrored his own, and you couldn’t believe how fortunate you were that Kenji wasn’t the douche you expected he’d be when he found out. Quite the opposite, to your pleasant surprise.

“Do you need a ride back home?” He asked earnestly, not quite ready to say bye. After all, you hadn’t allowed him the chance the last time you had met.

You shook your head as you stood from the table. “No, I drove here, but thanks anyway. I guess I'll keep in touch?”

He hummed in affirmation, standing from his chair, his impressive height towering over you. He gestured for you to walk first, following close behind you, his hand lightly pressed to your lower back as he walked with you to your car. While the two of you were wishing each other good night, another patron of the cafe was typing furiously into his phone, notifying his boss that he had just overheard the sport's world's juiciest scandal in months.

-❀-

The first thing you did the following day was schedule an appointment with an obstetrician. There had been a recent cancellation so you were able to get a slot in just a few days. You sent Kenji a text to notify him when and where, a small part of you looking forward to seeing him again. He responded quickly, saying he would definitely be there.

When the day came, he called you to ask if you wanted to go together, rather than take two cars. You agreed and told him your address, choosing to wait for him inside due to the biting cold of December. When you heard a car pull up, you exited your home, and it took all of your willpower not to gawk at his car, which was probably worth more than your entire house. You saw the driver's door begin to open, and he stepped out, breathtakingly handsome as usual. He pushed his sunglasses on top of his head and waved, greeting you with a jovial “Morning!”

“Good morning, Kenji,” you returned, a smile gracing your features.

As you approached the car, he slid back into the driver's seat and looked over at you, taking in the sight of the mother of his future child. He'd lain awake all night, playing with the idea over and over in his mind. He was really going to be a dad. How different could it be to raise a human baby if he’d already done so with a 20-foot-tall kaiju baby?

You noticed his gaze in your peripheral vision, but as you turned to look at him he snapped his attention forward and made himself busy with inputting the name of the doctor’s office you’d given him into the GPS.

The ride was filled with pleasant small talk, asking each other how you had been since last time, basically avoiding the elephant in the room and talking about everything except the new life between you. After parking, he made sure to open the door to the office for you and entered after you, a rush of cold air enveloping you as you approached the front desk. You confirmed your appointment with the receptionist, and she directed the two of you to sit in the waiting room and told you your name would be called when the doctor was ready.

As you were waiting, you noticed Kenji’s leg bouncing up and down rapidly, showing his nerves despite it not even being his appointment. You took the opportunity that had presented itself and placed your hand atop his knee. He looked over at you, his brown eyes wide and his lips pressed into a thin line. “You can wait in the car if you’d prefer—“

“No!” He all but shouted, refusing to let you believe for even one second that he would run out. “I said I would be here for you and I will,” he said adamantly, placing his hand over yours where it was still on his knee and squeezing tightly, a physical reassurance that we was staying put.

“y/n l/n.” You heard your name called. You and Kenji stood together, his hand not releasing yours. Instead, he rubbed calming circles on the skin as you were escorted into the patient rooms, though you weren’t entirely sure if it was meant to ease his nerves or yours. Either way, it was a sweet gesture.

-❀-

The gel was cold as it was spread across your exposed skin, sending shivers up your spine. A grainy black and white image showed up on the screen, and the doctor pointed to a small grey object depicted on it, surrounded by a sea of black. “This,” she started, “is the fetus.” You looked at the screen in awe before glancing over at Kenji. He was seated in a chair against the wall, his elbows braced on his knees as he leaned forward, his attention rapt on the screen and his lips open in a small “o” shape.

The doctor chuckled at your amazed reactions. “Excited to be parents?” She asked.

You don’t think Kenji even heard her, so you answered. “To be totally honest, this was unexpected, but I think we can make it work. Kenji here made it very clear that he wants to be a dad.”

“That's wonderful to hear. Well, looking at the scan I'd say you’re about 7 weeks along and you can expect to welcome the baby around August 11.

Kenji was practically bubbling as you each took your seats in the car, and he kept stealing glances at your tummy even if you weren’t showing any visible change yet.

-❀-

These past few days of tailing the nation's sweetheart baseball player were so worth it, thought the man sitting in his car while browsing through the photos of Kenji Sato and a woman he’d never been seen with before entering and leaving an OBGYN facility together. Interesting. Very interesting. With those photos there was no denying that Kenji Sato, baseball heartthrob, was a soon-to-be father.

-❀-

Kenji put the car in park in your driveway. You made to get out of the car until he exclaimed “Wait!” You re-situated yourself on the seat, angling yourself towards him. He seemed almost at war with himself, like he wasn’t sure if he wanted to actually say what had prompted him to stop you from leaving. “Would you, uh,” he faltered, chuckling awkwardly. “Would you like to go on a date with me?” He gave you a hopeful look.

Heat flushed across your face and ears, and you beamed at him. “Doing things way out of order aren’t we?” You joked.

He laughed mirthfully as well. “Way out of order,” he agreed. “So, was that a yes? To go out?”

“Yes, that was a yes,” you giggled, finding his eagerness endearingly sweet.

He nodded his head. “Ok. Ok, great. Are you free this Saturday? I'll pick you up?”

“I’ll see you then,” you agreed cheerfully, and, deciding to take another risk since you were doing things all out of order anyway, you leaned over and placed a quick peck against his cheek before hopping out of the car and waving goodbye. He continued to wait in the car until he saw you safely enter your home, his heart threatening to beat out of his chest and his face crimson red, one hand placed lightly against where your lips had touched his skin.

----------

taglist: @mochminnie @lovingyeet @sassy-cat-in-town @hanachiiii @aise-30 @reivelmin @fcheung750 @breaddippedinorangejuice @lunaryasha @imsimping4life @boomboom-tanjiro2019 @f1uveryysblog @random-3455 @b3e-sat0 @retaaaa56 @casualburning

#ken sato x reader #kenji sato x reader #ken sato #kenji sato #ultraman rising #ultraman rising x reader

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saetoru · 1 year

Text

✩ ‧₊˚ ✩。TANGLED — GETO SUGURU.

contents. just suguru needing his hair brushed for him bc he’s def so me and gets mad over the knots lol—alternative title: princess suguru and his frog <3

suguru huffs in front of your mirror—and it’s quite the frustrated huff, too—before he slams the hair brush down.

you raise a brow, “you okay over there?”

“no. ‘s knotted,” he mutters, referring to his hair. there’s a quiet grumbling of something unintelligible under his breath before he glares at himself in the mirror.

suguru loves his hair—anyone would know that just by looking at him. most guys use two-in-one shampoo (like satoru) but suguru? he practically hogs your shower space with all of the products he owns. his hair is well maintained and perfectly neat every time you see him. but sometimes, like now, it’s also a pain to brush once it’s knotted. and, well, he doesn’t handle it very well.

“you’ve been brushing for—” you pretend to check your bare wrist for the time, “—like ten minutes,” you giggle.

“very funny,” he grunts bitterly. and then, more petulantly this time, “i’m cutting it off for real this time.”

“you said that last time,” you remind him, eyes glinting with amusement.

“this time i mean it.”

“no you don’t, sugu.”

“i do,” he insists, glaring at you through the mirror, “it’s getting too long, and i don’t have the time to brush all these damn knots every two hours. so, it’s getting cut.”

“okay,” you nod casually—anyone can tell you don’t believe him.

his expression sours. suguru gets in very bad moods when his hair doesn’t cooperate, it’s evident in the way he flares his nostrils and scowls.

“you still don’t believe me? i’m being serious.”

“okay, baby,” you snort, finally deciding to take matters into your own hands as you rise from your bed and walk over. you stand behind him, reaching around him for the hair brush before gently pulling him back to stand closer. “i’ll get it for you, don’t worry. wouldn’t want your princess hair gone.”

“stop calling it that,” he groans, but the tension leaves his shoulders as soon as you gently brush through his strands, starting at the bottom and working your way up. it’s quiet for a bit—nothing but the soft sound of your humming as you work through the tangles in his long (perfect) hair.

“you could’ve just asked if you wanted me to brush it,” you tease after a few moments, “no need to throw a tantrum.”

“glad to see you’re enjoying this,” he rolls his eyes. and then, when you’ve finished and set the brush down, he turns to face you, wrapping his arms around your waist as his face finds the crook of your neck.

you hum, pecking the side of his head before threading your fingers into his dark locks, stroking through the soft strands and silently marveling at the length.

“you’re so pretty, suguru,” you murmur, “did’ya know that?”

“oh yeah?” he chuckles into your skin, lips curling into a loose smile. his arms tighten around you, pulling you impossibly closer.

“yeah,” you nod, “like a princess. my prettiest princess.”

“i thought i told you to quit with that,” he says exasperatedly—you can feel the heat from his cheeks, and you grin to yourself knowing he’s blushing as he hides his face deeper into your shoulder.

“it’s true,” you insist, “i’m no liar. i’m a truther.”

“debatable,” he mumbles. you smack his shoulder playfully, and he squeezes your hips in response. “aren’t you going to tie it for me too?” he finally asks, and you’re sure there’s a pout curled on those lips of his. you ache to kiss them—and you will, just not right now.

right now, you’ll stay like this a bit longer.

“this is real princess treatment,” you sigh dramatically, “yes your highness. i’ll tie it too.”

“thank you,” he says, thoroughly satisfied. and then, quieter, like it’s a secret only you’re supposed to know, “i love you.”

“i love you too,” you happily murmur, “but that might change if you cut your hair.”

“are you only dating me for my hair?”

“yes,” you snicker playfully, “it’s the main appeal. the princess appeal.”

“you know what,” suguru says thoughtfully, “i’ll be your princess.”

“really?” you gasp in excitement, making him nod into your neck as he presses a delicate kiss to your skin.

“sure,” he grins slyly, “and you can be the frog.”

the moment is officially ruined—and for a second, you think you might just have to cut his hair off in his sleep after that one.

come join me in the most self indulgent drabble once again. also the title being tangled even tho the reference is the princess and the frog is a tad bit funny to me jdjsjd i did giggle i can’t lie

#teepods.writings #drabbles.#geto x reader #geto x y/n #geto x you #geto fluff #jjk x reader #jjk x you #jjk fluff #geto suguru x reader #geto suguru x you #geto suguru fluff #jujutsu kaisen x you #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen fluff

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wannab3-writer · 5 months

Text

Game, Set, Love

ART DONALDSON X READER (18+)

Mature Content Warnings: spoilers if you SQUINT , Forbidden Love, Second-Chance Romance, Age Gap, Mentor and Protégé, cheating ( sorta, not on reader), SMUT, NOT PROOF READ.

WC: 13.2 k

description

After walking away from tennis at the height of his career, Art Donaldson finds himself drawn back into the sport as a favour to an old friend. His new charge, Katrina King, is a talented but emotionally young player navigating the intense pressures of the professional tennis circuit. Art and Katrina's connection deepens as they train for the 2020 US Open but a single night changes everything.

2020 BEVERLLY HILLS CHALLENGER

August 31st, 2020

Art Donaldson sat in the shaded section of the stands, his arms resting casually on the armrests. He'd made it clear to everyone—Tashi and the media—that he was done with tennis. But Martha King, a long-time supporter of his and Tashi's tennis foundation, insisted that he attend, going so far as to cover all his expenses for the weekend so he could attend. Her daughter, Katrina King, was playing her final challenger before qualifying for the US Open, and Martha believed it was something he couldn’t miss.

"It's just one set; I'm not going to sit here and beg you to coach her or anything. Just watch, Art. I think you'll find it worthwhile."

Art nodded slightly, keeping his expression neutral. "I’m here, aren't I?" he said, keeping an aloof facade. He glanced toward the court, where Katrina was preparing to serve and begin the last set. Her movements were fluid and purposeful. He'd heard about her talent and determination, but he wasn't ready to be pulled back into the tennis world.

The game began, and Katrina's serve was powerful, almost explosive. Art watched with mild interest as her opponent, a seasoned French player, struggled to keep up. He watched her body move, head to toe, taking her in. She was tall and lean; her body was nothing less than an athletes that was for sure.

"She's impressive," Art commented, a hint of genuine appreciation in his voice. Katrina’s mother smiled, her perfectly manicured fingers resting on her lap, glancing over towards him.

"She works hard," she replied. "A lot like Tashi used to. I remember watching her play when she was just starting out. She had the same intensity, the same drive."

That had left a bad taste in his mouth.

Art's gaze lingered on Katrina as she moved around the court with confidence and agility. Each shot was precise. He found himself leaning forward slightly, and his interest piqued despite his best efforts to remain indifferent.

Martha noticed the shift in his demeanor and cocked a brow. "It's good to see you out here, Art. I know you didn't want to come, but I'm glad you did," she said, her voice soft yet firm. Art nodded, his eyes fixed on the match.

"I'm just watching; nothing special, really," he replied, unsure if he was convincing himself or her. — Another ace, and the crowd erupted in applause. Art found himself joining in, clapping slowly, though his eyes were locked on Katrina. Something about her—the energy, the focus—reminded him of the early days, the days of fire and ice, Stanford, Wimbledon, and Tashi. It was electric.

As the match progressed, Art's arms uncrossed, and he sat forward, his attention fully on the game. Katrina was dominating, each point building momentum until she reached the match point. The rallies were intense, and the shots were sharp and strategic. With one last ace, Katrina secured the game and title, and her triumphant fist-pump met with a roar from the crowd.

Art stood, clapping with genuine enthusiasm. It had been a long time since he'd felt this kind of excitement watching a match. Martha looked at him, raising an eyebrow, her expression expectant.

"Well?" she asked, her voice warm but with an edge that demanded a response.

Art hesitated only briefly, the words coming out almost involuntarily. "I'll do it," he said, realizing that he meant it. The idea of coaching Katrina suddenly seemed like an opportunity he couldn't pass up.

Martha smiled, giving him a tight-lipped smile. "I knew you'd come around," she said. "Katrina will be thrilled."

Art nodded, his gaze returning to the court where Katrina stood, smiling at the applause. Turning towards the crowd after a few seconds, she found her mother’s gaze, and then — Arts, and she held a fiery look in her eyes, sporting a raised brow and sly smirk for what felt like at least a minute. One thing was sure for Katrina, on August 31st, 2020, the match wasn’t the only thing she had won that day, and maybe, just maybe, tennis had a place for him again.

THE MEETING

Katrina King walked down the narrow corridor backstage, sweaty, hot, and short of breath, the adrenaline from her victory still coursing through her veins. She was basking in her win, her smile broad and confident. But her mother's text just minutes after the game was clear: "Come to the players' lounge. Now."

She pushed open the door and saw her mother sitting at a small table with Art Donaldson. Katrina knew who he was—everyone in tennis knew. A former tennis champion, the US Open winner from a decade earlier.

Art looked up as Katrina entered the room, his eyes scanning her with a mix of curiosity and appraisal. Her long hair was tied back in a tight ponytail, and her eyes sparkled with a mix of intensity and confidence. He noticed the subtle tilt of her chin—she was used to winning, and it showed.

"Katrina," Martha said, gesturing for her to join them. "You remember Art Donaldson, don't you?"

"Of course," Katrina replied, extending her hand. Art stood, his movement deliberate, and shook her hand firmly. His hair was longer than she remembered, resembling his past self, his Stanford days, and recalling his games she'd seen on YouTube. His grip was strong.

"Great game today," Art said, his voice measured. "You played with a lot of confidence. That last ace was a killer."

"Thanks," Katrina replied, a hint of pride in her tone. She could tell he was assessing her and weighing her potential. She didn't mind—she'd done the same with him, reading up on his career and his playing style as soon as she found out he was attending her game. He was known for his

Martha cleared her throat. "But," she said, her tone turning sharp, "there were a few things you need to work on. Your backhand was a bit sloppy today. And you were late on a couple of volleys. If your opponent had been more aggressive, you could've lost points."

Katrina's expression hardened. She knew her mother was right, but the criticism was not something that needed to be said in front of Art; for God sake, she was a 20-year-old woman but felt like she was a child getting scolded in front of her peers, especially after a big win. Art watched the exchange, noting the dynamic between them.

"I'll work on it," Katrina said, her voice steady. "But I got the win, didn't I?"

"You need to be prepared for tougher competition. Complacency is the enemy." Martha replied. “If you think you can win the grand slam playing like that, you’ll be in for a rude awakening, Katrina.”

Art leaned back in his chair, watching the interplay. Katrina definitely had the spark and the drive, but there was also a stubborn streak in her.

So Tashi

When she was younger, she was always pushing boundaries and never satisfied with just a win. He could see the potential for greatness.

"She's got a point," Art said, jumping in. "There's always room for improvement. But you played a solid game today. The key is to keep that momentum going without getting overconfident."

Katrina glanced at him, assessing his words. She appreciated his straightforward approach. He wasn't coddling her, but he also wasn't tearing her down. It was a balance she could respect.

"I'm not planning on slowing down," she said, meeting his gaze. "I want to keep getting better. Whatever it takes."

Art nodded. He liked her attitude. It was raw and unfiltered, just like he had been. But there was also a hint of something else—an edge that could either make or break her career. He'd have to be careful, tread lightly, and guide her without pushing too hard.

"Good," he replied, a faint smile on his lips. "Because coaching isn't just about winning. It's about building a mindset, a work ethic, and knowing when to listen. You up for that?"

Katrina raised an eyebrow, a smirk tugging at the corners of her mouth. “You wouldn’t have agreed to coach me if I wasn’t.”

PRACTICE

Art Donaldson stepped into the grand foyer of the White residence, feeling a slight twinge of unease. The housekeepers greeted him politely, their voices formal and distant, leading him through the opulent hallways.

The backyard was large, with meticulously manicured gardens and a full-sized tennis court at its center. Katrina was on the court, stretching with the fluid grace of a seasoned athlete. Her dark hair was tied back in a ponytail, and in her matching tennis outfit, everything was neatly upheld, even Katrina.

"Hi," she said, her tone somewhat neutral, almost formal. "Ready for practice?"

Art nodded, his expression detached.

Katrina stretched a little longer, glancing at Art occasionally. He stood with his arms crossed, his posture stiff and unwelcoming. The silence between them felt heavy, and neither seemed eager to break it. Katrina was used to coaches being more engaged and enthusiastic, but Art seemed distant, as if he was doing this out of obligation rather than passion.

"Let's get started," he replied, keeping his voice level. He placed his bag on a bench and scanned the court, taking in the pristine surface and the quality equipment. It was clear that the King family spared no expense on Katrina's training facilities.

Art finally spoke, outlining the plan for the day. "We'll start with your serve. There's a lot of power, which is why you can get so many aces in, but you need better footwork if you want to avoid long-term injuries. Then we'll work on your defense, and after that, we'll focus on your shot selection."

Katrina listened with a mix of uncertainty and skepticism. Art Donaldson wasn't the type to mince words, and despite his unbothered demeanor, his comments were sharp and to the point. What puzzled her was how much he seemed to know about her style, despite only seeing her play once.?

Art continued, his voice even and matter-of-fact. "I've reviewed some of your past games, mostly the ones you lost. It's clear you have the raw strength and power, but you rely on them too much. That's great for getting those aces, but without proper technique and precision, you're risking injuries and inconsistency. We need to refine that raw power and give it more structure."

Katrina couldn't help but feel a flicker of irritation. She knew she was strong, and her serve was one of the best on the circuit, but hearing someone dissect her game so quickly was unsettling. This was only their first practice; they hadn’t even started playing yet, but somehow Art already seemed to know her weaknesses better than most of her previous coaches.

Art continued, unaware of her internal resistance. "So, I've created a set of drills that will help improve your footwork and balance. It's not just about hitting the ball hard; it's about control and accuracy. If we don't work on these areas, you're going to burn out before you reach your peak."

Katrina folded her arms, her brow furrowing slightly. She wasn't one to take criticism lightly, especially from someone who'd barely spent time with her. Art had a point—she'd heard similar comments before—but his bluntness felt a bit too forward for her liking. Who was he to tell her she needed refinement after only seeing her play once?

As much as she wanted to dismiss him, she knew, deep down, that he was right. Her strength was a double-edged sword; it gave her an edge, but it also left her vulnerable. She'd suffered minor injuries in the past due to poor technique, and she'd lost matches because of these errors. Art's critique, though harsh, had truth to it.

Art noticed her hesitation and the slight edge in her expression. "I know this might sound a bit blunt," he said, softening his tone slightly. "But I'm not here to sugarcoat things. If you want to make it to the top and stay there, you need to listen and adjust. This isn't about criticism—it's about giving you the best chance to succeed."

Katrina sighed, feeling her resistance wane. Maybe Art was a bit too forward, but he wasn't wrong. He had seen something in her that others hadn't—or maybe he was just willing to point it out where others had stayed silent. She was stubborn, but she wasn't stupid.

"Okay," she said, her voice steady. "Let's give it a shot."

Art nodded, his demeanor slightly less rigid. "Good. Let's start with the footwork drills. I'll show you what I mean."

As they moved onto the court to begin the practice, Katrina felt a cautious sense of optimism. Art was a mystery; she had only met him once before and couldn’t recall him being this cold, but there was something about his straightforwardness that felt refreshing, even if it rubbed her the wrong way at first. Maybe this coaching thing would work out after all—if she could just learn to trust his instincts.

Art watched her for a while, his arms still crossed. He occasionally offered a brief correction, but his tone lacked enthusiasm. "Keep your elbow in on your serve. It'll give you more control," he said without much inflection.

Katrina adjusted her stance and served again, this time with better accuracy. "I got it," she replied, glancing at Art to gauge his reaction. He simply nodded, his face expressionless.

As the practice progressed, the tension between them slowly eased. Art started giving more detailed feedback, explaining why certain techniques were important. Katrina listened intently, realizing that, despite his aloof demeanor, he knew his stuff. His advice was sound, and when she followed it, she could see near-immediate improvement in her game.

"You're not bad at this coaching thing," she remarked, trying to lighten the mood. Art gave a faint smile, the first she'd seen from him. "Just repeating what I've heard a thousand times," he replied.

Katrina tilted her head, curiosity getting the better of her. "Didn't Tashi coach you your whole career? There must have been an adjustment when you two decided to retire, huh?" After those words left her mouth, she knew she had hit a sore spot.

Art's expression changed, the brief smile vanishing. "Yeah, she was." She hadn't meant any harm; really, it was an honest question. Art had a successful career with more than enough titles under his belt, not to mention a prior injury; it only made sense to retire when he did.

His voice grew colder. "Alright, breaks over." He turned away, signaling the end of the conversation.

The rest of the practice was more focused, with Art providing steady guidance and Katrina working hard to apply his advice. As the session drew to a close, Katrina felt a subtle shift in Art's attitude. He seemed a bit more relaxed and engaged in the process.

Before they wrapped up, Katrina decided to ask a question that had been on her mind. "Art, why did you agree to coach me?" she asked, her tone softer, almost hesitant. “No offense, but you didn't seem the most pleased when you got here.” She stopped and laughed. “And I know my mother's paying you well, but I'm sure you do good for yourself on your own.”

Art paused, considering his response. He looked up to the sky in thought, licking his lips only to settle his gaze on her while she rolled out her quads. "When I watched your game, I saw the determination and drive for tennis that I haven't seen in a long time," he said, his voice softer, almost reflective. "Not since Tashi," he added, his eyes distant. The memory of Tashi's knee injury and the end of her career lingered in the air. “It honestly felt like I was watching her for the first time again.”

Katrina nodded, sensing the heaviness in his words. "Thank you," she said quietly. She knew there was more to Art's story, but she also knew it wasn't her place to press further. She got up after her stretch, dusting herself off.

Art nodded, "We'll meet again tomorrow at the same time," he said, his voice returning to its usual calm. Katrina agreed, sensing that this coaching relationship would take time to develop but feeling that they were on the right track. “I think it would be a smart move to sign you up for some challengers; we’ll be able to fully gauge your abilities after a couple of weeks of training and see what we need to adjust.”

AFTER PRACTICE

Katrina stepped out of the shower, the hot water having done little to soothe the tension in her shoulders. The first practice with Art had been intense, and her muscles were starting to feel the strain. Wrapping a towel around herself, she took a deep breath, wondering if she'd made the right choice in agreeing to work with him.

As she got dressed, the scent of dinner wafted through the air, a rich aroma that made her stomach rumble. She hadn't eaten much during the day, and she hoped her mom would let her have something substantial.

Katrina entered the dining room, where her mother was already seated at the head of the table, a glass of wine in hand. The table was set with a carefully arranged selection of dishes, but Katrina noticed the absence of anything remotely indulgent. No desserts, no heavy carbs, just the usual assortment of protein and vegetables.

"Good evening, Mom," Katrina said, forcing a smile as she took a seat. Her mother looked up from her phone, her eyes bright but her expression serious.

"Katrina," Martha replied, her tone even. "How was practice with art?"

Katrina shrugged, picking up a piece of grilled chicken. "It was fine. He's... intense, but I guess that's to be expected from someone like him." She paused, then added, "How did you even get him to come to my match? He's been avoiding tennis for ages."

Martha's smile was tight, the kind that didn't quite reach her eyes. "Art and I have a history; we’ve always been interested in his foundational work. I just reminded him of the impact he could make by coming back, even if it was just for one match. And you know, he doesn't say no to me, not when your father and I are as generous as we are during his charity events."

Katrina raised an eyebrow, sensing the hint of manipulation in her mother's words. "So you used the foundation to guilt him into coming?"

Classic

Martha's eyes narrowed slightly. "It's not guilt, Katrina. It's connections; your father and I do a lot for you and your career. There's a difference.” She paused. “The money we put into the foundations were investments for you; we would have preferred Tashi, sure, but after Art retired, she went off to coach some European girls, so we got the second best.” She was irritated. “Besides, I thought you'd be happy to have a coach like Art. You said yourself you needed someone with real experience."

Katrina sighed, realizing that arguing with her mom was a lost cause. "I guess," she said, taking a cautious bite of the chicken. She glanced at the dessert tray on the far end of the table, spotting a small dish of fruit tarts. Her mouth watered at the sight of them.

Martha followed her gaze and shook her head. "Don't even think about it," she said firmly. "Your dietitian would have a fit. You know you're on a strict regimen."

Katrina rolled her eyes, but she didn't push back. Her mom was relentless when it came to her career, and any deviation from the plan was met with immediate correction. "Yeah, yeah," she muttered, feeling her appetite wane.

“Where’s Jayden and Judea?” Katrina asked only now, noticing her siblings were missing from the dinner table.

“They went out to dinner with the rest of the kids that train with them and coach Pattcheo.”

“mmh.”

After dinner, Katrina retreated to her room, closing the door behind her. She felt a mix of frustration and curiosity. Frustration with her mom's overbearing attitude and curiosity about Art.

She opened her laptop and started searching for Art's social media profiles. His Instagram was sparse, mostly old tennis photos and a few promotional shots, brand deals, and the foundation. Barley has no pictures of his daughter and no recent ones of Tashi. His Facebook was similar, with long gaps between posts. There were articles about his career, but nothing stood out.

"For such a big shot, there’s not much for me to stalk," she muttered to herself, scrolling through the limited content. It was clear that Art wasn't one for the limelight, preferring to keep a low profile. Katrina found herself intrigued.

She searched for videos of his old matches, curious to see him in action. She found a few highlights from his glory days, watching as he moved across the court with precision and grace. It was easy to see why he'd been a champion—his technique was flawless, and his focus was intense.

"Not bad," she said to herself, watching a particularly impressive rally where he had dominated his opponent.

As the night grew darker, Katrina closed her laptop and leaned back in her chair. Art was weird, and she wasn't sure how to feel about him yet. But one thing was clear—he had a depth that she'd have to uncover if she wanted to make the most of his coaching. And maybe, just maybe, he'd be the one to help her reach the next level.

SIX DAYS BEFORE US OPEN

It was six days before the Open, and Art stood at the far end of the court, watching Katrina as she moved through a set of agility drills. The sun was beating down, but Katrina was relentless, her movements swift and precise. As he took her in, he marveled at how good she looked. The thin layer of sweat that covered her form made her glow in the evening light, with her baby hair clinging to her face as she hit ball after ball. He drank in her curves, nearly forgetting what he was actually here for.

Art was calling out instructions, his voice clear but encouraging. Clearly, the past five weeks of training had brought them closer, both in skill and in the ease with which they interacted.

"Remember to keep your weight centered," Art said, pointing toward her feet. "Don't lean too much into the shot; it'll throw off your balance. Other than that, you’re looking good."

Katrina nodded, adjusting her stance. She enjoyed the sound of his voice, especially when he was praising her. It felt genuine, not just a coach’s platitude. She could sense an unspoken tension between them, but she couldn't quite define it. It was there, in the way his eyes lingered a fraction longer than they needed to, in the way he sometimes reached out to correct her form.

"Nice volley," Art said as she expertly returned the ball over the net. "You're really getting the hang of these drills."

"Thanks," Katrina replied, giving him a small smile. "I learned from the best."

Art chuckled, shaking his head. "Flattery won't save you on the court, but it's appreciated." He watched as she moved into position for a backhanded hit, a play that had been a weak point for her. She swung, and the ball clipped the net.

Maybe she was just tired, or maybe he just looked too good; either way, she was distracted. How was she supposed to focus when he was standing with his broad shoulders and arms crossed and that damn backwards Sandford snapback observing like a hawk? She understood that’s his job; he’s quite literally getting paid to be here. Something was different though; the look he gave her five weeks ago, shit even two weeks ago, was nothing near the way he looks at her now.

“Stop.” He says, and she halts her hit.

Art moved closer, taking a pause, before walking behind her, closing the distance between them. "Here, let me show you," he said, reaching around her to correct her grip on the racket. His breath was warm on her neck, and Katrina tensed, feeling a heat that wasn't from the sun. His touch was gentle but firm, guiding her into the proper position.

"Like this," Art said, stepping back slightly but still close enough to feel his presence. "Keep your elbow straight and your wrist firm."

Katrina nodded, swallowing the lump in her throat. She took a deep breath and swung again, this time clearing the net with ease.

“There we go, atta girl.” He whispered while cracking a smile.

She felt hot, oh god, and it definitely wasn’t the sun. How could he say that so casually? She didn’t have to just deal with the fact that she’s now all hot and bothered, but also the guilty embarrassment of realizing she has a fat crush on her 30-sum-year-old tennis coach, who just happens to be a husband and father.

Right

Pulling away, she changes the subject, considering he’s been silent for the past minute and a half. "How's your daughter doing? And Tashi?" She felt the atmosphere shift as Art cleared his throat, stepping back.

"Lily's doing well," he replied, his voice controlled. "She's on tour with Tashi, who's coaching her for the season." He left it at that, his eyes avoiding hers as he focused on the court. "Keep hitting the ball with that form," he added, his tone all business now.

Art adjusted his pants, his expression tight, and turned to leave. "I'll be right back," he said. "I just need to run to the bathroom."

Katrina watched him go, her heart still racing from the moment he'd been so close. She tried to push the thoughts aside, focusing on her training, but the lingering warmth of his presence was hard to ignore. The open tournament was coming up, and she needed to be at her best, both on and off the court. The challenge would be to keep her focus where it needed to be.

“Oh, what the fuck, Art?” feeling his own disappointment, he said to himself as he did his best to fix the hard-on that was growing by the second. What would he give to be able to take a cold shower right now?

Scurrying to the bathroom, he quickly shut the door behind him. He takes a deep breath and leans against the door, contemplating what just happened and palming himself.

“Fuck” was uttered in a raspy and hushed manner.

He turns to look at himself in the mirror. He felt guilty forgetting hard for a girl over a decade younger than him. But that wasn’t what he really felt guilty about. He felt guilty because he liked it. She was fiery; she was driven, and the way she looked at him, with admiration, was long since Tashi looked at him with any emotion of the sort. Katrina made him feel good about himself. And fuck, was she hot. He was almost certain that as the days of training passed, the length of her skirt shortened and her tops got tighter, or maybe he just started paying attention to it.

He needed to stop thinking of her for his sanity and his cocks, because leaving every practice with blue balls for the last week and a half hasn’t been pleasant.

Splashing himself with cold water and tucking his dick into his waistband, he walks back out before she starts questioning anything.

"All right, that's it for today," he called out, clapping his hands to get her attention. "Good work. We'll take it easy tomorrow, then hit the road the day after."

Katrina straightened, wiping the sweat from her brow with the back of her hand. "Thanks," she said, her voice a little breathless from the intense workout. "I feel good about it. I think we're ready."

Art nodded, watching her carefully as she walked toward him. There was a grace to her movements, even in her exhaustion. She carried herself with confidence, but there was also a vulnerability that he'd come to recognize. It was in the way she sometimes hesitated before speaking or the way her eyes softened when they shared a joke.

"Thanks for, you know, doing this," Katrina said, her eyes meeting his. "I know you didn't have to, but... I'm glad you did."

Art felt a strange warmth in his chest, a sense of connection that he'd been avoiding, or perhaps suppressing. There was something about Katrina that made him want to stay, to guide her through the ups and downs of the game. And it wasn't just about tennis. It was something deeper, something that made him feel almost protective.

"It's been a good few weeks," he said, trying to keep his tone light. "You've got a lot of potential, Katrina. I wouldn't be here if I didn't think you could go far."

She smiled, a genuine smile that made her eyes crinkle at the corners. "Thanks. It means a lot to hear that from you."

There was a moment of silence, a charged pause where neither of them moved. He knew he should step back and create some distance, but he found himself drawn in, his gaze lingering on her lips, then her eyes. There was something about her.

"All right," he said, finally breaking the silence. "Get some rest tonight. We've got a long drive ahead of us, and I need you focused."

Katrina nodded, her eyes locking with his. The tension was palpable, a mix of excitement and something else, something neither of them wanted to name. Art felt the stirrings of something almost primal, a desire that had been dormant for a long time. He knew it wasn't appropriate, but it was there, simmering just beneath the surface.

"Good night," she said, her voice soft, almost a whisper.

"Good night," he replied, his eyes lingering on her a moment longer than they should. "Rest up. I'll see you tomorrow." With his things packed, he walked off the court, leaving her to stretch.

The US Open tournament was coming, and with it, a new set of challenges—both on and off the court.

THE DRIVE TO SAN DIEGO

This was unexpected. Somehow, Katrina was sitting in the passenger seat of Arts Blue Bronco and had managed to snag herself a one-on-one tournament weekend with the Art Donaldson himself. Her mother had only missed three of her games throughout her entire career. The first time was when Katrina was 12. Her mother didn't attend because Katrina had just started playing tennis, and her mother assumed she wouldn't be good enough to watch, so she spent her time on holiday with the neighborhood housewives and was pleasantly surprised when Katrina returned with her first trophy. The second time was when Katrina was 16. Their grandmother had passed away, but Katrina's mother insisted that Katrina should play in the game instead of staying home to grieve like a normal person. She told Katrina that every win was one step closer to a successful career; bad things happen all the time, and you simply “need to get over it and move on." The third time was today, when Katrina was 20, after her little brother's appendix unexpectedly burst at 4 a.m. in the morning, and he and their mom had to rush to the hospital.

"How do you feel about your mom not being here this time?" Art asked, leaning back in his seat. He took a sip of his coffee, glancing at Katrina's expression carefully.

Katrina shrugged. "Honestly? I'm kind of happy she's not here. It's like a weight off my shoulders. I don't have to worry about her criticizing every move I make or every shot I miss."

Art nodded, sensing the relief in her voice. "Your mom seems pretty tough on you."

"She is," Katrina replied, swirling her drink. "She talks a big game, but sometimes I think she doesn't really know what she's saying. Like when she criticizes my plays—she doesn't really get the game, you know? She just wants to be involved, but it's not always helpful."

Art felt a twinge of sympathy. He'd known parents like that, always pushing, always expecting perfection without understanding the sacrifices involved. "I'm glad I could be here for you, then," he said. "You shouldn't have to go through all this alone. It's hard enough without extra pressure from someone who isn't really helping."

Katrina shrugged, her lips curling into a small, ironic smile. "It's been like that since I was a kid. I never had much of a childhood, anyway. The little bit of teenager-like stuff I did, I had to sneak around to do it. Mom was always watching, always pushing me to be the best and to win. I never really got to be a kid."

Art felt a pang of something deep in his chest. It wasn't just empathy—it was a sense of injustice, of the things Katrina had missed out on. He'd seen it before in other athletes whose parents lived vicariously through their children, expecting them to carry the weight of their own dreams. It was a burden no young person should have to bear. Shit went through it himself with Tashi, and it eventually cost them their relationship.

"That sounds rough," he said, his voice gentle. "Everyone deserves a chance to be a kid—to have fun, to make mistakes, to figure things out without a constant spotlight."

“I definitely have to make mistakes." She paused and giggled in embarrassment. “This might be T.M.I. But my first time was with a random guy around my age that was dragged to a dinner party at his parents house.” She side-eyes Art for a moment. “Of course, while the adults did whatever adults do, we snuck off into the liquor cabinet, got so hammered, and then decided to go up to my room.”

Art only looked at her with a raised brow, waiting for her to finish.

“Long story short, by the time we were done, everyone was looking for us — of course we were too stupid to think that anyone would notice we were missing for over an hour.” She sighs with a smile. "Anyways, it turns out they were serving desert, and when the housekeeper came in looking for us, she couldn’t hold back a scream. It's safe to say I can’t even remember how long I was grounded for.”

Art was fully laughing now, not sure if it was from second hand embarrassment or because of how unexpected this was.

“Mistakes aren’t something; you escape, believe me.” He seemed nostalgic.

"Yeah," Katrina replied, her gaze dropping to the table.

“Anyways, I’m sure instances like that’s what made me basically one of the strongest tennis players of all time,” she concludes, sarcastically exaggerating.

Art sighed, leaning forward slightly. "Strength isn't just about winning," he said. "It's about finding your own way, making your own choices, and being okay with who you are, even if it doesn't fit someone else's expectations."

Katrina looked up at him, her expression thoughtful. "That's what I want," she said. "I want to play because I love it, not because I'm trying to prove something to someone else. I just... I wish I had more time to figure it all out."

Art nodded, understanding her struggle. "You'll get there," he said. "You've got a lot of potential, and you're doing it for the right reasons. Just remember, it's okay to take a step back sometimes. To enjoy the game, to find joy in the small things,

Katrina smiled—a real smile that reached her eyes. "Thanks," she said. "I needed to hear that."

Art returned her smile, feeling a connection that went beyond coach and player. It was a moment of genuine understanding, the kind that made all the effort and hard work worth it. He knew the road ahead wouldn't be easy, but at least they had each other to navigate it together.

AT THE HOTEL

After a two-hour drive, Art and Katrina King arrived at the hotel where they would be staying during the tournament in San Diego. The hotel was upscale, with modern decor and spacious rooms. They'd been given a suite with two separate bedrooms connected by a shared living area. It was the perfect setup for coach and player.

Art had just finished unpacking when he decided to knock on Katrina's door. It was only 7 p.m., and he thought it might be nice to have dinner together. A little bonding before the tournament might help ease some of the tension they have been feeling lately. There is no harm in a friendly dinner.

Right?

Katrina opened the door, her eyes widening in surprise when she saw Art standing there. "Hey," she said, her voice softer than usual. "What's up?"

"Want to grab dinner?" Art asked, keeping his tone casual. "There's a nice restaurant downtown I've been meaning to check out every time I come down here."

Katrina hesitated for a moment, then nodded with a hint of a smile. "Sure, why not?" she replied. She felt a slight flutter in her stomach—this wasn't just a quick meal at the hotel lobby; it was a proper dinner out.

"Great," Art said, checking his designer watch. "Meet you back here in 40."

Katrina agreed, closing the door to get ready. She picked out a simple black dress, something a little fancier than she normally wears. Her brown hair, usually tied back in a ponytail, cascaded down in curls. When she checked her reflection in the mirror, she felt a mix of excitement and nerves. This was just dinner, right?

When she stepped out of her room, Art was already waiting in the living area. He glanced up and immediately did a double take. Katrina looked stunning, the soft curls of her hair framing her face perfectly. Her dress hugged her figure in a way that made it hard to look away. Art felt like a high school boy going out on his first date. He could already feel himself stiffen.

Blinking, he gives up a smirk. "You look great."

Katrina blushed slightly. "Thanks," she replied, feeling her cheeks grow warm. "You don't look too bad yourself. Nice seeing you outside of tennis attire."

The place was dimly lit with candlelight, adding to the intimate atmosphere. As they sat down, Art felt a sense of ease with Katrina that he hadn't felt in a long time. It was nice to know that for once, something in her life wasn't just about tennis; it was about getting to know each other on a personal level.

As time passed, they got into a comfortable conversation, talking about anything and everything.

"So," Katrina began, looking across the table at him, "you mentioned your daughter earlier. Tell me about her."

Art smiled at the mention of Lily. "She's great," he said. "She's 10 and a total fire cracker; she’s starting boarding school next year. She’s got this energy that lights up a room. She loves tennis, too, but I'm trying not to push her too hard. I want her to find her own path."

Katrina nodded, appreciating his perspective. "Sounds like you're a good dad."

Art chuckled softly, then his expression turned a bit somber. "I try to be. Things have been complicated at home. Tashi and I are technically still together, but it's more for Lily's sake than anything else." He paused, glancing at Katrina to gauge her reaction. "We're not really happy, but we're making it work—for now. Nothing has really been the same since I retired, you know."

Oh, that makes sense. She tensed.

Katrina felt a guilty glimmer of hope. If Art and Tashi were essentially separated, then maybe her fantasies weren't so impossible after all. The thought made her blush, and she took a sip of water to hide it.

As the dinner progressed, they subtly flirted with each other. Art ordered a bottle of wine to keep the conversation going, which prompted Katrina to raise an eyebrow. "Isn't this off-limits?" she teased. "My mother and my dietitian would be so disappointed."

Art smirked. "You have to live a little," he replied, pouring her a glass. "Besides, a glass of wine won't ruin your career. It's all about balance, right?"

Katrina laughed softly. "Isn't it ironic that a thirty-something-year-old man is telling a twenty-year-old to have fun?"

Art chuckled, the sound deep and warm. "Maybe I know a thing or two about loosening up," he said with a playful wink. "Life's too short to be serious all the time."

“You sure look like you know how to have fun,” she said in a teasing tone. It was clear her words had a double meaning.

Art smirked and quipped, “I do; you just have to pry it out of me, I guess.

As the evening went on, the tension between them grew more palpable. The candlelight, the soft music, the wine—all of it added to the atmosphere. There was an undercurrent of attraction, a pull that neither of them could ignore. By the end of the night, you could’ve cut the tension with a knife.

Art leaned in slightly, his voice lower. "We should probably head back," he said, his eyes locking with hers. "I don't want to overdo it before the tournament."

Katrina nodded, feeling her heart race. "Yeah, probably a good idea," she replied, her voice barely above a whisper.

As they left the restaurant, the night air felt cooler against their skin, but the heat between them hadn't cooled at all. They walked back to the hotel in comfortable silence, each aware of the unspoken desire simmering just beneath the surface, steeling glances here and there.

The tension had been building throughout dinner. As they reached their suite, Art turned to Katrina, his expression neutral but his eyes holding a hint of warmth.

"Well, I guess we should call it a night," he said, reaching for his key card. He didn't want to cross any boundaries, especially with the multiple games she had tomorrow. But the way Katrina looked at him during dinner made it difficult to ignore the desire simmering just beneath the calm exterior.

Katrina held up a finger. "Okay...” she paused, feigning a thought. “But we didn't finish the bottle of wine," she said with a playful smile. "And my mom's going to be back for the second day of the tournament. This might be our only chance to… get to know each other; we’ll have to throw it out if we don’t finish it tonight, just sayin’."

The wine was definitely hitting.

Art hesitated, then nodded. "You're right. It'd be a shame to let it go to waste."

They moved into the shared living room, which had a small kitchenette and a comfortable seating area. Katrina grabbed the bottle of wine and two glasses while Art flipped through the channels on the television, settling on a random movie for background noise. It was an action film with a lot of explosions and fast-paced scenes, but neither of them paid much attention to it.

As they settled onto the couch, Katrina poured them each a glass of wine. The atmosphere was relaxed, but there was an underlying current of flirtation. They started talking about the tournament, about tennis, and then about life in general. The conversation flowed easily, punctuated by laughter and playful banter.

"You know," Art said, taking a sip of wine, "I didn't think I'd enjoy coaching, but I'm glad I came back for this."

Katrina raised an eyebrow. "Coaching? You're more like a mentor," she teased. "Plus, you're not that old to be called a coach."

Art chuckled. "Careful, or I'll make you run extra laps tomorrow," he replied, giving her a mock stern look. "I'm not that old, but I've seen a lot in my time."

"Sure, sure," Katrina said, rolling her eyes. "You're practically ancient."

They both laughed, the sound filling the room. As the conversation continued, they found themselves leaning closer to each other, the space between them shrinking with each passing minute. The flirting became more overt—the playful touches on the arm, the shared smiles, and the lingering glances.

Art felt the tension building and the pull growing stronger. He knew he should keep his distance, but the way Katrina looked at him, her eyes sparkling in the dim light, made it difficult to resist.

"You know," he said, his voice low and smooth, "you're more than just a talented player, Katrina.” He looked at her with a dark gaze. “There's something about you that makes it hard to stay away. Even when I know I should."

Katrina's eyes widened slightly, her heart racing at his words. The air between them felt electric and charged with anticipation. There were no words left to be said; they leaned in without even noticing, and there they were, on the hotel couch, lips smashed together. The wine glass in Katrina's hand tilted, spilling a few drops onto the couch, but neither of them seemed to notice or care.

The kiss was intense, filled with the desire that had been building for weeks. It was risky, even dangerous, given their roles as coach and athlete. But in that moment, none of it mattered. The world seemed to melt away, leaving just the two of them caught in a whirlwind of emotion and longing.

Sprawled out like a couple of horny teenagers making out on their parent’s couch, it was almost comedic.

When they finally pulled apart, their breathing was ragged, and their eyes locked in a mix of surprise and exhilaration. The movie played on in the background, the noise a distant echo as they sat there, close together, knowing that everything had changed in a single moment.

“We shouldn’t do this.” Art broke the silence first.

“Yeah, we really shouldn't.” She pulled back for a moment. “But we already did.” She moved up to fix his nonexistent collar. “Unfortunately, I have this really good coach, and he’d hate to see me not finish something I started.” Sha gazed up at him as she finished giving him a cheeky smile.

She was giving him that look, a look that said nothing less than fuck me.

Art couldn’t do anything more than chuckle and give in. “Well, I’d hate to be the reason you disappoint him.“ He told her as he lifted her up into his lap.

“You’ve gotta live a little, you know.” She said it in-between kisses. His lips, his neck, and his jaw. There wasn’t an inch of him; she wasn’t going to kiss tonight.

“You’re right.” Their mouths dance together, their tongues fighting for dominance. Arts hands were taking all her in. Her dress pooled around her waist as he slipped his hands under it, grasping her tits. “You don’t know how much I’ve wanted this, Katrina.” He breathes out in a hushed manner, biting at her lip.

“Prove it to me, Art.” She says she is pulling her dress over her head. He stopped taking a moment to drink her in; she was beautiful.

“Holly fuck.” He rasps out, unclasping her bra, leaving it to be forgotten, much like the wine.

Katrina could feel the raging hardness beneath her. Grinding into it, she lets out a moan as he kisses and sucked on her exposed breast. “Every time I’d walk on the court, and I’d see you wearing your tight little tennis outfits, god,” he rasped while bighting his lip. “All I could think about was how I wanted to bed you over and fuck you right then and there.” He picked her up and started walking to her bedroom. “Now, I get to be a good coach and teach you a thing or two.” He threw her on the bed, peering over her with hungry eyes and breathing heavily. “Will you be a good student and let coach fuck some knowledge into you, huh, baby?”

“I’ve never let you down, have I?” She answered him, looking up at him from the bed, her big doe eyes saying everything for her. “Show me how it’s done, coach.” She wet her lips seductively.

“Well, first, pretty girl, it’s important to get warmed up. You need help warming up, babe.” Art drags his finger from her thigh to her stomach and back down to her panties. Slowly pulling them off. Kneeling at the foot of the bed, he gazes up at her with hooded eyes. He kisses along her thighs, sucking now and then, making his way up to her sopping cunt. When he does reach her, he begins lapping at her like a man who’s been deprived of water for forty days and forty nights.

“Oh my God, Art, it feels so good.” She could feel herself getting short of breath. It was so good, better than anything she had fantasized about while taking the shower head for a spin. Grasping his hair in her hand, she can’t help but grind her pussy in his face, making both him and her a sloppy mess.”

“You’re so good for me; you've always been a fast learner, you know.” He pulled up, leaving trails of kisses as he made his way up and onto the bed. “My pretty girl,” he says, looking down at her with a smirk, his chin wet with her juices. He gets off the bed and starts to strip. His shirt comes up first, giving her the opportunity to get up on her knees and run her hands over his toned abs as she continues to kiss his neck. He follows with his. Belt slipped off his pants, his cock springing up, strained by his boxers. Katrina can’t help but feel her mouth damn near water. Pulling his boxers down, she lets a glob of her saliva leak on his cock before taking him into her mouth with a moan. Art only grabs her hair in his fist before letting out a deep moan and letting his eyes roll back. “Really got a mouth on you, huh, pretty girl.” He caresses her cheek. “Taking me all in.”

He pulls out, a string of saliva following, only to drip down from her chin onto her chest as he motions for her to lay back down on the bed. “You ready to get that pretty pussy fucked?” he leans down, sucking on her nipples. “You’ve warmed up enough, don’t you think?”

"Yes.” Its barley is above a whisper.

“What was that? You’ve got to use your words, Kat." He says, slightly pulling away from her lips, waiting for a better response.

“Please fuck me, Art.” She moans out, “I need you now."” She pulls him back down for a kiss, lining her hips up with his. He’s teasing at her entrance for a moment before she grabs his lower back and pulls him in the whole way. They both let out a sigh of relief as she felt her walls stretch around his length and he felt her wetness embrace him.

He’s fully thrusting now, with his whole strength, his hips snapping into hers with purpose. Grunts and moans are coming out of both their mouths.

"Switch,” she says, suddenly pushing him back a bit, only for her to get on top, grinding her hips in circles while riding him. “You’re so good, Art; you make me feel so good,” she’s breathless, guiding his veiny hands onto her chest. “I’ve ouched myself so many times fantasizing about this, thinking about how I’d take your cock.” She slips his fingers into her mouth, sucking on them for a second. “Even better than I dreamed,” she smirked. She could feel the pit inside her tighten; she was close, and she could tell that he was too.

She looked down at her and motioned for Art to open his mouth, and when she did, she let her spit trickle down into his mouth with a satisfied grin. That was it for him; after she did that, he started hammering on her mercilessly.

“Oh my god, harder art.” She says this with her head tucked into the crook of his neck. He obliged his vice like a grip.. Her ass was so hard, she wouldn’t have been surprised if it bruised tomorrow. His pace was uneven with labored breaths; he let out one loud moan before pulling out and cumming all over her stomach, some even getting on himself. She didn’t even have the time to process what happened before she was pushed onto her stomach.

There he was again, nose deep in her aching pussy, only this time it was from behind, and he was going between her cunt and her asshole. Moaning into a pillow, it didn’t take long for her to finish all over his face, collapsing onto the bed, flat on her stomach.

After a long and hot shower, Art lay on his back, his arm around Katrina as they were in bed, enjoying the stillness of the night. The hotel room was dimly lit, casting a soft glow that created an intimate ambiance. Katrina's head rested on his shoulder, her hair cascading over his chest. It felt comfortable and natural, like they belonged there.

Art turned slightly to look down at Katrina, her face peaceful and relaxed. He traced his fingers gently along her arm, a simple, affectionate gesture that made her shiver slightly. It was a closeness that was rare for him, something he hadn't felt in years, and he cherished it.

"You're something else, you know that?" He said, his voice low and warm. "You've got this way of making me feel like I'm twenty again. I don't know what it is, but you bring out a side of me that I thought was long gone."

Katrina smiled, her eyes still closed as she nestled closer against him. "That's a good thing, right?" she asked, her voice a soft murmur.

Art chuckled, his hand gently stroking her hair. "Yeah, it's a good thing," he replied. "I really enjoyed tonight. It was... different from what I'm used to, but in the best possible way. I wasn't sure I wanted to get into coaching, but being your coach has been one of the best decisions I've made in a long time."

Katrina opened her eyes and looked up at him, her gaze warm and inviting. "I'm glad you did," she said. "I don't know where I'd be without you. It's not just about tennis—it's about everything else. You made me realize it’s not just hitting a ball with a stick."

He leaned down and kissed the top of her head, a simple, tender gesture that spoke volumes. "You've got a lot of talent, Katrina," he said.

Katrina blushed, feeling a sense of warmth that had nothing to do with the physical closeness. "Thanks," she said, her voice soft. "That means a lot coming from you. I feel the same way, you know. You make everything seem a little easier, like it's all going to be okay."

Art nodded, his heart swelling with a feeling he hadn't experienced in a long time. It was more than just affection—it was a sense of connection, a bond that he knew was special.

Katrina sighed contentedly, her head resting against his chest. The rhythm of his heartbeat was soothing, grounding her in the moment. She felt safe, secure, and genuinely happy. It was a feeling she hadn't had in a long time, and she wasn't ready to let it go.

Art tightened his arm around her, holding her a little closer. It was a simple gesture, but it spoke volumes about the depth of their connection. He knew the road ahead wouldn't be easy, but with Katrina by his side, he felt like he could take on anything.

THE TOURNEMENT

Katrina woke up to an empty bed. The warm spot where Art had lain the night before had cooled, and there was no sign of him in the hotel room. She rubbed her eyes, feeling a twinge of disappointment. It was early, but she figured he had probably gone to start prepping for the tournament—they had a busy day ahead. It had been a long night.

She sat up, stretched, and looked around the room. Everything was in its usual place; nothing seemed out of order. Art's clothes were gone, and her things were neatly put away, almost as if he had never stayed there.

Strange

Katrina didn’t dwell on it. It made sense that he might have moved his things back to his room to get ready for the day. After all, he was her coach, and today was important.

She got dressed in her tennis gear, taking her time in the bathroom to brush her hair and freshen up. The uncertainty about where Art had gone was starting to creep in, but she pushed it aside. There was no need to get worked up—he'd turn up soon enough.

Katrina made her way to the living room and kitchen, expecting to find Art there, but he was nowhere to be seen. She checked her phone, but there were no messages from him. It was odd; usually, he'd leave some sort of note or text. She grabbed one of her pre-prepared meals from the fridge and ate it while waiting for him to return, her mind running through the drills they’d be doing later that day.

After what felt like an eternity, Art finally walked in, holding a cup of coffee from the café downstairs. Katrina felt a rush of relief. "Hey," she said, trying to sound casual. "You went out for coffee?"

Art nodded, but his demeanor was noticeably colder than usual. His eyes were distant, and his responses were curt. "Yeah," he replied, taking a sip of his coffee. His tone was flat, lacking the warmth she had come to expect from him.

Katrina felt a flicker of anxiety. "Is everything okay?" she asked, trying to engage him in conversation. "You seem a little off."

Art shrugged, barely looking at her. "Just focused on the tournament," he said, his voice detached. "We've got a lot to do today."

Katrina felt a pang of confusion. This was a complete 180 from the night before. They had shared something special, something she thought was meaningful. She wasn’t expecting a proposal. But now he was acting as if it had never happened. So she pressed the issue.

"Art, why are you acting like this?" she asked, her tone edged with concern. "Last night was... well, it was nice. What changed."

Art set his coffee cup down, his expression hardening. "I'm being a responsible coach," he said, his voice cold. "You have important matches today. We can't afford distractions."

Katrina was taken aback by his abruptness. "Distractions? Is that what last night was to you?" she asked, her voice rising slightly.

Art sighed, rubbing his temples. "Katrina, we can't do this. You need to be focused. What happened last night." He stopped, choosing his words carefully. "It was a mistake, and I need you to be serious about this tournament."

Katrina felt a surge of anger and hurt. "A mistake?" she said, her voice sharp. "So that's it? We just pretend it never happened. You can't just switch like that!"

Art's expression was stern. "You need to act like you've got an important game today, because you do. And I have to be the coach you need, not something else."

Katrina felt her heart sink. This wasn't the Art she knew. The warmth and connection from the night before were gone, replaced by a wall of professionalism and distance. But there wasn't time to press further—they had to get to the court and start their warm-up drills.

The argument left Katrina feeling disoriented and hurt, but there was no time to dwell on it. She had to focus on the tournament, even if her coach seemed to have turned into a different person overnight. As they headed out the door, she tried to shake off the feeling, knowing that the game ahead demanded her full attention.

FIRST MATCH

The stadium was buzzing with anticipation as the announcer's voice boomed over the loudspeakers, introducing the players for the Challenger tournament. The crowd applauded as Katrina King and Alexis Grace stepped onto the court, each acknowledging the fans with a wave. Art Donaldson watched from the sidelines, his eyes focused on Katrina as she moved to her position.

"Welcome, ladies and gentlemen, to the first match of the US Open," the announcer said, continuing on.

Art knew it would be a challenging game. Alexis was a good opponent who could hold her own, but based on states alone, this should be an easy win, for lack of better words. Art felt a pang of guilt for how he'd acted that morning. He'd been cold and distant, trying to maintain professionalism, but it wasn't what he wanted. He wished he could go back and handle things differently, but now wasn't the time for regrets—Katrina needed his support.

The first set began with Katrina serving. She delivered a somewhat strong shot, but Alexis returned it with ease, sending the ball back with a blistering forehand. Katrina scrambled to keep up, her movements swift but slightly off-balance. She managed to return the shot, but Alexis was already at the net, volleying the ball with precision.

Art watched, his heart racing. Katrina had the talent, but he could tell she was getting into her own head. The missed points seemed to weigh heavily on her, and she was starting to lose her composure. He couldn't blame her—his behavior hadn't helped.

Katrina's next serve was strong, but Alexis anticipated it, returning the ball with a slice that landed just out of Katrina's reach. The crowd murmured, sensing the momentum shift in Alexis's favor. Art clenched his fists, trying to stay calm. He needed to be there for Katrina, even if she didn't want to hear it right now. Her errors were becoming more frequent. A double fault here, a missed volley there—it was starting to add up.

Art's internal thoughts were filled with frustration and guilt. He knew he had to do something to help her, but he also knew her head wasn’t focused on the game. As the set progressed, the tension in the stadium grew. Katrina's shots were becoming more erratic, and Alexis capitalized on every mistake.

Finally, the set ended with a decisive point from Alexis, securing her the first set. The crowd erupted in applause, but Art felt a sinking feeling in his chest.

Katrina King sat on the bench, her racket resting between her knees, and tried to catch her breath. The set break was supposed to be a chance to reset, to gather her thoughts, and to prepare for the next game, but she couldn’t stop her mind from racing. Her body felt tense, and her heart was heavy with doubt.

This match was supposed to be a warmup, and I’m making a complete fool of myself. She thought, scrunching her brows as she looked up at the sky.

Her hand gripped the racket tighter, the familiar texture offering a semblance of comfort.

A mistake

This morning kept replaying in her mind, each word like a weight pressing down on her. It had thrown her off and shaken her confidence. She couldn't understand why he'd suddenly turned so cold.

What the fuck did I get myself into? She wondered, feeling a mix of anger and confusion.

She glanced at the sidelines, where Art sat, his arms crossed, watching the court with a distant expression. He was focused, but not on her. He seemed lost in his own thoughts, and his detachment made her stomach twist. It felt like a betrayal, and she couldn't shake the feeling that she was alone out there.

He's just a coach. I don't need him to win. I've been doing this on my own for years.

But the more she tried to convince herself, the more her emotions swirled. Last night felt like a turning point, like they were connecting on a deeper level. And now, all that warmth and all that understanding were gone. It left her feeling hollow and unsure of her next move.

Forget about this morning. Forget about last night. Forget about Art. Just play the game. That’s all you're good at anyway.

She couldn't forget, not when it felt like her world was shifting beneath her feet. The pressure of the tournament, the expectations from everyone, and now the unexpected 180—it was all too much. She needed to find her focus, but it felt like she was battling more than just an opponent on the court. She was battling her own doubts and her own insecurities, and it was starting to show.

The umpire's call signaled the end of the break, and Katrina stood up, her legs feeling heavier than usual. She couldn't afford to let this slip away. She had to find a way to center herself and regain the focus and determination that had brought her this far. But as she walked back onto the court, she knew it wouldn't be easy. The shadows of doubt were growing, and she wasn't sure if she had the strength to push them back.

The final set was about to begin, and the energy in the stadium was electric. Kat had lost the first set to Alexis, barely clawed her way back to win the second, and now faced the challenge of closing out the match.

A whirlpool of frustration was consuming her. She knew she should be playing better than this. Alexis was a competent player, but she shouldn't have been able to pressure Katrina like she was doing now. The missteps, the errant serves, the missed volleys—it was all spiraling out of control. She knew she had to get her head back in the game.

"Come on, Katrina," Art muttered under his breath, his frustration growing. He knew he should’ve never said what he had this morning, and God did he regret it. Not even because it threw her off her game, but simply because it wasn’t true.

I didn’t mean it, Kat.

Alexis returned Katrina's second serve with a deep forehand, forcing Katrina to run to the back of the court. She managed to get the ball back, but it was a weak return, and Alexis took advantage, hitting a powerful backhand down the line. Katrina struggled to reach it, her footwork sloppy.

The crowd murmured, sensing the shift in momentum. Katrina felt her frustration bubbling to the surface. "Get it together," she told herself, trying to drown out the negativity in her mind. She took a deep breath and prepared for the next point, knowing she couldn't afford to lose her composure.

Art clenched his fists, watching Katrina's struggle. He wanted to shout words of encouragement; right now, he needed Katrina to find her focus and to play like he knew she could.

The next few points were a back-and-forth battle. Katrina managed to win a couple of rallies, showing glimpses of her usual skill, but Alexis was relentless. Katrina's errors were piling up, and Alexis capitalized on every mistake. A missed serve here, a poorly timed volley there—it was all adding up, and Katrina felt like she was falling apart.

He knew he had to do something to help her, but he wasn't sure what. She was slipping, and he could see it in her eyes—the doubt, the frustration. He wished he could just rewind the morning and start over.

Katrina's frustration boiled over as she missed yet another shot, sending the ball wide of the sideline. She clenched her racket, her anger turning inward.

What the actual fuck kat? She felt herself slipping.

Art watched as Katrina's confidence seemed to crumble. Every point felt like a battle, and she was struggling to keep her emotions in check. The crowd's cheers seemed distant, drowned out by her own inner turmoil. She needed to find her focus and remember why she loved the game in the first place.

Katrina King stood at the baseline, bouncing the tennis ball as she prepared to serve. The pressure was immense. The score was tied, but this was match point for Alexis.

"Just get this right," she told herself, bouncing the ball one more time. "Keep it simple, focus on your form, and breathe."

She threw the ball up and swung, her serve powerful but lacking the usual precision.

The umpire's call was clear: "In!"

Alexis immediately raised her hand, signaling her challenge.

Katrina tensed, holding her breath. Fuck. She had already accepted defeat.

The electronic system, designed to track the ball's trajectory, sprang into action. The large screen above the court displayed the replay, with the lines highlighted in bold white against the blue surface.

The slow-motion replay showed the ball’s descent, curving slightly in its flight. It landed, from this perspective, millimeters inside the line, causing the crowd to murmur in anticipation. The pause felt longer than it actually was, with everyone waiting for the official verdict.

Alexis stood with her racket resting on her shoulder, her expression tense and unimpressed. She glanced at Katrina, who remained at the baseline, her stance rigid.

The electronic system confirmed the umpire's call: "In!" The word flashed across the screen, accompanied by a graphic showing the ball's exact position—just inside the line. The crowd erupted in applause, and Katrina allowed herself a small smile. She was relieved that the serve was good, but she knew she couldn't let her focus slip.

Alexis nodded curtly; her challenge was unsuccessful. She adjusted her grip on her racket, preparing for the next point. The moment of doubt had passed, and the game resumed its intensity.

Art saw Katrina's moments of ease, but he also saw the hesitation in her footwork and the slight tremors in her hands.

Alexis's return was a deep shot to Katrina's backhand, forcing her to pivot quickly. Katrina reached for it, but her timing was slightly off. The ball clipped the net, but it went over. Katrina breathed a sigh of relief as Alexis scrambled to reach it. and get her racket under the ball just in time.

The volley was clumsy, but it kept the rally going. Katrina's heart raced as she tried to regain her rhythm. She could feel the momentum slipping away, and she knew she couldn't afford another mistake. Alexis, however, was relentless, keeping the pressure on with precise shots to the corners of the court.

Art clenched his fists, chewing his gum while watching Katrina's struggle. He felt the intensity of the moment, knowing that this point could determine the outcome of the match. He wanted to find a way to ease her nerves, but all he could do was watch and hope she could pull through.

The rally continued, with Katrina barely managing to keep up. Alexis played a drop shot, and Katrina lunged to reach it. She got there just in time, but her return was weak, giving Alexis the upper hand. Alexis moved in for the kill, smashing the ball toward the baseline.

Katrina dove to reach it, her body hitting the ground as her racket connected with the ball. It went over the net, but it was a high lob, an easy shot for Alexis. Alexis jumped, delivering a powerful overhead smash that Katrina couldn't hope to reach. The ball hit the court with a decisive thud, and the umpire called the point.

Art felt a pang of disappointment as the crowd erupted in applause. He knew Katrina had fought hard, but the internal turmoil had cost her the match. He saw the frustration on her face as she stood up, brushing off the dirt from her fall. She glanced toward him, her eyes filled with a mix of anger, defeat, and tears.

Katrina knew she had given it her all, but it hadn't been enough. She felt the weight of the loss, knowing that her own doubts and the fight with Art had played a part in her performance. As she walked off the court, she felt a mix of disappointment and a lingering sense of confusion about what had gone wrong—both on and off the court.

Art made his way down to talk to Katrina. She was sitting on the bench, her head down, a towel draped over her shoulders. Art approached, trying to keep his voice steady. "Hey, it's okay," he said, his tone gentle. "It's just one game; you’ve got three more today. You can still turn this around. Just focus on your game, okay? Don't let this get in your head." He finished and tried to embrace her in his arms for some sort of comfort, but his efforts proved futile because before he could fully hug her, she pushed him off.

Katrina looked back at him, her eyes watery, cold, and distant. "Oh, now you're being supportive?" She shot back, her voice laced with sarcasm. "What happened to the coach who was so concerned about being professional this morning?"

Art winced, feeling the sting of her words. He knew he deserved it, but it still hurt. "I know, I messed up," he said, trying to keep his voice calm.

Katrina shook her head, her expression hardening. "I don't need your fake support, Art," she said, standing up. "Just let me play my game."

“Kat, don’t be like that.” He said he was stepping forward, trying to get a hold of her.

“Be like what, Art?” she said, feeling her anger rise. “I shouldn’t act like you treated me as if I were a late-night tinder hookup.” She paused, her lips trembling. “I wouldn’t be like this if you would have had the human decency to treat me with a little respect, even if you regrated it!” She took a breath. “You know what the worst part is; you could have waited for the tournament to be over to shit on me, on us, like that. At least I would’ve left this stupid fucking weekend with a champion title and cup.” She started walking away from the locker rooms. “Guess once your balls are empty, you come to your senses, huh?” She hadn’t even bothered to turn around for the last bit.

"Kat, wait!" he said, grabbing her arm gently but firmly. "Please, just give me a minute."

Katrina turned, her eyes blazing with anger. "What do you want?" she snapped. "Haven't you done enough today? Did you finally decide to be a good coach?"

Art knew he deserved that, but he needed her to hear him out. "Just let me explain," he said, his voice desperate. "Not here. Let's go outside, away from everyone."

She hesitated, clearly still furious, but she didn't pull away. Art led her through a side door and out into the area behind the arena, where it was quiet and they could talk in private. He released her arm, taking a deep breath to calm himself.

"Katrina, I'm sorry," he began, his voice soft but urgent. "I'm sorry for everything I said this morning and for telling you it was a mistake. I didn't mean it. I was just... scared."

"Scared?" Katrina's eyes narrowed. "Scared of what? Scared of actually caring about someone? Scared to give up the overdone, nonchalant act you’ve got going for you?"

Art shook his head, struggling to find the right words. "I was scared that I was crossing a line," he said. "I was scared that I was too old for you and that being your coach and being with you would mess up your career. I was worried that we'd end up like... like me and Tashi."

Katrina's anger flared. "I'm not Tashi!" she shouted, stepping closer to him. "So stop comparing me to her; I'm my own person, and I'm nothing like her!"

"I know," Art replied, his voice gentle but firm. "I know you're not her. But that's what scared me. I don't want what happened to me and Tashi to happen to us. I didn't want to mess up your game, your career, or... anything."

Katrina huffed, crossing her arms over her chest. "Well, you sure did a good job of that," she said, her tone dripping with sarcasm. "Look at what happened today! I lost because you couldn't make up your mind about what you wanted!"

Art felt a pang of guilt, knowing she was right. "I know," he said, his voice low. "I was selfish. I shouldn’t have acted like I did. I just didn’t want you to get hurt because of me. But now I see that I hurt you anyway, and that’s the last thing I wanted." He is groveling.

Katrina looked at him, her eyes still blazing. "So, what do you want now?" she asked. "Are you just going to apologize and then go back to being cold and distant?"

Art stepped forward, taking her cheek gently in his hand. "I don't know what we are, Katrina," he said, his thumb tracing her cheekbone. "But I know I don't want to stop whatever this is. It's special. You make me feel things I haven't felt in a long time, and I can't keep ignoring that."

Katrina's anger softened, her eyes searching for any sign of insincerity. Art felt the connection between them, the tension that had been building for weeks, and he knew he couldn't let it end like this.

"I was wrong this morning," he continued. "I was scared, and I acted like an idiot. But you... you're amazing. You didn't deserve the way I treated you, and I know the game today was my fault. You were distracted because of me, and I'm sorry. But I know you're going to win this. I believe in you. I always have, and that hasn’t changed."

Katrina's expression softened, her anger giving way to something else—something that felt like forgiveness. Art leaned in, pressing his lips to hers in a passionate kiss, his hand still gently cupping her cheek. She responded with equal intensity, her arms wrapping around his neck as they pressed against the concrete wall.

The kiss was long and intense, filled with the emotions they’d both been suppressing. When they finally pulled back, their breathing was heavy, and their eyes locked in a shared moment of understanding. Art pressed a soft kiss to her forehead before laying his against hers.

“Are you ready to bring another title home, pretty girl?” He says, gazing into her eyes.

She looked up, her eyes glistening with a familiar spark. “You wouldn’t have agreed to coach me if I wasn’t.” She held a soft smile, bringing him in for another kiss.

#art donaldson x reader #art donaldson fic #challengers #challengers fic #challengers x reader #mike faist #mike faist x reader #challengers universe #x reader #smut #Art donaldson x oc

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greg-montgomery · 8 months

Note

Aaron going through boxes of old stuff and finding a journal of yours from a long time ago. He opens it out of curiosity and reads about how your younger self always wanted to be called princess from a significant other so he tries it out along with buying a nice bouquet of flowers 🤭

Aaron’s cheeks were almost hurting by smiling all day, because he was surrounded by boxes of your belongings that would soon be all over his house. Your house.

One certain box with the word “memories” in capital letters written on it though, drew his attention. Opening it, he was met with a few books, magazines, cards, and concert tickets.

At the bottom of the box, there was a pink journal with your name decorating its cover.

It looked personal, but it also looked like it was from a long time ago. He couldn’t help it, and with his curiosity getting the better of him, he opened it.

The pages were filled with pink glittery letters, little drawings, and stickers of Disney princesses and Barbie characters.

He smiled with affection while turning the pages and seeing what your younger self used to fill her journal with. He almost skipped a page when his eyes fell on the title written on top of it.

“My dream boy!”

Oh, this is gonna be interesting, he thought.

Aaron found himself competing with the ideal version of a boyfriend your teenage self had. He went through every single point you had written down, and mentally checked it.

That version of you, was still part of who you were today, and the last thing he wanted was to disappoint you or not be enough.

Tall – check.

Dark hair – check.

Sweet – check, well to you at least.

Brings me flowers – check.

Calls me princess – not check.

Princess, huh? That was new.

He knew that you were big on pet names, but princess had never occurred to him before.

A smirk grew on his face. It was time to see if your tastes had changed.

Just the day after, Aaron made sure to visit a flower shop after work and buy your favorite flowers. If he was gonna try something, he was going to do it right.

He found you sitting on the couch, eating a bag of chips and scrolling on your phone, some show on the TV playing in the background. You left it open for company when he wasn’t there and something inside him stung a little.

“Baby?”

You threw your head back on the couch and looked up at him as he moved closer. “You’re home,” you sighed with a smile. “Missed you.”

“I did too.” He leaned down to kiss you on the lips and brought the flowers he was hiding behind his back in front of you. “That’s why I decided to get some flowers to my princess.”

Your face lightened up at the sight of the beautiful bouquet and the sound of the pet name. “Aaron!”

You stood up on the couch and threw yourself at him, hugging him with a force that could bring down a bear. “Thank you!”

“You like them, honey?”

“I love them.”

Aaron sighed at the feeling of your lips on his neck, as you left little kisses on the curve of it. “Anything for my princess.”

Your face was still hidden in the crook of his neck but Aaron could feel you laughing.

“What are the giggles for?”

“Nothing…”

He pulled back just enough so he could look at your face, and grabbed your chin softly. You averted your eyes from him as if you had something to hide.

“Y/N?”

“It’s nothing!” you insisted. “I just like to be called that,” you added quietly, playing with a button from Aaron’s shirt. You still wouldn’t look at him.

“To be called what?” he asked.

“Princess…”

“I know.” He smirked.

“What do you mean?”

“I read it in your diary.”

“What?” you raised your voice and he couldn’t help but laugh.

“I found it through your old stuff.”

“Aaron, I’m gonna kill you!”

“I’m sorry!”

“No, you’re not. You’re laughing.”

“Oh come on, it got you what you wanted.”

“Shut up,” you said , furrowing your brows.

The two of you sat on the couch and he tried to pull you into his arms. After showing resistance for a few seconds, you let him hold you.

“What else did you read?”

“I saw the whole list. About your dream guy.”

“I don’t remember adding ‘he reads my journal without permission’,” you said.

“I do have all the rest though,” he said with a cocky smile.

“You do, I guess,” you admitted, rolling your eyes. “I was manifesting.”

“I hope you’re happy with the guy the universe sent you then, princess.”

“Ah…” you threw your head back with a lovesick smile. “And it's only getting better.”

#aaron hotchner x reader #hotch x reader #aaron hotchner #hotch #hotch 🪐#ask #lumi 🍊

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m4tthewmurd0ck · 2 months

Text

did some force take you because i didn’t pray?

── aegon x fem!reader (you’re one of helaena’s lady’s in waiting)

the 2 times Aegon had someone there to comfort him

(i’m slightly changing things but just go with it pls)

small a/n before we begin: no use of y/n, i do my best to avoid descriptors BUT do use she / her and mention reader being shorter than aegon. when he hugs / holds you he is able to rest his head on yours. also i know everyone has titles and long names but to save time and also make it easier i just use first names. changing aegon’s rant just so im not word for word with the show.

also disclaimer: i know aegon is not a good person by any means! this is just the alternate reality version of him where things could turn out different if he’s shown genuine love and care

For as long as you’ve known the Targaryen family, it dawns on you one day that you’ve never seen Aegon cry.

In the beginning, that didn’t mean much. You were one of Helaena’s ladies’ in waiting, and only ever saw the then prince on occasion.

Then Aegon was crowned King, and you saw him a bit more as Helaena was required to be present at what felt like too many ceremonies. Because you were almost exactly the same age, although it was against an unspoken rule, she came to see you as a friend.

When the twins were born and Helaena saw how good you were with them, it seemed to anyone who was around that she wanted you near at all times. She practically begged you to begin sleeping in her chambers to help with the fussing and crying at night, and of course you said yes. It occurred to you later that night that she could’ve just demanded it.

It wasn’t long at all before the twins also formed an attachment, as their mothers need to have you close by didn’t lessen even as they got older.

Though they both loved you, Jaehaerys in particular, was very fond of you. Jaehaera was a lot more independent and chose to play with her dolls or little trinkets by herself. But the boy, the other ladies’ in waiting and even Helaena herself, often called him your little shadow.

Whatever task you were given, it wasn’t uncommon for Jaehaerys to be nearby. As he grew a little older, he began to ask questions.

Once, he asked why his mother wore such fancy dresses, but yours and the rest of the ladies’ were only ever plain. It hadn’t occurred to you that because you spent so much time with him and had a big hand in raising him, he saw you as family and genuinely didn’t understand why you dressed differently.

Luckily, you didn’t need to answer. Aegon appeared from around the corner, calling for his son. Once Jaehaerys ran to him, he gave you a nod before grabbing his sons hand and leading him in the opposite direction.

To the King, you were a mystery. He knew his sister preferred you to the other ladies’ in waiting, and he knew she’d rather you over any of them to be looking after the twins when she was busy, but he didn’t know why. Still, his sister was set in her ways, and in the end he simply decided it was best to not ask questions. Even he could see that you cared deeply for his children, and for him that was enough.

On the day Aegon wished for his son to sit in on a council meeting, Jaehaerys was being a bit difficult that morning. For whatever reason, he refused to go unless it was you that escorted him.

After assuring him that you’d only get the boy in the room and then quickly make your exit, Aegon nodded and led the 2 of you into the room.

Just like you knew he would, Jaehaerys immediately went for “the ball” as he called it, in front of Tyland Lannister. You could see irritation immediately all over the man’s face, but to his credit he did his best to hide it.

The third time the ball was grabbed, you were the only one that heard it when Tyland snapped. The meeting hadn’t yet begun but you could see he already wished it to be over.

“That child doesn’t belong in here,” he muttered to himself, unaware that you could hear him.

“I will escort him to his mothers chambers now. Is the heir to the throne bothering you a bit too much?” That last bit slipped out, and you immediately regretted it as the room grew silent and all eyes turned to the 3 of you. After a few tense seconds, most everyone resumed their conversations.

You slowly stood up, Jaehaerys now on your back as that was the only way he agreed to leave the room. “Apologies Ser Lan—”

“Hold on,” the room stilled once again when it was Aegon that spoke this time. He looked at you, then back at Tyland. “She has nothing to apologize for. And I believe she asked you a question. Is the heir to the throne, my son, is he bothering you?”

Even Alicent opted to look down and fiddle with her hands rather than step in. You didn’t think you’d ever been more grateful for Aegon that in that moment.

🗡️🗡️🗡️🗡️🗡️🗡️🗡️🗡️🗡️🗡️

ONE.

On the night Jaehaerys was murdered, you were knocked unconscious. You’d later find out it was the man they called Blood that hurt you, but at the time all you knew / remembered was waking to a loud noise. Immediately you got out of bed, but before you could properly realize what was happening, you felt something sharp across your cheek. And before you’d even had time to cry out, something hard hit the side of your head, causing everything to go dark.

When you woke, you ignored the maesters requests to stay in bed. As soon as you stood up, you almost wished you’d listened as you immediately felt dizzy. That was also when you felt the stinging pain of the cut on your cheek. The maester explained that you wouldn’t need to have it stitched up, but he hadn’t yet bandaged you because even in your sleep, you tossed and turn whenever he tried to tend to that injury.

After agreeing to not over exert yourself, you were off to find Helaena. It was then that another one of the ladies’ in waiting broke the news to you.

When you were let in to Alicent’s chambers, and locked eyes with Helaena, she immediately stood up from her spot on the floor and ran to you, Jaehaera still held tightly in her arms.

“Are you alright?” You knew she would be with the maester if she were injured, but you still had to ask. “They said—”

“He’s dead,” was all Helaena could say. That and “they killed him”.

What felt like an eternity later, and you’d gotten Jaehaera to sleep and convinced Helaena to at least lay down with her, you were unsure of what to do. Only a few moments later, you found yourself wandering the halls. Every inch of the place had been searched almost immediately, so you know that the halls were alright once again.

Part of you felt like you didn’t have a right to mourn Jaehaerys, as he wasn’t actually your son. You were just trying to process the fact that you’d never see his little smile again. Never again would you turn a corner and be greeted with that sweet voice asking where the 2 of you were going, because him staying with anyone else was out of the question.

You were one of the first to hold him after he was born, and had seen him every day since. To already be in a world where he no longer existed, it seemed cruel.

When you stopped walking, you realized that you’d come to Aegon’s chambers. The doors were obviously closed, and you had only managed to take a few steps back the way you came, when you heard them open.

“Oh, good,” you turned around, surprised that it was Alicent that had spoken. “Did Helaena send you?”

You stuttered as you tried to form a response, but she seemed to take your silence as a confirmation.

“He’s distraught, obviously. I’m not sure he’ll speak to you but…” she seemed unsure of herself. In the end she sort of motioned towards the doors, before turning and walking away.

Before you even raised your hand to knock, you heard sobbing. It was then that you realized you were wrong. Yes, your heart could break even more.

It didn’t escape your notice that Alicent left the room as her son was sobbing. You knew she wasn’t the comforting type, but you couldn’t imagine simply walking the other way.

After a few knocks, you weren’t surprised when there was no answer. As you slowly opened the door, then shut it behind you, you thought to yourself that you should’ve thought about what to say beforehand. Here was this normally stone-faced man, showing more emotion now than he had in the entire time you’d known him. And after more thought, you realized that perhaps Alicent had tried to comfort him but was asked to leave.

“Who is there?” Aegon finally seemed to notice someone else’s presence, but hadn’t actually looked up. His head remained in his hands, and you could hear him trying to quiet his cries.

“I am sorry, I— I just thought I should check on you.” You noticed how pathetic you sounded only after the words left your mouth.

He let out a humorless chuckle, then slowly stood up and made his way towards you. “Check up on me?”

You nodded. “I just wanted to see how you were doing. Stupid question to ask if you’re okay, I know.”

He studied your face for a moment, and his guard came down ever so slightly. He believed your concern to be genuine. And for Gods sakes, his own mother couldn’t even comfort him. She left quietly and Aegon knew it was in the hopes that he wouldn’t know she’d ever entered the room.

Still, he couldn’t bring himself to answer you. Instead he returned to his sitting position, once again leaning forward so that his head was in his hands.

“I should’ve been there,” he spoke so softly that you didn’t quite hear him.

“Pardon?”

He looked up at you, fresh tears in his eyes. “I should’ve been there!” When he saw how you flinched, he regretted being so loud. But a larger part of him didn’t care. You were the first person to allow him to speak freely. He needed to let out his emotions somewhere. “I should have been there. But I thought who’d be stupid enough to try anything here? Look at how wrong I was.”

“There’s nothing you could’ve done,” you shook your head.

“That is bullshit!” He stood up and began pacing back and forth. “My son is DEAD! It was an act of revenge, why else do you think the rest of you were left alive?”

You were about to ask if they already know who is responsible, but it’s as if he read your mind.

“My brother kills her son, so she has taken it upon herself to exact revenge, a son for a son!” He laughs, but again there is no humor in his tone. “My son, the heir to the throne, he is gone. Murdered while he slept and I did nothing!”

As he sat crying, you kneeled in front of him. Trying not to think about it too much, you placed your hands on his and forced him to look at you.

“Everyone around knows how much you love that boy. And he loved you just as much.” You decided it was better to not repeat that he couldn’t have done anything. Right now in front of you, was a father who needed to grieve.

Aegon knew he should be cautious. His sister knew you well, but he did not. He was already ashamed that you’ve seen him cry. Yet you didn’t seem repulsed. You allowed him to rant and didn’t try to shove advice down his throat. His son was gone, but you reminded him of the love that existed, that still exists.

The angry part of him wanted to shout at you to leave, but he couldn’t bring himself to yell again in that moment. So he allowed your hands to remain on his as he cried for his son.

You prayed that no one would walk in, as you stood up and pulled Aegon up with you. Before he could ask what was happening, you gave him a hug.

His first instinct was again, one of anger. He resisted the brief urge to push you away. After a few seconds, he even surprised himself when he almost melted into your touch. He genuinely couldn’t remember the last time he was in someone else’s embrace like this. And you didn’t ask questions. You only held him and listened to his heartbeat.

He found himself crying again as he returned the gesture and wrapped his arms around you. Although he knew he could never speak of this, and he’d have to ask that you not do the same at some point, he allowed himself to do nothing but mourn the loss of his son as you held him in your arms, and you in his.

He was grateful that at least in this moment, you allowed him to grieve.

🗡️🗡️🗡️🗡️🗡️🗡️🗡️🗡️🗡️🗡️

TWO.

After that, there was a noticeable change. Aegon gravitated towards you if he entered a room and you were already there. Everyone noticed, but none dared to speak on the matter, not even Alicent or Otto.

You heard about the meeting in which it was ultimately decided that Jaehaerys’ body would be placed on a carriage led through the streets, so that the public might see just what Queen Rhaenyra was capable of. You didn’t think this was her doing. How could a mother who has just lost her son, inflict that pain onto someone else? Surely she wouldn’t. But everyone else was so sure. And you were but a low-born lady in waiting, so you remained silent.

The thought of Jaehaerys being used, paraded through the streets for all to gawk at, it angered you. Yes, he was a prince. And you understood the message that they hoped it would send, but it didn’t make you any less upset. He was just a boy. You thought of the boy who would run into your embrace whenever you walked in to his mothers chambers.

You couldn’t even imagine how Aegon was feeling. He loved that boy deeply, and you had no doubt that he was pressured into agreeing.

That same night, you were abruptly woken up. Immediately you looked to Helaena’s bed, filled with relief to see her and Jaehaera fast asleep. But it alarmed you that it was Ser Criston Cole of all people, who’d woken you up.

He put a finger to his lips, then turned and exited the room. You made sure you looked at least half decent before you followed him, wondering what on earth possessed him to wake you at such an hour.

“I—” He looked unsure of where to start.

“Has something happened?”

“It’s the King.” He didn’t wait for you to respond, instead turning and practically running out of the room.

As you chased after him, it did occur to you that it was odd for him to fetch the King’s sisters ladies’ in waiting. You also realized that he never technically responded when you asked if something happened.

When the 2 of you finally reached Aegon’s chambers, Criston didn’t even open the door. He didn’t need to though, you could hear the shouting and loud noises from outside.

“Who else is in there?” You fiddled with your hands, unsure of what you were walking into.

Criston merely shook his head. “No one. He kicked everyone out. But I know you helped him that— that night. Can you…?”

Without giving it a second thought, you nodded. Instead of leaving, Criston sort of stood guard right outside the door. You’d seen Aegon angry before, and were secretly relieved that he was outside should anything go wrong.

This time, you didn’t bother knocking. You did, however, try to open and then close the door as quietly as possible.

“I declare war!” It was the first thing you heard since entering the room, and you didn’t bother asking who he was declaring war on.

“My King —”

It was as if he was in a sort of angry trance. You speaking didn’t even cause him to look in your direction.

“I want them all dead! They’ll all pay for this, every fucking one of them!” As he spoke, he moved about the room destroying King Viserys’ carefully and meticulously constructed display.

You could see he needed to let his anger out. And didn’t exactly want to approach him while he held something that could hurt you. Not that he intentionally would, but seeing as he had no reaction to you calling out to him, you didn’t think it wise to sneak up on him.

As the smashing and destruction went on, you could see Aegon begin to wear himself out. It wasn’t so much that the anger was leaving his body, but rather that he was losing the energy to continue. Now, you thought to yourself, was a good time to gauge where he’s at mentally / emotionally.

“My King—” you tried again. This would be a moment you’d come to regret, seeing as you hadn’t considered the fact that Aegon was so blinded by his rage that he hadn’t noticed it was you in the room. Sure he heard the doors open and close, but he assumed it had been one of his men.

Not registering who it was that just spoke, and only hearing that someone was interrupting his rampage, he turned around with an arm swung out. It ended up being sort of a backhanded slap, and unfortunately he was wearing a ring.

Once he realized it was you that he’d just harmed, Aegon froze. His eyes widened and he immediately dropped to his knees.

“Are you hurt? Did I— did I…” He didn’t seem to know what he wanted to ask.

You put a hand to your cheek and examined your fingers, nothing a small amount of blood. He hit almost exactly where you were cut, and by the feel of it you guessed that his hit reopened the wound.

“It’s fine,” you tried to reassure him. “I am sure I will be healed in no time. There is no need—” Before you could finish speaking, he’d fled from the room, but not before hurriedly asking you to stay put.

Only a short while later he returned with the maester quickly following behind him.

As the man tended to your face, you could practically see the gears turning in his head as he debated on speaking. In the end, he decided to ask the question.

“How did you manage to reopen this wound?”

Luckily for you, you’d studied the room and had your answer prepared.

You pointed to a spot on the floor where a glass of wine lay spilt. “I slipped just there. Tried to steady myself and ended up landing on my face and cutting it with one of the broken pieces.”

Because you spoke immediately and with such confidence, your lie was believed.

“Might not heal as well if it’s opened a third time. Still doesn’t need stitches, just try not to fall again, eh?” He gave you a pat on the shoulder before giving you a small jar of ointment to apply to the cut, instructing you to apply it once a day.

As soon as the man left the room, you studied Aegon. He was pacing the entire time, only stopping once the maester had left.

“Why?” He whispered.

You knew what he was asking. “I did not think it would do any good for him to know the truth. I know you didn’t mean to,” you shrugged.

He was almost in a state of shock. Here he’d just injured you, accidentally, sure, but it was still done in anger. And it wasn’t that long ago that he broke down in front of you. Despite all of that, you were still kind to him. You covered for him.

Aegon fell to his knees once again in front of a large portion of the mess he created. “I’m sorry,” he spoke softly.

“My King you do not need to apologize. As I said, I know it wasn’t on purpose.”

He looked up at you, fresh tears in his eyes, and you lost count on how many times your heart broke for him. You joined him on the floor, and put what you hoped was a comforting hand on his shoulder.

“I can’t do anything right,” the first tear fell, but he didn’t bother wiping it away. “I allowed men to break in and murder my son, and this is twice now you’re hurt because of me.”

The fact that he blamed himself for it still, brought tears to your eyes as well.

“No one thinks this was your doing, and I swear to you that I don’t blame you.”

He was silent for a moment, deep in thought. “How am I meant to continue?”

His question caught you off guard. “Pardon?”

“My son is dead. Murdered, and my dear sister that claims to be the rightful heir may not have held the knife but I know she commanded the men that did. How am I supposed to to sit on the throne and continue to rule as if none of this has happened?”

“I do not think anyone expects you to act as if nothing has happened —”

Hearing that caused Aegon to laugh. “Have you met my mother? She is one of the many against me declaring war.”

“This tragedy —”

He cuts you off once again. “Tragedy? Hah! Understatement of the fucking year. And people are already speaking about my sons murder as if it’s a lesson! My grandfather, dear old Otto Hightower, wants to parade my sons body for all to see. Says it will show them the kind of Queen that Rhaenyra really is. You should’ve seen how many nodded their heads in agreement. How do I just hand him over to be stared at, as if he is no more than a piece of meat on display at the market?”

“I hate this,” you finally get a chance to speak. “Jaehaerys was the sweetest little boy I kno—knew. And I wish his death wasn’t being used in this way. A tragedy should not always be a lesson. Sometimes it should be allowed to be just that, a tragedy. I am truly sorry you are having to deal with all of this.”

Something about what you’ve said causes tears to spring to Aegon’s eyes. Perhaps it’s the way you speak so kindly of his son. He knows you genuinely loved the boy, after all. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry…” His quiet sobs begin as he echoes your use of those 2 words, and when you turned to face him, he practically falls into your embrace. You stop counting how many times he utters I’m sorry. In between the I’m sorry’s, he mostly said his sons name, but you heard your name as well as Helaena and Jaehaera’s.

Night turned into morning and Aegon finds himself in your arms once again. Eventually his sobs had slowed down, and he fell asleep, laying on the hard floor with his head in your lap.

As he slept, you allowed yourself to run your hands through his hair, just for a moment. Aegon let out a content sigh, finding comfort in your movements even in his sleep.

Here was this boy who was feared by many, who didn’t ever want anyone to see him as weak, and yet twice he allowed himself to cry and grieve in front of you.

At some point, you gently wake Aegon and convince him to get into bed.

As you take one last look at him before exiting his chambers, you can’t help but silently hope that the future would be a little kinder to him.

TAGLIST — @blupblupfish | @sapphirest0nes

If you’d like to be tagged in future Aegon pieces, let me know!

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lucysarah-c · 1 month

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Levi's horrible flirting skills part 8.

Masterlist link to all the previous parts.

“So... King’s anniversary’s coronation. Are you coming?” Erwin casually dropped the question without a clear addressee, or at least in Levi’s opinion, as he played with a pen while waiting for the early morning meeting to end. He had only slept a very counted number of hours.

But as the silence reigned, it made him raise his attention, fearing that the question was directed at him. And indeed, it was. Erwin was looking at him.

“Are you coming?” Erwin insisted. “I don’t think I’ve to remind you how important this event is.”

Escaping the intense blue eyes, Levi pretended to be interested in anything else inside the room. “I... I’m rather busy. I’ve got a lot of delayed paperwork I should work on over the weekend.”

The commander looked exhausted as he stared back at him, the invitation slowly dropping onto the table. “I’m sure your boss, me, wouldn’t mind you presenting your work a couple of days later.”

“You don’t know my boss.”

Erwin sighed loudly and put away the letter with the invitation. “You know, very influential and powerful people attend these events. It would be great for the Scouts’ economy if you could go and land us some donations.”

He passed his plus-one invitation to Hange so they could try to get some donations for their titan investigations. Levi fought the urge to roll his eyes as Erwin’s speech was so frequent and repeated, like a mother angry at returning home to find the dishes not cleaned.

“You know that me and influential filthy pigs don’t get along.”

“Hey, I’ve been part of the Scouts longer, and he gets his own invitation while I get a plus-one?” The brunette complained.

“’Cause you’re not Humanity’s strongest?” Levi asked back with a raised eyebrow. “If you want it, I’ll gladly give you that stupid invitation.”

“Ugh, since that title landed you a date with that nurse of yours, you’ve gotten cocky about it,” Hange pointed out playfully, intending to get on Levi’s last nerve.

Erwin chuckled as Levi squinted his eyes. “She didn’t go out with me because of it.”

“Not even you believe that,” unlikely of him, Erwin joined in on the joke, making Levi roll his eyes and frown deeply.

“You two are just so fucking jealous. When was the last time any of your titles or medals got you a chick?”

The other two’s silence spoke volumes as they searched for a proper comeback.

He began to notice the small changes, like when they met again in a hallway. She greeted him first over Erwin and, very important detail, she still called him “captain,” but Levi swore it had an underlying sexy accent to it... or at least that’s what he liked to believe.

The first rule in the animal world is to land her interest; the second one? Maintain it. That means marking territory. This time subtly, he was not committing the same mistake twice.

How many hours was Levi sleeping to manage getting his paperwork done, his work as a captain, and trying to pay her as many visits as he could when he was over at the Capital for meetings? None, but at least he made sure a good couple of the MPs, who also walked around the hospital trying to land a nurse girlfriend, would think twice before approaching her.

“You want scones? It was my day for buying supplies for the staff room,” she commented while moving around, preparing tea. Levi was there doing paperwork he brought with him. Balancing both of their schedules wasn’t particularly easy, and perhaps that’s why their second date was just going to be a little after-work dinner.

‘Maybe... it’s my moment to casually imply that I don’t have a sweet tooth.’

“I don’t like sweet stuff, actually.”

‘...great, just great.’

The confusion was all over her face as she turned around. “Oh...” she softly frowned as she gave it a deeper thought, “...but I gifted you a cake.”

“Yeah.”

Lips pressed together as she stared at him. “You could just tell me.”

‘Yeah well, the time I tried to just tell ya, you got angry at me for a good fucking time, so perhaps it wasn’t the best idea.’

How many times had he seen the same picture he had right in front of him, only separated by a couple of steps? Eyes rolling and clicking his tongue, finding it so idiotic that it was even annoying. The only sort of speech he could come up with for his own defense was that “he wasn’t in service,” and usually they were.

Yes, they. Military police members walking around downtown without the jackets of the uniform on, but instead, the green unicorn swinging as any of their girls walked around with them on their shoulders.

There she was, the wings of freedom adorning her back. The sleeves weren’t on, just the shoulder pads casually resting on hers, preventing it from falling but not secured enough. ‘It’s like too cold... but too warm for my coat,’ she had mentioned as they exited the building, doing honor to the season where taking the winter coat early in the morning is a good idea but, by afternoon, it hangs on your arm.

“Here,” he had said, and before he knew it, he was seeing her walking slightly ahead of him with the jackets contrasting against her doveish uniform.

Marking territory, isn’t it all about that? Especially at the Capital, where all the MPs are looking at them as if they were the most absurd of all couples or perhaps it’s just plain jealousy.

“You’re going to love them! The food is so good, and the portions are huge,” she commented behind him as she guided him through streets it was rather obvious she knew better than him. As the sky turned coral, with days getting longer, the golden hour only helped highlight how cute he found her like that.

‘I’ve become what I swore to destroy...’

“I’m asking for a small one because if I eat too much, I am gonna fall asleep, and today I’ve got night service,” she commented, looking at the options at the street stand.

‘Thank god her suggestion wasn’t some stupidly fancy shop at Mitras that would force me to eat plain rice for the rest of the month.’

“You work tonight?” he commented back as he decided what to eat.

“Yes, there are a lot of mothers who reported feeling contractions. I may be working all night,” she replied before pointing, “If you like spicy, those sauces are great.”

He handed the money to the owner as he received both options and passed hers forward with his left hand.

“Thank you~” she sang, smiling back at him.

“You’re welcome,” he muttered as he put away the change back in his wallet.

‘Havin’ a girlfriend is expensive.’

He felt the tug from his arm as she gripped his hand and began to guide him. “Come on, I know a good spot at the park,” she said enthusiastically as she hand-hold dragged him.

Her hand felt stupidly soft against his, he thought, and delicate as if the absurd feeling of breaking it crossed his mind.

‘...but 100% worth it.’

He let her drag him, mostly because she could hardly even dream of moving him if he refused, but if she wished to get him somewhere, he would just let her have it.

‘I’ve to give it to them... the Capital is full of classist snob jerks, but the places are fucking nice,’ he thought, recalling how the downtown closer to the Scouts’ facility at

Wall Rose always smelled like horse dung, the little poor town always looked a bit grey, and there wasn’t much to do there. In contrast, the huge park with well-kept green grass, flowers, kids with expensive uniforms, statues, and decorated benches like the one they were sitting on marked a difference, especially since that place received the early spring sun directly.

‘There go my taxes.’

“MH-” she hummed, passing down a bite from her meal, “You want to taste mine?”

Pushing her option in his direction for him to take a bite, Levi checked their surroundings and felt the shame of perhaps someone seeing him doing that, but he soon began to suspect that keeping a relationship would require him to start doing a lot of embarrassing stuff. He took one bite and hummed in agreement.

Swallowing, he said with his usual monotone voice, “Wanna taste mine?”

As she bent forward to take a bite, Levi forced himself to look away as perhaps there were too many kids around to even think it.

‘Why when she offers it, it’s cute, and when I do it, I sound like a fucking pervert?’

“Mhhm, very good, I like yours. It’s more creamy!”

‘...stop it, please.’

As they ate, he asked, “Do you like kids?”

She turned around, confused, almost shocked. “Fuck—no. I didn’t mean it like that,” Levi quickly realized how odd that sounded. “I mean, the Midwife path is hard, so you must like kids a lot.”

‘I mean if you want to reply to the other question, it’s also valid... I like kids very fucking much, let me know when you’re willing to start practicing,’ he thought.

“Ah!” she exclaimed, understanding he referred to their previous conversation about her prospects of work tonight. “I became an orphan very young; both of my parents were very old when they decided to have me, so they passed away before I finished my studies. And midwifery is a very necessary but judged profession. Most of my coworkers can’t do it because their husbands or fathers think it’s inappropriate for a girl to be around strangers’ houses in the middle of the night.”

“So... since I’ve nobody to tell me what I can or can’t do, I decided I should do it,” she replied to him. “This is a good time to tell you, I guess, that I’m not dropping my career.”

Levi shook his head. “I don’t mind it.”

“That’s why I went to Erwin’s office the other time,” she commented, making Levi frown, recalling the scene. “He was helping me write a project to present to the higher ranks.”

Her enthusiasm dropped slightly. “But... they didn’t accept it. I felt so bad.”

“Ah, that was why you were all weeping when we returned from the expedition?” he dropped the detail, but mostly because the idea was still lingering in his head.

One hand covered her mouth, and then she blushed. “Ah! You saw that?! So embarrassing,” she said, giving a subtle little hit on his arm playfully. “Why didn’t those morons accept it?”

She shrugged with a soft sigh. “They said something about the government resources not being enough for that proposal.”

“Tch, they have money for their stupid events but not for this? What did you propose?”

“Ugh... mh.hmp,” she seemed reluctant to reply and hummed incoherently. “I... don’t want to offend you.”

Levi frowned deeply but raised a single eyebrow as a silent question.

“It was about doing campaigns of pre-natal check-ups on the underground pregnant women. Sometimes they have difficult pregnancies, and the lucky ones are dragged up here if they have some connections when the situation is already unsalvageable. The pre-natal non-permanent posts are all around the walls except there... but, well, I told you their resolution,” she scratched the side of her neck nervously as she explained.

“Probably because we will have to bring security to go, and MPs do not want to participate.”

“Why would that offend me?” Levi spat out the question as her nervousness appeared ridiculous.

“Oh well... I thought that perhaps it’s a sensitive topic for you, and I didn’t want to ruin the mood.”

“I’m not that soft,” Levi replied quietly, but he felt completely different. He knew she was kind-hearted, but it warmed him that, despite the idea not reaching far, at least there were people trying to change something. “You should keep trying until those assholes listen to you.”

She hummed positively. “You could try to change their minds,” she suggested between chuckles.

Levi scoffed. “Talk to Erwin; he’s the one who doesn’t allow me to beat their asses.”

‘Everything is going so well... it’s suspicious.’

“Oh! Careful!” she said, catching his attention before she ran her finger through his chin and then sucked it clean. “You’re going to dirty your shirt’s neck.”

‘... just let me fuck you already, I’m on my knees.’

“I was thinking...” she started, turning around to look at him, doll eyes and a cheeky smile. “Maybe we could hang out this upcoming weekend. The celebrations for the king’s coronation will be ongoing all night all around the walls. I thought that maybe we could stroll around too.”

Levi was already sweating cold; she was taking the initiative, inviting him out... there was only one issue.

“Wouldn’t it be nice?”

“Ehm—”

‘Think of an excuse, you asshole.’

“I... I actually have to stay at my place that weekend,” he said, but his last words were quickly followed by a soft pout, puppy eyes, and a subtle “Ow,” from her. Levi wasn’t usually a person to give excuses or unnecessarily explain himself.

‘Oh shit, it’s not that I don’t want to—it’s just that—’

“I had this stupid invitation to the higher-ranks party whatsoever and—”

‘And I’m kinda escaping my responsibility of attending that shitty party that’s why—oh... oh no,’ he thought.

Her eyes began to shine, and the smile returned to her features. “Oh my god, you’re going to the official party?”

‘No... no I wasn’t going—that’s the whole point,’ he thought.

“I always wanted to go to one of those,” she said with a dreamy stare, her voice subtle and soft, almost begging but not quite.

‘No, for fuck’s sake, don’t look at me like that.’

—

“These are the preparations for the upcoming week, and I’ve already reviewed your paperwork, and they seem alright,” Erwin reorganized the piles of paper in front of him quickly for the other soldier.

Slender fingers picked it up, returning to the door’s direction, yet the pace was rather odd, and the fingers tapped the new papers with uneasiness. Erwin didn’t pay it much mind as he returned to filling out the multiple letters he needed to get ready so they would be sent first thing the upcoming morning. Spreading dust over the black ink so it would dry quicker, his movements were controlled yet rushed.

“So... I was wondering... do you still have that invitation?”

Those words made the blond freeze up mid-movement. He slowly looked up at Levi, who was standing in the middle of his office. Each second that passed, announced by the clock, changed the Commander’s expression from confused to angry as his thick eyebrows drew together.

Straightening up but not saying a word, his fingers intertwined. “Tell me, Levi... how many years have you worked with the scouts?”

“Tch,” Levi switched his weight from one leg to the other, arms crossing on top of his chest. Levi rolled his eyes, annoyed, “What does that even matter? Five.”

“Ah, yes, I see,” Erwin muttered as if he didn’t already know the answer. “And how many balls, parties, and official events have you been invited to?”

The Captain had a feeling where this was going and only frowned deeply. “Many... all of them.”

“Yes, that’s correct,” the blond confirmed slowly as if the information needed to sink in. “You see, I’m asking because it seems like I must be losing my memory... because I can’t recall a single damn time you went to any of those events without me having to coerce you into it.”

“When I don’t go to those shitty events, it’s about me not supporting the scouts. When I decide to fucking go, it’s also an issue?”

“No, no, no, no,” Erwin clicked his tongue repeatedly, “You didn’t decide to go... she wants to go, isn’t it?”

Silence. Reigning silence.

“Are you making me a jealousy scene?” Levi raised an eyebrow, confused.

“No, I just can’t believe that as your boss and friend, I’ve begged you all this time to go to those events, and you’re going because a girl—my friend—asked you to. You’re so henpecked it should give you secondhand embarrassment.”

“Fine! Yes, yes, I’m doing it for her. Happy?” Levi replied, offended. “In a week and a half, we’re leaving for an expedition, and I’ve not even seen a shitty ankle! Fucking excuse me for trying to get laid before I risk my life out there with one of your suicidal plans! Maybe I should get out of here and ask Mike what type of stupid bullshit you did to get Marie’s attention.”

The battle of stares was over when, reluctantly, Erwin pulled out the invitation from his drawer and handed it over, “Here, thank you for reconsidering it.”

“You’re welcome... I’m in favor of the plans for the upcoming expedition, by the way,” Levi walked back to the desk to pick up the letter and replied as he took the piece of paper with him.

“Glad to hear.”

And the two of them carried on with their responsibilities as if neither of them had ever mentioned anything.

Link to my masterlist and my other works if you feel like checking them out. Tags!: @nube55 @justkon @notgoodforlife @nmlkys @humanitys-strongest-bamf @quillinhand @thoreeo @darkstarlight82 @aomi04 @levisbrat25 @fxnnyackerman @secretmoneybearvoid @trashblackrainbow @l3visthighs @hum4n-wr3ckag3 @hannieslovebot @flxrartsstuff @feelingsandemotionsnotexplored @starrylevi @rithty @mariaace @ackrmntea @emilyyyy-08 @levisfavoriteteashop @katestrophes @katharinasdiaryy @ackermanswifee @levistealeaf @an-ever-angry-bi @youre-ackermine @searriously @blackdxggr @storiesofsung @abiatackerman @braunsbabe @moonchild-angel @galactict3a @lemonsupernova @hyuckwon-my-husbands @heyitsd1yaa @sydneyyuu @love-for-faeries-go-burrrr @mandaax @sugacor3 @r0ckst4rjk @vegetasgirl2799 @catiwinky @pinksaiyans @sparklykeylime Wanna join my tag list? Here!

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flwrstqr · 4 months

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— HOW TO LOSE A GUY IN 10 DAYS (LHS - 이희승)

SYNOPSIS ! an advice writer, you, starts on a bold new project for an article aiming to explain how to drive a man away in just 10 days. your editor is supports, so you set out to find a suitable man for her experiment. meanwhile, executive heeseung is equally confident in his ability to make any woman fall in love with him within 10 days. when you and heeseung cross paths, things slightly go off plan.

THE CAST heeseung x writer! fem reader

GENRE s2l, fluff, comedy, romance

WORD COUNT 5k+

WARNINGS parties, kissing, small grammar errors, yn kind of playing with heeseung at first, swearing, angst, crying

DANi NOTEZ hii this is for my liz's new event!!! this i based the rom com, how to lose a guy in 10 days. i kind of changed up scenes but the main idea and plot is based on the iconic 2000s movie. i've been writing this for abt 2-3 days? i thought it was good enough for liz' event so here i am. anyways i hope u enjoy it ><

BEING A WRITER HAS BEEN YOUR NUMBER ONE GOAL EVER SINCE HIGH SCHOOL. Now, at age 23, you were finally standing at the gates of the biggest magazine company ever. The sight alone sent chills down your spine, filling you with exhilaration.

Taking a deep breath, you pushed open the doors and stepped inside. The bustling activity, the hum of the printer, and the aroma of bitter coffee greeted you. You made your way to the elevator and anxiously pressed the button for the 17th floor.

Upon arrival, you awkwardly walked into the office. Your heart was pounding, and your knees were slightly shaking. You approached the manager's office and opened the door, finding yourself sitting in front of your section's main manager.

"YN LN?" the woman asked.

"Yes, ma'am," you replied stiffly, nerves evident in your voice.

"Welcome to our magazine company," she greeted, shaking your sweaty hand.

"Thank you," you responded with your usual sweet smile.

"Well, why don't you get to work?" she laughed. Your eyes widened, and you quickly stammered an apology, rushing to find your new desk and start brainstorming ideas.

For nearly two hours, you gazed out the window, feeling empty. No ideas were coming to you. It always seemed that the best ideas came at the worst times, and now, when you needed them most, your mind was blank.

"YN, just think…" you whispered to yourself, running your fingers through your hair. You glanced around the office, hoping for inspiration. Your eyes settled on a young man and woman engaged in a flirtatious conversation. Watching them smile and laugh together made you wonder if they were a couple or just interested in each other. (happy couples really did give you an ick.)

Then, it happened. The perfect idea. An idea that could possibly get you promoted and shake the whole world.

Quickly scribbling on your paper, the title snapped into your mind: "How to Lose a Guy in 10 Days."

YOU MIGHT BE WONDERING, how do you even lose a guy in 10 days? Easy—just find a guy and drive him away by doing stereotypical “girl things.” Sounds like a piece of cake, right?

“YN, that is one of the BEST ideas I’ve ever heard!” your editor, Yeseo, exclaims.

“Really?” you ask, eagerly smiling.

“It’s perfect! It would catch everyone’s attention!” Yeseo explains, her eyes lighting up as she imagines the situation.

“So, how are you going to write this?” Yeseo raises an eyebrow.

“I’ll try it out myself and document my experiences. That way, it’s more authentic,” you shrug.

“That sounds great. Just journal your experiences each day,” Yeseo nods, agreeing with your plan. “I’m so excited to see the final product, YN. Email me once you’re finished, and we’ll get it published within weeks.”

You give her a quick smile before leaving her office, ready to start your new adventure.

PARTIES. USUALLY ONE OF THE THINGS YOU ABSOLUTELY HATED. The noise of couples kissing, people screaming, and music blasting through the speakers was just not your thing. The way sweaty bodies brush against each other as they chug alcohol. Parties are truly the thing you hate the most.

“So you’re telling me your new article for the magazine is about how to get a boy to dump you in 10 days?” Karina raised her eyebrow.

“In other words, yes,” you smiled. “I mean, what’s the worst that can happen?”

“Possibly it not working,” Giselle interjected.

“Well, it will. I’ve planned the whole thing,” you grinned with a hint of pride. “My editor was impressed. I’m sure it’ll work.”

“If you say so,” Karina laughed at your confidence.

“So basically, YN will get a boyfriend before me?” Ningning asked, shocked.

“Well, he’s not gonna be my boyfriend. He’s more like a test,” you replied uncertainty. As you continued to explain your plan, you felt a gaze fixed on you from across the room.

A FEW MINUTES BEFORE

“I bet you can’t get a girlfriend,” Jake joked.

“I can,” Heeseung rolled his eyes.

“Wanna bet on it, then?” Jake's eyes glinted with playfulness.

“Deal,” Heeseung confirmed.

“If you get that girl over there as your girlfriend, then I’ll give you a thousand dollars.” Jake smirked, pointing at you across the room.

“Her?” Heeseung raised his eyebrow as he checked you out. You were pretty to his eyes, though he wasn’t sure if he had the courage to approach you.

“Yup, her,” Jake grinned.

“Deal, I’ll have her in my arms within a day,” Heeseung winked before walking over to ask for your number.

NOW

“No way my plan will fail–” your voice stopped as Heeseung approached, tapping your shoulder lightly.

“Hi,” he greeted you with a welcoming smile.

“Uh, hi?” you replied, confused.

“You’re kind of cute. Can I get your number?” Heeseung asked, the words not quite rolling off his tongue as he had never done this before.

Your cheeks burned slightly as you stared. “Sure?” He was quite cute, with his sweet smile and perfectly styled hair. You gave him your number, and he mentioned he would text you later before walking off.

“YN, you know what that means?” Giselle raised her eyebrow.

“Huh?” you looked confused.

“You can use him as your test,” Winter recalled. Your eyes then widened. Perfect! He would be the perfect subject for your new article. Now, how were you going to make him yours?

YOU SIT ON YOUR BED, staring at your phone, debating whether to text Heeseung first. Your fingers hover over the keyboard, a mixture of nervousness and excitement bubbling inside you. Finally, you take a deep breath and type out a message.

YN: Hi, it’s YN. We met at the party earlier, you asked for my number. :)

You hit send and immediately feel a rush of anxiety. What if he doesn’t respond? What if he thinks you’re weird? You try to distract yourself by scrolling through social media, but the minutes feel like hours. Suddenly, your phone buzzes.

Heeseung: Hey, of course I remember. How's your night going?

YN: It’s going good, just relaxing now. How about you?

Heeseung: Same here. Just got home. That party was a bit too much for me, tbh

You smile, feeling a little more at ease.

YN: Agreed, not rlly a party person lmao

Heeseung: Really? Me neither. I actually prefer a quiet night with some good music.

YN: Same, what kind of music do you like?

Heeseung: I listen to a lot like R&B and indie ig

YN: oh rlly? Same w me

Heeseung: oh that’s cool

Heeseung: also wanna meet up one day?

YN: That would be amazing. I’m totally up for it.

Heeseung: Cool, it’s a date then. :)

You can’t help but smile at his message, feeling a flutter of excitement.

YN: Sounds like a plan.

Heeseung: It’s getting late. I should probably get some sleep. But I’m glad we got to talk tonight.

YN: Me too. Sleep well, Heeseung. Talk to you tomorrow?

Heeseung: Definitely. Goodnight, YN. :)

You set your phone down, a smile still on your face. This might just be the start of something interesting.

YOU TAKE A DEEP BREATH, smoothing out your outfit one last time before stepping into the restaurant. Heeseung is already there, waiting at a table near the window. He spots you and waves, a warm smile spreading across his face. You give a small smile back.

“Hi,” you greet him as you sit down.

“Hey,” he replies, “You look great.”

“Thanks, you too.”

The waiter comes over to take your orders, and there’s a moment of awkward silence as you both look at the menus.

“So, uh, do you come here often?” Heeseung asks, attempting to break the ice.

“Actually, it’s my first time,” you admit.

“I see,” Heeseung awkwardly laughs.

AFTER DINNER, you both step outside into the cool evening air, feeling more comfortable in each other’s presence.

“That was really nice,” Heeseung says, stuffing his hands into his pockets.

“Yeah, it was,” you agree, feeling a sense of relief that the awkwardness from earlier has faded.

You walk side by side down the quiet street, enjoying the peaceful atmosphere.

“Do you live far from here?” Heeseung asks, breaking the silence.

“Not too far. Just a few blocks away,” you reply, glancing at him.

“Oh I see,” he says, smiling.

As you continued walking, the two of you began to chatter off. The conversation flows effortlessly, and you find yourself laughing at his jokes and sharing your own stories.

“Did you see the sunset earlier?” Heeseung asks, pointing to the sky, which is now painted with shades of orange and pink.

“Yeah, it was beautiful,” you say, smiling at the sight.

“I had a really good time tonight,” Heeseung says, looking at you with a soft smile.

“Me too,” you reply, feeling a warmth spread through you.

As you reach your street, you both come to a stop.

“Well, I guess this is where we part ways,” Heeseung says, looking a little reluctant to leave.

“Yeah,” you say, feeling a twinge of disappointment.

“Thanks for tonight, YN. I had a great time,” he says, stepping closer to you, “Maybe another time we can hang out again.”

“Thank you too, Heeseung. That sounds great,” you reply, feeling a rush of happiness.

YOU DECIDE IT'S TIME TO PUT YOUR PLAN INTO ACTION. You’ve thought through every detail, determined to see if your article concept works in real life. Step one: find an ugly dog and some hideous clothes. You’ve got the perfect ideas in mind.

You meet Heeseung outside his apartment, holding a small, scruffy dog with a face only its owner could love. You flash him a bright smile as he opens the door.

“Surprise!” you exclaim. “I got us a dog!”

Heeseung’s eyes widen as he takes in the sight of the dog. “Uh, wow, YN. That’s…unexpected.”

“Isn’t he adorable?” you gush, ignoring the bewilderment on Heeseung’s face. “I named him Snuggles.”

“Snuggles, huh?” Heeseung says, trying to muster enthusiasm. “Yeah, he’s…something.”

You place Snuggles in Heeseung’s arms, watching as the dog licks his face with an enthusiastic, slobbery tongue. Heeseung grimaces slightly but manages a strained smile.

“Let’s take him for a walk,” you suggest brightly, grabbing a garishly colored leash from your bag.

Later that evening, you bring out the next part of your plan: an outfit so hideous that it should be impossible for Heeseung to bear. You hand him a neon green tracksuit with orange polka dots and a pair of mismatched shoes.

“I thought we could match!” you say, revealing your identical outfit. “Isn’t it fun?”

Heeseung looks at the clothes, then back at you, clearly unsure how to respond. “Wow, YN. This is…unique.”

“You don’t like it?” you ask, pouting slightly.

“No, no, it’s great,” he says quickly. “I’ll just, uh, go change.”

When he returns, you both look like you’ve stepped out of a bad 80s workout video. You can’t help but laugh at the absurdity, but Heeseung seems to be struggling to keep a straight face.

“Let’s go grab dinner,” you say, linking your arm with his. “I made reservations at that fancy restaurant downtown.”

At the restaurant, the two of you turn heads as you walk in, dressed in your eye-searing outfits. The hostess tries to maintain her professionalism as she leads you to your table, but you can see the corners of her mouth twitching.

Throughout dinner, you do your best to be as irritating as possible. You chew with your mouth open, talk loudly, and insist on ordering the strangest items on the menu.

“Are you sure you want the pizza?” Heeseung asks, a note of disbelief in his voice.

“Absolutely,” you reply, grinning. “And I think you should try it too!”

Heeseung hesitates but eventually nods. “Sure, why not?”

Here you were, sitting on your bed as you write your story. Typing away and zoning out, it had to be working right? He obviously would be over you by next week. All you needed was one more shove to drive him away soon as possible. Just 5 more days..

YOU PUSH YOUR CART THROUGH the aisles of the grocery store, scanning the shelves for the items on your list. As you reach for a box of cereal, you hear a familiar voice behind you.

“YN?”

You turn to see Heeseung approaching, a smile lighting up his face. “Oh, hi Heeseung,” you say with a smile.

“Nice to see you here,” he says, falling into step beside you.

“Yeah, I just needed to grab a few things,” you reply, feeling a bit flustered by his presence.

Heeseung nods, and for a moment, there’s an awkward silence as you both continue browsing. Suddenly, you realize you can’t reach the item you need on the top shelf.

“Um, Heeseung, do you think you could help me with something?” you ask, feeling a bit embarrassed.

“Of course, what do you need?” he replies, stepping closer.

“I just need to grab that box up there,” you say, pointing to the top shelf.

“Sure thing,” Heeseung says, reaching up to grab the box.

But as he stretches, you accidentally bump into him, causing him to lose his balance. In a split second, you reach out to steady him, but instead, you end up stumbling backward, crashing to the ground on top of him. Your face merely inches from each other.

“I’m sorry about that!” you exclaim, your face burning with embarrassment.

“It’s okay, don’t worry about it,” he says, his cheeks also flushed as he helps you up.

“Um, we should probably get up,” you say, feeling flustered.

“Yeah, definitely,” Heeseung agrees, scrambling to his feet.

You both straighten your clothes and try to regain your composure, but the awkwardness lingers in the air.

“Well, um, thanks for trying to help,” you say, feeling a bit embarrassed.

“Anytime,” Heeseung replies with a sheepish smile. You exchange a quick awkward glance before awkwardly walking back to do your own things.

YOU AND HEESEUNG STEP INTO THE DIMLY LIT MOVIE THEATER, the smell of popcorn filling the air. You’ve been looking forward to this night out, hoping it will help end your plan to drive him away. As you settle into your seats, the lights dim, and the movie begins.

The film is a romantic comedy, and as the story unfolds, you find yourself getting lost in the plot. But when the characters share a kiss on screen, you feel a sudden tension between you and Heeseung.

You glance at him out of the corner of your eye, and you can see that he’s watching you, his expression unreadable. You both look away awkwardly, feeling a flush of embarrassment.

As the movie progresses, the tension between you only grows. You can feel Heeseung’s eyes on you, and you struggle to focus on the screen, your heart pounding in your chest.

Suddenly, as another kiss happens, Heeseung leans in closer to you. You freeze, unsure of what to do. Is he going to kiss you? But then, almost as if on cue, Heeseung leans in closer, his lips hovering just inches from yours. His breath mingles with yours, his warm exhales tickling your skin as he leans in, his lips drawing closer to yours. You can feel the gentle brush of his breath against your mouth, sending shivers down your spine.

Your heart pounds in your chest as you feel the warmth of his breath against your skin. And then, in a heartbeat, he closes the gap between you, his lips pressing softly against yours. It’s a gentle kiss, but hesitant at first, but soon it deepens. You can’t help but respond, your hands finding their way to his shoulders.

You melt into the kiss, losing yourself in the sensation of his lips against yours. When you finally pull away, your heart is racing, and your mind is buzzing with emotions. You meet Heeseung’s gaze, and you can see the same uncertainty reflected in his eyes.

“Wow,” he whispers, his voice barely audible over the sound of the movie.

“Yeah,” you murmur, at a loss for words.

As the movie comes to an end, you both sit in silence, the weight of what just happened hanging in the air. But despite the awkwardness, you can’t shake the feeling that something has shifted between you.

As you leave the theater, you can’t help but replay the kiss in your mind, feeling a sense of warmth and longing that you can’t ignore. And as you walk hand in hand with Heeseung, you realize with a start that maybe, just maybe, you’re falling in love.

AS YOU LIE IN BED THAT NIGHT, the events of the evening replay in your mind. The gentle touch of Heeseung's lips against yours, the warmth of his embrace—it all stuck in your head.

You stare up at the ceiling, think to yourself. Love? It's a word you're not ready to utter, a feeling too intense to comprehend. You try to push the thought aside.

You roll onto your side, pulling the covers tighter around you. You couldn’t be in love? All that effort you put in to get rid of him. It was your 8th day, just two more days. You couldn’t do it anymore. As you drift off to sleep, the question echoes in your mind. Are you falling in love with Heeseung?

THE REALIZATION HITS YOU like a ton of bricks, leaving you feeling breathless. Could it be true? Are you actually falling in love with Heeseung?

The thought consumes you as you go about your day. By the time evening arrives, you can't shake the feeling that you needed to end it.

Summoning every ounce of courage, you pick up your phone and dial your editor's number. When she answers, you get yourself together for the conversation ahead.

"Hey, it's me," you begin, "I need to talk to you about the article."

There's a pause on the other end of the line, and you can almost hear the curiosity in her voice as she responds. "Sure, what's up?"

"I… I can't write it," you admit, the words feeling like a confession. "I just don't feel right about it anymore."

There's a moment of silence before your editor speaks again, her tone firm."No, you're writing it," she says, leaving no room for argument.

"But—" you start to protest, but she cuts you off before you can continue.

"No buts," she insists. "We've already agreed on the topic, and you're the best person for the job. I expect to see the first draft on my desk by the end of the week."

You sigh, feeling defeated. It's clear that your editor isn't going to budge on this issue, and you know that arguing further would be a waste.

"Okay," you say reluctantly, resigning yourself to the task at hand. "I'll get it done."

AS YOU SIT ON YOUR COUCH, trying to make sense of everything that's happened, until you hear Heeseung pick up a call.

“ Heeseung!" Jake's voice crackles through the phone, filled with excitement. "So, have you sealed the deal yet? Win YN over?"

Your heart skips a beat at the mention of your name and you instinctively lean in closer, eager to hear his response. But as you listen, the color drains from your face, and a cold dread settles in the pit of your stomach.

"The bet that I could get YN in 10 days?," Heeseung's voice comes through the phone, his words cutting through the air, "I thought I could, but…"

Your heart shatters. Your knees started to shake. How could you have been so blind? How could you have let yourself fall for someone who was playing a game with your feelings?

Before you can hear the rest of his sentence, you leave the room silently. "I thought I could, but…" The words replay in your head.As the reality sinks in, you realize that you may have just broken your own heart, listening in on a conversation that was never meant for your ears. He played with you. He was using you. You feel like a fool, blindsided by the truth that's been staring you in the face all along.

You walk yourself to the nearest taxi before coming back to your empty apartment. You lie on bed, your palms on your eyes, sobbing quietly. Why should you care? I mean he was just an experiment — right?

THE MORNING SUNLIGHT FILTERS through the curtains as you sit on your bed, thoughts rushing through your mind. The wounds from last night were still raw, as you feel tired and sick. You kew what you have to do. You began to type your last paragraph of the article before submitting it to your editor.

With the article sent, you feel a mix of anxiety and relief. You know the revised piece is honest and raw, reflecting your own experience. But there’s one more thing you need to do to truly move forward.

To: Editor Yeseo

Subject: Resignation Letter

Dear Yeseo,

I am writing to formally resign from my position as a writer, effective immediately. I appreciate the opportunities I have had here and the support from the team, but I must prioritize my well-being at this time.

Thank you for your understanding.

Sincerely, YN

You hit send, feeling an overwhelming amount of pain. Being a writer had been your dream job, but now, it feels like a chapter you need to close. As you sit in your now-quiet apartment, you feel a pang of sadness. The memories of the past few weeks with Heeseung linger, but you push them aside.

You start with your closet, pulling out clothes and sorting them into piles: keep, donate, and toss. You take down the photos and posters from the walls, each one a reminder of the life you’re leaving behind.

Next, you move to the kitchen, packing up dishes, utensils, and small appliances. You wrap everything carefully, methodically, as if each item represents a piece of your heart that you’re trying to protect.

Your phone buzzes with messages from Heeseung, but you ignore them. Making them be left on delivered. You move to the living room, packing up books, DVDs, and mementos. You’re not just packing up your belongings; you’re packing up your old life, preparing to move on and start new.

IN HIS DIMLY LIT APARTMENT, Heeseung sits on the edge of his bed, the glow of his laptop screen casting shadows across his face. His heart pounds in his chest as he opens the email attachment—a document titled "How to Lose a Guy in 10 Days—And Fall in Love in the Process" by [Your Name].

As the page loads, he takes a deep breath, steeling himself for what he's about to read. The cursor hovers over the first paragraph, and with a trembling hand, he begins to scroll down.

Heeseung sits at his desk, his heart pounding in his chest as he reads the article that has just landed in his inbox. With each word, his emotions spiral into a whirlwind of confusion and disbelief.

"When I set out to write this article..."

He reads the opening sentence, his brow furrowing in confusion. What article is this? And why does it sound so familiar?

As he continues to read, the pieces start to fall into place. The description of the article, the unexpected turn of events—it's all too familiar, too painful to ignore.

"I met someone who was supposed to be just a test subject..."

Heeseung's breath catches in his throat as he realizes what he's reading. This is about him. About the bet, about the article he overheard, about everything.

He reads on, his heart pounding louder with each passing sentence:

When I set out to write this article, the plan was simple: follow a set of steps to make a guy dump me in ten days. It was supposed to be a fun, light-hearted challenge—a piece to entertain our readers. But life, as it often does, had other plans.

I met someone who was supposed to be just a test subject. But as the days went by, something unexpected happened. The more I tried to push him away, the closer we became. Every awkward moment, every forced argument, every silly plan to drive him away only brought us closer together.

I found myself laughing at his jokes, looking forward to our time together, and, against all odds, feeling a connection I hadn't anticipated. What started as a challenge turned into a journey of discovery—not just about him, but about myself.

I realized that love isn't something you can plan or control. It sneaks up on you when you least expect it, breaking down the walls you've carefully built around your heart. And sometimes, the person you're trying to lose ends up being the one you can't imagine living without.

So, dear readers, this isn't the article I set out to write. It's not about foolproof ways to make a guy dump you. Instead, it's a story about how, in the process of trying to push someone away, I found myself falling in love. It's messy, it's unexpected, and it's beautiful.

Life has a funny way of turning our plans upside down. And sometimes, the best stories are the ones we never meant to write.

He closes the magazine, his mind spinning with thoughts of you. He knows he needs to find you, to talk to you, to tell you how he feels. He can't let this opportunity slip away, can't let the chance to be with you slip through his fingers.

With a sense of determination, Heeseung rises from his seat, his heart pounding in his chest. He knows he has to find you, to tell you how he feels, to see if maybe, just maybe, you feel the same way too.

HEESEUNG'S HEART RACES AS HE RUSHES THROUGH THE STREETS, his mind consumed with thoughts of you. He knows he needs to find you, to talk to you, to tell you everything.

As he rounds the corner, he sees your apartment building looming ahead. His steps quicken, his breath coming in short, ragged gasps. He's so close now, so close to finally telling you how he feels.

But as he reaches your building, his heart sinks at the sight before him. He sees movers loading boxes into a truck parked outside, and he realizes with a sinking feeling that you're moving away.

Heeseung's chest tightens with panic, his mind racing as he searches for a solution. He can't let you slip away, can't let this chance to be with you slip through his fingers. He rushes toward the building, his thoughts jumbled all up.

As he bursts through the door, he sees you standing in the hallway, a suitcase at your feet, tears streaming down your face. His heart breaks at the sight of your sadness, and he knows he needs to act fast.

"Y/N!" he calls out, his voice echoing through the empty hallway. You turn to face him, your eyes widening in surprise at the sight of him standing there.

"Heeseung?" you whisper, your voice trembling with emotion. "What are you doing here?"

Heeseung takes a deep breath, steeling himself for what he's about to say. "I need to talk to you," he says, his voice filled with urgency. "There's something I need to tell you, something I should have told you a long time ago."

He steps closer to you, his eyes never leaving yours. "I was part of the bet," he admits, his voice barely above a whisper. "But it was never about winning a thousand dollars or proving anything to Jake. It was about proving something to myself—to prove that I could be the kind of guy who deserves someone like you."

Tears well up in your eyes as you listen to his confession, your heart aching with a mix of sadness and hope. "Heeseung…" you whisper, reaching out to touch his hand.

But Heeseung doesn't wait for you to say anything more. With a surge of courage, he leans in and presses his lips to yours, pouring all of his love and longing into the kiss.

As Heeseung's lips meet yours in that soft, tender kiss, his hands gently find their way to your waist, pulling you closer to him.

You feel the heat of his body against yours, the closeness intensifying the sensation of his lips moving against yours. His touch is gentle yet possessive, his fingers tracing patterns on your skin as if memorizing every curve of your body.

You pull away, staring and laughing for a moment.

"I love you," you whisper softly.

"I love you more," he smiles back, quietly leaning his forehead against yours to quickly catch his lips on yours again. Maybe writing that article wasn't so bad after all.

739 notes · View notes

xxspringmelodyxx · 2 months

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"𝐼 𝒸𝒶𝓃'𝓉 𝓈𝑒𝑒 𝒶 𝓉𝒽𝒾𝓃𝑔!"

┗━━━━━━⊱ 𝑯𝒐𝒘 𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒚 𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒄𝒕 𝒕𝒐 𝒚𝒐𝒖𝒓 𝒕𝒆𝒓𝒓𝒊𝒃𝒍𝒆 𝒆𝒚𝒆𝒔𝒊𝒈𝒉𝒕 ⊰━━━━━━┛

𝑻𝒉𝒂𝒏𝒌 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒕𝒐 @haydensjw 𝒇𝒐𝒓 𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒔 𝒄𝒖𝒕𝒆 𝒓𝒆𝒒𝒖𝒆𝒔𝒕! 𝑰 𝒉𝒐𝒑𝒆 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒆𝒏𝒋𝒐𝒚 <3333

⊱ 𝑰𝒏𝒄𝒍𝒖𝒅𝒆𝒔: 𝑺𝒂𝒕𝒐𝒓𝒖 𝑮𝒐𝒋𝒐, 𝑺𝒖𝒈𝒖𝒓𝒖 𝑮𝒆𝒕𝒐, 𝑲𝒆𝒏𝒕𝒐 𝑵𝒂𝒏𝒂𝒎𝒊, 𝑪𝒉𝒐𝒔𝒐 𝑲𝒂𝒎𝒐, 𝑻𝒐𝒋𝒊 𝑭𝒖𝒔𝒉𝒊𝒈𝒖𝒓𝒐, 𝑺𝒖𝒌𝒖𝒏𝒂 𝑹𝒚𝒐𝒎𝒆𝒏 ⊰

𝑴𝒂𝒔𝒕𝒆𝒓𝒍𝒊𝒔𝒕

✿⋆·˚❀˚·⋆✿✿⋆·˚❀˚·⋆✿✿⋆·˚❀˚·⋆✿✿⋆·˚❀˚·⋆✿✿⋆·˚❀˚·⋆✿✿⋆·˚❀˚·⋆✿✿⋆·˚❀˚·⋆✿✿⋆·˚❀˚·⋆✿

─═✧✧═─ 𝕊𝕒𝕥𝕠𝕣𝕦 𝔾𝕠𝕛𝕠 ─═✧✧═─

You squinted at the blurry shapes around you, feeling a sense of frustration well up inside. Your contact lenses had disappeared into the abyss of your room, and your glasses had decided to break at the worst possible time. Navigating without them was like trying to walk through a dense fog. You tried to make your way to the living room, but every step felt uncertain.

Just as you were about to give up and crawl back to your bed, you collided with a firm chest. Strong hands steadied you, and you looked up—or at least tried to—into the familiar blur of Satoru Gojo.

"Whoa there, need a guide, princess?" His voice was filled with amusement, and you could almost see the teasing grin on his face.

"Very funny, Satoru," you muttered, feeling your cheeks heat up. "Can you help me find my way to the living room?"

"Of course," he said, taking your hand. "What kind of boyfriend would I be if I left my helpless girlfriend stumbling around in the dark?"

You rolled your eyes, even though you knew he couldn’t see it. "I’m not helpless. I just have a temporary visual impairment."

He chuckled and began to lead you down the hallway. Despite his teasing, his touch was gentle, and he navigated you through the obstacles with ease. "You know, you should really keep a spare pair of glasses."

"I usually do," you grumbled. "But they both decided to betray me today."

As you reached the living room, Satoru made sure you were comfortably seated before disappearing into the kitchen. Moments later, he returned with a glass of water and handed it to you. "Here, drink this. You look like you could use it."

"Thanks," you said, taking a sip. The cool water helped calm your nerves a bit.

Satoru sat down beside you, his arm draped casually over the back of the couch. "So, what’s the plan? Are we going to spend the day playing 'Guess What This Blurry Object Is'?"

You laughed. "Very funny. No, I was thinking about reading a book, but that’s clearly not happening."

He looked thoughtful for a moment. "How about I read to you?"

You raised an eyebrow. "You? Read to me?"

"Sure, why not?" he said with a grin. "I’ve been told I have a pretty decent voice."

You couldn’t help but smile. "Alright, fine. But you better pick a good book."

Satoru stood up and walked over to your bookshelf, scanning the titles. He picked out a book and returned to the couch, opening it to the first page. "How about this one?" He asked, reading the title to you.

You nodded, settling back into the cushions as he began to read. His voice was surprisingly soothing, and you found yourself getting lost in the story, despite the fact that you couldn’t see the words. It was a nice change of pace, and you appreciated the effort he was putting in to make you feel better.

As the day went on, you found yourself relying more and more on Satoru. When you needed to get up, he was there to guide you. When you wanted something from another room, he fetched it for you. His usually playful demeanor softened, and he took care of you with a tenderness that warmed your heart.

Later in the afternoon, you decided to tackle some chores. You tried to lift a box of books, but before you could even get a good grip on it, Satoru was there, stopping you.

"What do you think you're doing?" he asked, a hint of sternness in his voice.

"Just moving some books," you replied, a little taken aback by his sudden seriousness.

"Not on my watch. You’re not lifting anything heavier than a feather, got it?" He effortlessly picked up the box and carried it away, leaving you feeling both cared for and slightly annoyed.

"Satoru, I can handle some light lifting," you protested, following him into the next room.

"Maybe on a normal day, but not today," he said firmly. "You need to rest your eyes and not strain yourself."

You sighed, knowing he was right but still feeling a bit frustrated by your limitations. "I just hate feeling so...useless."

He set the box down and turned to you, his expression softening. "Hey, you’re not useless. You’re just having a rough day. It’s okay to let someone else take care of you once in a while."

You looked up at him, your vision still blurry but clear enough to see the sincerity in his eyes. "Thank you, Satoru. I really appreciate everything you’re doing."

He smiled, pulling you into a gentle hug. "Anytime, princess. Now, why don’t you relax while I finish up here?"

You nodded, feeling a wave of gratitude wash over you. Despite the teasing and the jokes, Satoru had shown you just how much he cared, and it made you love him even more.

That evening, as you both sat on the couch, Satoru turned on the TV and put on your favorite show. He wrapped an arm around you, pulling you close. "You know, if you ever need a guide dog, I’m available," he said with a wink.

You laughed, resting your head on his shoulder. "I’ll keep that in mind."

With Satoru by your side, you knew that even the blurriest days could be filled with love and laughter.

─═✧✧═─ 𝕊𝕦𝕘𝕦𝕣𝕦 𝔾𝕖𝕥𝕠 ─═✧✧═─

The battle had been intense. The curses had appeared out of nowhere, and you had been caught off guard. In the chaos, a powerful curse had lashed out at you, knocking you off your feet and sending your glasses flying. They shattered upon impact with the ground, leaving you virtually blind.

You struggled to get up, blinking rapidly in a futile attempt to clear your vision. The world around you was a blur, and panic started to set in. You couldn’t see the curses, couldn’t defend yourself properly. Your heart raced as you tried to make out the blurry forms around you.

"Hold on, I’m coming!" Suguru's voice cut through the confusion. He was fighting his way toward you, his powerful attacks taking down curses left and right. Despite the chaos, he never lost sight of you.

When he finally reached you, he immediately noticed your struggle. "Are you okay?" he asked, his voice filled with concern.

"My glasses," you managed to say, pointing to the shattered pieces on the ground.

Suguru's expression hardened. "Stay close to me," he ordered, taking your hand. He led you to a safer spot, his grip firm and reassuring.

With you safely behind him, Suguru unleashed his full power, vanquishing the remaining curses with a fierce determination. You watched in awe, even through your blurry vision, as he fought with precision and strength.

Once the battle was over, Suguru turned his attention back to you. "Let’s get you out of here," he said gently. He helped you up and guided you through the wreckage, making sure you didn’t trip or stumble.

Back at the base, Suguru sat you down and examined the broken pieces of your glasses. "These are beyond repair," he said, shaking his head.

You sighed, feeling a wave of frustration. "Great, now what am I going to do? I can’t see a thing without them."

"Don’t worry," Suguru said, his tone soothing. "I’ll take care of you until we get a new pair."

He made a quick phone call, arranging for a new pair of glasses to be delivered as soon as possible. In the meantime, he stayed by your side, guiding you through your daily tasks with unwavering patience.

"You don’t have to do this," you said, feeling a bit guilty for being so dependent on him.

"I want to," Suguru replied, his eyes softening. "You mean a lot to me. It’s the least I can do."

As the day progressed, you found yourself relying more and more on Suguru. When you needed to move from one room to another, he was there to guide you. When you wanted to eat, he described the food in front of you and helped you navigate your plate.

Despite the frustration of your impaired vision, Suguru’s presence made everything feel more manageable.

As evening approached, Suguru suggested going outside for some fresh air. "It might help clear your mind," he said.

You agreed, and he led you to a quiet park nearby. The sounds of nature surrounded you, and you felt a sense of peace despite your blurred vision. Suguru described the scene around you, pointing out the blooming flowers and the setting sun.

After a while, your phone buzzed, indicating that your new glasses were ready for pickup. Suguru accompanied you to the optometrist, guiding you carefully into the store.

The optometrist greeted you warmly and handed you your new glasses. As you put them on, the world snapped back into focus, and you sighed with relief. "Thank you so much," you said to the optometrist.

She smiled and nodded. "Remember, try not to push yourself too hard, especially with lifting heavy objects. Your eyes are sensitive, and overexertion can worsen your condition."

Suguru's eyebrows shot up in surprise. "Overexertion can damage your eyes?"

You nodded, feeling a bit sheepish. "Yeah, it's something I've been warned about before."

Suguru looked at you with a mixture of concern and determination. "Then we need to be even more careful. No more lifting heavy things for you."

You crossed your arms stubbornly, “I appreciate your concern, my love, but I can’t just sit around and do nothing. I want to help.

He sighed, his expression softening, “I know you want to help, but your health comes first. We’ll find other ways for you to contribute without putting strain on your eyes.” I whined

"I just don’t want to feel useless," you insisted.

He sighed, wrapping an arm around your shoulders as you both walked out of the optometrist’s office. "First of all, you're never useless. But…fine. However, we’re going to find a balance. You can still help, but you need to listen to me when I say something is too much for you."

You smiled, appreciating his compromise. "Deal."

As you both left the optometrist, Suguru wrapped an arm around your shoulders. "I love you, you know.”

You smiled, feeling a warmth in your chest. "I love you more, Sugu. Thank you, for everything."

He squeezed your hand gently. "I’m always here for you. No matter what."

With Suguru by your side, you knew that even the blurriest days could be filled with love, support, and a sense of calm that only he could bring.

─═✧✧═─ 𝕂𝕖𝕟𝕥𝕠 ℕ𝕒𝕟𝕒𝕞𝕚 ─═✧✧═─

It was just another day at the school where you worked as a teacher. Your students were engaged in their assignments, the room filled with the quiet hum of concentration. As you adjusted your contact lenses, something felt off. When you rubbed your eyes, one of your contact lenses popped out and fell to the floor.

Panic set in immediately. Without your contact lenses, you could barely see past five centimeters in front of your face. You knelt down, squinting as you tried to find the tiny lens on the floor, but it was hopeless. The world was a blur, and you knew you wouldn’t be able to continue teaching like this.

"Miss, are you okay?" one of your students asked, noticing your distress.

"I’m fine," you said, forcing a smile. "Just misplaced my contact lens. Keep working on your assignments, please."

You managed to get through the rest of the class with the help of your students, who were more than happy to assist you with reading and writing tasks. As soon as the bell rang, you headed straight for the teacher’s lounge, where you knew Kento Nanami would be waiting. He was visiting the school for a guest lecture that day, and you felt a wave of relief knowing he was there.

Kento immediately noticed your struggle as you walked in, one eye squinting and your movements hesitant. "What happened?" he asked, concern evident in his voice.

"I lost one of my contact lenses during class," you explained, frustration clear in your tone. "I can’t see anything properly."

Kento sighed and shook his head. "Come on, let’s sit down," he said, guiding you to a chair. He knew all too well about your terrible vision and the precautions you had to take to avoid straining your eyes.

"Thank you," you said, sitting down and rubbing your temples. "I just need to get through the rest of the day without making a fool of myself."

"You’re not making a fool of yourself," Kento reassured you. "These things happen. I’ll help you out."

For the rest of the day, Kento stayed by your side. He guided you through the hallways, helped you with your teaching materials, and even read out loud when necessary. His presence was a calming influence, and you found yourself feeling less anxious about your impaired vision.

When lunchtime came, you both sat in the lounge. Kento handed you your lunch, making sure everything was within easy reach. "You know," he said thoughtfully, "you really should consider carrying a spare pair of glasses or an extra set of contacts."

"I usually do," you replied, taking a bite of your sandwich. "But today has just been...off."

Kento nodded. "It’s alright. We’ll get through this."

As the afternoon wore on, you found yourself needing to lift some boxes of supplies for an upcoming lesson. Without thinking, you bent down to pick one up, but Kento was there in an instant.

"You know you shouldn’t be lifting heavy things," he admonished gently, taking the box from you. "Your vision could worsen with too much strain."

"I know, I know," you said, slightly exasperated. "But I can’t just sit around and do nothing."

"You’re not doing nothing," Kento countered. "You’re teaching and managing your classroom. Let me handle the heavy lifting."

You sighed but nodded, appreciating his concern. "Alright, but just for today."

Kento smiled, setting the box down on a table. "Fine."

As the school day came to a close, Kento escorted you to your car. "I’m glad you were here today," you admitted. "I don’t know how I would have managed without you."

"You would have found a way," he said confidently. "But I’m glad I could help."

─═✧✧═─ ℂ𝕙𝕠𝕤𝕠 𝕂𝕒𝕞𝕠 ─═✧✧═─

It had been a perfect day so far. You, Choso, and Yuji were hanging out at your house, enjoying each other’s company. The weather outside was perfect, and the atmosphere inside was filled with laughter and fun. Everything seemed to be going smoothly until disaster struck.

You and Yuji, in a burst of playful energy, started wrestling in the living room. It was all in good fun until Yuji, with his usual enthusiasm, accidentally knocked your glasses off. They fell to the floor, and before you could react, you both stumbled over them, hearing the dreaded crunch under your feet. Panic set in as you realized that your only means of clear vision was now in pieces.

Choso, who had been watching the two of you with amusement, quickly turned his attention to the broken glasses, his expression changing to concern. “Are you okay?” he asked, his eyes widening as he saw the broken pieces in your hand.

“I... I broke my glasses,” you said, feeling the panic rising. “And I don’t have any contact lenses because I’m too scared to touch my eye.”

Yuji chuckled lightly, trying to ease the tension. “Well, that’s a problem. But don’t worry, we’ll figure it out.”

Choso stood up and walked over to you, gently taking the broken glasses from your hands. “We’ll handle this. First, let’s get you to a place where you can sit comfortably.” He guided you to the couch and sat down beside you, his presence calming.

“I’m really sorry, guys. I didn’t mean to ruin the day,” you said, feeling embarrassed but not helpless.

“Ruin the day? Not a chance,” Yuji said, grinning. “This just makes things more interesting.”

Choso shot him a look but couldn’t help smiling as well. “Yuji’s right. We’re here to help. You’re not ruining anything.”

Choso took charge, making sure you were comfortable. He fetched a soft blanket and draped it over your shoulders. “Just relax. We’ll take care of everything.”

You nodded, feeling a bit better despite the situation. Yuji brought over some snacks and placed them within your reach. “At least you can still enjoy the food, right?”

You laughed, feeling the tension ease. “Yeah, I suppose so.”

As the day went on, Choso and Yuji took turns helping you navigate around the house. They guided you to the kitchen, made sure you had everything you needed, and even described the scenes in the movie you all decided to watch. Their playful banter and constant support made you feel less self-conscious about your predicament.

At one point, Yuji decided to make a joke. “You know, maybe we should get you a seeing-eye dog,” he said with a grin.

Choso rolled his eyes but couldn’t hide his amusement. “Or maybe we just need to keep a closer eye on you.”

Despite the teasing, their efforts to make you feel comfortable and cared for were touching. Choso was especially attentive, always by your side, making sure you didn’t feel left out or incapable. His gentle manner and constant reassurances helped you relax and enjoy the day despite your broken glasses.

As evening approached, Choso suggested ordering your favorite takeout for dinner. “You deserve a treat after today,” he said, smiling warmly.

You nodded, feeling a wave of gratitude. “Thank you, Choso. And you too, Yuji. I don’t know what I’d do without you guys.”

“Hey, what are friends for?” Yuji said, handing you a plate of food when it arrived. “And no more stepping on glasses.”

You laughed, feeling much better. "Got it. Thanks for taking care of me."

He chuckled, pulling you closer. “You know, now that you’re kind of visually challenged, I think I’ll just keep you all to myself.” He leaned in and kissed your forehead gently.

You felt a rush of warmth as he continued, planting soft kisses on your cheeks, nose, and then your lips. “Choso, what are you doing?” you asked, giggling.

“Just taking advantage of the situation,” he murmured, his lips trailing down to your neck. “You’re so cute when you’re flustered.”

You blushed, feeling both embarrassed and delighted by his affectionate attention. “Choso, Yuji’s right there.”

Yuji laughed, shaking his head. “Hey, don’t mind me. You two lovebirds go ahead.”

Choso grinned, ignoring Yuji’s comment. He wrapped his arms around you, holding you close. “I can’t help it. I just want to take care of you,” he whispered, his breath warm against your ear.

You melted into his embrace, feeling his love and care envelop you. “Thank you, Choso. For everything.”

“Anytime,” he said softly, pressing another kiss to your temple.

The rest of the evening passed with Choso’s affectionate touches and constant care making you feel cherished. Yuji’s playful remarks kept the mood light, and you couldn’t help but feel grateful for the love and friendship surrounding you.

As the night drew to a close, Choso helped you get ready for bed. He made sure you were comfortable, tucking you in with a gentle kiss. “Sleep well, my love. Tomorrow, we’ll get your glasses fixed.”

You nodded, feeling content and safe. “Goodnight, Choso. I love you.”

“I love you too,” he replied, his voice filled with warmth. He wrapped his arms around you, holding you close to his body. You sighed happily, letting sleep take over your body.

─═✧✧═─ 𝕋𝕠𝕛𝕚 𝔽𝕦𝕤𝕙𝕚𝕘𝕦𝕣𝕠 ─═✧✧═─

The day had started like any other, with you excitedly preparing for your date with Toji. But as you reached for your contact lenses, disaster struck. They slipped from your fingers and vanished, leaving you practically blind without them. Panic set in, but you were determined not to let it ruin your plans. You convinced yourself you could manage without them for one day.

That decision proved to be more challenging than you anticipated. From the moment you stepped out of your house, the world around you was a blur. You squinted at the street signs, trying to make sense of the fuzzy letters. Crossing the street was a nightmare; you nearly stepped into oncoming traffic, thinking it was still the sidewalk. Toji had been quick to pull you back, his reflexes sharp, but his eyes filled with confusion.

“What’s wrong with you today?” he had asked, a mix of amusement and concern in his tone.

“Just a little off, I guess,” you had replied, forcing a laugh.

But as the day progressed, it became harder to hide your struggles. You walked into a shop and almost knocked over a display of delicate glass figurines, saved only by Toji’s quick intervention. You missed a step and nearly tripped, catching yourself just in time. Each mishap was a reminder of how dependent you were on your lenses, and how foolish it had been to leave the house without them.

Toji was patient, though you could see the worry growing in his eyes. He held your hand tighter, guiding you more carefully through the busy streets. It was a new side of him, this protective, almost tender manner, and despite your frustration with yourself, it warmed your heart.

However, when you walked into a lamppost, it was the final straw. The impact was minor, but the embarrassment was overwhelming. You wanted to sink into the ground and disappear. Toji’s reaction, however, was not anger or irritation, but genuine concern.

“Toji, I’m fine,” you insisted, attempting to brush it off as a clumsy mistake.

But Toji wasn’t buying it. He stepped closer, his intense gaze locking onto yours, the concern evident in his eyes.

“Tell me what’s going on,” he demanded, his voice firm yet gentle.

With a sigh, you finally confessed. “I lost my contact lenses this morning. My eyesight is terrible without them, but I didn’t want to cancel our date.”

Toji’s expression softened, a mixture of frustration and tenderness washing over his features. “You should’ve told me,” he said, wrapping an arm around your shoulders. “We’ll take care of this together.”

As he guided you carefully through the crowd, you couldn’t help but feel a surge of warmth. Despite the embarrassment, you knew Toji had your back, no matter what. He navigated you safely through the bustling streets, his protective presence reassuring you with each step.

You reached the restaurant, and Toji held the door open for you. Inside, the world was a blur of colors and shapes, but Toji’s presence was constant. He helped you to your seat, ensuring you were comfortable before sitting down himself. The waiter handed you a menu, but the text was unreadable to your unassisted eyes. You squinted, trying to make sense of the blurred words.

Toji noticed your struggle and gently took the menu from your hands. “Let me,” he said softly. He read the options to you, his voice steady and calm, making you feel at ease despite the situation. You chose your meal, grateful for his assistance.

Throughout dinner, Toji was attentive and caring, his concern for you evident in every gesture. He made sure you were comfortable, helping you navigate the unfamiliar surroundings. His thoughtfulness touched you deeply, and you realized how lucky you were to have him by your side.

After dinner, Toji insisted on taking you to an optometrist. “We’re getting you a new pair of lenses,” he said firmly. You protested, feeling guilty for ruining the evening, but Toji was adamant. “I don’t want you to go through this again,” he said. “Your safety is more important than anything else.”

At the optometrist’s office, Toji stayed with you, his presence a comforting anchor. The doctor examined your eyes and fitted you with a new pair of lenses. The world came into sharp focus once more, and you felt a wave of relief wash over you.

As you stepped out of the office, you turned to Toji, gratitude shining in your eyes. “Thank you,” you said, your voice filled with emotion.

Toji smiled, his hand gently squeezing yours. “You don’t have to thank me,” he replied. “I’m just glad you’re okay.”

The rest of the evening passed smoothly, the earlier mishaps forgotten. Toji’s care and understanding had turned a potentially disastrous day into a memorable one. As you walked hand in hand, you felt a deep sense of contentment. You knew that no matter what challenges came your way, Toji would always be there to support you.

And that was a feeling more precious than anything else in the world.

As you walked back, Toji kept a close eye on you, occasionally making light-hearted jokes to lift your spirits. "You know, I always knew you were headstrong, but I didn’t think you’d take it literally."

You couldn’t help but laugh. "Very funny."

As you walked, Toji continued to make sure you were safe, guiding you around obstacles and keeping a steady pace. His hand never left yours, providing a constant source of comfort and reassurance. Despite the mishap, you enjoyed the rest of the walk, appreciating the way Toji took care of you without making you feel helpless.

When you finally reached your apartment, Toji helped you inside and made sure you were comfortable.

"Thank you, Toji."

"Anytime, doll" he said, sitting beside you. "You really need to take better care of yourself."

"I know, I just didn’t want to ruin our day," you repeated.

He shook his head, wrapping an arm around your shoulders. "Our day isn’t ruined. I’d rather you tell me if something’s wrong than try to tough it out and end up hurt."

You leaned into him, kissing him gently.

He smiled, ruffling your hair affectionately. "Just promise me you’ll let me know next time, okay?"

"I promise," you said, feeling a warmth spread through your chest. With Toji by your side, you knew that even the most embarrassing moments could turn into cherished memories filled with love and laughter.

─═✧✧═─ 𝕊𝕦𝕜𝕦𝕟𝕒 ℝ𝕪𝕠𝕞𝕖𝕟 ─═✧✧═─

You were spending the day at Sukuna's palace, a rare treat that involved wandering through the vast, ancient halls and admiring the eerie yet majestic beauty of his domain. Everything seemed to be going smoothly, although your glasses had been bothering you slightly. You didn’t want to complain in front of Sukuna, knowing how he could be about such things.

As the day went on, your discomfort grew, and you started to adjust your glasses more frequently, trying to keep them from slipping down your nose. Sukuna noticed but didn’t say anything, his crimson eyes occasionally glancing at you with mild curiosity. You didn’t want to make a fuss, so you tried to ignore it.

While exploring one of the palace’s grand libraries, you were reaching for a book on a high shelf when you lost your balance slightly. In the process, you knocked your glasses off, sending them crashing to the floor. They shattered into pieces, leaving you virtually blind.

Sukuna, who had been observing you from a distance, strolled over with a bemused expression. "Really? You managed to break your glasses? How clumsy can you get?"

You felt a flush of embarrassment. "I’m sorry, Sukuna. I didn’t mean to—"

"Of course, you didn’t mean to," he interrupted, his tone dripping with sarcasm. "You’re practically blind without those things. How do you even manage?"

You sighed, feeling more embarrassed by the second. "I... I can’t see anything now."

He smirked, clearly enjoying your discomfort. "Well, you’re even more useless than usual."

Despite his harsh words, Sukuna guided you to a nearby chair and pushed you gently into it. "Stay here. Do not move," he ordered.

You nodded, squinting as you tried to make out his form in the blurry surroundings. Sukuna left the room, and you could hear him rummaging through drawers and cabinets. A few minutes later, he returned and handed you an ornate box.

"Here," he said, his tone still mocking but with a hint of something softer underneath. "These should help."

You opened the box and found a pair of glasses, surprisingly elegant and fitted with lenses that matched your prescription. "How did you...?"

"Don’t ask stupid questions," he snapped. "Just put them on."

You quickly did as he said, the world snapping back into focus. You looked up at Sukuna, who was watching you with a mixture of amusement and something else you couldn’t quite identify.

"Better?" he asked, folding his arms.

"Yes, much better. Thank you, Sukuna," you said, genuinely grateful.

He rolled his eyes. "Whatever. Just try not to break those, too."

Despite his harsh words, you could sense the underlying care in his actions. Sukuna might ridicule you for your clumsiness and poor eyesight, but he still made sure you were taken care of in his own way.

The rest of the day passed with Sukuna occasionally making snide comments about your vision, but he stayed close by, ensuring you didn’t have any more mishaps. When you ventured outside to the palace gardens, he guided you with a firm hand, grumbling about your "uselessness" but never letting you stumble.

As the day drew to a close, you found yourselves in the grand hall, a warm fire crackling in the hearth. Sukuna lounged on his throne-like chair, watching you intently.

"You're lucky I have a soft spot for pathetic creatures like you," he said, a smirk playing on his lips.

You smiled back, knowing that in his own twisted way, Sukuna cared for you. "I’ll try to be less clumsy next time."

"See that you do," he replied, but there was no real bite in his words.

Sukuna might never openly admit his concern, but his actions spoke louder than his taunts. And for that, you were grateful.

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