#Its betraying her but not abandoning her
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need Junko Hanahaki disease but the unrequited love is despair itself
#Got this from a Fanfic I read awhile ago#but still#Always love hanahaki aus where the love is an ideal or intangible thing#Because with people#There's always a chance that they're feelings can change for you#But concepts? Ideals? A non physical thing? It cant love#So you're just doomed#And it's harder in the surgery aus#Because how can you go on without knowing the concept of Freedom? Or maybe you fell for Love itself? What if its Death?#How do you function if you lose those understanding of concepts without it damaging every other relationship you have with those around?#Junko falling for despair itself and it killing her#Successful sending her further into despair but further into love#It's doing the thing no one else will do#Its betraying her but not abandoning her#She would view the disease as a sign of love#But removing it would strip her from the only form of stimulation she has#She doesn't want to forget how to despair#She'll have nothing left!#...#But would that mean the Ryoko would be her post surgery self?#Because she forgot the concept of despair?#intresting#scarposts#Everyone's reaction would be great as well#Trying to convince her to do the surgery#Hunting down the 'culprit' to force them to reciprocate her feelings#It would drive the people around her to despair as well
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you can clearly see where scara gets his good looks from
#i believe in ei supremacy🛐#idc if she discarded scaramouche or whatever she was doing it for his own good#miko legit wanted to kill him but ei set him free upon seeing him shed tears in his moment of creation#she saw his gentle heart and wanted him to be something more.. she didn't want him to just be a lifeless vessel for her gnosis#even if scaramouche didn't understand and felt betrayed.. abandoned by the woman he called mother#ei had a heart kind enough to set him free.. i hope one day she gets the chance to tell her son that she did this out of love#bc you can clearly see how much scara wanted ei's love–its absolutely heartbreaking#HE STOLE THE GNOSIS BC EVEN THOUGH HE RESENTED EI HE WANTED A PART OF HER WITH HIM#HE WANTED TO SHOW HER THAT HE COULD CARRY HER GNOSIS JUST LIKE HE WAS INTENDED TO.. THAT HE WAS NEVER DEFECTIVE#DEEP DOWN?? THIS WAS NEVER ABOUT REVENGE. HE JUST WANTED HIS MOTHER'S ACCEPTANCE😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭#I DONT THINK YOU GUYS UNDERSTAND HOW INCONSOLABLE I AM ABOUT THIS#genshin impact#raiden ei#ei genshin impact#ei genshin#raiden shogun#beelzebub#lotus draws
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In my rereads of Memoirs of a Geisha (Id read it first when I was a teenager, before i knew the author had stolen the life story of Mineko Iwasaki) I'd realized just how misogynist the story is. One of the glowing reviews of the book is that the author was praised for writing such an "accurate" and sensitive portrayal of a female character, but then all her relationships with women are portrayed as catty & negative while all her most positive relationships are with men that she looks on fondly, even when theyve been nothing but shitty to her. All the women in her life are either abusive bullies from the start, or good ones that turn sour where they betray her in some way, & her whole sphere of women is just catty & superficial & mean.
& Golden even wrote in negative relationships where in Iwasaki's life (the source that he was stealing from), they were POSITIVE ones for her
#her sister abandons her & never looks for her#her Geisha family are abusive & only care how much money she brings in#Pumpkin has every reason to hate her but is portrayed as mean & ends up betraying her#Golden also does this really weird thing where he says that Sayuri was essentially 'sold' into slavery (being a Geisha) by her father#but thats clearly not what happened. dude her father was old & instead of leaving his daughter orphaned he set her up for life#he essentially sent her to college with free rent & a job garuanteed if she did well & then a wealthy patron to pay her#orientalism#i reread it to compare to Mineko Iwasaki's memoir & its just SO obvious that he stole from her
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trying to keep all my clemviminnie thoughts contained until i get to episode 3 but
its hard
#telltale was CRAZY for this btw!! the drama of it all ALWAYS gets me#violet blaming herself for her gf/minnies death. clem helps her open up again. starts dating clem. finds out minnie is still alive?#saved violet telling clem she has nothing to worry about and she'll fight minnie if she has to to keep clem and her loved ones safe#kidnapped violet getting brain poisoned by minnie into turning against clem after feeling betrayed and abandoned by her#saved vi shooting minnie to save clem!!!!!!!!! but cant leave minnie behind because she already left her once and she cant do it again#vi begging minnie to stop trying to fucking kill them but shes too far gone. the 3 of them fight to the DEATH!!!#now add all that to the parallels and dark mirrors going on between clem and minnie in the A plot like the tension is off the charts#plus the parallels you can draw between clem and vi but those are less “you are my dark mirror” and more “we are the same i understand you”#HOW are the girlies not still talking about this#you know what i partially blame myself i dont talk about it enough either. i forget how many things ive left in my wips folder sometimes#UGH its all so good violets route just ads so much Flavor to the clem/minnie plotline its Delicious i couldnt imagine it Not being there#i neeeeeeeed to draw them fighting and being gay and maybe bloody even#if u cant tell i really want to get back to that wip i posted a few weeks ago but im Trying to Restrain Myself#i love forcing myself to take things slow sometimes really makes the brain shift into overdrive#twdg#violentine#it speaks
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These two lines really make me feel like Susie is only a bully for, let's say, survival reasons. But that's as coherent as i can get so i'm going to ramble the rest of my thoughts on the tags.
#luly talks#FIRST AND FOREMOST LOOK AWAY DONT LOOK AT JOEY'S ICON KUJHNUYHGB i didnt feel like editing ok. nor finding other screenshtos#anyway that aside.#if you think of her parallels with King it kind of reinforces it bc king is as bitter and violent as he is bc he was betrayed and abandoned#and what does susie do when she feels like her at that moment only friend lancer has decided to betray her? she turns bitter and violent#(rip to lancer my man keeps getting his ass kicked to next week someone get these ppl therapy 😭😭)#this all could also be like. turned grimmer if you think susie has a home but it just fucking sucks#bc she's just like me fr and i know living with someone that hates you makes you hate everything too#but there's also the possibility of her being bullied and again shitty family not doing anything for her#some theorize she came from a mostly human place so that's a reason why she'd easily get targeted#and in school her situation is pretty Bad bc she didnt do jack shit but everyone instantly hated her#really reinforcing what she says to kris about your choices not mattering#(btw isnt it fucking hilarious that so many people project on kris even and obviously us too? protagonist curse is strong)#anyway its lovely that she got to see there's more to this gay earth than pain and agony and stuff. heart < 3#deltarune#susie deltarune
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You know, it makes me wonder how different Kuvira’s life would’ve been if the Red Lotus failed to achieve their goals or if Zaheer never got airbending. Would life keep on being boring? Given the fact Zaofu is said to be the “safest city in the world” so her job as guard captain is really acting as a glorified bodyguard for the Beifongs.
To be honest, I always did think Suyin was raising Kuvira to take over her role as leader. After all, Suyin didn’t believe the role of being a leader should be passed down from family to family so it’d make sense to have her protégé takeover as matriarch once she retires. I find it kind of sad to be honest, if that theory turns out to be true, that means Kuvira’s future has already been decided.
Kuvira always felt like she’s trapped in Zaofu like a bird in cage, but she was loyal to Suyin even if their are some opinions they do not agree with. And she felt like she owes Suyin a lot for taking her in and nourishing her talents.
#[ analysis :: written report ]#// ofc that loyalty in the show#// broke since kuvira felt like suyin#// betrayed her for abandoning their country and its people
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but daddy i love him [guilty as sin part two] | charles leclerc social media au
pairing: charles leclerc x fem sainz!reader
when an unstoppable force (the sainz men when they feel aggrieved) meets an immovable object (charles and y/n)
MASTERLIST | SERIES MASTERLIST | TIP JAR
carlossainz55
liked by landonorris, marcmarquez93 and 783,409 others
carlossainz55: never forget where you came from
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user100: insert cricket noises here
user101: who on your PR team said this was a good idea?
user102: they need to be fired, sorry not sorry
landonorris: i love your dad (tell him to stop beating me at golf)
carlossainz55: if he never lets me win he's definitely never letting you win
landonorris: so unfair i thought i was the third sainz sibling :(
carlossainz55: i'm an only child
landonorris: oh-
user103: i need this man to choke i'm being so serious rn
user104: that's so unbelievably fucked
user105: the fact his dad is probably co-signing this shit is insane that's YOUR DAUGHTER
user106: also someone give lando a lil slap around he's on the wrong side of history on this one
yourusername: scandal does funny things to pride
carlossainz55: if the scandal is betraying your family that's all you
yourusername: if we're talking about betrayal then that's your specialist subject mr. i've cheated on every girl i've ever been with - and while we're on the topic of betrayal, yes i was the one who told them
carlossainz55: i've never cheated why are you stooping to lies?
yourusername: you did it right in front of my face when i was a part of this family
carlossainz55: so you've always been comfortable going behind my back
yourusername: that's the thing, when you're treated like you don't exist by your family you learn that blood is not thicker than water
carlossainz55: i can't wait for charles to cheat on you
yourusername: btw i already called marca, they know any of those allegations from you or dad are false - good luck!
user10: obvs i know they should be doing this in private but MORE DRAMA FOR ME BABY LETS KEEP THIS GOING
user107: thank you for the validation y/n i KNEW THE SHIT STIRRING COMING FROM THAT PAPER WAS THE SAINZ CAMP
user108: and they've got the nerve to be talking about stooping - the call is coming from inside the house
maxverstappen1: ugly twins
carlossainz55: really?
maxverstappen1: i said what i said and i mean what i said
carlossainz55: i would say she's not going to fuck you bro but you really never know with her
maxverstappen1: she would never, homewrecking is a trait only the male sainzs seem to have
user109: OOP
user110: max is a real lestappen queen fighting the battles he knows charles can't
yourusername
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tagged: charles_leclerc
yourusername: if you know within one glimpse, its legendary
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user114: i love how she goes from fighting her brother in one comment section to just showing off her hot bf
user115: tbf charles does have a face you'd go to war for so i get her
user116: i'd abandon my family for that face
yourusername: finally someone who fucking gets it
charles_leclerc: you made me believe in love at first sight
yourusername: awwwwww you're such a sweet talker the REAL smooth operator
pierregasly: i can verify it was love at first sight cause the man did not SHUT THE FUCK UP about you well... ever
charles_leclerc: is it a crime to love my girlfriend?
pierregasly: apparently!
yourusername: he's too cute to go to jail :(
charles_leclerc: they'd ruin me
yourusername: that's my job 🤨
pierregasly: you keep that to yourselves
user117: does this girl need to shade carlos on every single fucking post... yeah we get it he's the only reason you're relevant but god you reek of desperation
oscarpiastri: is this carlos' burner account?
user118: are the grid just sat around waiting to be tagged in to the fight against carlos?
oscarpiastri: what's he going to do? crash into me? he does that every weekend anyway
user119: uh oh carlos oscar is finally fighting back off track what are you going to do
user120: don't worry i'm sure he'll post a selfie with lando and try the whole carlando shtick to get some more PR points
maxverstappen1: oh this was not the shit slinging post i was hoping for
yourusername: something tells me you're having way too much fun with this
maxverstappen1: yeah you might have been abandoned by your family but have YOU considered that this is letting me express all my mean girl energy off track so i am level-headed on track
maxverstappen1: actually i don't even think i'm being mean tbf
yourusername: i'm glad my suffering could be your therapy
carlossainz55: BOO HOO you're not suffering ... it's something called the consequences of your actions (read: actions being a snakey slut)
yourusername: bro over here acting like i committed fratricide
maxverstappen1: TAP ME IN
maxverstappen1: not this man talking about the consequences of actions. kids, here's a little life lesson: if you spend all your time at your current job talking about how you have a much better job waiting for you and how you're too big for this job and plant stories about your co-workers, you can't be surprised that that same job doesn't want to keep you
carlossainz55: i am better than charles
yourusername: lying is a sin
maxverstappen1: and you're going straight to hell
user121: you guys might be mourning the loss of charlos (whatever the fuck that is) but i'm celebrating the absolute shit ton of LESTAPPEN we're getting
user122: max was like oh my bff is dating charles here's my excuse to be nice about him again
user123: if we're being real here the biggest crime of this whole situation is the fact that charles can't really dig the knife in
user124: @ silvia i have maybe £4.50 and a greggs sausage roll to my name but PLEASE LET CHARLES TAP IN
f1
liked by charles_leclerc, oscarpiastri and 1,298,006 others
tagged: oscarpiastri & carlossainz55
f1: f1... the sport that gives you just as much drama off track as we do on track!
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user125: at this point even before the whole carlos ousting his sister i think oscar was about 👌🏻 this close to rocking carlos nascar style we should let him do it
user126: i will personally pay his legal fees tbh
oscarpiastri: i'm only 23 i don't need two F1-related legal cases to my name
yourusername: i've watched legally blonde about ten billion times let me represent you
oscarpiastri: yeah sounds legit
user127: THAT'S IT WE NEED PROXIMITY CHAT IN F1
user128: the way we know there was a shit talking session like no other after this race
maxverstappen1: i don't kiss and tell but well - yes!
user128: okay since this is clearly a safe space... who was there please spill mr. verstappen
maxverstappen1: ME! charles, pierre, oscar, checo, alex and george!
user128: why the fuck were the last two there?
georgerussell63: i was on official GDPA duty 🤓
alexalbon: that's a lie we're just very nosey
yourusername: they're the biggest PTA moms ever don't even lie
georgerussell63: yes i'll make allergy friendly cupcakes for the bake sale but i'll also spit in them and gossip about your cheating husband - sorry about it!
alexalbon: he's not
georgerussell63: i'm not
user129: carlos slagging off y/n but she's really brought the grid together
user130: george and alex being like we do not care about that but we do want the latest scoop
alexalbon: oh don't get it twisted we're firmly team y/n
user131: we even got the f1 admin in on the drama
carlossainz55: she's probably fucking them as well
yourusername: BORING get a new bit babe
carlossainz55: if i see whore i'm going to say whore
yourusername: aren't you still in that damn stewards office?
carlossainz55: tell your little lap dog to keep his front wing away from my car and maybe i wouldn't
oscarpiastri: suck my dick
yourusername: now that's true poetry
user132: oH!
yourusername
liked by maxverstappen1, alexalbon and 763,409 others
tagged: charles_leclerc, logansargent & oscarpiastri
yourusername: florida !!!!!!!!!!! is one hell of a drug. no seriously what is in the water here i keep picking up these little guys everywhere i go
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user135: she's really like i AM spanish and i will colonise this grid
user136: stealing all the lil cuties for her cause
oscarpiastri: proud to be a part of this weird little circus thing we've got going on
yourusername: oh dibs on ring master
logansargent: i feel like my name is written all over tight rope walking
yourusername: okay yes skinny legend
maxverstappen1: obvs we're a cruelty free circus so no lions but if there were lions, that's me babe
maxverstappen1: SOME people could learn... cough, cough trophy hunters
charles_leclerc: idk i'll just take the one where i can sit there and be pretty
yourusername: and you would be the best at it
oscarpiastri: which one does the least? i'll take that one
user137: bro can we slow the fuck down i was just getting over osc telling carlos to suck his dick now we're talking CIRCUS?
user138: for real couldn't it have at least been cabaret i wanna see ALL of that
charles_leclerc: 🤨
carlossainz55: i think a circus is a perfect way to describe your desperate attempt to stay relevant
yourusername: don't you have a job to go to? oh wait...
carlossainz55: as if i'm threatened by a group with the likes of logan sargent in it
logansargent: bit harsh, i'm a nice guy (unlike some)
yourusername: carlos here's a little bit of a wild thing i'm about to introduce to you.... people have friends?
yourusername: also you WISH you had a face card like logie
carlossainz55: i have friends?
yourusername: no you have PR strategies, there's a difference
carlossainz55: bro learnt the word PR and ran with it
yourusername: tell me one person who would let you crash on their couch?
yourusername: QUICKLY.
fernandoalo_oficial: and don't even think about mentioning me
user139: she hit him with the bianca del rio
user140: OOP and also nando just popping up out of nowhere to diss carlos and never say anything again
charles_leclerc: the drug in question being puppy fever
maxverstappen1: tell me you didn't get a dog
yourusername: boy do i have news for you
carlossainz55: are you trying to baby trap him
yourusername: first woman in history to birth a dog you heard it here first
charles_leclerc: you simply can't be babytrapped when you would literally jump off a bridge if asked to
user141: @myboyfriend TAKE NOTES HONEY ^^^
charles_leclerc
liked by maxverstappen1, landonorris and 1,745,093 others
tagged: yourusername & oscarpiastri
charles_leclerc: two kids in one month? someone stop us
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user142: y/n really lost an apartment and a brother and gained about 27 f1 drivers and a dog
user143: glow up of the century some might say
liked by charles_leclerc
yourusername: soz it's a coping mechanism
charles_leclerc: and that's okay <3
maxverstappen1: anything to help with that emotional CONSTIPATION
yourusername: have you tried to live with those narcissistic and emotionally unavailable men?
maxverstappen1: you're asking the wrong person that question honey
yourusername: girl are WE good?
maxverstappen1: no
yourusername: BUT THAT'S OKAY
charles_leclerc: not to rain on this parade but i think therapy would really be a positive move here
user144: i feel bad for charles cause i know these hoes are the type to just tell each other EXACTLYYYYY when they make poor decisions
maxverstappen1: true, no smart bitches would let their bff live with THAT man
yourusername: and let their bff constantly chat shit and ruin their image
maxverstappen1: can't ruin my image if i'm spitting FACTS
user145: max will nawt let this go
maxverstappen1: i'll forget you but i'll never forgive the smallest man who ever lived
yourusername: GIRL
maxverstappen1: whoops, one sec. spoiler alert: y/n unleased poetry. trigger warning: c*rlos s*inz
olliebearman: ollie bearman erasure
charles_leclerc: GASP OLLIE I AM SO SORRY
yourusername: no he actually is he's crying
charles_leclerc: it's the pregnancy hormones
olliebearman: it's okay i swear
charles_leclerc: I'M A TERRIBLE FATHER
carlossainz55: i could've told you that for free
olliebearman: why are you in our family buisness
user146: charles is channelling all of his carlos rage through ollie oh my
olliebearman: i am a happy conduit for my father who is in the ferrari PR jail
yourusername: can we send carlos here and throw away the key?
user147: charles is really out there like keep my girl's name out of your mouth cause even the bitch who stole your seat for a weekend is my SON
user148: y/n wasn't joking about with this grid domination
user149: but also i'm glad all of this fun stuff is happening amongst all of the shit that's been thrown at her from her family
oscarpiastri: a leclerc and proud (i race like my dad and throw shade like my mum)
yourusername: the best way to be
charles_leclerc: proud of you, you're such a good dog brother :)
oscarpiastri: i've just learnt to be patient after alpine and lando
yourusername: you still took your shoes being leo's personal bathroom really well
oscarpiastri: he's too cute to be mad at
yourusername
liked by maxverstappen, charles_leclerc and 824,109 others
tagged: charles_leclerc
yourusername: first mother's day with my boys
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user150: gonna enjoy this super wholesome post before... he... ruins it
user151: manifesting a y/n post without that bitter old hag in the comment section
charles_leclerc: the best mother for our fur baby and our miscellaneous other children
yourusername: only the best with you :(
charles_leclerc: ugh i love you so much
yourusername: i love you even more
user152: they're so fucking cute
user153: damn carlos i too would be angry if my baby sister and my teammate outshined my third PR relationship in six months
user154: the sainz family have generational levels of hating, but one does it for good (poetry) and one does it for bad (anything carlos ever says)
oscarpiastri: happiest mother's day to my grid mum! here's to reading them to filth xx
yourusername: OSC!! i always knew you were my favourite aussie
danielricciardo: did my enchante PR mean nothing?
yourusername: i mean i wear it all of the time... but it's osc ...
danielricciardo: true, i broke my hand before i could even think of accidentally hurting him
user155: also babe is looking so unbothered, moisturised and free we need the skin care routine
oscarpiastri: the tears of carlos sainz
yourusername: and cleansing your life of toxic family members
user156: okay clearly oscar was done with the whole "i'm so chill" bit cause since his adoption by charles and y/n he's been non stop on carlos' neck
oscarpiastri: i'm a ride or die for my mum cry about it
maxverstappen1: as the kids would say ... mother is mothering? @olliebearman did i do it right?
charles_leclerc: stop trying to steal my kids
maxverstappen1: BRO I'M TRYING TO COMPLIMENT YOUR GIRLFRIEND
charles_leclerc: that's literally my job 🤨
yourusername: tbf i'll take as many compliments as i can
charles_leclerc: are mine not enough?
yourusername: when you've got a self esteem this low, you gotta take what you can get
charles_leclerc: oh :(
user157: max and y/n fighting over who trauma dumps more about their upbringing
carlossainz55: this bit is very tiring. you'll be a terrible mother and all these people you think are your friends will drop you as soon as they know who you really are.
yourusername: you done?
carlossainz55: as you loveeeee to point out, i don't have much to lose anymore so i really wouldn't test me
yourusername: trying to make me homeless and stealing all of my money wasn't enough?
carlossainz55: charles will know the truth soon enough and you won't have us to come crying to
yourusername: i'll take those chances thank you
user158: hold ON what do you mean stole all her money
yourusername: i was never allowed my own bank account so all my earnings have gone to them!
user159: okay that's it WE RIDE AT DAWN
fin.
note: oh girl life has been BUSY!!! i just got a new job and have been looking desperately for a flat to move out to. also i've had family visiting and going here, there and everywhere. but i hope you enjoy! this was a lil more light-hearted lol (until the end) so enjoy the addition of the leclerc family lore xx
ALSO i wanted to say a massive THANK YOU FOR 6,000 FOLLOWERS love you all <3
note: hiii extra note from me here. first, i will fix this tag list at some point idk why it's not working rn. secondly, i have been made aware by multiple people that there is a series just like this one down to characters and the name of the series on here and i can't lie i'm bummed about it. as i said on the first part (?) this is an idea i've had since the release of TTPD (and people will back me up on this) so it bums me out that there are blatant copies coming out! i'm all for inspiration but sometimes there's a difference between taking inspo and copying especially when my masterlist was posted ages ago and my first part was posted on the 9th of may.... anyways that's all i have to say! enjoy xx
taglist: in comments!
#f1 imagine#f1 x reader#f1 instagram au#f1 x you#f1#f1 social media au#charles leclerc imagine#charles leclerc x female reader#charles leclerc x you#charles leclerc x reader#charles leclerc fanfic#charles leclerc#astonmartinii
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Cherry Red, Crimson Blood
Chapter 37: The Silence
Summary: Tensions are at an all time high in the pack as an eerie silence settles over the cottage
Pairing: Poly 141 x reader
Word Count: 6,069 words
Warnings: Angst, heavy emotions, arguing, medical stuff, injuries, descriptions of pain, brief discussion about strangulation, so much crying, Alpha/Beta/Omega dynamics, Alternate Universe, panic attack, PTSD, language
A/N: Uh yeah, this one did emotional damage. Prepare yourselves.
MASTERLIST | <- Previous | Next ->
They stand there watching like four knights in a tower guarding their kingdom. Their eyes are glued ahead, staring through the glass out into the backyard. They’re alert and watchful, eyes assessing and scanning for any threats. There are none except for your trembling legs.
They stand there watching like four knights guarding their princess. None of them are brave enough to move, none of them dare break the moment. They can’t help but wonder what’s going on in your head, what drove you to push past the pain and exhaustion to shuffle your way outside.
Panic bubbled in Kyle’s chest when he saw you shuffling your way across the living area. He’d nearly intervened when you stumbled, but John’s hand on his chest stopped him. You were in your own world, oblivious to everyone and everything as you shuffled determinedly toward the back door. They’d silently followed you, Johnny and Simon joining them when they descended the stairs.
All you’ve done is stand out there. It feels like it’s been an hour, but it’s been less than five minutes. You’re frozen there, all except for the tremble of your legs and the subtle shake of your shoulders.
You’re crying.
It hurts his soul. It tears through his very chest as he watches you. He wants nothing more than to run out there and take you in his arms and soothe your tears.
He can’t.
He lost those privileges when they left you, when they betrayed you, when they abandoned you. It may have been John’s choice, but they were all complacent in it. None of them fought that decision, none of them questioned it. Would John have changed his mind if they did? Could they have avoided all of this if they had just questioned their alpha, their captain?
Not all of it would have been unavoidable.
You would have still been hurt. You would have still been traumatized. There was no guarantee Graves would have held off, even if they came for you in the first place. Things might have been worse. Graves might have gotten impulsive as soon as he realized the outcome of his own situation.
Shepherd fucked him over too in the end.
Things happened the way they did and they can’t change that. That’s what Christine keeps telling them. The past is the past and you can only work to build the future.
It’s going to take a lot of work.
“How long has she been out there?” Christine asks, stepping up next to them.
“About four minutes.” Simon answers.
“She shouldn’t be out there like that.” Christine goes to move to the door, but John stops her.
“Let her have a moment.” He says, still staring out the window. “She needs it.”
Christine lets out a quiet huff but she doesn’t move, turning her gaze out the sliding glass door as well.
You continue to stand there, frozen like a statue. Time passes slowly, all of them captivated by the silent moment they’re witnessing. It’s almost hypnotic. The fading light, your figure standing there surrounded by grey skies and green earth like some sort of painting.
Pain and bliss.
That’s what he’d title it. He knows that’s what you must be feeling. Pain, visible and invisible from wounds that go far deeper than the flesh. Pain in its purest form as you stand there under heavy grey skies that echo the heaviness in your mind. The bliss echoes from John’s words, his reveal of your desire to see the ocean again, to stand on its shores and let its essence consume you.
It all makes sense now. No wonder you would cling to him the most, press your face into his neck and just breathe. His own briney scent was a gateway to what you desired in your landlocked position. How long had you been holding that desire in? Were you disappointed when you rolled up on their doorstep to find yourself still far away from the sea? You hid that desire from the knowledge that, as an omega, your wants and needs would always come last, in the knowledge that their jobs would come first and you would be at the mercy of that job.
His eyes burn with tears as he stares at you.
You begin to tremble more and more the longer you stand there, shifting on your feet. It breaks the haze they’ve all been frozen in, the five of them snapping back into reality. Christine is out the door before any of them can move, hurrying to your side. She wraps an arm around your back, careful not to touch your left arm as she steadies you. Kyle jumps into action automatically after her, hurrying to your new designated room to grab the wheelchair. With how much effort it took to walk out there, you won’t be walking back in.
He wheels it out, holding it still as Christine maneuvers you into it. As much as he doesn’t want to, he turns, slipping back in the door as Christine wheels you towards the house. The four of them watch as she passes, time pausing as they stare at you. You don’t look up at them, don't acknowledge them at all. Your gaze is turned down in your lap, head lowered as you hunch, shoulders rounded.
Pain and exhaustion are weighing on you from your exertion as Christine takes you back to your room. How heavy the world must seem from the combined weight of your physical and mental injuries. The state of your mind would be one thing, but being stuck in a temporary handicapped state due to your physical injuries must be driving you nearly insane. There’s no getting away, no isolation. You can’t even walk fully unaided yet.
There’s no freedom.
All of them share a look in the heavy silence, understanding without even needing to say a word.
The mug is burning his fingers but he can’t bring himself to care. His gaze is locked, mind focused elsewhere. He hasn’t moved in so long his joints are aching, but he can’t find it in himself to even shift his position.
“Drinking it black?” His fingers twitch as Kyle takes the seat next to him, his own mug of tea in his hands. It clunks as he sets it on the table before he lowers himself into the chair with a sigh. “That’s low even for you.”
Simon lets out a grunt, eyes still focused out the sliding glass door.
“She’s fine.” Kyle says, pulling out his phone. “The Doc won’t let anything happen to her.”
“Don’t like that she’s out there alone.” Simon says, finally releasing the mug, squeezing his burning fingers into his palm.
“Technically she’s not alone,” Kyle says, giving him a sideways glance. “We’ve been over this. We’re perfectly safe here.”
“For now.” Simon lifts his mug to his lips, ignoring the burn of the tea on his tongue. He’s long become numb to that sort of pain.
“No one knows we’re here except Kate and my sister. Neither of them would say anything, no matter what.” Kyle turns his gaze back to the sliding glass door, to your figure huddled in the chair outside. “She’s where she needs to be right now.”
Footsteps thud down the stairs, John letting out a groan as he reaches the bottom. He takes a moment to stretch before heading for the kettle in the kitchen.
“Rough night, sir?” Kyle asks, taking a sip of his tea.
“I’ve slept worse.” John grunts, grabbing a mug from the cupboard.
Both of them had tossed and turned last night. Simon had listened to the occasional creak of the bed frame as they turned. He knows that’s what it was. They’re not ready yet. None of them are. Things are too fragile, too frayed.
“Anyone thought about breakfast?” John asks.
“Still some eggs left, and some bread. We need to make a store run soon.” Kyle says.
“Today.” John says, pouring water into the mug. “A lot of things we need to pick up.” He turns to face Simon and Kyle, leaning against the cupboard. “Simon and I will go.”
Simon shifts in his seat, his hand tightening around his mug again. “That’s not a good idea.”
“What, you’re doubting our ability to watch the house?” Kyle says, turning to Simon.
Simon glances at him, his eyes hard. “No, There should just be an alpha here at all times.”
“Really? Because that sounds a lot like you don’t trust Johnny and I.” Kyle says, getting angry.
“Enough.” John says, setting his mug down on the table. “We keep fighting amongst ourselves, nothing is going to get better. Tensions are high, but none of this is about us. We have to keep our heads on straight for the sake of our pack, and our omega. Simon and I will go to town today. That’s final.”
Kyle and Simon both lower their eyes to their mugs of tea as John takes a seat at the table. He is right. Fighting amongst themselves will only make things worse for you. You’re already struggling, and the bonds fraying further will only cause more damage, more stress for you. Their bonds with you are delicate enough. They can’t risk the bonds between themselves getting any thinner. They have to be strong for you. They have to be strong for each other. They have to be strong for the pack. The whole pack.
It falls silent between the three of them as they sit there, sipping their tea. Johnny is the only one still in bed. He cried most of the night last night. He’s cried most of the night the last three nights. He’s probably shed more tears than you have.
Simon feels stuck in the middle, like he’s being torn in two separate directions. He got up in the night to free himself from the sounds of Johnny crying just to hear your own quiet sobs through your closed door. Each broken sob had his heart splitting in half, the ache in his chest getting worse and worse. He was sure he was having a heart attack that first night, his chest compressing and squeezing, his hands going numb from how tense his body was.
He wants to reach out and make it better, but he can’t bring himself to. Johnny will just shrug him off, and you won’t even look at him. Even John and Kyle are distant, gravitating further and further away. The gravitational field in the center of their pack continues to get bigger and bigger, forcing them further and further away from each other, and none of them know how to stop it. They’ve lost their point of equilibrium. They’re all spiraling further and further away. Eventually that gravitational field will dissipate and they’ll be left free-floating through space and time.
They all turn to look as the sliding glass door opens and you crutch your way in. Dr. Keller is right behind you, closing the back door before guiding you back to your room, the blanket you had been draped in folded neatly over her arm. You’re moving better, even just in two days since their arrival. Steadier on your feet, walking better with the crutch. You even look a little better, more alive than you were when you arrived here.
They all watch you walk to your room, but you don’t spare a glance their way. You haven’t looked at any of them in two days. You haven’t spoken a word to them, to anyone, in two days.
Kyle gets up to make breakfast as soon as you’ve passed, broken from the spell as Dr. Keller gets you settled in your room. You’re almost hypnotic now, all of their gazes drawn to you as soon as you enter the room. They’re all thinking the same thing every time you pass. Maybe this will be the time you finally look at them, when you finally glance their way. What he wouldn’t give to have you smile at him, give him that cheeky little grin after sassing him.
Little shit.
His hand tightens around his mug again as guilt floods him. You’ve sunken into an empty shell because of them. They sucked the life right out of you. They dragged you into this and failed to do what they were supposed to do. Anger bubbles in him as he thinks back to that moment. He should have fought back. He should have used his position to change John’s mind, or forced him to change it. He should have stepped up for you.
He’s not your alpha.
He almost wishes he was.
He stares down at the scabbed imprint of your teeth on his skin. He should pick up a bottle of ink in town, tattoo that mark on his skin forever as a reminder of both you and what he did to you.
“How is she?” John asks when Dr. Keller enters the kitchen. Simon’s shoulders square as she passes him, having been so lost in his thoughts he hadn’t even noticed her enter.
Bloody hell, he’s as bad as you.
“As good as she can be.” She sighs, grabbing a can of soup out of the cupboard. You won’t get the eggs and toast Kyle is making. Your diet consists of soup and only soup.
“Hasn’t said anything still?” John asks, turning to look at her.
“Not a word.” Dr. Keller shakes her head. “I’d be worried, if it wasn’t expected.” She pulls out a pot, opening the can before dumping the contents in. Chicken noodle. The staple soup in your diet. “Strangulation can be a hard thing to recover from.”
“I know.” Simon winces, taking a sip of his tea.
The doctor gives him a sympathetic look. He doesn’t want it. “She had some mild damage done from it, which will take time to heal. And, everyone deals with trauma differently. Silence isn’t that unusual of a response.” She puts the pan on the hob, turning the heat on. “If I was worried, you would know.”
“Thank you for looking after her.” John says, nodding at the doctor. “You didn't have to stay.”
“I made a promise.” She says, stirring the soup. “She's still my patient, even if the initiative was bogus. I still have a duty to perform as her doctor. Kate wouldn't have chosen me from the start if I was the type to just up and leave as soon as I found out my job wasn't actually real. I care about her a lot, and I want to help her get through this.”
“We all owe a lot to you.” John says. “We wouldn't have made it this far without you.”
“No,” The corner of her mouth twitches. “You probably wouldn't have.”
Christine lets out a quiet sigh as she steps into your room. You're in the chair by the window, your usual spot when it's too damp and cold to sit outside.
It's dark in the room aside from the light coming through the window. It’s always dark in the room, except at night when you sleep with the bedside lamp on. She flips that lamp on, not wanting to blind you suddenly with the overhead light. You’ve been blinded by enough bright lights over the last week. Nearly a week and a half. It feels like so much time has passed, yet it still feels like yesterday when she was coming to in her office after being attacked and drugged. The terror she’d felt upon finding you missing still fills her stomach, and she finds herself getting up in the middle of the night to check and make sure you’re really there.
She’s not the only one that does it.
The paper bags in her arms crinkle as she carries them over to you, setting them on the other chair. Your gaze is far away, staring off at the grey, stormy sea in the distance. How fitting the weather is, both for you and the members of the pack. The tension between them is still palpable, all of them moving stiffly around each other. They’ve lost the natural fluidity of a pack comfortable in their bonds. They’re stuck, and they can’t, they won’t, heal until you do. They won’t allow themselves to until they know you’re willing to at least try.
“John and Simon went to town and did some shopping. They picked up some things for you.” She says softly, breaking the heavy silence in the room.
You don’t even turn to look at her.
“More warm clothes.” She continues, looking in one bag. “As well as some boots.” She pulls a box out of another bag. “A nightlight, so you don’t have to keep using the lamp.” She looks in the third bag, the heaviest one of the three. “Another stuffed animal.” She says, pulling out a stuffed bear. It’s a nice thought, but she’s not sure you’ll even want to touch it. “And some books.” She says, pulling the stack out of the bottom of the bag.
There’s three of them, ones not in the collection on the shelves in the living area. Some of your favorites. They’re trying, putting in efforts to try and make you as comfortable as possible in the only ways they can right now. She sets the books on the side table next to you, taking a long look at you as you sit there.
You haven’t picked up a book in the two days they’ve been at the cottage, though she’s not surprised. You’ve been in and out of it, sleeping off the pain medicine, or sitting in a haze, mind far away from the cabin. She wonders where you are, where your mind is going. Out on the water? Out on the beach? Or maybe somewhere back in your memories where it’s safe. Receding back somewhere when life was easier and safer.
Are you thinking of your mother? Are you imagining her here with you?
Her heart hurts for you, being torn away from her at such a pivotal moment in your life. If she had the ability to find her she would. If she could track down your mother and bring her here for you she would.
You begin to sniffle, almost as if you can somehow read her thoughts. The tears are falling, streaming down your cheeks again. She doesn't say anything, she doesn’t have to as she stands there beside you, gently stroking your hair. She’s seen many things in her time as an omega specialist. She’s had patients that have gone through things that would make even the most seasoned doctor’s stomach churn. She’s helped omegas that have been pushed to the brink of insanity, omegas pushed to the brink of death. Yet none of them have affected her the way you have. Maybe it’s because she’s never been quite so invested in an omega’s life before, never been quite so inserted into an omega’s reality.
If she was a better doctor, she might have refused to stay here, keeping distance between herself and your pack. She’s gotten too close, pushed past the barrier of professionalism. If she was a better doctor, she’d distance herself, stick to the decorum and expectation of doctor/patient relationships. She knows omega specialists can get too close. She’d been warned over and over about how easy it is to invest too much into the lives and well beings of omegas. There’s a boundary that must be kept, both for the professional and for the sake of the omega. She won’t be around you forever.
Eventually she’ll have to distance herself. She’ll have to go back to America, return to her practice. Now that the initiative is over, now that her job doesn’t even exist, she’s running on borrowed time. She’ll have to leave you at some point, close your case and move on.
When is the question there. When will it be the right time? When will she decide you’ve healed enough to be graduated from her care? When will she be confident enough to break the bond that has formed between the two of you.
Will she be able to? That’s the deeper question.
Those are thoughts for a different day, she decides, pushing them aside. Instead she pulls you into her side, resting your head against her hip as she continues to stroke your hair.
You look just about as happy to be at the table as they do. It's quiet in the room aside from the clanking of dishes in the kitchen and the occasional sizzle of food in a pan. Your gaze is in your lap, assuming your normal position of a drooping head and rounded shoulders.
Your back and neck have to hurt from being in that position for so long.
The only time you're not in those positions are when you're outside. Then your gaze is out at the sea in the distance. You sit there and stare, almost like a statue. You’d make for a good painting, seated still enough for long enough a skilled artist could make a masterpiece of it.
He's surprised Johnny hasn't even sketched you like that yet. Perhaps if you can ever come to be more comfortable around them, you'll allow him to paint you. You’ll be taking up residence out there in that chair as often as you can.
He’s not even sure rain or storm would deter you, if it wasn’t for Christine’s intervention.
Kyle sets a plate of chicken on the table as Christine brings over your soup, setting it down in front of you. Always a bowl of steaming hot soup. How you’re existing off of mostly liquids is beyond him. Maybe that’s why you look so fragile and frail.
“There you go,” Christine says as she sets a spoon down beside the bowl. Chicken and rice, a changeup from your normal chicken noodle. “I know you don’t want to, but you need to. You’re not going to feel better without food in your system.”
You let out a quiet noise, just barely audible over the shuffling of bodies as they sit at the table. Simon is to your left, Kyle next to him, Christine and Johnny on the other side. He’s on the opposite end of the table, staring right at you. No wonder you don’t want to move from your hunched position.
They keep their eyes off of you as they begin serving themselves. The food they’ve managed to make is decent with the help of their combined cooking skills. They’d had a long discussion about the intricacies of British food versus American food the first morning after their arrival. Christine advocated for more American-based dishes, with Johnny taking her side purely out of spite for the three Englishmen.
John has caught Christine sneaking seasoning into the food every so often. He hasn’t said a word.
“Come on, eat up.” Christine says, gently nudging your hand where it rests over the spoon.
Your face screws up in a grimace as you stare down at the steaming soup. It’s a breath before your fingers wrap around the spoon, lifting it to the bowl. Every movement feels practiced and calculated as he watches you sink the spoon into the bowl, just barely sinking below the surface to get just broth. He watches as you lift the spoon, holding it halfway to your mouth. There’s a subtle shake to your hand, not much but noticeable to him. You stare down at the spoon for a long moment before lifting it the rest of the way, quickly putting it in your mouth before your hand starts shaking too much.
You grimace as you swallow, a quiet grunt leaving your lips. He can’t bring himself to look away as you sit there, taking in a couple deep breaths. He can’t bring himself to eat as you stare back down at the bowl, your fingers trembling around the spoon.
Fuck.
You sniffle as you sink the spoon into the bowl once more, the spoon shaking more now as you bring the second spoonful to your mouth. It’s like watching some kind of sick, twisted children’s windup toy as you feed yourself, following the pattern of spoon in soup, soup to mouth, pained grimace, quiet sob. It gets worse and worse with every bite, John barely able to stomach his own food as he watches you with every bite.
You stare down at a chunk of chicken on your spoon, a fearful look on your face. Your hand is shaking enough that soup is dripping off the bottom back into the bowl. Christine had cut the chunks up smaller, yet you stare down at it like it might jump off the spoon and bite you.
Tears start rolling down your cheeks as you bring the spoon up to your lips, forcing it into your mouth. You chew and chew and chew, delaying the inevitable. The face you make as you swallow nearly breaks him. He lowers his gaze to his own plate, barely touched despite the fact he feels like they’ve been eating for a lifetime.
“Take a break.” Christine says quietly, lowering your hand with the spoon back onto the table.
None of them can bear to look at you. Johnny and Kyle are busy staring at their plates as they eat while Simon glares holes into his water glass. He’s watching you just as closely, he’s just not brave enough to stare at you so openly.
The tears continue to fall as you start feeding yourself again, Christine watching you as your hand begins to shake more and more, the pain starting to get to you. John wants to reach out, to take the spoon and feed you himself, but he can’t. It’s destroying him inside, seeing you struggle so openly. Christine won’t intervene, she won’t do anything as she sits there. Rationally he knows why. You need to get used to feeding yourself again, you need to work past the pain and exhaustion to keep yourself going.
His alpha is screaming.
Your hand is nearly vibrating as you hold another spoonful up, this one full of rice and chicken. You let out a quiet sob as you stare at it. That’s going to hurt. He can nearly sense your pain, the agony you’re feeling. Your scent is like a cloud fogging up the air, sour with fear and pain. It’s sinking right into his brain, his alpha clawing at him to do something. You’re in such open distress in front of him but he can’t move. He’s frozen, staring at you in shock, unable to look away.
It’s Simon’s quick reflexes that save you, his hand darting out to flip the spoon onto the table before you drop it on yourself. It lands with a clang, startling all of them out of their ruminations as it hits the bowl of peas, splattering rice and chicken and broth across the tablecloth. Christine is on her feet almost immediately, checking you over for burns from any of it that might have landed on you.
“You're okay.” Christine says, wiping your face with a napkin as you sob loudly, openly crying now. “It was a good try. Come on.”
She helps you to your feet, grabbing your crutch before leading you back to your room.
All four of them sit there in silence, still as statues as they process what they had just witnessed.
“Fuck,” Kyle breaths, his eyes glued to the half-eaten chicken on his plate.
Johnny starts to sniffle himself, his gaze locked on his own plate. Simon's eyes are on the spoon he'd flipped where it lays on the table.
He had no idea just how bad things really were. He knew they were bad.
He just didn't think they were this bad.
You’re sitting outside in that chair again. It’s a lovely morning, cold but the sun is rising up over the hills, casting a pink and orange glow across the sky. You look almost ethereal out there, even if he can only see the back of your head. Your eyes are cast out at the sea in the distance, where your gaze always seems to lie.
His fingers itch in a desire to draw you, the art supplies Simon had picked up for him sitting unopened upstairs. It’s the first time he’s felt the desire to draw in weeks. Not since your heat when he’d sat there by your side, drawing to keep the thoughts away. The pictures are probably still up on his wall, the pieces he’d done to keep his own distress away. Had you laid there and stared at them after they left you? He can picture you laying there numbly, eyes glazed as you stare at them, picturing yourself far away.
You don’t need his drawings now to imagine yourself far away.
You’re still as a statue as you sit there, the thick blanket he’d picked up in Texas tucked around you. It warms his heart, even if he knows it was Christine who wrapped you up in it. The mug of tea beside you is still steaming in the cool air, untouched as it will remain until Christine eventually brings you back inside where you’ll recede to your room to sit in front of the large bay window to stare out at the sea.
He wants to take you.
He wants to load you up in the car and take you the short drive down the road to the beach. He wants to let you stand there in the sand, see the waves as they crash onto the shore. Hell, he’d let you walk into the water, let it soak your shoes and pants. Whatever you need to do, he’d let you do it.
John would have his hide if he left with you like that.
Simon would eat him alive.
He won’t do that, though, mostly because he knows you wouldn’t be strong enough to make it down to the beach, nor stand there for a long period of time. Carrying you would be out of the question. You’d never let him that close.
Instead he takes a gamble, getting as close as he dares as he slides open the door, stepping out into the cool morning. You don’t move, don’t even look up as he takes a seat in the chair next to you, the one Christine occupies when she’s out with you. He’d volunteered to watch you through the door to allow her some time to herself, something she hasn’t been getting much of. She’s been caring for you nearly 24/7, only getting breaks here and there while you sleep or nap, or on the rare occasion she trusts one of them to watch you. She never complains, but he knows she’s tired. Anyone would be after everything they’ve been through, after everything she’s had to see and experience over the last week and a half.
It’s the least they can do, even if you won’t allow them to do more. They all wish they could. They wish they could ease some of your suffering, take some of the strain off of Christine’s shoulders. Kyle even went so far as to invite his sister to visit over for the weekend in hopes she might be able to lighten the load, and to see if you’ll allow her closer than you’re allowing them to get.
He moves cautiously like he’s approaching a wild animal, not wanting to startle you and cause you more pain than you have been in. He can be a bull in a china shop, or he can be silent and deadly. He chooses something in the middle, making his footsteps just loud enough to be heard across the wooden planks of the porch, but he moves slowly enough he won’t startle you as he appears in your peripheral.
Your gaze never leaves the horizon, focused and far away even as he takes a seat next to you. His mug of coffee is warm in his hands, fighting off the chill outside. It’s a natural response to the sudden temperature change after being inside in the warm house. He almost wishes he had his own blanket, but then again, he’s not sure he’ll be outside very long.
He’s prepared for yelling, screaming, getting hit with your crutch as you tell him off, chasing him back inside. He’d almost prefer it over the eerie silence. He has to glance at you just to make sure you’re breathing, make sure the blanket is rising and falling over your chest. He follows your gaze out to the sea, sitting there silently as he gazes out at the dark blue water. Silence is hard for him. He can feel it throbbing in his ears, the ringing that fills his head when it’s quiet. He likes noise. He needs noise.
He just wants to hear you speak again.
He needs to hear you speak again.
He wants to talk to you, he wants to say something, he wants to drop to his knees and beg forgiveness. He wants to feel your touch again, even if it’s just a brush of fingers across his hand. He wants to get something out of you, some kind of reaction. You’re an empty shell, a ghost of what you were.
Tears fill his eyes as he stares out at the blue water. The silence is deafening as he sits there with you, still and quiet.
He might as well be sitting alone.
It’s the dead of night. The stars are out, or they would be if the clouds weren’t blocking them. It makes the world seem so much darker without their light. The fire is out, the curtains drawn closed. The only light is from the porch and the lights on the patio out back. The house is quiet, not even the hum of appliances filling the silence.
Kyle’s breaths are quiet and even, finally asleep after laying awake for far too long. Their backs are turned towards each other, yet the double bed forces them close enough they can feel the warmth radiating from the other. It’s the only position they can sleep in, even if they’ve woken up cuddling a few times in the night. It’s almost as if their brains are subconsciously trying to force the bonds back, to force the healing. It’s as if their instincts are laughing at them for trying to deny what they want deep down.
John lays there in the silence, his mind racing. He can’t sleep again for the fifth night in a row. He hasn’t been able to sleep since they left weeks ago on their mission to track down the missiles. No, it’s been longer than that. Not since you revealed the cameras to them. How long ago that seems now. How inconsequential it feels. If he knew back then what was going to happen, he would have changed a lot of things.
You can’t undo what was done. You can only change what happens going forward.
Things happened the way they happened. Now he has to make up for it. Now he has to prove himself not just as a capable alpha, but as a trustworthy human being. Your omega is screaming. He knows it. He had sensed it at dinner with your quiet sobs, the pain flooding your scent. He can still smell it, the sourness permeating his nostrils and sinking right into his brain. His alpha is still clawing at him angrily for just sitting there, for just letting it happen.
Simon intervened. Simon saved you once again.
He had barely comprehended the quick movement of Simon’s hand as he knocked the spoon out of your grip. He’d gotten soup on his hand, the droplets visible, yet he hadn’t moved as he sat there, letting it burn his skin. Better his than yours. He could almost hear Simon’s thoughts at that moment.
What a good alpha Simon is.
What a failure of an alpha John is.
Your omega must be screaming in your mind, clawing at her cage. It’s almost like he can hear it rattling in his ears, reminding him of the pain he’s caused you. The pain brought on by his failures.
Something is rattling in his ears, piercing through the silence.
It is a scream.
It’s your scream.
NEXT ->
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#call of duty#call of duty fic#tf 141 x reader#task force 141 x reader#kyle garrick x reader#gaz x reader#simon riley x reader#ghost x reader#john price x reader#captain price x reader#johnny mactavish x reader#soap x reader#alpha/beta/omega dynamics#a/b/o#omegaverse
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pairing: gojo satoru x reader | 1.2k words
summary: shoko-centric, as in it’s written from her pov, based on yesterday’s leaks bc i finally have some hope, simple bittersweet angst to fluff !! he’s coming back trust <3
shoko’s eyes are focused as she works, but they can’t help but drift towards you, taking in your expression—half hopeful and half terrified as you watch her hands critically.
your teeth are digging into your bottom lip— worrying the flesh with bites and nips that are sure to eventually draw blood.
she wants to click her tongue and rub your shoulder in the hopes that you’ll stop looking so stressed. but she understands—after all, her hands are occupied with the most important thing in your world.
satoru’s body has begun regenerating on its own—as shoko had expected when he was brought back to her. her body had clicked into autopilot when that blue haired kid handed him off to her, her brain choosing to ignoring the overwhelming sense of relief that washed over her when she saw him pulled away from that death field.
so she could only imagine your feelings in this moment—scared, angry, and yet so hopeful.
because that’s what gojo satoru was to everyone—an embodiment of hope. he had been as such for so many years. she has no doubt that even in death he would be the same.
but despite all that, she wants the blue eyed idiot to wake up already—wants to see his lopsided grin and your relieved face when the two of you look at each other. so all she does is continue to work, because that’s what she’s good at—what she’s always been good at.
working in the shadows.
you don’t say anything to her—you’ve known her long enough not to. shoko thinks back to the thousands of times she’s healed you up after missions, thinks of your sheepish grin when she scolded you for being careless out there. you’ve always been careless about yourself.
she thinks you’ve only ever been truly concerned when satoru was the one who was in trouble.
the two of you were idiots—because while the two of you may not give a shit about your own safety, shoko constantly worried about you both.
so she inhales through her nose, keeping her eyes trained on satoru’s body. “he’ll be fine,” she says, voice steadily echoing around the room. she can feel your eyes on her, feel the studying gaze of them, and oddly enough she relaxes under it.
something so familiar about this all.
she hears you sigh, a nod to her statement, and shoko takes it as a sign of agreement.
it has always been this way with the three of you—too many words unnecessary. at one point in time, it used to be that way among the four of you too.
shoko doesn’t know how much time passes. all she can focus on is the energy flowing from her hands to satoru’s battered body and your rapidly steadying breaths. the silence is not unwelcoming—an odd comfort in the midst of the chaos raging not so far away.
something tilts on its axis when his eyes finally open.
shoko feels like her breath has gone cold, settling low in her chest as she watches him sit up. there’s a brief moment of confusion in his face—eyes hazy as he looks at her. she gives him a pointed stare, not trying to betray her emotions, but the expression is enough for satoru to understand that he wasn’t supposed to be here. the haziness in his eyes clear, and shoko thinks she might be hallucinating because he looks almost apologetic.
and then, his gaze travels past her, to the back corner, and when they land on you shoko can see the puzzle pieces click together. his pupils dilate, lips parting in a sharp inhale as everything finally comes back to him.
you choke back a sob—a sound so pained and shoko almost feels as though it’s cut through her flesh. satoru’s eyes are wild, arms reaching for you before his brain can even catch up. he pulls you against him with reckless abandon, your body folding into his like it’s the most natural thing in the world.
which, shoko understands, it is.
your arms are tight around satoru’s midsection, head buried into his chest—as though if you let him go he’ll slip away all over again. shoko doesn’t blame you—she doesn’t take her eyes off of him for the exact same reason.
satoru’s fingers remain tangled in your hair—a tremor to them that only the most observant eyes can pick up.
your shoulders shake with the effort of holding back a plethora of emotions that shoko both understands and doesn’t. satoru’s hands smooth down your hair, chest heaving as he shuts his eyes and presses his nose to your temple.
it’s an embrace that shoko is almost proud to see—a reunion that she’s grateful to be privy to.
satoru pulls back a little, hands cupping your face as his eyes dart over your features—wild and bright with life.
“‘m sorry—” he’s saying, voice oddly steady for the way his fingertips are trembling against your skin. “i didn’t—i thought—fuck, ‘m so sorry, sweets—”
“you came back.” you’re whispering, voice unsteady and thick with unfiltered longing. you pull him back into a hug. “thank god. you came back.”
satoru’s arms tighten around you imperceptibly. a featherlight kiss dusts your forehead—barely a touch but there all the same.
shoko smothers an amused huff. it’s about time.
your voice is shaking even with your cheek pressed against his chest. “i thought that you—”
satoru nods against your temple. “i did,” he answers, licking at his dry lips. “i mean—”
a sharp inhale. you pull back to study his face. satoru’s voice becomes imperceptibly softer. “i saw…”
shoko doesn’t need to ask what he saw—she knows it automatically. you seem to know it too.
“it’s fine.” he’s shaking his head, lips quirking upward—his thumb brushes over the slope of your cheek with the utmost care. “it doesn’t matter.”
you give him a rueful smile, eyes uncharacteristically dewy, and shoko thanks her lucky stars that the expression seems to bother satoru just as much as it bothers her. she watches him cup your face, leaning his forehead against yours with an oddly somber sigh. your fingers come up to press against his knuckles, and satoru smiles, eyes fluttering at the touch.
shoko sees the color slowly start seeping back into his skin, an all familiar flush dusting his cheeks as he looks down at you, and her shoulders drop—a weight lifting.
she takes a step back.
satoru makes eyes contact with her over your head. there’s something there, deep within cerulean blue, that has shoko’s body finally relaxing. he studies her, eyes wide and open, and for the first time in a long time, she sees the message in them clearly.
his lips curl upward at her, an expression so nostalgic it makes shoko think she can hear the sound of teenage laughter—a gentle voice whispering about the good and bad of their lives. she shuts her eyes—helpless.
satoru watches her expression, somehow understanding, and he smiles to himself. his chin tips down at her, an acknowledgment of sorts, that has her feeling oddly emotional.
shoko shoves her hands in her pockets, and for the first time in a while, she allows herself to smile.
#gojo satoru x reader#jujutsu kaisen#jjk x reader#gojo x reader#jjk fluff#jjk angst#jjk 248#jujutsu kaisen x reader#jjk#jjk x y/n#satoru gojo x reader#gojo x you#gojo x y/n#gojo satoru x y/n#gojo satoru x you#jujutsu kaisen x you#jujutsu kaisen fluff#jujutsu kaisen angst#jujutsu kaisen headcanons#jjk drabbles#jjk headcanons#gojo satoru headcanons#gojo drabbles#gojo fluff#gojou satoru x reader#shoko ieiri#jjk x you#jjk imagines
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Have any Kurumi headcanons?
a lot. i'll put them in the tags
#personality-wise shes a very bright and extroverted girl. very cheerful and curious but has a morbid sense of humor since she's a vampire.#also kind of boastful and prideful of her strength.#which isnt a whole lot when you compare her to other characters.#loves having fun and exploring new places. because of her position she can't really do the latter. it can be boring at the lake.#also prone to random acts of violence sometimes if she doesn’t like someone#very dedicated and loyal to those she loves or serves. this can set her up for heartbreak fast if she feels she's been betrayed.#when windows-era begins. the lake of blood and mugenkan is forgotten from nearly the rest of gensokyo. kurumi remains at her post.#for a long time she thinks yuuka will come back one day. but she doesn't!#eventually she feels very abandoned and depressed knowing that yuuka most likely won't come back.#after this she now lowkey self-loathes and blames herself for being too weak. connecting it to when she failed to prevent intruders.#now i imagine her to have left her post and wanders the border of gensokyo and the outside world.#feeds on the occasional human who unfortunately manages to breach the border and animals if necessary. prefers humans though.#dirty fighter. prefers deception or sneaking up on her food sources.#very lonely and seeking attention and anything fun. she will play with her food if its human#as for her origin. i used to HC her as being an escapee of makai due to her resemblance to elis. related to her as a sister.#now i just feel like she came from the outside world. probably europe judging from the style of clothing.#since vampires are usually from western folk-lore#yuuka probably gave her her name#also she can turn into a cute bat!!!#that's all for now but thank you for asking. some of my HCs might be dumb cuz i'm not all up-to-date on 2hu lore
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Paring: former Azriel x Reader
Triggers: mentions of cheating, mentions of death, cursing, a lot of bold and italicize
Word Count: 3K+
Summary: The High Lords called a meeting to discuss the Death-God’s resurrection. However, with the death of their Seer, tensions run high between Day and Night Court, Helion outraged by the loss of your life. Truths are revealed and lies are exposed. And what happens when the High Lords realize that they have all been too late?
Note: I thank you all for all the love you have given to my one shot!! I had never thought it would have been so well received by fans and writers! I am very amused by everyone's reactions and thoughts on the one shot — everyone is wanting blood and redemption for our poor reader. And she will! This chapter is a segway/filler chapter — but still important. It's still angsty, don't worry. This one shot will probably become a 3 part series. I know in that voting poll I had done asked if you guys wanted a 5k chapter, rather than a 2- 2k chapters, but I wanted to leave you guys with one more chapter to look forward to! Please look forward to it!
Part One | Part Three | Epilogue
<Pushed to the Edge> Masterlist
“You had abandoned my emissary, disregarded her sight and had her take her own life in your Court… And for what? Your mate’s sister’s powers?!” Helion was fuming, amber eyes staring the High Lord of Night down, “And that her mate — - “a growl escaped his lips, as he glanced at the Spymaster next to Rhysand, “Had cheated on her for said sister?!”
The High Lord of Day’s voice echoed throughout the throne room, shaking its very walls at the allegation of what had happen within the wards of the Night Court. Helion’s fingers gripped the edge of the large round table, his claws causing the wood to splint underneath his fingertips.
“And now… you are telling me that her body disappeared?” his voice deathly low, “That your Spymaster’s shadows had whisked her body away to — God-knows-where… That, that child, never had never had a proper burial?!”
Rhysand couldn’t utter a single word against the claims placed against him and his Court — he couldn’t when everything that Helion had roared was true.
“… Show me…” Helion hissed, focusing at his old friend, “Show us what had happened that day…”
Rhysand gulped, staring at Helion before glancing around the table towards the High Lords of Pyrthian. All of them staring him down before all felt the claws of Rhysand's power creeping in their minds, images of that day of your death playing in their minds — all of them watching the confrontation between the Inner Circle and you — on how you were cornered and betrayed, leading up to your very death.
He hated it. Rhysand not only relived that that multiple times during his dreams — where he had failed you. He now had to relieve it while he was awake. Hearing your pleads and cries for him to listen to your visions, and seeing your body dying on that marble floor — to watch it be taken away by tendrils of shadow.
Once the memory came to pass, sobs echoed throughout the room. Helion being the loudest as he ran a hand down his face, his form shaking in his seat. Rhysand glanced towards his Inner Circle, watching his family relive that moment as well; eyes focusing on Azriel, who gripped the arms of his chair as his face wrinkled in anguish at the memory.
It had been a month ever since your death, a month since the sliver of shadows that once served the Spymaster had taken your body away — unknown to even Azriel on where they had brought your body to. And a month ever since more and more whispers of Koschei’s resurrection echoed throughout the Courts. The Death-God’s power vibrating throughout all of Pyrthian — it was difficult to not miss.
The High Lords gathered in Day Court to strategize on the impending danger of the Death-God. However, it was no secret on what had happened in the wards of Night Court. The loss of your light present throughout all of Pyrthian — every High Lord felt it.
Especially Helion.
He wanted nothing more to hurt and maim every member of the Inner Circle; but that wasn’t the purpose of this meeting — though he wanted it to be.
Helion reigned in his emotions, trying to calm the rage that boiled in his blood. Trying to clam the sadness he felt for the loss of you. He straightened up in his chair, letting out a shaky breath, looking back at the Night Court High Lord.
“… I regret that I ever had sent (Y/N) to your Court, Rhysand,” his tone small and disappointed, “Her powers were wasted on you and your Court. A Seer taking their life, being betrayed by the people she called her family,” His head shaking, a laugh, one so loud and so sarcastic escaping his chest that it echoed in throne room, startling the other High Lords, making Rhysand flinch in his seat. “What a damn found family you made. Betraying one’s mate, betraying a person who had served you for five-hundred fucking years over a female who barely has control over her own powers.”
Amber eyes darted to Elain, as he watched her flinch back, hiding behind the eldest Archeron sister, “What prophecy have you seen now?” the sarcasm very evident in his tone, “Have you seen what (Y/N) has seen? Have you seen the resurrection of Kosechi, as well? Your powers are nothing compared to (Y/N)’s.”
“How dare you talk to someone in my Court like — -” Rhysand started.
“You have no right to challenge me in my own Court, Rhysand!” Helion bellowed, hands slamming on the table, standing up as he glared at his once-called friend, “Do you realize what you have done?! Do you realize why there hasn’t been a Seer in millennials? Why (Y/N) has been the only recorded Seer in the history of Pyrthian? Because Seers have been hunted — by Fae, humans and Gods alike. They are so sought after, for their power, for the knowledge, for their sight. Seers have the power to uncover what is hidden, lurking in the darkness. They are the very light that unveils the darkness. They have been hunted to be exterminated for that very power…”
It had been the very reason why Helion had taken you in when you were a child, guarded carefully in the Day Court. To ensure the prosper of your power, the prosper of your light.
Amber eyes darted around the table, eyes staring at the High Lords that had situated themselves in this very room, listening to his tale before they stared back at Rhysand, “You, being the powerfullest High Lord if all of Pyrthian should have known that. And now, her body, one filled with Unknown-God-and Cauldron bound powers is missing…”
A huff escaped his lips in exasperation as he sat down back into his seat, “Her body should be buried here, in my Court, where she rightfully belongs to. But, no. And none of us could properly pray respects for the loss of her light…”
It was no secret that Helion had a soft spot for you. You were like his child, raising you since you were small, watching you grow and become a bright light within the Day Court. He knew how your light felt, how he basked in it as if it was the sun that radiated overhead.
And so when he had woken up that night in cold sweat, feeling the vanishing of your light — he knew something had gone terribly wrong.
“… — Helion…” Feyre tentatively called out to him, “You said her body is Cauldron bound? What do you mean by that?”
The Day High Lord glanced at the High Lady, staring her down before he nodded his head once. Leaning forward to rest his chin on his hand, “That’s what both myself and (Y/N) believe. (Y/N) is one the strongest Seers I have met in my life, those few Seers that I have encountered, ones that have wanted to remain hidden, are no match to (Y/N)’s powers. Your little Cauldon-Made Seer is no match for her either,” he sneered at the middle Archeron sister.
"There has been little records of Seers in Prythian, we all know that. Not even my libraries had enough information about them and their powers. But, despite that, (Y/N) was able to hone into her powers with little instructions… You know that she doesn’t just see the future, she was able to see what was happening now. She was able to focus on parts of Pyrthian and tell me what is and what will happen.
“But during the war with Hybern, much like when Nesta felt the Cauldron, (Y/N) felt it too. We didn’t know why, but we realized she and the Cauldron were somewhat connected. Whether it be the Cauldron was reason why she has her visions or if the Cauldron was the source of her power, they were bound. A natural connection between the two of them. And when the Cauldron broke, (Y/N) had told me she felt the Cauldron’s power sought refuge with her, as if the Cauldron sought her light.
“After the war, she had asked for my opinion — she felt the remnants of the Cauldron’s power tingling through her. She told me she saw more visions, visions of the far off future that she had no idea when would happen, and that her powers were starting to become out of her control. She was starting to lose herself in her powers, lose her mind to it… I didn’t know how to help her…”
The Inner Circle remembered, weeks after the end of the war, (Y/N) had asked if she could return to Day Court for a few weeks. Rhysand had let her, thinking it was not important. Azriel, too, didn’t question on her reason why she wanted to leave.
It was when they started to not care. When they started to focus their attention to Elain — the Seer that had defeated the King of Hybern.
Helion let out a broken laugh, staring at the Inner Circle, “I’m sure you never knew, did you? On how broken she started to be after the war. You never knew how her sleep was plagued with visions, that she couldn’t even close her eyes without images flashing behind them. Of how she sobbed in bed, wondering if she was in a dream or reality. She couldn’t differentiate anymore… And you…” eyes focusing on Azriel, “You never felt her pain because you put up a wall between your mating bond. Did you know, Azriel…”
The Day High Lord’s tone was seething, remembering those day.
“Did you know, how she cried for you? She begged down the bond for you to come and help. Wanting your protection, wanting to help sooth the pain she had felt? Wanting you just to be there? But all she could feel was the wall you placed, ignoring her… abandoning her when she needed all of you the most…
“I sent her back, hoping that all of you would help. I sent her back with sleeping tonics, hoping to help her with her sleep. Hoping that her family and mate would help her through her toughest time. Hoping that you all would see her. But I can see that never happened. That no matter how much she begged for you all to listen to her visions, to see her in pain, you ignored,” his voice was laced with anger, disappointment.
No one said a word. The air in the room tense and dense at the revelation that Helion lamented. No one knew of what you had gone through.
Azriel felt his his heart burn in his chest, as if his siphons were burning his skin — he felt the remnants of the broken mating bond in his chest, aching more at Helion’s words.
He didn’t know, he didn’t see, he didn’t feel the pain you were going through. He had ignored the tug of the bond when he had that wall up. He had been too infatuated with the middle Archeron sister, wanting her to feel belonged in their Court — all the while alienating the person who had been with him through thick and thin.
And, yet, he couldn’t do the same for you.
Bright blue eyes closed as Feyre silently mourned and apologized to the Heavens, to the night sky where you might have been.
But she realized on the implications of what had Helion had told them — that you might have been the Cauldron-bound object that Koschei needed to escape that lake.
She looked up at Rhysand, and he to her as they communicated down the bond. Both of them realizing what could happen.
The gesture wasn’t missed by Helion as he watched them, waiting for them to explain what they might have discovered. However, when they did not say anything, a growl escaped his chest.
“What is it?”
Feyre and Rhysand looked at the Day High Lord, hesitance shown in their features, “… It’s about what (Y/N) had told us. You all saw it in that memory…”
Helion thought, playing the memory back as he watched remembered your face, the anguish of your features shining through his head, listening to your words — your vision of what might pass.
“… That Koschei needed something from the Cauldron to be released from the lake,” Lucien pointed out from his spot next to Helion, the russete eye looking at Elain before back to Feyre.
“What if…” Tarquin mumbled, “…Koschei found (Y/N)’s body? If you and (Y/N) knew of the connection to the Cauldron, that the Cauldron sought her power. He could use her body to be freed from that lake.”
Helion looked at the Summer High Lord, amber eyes wide at the realization, “… If that were to come to pass, we would be doomed. (Y/N)’s body is probably soaked in Cauldron powers. It would be so easy for Koschei to be freed, and no one would ever notice. It is not impossible, but since (Y/N)’s body has disappeared, it is possible for her to have fallen into his clutches.”
Kallias, in the mist of the conversation, was watching, observing, the only remaining Seer in the room. He leaned forward, bright blue hues staring the Made-Fae, as he rested both arms on the table, “Have you had any visions?”
Heads turned towards the High Lord of Winter at his question. It did not phase him, as he continued, ”I heard from your High Lady that you rarely said anything about your visions, since the Cauldron broke. So do tell us, what have you seen about the Death-God?” If she had her powers still, a Seer would be still useful in this situation.
Elain visibly swallowed, as all attention was on her once more. Brown eyes frantically glanced around the table, over to her sisters and then to Azriel who both looked at her expectedly.
A heartbeat later, and the Middle Archeron sister knew that she couldn't lie.
She shook her head, “I have not seen anything… since the Cauldron broke…” her words nothing but a whisper in the wind.
It was as if a pin dropped on marble floors, the silence in the room was penetrating.
A laugh broke the silence. Eris’ shook his in disbelief on the drama they were hearing, “So you’re telling us, you have been lying about having your powers. And that (Y/N), who has actually seen those visions had taken her life?” he glared at the middle Archeron sister, “For what? Because you needed a position in the Night Court? So that you can gain the Spymaster’s affection? To bed him?”
Elain shook her head again, brown eyes desperate as she tried to catch eye with her family, with Nesta, who just looked away, brows furrowed with anguish, “… I just wanted to be useful…” she whispered in fear, slumping down in her chair, “My powers… were the only thing that made me feel like I belonged… But I didn’t have them, and… I just, didn’t want to lose my family.”
“And yet, you were willing to let (Y/N) lose her family, her mate… and her life. Just to keep your own,” Thesan expressed, "That selfishness will be the downfall of Pyrthian."
Elain flinched at the truth thrown onto her face, eyes down-casting, silence taking over her form.
Before anyone could reprimand Elain for her actions, the grand doors slammed open, a dark mist blowing throughout the room. Frightened and confused screams echoed through the room.
Helion stood up, using his power of light to dissipate the darkness that tried to cover the room. Amber eyes glowed as he watched as a cloaked figure float into the room.
Eyes watched the cloaked figure as it settled its form onto the floor, bare pale feet touching the marble.
“… I would think… that if the Pyrthian High Lords would gather… they would invite a God to their meeting. But I guess, manners do not exist in this world…” the voice was grating and brittle.
The hood swept, as if eyes inside were looking at all the High Lords that were now standing up, all attention to him.
A eerie chuckle escaped the hooded figure, spiny fingers grasping the edge before slipping it down. White hair and black eyes were revealed, pale, sickly skin glowed underneath the darkness that had surrounded him.
The figure bowed, a mocking gesture to the High Lords.
“It seems, that you are unaware of who you are being greeted by…” a boney finger raised up and pointed towards Nesta, the eldest sister stiffening, “Though I’m quite sure you do, dearest sister…” he grinned at her.
Nesta gulped and looked at the uninvited guest. She knew who would greet her like that — only the Death Caver has echoed the same words, “You’re Koschei… aren’t you…”
Koschei grinned wider, head tilting to the side as he stepped forward, laughing as the High Lords ready themselves for a battle with the Death-God.
“Oh don’t be so tense, my High Lords…” he mockingly commented, sweeping a hand, “Please sit… Do not stop your meeting for dear little old me. Though it is such an honor for you to do so.”
He rounded the table, eyes making contact with each of the High Lord, black eyes sweeping over their forms before he stopped before Rhysand.
Violet hues and black sockets stared at each other.
“Though I do have to thank you, High Lord of the Night… You have gifted me the precious gift of life. Though, it was through the loss of one of your own… You might have known her. Cared for her… Loved her…” Koschei looked at Azriel whose hazel eyes burned at the Death-God.
He let out a low laugh.
Tarquin’s assumption was right — the Death-God had used your body to free himself from the lake, right underneath their noses. No one felt it, no one knew. And it had been too late to do anything about it; months too late to prevent the resurrection, months too late to find your missing body, months too late of not listening to you.
Koschei looked behind him, far past the grand windows, the familiar cry of the bird of fire and ash echoing through the lands of Day Court, heading towards them — Vassa had come to stop the sorcerer-lord from his destruction.
However, before she landed on the balcony, an arrow, made of shadow and darkness struck her, causing the great bird to plummet to the land beneath her.
Lucien gasped and ran towards the balcony, peering down to see if the mortal queen had survived the fall; but there was no sign of the cursed queen anywhere below.
“What a dramatic entry by Vassa, as always…” Koschei said with a sigh, before another chuckle escaped his lips, dark eyes boring into the empty spot beside him, “Don’t you think… (Y/N)?”
All heads snapped towards the Deathless God, your name slipping from his lips, as they watched a swirl of darkness materialized a familiar figure. Azriel watched, hazel eyes wide as he took in your form, whisps of shadows that had whirled around you — his shadows, one that had abandoned him ever since your death.
“…(Y/N)…” Azriel whispered in disbelief, his voice shaking.
There you stood, next to the Death-God, very much alive.
Very much like a Death-God yourself.
And it echoed in your outfit — tendrils of shadow made up your dress, covering you from head to toe, fluttering near your feet as if a gown swayed by the wind. In your hands, a bow and arrow made of those shadows — the very bow that had struck Vassa down from her flight.
That was where Azriel’s shadows had gone to — leaving him, following you to your death, and making you someone completely different.
Someone that was going to be the downfall of Pyrthian itself.
Tagging: @cleverzonkwombatsludge, @setayeshmohseni, @kindasleepycryptid, @f4iry-bell, @woodland-mist, @kalulakunundrum, @topaz125, @thelov3lybookworm, @hnyclover, @harrystylesfan2686, @anuttellaa, @ithan-holstroms-girl, @judig92, @venuseuripedis, @fairywriter-oracle, @thehighlordishere, @acourtofbatboydreams, @willowpains, @historygreekqueen, @dr4g0ngirl, @ayme301, @kemillyfreitas, @crazylokonugget, @abysshaven, @michaelharrypotter, @naturakaashi, @kittenbi, @namelesssav, @guiltyreader, @awkardnerd, @je-suis-prest-rachel, @quackitysdrugdealer, @thesunloveschips, @brieflyclassymortal, @justdreamstars, @isa1b2h3, @himesuedi, @fxckmiup, @starswholistenanddreamsanswered, @t0uch-starved-h0e, @mybestfriendmademe
#acotar fanfiction#azriel x reader#acotar angst#acotar x reader#acotar fic#a court of thorns and roses#( .one shot : pushed to the edge )#acotar fanfic#azriel angst#helion acotar#eris vanserra#rhysand#feyre archeron
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looks at you. HAVE YOU CONSIDERED PRAYING TO THE ABUSE VICTIM BIBLE (PERSONA 5) TODAY?
#txt#ive been going through it#as in ive been struggling a lot with abuse apologism in my head#and when i do that i want to really ground myself through media and more spefifically p5#im getting it at the latest this weekend and i really am excited to return to it#slient hill 2 has helped as well but as we all know nothing compares to p5#and thats kind of understating it. slient hill 2 has made me feel better and jumpstarted me to fix the problem#ultimately when i do stuff like this it isnt for me its for the child in me that had to go through the majority of the REALLY bad stuff and#wanting to listen to her/him and never ever try to abandon what she/he wouldve wanted and what i want#i would die in side if i betrayed ultimately that part of myself.#also when i say the really bad stuff i mean the REALLY bad stuff. i just have to go through the normal bad stuff which i know when i say#that my opinion of what is really bad and what is bad is so if i told someone who is emotionally healthy what is happening they would say my#life is REALLY BAD now. and when i was a kid it was unimaginably worse#and i have to remember that because its literally so important. thinking oh its bad now but in comparison its great! is like The Trap#so i have to remember. i just have to
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can you do a fic with Ateez Seonghwa x virgin reader? Where she never even touched herself, never orgasmed or squirted so Seognwha does all that and they go the full way but she bleeds when he goes in but mother seognwha knows what to say to push her through and get her to the pleasure. From their she squirts on him while he goes rough?
🐈⬛
I add some settings on it (ʘᴗʘ✿) hope you like it
ꜱʜ|ʙʟᴏᴏᴅ, ꜱᴡᴇᴀᴛ ᴀɴᴅ ᴛᴇᴀʀꜱ (ᴀ/ᴍ)
ꜰᴀᴋᴇ ɢᴏᴅ ꜱᴇᴏɴɢʜᴡᴀ x ꜱᴀᴄʀɪꜰɪᴄɪᴀʟ ᴏꜰꜰᴇʀɪɴɢ ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ
ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢ: ʟᴏɴɢ ꜱᴍᴜᴛ|ᴍᴏᴍᴍʏ ꜱᴇᴏɴɢʜᴡᴀ|ᴍᴇɴᴛɪᴏɴᴇᴅ ᴏꜰ ʀᴇʟɪɢɪᴏᴜꜱ, ʙʟᴇᴇᴅɪɴɢ|ᴜɴᴘʀᴏᴛᴇᴄᴛᴇᴅ ꜱᴇx|ꜰɪɴɢᴇʀɪɴɢ|ᴍᴀᴋᴇ ᴏᴜᴛ
ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ: 3.2ᴋ
In a secluded and desolate village, an inexplicable prosperity has taken root, defying all logic and expectations. The villagers attribute this miraculous transformation to the blessing of a mysterious deity, whose influence has brought life back to the barren land.
However, this prosperity comes at a grim cost - the sacrifice of an 18-year-old virgin every hundred years. The purity and sincerity of the sacrifice are believed to prolong the village's prosperity, as decreed by the deity worshipped by the villagers.
For unmarried women like you, reaching the age of eighteen brings a looming nightmare rather than the promise of adulthood. From a young age, you've witnessed your younger brother bask in the favor and attention of your family, while you remained in the shadows, neglected and unappreciated.
To your parents, you are merely a pawn in their pursuit of wealth. If you marry into a prosperous family before turning eighteen, it's deemed a success; but if you remain unmarried, you are destined to be the sacrificial offering.
Growing up devoid of love, surrounded by loneliness and ignorance, you've struggled against the unfair expectations placed upon you. Despite your efforts to resist, you were met with scolding and mistreatment, leaving you isolated and unheard.
One day, as your entitled brother demanded your servitude, you felt a surge of resentment at his audacity. Reluctantly complying with his demands, you couldn't shake the bitterness that had taken root within you.
Confronting him about his reckless behavior with the family's money, you were met with denial and deflection. Your parents, quick to defend your brother, silenced your attempts to speak up, leaving you feeling betrayed and abandoned.
As you were confined to the cabin, awaiting the inevitable sacrifice on your eighteenth birthday, the weight of injustice and abandonment pressed heavily upon you. The darkness surrounding you mirrored the bitterness that had seeped into your soul, a stark contrast to the prosperity that had come at such a high price.
As the days turned into weeks, and weeks into months, laughter still echoed through the halls of your home. They looked forward to the moment you die as it meant they could live a new, prosperous life.
Their words only served to fuel the fire of resentment burning within you but you could do nothing.
You often wondered what your fate would be, knowing that the day of sacrifice loomed closer with each passing sunrise. The thought of being offered up to appease the deity, to maintain the facade of prosperity, filled you with a mix of fear and defiance.
—--
Night fell, casting a cloak of shadows over the altar as the ritual neared its zenith.
"Let us offer our gratitude to the Y/L/N family for their generous contribution!" The priest's voice boomed, the family members standing by, basking in the adulation of others, oblivious to their true nature.
Their affections lay with money and their son, not with you.
"Their daughter shall shape our destiny!" The air was heavy with incense and the eerie chants of the priests, their ominous words sending shivers down your spine.
You knelt at the heart of the altar, adorned in lavish garments but devoid of any semblance of joy. Seeing them pretending vaguely, a surge of resentment welled up in your heart. The unvented anger transformed into tears, cascading down your cheeks and saturating the eye mask, yet no one took notice. Memories of the past raced through your mind as the priest drew near; jealousy, anger, sadness, all negative emotions flooding your thoughts.
You felt yourself unraveling, the echoing laughter pushing you towards the brink of collapse. Desperate to block out the sound, you reached for your ears, only to find yourself restrained; yearning to break free, yet bound by invisible chains.
The priest's approach felt ominous, a foreboding presence signaling impending doom. You shook your head in denial, attempting to resist his advance, but the relentless footsteps shattered your resolve. You didn't want to die, there were still so many unfinished tasks; you didn't want them to prosper, to lead a life of luxury… What you craved was vengeance.
“Offer yourself to our God!”
“No! I refuse to meet my end like this!”
“There is no escape, child! Your destiny is to be a sacrifice! It is your duty!”
“NO! Even in death, I will not let you win! I will not make it easy for you!”
“What nonsense is this?!” “Just end her life!!”
With a swift motion, he thrust a sword towards your heart, invoking the deity's power.
But instead of searing pain and spilled blood, darkness enveloped you, wrapping you in an eerie silence.
Panting heavily, you realized you were not hurt. Unable to see anything as you were blindfolded, you could only follow the sound.
"Let me see this year's sacrifice," a voice echoed through the church, accompanied by the slow approach of footsteps, causing your heartbeat to speed up because of nervousness.
As the figure drew closer, Seonghwa knelt before you, lifting your chin to gaze upon your graceful form draped in black sheer fabric.
"It seems good, huh? But your resentment is the strongest among all the sacrifices I've seen," he murmured, his thumb tracing your lower lip and cheek, sending a shiver down your spine. Nervously, you swallowed saliva and made a barely audible sound.
“Don’t want to be mine? That’s nice, you know?” His gaze shifted from your trembling throat to your chest, where the metal bra accentuated your ample bosom. The sheer fabric did little to quell his burning desire. He leaned in and planted a kiss on your chest. This sudden act made you recoil slightly, unable to find a word.
“You hate me, huh?” Again, you swallowed nervously but did not dare to answer. Hate him? Maybe? Were it not for his presence, you would not have been chosen as a sacrifice. But, it was your so-called family members who did evil things. This was a simple question but you didn’t know how to answer it.
"Speak, girl. I hate it when others don’t answer my questions," he demanded in displeasure. Although you couldn’t see his face, you could still feel his anger.
"I… I apologize," you stuttered, fear gripping you and preventing you from relaxing. Seonghwa smirked, relishing in the feeling of others obeying his commands.
“So, what’s your answer?”
“I…hate…I hate them all.” He raised his eyebrows and said provocatively, “So, it's because of me that you hate them. Am I right, girl?”
“I…” You found yourself momentarily struck silent by fear. But upon reflection, you realized there was nothing left to fear - you were already deceased, after all.
“Yes.” After a deep breath, you found the courage to speak. “If it weren't for you, I wouldn't have been chosen as a sacrifice, and I wouldn't be… disliked.” Your unexpected response caught him off guard, as he had never encountered someone who didn't desire his attention.
Determined to sway your opinion, he sought to engage you further.
“What is your name, my dear?” His tone softened, coaxing you to reveal yourself. Surprisingly, he did not react with anger.
“Y…Y/N…”
"Y/N, a beautiful name," His voice, deep and alluring, stirred something within you.
"Relax, Y/N. Why the tension? Tonight, we shall indulge in my desires. But fret not, for it promises to be an enjoyable experience.”
His touch traced a path from your face, down your neck, shoulders, and arms. The cool sensation sent shivers down your spine, igniting a tingling warmth that spread through your body, eliciting a soft, hesitant sigh from you.
“And I’ll change your mind."
His gaze fell upon the handcuffs on your wrists, your delicate wrists trembling slightly, arousing his perverse desire for dominance. He whispered in your ear, his voice extremely seductive, licking and gently biting your earlobe, teasingly grazing your ear.
"Umm…" A shiver ran down your spine as an electric current coursed through your ear, and your body temperature raised, causing your cheeks to redden.
"You're really sensitive, aren't you?" He licked the back of your ear, the sound of his tongue against your skin stimulating your nerves, making you tremble; his lips gradually moved downwards, pecking at your collarbone, sucking on your fine skin, leaving faint red marks.
“Did you touch yourself before?”
“What is touch…?” Smiling, he held your hand while trailing down to your lower core, and slowly got closer to your clit.
“It feels good.” He guided your hand, his slender fingers stroking your clit with a gentle touch, slowly sunk down to your lower core. As both of your fingers entered your cunt, a tingling sensation spread through your body, eliciting soft moans of pleasure. Seonghwa's satisfied smile encouraged you to explore further.
"Come, fuck with me," he whispered. You felt a mix of excitement and curiosity as you pleasured yourself under his guidance. The sensation of his touch, combined with your own exploration, sent waves of pleasure through you.
His hands enveloped your back, the warmth of his touch seeping through the fabric, soothing your nerves. Your breath quickened, heart racing as he increased the intensity of his movements, his lips trailing kisses along your neck, drawing out soft whimpers of delight.
His velvety lips teased and tantalized your skin, his breath hot against your ear, igniting a fire within you. Your body instinctively responded, allowing him closer as his hands held you close, pulling you into his embrace.
A soft moan escaped your lips, spurring him on, his desire growing with each sound you made. Your body responded eagerly, the climax building within you, your walls tightening around your fingers, urging them deeper. It was so weird but exciting. You could tell there was something inside your body, as you touched it, a numb feeling surged throughout your body.
"You're doing so well, my dear," he praised, a blush rising to your cheeks at his words. “I’m gonna…oh gosh!” You shut your eyes tightly as the climax was about to take over you. “Cum, girl.”With a final, shy moan, you reached your peak, the pleasure overwhelming you.
"Such a good girl," he murmured, pressing a kiss to your cheek before withdrawing. A pang of emptiness lingered, but his question brought a spark of anticipation to your eyes.
"More?" he asked, lifting your chin and drawing you closer. With a nod and a shy smile, you whispered, "Yes, I want more."
"Good. All I can think about is how good you're going to taste." Before the words even finished, he pounced on you, the cold touch of the ground sending shivers down your spine. He reached for the buttons on the back of your neck, undressing you from the waist up, leaving your chest fully exposed.
He buried his head between your breasts, continuously sucking and licking. You keenly felt his tongue swirling around your nipple, causing a tingling sensation. The wet and warm feeling enveloped your left breast, while his hand gently squeezed and massaged your right breast, occasionally flicking the nipple with his thumb.
"Ah…" The stimulation on your body made you shyly moan, igniting his desire even more. He lifted his head and kissed your collarbone, sucking hard enough to leave marks on the skin that were no longer pale red but slightly darkened purple.
He admired his love bites while appreciating your beauty. "You're so fucking gorgeous." He growled like a wild animal against your chest, now it's time to unleash the beast inside him.
"Put your hands on your head. You can't put them down without my permission, understand?" You obeyed his command and raised your hands.
He removed all his clothing, kneeling completely naked in front of you, and pressed against your outer lips, occasionally grazing your hole. His erect member has been uncomfortably constrained by his tight pants for far too long.
“It may hurt a little bit. But it's gonna be fun, don’t worry.” He entered your cunt in one go, making you throw your head against the ground. His huge cock was much different from his fingers and tongue─that’s harder, longer, and thicker.
The intense pain was almost unbearable, as if your lower core was being torn apart. Blood flowed, wetting his thick cock and even dripping onto the floor. Your body burned like a flame, sweating all over your body.
"You're bleeding, babe. Does it hurt?" His voice was soft as silk, gently tugging at your heartstrings in a way no one ever had before.
"Yes… it hurts," you managed to reply through the discomfort. "Don't cry, just try to relax." He leaned in to place a tender kiss on your forehead, his simple gesture of concern bringing tears to your eyes. Despite the pain in your lower body, it felt like nothing compared to the past beatings you had endured.
He kissed you gently, offering comfort without any aggression. There were no bites, no invasion of tongues, just sweet and tender kisses. Your lips met softly, filled with warmth and affection. The pain slowly faded, replaced by a growing desire. You wanted him to move, to pleasure you with his gentleness.
"Please, my god," you whispered between kisses, causing him to pause. "I think I'm okay now."
"Tell me what you want, darling. Just say it," he encouraged.
"I want you to move, please," you requested, feeling a blush rise to your cheeks.
"Don't hate me now?" He chuckled at your reaction, finding you utterly adorable.
"Kidding," Before his lips met yours again and he began to thrust rhythmically. The pace was perfect, neither too rough nor too gentle.
"Ah, my god!" Every thrust hit the right spot inside you, eliciting a cascade of sensations. Your body responded by producing more moisture, adjusting to the feeling of his cock sliding in and out.
The warmth and wetness enveloped his cock, driving him to the edge of sanity. Combined with the sucking sensation, it was impossible for him to hold back.
"You're so tight, I can't handle fucking it." He wanted to fuck you as hard as possible, but not now. He needed you adjust first. He could see your past─what you have endured, how your so-called family treated you. Horrible memories invaded his mind, and although he wasn't frightened by them, he felt pity for you.
“oh my pretty.” He moved faster but not rough at all. His wet chest pressed against yours, letting you feel his strong muscles and physique. Oh shit, you loved this feeling so much, you felt so tiny under his frame. The pain you felt before has already disappeared far away and replaced by endless pleasure and lust.
Settling your legs around his waist, he entered deeper and you bent even more. He first pulled out a bit, and then pushed in fully, repeated over and over again. Every time he thrust deep, he couldn’t help but whimper as he saw how your chest shook from his movement.
“Moan for me, my doll.” You obeyed his words and moaned loudly, accompanied by the sound of skin slapping, forming a beautiful melody in Seonghwa 's ears. He pulled you up, making you sit on his thighs. Wrapping his arms around your waist, he thrust upward that made you throw your head.
Following his movement, you bounced in a slow pace. He trailed down to cup your ass cheeks to pull you closer. Your lips met again as he leaned down to kiss you. This kiss was like the breeze blowing through the petals, full of tenderness, giving you a numbness.
Seonghwa placed you back to the ground gently before turning you over. "Want me to be rough?" "Be rough with me, my god." In the momentary withdrawal, he turned you over directly, and once again entered from behind. His hands pressed against your waist, controlling the movement of your body back and forth, causing your breasts to violently shake.
“Ahh, please, keep going.” “Of course, my little whore.” He cupped your breast while squeezing your nipples and showered your nape with kisses. The scent of you fills his nostrils, very tempting.
He gradually lost control and snapped into your ass with only raw emotion. Sat up straight again to push himself even closer to your limit. He could feel his cock twitch every time he went deep and you moaned loudly. He was going to cum but he wanted you cum first. He needed it, needed to feel your warmth once again wrapped up his cock.
“Baby, I want you cum, cum for my cock. I need you.” His words and thrusting made you dizzy. Everything was overwhelming. You totally lost in the pleasure as he kept sinking down to hit your g spot.
“Hmmmm…Ahhh…please.” There was one more step to reach your climax. Seonghwa knew it as he slid down his hand to your clit. He continued to thrust while stroking, pushing you to climax.
The stimulation all over your body was like an electric current, which not only sent shivers down your spine, but also made the flame of desire in your body bursted out.
You found that the more you press down on your waist, the deeper his cock could go. Desire had already replaced your thinking. You lowered your body as much as possible and spread your legs so that you could reach climax as his arching member deep inside you.
“Your pussy feels amazing, you do that so well. Cum for me, babe.” ”Ah~my god~” You squirted with a high-pitched groan and Seonghwa came after a few thrusts. Your legs were shaking like a leaf and knees went weak. You fell to the ground, out of breath, your body having been drained of all your strength by lust.
“Are you okay, babe?” Seonghwa gently turned you over and took off your blindfold. The sudden light hitting your eyes made you very uncomfortable, but you quickly adapted. A handsome face came into view, and you could finally see Seonghwa 's appearance.
“I’m fine, my god.” He brushed your hair, gave you a loving smile and slowly picked you up before withdrawing from you. His hand trailed down to caress your lower core, full of his seeds. “Not hurt at all, hm?” You shook your head and replied to him with a smile. He chuckled at your smile, pulling you closer to rest on his shoulder.
“You’re mine now. No one will hurt you.” Seonghwa patted your head and pecked on it, making your tears welled up your eyes. Oh, maybe he was truly a god that loved his people…no, or I should say, his sacrifice. Who tells him love having sex so much?
But there was one thing he couldn't lie about. He was a little heartbroken when he found out about your past. At the very beginning, he thought that was only an illusion but his feelings toward you gradually changed. You seemed to be different from those girls he met.
-----
“Darling?" He called you darling every time because he found you liked this name.
“Yes, hwa?" You turned around to give him a peck.
“I killed all the people you hated. Did I do well?” He wrapped his arms around your waist while inhaling your scent. Your eyes widened a bit as you never expected that he would slaughter the whole village.
"You killed them...?"
"Yes, darling. I can do anything you want because I am your God."
#ateez#ateez fanfic#ateez fic#ateez smut#ateez x female reader#ateez x reader#ateez x y/n#ateez imagines#ateez oneshot#ateez seonghwa#seonghwa smut
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actually yea iv already claimed youre on your own kid idc. iv packed bonded to it so intensely im shaking violently. its my song now. and i havent even heard it.
#its giving the outside its giving my tears ricochet its giving tolerate it its giving never grow up#its giving giving careless mans careful daughter.#yk what. now that iv thoroughly embarrassed myself by relating a song i havent even heard yet to my parental trauma#the relating dear john and atw10 to is prob nbd now huh......#like just im getting such vibes of. this awful traumatic low point in your life were you feel entirely alone#or feeling specifcally abandoned/hurt by a parental figure#(idrc abt her personal life that much but i will say tht those assumtions are somewhat based on it#bc of obvs 2016 and apparently she saw her old record label as a father figure so. those arent basless guesses#but i dont wabt to say those song are about that in the context of like. how i think i might personally relate to it yk)#anyway way to atached to this song already. lol <3#also cld be on the feeling of growing up and starting to feel like youre alone as you become and adult#bc i feel like *kid* in title cld relate to either that or being betrayed by a parental figure like i said earlier#tbh we dont know but i already know im not normal abt it el oh el#flappy rambles
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i have often dreamed of those fires
— aemond targaryen
summary: He’s a firestorm. Her skin burns in his hands.
Or, marriage is her first duty. The second comes in the insurmountable task of seducing her own husband.
warnings: 18+, aemond x wife, arranged marriage, soft and insecure aemond, and a horny wife, he’s touch-starved, sexual tension, first times, fingering, p in v, multiple orgasms, smut with a sprinkle of plot, and the plot is just seduction before the smut
word count: 7.5k
notes: giving in to the brainrot while waiting for s2. english is not my first language. all reviews are very appreciated! thank you for reading<3
(also available on ao3.)
MASTERLIST
She spends the first night of her marriage in solitude.
The bedchamber bears no resemblance to the one she owned all her life. The lights are subdued, and a darkness her eyes have yet to get used to rules over every corner. It’s spacious; kept immaculately polished, as befitting a member of the royal family. That’s who she is now, regardless if she feels the part or not.
Prince Aemond—her husband, her husband—left the walls of the room in a hurry, as though scorched by fire. It is a silly thought. He is a dragon prince, and surely doesn’t fear flames.
He seems to fear her, though.
They entered the bedchamber as instructed by tradition, not quite hand in hand, but not too far apart, either. Her ladies rushed after to assist her in undressing; to unpin her hair, letting the waves cascade down her back; to cover her skin with a slip of a dress, more translucent than anything she’d ever worn. She was then left in just the nightgown, with her cheeks tinted pink. Once the ladies deemed her prepared, she was abandoned by all but her husband.
Later came silence.
It must have been the tears that dissuaded him. Once they began to flow, all of Prince Aemond’s attempts to breach the distance between them ceased. She was too shaken to speak; before she could gather her thoughts, he had already left.
Marriage is her duty to the realm. To her family who strived to ensure the best possible match. Marriage is to become her battlefield, and her life, and if the gods are kind—oh, please, let them be kind—it would eventually become a source of joy.
Only she sits alone amidst alien walls and furniture, and there is no trace of contentment she might have once envisioned.
How is she to find happiness, she thinks bitterly, when her husband refused to touch her once?
“Husband,” she greets him, and her voice miraculously doesn’t waver.
He is standing in the entrance to the bedchamber, stiff and pale, with dark shadows marring the underside of his eyes. Pink scar peaks from beneath the leather eyepatch he seems to never part with. His robes are as black as they were every time they have seen one another. He wears darkness like an armour.
Prince Aemond isn’t carved in shapes of impudent rowdiness that she now knows his brother wields to compel attention. There is a quietude in him; a softness coming through the sharp lines of his features. He keeps his face artfully blank; most of the time, it doesn’t betray a single emotion. She does not attempt to look into his eye. She fears that all she’ll find there is repulsion.
“My lady,” he says. Not wife. “I shall escort you to the feasting hall. The Queen wishes for us to break our fast in her company.”
His words lack warmth, though perhaps she should not have expected that from him. Prince Aemond doesn’t seem to possess much fire at all, what with the stone-cold composure he seems to cling to. She wonders if it is only a masterfully crafted mask; if there are any flames deep beneath its layers, flickering and crackling.
She smothers her silent musings. Hurt still lingers inside her.
The Queen may be the only kind face within these walls. Princess Helaena seems to always be lost in her own mind; Prince Aegon is never sober, and on the rare occasions that he is, it seems best to avoid him altogether. She cannot search for a companion in her ladies, or servants, and certainly not in any man.
She is alone.
And her husband doesn’t even want to touch her.
Scarlet shame rises to her chest, and she hopes that it’s not painted all over her cheeks. The Queen will know. She will look at her once, and immediately she’ll realise that she remains untouched.
Perhaps she knows already, and it is the reason for her summons. Perhaps she means to scold her, and berate her, and shame her for all nobles in the Red Keep to see.
Have the servants scanned the linen sheets? She doesn’t recall anyone looking for proof of the newfound union, but surely, they must have.
She swallows her trepidation down and forces her face to remain blank. She cannot decline. It is her duty to obey the Queen’s orders, and this one, she is capable of fulfilling.
When the newlyweds walk down the corridor, it feels like they are miles apart.
Solitude is all she knows.
Her days are filled with nothing of true meaning. She is mostly left to her own devices, be it embroidery or soaking up the sun. She traverses the foreign walls; explores the royal gardens; consumes book after book, hungry for entertainment. Sometimes, she joins Princess Helaena and her children, and they sit beside each other in complete silence.
It is not a bad life. She is luckier than most, she knows, though this fact does little to dissipate her desire for more. She wishes to be alive. She wishes for her smiles to be genuine. To be more than the pretty wife of a prince made of marble.
In truth, she isn’t even that.
Her marriage is not a marriage at all—not in the eyes of the gods—and all the freedom she now has is fleeting. She may lounge about in the courtyard, and eat the best cakes in the entire realm, and read every book to exist, but it’ll take less than a moment for the privileges to be lost.
“My prince.”
She hasn’t called him husband again. They shared all of a dozen words since their wedding night. Prince Aemond is clearly intent on avoiding her company, choosing to spend his time in the training yard or the libraries, and it doesn’t appear that he has even an ounce of desire to change this routine.
He is halfway to the door. Her eyebrow arches.
“Are you leaving?” she asks.
She falls asleep alone and awakes in the same manner, but she never thought that the Prince abandoned the bedchamber completely. Before, she imagined that he slept little.
He didn’t. He simply slept elsewhere.
“I wouldn’t wish to make you uncomfortable with my presence.” He strides over to the door without once meeting her gaze, and his hands clutch a collection of books. “The bed is yours.”
Her voice is harsher than she intends when she spits out, “The bed is meant to be shared.”
The Prince stops in his tracks; she traces the line of his spine when he straightens.
It must be the first time that he looks at her. Not even the vows they exchanged prompted him to meet her gaze. The last rays of sun that crawl through the window turn the purple of his eye a warmer shade.
“Do you—” she begins, and the tip of her tongue wets her lips when they suddenly go dry. Her throat closes up. She pushes herself to continue, “Do you find me repulsive, my prince?”
He must. She has heard many stories of marriage—both good and bad—and none spoke of husbands that refused to touch their wives.
Surely, there must be something wrong with her. Perhaps it is her hair that he dislikes, or her nose, or her lips. Perhaps he imagined her to look completely different, and there is no feature she possesses that pleases him.
Prince Aemond says nothing.
She picks her next words carefully.
“I know that I’m not a wife of your own choosing.” Her hands fidget, and she grabs onto her skirt to keep them occupied. “Neither are you the husband I wanted.”
Warmth. Gentleness. When she was a girl, she pictured a man who would hold her in his arms without shame. She imagined true affection and devotion. It’s been long since ascertained that Prince Aemond is not that husband. That her dreams have always been just dreams.
He doesn’t meet her eyes, and she finds herself vexed by his continued insistence to remain detached. She searches his face for scraps of emotion and finds none. He wields indifference like a sword.
She cannot so easily yield.
Her voice drops; nails sink into the skin of her palms. “You must understand, my prince, that it is me they’ll treat with contempt, should they ever find out.”
And they will. Of course, they will. Her womb will remain empty, and soon they’ll point their fingers at it and pronounce it barren. Humiliation will be hers to swallow; disgrace will fall upon her head like a thorned veil. They will feel pity for the Prince, to be certain, but not for her. Never for her.
The Prince’s hands tighten around the books, but it is the only reaction she receives.
He must not care for her at all. Why should he? She is but a stranger.
But they are now bound to each other. Strangers or not, their lives are intertwined.
She pushes closer to him, and finally, finally he raises his head.
“An untouched wife is no wife at all. It’s a breach of my oaths.”
There is a trace of contemplation on his face. It comes with a crease between his eyebrows, and the slightest twitching of his lips. Prince Aemond lets out a quiet hum, and she must strain her ears to catch its sound before it’s gone.
When their eyes meet, her heart lights up in flames.
“I will not touch you when there’s nothing but fear in your eyes.”
He is gone before she can retaliate.
There is a shift in his demeanour, though it comes hesitantly; with reluctance.
Prince Aemond enters the bedchamber while she’s seated by the vanity. She now recognises the sound of his footsteps—light and unrushed, often reminding her of a predator on a hunt. Her fingers become motionless, weaved into the intricate plaits atop her head. She warily waits for whatever comes next.
They have fallen into a habit of keeping one another at arm’s length. There is a barbed line that divides them, and neither is willing to cross it first.
Fear. This is what he thinks rules inside her heart. He never let her refute—now, she thinks it would have been pointless to even try. There might have been fear that shrouded her expression, but it was never induced by him. She feared the pain, and feared the unknown, but never, never feared the Prince.
He must think himself appalling. Capable of evoking dread. The realisation hits her like a tidal wave. She recalls whispers murmured in shadowed corners, all vicious and biting; wonders how many of them he has heard before. The scar on his face has been there for years. The Prince must have endured constant torment.
Whatever it is that they see—monstrosity, abomination, hideousness—her own eyes perceive nothing of the sort.
Prince Aemond is quite handsome. In truth, he is so striking that her heart jumps out of her chest each time she catches a glimpse of him.
It threatens to jump out now, when she sees him meeting her gaze without the usual aloofness.
He takes a hesitant step forward.
She freezes.
They are never alone. She sees him when they dine, and when he trains, and when he’s lost in another book. She sees him in daylight. In crowds.
Never like this.
There is a silent resolution that she notes in the tight line of his lips. Aemond comes closer, and closer, and doesn’t stop until his heat trickles down her spine.
She holds her breath when his fingers weave in between the strands of her hair.
Prince Aemond’s face betrays nothing. She watches his reflection so intensely that she forgets to blink, and all the while he keeps his expression blank. His fingers are warm. Gentle.
Just hours before, they were holding a sword and aiming it at his opponent.
It certainly feels as if he put a sword to her own throat. She can barely breathe.
His movements are slow and careful. One after another, he unravels the braids, mindful not to tug at her hair. His skilled fingers smooth out the tangles, and every once in a while, they come to her scalp to caress it in a soothing manner.
She traces the curve of his jawline, and the mangled flesh, and the dark eyepatch. He looks rough and feels soft. He is made of contradictions.
When he takes out the last little pin, she breathes out.
It is the first time that he has touched her.
For a fleeting moment, their eyes meet. She wishes to wipe at the mirror, if only to make its image clearer. Has he always been this delicate? Is the glint in his gaze a novelty?
When he clears his throat and averts his eye, his intention to leave becomes explicit. Tension dissipates. This time, she makes no objections.
“Sweet dreams, my prince,” she mutters, and the answer comes in the soft closing of the door.
Her head emerges from beneath the water surface, and she greedily takes air in.
She has wasted her day on blissful procrastination. For the entirety of it, she remained inside the bedchamber, shielded from all eyes and gossip, obstinately rejecting the company of anyone who dared offer it. These people know nothing about her, anyway. Their wish to spend time with her is masterfully feigned.
Sometimes, she misses her home. She misses it so terribly that her lip trembles. She misses being known. Despite the passing time, she has yet to acclimate herself to the new reality. The Red Keep feels as cold as it ever has.
Would she be dismissed, she wonders, if they knew that her marriage was a farce? Would she be ruined, or given a chance to start over?
Perhaps she ought to confess the truth.
Or maybe—just maybe—she should seek out her husband and push him into a wall, and claim his lips until all restraint dies.
Her depraved thoughts seem to summon him.
Aemond enters the bedchamber in his usual manner, and immediately turns back towards the door once he catches sight of her state.
Her breasts peak from the foamy water.
Her skin tints red.
“You don’t have to leave,” she calls out.
The words are quick. Too quick to come across as nonchalant. She bites her tongue, but doesn’t take them back. Perhaps she has reached another level of desperation, and this is the only opportunity she gets to let it run free.
He is more dragon than a man. He cannot keep running from her in fear. She sees the moment that Prince Aemond seems to come to the same conclusion; his hand flexes at his side, once and then again. His shoulders become tense.
She is quick to bite back her smile when he turns around. He wouldn’t have seen it, either way, what with the way he keeps his eye stubbornly downcast.
As if she wasn’t his wife. As if seeing her bare skin was a sin.
Reluctantly, with his head courteously bowed, he moves to take a seat by the table, reaching out for a random book.
Water ripples when she sinks deeper into the bath. If he has no desire to see her, she will not strive to bear herself before him.
The silence is heavy.
“Did you go out for a flight?” she asks, itching to dissipate the suspense.
The Prince hums, as is his habit, and offers a slight nod. “I did. It’d been days since I last rode Vhagar.”
This is a part of him shielded at all times. He keeps it deep in the crevices of his heart—in its darkest, deepest corners. She doesn’t blame him for it. Even without understanding the nature of the fire in his blood, she recognises it as something private. Intimate.
But it is the first time that he spoke the name in her presence, and she cannot hold the reins of her unabashed curiosity.
“When you’re apart,” she begins, “does her absence feel like a missing limb?”
The Prince’s eye turns to her, and though they are far from one another, she is able to catch a glimpse of intrigue.
Briefly, she ponders whether anyone has ever dared ask him unpracticed questions like this. If there was someone who wanted to know him—his innermost beliefs and convictions, and his soul. If anyone attempted to push through the walls he has built around himself.
She supposes that the slightest widening of his eye is an answer in its own right.
Prince Aemond doesn’t immediately reply, and she bites her tongue. “Forgive me, my prince. It is not my right to ask.”
“You’re my wife,” he says simply. It is the first time he acknowledges it. “You have the right to ask anything of me.”
Keeping her bewilderment subdued, she arches an eyebrow when he nods to himself.
“It doesn’t.” Prince Aemond clears his throat, fingers fidgeting against the pages of his book. “It doesn’t feel like a missing limb. Even in her absence, I always sense her.”
It must be the most that he’s ever said to her.
The water has gone lukewarm. Goosebumps rise atop her skin. She could politely request that he take his leave in order to get out of the bath. She could.
She won’t.
“So a part of her lives inside you?”
He turns, and now they are facing one another.
Has the foam dissipated? She doesn’t dare take her eyes off of him, and so she cannot check. If the foam is gone, he can see the outline of her body. Does he see it?
No, she thinks. Surely, he would have already looked away.
“As does a part of me inside her,” he admits. “In more ways than not, we are one being.”
One being. Is this why he refuses to let her come close? Is it because there is no more space in his heart left for her to rest in?
It seems a plausible enough theory. In truth, all theories seem to be true when she’s wallowing in solitude and sorrow and rejection.
“It must be nice,” she murmurs, and this time she is the first to break eye contact, “to be known from the inside. Intimately. In the deepest crevices of your heart.”
Something in him changes. She catches it when she glances at him. The Prince’s hand abandons the book, and when he stands from his seat, she is sure that he’ll leave.
But he doesn’t. She gapes at him when he comes closer to the bath.
“Scoot over,” he instructs.
Her mouth parts, ready to sputter questions, but they all dissolve into nothing when she catches the intensity in his gaze.
She holds her tongue. No words could reflect the depth of her confusion.
Prince Aemond now watches her without past shame.
The scent of fire and smoke permeates the air, and she inhales it sharply. His heat engulfs her back in gentle flames, and she draws her knees to her chest, oddly bashful.
When she does as instructed, he is quick to put his hands on her scalp. A gasp falls from her lips at the touch.
He is washing her hair.
Does he hear her heart pounding? It’s so loud. So very loud.
“It does feel good.” His fingers weave through her hair. “Before her, there was no one who wished to know my heart at all.”
They dine with the Queen, and she engages in conversation with a desperate sort of enthusiasm. The past days have mostly gone in perturbing silence, and she yearns for the opportunity to erase it, even with idle talk. They speak of the gardens, and the ladies-in-waiting, and Princess Helaena’s children that seem to be growing more and more each day.
Aemond holds his tongue beside her, and the quietude in which he wallows no longer takes her aback. More often than not, his silence speaks for itself. All she must do is look into his eye to comprehend the words.
“Children are a woman’s greatest joy,” the Queen rambles on, and there is a softness in her face that takes away all remnants of the usual misery that she wields. “It is only a matter of time before you’ll find it yourself.”
She straightens her spine.
Words die inside her throat. Does she smile and change the subject? Does she confess that she will not find it—she’ll never find it—because her husband has no desire to be a husband at all? All protests and confirmations and pretty promises are insufficient. She thinks it is better not to speak at all.
She nearly jumps out of her seat when something warm engulfs the skin of her palm. It’s Aemond. He has taken her hand into his, and the way he holds her is both gentle and firm.
Do they not fit perfectly? Aemond’s hand is larger than hers; its lines are harsher. She lets their fingers lace together, and when she hesitantly turns her eyes towards him, she finds him already watching her.
He holds her gaze with unmasked expression, as if to say: this is me trying.
She is possessed by a surge of boldness.
The lights of the chamber are dimmed, and she is long prepared for the night. There is a tremble in her hands. She cannot discern if it’s one of trepidation or excitement.
Aemond offers nothing more than his usual greeting when he stalks into the room. It’s neither warm nor cold; as always, it’s not enough. She watches him stride towards the table, and he sinks onto the chair, hands reaching for one of the books.
He doesn’t truly read them. It took her a while, but she now sees right through his habits. Aemond repeats the same exact process every night. He sits with a book, and keeps his eye downcast, and sometimes—just sometimes—his gaze moves towards her when he thinks she isn’t looking.
Each day, he comes back not to read, but to see her.
Each day, she waits for him to act.
There are moments when they touch, and when their touches linger longer than they should. There are moments when he takes her hand into his, or brushes hair away from her face, or grabs her waist as he walks by. There are moments that she allows herself to push closer to the heat that he radiates.
She is tired of surviving on moments alone.
With her breath unsteady, she waits.
Aemond taps his fingers against the surface of the table, and she cannot help but observe the motion. His rings shine in the flickering lights.
“What are you reading?” she asks, keeping the buzzing anticipation on a leash.
His shoulders tense. She never interrupts his lectures.
The floors are cold beneath her bare feet. She keeps her pace slow. The distance between them shrinks, and soon she is standing right behind him.
Aemond’s heavy exhale hits her ears. She wishes she could preserve the sound.
With her shaky hands, she reaches for his shoulders. He is firm and solid; strong and warm. Scorching. When he says nothing—when he doesn’t move away—she lets her hold on him tighten. Just this once, she wants to touch him as though he was hers. Like a wife ought to. The way she never learned how to.
Emboldened by his stillness, she bends closer; their faces are at level. She brushes away the silver strands of hair that shield him from her, and soon she is free to take the sight of him in.
The line of his lips is thin and tight. There is a small, white scar on his temple. His skin catches the slightest hint of pink, and it crawls onto his cheeks in gradual motion. He is right there—right there—and her mouth is dry. She puts her lips to the soft skin of his cheek before she can hesitate again.
Aemond’s breathing turns rugged. She sees the rise and fall of his chest, quicker with every inhale. Her fingertips burn with the want to feel his heartbeat.
When she grabs the book he holds in a vice grip, he turns to her.
Their noses brush.
The air is gone. There’s nothing left of it. Her gaze trails from his eye to his mouth, and they’ve never been this close.
It takes the smallest tilting of her head for their lips to meet.
She is blinded. Flames flood her vision. Her heart bruises her ribs, and Aemond’s fire burns her tongue, and never before did she imagine that a kiss could leave her so ruined.
He is quick to match her pace. His mouth moves against hers with a brutal force; he breathes her in, and she catches the silent groan before it dissolves. She nibbles at his bottom lip, hungry for more, and when their tongues mingle, she no longer remembers her name. He’s sweeter than any cake she’s ever tasted, and she wishes to forever devour him—to never, never stop.
But then his lips are gone. Strong arms seize her hips, and he effortlessly moves her away from him.
She doesn’t understand. Aemond shoots out of the chair, and rushes towards the door, and she watches his shrinking figure—always, always watches him leave.
She senses his gaze on her skin.
An entire day has gone by, and she’s long since stopped expecting Aemond to return. Her heart has turned into stone. She forced it to do so.
And now he’s standing there. Watching.
“Am I not worthy of your affection?”
She regrets the obvious cracking of her voice, though there is little to do about it now. He isn’t deserving of the mask of collectedness that she could attempt to put on. She will not veil her hurt. Because he chose to cause it, he may well see its aftermath.
Aemond doesn’t answer. She knew that he wouldn’t.
“Is it because there’s no fire in my blood that you deem me below you?”
She turns, eager to see his features, and then almost wishes that she hadn’t. There is something broken about him. His face is ashen, marked by shadows of exhaustion. His lip quivers.
“I’m chained to you,” she half-whispers. “The least you could do is not tighten the shackles around my neck.”
“I never wished for it.”
“I never wished for it, either!”
There is a dull ache in her chest. The stranger before her won’t meet her eyes, and she loses her footing again, alone and tired and desperate for a change.
She won’t beg. She’ll never beg.
But she is not yet ready to stop pushing.
“You won’t even let me close.”
Aemond’s face crumbles, and she finds nothing in him but raw, agonising vulnerability.
“It is not easy to learn something so foreign.”
Her fingers find the lacings of his riding leathers.
They have succumbed to a heavy sort of silence. It stretches and grows; haunts their days and nights with equal intensity. She allows this quietude to exist with a trace of vindictiveness inside her bones. If one of them ought to break it, it is him.
As always, he prepares to leave with the first mark of sunset. She bites back all protests rising to her lips. She will not speak. Her words do little more than fall upon deaf ears.
She allows herself this much: crumbs of him, all stolen, when she stands close and brushes her fingers against his clothes. She ignores his scent, and his warmth, and the way her skin itches with the want to press closer.
Aemond’s eye scorches the skin of her cheeks.
He hasn’t moved away. She is glad not to have been forced to choke on scarlet shame—to have him flee her touch again would be the end to all the lingering remnants of hope. Aemond stands still and stiff, and she is half-convinced that he’s holding his breath.
She freezes in her tracks when one of his hands grabs both of hers into a gentle embrace.
The tips of his fingers are calloused. He strokes her skin with his thumb, and she clings onto the last of her composure, unwilling to melt before him.
A single touch. That’s how much it takes to shatter her resolve.
“You’re too good,” he says, and the words are little more than a whisper. “Pure. My hands could only ever ruin you.”
Her eyes find his, and she wishes she could decipher what remains unspoken by looking at him alone. She wants to know his heart and his mind. She wants to know all his thoughts.
Her greedy fingertips trace the lines of his palm. His hand trembles.
“How could something so gentle ruin?”
He has only ever held her with meticulous cautiousness. She knows his touch as tender and attentive. Warm. Doesn’t he see the shivers he evokes? Doesn’t he know that they come from fondness and devotion and the deep affection that she drowns in? He cannot ruin her. His hands are not capable of it.
Aemond doesn’t believe her. His vulnerability shows through the cracks of his usual composure. He tries to enshroud himself in indifference, but she has long since learned his mannerisms. The mask of blankness will not deceive her.
He attempts to tear his hand away, but she tightens her hold.
“Look at me, husband.”
It is a demand. Aemond must recognise it as such, because the lowered eye flickers and gives in.
Because she is a woman of weakness, she lets herself put a hand on his cheek. Her fingers hook under the strap of the eyepatch. She hears him gasp for air, and the sound reverberates in her ears like a prayer.
Her heartbeat is wild and strong, and she whispers, “Don’t you see? There is no fear in my eyes.”
The memory of his gaze induces odd tremors long after he departs.
The mattress dips behind her.
There is an onslaught of heat that spreads over her bare skin, though she has yet to discern what it stems from. The air goes still. Heavy.
It begins with a fingertip tracing the length of her forearm. The touch is featherlike—no more than a gentle stroke that lacks any pressure. So light. So light, barely even there, and yet at once she is consumed by flames.
“Husband,” she breathes into the night.
A rush of hot air hits her ear when he whispers an answering, “Wife.”
Aemond’s fingers traverse the expanse of the skin that isn’t covered by blankets. He moves from the side of her palm, through the nook of her elbow, higher, higher. His hand reaches her shoulders; fingers spread towards the outline of her collarbone, dipping into the crevices and searing a string of goosebumps into her skin. She holds her breath. Her heart pounds against her chest in violent patterns.
He smells of smoke. She wishes to inhale his fragrance until she chokes on it; until it fills her lungs and replaces all oxygen. Aemond presses closer to her, and she holds back a whimper when he moves his hand to her neck.
“I have neglected you,” Aemond murmurs.
“You have.”
“And now I must beg your forgiveness.”
Aemond’s hand closes around her throat, and she holds back a gasp.
Their bodies are pressed together. She exhales in surprise when she finds his forearms as bare as hers. He must have abandoned his shirt before crawling into bed.
Their bed. The bed that is supposed to be shared.
“I rather thought your constant neglect was deliberate practice,” she says, forcing her voice not to crack. “Why would you beg forgiveness for something you feel no remorse about?”
A gasp tears out of her throat when Aemond seizes her arm and flips her onto her back.
Their faces are close; closer than she thought they’d ever come again. In the pale moonlight, his features become soft and veiled. She wishes she could see him in sharp lights; wishes to trace every blemish and mark on his skin. This subdued version of him is not sufficient. She must imprint every part of him in her mind.
When he hums, her own skin vibrates with the sound.
She clamps her legs together.
“Yes,” he muses. “You have voiced your displeasure with astonishing fervour.”
Her lips part when one of his legs sneaks in between hers. He is quick to push her knees apart.
“As was my right,” she replies, and the words come out as breathless.
Aemond’s thigh is solid. She feels the flexing of his muscles against her own skin. Her nightgown rides up from the friction, and soon her calves are left exposed.
“You said you were chained to me.”
“And it was the truth.”
“Does it hurt?”
“Only when you pretend that you’re not chained to me as well.”
Slightly, slowly, she pushes her head up. His breath hits her cheek; her lips come so close to his chin that she could press them against it without straining.
Aemond’s fingers tighten their hold on her neck.
Their eyes meet, and it is fire clashing with fire. The purple gives way to a deranged darkness; Aemond’s face is unmasked. She looks at him and holds her breath. Looks at him until everything in the background blurs. Her trembling fingers reach to cup his jaw, and when they connect with the soft skin, he lets out a quiet gasp.
“I do it for your own sake,” he breathes out. “You know nothing about the depravities living in my mind.”
She trembles when his thumb comes up to caress her lips.
“So good. So pure.” Aemond trails the outline of her mouth, voice dropping with each word. “And yet you’ve instilled a madness in me that I can no longer quench.”
She wants to grab him by the neck and pull him closer. She wants their lips to press together; to meld into one, and turn to ashes from the force of flames. Does he know that she dreams of the shape of his lips? Does he know that her eyes trace it when he’s reading—that she now knows it by heart? His taste haunts her. Sometimes, she puts her warm fingers onto her mouth and imagines that the heat is him. Sometimes, she touches herself and imagines his lips nibbling on a different spot.
Keeping her scorching desire leashed, she remains still.
It is he who must cross the remaining distance. It is he who must light up the flames.
His hand comes up to her face. Her cheek tickles from his fingertips; lashes flutter when he brushes his thumb against them. She opens her mouth—to taunt him, or curse him, or beg. She only knows that she must say something. Anything. She cannot let this fire die. Her head spins and her skin tingles—
And then his mouth is on hers.
It is a hungry kiss. He aims to devour her. She moans into his lips when he bites down; he shifts his weight, and her skin burns underneath his body. Aemond holds her chin; tilts it to his liking, claiming her mouth with greed and lust and depravity. She forgets to breathe. There is no need for air when he’s this close.
Out of fear that he’ll try to move away, she wraps her arms around his broad shoulders. His skin is scalding-hot, and she cherishes the way it burns.
She licks his bottom lip, demanding entrance, and he is quick to oblige. Their teeth clink, and she pulls him closer, and soon their tongues swirl around one another, none willing to yield. He tastes like fire. She wants to swallow him whole.
They break apart when his fingers grab the fabric of her nightgown.
“I want this off,” he says, already hiking it up, impatient to leave her naked.
“Do you?” she teases.
Aemond is not in a mood for her games.
She gasps in surprise when something rips apart, and then she sees two pieces of white cloth hanging from his hands. He has ruined her gown, and seems to be awfully pleased with himself. She should make her displeasure clear—
He traces the outline of her lips with his tongue, and she forgets all about the robe.
“You’re so sweet,” he pants. “My sweet wife.”
His words push her to the brink of madness. Wife. Wife.
His eye trails from her lips to her throat, and lower towards her breasts. He looks at her peaked nipples, red and aching like her mouth.
One of his fingers brush against the pebble, and she stifles a moan.
“Look at you,” Aemond breathes, and his chest rises and falls with increasing intensity. “I barely touched you, and you’re already trembling.”
He must not realise the extent of his influence on her traitorous body.
She opens her mouth to tell him as much, but then his mouth travels down her throat and her breastbone, and soon replaces his fingers. He peppers her sensitive skin with kisses; nibbles at the flesh in the hollow of her bust. She quivers under his attention, hands finding the strands of his hair. When Aemond’s lips wrap around her hard nipple, she cries out.
His hand traverses up her thigh. Wantonly, she spreads her legs so that his hips can fit in the middle. He is quick to push against her—push until there’s barely any space left between them—and when she feels his rock-hard length, she forgets all about swallowing the desperate sounds. Her back arches, and Aemond keeps sucking at her breast, alternating between soft brushes of his lips and harsh bites of his teeth, and she is burning. Flames consume her whole.
She pulsates against him. Her walls clench around nothing—they’re empty, they’re empty, and she must be filled or else she’ll go mad.
“I want you inside,” she demands, nails sinking into his skin, too lost in her desire to veil herself with feigned innocence.
Aemond breathes out a laugh in response, and the warmth mingles with the cold saliva that he’s left on her nipple. She makes a strangled noise.
He raises his head, and there is a sudden sobriety in his expression. She knows its roots. Aemond insists on holding onto self-deprecation, and it is clear that he still doesn’t think himself worthy of touching her.
She will rip this doubt out, even if its thorns draw blood.
Her hands come up to cup his face.
With intensified ardour, she repeats, “I want you inside.”
Slowly, hesitantly, he rids himself of his resolve.
Her breathing turns rugged when Aemond grabs both her thighs, pulling them further apart. It’s dark, but he must see the way she glistens under the moonlight. Her cunt is dripping wet. She restrains herself from rocking her hips forward in search for friction.
“You do want me.”
She does. She does. She needs him, and she must be touched, and if he doesn’t bury himself inside her—
Her body jerks when Aemond’s fingers descend to her clit.
His touch is a firestorm. She shudders when he circles around the nub; all her rational thoughts die in flames. Aemond flicks his thumb back and forth across her clit with a firmness that has her panting. His digit is already slicked with the wetness pooling out of her entrance; his fingers gather the moisture and spread it over her pulsating lips. Her face and chest must be red with want. She wants him so much that it hurts.
A shaky moan tears out of her mouth when the pressure of his touch increases. Aemond speeds up his movements; it burns, it burns. She buckles her hips, and the muscles of his thigh tense, and he is watching her with raw wonder.
Aemond kisses her sloppily. The way their tongues brush against each other is filthy. She takes his bottom lip in between her teeth, and he grunts into her mouth, and his fingers don’t stop moving against her. The friction is euphoric. Before she knows it, it brings her over the edge.
She spasms beneath him, and he doesn’t let their lips part.
It is like reaching the stars. Like drowning. Like water given to someone dying of thirst. She’s suspended in a place without time; without faces that aren’t his. There’s just Aemond. His lips. His fingers.
He doesn’t slow until she cries out from overstimulation, and even then, he strokes her bundle of nerves in a featherlike caress.
“Touch me,” Aemond breathes against her shoulder.
Still reeling from her high, she is quick to oblige.
“Here?” she asks, hands trailing down his spine, and his answer comes in teeth biting her neck.
He’s softer than she ever imagined.
The way Aemond shudders underneath her palms makes it clear that he’s unaccustomed to tender touch. It breaks her heart into pieces to think of the boy he once was—the one so starved for love but unable to accept it, always, always thinking himself undeserving of it. It hurts even more to know that even now—even when they’re chest to chest, bodies bared and mouths connected—he believes himself unworthy.
He’s so soft. Hard. He is made of harsh lines and smooth dips, and her hands greedily traverse the expanse of his exposed flesh, hoping to prove that her desire for him has no bounds. She wants him as he is. She wants every part of him.
Aemond looks into her eyes, and the purples become blurry. “Your touch heals the rot inside me.”
She claims his mouth because she can. Because he is hers.
When he enters her, she is finally whole.
It hurts because it must. He pushes until the barrier inside her relents; he is slow enough to let her adjust to his length. Pain doesn’t take away the overwhelming sensation of being full. Her breath hitches, and Aemond is quick to steal another kiss before the sound dies on her lips. He kisses her once, twice—kisses her for so long that she forgets who she is.
His next thrust renders her dazed.
Aemond’s neck is slick with sweat. Emboldened—crazed—she gathers the dampness on her tongue. There’s a sound of skin hitting skin; he ruts into her with increasing force. She is not herself anymore; no longer recalls who she was before this. Before him. No one, she thinks. Empty, empty no one.
Her vision swims when his fingers find the spot where she aches most. Aemond sears the smallest of circles into her clit; one of his hands remains on her breast, and her eyes roll back from the onslaught of sensations. His cock thrusts inside her at an agonising pace. The stretch burns.
She begins to toe the line between lucidity and delirium, and he is there to carry her through the threshold.
Her fingers tug at his silver hair. Legs wrap around his waist with a crushing force. She holds him close, and he presses against her, and the sinful sounds that fall from their lips are surely loud enough to awaken the entirety of the Red Keep.
She doesn’t care. She doesn’t care. Now that Aemond is inside her, she never wants him to leave.
Aemond’s grunts become desperate. His movements are stripped of control, and she feels him sink his fingers deep into her hips. He holds her like he wants to leave bruises; pulls her closer with each thrust.
“Is this duty?” he whispers into her skin.
“No,” she is quick to answer. “It’s not. It’s not.”
This is something else. Something more. This is wildfire engulfing her heart; flames bursting through her bones. This is her body moulding into his in a perfect shape; lines blurring.
When his teeth sink into her shoulder, she knows that he is close. She rocks her hips against him, meeting each of his thrusts. She’s somewhere high above ground. She is flying.
“Inside me,” she rasps with the last of her breath. “I want your seed inside me.”
“Fuck.”
It sends him over the edge.
Her toes curl. Aemond’s movements turn wild, bordering on violent, and when he shudders and cries out and collapses, he takes her right with him.
There are stars inside her, and all erupt at once. She can do nothing but thrash beneath Aemond’s solid body; hold onto him so she doesn’t fall. She thrums with pleasure and pain and something else—something she cannot name—that has her gasping his name into the darkness. Aemond. Aemond.
He smothers the words with his lips on hers.
She cannot breathe. Air isn’t sufficient for her lungs. Aemond’s hands trail up her body, slow and exhausted, and soon he is cupping her face.
Their foreheads are pressed together.
All she knows is the colour of his eye.
Husband and wife. He holds her close, and their heartbeats match, and they are one.
#aemond targaryen#aemond fanfiction#aemond smut#hotd#aemond one eye#aemond x reader#house of the dragon#asoiaf
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Mafias Mistress pt. 2 | N.R
MafiaBoss!Natasha x CivilianYounger!Reader
Warnings: 18+! MINORS DNI! Age gap (Natasha is 32 = reader ist 22), kinda mean Nat, Daddy kink, BDSM, restraints, Begging, multiple orgasm, strap on (r receiving) rough sex, fingering (r receiving) poor Natty who doesn’t understand feelings 🤲🏼
Word Count: 3,7 K
A/N: Second part is here! More details about the relationship will appear in the next chapter + maybe Natasha’s secret will already be revealed, who knows🙌🏻🙌🏻
The air in the dimly lit room was thick with tension, a palpable sense of danger surrounding the two women seated at the mahogany table. Natasha Romanoff exuded an aura of power and mystery with her piercing green eyes and wavy red hair falling past her shoulders. She tapped her perfectly manicured nails on the polished surface, a subtle yet commanding gesture that spoke volumes about her authority.
Maria Hill, whose steely gaze and unwavering loyalty were etched into every line of her face, stood by Natasha's side like a watchful sentinel. Her clenched jaw and furrowed brow betrayed the gravity of the situation. As she began to update Natasha on the latest developments in the shadow world they navigated with practiced finesse, a sense of unease settled over the room like a heavy cloak.
Maria's voice was quiet and measured as she described the intricate web of alliances and betrayals that threatened to engulf her carefully built empire.
"Dreykov's men have invaded our territory, testing our defenses, trying to find a weak spot," Maria explained, her tone a mixture of concern and determination. Natasha leaned back in her chair, the soft leather creaking slightly under her weight, her eyes never leaving Maria's face.
The crackle of the fireplace in the corner sent flickering shadows dancing across the walls, adding an eerie undertone to the already tense atmosphere in the room. Natasha's fingers closed around the crystal glass of whiskey in front of her, the amber liquid swirling hypnotically as she considered Maria's words. Beneath her calm facade simmered a variety of conflicting emotions, a potent cocktail of concern, admiration, and a simmering undercurrent of defiance.
Natasha's mind was like a stormy sea, each wave crashing against the walls she had carefully built around herself. Maria watched her carefully, her sharp eyes noticing every slight change in Natasha's demeanor. The weight of unspoken words lay heavy between them, a silent understanding that went beyond mere words.
Natasha's gaze flickered from Maria's unwavering eyes to the crackling fireplace in the corner, as if seeking comfort in the dancing flames. The room seemed to shrink around them, suffocating in its intimacy, each breath taken with measured caution.
⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘ Last Night ⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘
The room was shrouded in shadow, the only source of light coming from the dimly lit bedside lamp. Natasha leaned back on the silk sheets, her gaze fixed on the woman in front of her, her expression a mixture of desire and dominance.
"Daddyyy.." whispered the woman who was Natasha's nightly attendant, her voice trembling with anticipation. Natasha's lips curved into a predatory smile as she beckoned the woman closer, her eyes dark with desire. "Come here," she commanded, her voice dripping with authority.
The woman obeyed, her movements careful as she approached Natasha, keenly aware of the power dynamics at play. Natasha's touch was possessive, her hands sliding over the woman's skin with a need that bordered on desperation.
In the heat of the moment, Natasha's mind wandered to forbidden fantasies, her desires leading her down a treacherous path. And then, in a moment of reckless abandon, she spoke a name that did not belong to the woman herself, but held power beyond imagination.
"Y/n.." Natasha murmured, her voice animated with desire as she lost herself in her fantasy.
The woman froze at the unfamiliar name, her heart skipping a beat as she tried to understand Natasha's slip of the tongue. "Y/n?" she began, her voice shaking with uncertainty. "Who is Y/n?"
Natasha's expression darkened, her features twisting with hurt as she realized her mistake. "What do you mean?" she snapped, her voice irritated.
The woman took a deep breath, bracing herself for what she was about to say. "The name..." she explained, her voice steady despite the turmoil within her. "You just said a different name, Y/n.."
Natasha's eyes narrowed at the mention of your name, her defenses instinctively rising to protect her fragile heart. "That name means nothing to me," she insisted, her voice cold and dismissive.
But the woman saw through Natasha's facade and recognized the pain and longing that lay beneath the surface. "Natasha, please," she pleaded, her voice laced with compassion. "I can see it in your eyes, feel it in the way you said her name. Who is she?"
Natasha's anger flared, her facade of control fading as she pushed the woman away with a forceful gesture. "Enough," she growled, her voice sharp with frustration. "You're here for my pleasure, nothing more, remember that."
The woman backed away at Natasha's sudden outburst, her heart sinking as she realized the futility of her efforts. "I-I know! But I might be able to help you with that..with her. Sounded like you were caring-"
But Natasha was beside herself with reason, her mind clouded by anger and fear. "Get out of here," she ordered, her voice icy and unforgiving. "I don't want to see you again."
The woman's heart shattered at Natasha's words, the pain of rejection cutting deeper than any physical wound. With one last sad look, she turned and fled the room, leaving Natasha alone in the darkness with her demons.
As the door closed behind her, Natasha was left with nothing but the echo of her own regret, the weight of her choices pressing down on her like a suffocating blanket. And in that moment of loneliness, she realized the true price of her pride and stubbornness.
⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘ Now ⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘
Maria cleared her throat, bracing herself for what she was about to say. "Our sources have confirmed that the rival cartel is taking steps to expand its territory," she began, her voice firm despite the tension in the room. "They are targeting our key distribution networks and..."
Natasha's mind wandered, a hint of annoyance crossing her face as memories of the past overshadowed her thoughts. Your face popped into her mind, an unwelcome reminder of a vulnerability she had long buried.
"Natasha?" Maria's voice broke through the fog, jolting Natasha back to the present.
Natasha's jaw clenched as she forced herself to focus, pushing aside the unwelcome memories that threatened to consume her. "Continue," she commanded, her voice clipped and dismissive.
Maria hesitated for a moment, narrowing her eyes in concern as Natasha's sudden change in demeanor irritated her. "Is everything okay?" she asked in a worried voice.
Natasha's mask fell, revealing the turmoil raging within her. "Everything is fine," she replied curtly, her kindness betraying her inner turmoil.
But Maria was not so easily fooled, her instincts honed by years of loyalty and service to Natasha. "You seem distracted," she remarked in a soft yet searching voice. "Do you have something on your mind?"
Natasha bristled at the suggestion, her defenses ramping up to protect her wounded pride. "I don't have time for distractions," she snapped, her voice sounding frustrated. Maria stood firm, unfazed by Natasha's outburst. "With all due respect, Natasha, this is important," she insisted, her gaze unwavering as she met Natasha's eyes. "We must be prepared for whatever comes our way."
Natasha's resolve wavered, her anger melting away in the face of Maria's unwavering loyalty. "I know," she admitted, her voice softening a little. "I...I just have a lot on my mind."
⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘
As she entered the room, Natasha's eyes immediately fell on the ropes and shackles hanging from the ceiling. She felt the familiar stirrings of power and control, her body already humming with anticipation. When she turned to face you, she could see the young woman's wide eyes and slight trepidation mixed with excitement in her gaze.
"Take off your clothes," Natasha instructed. "And then kneel on the floor, hands behind your back."
You obeyed, your heart beating faster as you removed your clothes, revealing your delicate, slender figure. As you assumed the kneeling position, Natasha stepped behind you and gently ran her fingers through your hair.
"Good girl," she purred, feeling a wave of satisfaction as you shivered under her touch. This has been going on for several weeks now. Natasha was desperate and called you. But her being desperate for you is another story.
Natasha walked over to the table laden with ropes, restraints, and other toys. She chose a piece of soft, supple rope and approached you with it. "Arms up," she ordered. "I'm going to tie you up." You obeyed, raising your arms above your head as Natasha began wrapping the rope around your wrists.
The rough texture of the rope brushed against your sensitive skin, sending tingles down your spine. You closed your eyes and let out a soft sigh as Natasha pulled the ropes tight and straightened your arms.
Now that you were securely bound, Natasha walked to the front of the room where an intricate set of leather restraints hung from the ceiling. She attached the restraints to your wrists, pulled you up, and secured you to the ceiling hooks.
Your body was now spread out, vulnerable and exposed to Natasha. Natasha stood before you, taking a moment to admire her work. She ran her fingers over the curve of your chest, tracing a line across your stomach, pausing just above your aching sex.
"You look so fucking beautiful," she murmured, her voice hoarse with excitement. Your breath caught, your body trembled as Natasha slowly began to lunge at you. You could feel the heat of Natasha's breath on your skin, causing goosebumps. With a mischievous glint in her eyes, Natasha picked up a whip from the nearby table and gently ran it along your thighs.
The leather strands caressed your skin, burning gently with each smack. You moaned softly, your body's reaction betraying you. You craved more, wanted Natasha to test your limits and bring you to the brink of pleasure and pain.
And as if she could read your mind, Natasha flicked the whip harder, sending a shockwave of pain and pleasure through your body.
"Please..," you begged, your voice tight with desire.
Natasha knew what you wanted, so she’s smacking your breasts and stomach with the whip, leaving a satisfying red mark on your skin. Your moans grew louder, your body arching in pleasure and pain.
Natasha enjoyed the power and control she had over you, her own desire growing with each lash of the whip. She dropped the whip and moved closer to you. She ran her fingers over your wetness, eliciting a sharp gasp from you.
"You like that, don't you?" Natasha teased, pressing her fingers deeper into your core. You nodded and bit your lower lip as Natasha began to stroke your clit in slow, deliberate circles.
Natasha's touch was incredibly skillful, bringing you closer to the edge with each movement of her fingers. "Beg for it," Natasha growled, nipping at your ear with her teeth. "Beg for me to make you come."
"Please," you gasped, your body burning with desire. "Please let me come. I need it. I need you..“ Natasha giggled darkly, continuing her relentless assault on your sensitive flesh.
You writhed and moaned beneath her, your body begging for release. Natasha's own need rose, her arousal unmistakable as she ran her fingers over your clit.
She plunged her fingers deep inside you, feeling your muscles tighten around them as she began to thrust harder and faster. "Oh, fuck, yes.." you gasped, the pressure inside you rising to unbearable levels.
Your hips rose, seeking more friction, more pleasure. Natasha did not disappoint, her fingers moving in a fast and steady rhythm that matched your pace. Your breathing quickened, your heart pounding in your chest. You felt the familiar tingling before the surge of pleasure, the blinding light that was your release.
"Cum for me," Natasha demanded with a low growl. With one final thrust of Natasha's fingers, you break, gasping and moaning as you come violently against her.
Natasha held you there, prolonging the ecstasy as you shuddered and trembled. As you came down from your high, Natasha slowly pulled her fingers from your wetness, bringing them to her own lips and sucking them clean.
"You taste so fucking good," she said, her eyes shining with lust. You couldn't help but blush and squirm as Natasha continued to lick and tease her fingers. "You're so fucking wet and ready for me."
Natasha wrapped her arms around your shoulders, her mouth finding yours in a new wave of passion. You could feel Natasha's hands sliding down your body, grabbing your ass and kneading your flesh.
"I want to feel you i-inside me," you whisper, gasping for air. Natasha didn't need to be asked twice, she was already hungry for your taste. She lifted your legs up and wrapped them around her waist, going deeper into you with each thrust. The room was filled with the sounds of their skin slapping against each other, their moans and groans of pleasure, punctuated by the occasional curse word. It was raw and primal, and both of you reveled in it.
Your body trembled beneath Natasha's as you gave yourself over to the experience. You could feel every inch of Natasha's fake cock inside you, filling you and stretching you to the edge of pain. But you wanted more. You wanted to feel everything Natasha had to offer.
"Beg me to thrust harder," she gasps, your fingers digging into Natasha's back. "Please...fuck me harder...!"
Natasha's fingers dug into your hips, holding you tight as she thrust into you with an intensity that took both of your breath away. "Yebat (fuck), you feel so good," Natasha murmured, her breath warm against your neck.
Your nails dug into Natasha's back, leaving red welts. You were lost in the haze of pleasure, her mind blank except for the rush of sensations coursing through your body.
Natasha's thrusts became wilder and her breath came in ragged gasps. Your own orgasm was already building inside you, each pounding thrust pulling you closer to the edge.
"Fuck, I'm coming," Natasha growled, her clit rubbing against yours with each movement. Your response was only a soft whimper, your muscles tightening around Natasha as the first wave of your orgasm washed over you.
Natasha's thrusts became more erratic, her body stiffening as she followed you over the edge."Oh, fuck!" Natasha gasped, her fingers digging into your hips. "Yes, yes, yes!"
Your orgasm continued to rip through you, leaving you shaking and gasping. Natasha's body fell against of yours, her chest rising and falling rapidly as she gasped for air.
Slowly, Natasha pulled out of your body, freeing you from your bonds. She’s bringing you over to her bed, your legs trembled, still caught in the aftershocks of your orgasm. Natasha wrapped her arms around your waist, holding you close and kissing you deeply.
"You were incredible," Natasha murmured, tracing patterns on your stomach with her fingers. You smiled exhaustedly, your heart still racing. "That was... incredible."
Your vision blurred, every muscle in your body frozen in a wonderfully wild tableau. Natasha pulled you close, their sweat-soaked bodies entwined as they fought to catch their breath. Their mutual satisfaction hung thick and heavy in the air.
Your breaths mingled as you stared at each other, eyes glazed with contented exhaustion. Your heavy breaths formed a synchronized rhythm as you embraced in the dim light, skin flushed and chest heaving. Exhausted and exhilarated, you lay in her arms, still and calm, letting the lulling drum of their synchronized heartbeats sing you to sleep.
As the fog of post-orgasmic pleasure dissipated, tenderness stirred within Natasha, wrapping her heart in an unfamiliar warmth. It was a feeling that reached beyond the boundaries of physical pleasure and crept behind the heavy curtains that normally concealed her feelings.
In those fleeting moments, she wanted nothing more than to surrender to the dreamy cloud of affection that swirled around her. Yet she resisted, clinging grimly to the remnants of her past.
Natasha could barely comprehend the confusing feelings that left her speechless. She had always believed that she was incapable of such vulnerability. You shifted your weight and pressed your cheek against Natasha's chest. Your eyelids were heavy with the impending sleep.
Despite the inner turmoil, Natasha felt her heart swell at the sight. She put an arm protectively around you and traced lazy patterns on your back. Her fingertips left a fiery trail on the skin beneath.
Natasha's heartbeat lulled you into a peaceful sleep, your dreams carrying you to a land free from the burden of reality. Natasha's defenses dropped and the irresistible lure of exploring deeper emotional terrain seduced her.
It was a foreign path, one she had never allowed herself to tread. And yet here she was, rowing the swaying boat through choppy waters, only partially certain of her destination.
She shifted you gently in her arms, maneuvering you so that they were lying side by side on the plush crimson velvet. The dim lights danced on their entwined bodies as you touched, sweet memories of the forbidden fruit they had just enjoyed.
Their limbs intertwined effortlessly and the wry smiles they shared conveyed a wealth of unspoken intimacy. The room was filled with the soft glow of moonlight, casting a halo around your sleeping form as you lay nestled against Natasha's side.
As Natasha's racing heartbeat gradually slowed to a steady rhythm, she lost herself in the gentle rise and fall of your chest, the rhythmic sound like a soothing lullaby. And in that quiet moment of intimacy, as your warmth seeped into her skin, Natasha felt something stir inside her - a stirring of feelings she had long denied.
With shaking hands, Natasha brushed a stray strand of hair from your forehead, her touch gentle and reverent. And as she looked at the sleeping figure beside her, bathed in the soft light of the moon, Natasha felt a wave of longing wash over her - a longing for more than fleeting passion and desire.
In that moment of vulnerability, Natasha's walls crumbled, her defenses laid bare before the only person who had managed to break through her cover.
With a soft exhale, she whispered the words she hadn't dared admit for a long time, not even to herself. "I think I'm falling in love with you," Natasha confessed, her voice barely above a whisper. And as the words hung in the air between them, she knew there was no turning back.
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#natasha x reader#natasha smut#natasha romanoff#dom!natasha x reader#natasha romanov x reader#nat x reader#natasha romanov smut#natasha romonova#the avengers#natasha
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