#because I love both of them very much hehe

[mourning-sapphire]

i wont lie, ive been waiting for you to read this lol

but first of all, thank you so much for reading!

i wanted to hammer home from the beginning that she absolutely loves her home, she doesnt want to leave, and i wanted to write it how she would view it! which is very dreamy, homely, comfortable, almost a paradise just for her, so that when she is forced to leave the feelings of her being misplaced and alone hammer in a bit more.

I like characters that dont come from Kings Landing, and didn't grow up there, because there's such wide cultures in Westeros that pulling elements from that is also important. The Reach is known for being like the crownlands but different at the same time.

its ALSO why i have both of their perspectives, and why they're written slightly different - because the two of them are more likely to pick up in different things, but they'll view the same situation differently. It's two people filled with a emotion close to fear but are experiencing it differently for different reasons.

its funny to see people ready for them to get along already because Aemond was so awful to our darling girl, but its gonna get a little worse before it gets better, someone is a bit hot and cold ;) especially since the wedding wont be for a few chapters hehe.

the title is funny and probably will be a bit unexpected as to why its called bruised fruit, but i enjoy seeing people think about it - its not what you expect. but its still fun :P

overall, so glad you enjoyed the first chapter and i hope you enjoy any rereads 🥰

bruised fruit | aemond targaryen | chapter one

Summary: he wasn’t the warmest man on earth, he walked ashed fields and scattered fruitless seeds, that was until the sun delivered him the ripest fruit from the arbor, his to harvest. The story of a man learning to love his saccharine ladywife and all her softness.

Pairing: aemond targaryen x redwyne!reader

Chapter warnings: none really, some harsher swearing, descriptions of panic, some description of boats.

Word count: 12.6k

authors note: I literally have read this so many times, if there's a mistake you'll live okay, love u enjoy :P

masterlist | next part

Some could mistake the sunlight that patterned through the shutters of the small council room as a sign for a glorious day in Kings Landing, a sign from the Gods that this would be magnificent and bright. But, Aemond could only look into his mother’s eyes that morning with a feeling of helplessness.

But Aemond could not see it that way. Not as he sat across from his mother, her eyes steady and sad, her mouth drawn in a line of reluctant resolve. The sunlight only seemed to mock him, casting its warmth over a moment that felt anything but.

This was not a sign from the Gods, this was an act of mental warfare on him.

Exactly 2 moons into the new year, the air of the Red Keep was chilled like the cold defeat in her eyes as she told him exactly what he didn’t want to hear.

“Aemond,” Her sigh was weary as he sat across from her at the small council table, the vapid gaggle that was lords of the council surrounding them as she looked at him with a plea to understand, “I understand this isn’t an easy feat, but...” He cut her off with a scoff.

He was usually soft to his mother, one of the only women in his life who saw past the marred skin and leathered exterior. Aemond was usually the dotting son and the only one who did everything she asked, bent to her sad eyes and long silences. But as this moment hung over them, he wasn’t sure he could afford her the luxury of doing this.

“But what?” His voice was chilled as the stones outside, chipped but still strong, “You wish to move me like a piece on your board? to what prevails exactly, your own liberty?” His eye was wide as it flicked between them.

The nervous demeanour of his mother and the ever-cool stoicism of his grandsire; Aemond was tempting them to utter the words everyone knew was on the tips of their tongue.

To one day help make Aegon king instead of your sister…

At that moment, he was happy he kept the majority of the council on his blindside, just so he wouldn’t need to see their loathsome faces as he stood his lonely ground. He hated all the self-righteous cunts anyway.

“It is your duty to marry, lest I remind you,” His grandsire cut in, Otto Hightower; ever the family man and doting peacekeeper of the keep in the king’s sickness, “Your duty to your house and your family.”

Aemond was sure in that moment that he could feel the chilly hands of the winter sky wrap their fingers around his neck, as his grandsire commanded the room with an ease that only a viper could.

“She’s a nice girl,” Alicent raised her hand and tried to keep her tone light; her son’s disposition was often a cause of contention for her, ever the actual peacekeeper of the family, “A sweet girl from the Arbor, and from what I’ve heard, she’s well-read and pleasant, a well-suited match.”

Well-read and pleasant. Aemond could have sniped at that. He could have laughed so loud that he was sure they would hear him on the coasts of the Arbour. It was flattering that they thought a pretty little thing with enough wit to read words on a page was enough to settle his fire. That it was enough to ease the burden of creating life with someone.

Like that made any of this better; he has always held the notion that he would be afforded a bit more liberty when choosing a bride. As not just her son but as Prince of the realm, but it was at this moment he was reminded that he was merely the second son. A second son who clearly can’t be left to his own devices or freedom of choice.

The spare to shove around their fictitious little chessboard, and plant in whatever house they felt kept them strong in the war of succession everyone knew was bound to happen.

The whole situation felt like dust settling on his tongue as he glanced at the two of them. The murmuring of the other lords felt more like roars in his ears as his blood started to boil, congealing in his veins. He could taste the words he wanted to say, like burning embers on his tongue that were still light enough that he could spit at them. Watch them burn with at least a little pain.

“House Redwyne are not only allies of the Hightowers but have a strong naval fleet that matches even the seahorses himself.” Tyland Lannister in all his stuttering glory cleared his throat and interjected.

“The match was not made heedlessly, Your Grace…” He continued as Aemond’s head slowly looked over at him, the glare enough to have the supposed lion trailing off towards the end of his sentence, “Her father’s support would be great for any issues that could…arise”

“She could be the re-imagining of the mother herself for all I care, you toad” Aemond snipped his face blazing with anger; fingers clenched in fists of rage, “But that still doesn’t negate the fact that I do not wish to marry, especially not marry the Redwyne girl, her fucking ships be damned.”

Aemond had always hated the way the Lannister almost pouted after every scathing word towards him. For a lion he was more akin to a pup who whimpered at even the nudge of a shoe, he was truly pathetic. To think he had even the foolishness to lecture him on what was good for him, now that was a notion so laughable, he wished he could have drawn his dagger where he sat.

“It matters little what you wish, boy” Otto snapped, his hand slamming down on the table, silencing the lords and his mother, “You will entertain the Redwyne girl when she arrives here in 2 weeks’ time, you will marry her and seed her when the time comes; as is your duty to the Realm.”

The Realm, Aemond could have scoffed.

“Aemond,” His mother tried to soothe the anger on his face, her own tired and desperate as she looked at him like he was just a little boy again, “Give the girl a chance, you may even come to like her in time.”

Aemond doubted that with his entire being, he’d even go as far as to say that he didn’t like the idea of the girl just from the few short words his mother had spoken to him.

“Girls from the Reach are all the same,” He could hear Aegon’s drunken prattling in his ear, the memory of him making eyes at one of the ladies from House Crane, “Pretty girls who want a silver prince and dozens of silver babes galore, but with a tongue like thorns, they are just needy cunts”

Aemond didn’t need to remind Aegon their mother was a woman from the reach, as by that point he’d staggered off to probably deflower the Crane girl; as he often did. But it did leave the question rattling in his brain, were all girls from the reach as shallow as his womaniser brother stated?

He supposed it would be something he’d be forced to learn, especially if his mother and grandsire were pushing hard for this union between him and the Redwyne girl.

Aemond could tell the council chamber was waiting with bated breath to see what he was going to say to his mother and Grandsire’s pushing. But all he could do was rise from the chair with a sneer at them, lips curled like he found their words disgusting.

The scrape of the wood against the stone sounded eerily like a dragon screeching in the night as he rose, his hand placed on the wood of the table to look around them all with a glare so harsh he was sure that at least one of the council members would catch fire.

Truthfully, there was nothing for Aemond to say, he was peddled into a corner not of his choosing and unless the Redwyne girl's boat sank on the way here; they would be stood at the sept for their union in the moons to come. He wasn’t a child anymore, tears would only sway his mother so far, and you might as well have tried to get blood from a stone before his grandsire let up.

So, with one last look around the room, he did the only thing he could do.

“Hm...” The noise vibrated from his lips as he moved to stride out of the suffocating chambers, his gait speaking on the anger brimming in his bones as he paid them little attention; the guards at the door merely opened the wood as soon as he neared.

He wouldn’t give them the satisfaction of seeing him upset, but he would set them all on edge for when he would snap.

That itself was his victory to claim.

The Arbor.

You looked like a vision of a nymph, reddened with the sun and relaxed on the hammock like you were waiting for the sun itself to come down and bless you with grace. Nestled deep in the home of the Redwyne’s was you, the youngest Lady Redwyne, lounging on your balcony like you weren’t set to leave your home for the last time tomorrow, soaking up the sun and sipping chilled wine like you weren’t going to memorise every nook and cranny of the grand home and vineyard, relaxing in the sunshine like you could do this again tomorrow.

You had many memories on this Balcony, the grand white stone that overlooked the cliffs and the ocean below held a special place in your heart; beyond it being part of your home, it was the place you felt you could truly relax. Sat in this very hammock watching the way the ivy draped from the roofing and danced in the wind, the ships you would see come in from the summer isles, and the sounds of joyful sailors cheering from the leagues away. You would find peace reading, understanding things your Septas and Maesters would give you to read, the blush that would colour your cheeks as you delved into your own interests.

The weather in the Arbor was warmer than the rest of the Reach, the island was constantly washed in heat so dense that wearing anything thicker than tulle or silk was a crime. It was the reason it was so bountiful with fruits, the wine capital of Westeros, it was a sight to behold; the heat gave way to luscious lands so rich and green that it looked like something out of a painting, florals and fruits almost blooming overnight with the kiss of sunshine, the air so clean and fresh that you felt every breath like it was your first.

It was a far cry from the stink that was Kings Landing, or at least that is what you had been told; the two places were as comparable as Dorne and the Wall. Your maids had told you some of their tales from their own visits or their families' visits, the way the poor lined the streets like permanent fixtures, rats crawled in every nook and cranny, the stink of overpopulation marring the air so badly you needed a scented handkerchief to even ride through flea bottom.

Even now, you were hard challenged to remove yourself from where you lounged, the sun at its peak tickling your skin as huge wafts of salted air cleared your nose. It was amusing to hear the voices filter from the double doors of the chamber behind you, the cackles and japes from your maids carrying out the door like a memory you never wanted to let go of.

“I’ve heard they’re closer to the gods than any of us,” You could hear the tinkling voices of the maids from your place on the balcony, their hands busy packing her things into trunks, “Some say they shed their skins at night for their true scales” The giggles were something the young Redwyne girl would miss in these moments.

“Gods can you imagine,” you could hear the deep laugh of the older maid, Meredyth, chortle, “Waking up next to one and seeing those slits of eyes, gods I'd be paralysed.”

“Oh, I’d scream the bloody keep down!” Tayra, another one of your other maids gasped out loud, coupled with a ringing laugh, “Run for Visenya’s hill and walk on foot back here.” Their laughter was infectious, and you felt your chest rumble with amusement.

They never heard you coming as you rose from your hammock on the balcony, bare feet warm against the stone as you strode back into your chambers; the sheer curtains kissing your shoulders as you peeped back in with a smile.

“I’ve heard their hair is silver because once upon a time a dragon rider flew to the moon,” your voice was a gentle tilt as you smiled softly, the maids turning from their jobs with wide amused eyes as they listened to you, “And the gods decided to spin magic into the strands, blessing them for making the long journey.”

There was a pause as you stopped with a smile before the women in the room started laughing again, their laughter contagious as the winter fever as you settled on your day bed, body warm from outside, with a content sigh. Your hand fan was doing little to cool the heat from outside. A day like this was truly a kiss from the summer isles.

“Now that’s a story,” Meredyth smirked, her hands busy folding one of your summer dresses, “Be sure to tell your silver prince that one, petal, you might just make him laugh for once.” You could only roll your eyes.

“Be nice,” you sighed softly, relaxing into the daybed, “I’m sure he’s not what the stories make him out to be, Meredyth.”

“I’ve heard he hides his eye because the other could turn someone to stone,” the youngest maid, Mara, tutted softly, “Careful, my lady, lest they ship you back here to be a pretty statue in the gardens” You could only smile softly at that.

“Really?” you smiled as Tayra piped up, “I’ve heard he’s a ferocious fighter, trained by a man from Dorne; but prettier than the rest of the siblings.” Tayra huffed with a smile as she was packing up your jewellery.

“The Targaryen’s are pretty…” Meredyth sighed wishfully, her smile was almost a smirk as she recalled something beyond your years, “I remember seeing Prince Aemon in my younger years, now that was a prince” She raised her eyebrows in a lustful remembrance at the young girl.

“Was there ever a Targaryen that wasn’t pretty?” You could only tilt your head as you sighed out your question, your hand still delicately moving your fan to keep you cool, “I’ve heard stories that they’re just born looking godly, it’s unfair really.”

“Isn’t he called one-eye?” Tayra stopped packing to ask with a furrowed brow, “Something about losing an eye at a young age?”

“Does it really matter?” you sighed softly, your hand reaching for a glass of chilled fruit juice; the juicy peach taste coating your mouth delectably, “Tis only an eye, he seems like a strong man regardless if the stories are anything to go by.”

“Let’s hope he isn’t like the other prince~” Mara sang softly, “My sister told me, that someone who works there told her, that the Keep is constantly having to find new maids because the older prince Aegon is too... Handsy.” Mara received a smack from Meredyth at that.

“Don’t scare the girl, Mara” Meredyth hissed softly, her eyes looking at you as you lounged on the daybed; the beginning of your lip starting to worry with your teeth, “I’ve heard the two princes are completely different, Prince Aemond takes after his mother.”

Alicent Hightower.

You could scarcely remember the woman, not like you sisters did, but you remembered her father Otto visiting The Arbor some years ago for business; or friendship. Your father was a funny man to understand sometimes, so people visiting could never be pinned for business or pleasure, but you remembered the gruff man all the same. He had a fondness for his daughter over his son, but a sternness that didn’t afford the same love. But from what she understood now, the Queen was devoted in her faith and tense, but a lady in every textbook definition of the word.

“Well, if he’s anything like the youngest, Daeron, I’m sure he’s a charmer” Tayra mentioned with a soft smirk towards the young girl.

“Isn’t the youngest more Hightower than Targaryen?” Mara raised an eyebrow at Tayra, her hand stopping mid-folding her soft nightgowns, “He’s been in Oldtown since he was a lad, has he not?”

“Does he have a dragon?” Meredyth rolled her eyes, the crow’s feet around her eyes smoothing out at she looked at her two younger maids with a look that said ‘tread carefully’.

“Well yes,” Tayra hummed, “A blue thing from what I’ve heard from the mainlanders, couldn’t tell you the name, you can see him flying over the waters most days if you squint hard enough.”

“Then he’s a Targaryen,” Meredyth tilted her head for a second, “The royal family and their bloody… Lizards.” She mumbled as she folded yet another gown

You could only repress a soft smirk at that, truthfully, you’d never imagined ever meeting a dragon – let alone marrying someone who had one, but you supposed that this was going to be your new life now. A princess of the Realm who shared a bed with a dragon rider, or a dragon incarnate.

“Do you think the prince will show you, his dragon?” Mara asked innocently, “He rides Vhagar doesn’t he? The last of the big dragons or something...” Mara waved her hand like she was trying to recall some intricate title, but the little lady Redwyne could see the smirks forming on Tayra’s and Meredyth’s faces at her wordage.

“Oh, I’m sure that the prince will show her his dragon alright,” Tayra smirked lustfully, much to Mara’s shock whose jaw dropped; Meredyth cackled as she watched the two girls, “If you catch my drift.” Tayra winked at her.

“Tayra,” Mara screeched softly, her face aflame as she threw one of her rolled-up nightgowns at her, “Not in front of the Lady” Tayra reached over to swat her for that.

“It’s alright, Mara,” Your face was aflame much like Mara’s, the implications of Tayra’s words warming your cheeks more than the blistering sun outside, “You can speak freely, I must be prepared I guess.”

“Are you nervous?” Meredyth asked softly as she placed some of her gowns gently in the trunk, “Meeting the man you’re going to marry is no easy task, it’s okay if you are” She could have smiled at that.

Despite having sisters of your own blood, you were the youngest of the bunch, and by the time you had reached your moon’s blood; your sisters had been off into the world and married to various lords of the Realm. You rarely had women to counsel you and soothe your fears, and your mother no longer with you, so you were thankful for your gaggle of maids; they took care of you like they were your blood.

Meredyth was the oldest of them all, a woman well into her fifties, who had served your family since she was a young girl; she had seen every side of you and your family. She travelled with them everywhere and took care of you when your Septa’s could no longer handle you. She was less a mother figure and more an aunt, her tongue loose like she wasn’t serving a lord and his family, but her openness was welcome by both your father and yourself.

Tayra and Mara were her wards in a sense, she showed them the ropes of the house; and made sure they did every task to her perfection but remained youthful and fun. They were a far cry from your average maids, but as long as the house was kept and they were respectful when guests stayed, your father cared little. You’d be damned if you saw their light go out despite their position. They were like your sisters in a sense, they joked and prodded each other like so, and made sure that you were never lonely in the large estate.

So, you felt comfortable joking and gossiping with them like this, your oldest friends in a sense, there to soothe your worries about the new chapters in your life.

“Truthfully?” you hummed softly, looking down into your glass of juice, “I’m terrified, being away from home… It’s an ache in my chest that I can’t seem to shake” You tutted softly, taking a sip.

Your eyes were cast out the open doors of your balcony; your room faced the cliffs that overlook the crystal-clear waters of the Arbor. The air a mix of salt and the waft of florals that kicked from the fruit fields.

“I’m not sure what scares me more,” you shrugged, “Not seeing this place for a while, or the fact that I am going to get married to a man I’ve never met.”

“It’s okay to be scared, petal” Meredyth sighed softly, dropping her folding to wander and sit on the edge of your daybed, her hand reaching and squeezing your knee through your dress, “No one expects you to just be completely okay with being sent to King’s Landing.” Her lips pursed at that.

“You won’t be alone,” Mara settled down on the ground in front of the day with a gentle smile, her hand reaching out to touch your arm, “Meredyth will be with you, and your father till the wedding is over…”

“Yes, I know…” you sighed placing your glass off to a side table, “But what if we do not get along, what if he hates me?” Your eyes were wide as you stared at the two of them scared as a lamb.

It was a possibility you had rolled around your head in the many days since your father had told you that you were going to be married. The prospect of marriage was something you knew would happen but just not like this. You were well over-considered ‘of age’ but you never thought it would be to a prince of the Realm, you had thought as the youngest that you would marry another smaller lord of the reach and that would be it.

You remembered your father’s face as you were summoned to his study that afternoon. He broke the news to you then, and it felt like a blow to the heart more than the deliverance of good news. You still could remember the way he looked both overjoyed and hesitant to talk to you; you could tell as soon as you had entered the sun-washed room that whatever he had to say, was going to change her life.

“Sit, my petal,” Runce Redwyne was weathered by the years as Lord of the Arbor; his once orange hair was faded to a grey, tufts of the burning stands still visible in the sun, and his face tense and aged from years of dealing with five daughters and no sons, “We must speak.”

You had never looked like him, the man cursed with no sons had also been cursed with five daughters that all looked exactly like their mother.

Your father hadn’t been the same since your mother passed from what you had heard, the spark for life that he once held was snuffed out as he became quieter and more reclusive in his older years. You had only been a babe when a striking fever took your mother, but the pain of losing her still wore on her father’s face even years on. 

“What was so urgent that you called me away from my studies, father?” You had asked so softly as you sat in one of the chairs that he used for when he held meetings, the leather soft and worn as you played with a string on the arm, “Is everything alright?”

“My petal” His smile was reserved but still there as he spoke the news like he was granting her the greatest wish of all, “I’ve just had an interesting proposition from King’s Landing…”

The rest of that afternoon was a blur, from the shock of hearing that your father had found a marriage for you, to the even greater shock of finding out it was to a Dragon Prince of the Realm no less; you were practically a husk of a woman by the time you’d left his study. The blood rushing in your ears, and the fright of change grasping at your heart like death's cold hands.

Marrying a Lord of the Reach would have been one task, but having to learn to tame a dragon? That was completely out of your reach.

“My petal,” Meredyth interrupted your thoughts, “We will not know until you meet, stories aside; he is still a prince who was raised with a strong handed mother” She soothed you softly.

“Yes,” Mara agreed with her, “It is all thoughts until the two of you meet, who knows you might find yourself charmed with him; you were always a romantic at heart,” Mara tried to ease your pain with a smile and a joke, squeezing your arm softly as her round eyes looked up at you.

Mara was right though; you were a romantic at heart, painfully so.

Despite being educated to a level that most ladies didn’t dare to be, your heart laid with more than history or theories from the citadel. Romance, love, and tales of grandeur often found themselves in the young Redwyne’s hands; stories of people yearning so deeply that it fractured their very soul and caused an ache so deep only their love could fix.

It was girlish and childish to yearn for something so deep, but you couldn’t help but dream of a world where you found a love so bright that it formed your very life. You had read everything the Arbor’s library had to offer in terms of romance, even the more salacious novels, and despite never having been in love, you could almost taste it on the tip of your tongue. The honied feel of it so close yet so far from reach.

“It is a marriage of politics,” You could only shake your head at Mara, “I doubt the prince would find much interest in me, that’s if he hasn’t already found a mistress.” Mara could only tut at you.

“Maybe so,” Tayra said to you with a patient look, “But she is a mistress if that’s the case, you are to be his wife – that itself holds more power than you think, my lady” Tayra’s brow was raised in challenge as she also made her way over, sitting on the small table in front of the day bed.

“We shall not baby you, and tell you that you’re travelling for romance,” Meredyth sighed, her hand patting your knee, “But a marriage match can still result in feelings if two people are willing.”

“You think the prince would be willing?” You sighed softly, your eyes flicking to the older maid for guidance, “I mean, I’m not sure why they picked me for a match – why not a Tyrell?”

Meredyth looked pained for a second before she sighed, “Truthfully, petal, I could not tell you why it is you they want, but it must be for a reason if they’re willing to travel you to the capital now.”

It wasn’t like House Redwyne wasn’t powerful in its own right, but even you were confused why you were being picked for a prince over the likes of a Tyrell or even Baratheon; the lord of the Storm’s having four daughters for the choosing. You were the youngest daughter of the Arbor,

“It is all too much…” Your voice trailed off softly, a sheen coating your eyes that could only speak that the young woman was about to be moved to tears, “Why did Father agree to this? Why could he not settle for a Lord of the Reach? Maybe the Stormlands? Gods, I'd even take the Iron Isles.”

Meredyth’s face softened as she reached for your hand, her touch warm and grounding. “Because, darling girl,” she said gently, “your father sees more in you than you see in yourself. He would not send you to the capital unless he believed you capable of standing amongst royalty.”

Tayra gave a soft hum of agreement. “And perhaps… he believes you are worthy of more than a simple lord, a life less ordinary than just being the lady of a house.”

Mara leaned in, her expression mischievous yet tender. “Besides, it isn’t so bad to dream of the capital. Silks and jewels, grand balls and a place bigger than all the Arbor… You might come to enjoy it more than you think.”

But you didn’t want silks or jewels. Not really. Not if they came tied to duty you hadn’t chosen. To a man you didn’t love.

You pulled your hand away to rub at your eyes, blinking the sheen back before it could fall. “I just… I thought I would have more time to choose for myself, or to at least know the man before he became my husband.”

Meredyth didn’t have a comforting answer for that. She simply stroked her fingers down your arm and offered a quiet, “Many women don’t.”

“But many have found joy in what seemed unbearable,” Tayra added, her voice soft, “we cannot promise you that everything will be perfect, but there is still a level of respect that will come from this marriage, he’s a prince and not an average lord after all.”

A silence stretched between the four women after that, the kind that lingered just long enough to settle into your bones. Outside the window, through the sheer curtains, the sun was beginning its descent over the horizon, like always painting the sea it was about to kiss in ribbons of gold and rose.

Mara stood and stretched, casting a glance toward the balcony door, hands moving to continue packing. “Well, whatever comes next,” she said with a brightness she didn’t entirely feel, “you’ll face it with your head high, we know you will...”

“You're a romantic,” Tayra added with a wry smile before joining her. “Which may yet be your greatest strength.”

You gave them both a watery smile, brushing a lock of hair behind your ear, sinking more into the daybed than ever before. “Then let’s hope he has even a shred of love in him,” you whispered. “Or at the very least, the sense not to trample mine.”

Meredyth smiled sadly and leaned forward to kiss your brow. “Hope, petal, is the only thing that makes the unknown bearable.”

And as the last light of day slipped beneath the horizon, you allowed yourself—just for a moment—to imagine that maybe, just maybe, the prince would be something more than duty.

Aemond wasn’t sure why he was here, he didn’t feel like he needed to be nor did he want to be.

The docks that led down from the Keep were astringent with the smell of salt and something sour he’d rather not think about. Even though the sun had warmed up the late morning, he couldn’t help but grimace as the beams reflected off the glistening water and into his lone eye. Trying to subtly blink the glare away as he found himself nearly blinded in what he had left of his vision.

No, Aemond didn’t want to be here at all, not that he could voice that to his mother; who was so nicely standing next to him, ridge backed like a statue and ready to snap at him if he even made even one comment about standing on the stone dock.

He had to be here, or so his family says, for it was the day that the Redwyne girl and her family would arrive.

A mere fortnight had passed since the council had informed him of the arrangement, and despite the nudge from his mother, he had no communication with this girl whatsoever. Ravens had come and gone, but the two scrolls from her had laid on his writing table untouched and seals intact—he had no wish to bolster a relationship with the girl prior to the meeting.

It was childish really, that much he was very aware, perhaps the most childish he had been in years; but frankly, Aemond didn’t care at all. He would respect whatever wife they gave him, for women were the mother personified, but he wouldn’t like her. No husband had to like their wives, especially the ones he didn’t want.

He wouldn’t caress her like a lover, and kiss her silly as novel princes did, he would be as he always was; Aloof and uninterested in anything besides duty. He had no want for carnal desires beyond what a whore and coin could give him. Aemond didn’t want a doe-eyed lover to stroke his hair, or murmur adoration to him in the hour of the wolves.

He especially didn’t want someone who had likely grown up on tales of love and longing, expecting her prince to be anything but a blade honed by fire and blood. If she came to King’s Landing dreaming of romance, she would be sorely disappointed.

Aemond's lips tightened at the thought, as the salted wind flustered his hair, as his good eye scanned the horizon. A speck in the distance that was rapidly getting closer.

“That must be her.”  He hummed quietly in his head.

The Redwyne girl. His betrothed.

His jaw flexed as he folded his arms behind his back, posture stiff with reluctant anticipation. Would she be frightened of him? Most were. The patch over his ruined eye, the quiet fury that always seemed to simmer just beneath his skin like a dragon ready to blaze fire. His presence like the quiet clicking a dragon’s throat made just before hells unleashed, it unnerved those who did not understand him.

He rather preferred it that way.

“Stand tall,” Alicent said quietly beside him, pious as ever with her tone even but firm, though beneath it, there was the steel edge only his mother could wield. “And for the love of the Seven, try not to look like you’re going to gut the first person who speaks.”

Aemond didn’t look at her, didn’t shift a muscle as he kept his gaze fixed on the horizon where the ship bobbed closer with every passing second. “I make no promises,” he murmured, voice low, laced with dry humour that almost curled the edge of his mouth into a smirk.

Alicent turned her head sharply to glance up at him, her lips pressing into a tight line. Her eyes—green and sharp with years of courtly scrutiny—narrowed, sending a clear message. “You will make an effort, Aemond.”

He gave a shallow nod, more a concession to timing than obedience. Not because he agreed with her, nor because he thought there was anything worth making an effort for, but simply because fighting her here—in public, on the docks, with his grandsire, the Kingsguard and servants watching, whispers already forming on tongues—was a wasted breath.

Aemond knew this game. He knew the eyes that watched from balconies above, from the shadows of cloaks stitched with gold. They waited for any sign of dissonance, any crack in their image. Like a singular ember falling onto dry grass, any sign of upset would cause fire faster than they could breathe.

So, Aemond stood as his mother told him, like a perfect carving of Valyrian stone—chin high, shoulders square, both hands folded behind his back. The sun gleamed off his silver hair, tied neatly back, though a few loose strands danced in the breeze like flickers of flames.

Aemond always knew he looked the part of a Targaryen prince, more so than some of his family, his image more akin to the likes of his uncle than any of his immediate family. He knew how to play the game if needed and now was very much needed to play the part of the steely prince.

Even if, inside, he wanted nothing more than to turn on his heel, mount Vhagar, and disappear into the sky where no one could ask anything of him.

But he remained where he was on the docks.

Because duty demanded it.

Because his mother demanded it.

Because this girl—this betrothal to her and whatever babes she was going to birth—was yet another piece on the board he was meant to play, whether he liked it or not. His mother and Grandsire play a game greater than he cared to ever play at some points.

Still, he leaned the slightest fraction closer to his mother, voice quiet enough for only her to hear. “If she simpers at me, I may very well walk into the sea.”

Alicent exhaled through her nose, long-suffering after years of dealing with her sons, but her mouth twitched with the smallest flicker of restrained amusement. “If she simpers, you will smile. And you will do it like a prince, not like a snarling dog.”

His eye slid sideways to her, dry and unimpressed. “I was born a dragon, Mother, not a lapdog.”

“Then try not to burn the docks down before she’s even stepped off the ship,” she muttered, her fingers tightening lightly around her prayer ring. “For all our sakes.”

He didn’t answer, but the silence between them held the weight of reluctant understanding.

This whole ordeal was a farce. Everyone knew it, though no one dared say it aloud. And yet, somehow, Aemond was the only one who had to endure it first-hand. Duty, he understood it, he followed it, revered it even.

But gods, Aemond had hoped for a few more years of silence, of solitude before they pressed a wife into his arms like a burden wrapped in silk. It was a cruel fate to be tied to someone like him, and at his core, he had hoped he could have chosen someone who would withstand him, or at least have the sense to leave him alone besides doing their duty.

As the ship drew closer, its deeply coloured sails caught the light. The Redwyne banner fluttered high above the deck, proud and unmistakable. Aemond watched with a practised indifference, though his jaw tightened slightly as the figures aboard began to sharpen into clarity.

The deckhands started moving briskly, shouting orders, ropes unfurling and anchors dropping into the water the closer they got. And there—near the bow—a small figure stood motionless, her soft blue gown rippling like petals caught in a breeze.

Even from a distance, Aemond could tell that she looked... hesitant.

Her posture wasn’t poor, quite the opposite really, but it held the quiet restraint of someone trying not to take up too much space, almost like a mouse trying not to get caught. Her chin slightly raised, hands clasped tightly in front of her on the railing, her shoulders drawn as though she feared being noticed and yet knew she would be the closer they got to disembarking.

Aemond could read people like a book, she was trying to appear calm, trying to look graceful. It was written in every careful line of her body, practically screamed it.

Timid, he thought, fragile.

He didn’t like that the thought had formed at all. He turned his face away sharply, eye narrowing against the glare reflecting off the water. She would disembark, curtsy, and offer some nervous pleasantries. They would nod, exchange a few stiff words, and then retreat into the suffocating rituals of royal engagement.

He should not have looked again, but he did.

She was still there, still standing near the railing, while chaos of people trying to get things in place fluttered around her. Her fingers now lightly brushed the edge as if steadying herself from the rocking of the boat. The wind caught her hair, lifting it gently away from her face.

It was then that Aemond got somewhat of a good look at her. Her features were soft—almost delicate like a child but there was still a womanly aspect to her—but uncertain in a way that struck something quiet in him.

She looked young just in general presence, the kind you see in someone sheltered from the harshness of the world, younger than she should for such a fate.

But she was pretty, almost devastatingly so, and if he was a lesser lord he was sure that he would be blushing at this moment. But all his heart could do was give a thud as something that he had to call appreciation curled in his stomach.

“Mother,” he muttered under his breath, “what exactly do you know of her?”

Alicent blinked at him, surprised by the question. “Not as much as you think, she’s the youngest of lord Redwyne’s daughters. Overall unscathed by any scandal, apparently. Studious. Graceful. They say she’s gentle and well-mannered, the sort of girl who knows when to speak and when not to.”

“Hm,” Aemond replied, his eye drifting back to the ship despite himself.

Gentle. Quiet. Obedient.

Exactly what they would think he needed in a wife, and perhaps they were right to some extent. But if she came here with the intention of looking for softness and silence, she would find no warmth in return. Not from him.

Let her be timid. Let her bow and smile and follow wherever they told her. He would still keep her behind the same walls he kept everyone else.

Love had no place in his life, no matter how pretty the package that it came in was.

There was supposed to be a calmness that came with being at sea, or at least that is what you had heard from the passers-by as you watched them pack your things into the large ship that fateful morning. Unless it was rocky waters or war, the sea was supposed to imbue a sense of peace, being alone out in the water was supposed to be as freeing as the wind. But right now, the vast sea had never felt so suffocating.

The waves stretched endlessly in every direction, and the ship’s creaking timbers groaned beneath each swell as if echoing the tension in her chest. Your cabin was warm, too warm, and yet you could not bring yourself to climb up to the deck without purpose. So you stood there, halfway in shadow, watching the sliver of the sky from the narrow window and clutching the fabric of your dress like it was the only thing grounding you into this realm.

You didn’t know if it was dread or homesickness that weighed heavier in your bones.

You had spent the last night in the Arbor pacing in silence, walking the fruit fields one last time while you gazed out at everything you were leaving. This had been your home, your quiet solitude away from the main part of Westeros. The air had been still, fragrant with ripe grapes and damp earth. Your quiet, sun-dappled corner of the world, far from the noise and posturing of court life. The Arbor was known for its wine, its trade, and its civility. Not for war. Not for dragons. It was untouched by most of the political nonsense, the lands and your family known for its wine and trade. That was it.

And certainly not for daughters being sent off to marry princes.

You were never destined to be any sort of royal, you were supposed to marry some lord of the reach. Perhaps a Fossoway, or Rowan, not a Targaryen. You had tried to picture him on your last night, staring out past the vineyards to the sea, but the image would not come.

All you had were whispers and stories. Your letters to him, the ones your father had prompted you to send, were left unanswered and probably still sealed or fed to the fire.

It was a ridiculous notion to begin with, but a part of you, the hopeless childish part, had hoped that maybe he would read one and at least have the warmth in him to answer. But, after the second one had remained unanswered, you had burnt the rest you were being asked to send, a bitter feeling in your chest.

The reassurances from Meredyth and the rest of your maids did little to soothe your soul, you were a ghost in your home from the moment you found out you were leaving. Watching as the days dragged on and the reality of leaving set in, too tense to cry, too overwhelmed to sleep anymore.

Father had reminded you at your last dinner (and every dinner since he told you that you were leaving) that this was a great honour—that marrying into the royal line and joining our houses was something other girls could only dream of. You had only nodded because nodding was easier than speaking. He was proud of you. Nervous, too, but proud.

He didn’t see how your hands trembled beneath the table every time it was mentioned.

The Arbor was already fading into memory, a glaring white jewel on the cliffs swallowed by the blue horizon the further the boat sailed away. The wind tasted different here—saltier, harsher. Everything about this journey had been unfamiliar: the sway of the ship beneath your feet, the endless stretch of sky, the way her stomach had twisted with each passing day.

You had never left home before.

Not truly. Not like this.

The Arbor had always been your world—lush, warm, sun-drenched. Even the rain felt gentle there, warm, like something that asked permission before falling onto the ripe earth. The long, winding paths through the vineyards had been your solace, the scent of ripe grapes mingling with the soft, earthy fragrance of soil. The way the bugs and the butterflies fluttered around and helped. It was a place where the rhythm of the seasons was a constant companion, where you could watch the changing tides from your window and feel the pulse of the land beneath your feet.

There, the world had felt small, intimate, safe.

But out here, at sea, everything was vast. The wind rushed by ears, the ship groaned with each rocking wave, and the sky stretched on endlessly for miles like the land wasn’t in existence anymore. While the air was warm, a kiss from the summer isles, the open water felt like an unspoken threat—an endless, empty expanse that made your heart pound faster with each passing moment.

The original plan was to sail to Old Town, and then ride a few days from there to Kings Landing, but your father hated carriages and had insisted that they would arrive by boat, much to your discontent.

The first few days at sea had been disorienting.

The ship’s sway unsettled your stomach like never before, the rocking motion unrelenting, as though the very world was in flux beneath you. There wasn’t much to do on a boat, you had tried to sleep, to rest your mind, but the fear of the unknown kept you awake. Every wave that rocked the ship felt like it might tear you from the safety of your past and toss you into a future you weren’t ready for.

You had spent most of the journey under the deck in your room, staring out at the horizon from the small window, trying to reconcile the life you had left behind with the one that awaited you.

But the further you sailed, the more the familiar sight of the Arbor seemed like a fading dream—blurry and distant, swallowed by the boundless sea. Meredyth, the one maid you were allowed to bring with you, had tried her best to keep you sane while you sat in your bunk, chatting mindlessly to you about what she knew of the capital, the people there, and what the likelihood of that Tayra and Mara were up to no good back home.

It was sweet the way she tried to keep you sane, but it just didn’t do that, the more you listened to her, the more you were reminded that soon she would be back on this very boat after the wedding, sent back home, and you’d be truly alone with people you did not know. 

Every second the ship approached closer King’s Landing, you felt your chest tightening.

There was no mistaking the looming silhouette of the Red Keep against the morning sky, a red fortress that held years of terror, power and fear. The city below it sprawled out behind it, chaotic and bustling, nothing like the quiet sunny solitude that you had known.

The smell of saltwater gave way to the pungent scent of smoke, and the sharp, acrid tang of people. The capital was a place of hard edges and high walls, and even at a glance, you could already feel the weight of it settling on your shoulders. A crown clawing into your skin, never to be taken off.

Your father had stayed away from most of the journey, his eyes had grown distant, his words few. You were leaving behind the only home you had ever known, and he said little more than that it was a great honour to be betrothed to a Targaryen, that you should be proud.

He had reminded you often of the importance of the union, how many would envy you, but each time he said it, his voice had sounded almost hollow. You wanted to believe him, wanted to believe that this was what you were meant to do, but deep down you felt truly lost in the weight of it all. How could anyone be proud of leaving everything they had ever loved behind?

A part of you wondered if he felt sad that the last piece of his wife was now going to be gone. He would truly be alone until he either decided to remarry for a son or decide to pass on the Arbor to one of your sister’s children.

You wanted to ask, be was a man of so few sentimental words, but all of it would remain unanswered, but a part of you hoped that the fear of loneliness would have him change his mind. No matter how selfish of a notion that was.

Overall, it had been a five-day sail to King’s Landing.

Five days that felt both endless and far too short. The gentleness of the sea had lulled you into a false sense of stillness as if the world beyond the ship’s bow didn’t truly exist. Giving your mind time to occupy itself on the thought that maybe the ship would sink, or you’d arrive at the capital to find that the prince was charmed with another.

The horizon remained a blur, the mainland a foreign concept, and for a while, you had allowed yourself to believe it might never come. Out there on the blue open water, with only the creak of the masts and the rhythmic slap of waves against the hull, it was easy to pretend that time was suspended, that this journey was just that—a journey. Not a turning point. Not a life change.

But the illusion was shattered on the morning of the fifth day.

The captain’s voice rang out across the deck, clear and certain, calling down that the ship was making its final approach to the docks of King’s Landing. In an instant, your body betrayed you, your breathing hitched, your pulse jumping and thrumming harder, and a cold panic blooming deep in your chest.

The calm you had tried to cling to slipped away like water through your fingers. You tried to still yourself, to slow your breathing, to remind yourself of your lessons from your septa’s; your poise—but your heart only raced faster, pounding against your ribs with each step the ship took toward its destination.

There was no turning back home, there was something unknown beyond this point in time. No pause. No last request to delay just a little longer. The moment you had dreaded, rehearsed, braced yourself for, was here.

There was nothing left to do but face it.

You stood at the railing as instructed, hands clenched tightly around the wood, knuckles pale from the force of your grip. The wind off the sea whipped strands of hair across your face, the scent of salt and smoke already beginning to replace the crisp, sweet air of home. Below, the dock drew closer like a hand reaching out to grab you from your comfort—massive, foreign, loud. You could hear the faint murmur of the port from where you stood: dockhands shouting, carts creaking, gulls crying overhead.

Everything about it felt too loud. Too fast.

Your father came to stand beside you, his boots thudding gently against the deck. He didn’t speak at first. He only watched the dock draw nearer; his brows furrowed in thought as the image of a redhead and the striking head of silver started to become clearer.

You wondered what he was thinking—if he regretted this decision, if he worried for you like you worried for yourself, or if he was simply focused on appearances. Then, quietly, he laid a steadying hand on your shoulder.

“It’s time,” he said, voice low, palm warm through the fabric of your gown.

But there was no comfort in his words. No reassurance that if things didn’t work out you could go home. Just the quiet finality of your duty.

You nodded once, not trusting your voice, and turned to face the coming shore. The gangway would be lowered soon, and with it, the last remnants of your old life would be left behind.

The boat lurched as it docked onto land, a rush of breath leaving you as you held on tight while ship hands scrambled around you at a speed, you’re not sure you could move at.

Eventually, the gangplank was lowered with a shuddering creak, the wood scrapping on the stone dock while your father placed his hand at the bottom of your spine, the dockworkers already hurrying to secure the ship and prepare for disembarkation.

The commotion was dizzying—shouts of greeting, the slap of boots on wet wood, the flap of banners in the rising wind. You moved slowly. Deliberately. Hand tangled in the soft fabric of your skirt, each step down the ramp feeling more like a small betrayal of the life you’d left behind than the start of something new. The wood beneath your feet was firmer than the ship’s deck, but somehow less stable.

This was land, yes, but it was not your land. The people did not know your name, your steps, your roots.

And waiting there standing, just beyond the gathering of guards, was the prince.

You saw him before anything else.

Aemond clearly did not wear his station like the others.

He stood apart, not speaking, not smiling, his silver hair gleaming in the morning light. His posture was straight, unfathomably tall, almost unnaturally so—like a marble statue that had never been allowed to bend. Even at a distance, he radiated a quiet, coiled danger, much like the stories about him. He was not theatrical, not overt in any way, not dripping in rich fabrics of every colour.

He was simply there, stood in his leathers, sheathed like a blade kept just out of reach.

But by gods, was he beautiful.

Painfully so, that your heart gave a pathetic thud as you looked at him, he was dreamy in a dangerous way. Hard lines and edges, something almost sinful to look at, novel in the sense that someone had created him from a mould, unlike any others. You had seen many lords who tried for your hand in your time, esossi travellers docking, but nothing compared to the Targaryen beauty, your maids were right in that sense.

Aemond was something different entirely, the slash through his eye and the eyepatch did nothing to draw away from his beauty. Creamy skin, and strong boned, his nose and jaw were the centre feature of his face. Your hand twitched as it grasped your skirts, itching to reach up and trace every line, feel the warmth of his skin on your skin, and see that beauty up close.

Pitifully, you could feel the yearning in your chest.

Your feet slowed the closer you got to him and his family, but you did not stop. You knew better. You moved forward, your father walking at pace beside you, guiding you to your new future with one step at a time. You were dressed as they had instructed—nothing too rich or gaudy, but tasteful, demure.

The dress itself was a gift from a traveller that had traded with your father, something pretty and soft like most women of the Reach wore; layers and layers of soft tulle fabric that came together to look like a soft blue. It was similar to the colour of where the sky met the sea, a nod to your home. Your hair simple with a soft twist up away from your face and delicate pearl pins that caught the light.

And then, you were in front of him.

Your hand gripped your skirts tighter than you thought was possible as you sank into a curtsy, perfectly measured with a bow of your head. Deep enough to show respect for the royal family, but shallow enough to retain your dignity. The way Meredyth and your Septa had made you practice over and over again both at home, and on the ship, until your knees ached and your patience wore thin. There would be no greater embarrassment than not curtsying properly to the prince.

Your breath was rattling in your chest as you paused for a second out of respect, counting the seconds in your head before you looked up.

Aemond was looking down his nose at you, his one violet eye unwavering as he scanned your face. His expression betrayed nothing. Not amusement, not curiosity. Not even indifference. Just a blank page.

It was strange, you expected at least the comfort of twitching lips, or a gentler demeanour to at least ease the awkwardness, but it seemed as if Aemond relished in it, made him stronger. Up close, he was just as beautiful as you’d seen at the end of the dock, but there was an aura to him that drew you in like a moth—something addicting about him.

But at this moment there was only stillness, everyone around holding their breath like they knew something about the prince that you didn’t.

Then, at last, he spoke.

“Lady Redwyne, welcome.” His voice was deeper than you had imagined.

It was soft, shockingly so, but still cool and precise like he spared his words for when they mattered. But the greeting came with no hint of warmth, your name sounded like a formality to him, an obligation, not a greeting.

Still, it was more than you'd expected.

“Your Grace,” you answered, managing a soft, steady tone despite the way your hands begged to shake. “I thank you for your welcome.”

It was the most formal exchange of your life, and yet, he left your knees trembling beneath your skirts. Raising back up to full height, you noticed the stark height difference between the two of you, his ability to still look down his nose at you even stood was shocking. He was every bit as tall as he was strong.

You could feel the eyes on you though—guards, servants, all strangers who already had opinions of the exchange they would not speak aloud. You didn’t dare look away from Aemond though, couldn’t look away until he gave the faintest nod.

And then, mercifully like a copper angel intervening, Queen Alicent stepped forward.

She moved with the grace of someone who had long mastered the art of appearances. Her gown was dark green, finely embroidered but still simple. Like extravagance wasn’t part of her ritual, her expression measured but kind. She took your shaking hands in hers and squeezed them gently like someone might take hold of a dying bird just to make sure it was still breathing.

“We are pleased to have you, my lady,” she said, voice low and careful but a smile on her lips like a mother calming a child. “You’ve travelled by ship, and you’ve still arrived with grace... That speaks well of you.”

Her words were a balm, even if rehearsed. You managed a soft smile at her though, one that didn’t quite reach your eyes. “Thank you, Your Grace. It is... all very new.”

Behind you, your father said something polite and deferential. You didn’t catch the words. You were too aware of the weight of the prince’s silence; of the way he had already turned his gaze elsewhere—as though you were no longer worth looking at.

You turned when the Queen guided you toward the waiting carriage, but before you climbed inside, you glanced over your shoulder one last time.

Aemond had not moved.

He was staring back at the sea.

Let him, you thought, gripping the edge of your skirts tightly. Let him face the waves, if he liked them better, found them more interesting.

You would not chase his gaze, and you would not beg for warmth.

No matter how much your heart cried already just for a glance.

Everything else after the arrival was a blur of people directing you places, the Queen speaking lowly to you as she escorted you through the Red Keep on a short tour. Pointing out various places that you would soon see more in depth in the coming weeks.

She filled the space by asking you questions, and all while you tried smiling politely as you stuttering through various facts about yourself. It was equal parts embarrassing and exhausting, your father none-the-wiser as he lingered behind the two of you, catching up with the Hand of the King, old friends reunited after years apart.

You couldn’t help but feel like a burden slotted between reunions and political obligations—the sacrificial offering exchanged while the men caught up on their glories of the last few years. But it was nice for your father to at least have a familiar face to talk to, Otto seemed as happy to see him as much he was able to.

At one point, Queen Alicent paused by a grand terrace that overlooked the gardens, and with a soft sigh, offered her apologies that her other children had not been present to greet you.

“My daughter, Helaena, is occupied with her little ones,” she said, the corners of her mouth tightening in a way that suggested she wished it were otherwise. “And Aegon, as I’m sure you can imagine, is often... engaged with matters of the court and the children also.”

You weren’t sure how to respond to that, you had heard stories otherwise of her oldest and his whereabouts but you weren’t going to say anything, she moved along before you had to anyway.

“Daeron, of course, remains in Oldtown,” she added with a hint of pride on her face, the first you had seen since she’d even mentioned her children. “He sends his warm regards through raven, but I imagine you’ll not meet him for some time.”

You noticed that she didn't dare mention any of Aemond.

More small talk followed that more you walked. Polite, measured, and relentless. You answered every question with the poise you had been raised to show, but your cheeks ached from the effort of smiling, and your temples throbbed from the mannered chaos that was the whole morning.

It was like being on stage, only the role you were playing was yourself, and every word felt both too much and not enough.

By the time you reached the quarters assigned to you, rooms tucked into a quieter wing of the guest wing with a sweeping view of the sea, you felt as though you had lived through a full week, not a single morning.

The Queen took your hand briefly before leaving you in the care of your maids while the men continued on, your father would greet you later, you knew that they were all heading to the small council room this afternoon to discuss the matters of your betrothal and undoubtedly the wedding.

Alicent's hands were still warm as you both stood outside your door, a guard lingering just off to the side, the moment as private as you were afforded.

“You’ve held yourself with admirable composure, my dear,” Alicent said, her voice warm, though her eyes never lost that assessing glint. “I know how overwhelming it must all seem right now…But I assure you, it gets easier.”

You smiled, bowed your head, and thanked her as graciously as you could manage, the throbbing feeling in your temples getting stronger as you pardoned yourself to your chambers, eyes following with a soft sigh as the Queen followed after her father to what you could only assess as one of the easier talks of politics that would happen in that room.

Your chamber door shut with a soft click, and the silence fell like a soft shroud over the chamber, all you could think was how very far from easy it all felt.

It was the first time you had been truly alone since your departure from the Arbor and arrived here—no ship hands yelling, no handmaidens darting around with curtseys and murmured instructions, no quiet humming of the Queen Mother or the low, commanding voice of you father as he made polite conversation with the King’s Hand.

It felt like some semblance of peace as you moved further into the chambers, hand pressed over your stomach while you breathed as deeply as you could, being alone at this moment was good, it was needed. You just needed yourself for a moment longer.

The room was far too grand to feel anything like the safety of home, and you supposed that was purposeful, what there any true safety in this place?

The walls were a warm stone colour, with candle sconces littered all around, you assumed it would be well-lit at night with the number of candles shoved around. It was marginally bigger than your room back home, equipped with a sitting room that you assumed you would be expected to receive guests in, a comfortable set of settees in front of the unlit hearth, a desk by the window, and a table that you assumed would be used to having dinner alone if you wished.

It was a fine room, fitting for a princess, but you didn’t know if it was fitting for you.

The sleeping chamber was sectioned off with large arched lattice doors, cut with the shapes small flowers as it hid the bed. Some privacy that no one would dare to enter, besides your maids, and eventually your husband.

From your place by the hearth, you could see that bed was canopied in soft pinks and reds, similar blankets with tasselled corners, cushy duck pillows and soft white sheets that practically begged for you to crawl and hope this was all a terrible nightmare. All the windows around the room stood tall and arched, the very tops of them glazed with coloured panes of dragons and fire that tendriled of coloured light across the stone floor as the sun moved in the sky.

Everything around smelled faintly of beeswax and polished wood and a strange perfume that did not belong to you. But it wasn’t unpleasant, it wasn’t your room back home, but it was nice, it needed personal touches that you assumed would come in time—but as a start it was good, it was blank, it was needed.

You found yourself by the hearth, unmoving, eyes fixed on the old smoke stains and the fresh logs that were too perfectly cut to have come from anything real.

It was just you now… and Meredyth.

Meredyth was the only maid you were allowed to bring with you, Tayra and Mara were tasked with keeping the Arbor in check in her absence, but it was a silly comfort that you knew was going to leave as soon as the vows were said. You did not doubt that the Queen would find you new maids to serve you, and from what you heard in passing from your father, eventually ladies-in-wait who you would counsel and raise as companions of your own.

What a frightfully daunting task.

Meredyth was already silently moving around the chamber like a helpful ghost, efficient as always as she zipped to unpack your comforts, your life packed into trunks. She’d clearly wasted no time in opening your trunks, humming low under her breath, deft as always with the already laid out various bottles of scented oils and cosmetics. It was something to focus on to temper the panic rising in you as your eyes focused on her shaking out gowns with quick snaps of her arms.

“There’s no lilac in this room,” Meredyth muttered as she walked to the wardrobes, her sharp eyes narrowing at the corner where a folded sheet sat slightly askew. “You’d think with all this royal ceremony someone might have remembered your preferences; they were sent ahead for a reason. It smells of cypress and dust and… Targaryen pride, if that had a smell.”

You didn’t answer her. You couldn’t. Your throat was tight. You hadn’t spoken since you were dismissed from the Queen’s presence.

The welcome had been cordial. Formal. Cold.

Aemond had barely looked at you, only said your name in a voice so dry it might have been carved from stone. Queen Alicent had offered kinder words, even a smile that seemed genuine enough beneath her careful politeness. You were a means to an end for something you didn’t understand yet, and your value had already been tallied before your feet touched the dock.

The hand that wasn’t pressed to your stomach reached to one of the pillars of the hearth, breathing deeply as your fingers touched the cool stone, grasping it for support as you glanced around the room. Watching Meredyth work her magic to make the room seem a little more homely, you could feel your stomach turning the more you watched her.

She saw your pain clear as day, her fingers gently placing down a nightgown to look at you the way only an aunt would.

“Sit,” Meredyth said at last, softer now, gently guiding you toward the cushioned stool before the dressing table. You didn’t resist. Your limbs felt stiff like they weren’t quite yours anymore.

You sat like she asked. She stood behind you, plucking the pearls and the pins from your hair quickly to let it down; just as you liked. Before she was running a brush through your hair in long, slow strokes. She had been doing this for years, since you were a girl with scraped knees and sticky peach fingers, and the rhythm of it made something in you finally break loose.

“I can’t do this,” You whispered with a crack in your tone. The words barely left your mouth, more like a whoosh of air leaving your mouth rather an anything tangible. “He didn’t even speak to me, walk with me, it was like I didn’t exist.”

Meredyth paused for only a breath before resuming the brushing, steady and sure. “He doesn’t know how to speak like you wish him to,” she said lightly. “Not to people, anyway. I’ve heard the stories—they say he’s a man of few words, he only really acknowledges his sister and mother if he has to.”

You blinked at the mirror, meeting her eyes with your own wide ones. “That’s supposed to make me feel better?”

Meredyth gave a dry laugh, shaking her head as she parted sections of your hair to brush easier. “No… But, it’s meant to remind you that it’s not just about you, it’s about the situation.”

“I appreciate you lying to me.” You said quietly as you watched your reflection in the mirror. The girl looking back at you was pale, drawn. Her eyes were tired, her mouth downturned in a line of exhaustion. “But he hates me, or at least wishes me gone.”

You didn’t recognise yourself right now.

“I miss the Arbor already,” you said, your voice barely heard like it was being pulled from somewhere deeper than your lungs. You looked down at your lap, fingers twisting the soft fabric of your gown. “Do you think it’s too late for father to change his mind?”

There was a silence then. A long one.

Meredyth’s brushing had slowed as she let out a soft sigh, it was times like this that she wished that she could truly lie to you; tell you that it wasn’t too late. But this was your reality now, no matter how much you wanted to beg to go back.

“No,” she said at last. “But it’s too late for you to ask him to, the only way this changes is if something else happens—but your fate is here and now, petal.”

You looked back up, startled.

She leaned in, resting a hand on your shoulder; not firm, not light, but grounding you with her at that moment. “You’ve already stepped off the boat, you stood before him and the Queen. You were seen, and you don’t get to vanish now, court knows you’re here, the fire has started between both you and him.”

You swallowed hard. “But I don’t even know Aemond, I don’t even know if he wants this.”

“He probably doesn’t.” Her honesty stung. “But that doesn’t change what’s expected of you and him, and it certainly doesn’t change who you are.”

You sat in silence for a moment, the room quiet bar your own breathing, the brush trailing gently through your hair once more.

“I’m scared,” you admitted, and it felt like the most dangerous thing you’d said all day.

Meredyth didn’t mock you, but she didn’t rush to soothe you either, she simply kept brushing, like she always did.

“I know,” she said softly. “But you’re still going to be the most composed and watched girl in that feasting hall tonight, and tomorrow, you’ll wake up, and do it all again, and you’ll keep doing it till it gets easier to deal with.”

The feast.

A welcome feast for you and your father, your up coming betrothal, something you’d been told to prepare for in advance. It was to be your first venture into the snake pit that was the royal court. You could see what you were supposed to wear hanging from the door of the wardrobe; your dress for tonight, a soft pink, something gentle, something so inherently you—they were going to tear you apart.

“You’ll get through tonight,” Meredyth murmured, her voice low and certain. “One step at a time. And if you stumble, you’ll get back up because I know you can, you know you can." she added, meeting your eyes in the mirror with a flicker of a smile.

That was all.

Not a promise of glory. Not a lie to make it easier.

Just enough. And somehow, it helped.

Tonight would be something, and something in you hopped that it would be something you would survive.

You didn't have a choice.

[skztickleblr]

tickle headcanons ➵ bang chan x reader

a/n: just some short headcanons to get this blog started. i will do these for all the members. warnings: this is a tickle fic and an x reader, if either of those bother you, please scroll on. this fic is completely sfw and doesn't contain any suggestive topics.

[11:29pm]

general:

tickles. are. constant!

he is a very touchy guy so, if you are within arms length, he will be touching you in some way. even if his hand is just resting on top of yours.

it's the best way for him to feel close and connected to you, however, he also just happens to be obsessed with your laugh~

lucky you!

we've also all seen how often he tickles the boys, so with his partner it'd be like... x10.

especially if he knew you enjoyed it. (he very much enjoys it too hehe)

like, what do you mean he gets to bond with you in such a fun and silly way, and you're going to love every second of it!

but, if he does know about it, get ready for the constant teasing.

ler:

he will tease you all the time. every time he walks past you, he'll poke you in the side, just to get the chance to see your face go red.

he'll say the word in front of the boys or your other friends, just so he can giggle at the way you completely freeze up, while they're completely oblivious.

he loves putting you in lee moods just to make you have to ask for tickles, he just thinks it's so cute that you struggle so much to say the word.

if you're not easily flustered. no worries. it won't stop him from teasing you just to get a little bit of a playful rise out of you.

when it does come to actually tickling you, he loves to sneak up on you. he always says it gets the best reactions out of you.

so, beware, when it comes to wearing headphones around this man.

if you're standing in the kitchen with headphones on, or honestly, just sitting, standing or lying anywhere, where there is enough room for him to sneak up behind you. say your goodbyes now, because he's about to pounce, and you will be stuck there until you are able to either get him back or until he's done with you.

his favourite spots to tickle are whatever spots illicit funny little noises from you. no matter how quiet they are; if it makes you snort or squeak or squeal, best believe he's targeting that spot until you're begging for him to stop.

if the two of you are cuddling he will pretty much always be tracing your skin. your back, arms, legs, pretty much wherever he can reach. i mean we've all seen how much this man stims.

if he traces over a particularly sensitive spot that makes you flinch, he'll chuckle at you and give you a soft kiss while you whine or grumble sleepily about how 'annoying' he is.

although, you both know you definitely don't mean it.

he also loves to chase you, but that one goes both ways.

lee:

because he also loves to be chased.

chris strikes me as a 50/50 switch. he really just loves tickles no matter what, it makes him feel that fluffy feeling in his stomach that he loves and craves so much, and he really just loves feeling close to the people he adores.

you being one of them.

he is also, as we all know, stupidly easy to fluster. so all those teases he gave you? well, you're in luck. If he's feeling lee it is so easy for you to get your revenge.

talk about how ticklish he is and how much he loves it and he will melt into a puddle of flustered giggles.

his favourite spot to have tickled is definitely his tummy.

if you get even remotely stern with him and tell him not to fight back or to keep his arms by his side or even above his head. he will do it. and he will fight tooth and nail to keep them there.

he really just wants to make you happy, and if you're enjoying tickling him. then so be it. he will do whatever he can to let you keep doing that.

plus, it's not like he really minds all that much~

he loves to start tickle fights, and if he's feeling particularly lee, he will let go of his competitive spirit and let you win. not just for the tickles, but also to see that smug grin on your face that he knows he will easily be able to wipe away later.

if you point out that he let you win and tease him about it. rest in peace his ears, because they will be so red and warm, he might actually not survive it.

in conclusion, the two of you have a very switchy, fluffy and cuddly relationship with tickling. he just loves you so, so much and all he wants is to laugh with you and to feel as close to you as possible. you enjoying tickles just happens to very much work out for the both of you.

[wordpress-blaze-174017029]

I Can and I Will

Source: I Can and I Will

[the-freezer-truck]

- I've grown a mouth so sharp and cruel it's all that I can give to you, my dear... -

RP/Ask Blog for Volta (They/She/He) from Starlight Express as written by Pip (25, they/them).

Side Blog to my Joule RP/Ask Blog @the-dynamite-truck This is my interpretation of Volta and thus the portrayal will be based in my headcannons as well as the bits of information provided in cannon. AU & OC friendly, down to write with any productions versions of StEx characters! Am also happy to give my Discord and write/chat over there if that's preferable. Ask box and dms open for shenanigans! Feel free to dm if you wanna plot a little something! Headcannon Tag: (X) Divider Credit: (X)

[sysig]

Blind side (Patreon)

[vargaslovinghours]

Say it like you mean it

[monay-monn]

My Current Pcs

Monay the False Saintess

✦| Angelic Cow-girl ✦| Current Li: Sydney (Fallen) > Avery ✦| Playstyle: Defiant ✦| Mission: Perfection (feats collecting + max skills)

Summary of File:

Very first 'normal' save + current longest running save, focused on playing through as much content as possible and achieving as many feats as possible. Accidentally got Angel tf after hyperfocusing on making money for an entire month by spamming the spa (wanted to make sure she could take on Robin's debt and still have extra money on the side to not get punished by Bailey). Very school + reputation focused (all reputation is positive), visits mickey and landry as much as possible to lower fame + buy pepper spray. Worst world corruption out of all the saves (stole ivory necklace + rite of defilement).

──────────────────✧₊∘✦

Mammon the False Prophet

✦| Demonic Cow-boy ✦| Current Li: Sydney (Faithful) > Robin ✦| Playstyle: Defiant ✦| Mission: Become the Ultimate Lewd Priest (infamous reputation + Max lewd skills)

Summary of File:

2nd save + 2nd longest running save. Focused on doing all the things that Monay's save couldnt do. Playstyle is a little more risky with trying to get money using the lewder job options and trying to raise his lewd fame. Currently the save is almost exactly the same as Monay's save except they're less restricted by the way they can actually fuck around. Mostly made just to see the difference between rite of promise faithful!sydney vs rite of defilement fallen!sydney. Also supposed to be the save focused on romancing Whitney but ended up liking Robin and Kylar more.

Lowest world corruption out of all current Pcs (never stole the ivory necklace + rite of promise).

──────────────────✧₊∘✦

Nene the Entropic

✦| Demonic Harpy ✦| Current LI: Great Hawk > Eden ✦| Playstyle: Submissive lewd ✦| Mission: Fuck around and Find out

Summary of file:

3rd save file, initially started to rack up Harper's love by repeatedly getting sent to the asylum, now turned into pregnancy save.

Currently the most chaotic save out of all of them. Restricting myself by not fighting the lewd encounters + not focusing on school and instead fuck around the outskirts/forest.

Explicitly made to dismiss/reject all the school/town lis.

World Corruption is currently unknown since I made her explicitly to stay the fuck away from the temple.

──────────────────✧₊∘✦

??? the ???

✦| Fallen Fox-girl (intended) ✦| Current Li: Sydney (fallen) > ??? ✦| Playstyle: Defiant Crossdresser ✦| Mission: Get all virginities taken by Sydney (failed)

Summary of File

Created on a whim because I wanted a crossdresser PC. Has the most amount of Feat boosters out of all my starting PCs (mf used all 259 coins I had). Also created just to fuck around with Rite of Promise and trying to corrupt Syd. Current goal is to try and achieve fallen forgiven status + getting the other transformation feats I hadnt gotten yet (namely fox + cat + wolf).

Dont really have a name for her or for what kinda direction I wanna take her save file...

[cagcd]

Skills  &.   powers.

don't reblog or steal or i will live in your walls <3

Johnny's interest in martial arts hadn't been intended,   despite his fascination with the likes of Bruce Lee and other famous action stars while growing up,   it never occurred to him that he would ever go down the same path as them,   and reach so far beyond than the life of any Hollywood star would ever hope for.   He began with a simple course of Karate as a means of self defense,   his mother came to the decision after many instances of bullying that went unaddressed and unpunished in his school,   he needed to learn to toughen up and stand up for himself,   [  a task that should be appointed to a father that was constantly out of the picture.  ]   It was fun to the young boy he was at first,   but as he progressed from one belt to another,   his interest had grown exceptionally,   he practiced non stop and got recognised for his hard work,   eventually earning him a spot in various local tournaments then world championships,   which he had won four in his lifetime.   His achievements gained him audience with the best masters around the world and he was eager to be taught by them,   he advanced in other forms of Karate like Shorin Ryu,  Shinto Ryu,   [  that he later developed better from Darrius' teachings,   who he had gotten to meet during his training in Orderrealm later on.  ]   He mastered Jeet Kune Do and Muay Thai as well.

  It was all skill and physical abilities that had unknowingly qualified him to be a part of the mortal kombat tournaments,   which he at first agreed upon as a publicity stunt to save his failing career at the time.   It was at the end of the first tournament that something within him had sparked into a life,   a power beyond his imagination or knowledge to ever be in possession of.   Raiden himself didn't seem to be aware of it but after some research it's revealed to the star that he was a descendant from a mediterranean cult that bred warriors for combat.   That green glow is similar in essence to the likes of Shang Tsung,   Quan chi,   Nightwolf and even Shao khan,   which is presumably cultivated by souls.   The method with which this cult used to create a generation of warriors by using the souls of their fallen as enhancement for combat.   It was dormant during Johnny's life,   awakened at the defeat of Shao,   as his last remains were fading,   he had unknowingly absorbed a large amount of souls the Kahn had in possession from all the worlds he had conquered.

  It was a gradual shift from then on,   something was off but he could never put his finger on It,   only for it to emerge during the encounter with Shinnok,   the green glow that encased his body and acted like a shield,   fading as quickly as it had appeared.   He couldn't summon it by will again,   but rather it showed by itself,   more frequently the more he fought,   constantly feeding into that power until the near catastrophic end result as sudden bursts of energy from a huge quantity of souls his body was now struggling to contain.   He sought Raiden and Nightwolf's advice in order to control it,   or at least understand it,   [  for he was worried he might hurt those around him unintentionally  ],   the only solution they could come to was to send him to Orderrealm,   where he went through long and extensive training by both Hotaru and Darrius,  the conclusion was learning how to channel those powers through controlled blasts of energy,   as seen through what became his signature move afterwards the shadow kick.   He also learned to direct them through his kicks and punches,   conjuring energy blasts,   then later and with enough experience,   encasing his body with it to be used as shield upon command,   or his fists and kicks as an enhancement of strength during combat.

  Moreover,   due to this connection with souls,   his attentive nature is heightened as he can sense the others feelings to a relative degree by picking up on negative energy and thus better understand those around him.   It might be said he mastered his inner powers with age,   he's certainly more in control and attuned to its full capacity,   he can channel energy with ease and fluidity as though its second nature to him or an extension to his strength.   But he isn't exactly in full control at all times,   as explained,   he simply learned how to channel it   &.   keep those bursts of energy in check.   However,   when he's driven to an edge and is at the end of his limits,   his powers shift from green to crimson red,   which happens only when he uses his powers to its full extent,   but lack of concentration in that state can he destructive and it's highly draining to him that his body shuts down completely afterwards,   it's a last trump card he uses only at dire circumstances.

  Johnny possesses those powers in the new timeline as well,   had never been aware of them but just like the previous timeline it's a gradual process,   already triggered without his knowledge during the fight against Quan chi to stop the well of souls from creating Ermac.   Some of the souls that escaped when the stone was broken had gone through to Johnny who had been knocked unconscious at the time.   Some semblance of his powers show through speed for the most part,   when he dashes forward to evade an attack or when he puts enough force into a punch or kick,   the shadow left behind is quick for the eye to see but there's a faint green glow within it.   It's a slight shift he had noticed but took it as nothing more than a result of more extensive practice.   But its only bound to grow and emerge in full with time,   well after the first tournament and constant combat that he finds out and seeks Liu kang's aid this time around.

[honeydots]

What do you think Siegbert’s relationship with Laslow and Soleil’s relationship with Xander are like particularly as they get older/teenagers.

anon you're enabling me i LOVE their parent/child relationships as they get older!!! read more cause this got looooong

for laslow and siegbert--well first off, i think laslow always can provide a particular brand of emotionally-based support that develops more as siegbert gets older. siegbert has his Anxiety Issues, and where laslow and xander both struggle w sociality as well, i think laslow can relate in a more... empathetic way? dealing with some of the emotional aftermath and letting feelings be feelings (this isn't to say siegbert doesn't go to xander or that xander doesn't help, i just think they're good at different things). on a more lighthearted note, i think laslow's really good at getting a giggle out of siegbert, and good at finding ways to alleviate pressure. he's been doing this for years with xander. and yes, xander and siegbert need different things, but laslow's good at pinpointing those things

something i rly like abt their relationship is that i think that where siegbert more openly shows his idolization of xander (like we see in-game), he still does something really similar with laslow. looking up to him, taking inspiration from him. it just comes out in different ways. for example, siegbert probably trusts laslow's opinions... a lot. considers his sometimes more than his own. and he's just fascinated by the stories he tells. even after laslow's married to xander, i like to think he still travels (and drags xander with him as often as he can--and also drags their kids along as often as he can hahaha), and those stories in particular really entrap siegbert. which is good for a budding prince, i think something laslow (and eventually siegbert and soleil) has that xander lacks is some open mindedness, and not being so narrowly nohr-centric in his perspective--esp in upbringing, if that makes sense. this is also why i like laslow taking xander traveling, cause ultimately i think it would do him good.

ONTO!!! soleil and xander!! ive mentioned before how much i like the grumpy-dad and peppy-daughter dynamic, but. to reiterate: i really really like it gjsjfjsnf soleil, similarly to laslow but probably even more, tends to go to xander and ramble about her girl successes and failures. just barging into his office like i hope you're not busy cause i have things to SAY!! and i don't think xander dismisses her, but he does make her wait sometimes, hahaha. i also think xander will often tell soleil what she needs to hear, rather than what she wants, and ultimately for her that's better than the alternative. he's not entirely harsh (though he can be and that's something to work on), but honest. he also dotes on her more than he should by a xander-standard LOL

i think soleil provides to xander a lot of brightness--it is NOT lost on me that they named her soleil, sun, in a place like nohr. i think surrounding xander with bright people is a fantastic idea. and just like laslow's doing with the traveling thing, soleil probably gets xander to socialize a little more, haha. he isn't a brick wall that can't talk to anybody, but--he does strike me as the kind of guy who has coworkers, but not friends, ya feel me. soleil's confident and full of energy, and tbh i think she's the type to really want attention from her parents, so asking xander to come along with her is a frequent request. and that eventually, naturally, leads to xander getting out more. she doesn't have the same setback as laslow that if he gets shy enough he'll retreat entirely while they're out, hahaha

and one final note to round this off: i like to think!! that xander and soleil are both cat people (xander = cabbit, and soleil has lines about owning kitten posters), where laslow and siegbert are dog people (i have many aus where laslow has a pet dog so this is more of a 'because i said so' kinda thing) (also you might be inclined to think cat for siegbert also but i need you to look inward. deeper. i think he'd like the enthusiasm...!!! i have more i could say but i'll leave it at that)

there you go!! :D

[poetglasses]

Coping the best I can with the stress of assignments by enjoying terrible romcoms

[sysig]

Caughtcha, gotcha, not letting go ♥ (Patreon)

[everlastingserenitys]

POSIONOUS LOVEE

summ. oh no! the flower must’ve been infused with something else! now you both had to deal with each other.

featuring (separate). zayne, caleb cw. sex pollen, p in v, creampie, very needy men, some grammatical issues, kissing, NOT BASED OFF THE TRAILER!!!!, fingering, rocking chair oral sex (zayne), oral (f receiving from zayne), cunnilingus, public sex (caleb), 2k wc a/n. don’t mind my horny ass writing these 2 I'm sorry for no xav, raf, and sylus (thats for another time hehe) also the flowers have no significant meaning to them…totally

ZAYNE - JASMINE ݁˖ ❀ ⋆

"does it smell good?" zayne whispered, dangling the jasmine between both of your faces, the petals tickling against your nose for the second time already. you took another whiff, taking in the scent like it was your first time smelling it.

well, thats what it felt like. because this jasmine didn't smell like any usual jasmine zayne would give you.

you nodded and tried to lean in for more, but zayne pulled the flower back, placing it against his nose. you watched as he took a deep breath, letting the sweet aroma rush through him.

and suddenly, in a quick second, his eyes twisted from that dull look to something brighter, a glint of something you just couldn't tell what it was.

you bob your legs up and down and watch zayne's every move, your heart starts to thump louder and louder, the air in the room suddenly feels suffocating, your body is burning up.

god, what was in that flower?

you eyes darted from zayne's shaky look, to the flower still dangling around his fingers. he was feeling the same way too, and now since you both were on the same boat, you had to fix each other somehow.

before you could say anything, zayne got up from his seat and stumbled towards you, caging you with his arms as he stared down at you with a lustful look.

"I dont know what was in that flower, I swore I bought it off a safe si-"

you couldn't handle his voice anymore. your fingers slid against the collar of his shirt and you pulled him close to you, just being mere inches away from each other, his hot breath tickled against your skin and you looked up at him one more time before crashing your lips on his.

"I don't know what it was either," you mumble between kisses, pulling away and catching your breath to look at zayne's hungry stare.

"but it feels so good."

that caused a reaction out of zayne, cause the next thing you knew, you were getting pressed down against the chair, hard. the back of your shirt raising up as zayne slightly lifted you up on the chair.

the impact of the rocking chair was sending you into a spiral. your head kept hitting the back as the chair shook faster and faster. zayne's body weight pressed against you, and the rough leather of the chair scratched your back, you were too much in a daze to even process that zayne's lips already found its way to your neck.

he planted rough, desperate kisses along your neck, lightly nibbling on the skin, his breath was getting ragged, more louder, all you could do was slide your fingers around his neck and pull him closer than you could.

his warm skin made contact with yours and zayne pulled his head back to look up at you, desperation filled his eyes. you trace his jaw and lower your finger further down, staggering it finger against his adams apple.

a shaky breath escaped his lips and zaynes fingers grabbed onto your waist, toying with the waistband of your pants which were already slipping off.

“i’d never let myself near these types of things…” he mumbled, staring at your bare legs on display for him.

“i didn’t think it’d feel like this.” he said in a shaky voice, eyes rolling back at the impact of the aroma still lingering through your bodies, you can’t help but tilt your head back, bucking your hips forward.

zayne inched closer, his nose just lingering on your twitchy clit through your panties, he nuzzled his head deeper between your thighs and glanced up at you before darting his tongue on the wet lace.

you hold back a moan and watched as he practically was sucking out every juice out of you. his fingers—that had been caressing your sides the whole time, slid under your panties and he swiftly removed them.

his hands cup your knees and he slowly spreads your legs apart, taking his time with you like the day would last forever.

“d-do you know how long it—ngh?!”

zaynes tongue made its way back to your leaking cunt, he shoved himself deeper inside you, curling his tongue inside you, trying to hit every right spot.

“hey!” you moan, instinctively thrusting your hips deeper against him, causing the rocking chair to do more than just one thrust.

“hmm?” a groggily hum escaped zaynes lips as he continued his work on you, the drug had completely changed him and you, and fuck it felt like too much.

“zayne ‘m gonna-”

your chants filled the room and zayne kept his grip on your thighs, purposely ignoring every plea that’s escaping your lips, continuing to work his tongue against your already sensitive folds.

you slid your fingers through his hair and gripped on it like there was no tomorrow, a shaky moan left zaynes lips and you couldn’t hold it in anymore.

“ah- sorry!” you mumble, lifting his head up to watch for his reaction but his face was the exact same. flushed, and his eyes were still filled with that glint of desire.

“it’s not often i ask this but…”

“hm?”

he let out a sigh and slid his fingers further down your legs, “more? i need it.”

CALEB - BLUE LOTUS ݁˖ ❀ ⋆

“it’s not often we go flower picking, pips.” caleb said, his voice laced with enthusiasm as he walked through the grassy meadows, hands brushing along every long stem that poked out the grass.

“yeaaahh, we’re totally going to find flowers in an area like this..” you say in a low voice, looking at the scenery around you.

there was nothing but grass, maybe a few flowers here and there but it just felt so empty, too empty to even find a decent flower around.

“c’mon have some hope, will ya?” caleb chuckled, grabbing onto your wrist as he started to jog along the path.

“wh- caleb!” you giggle as your legs quicken at the pace he was going at, and too caleb was just aimlessly running along the field.

a few minutes passed and the two of you got tired, neither of you had an idea where you were but the sounds of birds chirping nearby, and the smell of water nearby made you get an idea.

“this way caleb,” you point to a hidden path, covered by the grass and caleb’s gaze follows the direction where your finger was pointed.

he nodded and dragged you through the path. eventually, after walking for a bit you ended up at a beautiful pond, birds flying everywhere and this, this was where you could find nice flowers.

“caleb the pond has pretty flowers!” you walk over to the glistening area of water and sit along the edges, toying with the grass sticking out the water.

“pretty, right?” he said, picking up a flower from the pond and swirling it around his fingers, a small smirk rested on his lips before he pressed the flower against your nose, sifting it left and right.

the petals tickled your nose, you leaned in closer taking a quick smell of it…and it smelt sweet.

too sweet.

in a quick second, your mood changed, it was like you needed more. you lunged at the flower again and took a deep breath, letting the sweet pheromones rush through your body again.

“pips..?” caleb asked, a hint of amusement and curiosity filled his voice, he pulled the flower away from you and rested it against his nose, taking in the smell of the intoxicating flower.

“smells good..” he mumbled, taking more of the scent as he stared into your dazed eyes. you nod and lean in closer, both your lips being centimeters away from each other, it’s just the flower that was in the way.

you look at the flower and back at caleb whose eyes are locked on you. you rested your fingers on his hand that was holding onto the flower and subtly grazed your fingers along his hand, and soon, pushed the flower away.

the second the flower fell on the ground, caleb grabbed onto your face with fierce force and crashed his lips on yours, his tongue darting at the small open space between your lips.

he was devouring you.

devouring you like a fucking animal.

you didn’t realize that you both were on the ground, caleb’s hand rested on the back of your head as he continued pressing himself against you.

“what is this pipsqueak?” he mumbled, sliding his free hand along the curves of your body, soon making its way to the waistband of your pants, lightly tugging at it.

you let out a low hum and grab the flower, twirling it between your fingers as you stared at caleb who was already removing your pants, he was practically ripping them off like it was something he strived for survival.

once your lower half was exposed to Caleb, he slid a finger against your twitchy clit, rubbing and pressing on it, a wave of pleasure washed through you as you slightly lifted your hips, silently begging for more.

whatever it was doing this to you, felt too good, way too good. his fingers felt like it was the first time he's doing this to you. after a bit, Caleb pulled his fingers out, watching the mess drip down on the grass and on his fingers.

he lifted your legs above his shoulders and pressed himself against you. the rough fabric of his pants made contact with your exposed, leaking pussy and a spark of shock went through you.

Caleb continued to dry hump himself against you, to get the tension up but his hands were rejecting him to stay put, he slid a hand off your ankles and placed them on his belt, removing his pants in a quick movement.

"it feels good pipsqueak..." he mumbled, pulling out his cock and pressing his leaking tip against your stretched out cunt. you whine in response and Caleb pushed himself deep inside you without warning you.

"so good, it feels–ngh so, soo good"

whines and moans echoed through the secluded forest, there was no audience around but it felt like anyone could walk in by now. you nod repeatedly thrusting yourself deeper inside him, not caring that you're outside, the butterflies in your stomach started to beat faster and faster.

"gonna come..." Caleb groaned, grabbing onto your ankles tighter, as he thrusted himself deeper. the feeling of you getting filled up by him felt too good, he continued to fuck in your leaking pussy, drooling with his cum which was seeping out of you each thrust he gave.

Caleb grabbed onto the flower which was resting on your chest and gave it a quick smell, again. he then took his other hand off your leg and plucked each petal one by one, scattering it all over your body.

"im close ca-" before you could finish your sentence you felt his soft lips make contact with yours, except something was in the way. you winked open an eye and noticed the plucked out flower resting between the two of your lips.

"let it out..." he whispered between kisses, wrapping his hands around your neck as he pulled you closer than ever, letting you savour every second of this unexpected desire.

a/n. so sorry you could tell who the favorite was, I will practice on my zayne smut later

[wordpress-blaze-174017029]

I Can and I Will

Source: I Can and I Will

[erosologist]

⋆˙⟡♡ cw! suggestive makeout session, femme pet names + afab anatomy (silly girl, good girl), fluff fluff fluff and a little more fluff, hehe enjoy! <3

slow, sloppy, lazy makeout sessions with bang chan after a day of schedules has me foaming at the mouth omg omg omg. him coming home late, dark, puffy bags under his eyes and the stench of stale sweat clinging to his skin as an indicator of how stressful the day was. his strong brow furrowed in frustration but smooths out once he sees you; his hands reaching out to you and immediately pulling you in as soon as you’re within arm’s reach; dragging you into a steaming hot shower and exchanging soapy kisses while you massage the tension out of his broad shoulders; wrestling you into his clutches so you two can watch a movie and unwind together; wandering fingers tracing the bare skin of your hip as your shirt hikes up higher and higher before splaying flat across your stomach; feeling his breath dance across the back of your neck as you try your hardest to follow along to the plot.

“this part is really important, sweetheart,” he whispers into your ear. “you need to pay close attention.”

but you can’t—not when his familiar scent is filling your nose and you can feel the strong, reliable beat of his heart knocking against his ribs. his fingers are grazing against the band of your underwear, tracing random patterns onto your tummy as if he can’t fathom the thought of not touching you. and somewhere along the way, you find yourself facing him and all of the beauty that is him and nearly go blind with love and lust, delicate fingers tracing the outline of your eyes as if they held the secrets to the universe behind your pupils. some nights, you think he truly feels that way, especially nights like tonight where your soul is laid bare somewhere between playful banter and quick kisses.

and after some more teasing and giggles, you feel his cheek press against your temple and nearly melt into a puddle of desperation. hands shaking with need, you pull him closer by the collar of his shirt and a chuckle reverberates in his chest—low, sweet, tender.

“eager, love?”

“jus’ wan’ you, channie.”

“you've got me, silly girl. always have, always will.”   

his fingers fiddle with the hem of your shirt as his full lips brush against your cheek, and then your nose, and then he slowly grazes them across yours, tantalizing, committing the taste of desperation to memory before he slots them together. his kisses, much like him, start off slow, sensual, gentle until the sparks dance together and a fire inevitably starts and you’re choking on smoke and love and other minuscule things. his large palms graze your thigh, stomach, sternum, anything that reminds him of how human you both are and how much he adores your skin and all of the things that weave together to create the shell around your heart–around your soul. soft moans and groans blend together until someone opens their mouth and then suddenly, tongues are tangled together as you try and swallow each other’s pants and sweet noises.

somewhere along the way, you’ve wound up in his lap, grinding against his hardening cock, and now his hands are on your hips and encouraging your mintrations. more moans tumble out of his lips followed by some curses, his lips swollen and his tongue swiping across them.

“f-fuck, baby,” he pants. “slow down. i want to taste you a bit more, yeah? kiss me some more. be a good girl and kiss me.”

and how can you resist? truth be told, you think you might be able to sit on this very couch for the rest of your life, legs wrapped around his waist and fingers tangled in his hair, lips working against his and pulling pretty noises out of his throat. and honest to whatever entity lays beyond the clouds, he thinks he would allow it, maybe even indulge in it a little. because he’s here in his living room, some sort of movie he lost track of long ago playing on his television, your teeth brushing against his bottom lip as you suck it into your mouth, surrounded by love and relaxation. he’s basking in love and all of the promises it offers, and he’s willing to drown in it if it means having you by his side, chest to chest, heartbeat to heartbeat, mouth to mouth as he swallows down every sound that lips past your lips and goes down his throat.

want more? check out my masterlist or send a request!

[shinhyunjin]

── .✦ fan service.

⟢ pairing: bang chan x female!reader

⟢ genre: fluff, idolverse, friends to lovers (kind of)

⟢ word count: 2.3k

⟢ summary: when you and chan were expected to do tons of fan service because of how much your fans loved your interactions, it was only fair to take a little advantage of it at times.

⟢ author’s note: helloo, this is a request from @cant-see-sam, who asked for “something where she gets protective over one of her younger members and chan is just like one the corner giggling and kicking his feet” hehe. i don’t know if this is close to what you had in mind, but i enjoyed writing it and i hope you enjoy reading it<3

“Loverboy’s staring again” your second to oldest member, Kyungmi, let you know with a smirk.

She didn’t need to mention who was staring at you for you to know it was Chan, and you loved the thought of it so much that you found yourself fighting the smile that threatened with curving up the corners of your mouth.

“Don’t call him that” you murmured.

“He is, though” she pushed it, looking over your shoulder to the idol she was shamelessly throwing under the bus. “All he can see from over there is your back, yet he’s been stealing glances every two minutes”.

“Kyungie…” you warned her, carefully looking around and making sure there were no cameras pointing at your table—thankfully, there weren’t any. “There are cameras everywhere,” you reminded her regardless. “Be careful with what you say”.

She shrugged, lying back on her chair as her eyes went to the Award’s stage in front, which was now filled with staff members rushing from one side to the other as they prepared it for the next group to perform.

“There’s nothing interesting happening over here right now, they won’t bother filming us just yet”.

“Still…” you leaned back on your chair as well. “There are fans in the venue”.

“And they love your interactions with him!”

Rolling your eyes at her cynical excitement, you remained quiet—her words being far too truthful for you to even try and deny them.

Openly being friends with an idol of the opposite sex was always a hit or miss—people either loved it and asked for more interactions, or they hated it and wanted you to stay as far away from each other as possible.

Luckily for you and Chan, his fans, as well as yours, had loved your friendship ever since he first mentioned you in one of his weekly lives back in the day.

He didn’t think much of it when he did, as he had mentioned a handful of other idols before. He simply read a comment asking if he got along with the girl group that had recently debuted under JYPE—that being your group—and his genuine answer ended up with him bringing you up; mentioning how out of all the members he was the closest to you, since you were the leader and, as a very inexperienced one who wanted to do her best, you used to turn to him for advice.

That simple mention of your name was all it took for the fans to go wild, asking for more and more interactions between the two of you as the time went on, to the point the company itself would make sure to put the two of you together for dance challenges, variety shows, special stages, and whatnot.

It was fan service at its finest—until it was not.

You were both human, at the end of the day. It didn’t take long for the two of you to discover how much you had in common, and the chemistry you shared was so strong that it was impossible to ignore. And so, what started with your company forcing you together for clout, ended up with the two of you becoming closer than they expected.

What started with casual corridor conversations soon turned into daily chats over texts and casual video calls, where you would talk about anything but work, and you would find yourself blushing over his dorky—yet smooth as hell—way with words.

Just like that, although most of your interactions in front of the cameras were planned by the company in order to make your fandoms happy and increase your groups’ popularity, sometimes even taking it one step further by telling you what to do or say, since both you and Chan were quite private and definitely needed a push or two to act in front of everyone the same way you did when the cameras were off, it came a point when you simply let loose.

Fan service or not, whether it seemed too much to the viewers or not, you started to act just as close as you were regardless of there being cameras pointing at you or not.

A dream for many, as not all idols got to publicly interact with each other without having either rumours or hate spreading all over.

Unfortunately for you, however, sometime along the way of your forced proximity, bickering turned into flirting and friendly smiles turned into heart eyes—each day making it harder for both of you to hide your growing feelings from the media.

That seemed to be the case for Chan that night, as he found his eyes being drawn to you every couple of minutes. But what else was he supposed to do when your table was right next to theirs, and his seat gave him the perfect view of you? Well, the perfect view of your back, but still of you nevertheless.

And, well, you weren’t doing any better either, for you found yourself turning around to look at him after Kyungmi stole another glance his way and smirked over how amusing the situation was to her. Your eyes locked with him immediately, feeling your heart flutter and laughing under your breath when he tried to play it cool by looking at the stage instead.

You had already caught him red handed, though, and you could only feel relief and shyness altogether when it was confirmed to you that Kyungmi wasn’t just making it up for the sake of teasing you.

“Maybe we should invite him to sit with us,” Kyungmi proposed. “The fans would love that”.

“Stop” you laughed this time, hiding your face in your hands for a moment before you watched everyone get off the stage, as the next performance was apparently about to start. “Should I call the girls to rush back here? I think Aespa is coming up and Yumi really wanted to watch them”.

Kyungmi shook her head no, gesturing towards their empty seats. “The dorks left their phones here. I’m sure Yumi’s already dragging Soomin over here, though”.

“We’re here! We’re here!” Yumi announced a little out of breath, reaching your side as if on cue.

“The line to the restroom was so long,” Soomin whined, not wasting another second to slump down on her seat next to you. “I thought we wouldn’t make it back in time”.

“But we did, right?” The youngest asked, going around the table to her seat. “Aespa hasn’t performed yet?”

“No, th—”

Your words were caught in your throat when, just as Yumi was about to sit down, a staff member pulled her chair and took it with him.

She managed to catch her balance in time not to fall to the ground—with some help from Soomin, who had instinctively held onto her upper arm rather forcefully—, but watching her lost eyes as they followed the man and the idea of her having fallen down because of his careless action, were enough for you to call him out before he could leave.

“Excuse me, she was using that” you tried to sound as polite as you could, considering how you had to raise your voice in order for him to hear you from across the table.

He turned to you with an annoyed semblance, and you could already tell this wouldn’t be a pleasant exchange. “She wasn’t sitting on it”.

“But she was about to,” you argued. “That seat was assigned to us, can you please give it back to her?”

“Another group is missing a chair and I have instructions to take one to them”.

“Well, can’t you look f—”

“Y/N…” Yumi tried to ease the situation, carefully speaking up. “I’m okay, I’ll just go look for another one”.

Her words were like fuel to the guy in front, who took that as his chance to get out of there and trotted away from you before you could utter another word.

With a defeated sigh as you watched him leave, and with a visibly upset Yumi who was just left standing there as she had nothing to sit down on now, you stood up.

“Yumi, come here” you motioned towards your seat, pulling the chair back for her to sit down on instead.

“I’m okay, really” she shyly tried to reassure you the moment she realised what you were doing—still, she went up to you like you told her. “I’ll go look for a spare one”.

“Come on now, you’re way too shy for that” you smiled softly, receiving a genuine smile from her in return—both your heads turning to the stage when the lights went down and the performance she was looking up to the most began. “Let’s just enjoy the show for now and I’ll go look for a chair afterwards”.

Yumi’s smile now parted her lips, brightly showing her teeth as she agreed with you, and quietly thanking you before she took the seat you were offering her.

Placing your hands on her shoulders and quickly getting too immersed in the show taking place before you, you were completely unaware of the guy that was looking at you from afar, and how he needed to bring a hand up to his mouth and fake out a cough, in order to play it cool and—poorly—hide the big smile that was beginning to part his lips.

“What happened?” Felix asked him with furrowed eyebrows, leaning closer to his leader since the music currently playing made it hard to hear.

“She’s so cute” Chan answered, allowing his smile to take over yet still hiding his mouth under his hand.

Felix smiled, shaking his head and looking over to you, as he did not need his leader to mention your name for him to know he was talking about you.

“Did we just watch the same scene play out before us a minute ago?” He teased him. “Yumi literally got her seat taken from her and you’re laughing”.

“I’m not laughing about that,” Chan corrected him. He was mad about the whole situation, of course. “I just think Y/N’s cute when she gets all protective”.

“More like you think she’s cute all the time”.

“Whatever,” Chan rolled his eyes, knowing there was no winning this fight, for he could not cover the sun with a finger. “Can you go give my chair to her? I’ll go look for a spare one for myself”.

“Look who’s being all protective now,” Felix chuckled. “I mean, I could go up to her and give her your chair, but I’m sure everyone would take it the wrong way”.

“People might take it the wrong way if I do, too…”

“Everyone thinks you’re just friends, they’ll love the fan service”.

“We are just friends, though…”

Felix laughed—the sound of it overpowering the one coming from the stage. “Okay, whatever you say. I’ll look for a spare seat, you go give your friend your chair” he proposed with a taunting smirk. “I don’t think she’ll take it as a platonic gesture, though”.

Chan shook his head in defeat, resting against the back of his chair and focusing on the performance taking place on the stage instead.

God, he wished you wouldn’t take it as a platonic gesture. It was hard to draw the line when your interactions were expected to be merely friendly.

As soon as the performance ended and the lights were back on, he channeled the courage he had been earning up for the last minute and stood up, grabbing his chair and bringing it with him all the way to your table.

He could feel your members’ eyes focus on him the moment he reached it, yet you were too focused gushing about the show with Yumi to even notice him standing right behind you.

So, with a small tap on your shoulder, he brought your attention to him.

“Um…” he hesitated when you turned around and your eyes met his, feeling his confidence abandon him as it hit him just how much more beautiful you looked up-close. “Here”.

Feeling your piercing stare on him as he placed the chair on the space Kyungmi had just made for it by sliding her chair to the side, he couldn’t ignore the goosebumps on his skin. And when you were still far from saying anything after he rested his hands on the back of your new seat, he couldn’t help the breathy, nervous laugh that escaped his lips.

“Don’t tell me you actually wanted to stand for the rest of the Awards and I brought a chair over here for nothing”.

“N-No, um… thank you” you breathed out, feeling your heart pounding against your chest. “I didn’t think there were any seats left”.

“There weren’t” he laughed.

Your eyebrows furrowed in confusion. “What do you mean?”

“Please don’t make me say it and just take the chair” he felt his cheeks burn.

Feeling your face heat up like only he could make it, you decided to take it easy on him and not push for an answer. Instead, you smiled at him and nodded before you took the seat he was offering—feeling your heart race all over again when you did and he gently pushed you closer to the table.

You looked up to him with a smile, covering your mouth just in case before you said, “You just went a little too overboard with the fan service there, don’t you think?”

He chuckled, shaking his head and looking down at you with a smile. “It stopped being fan service a long time ago now, didn’t it?”

Hearing your members giggle, and turning around to see his members shaking their heads as they looked at him with amused grins, Chan realised that maybe this particular interaction would be hard to defend as a platonic one.

The image of the heart eyes you were looking at him with right before he went back to his table, though, was enough for him not to worry about a thing and to be over the moon for the rest of the night.

Fan service came in many ways, after all. He just got lucky enough to be able to court the person he had feelings for while at it.

[limerlove]

KNUCKLE VELVET, TORN ON MY TEETH

❝ VI!ONE SHOT ❞

pairing. pitfighter!vi x bartender!reader

warnings. eighteen+, nsfw content: arcane season two spoilers, soft angst, smut, bartender!reader, crashout!vi mends her cold heart, inexperienced!vi, switch!reader + vi, fem coded reader, coded alcohol addiction, slight spit kink, strap use.

KNUCKLE VELVET TORN ON MY TEETH, there's something charming about the pitfighter who doesn't stop drinking until she reaches the bottom of the barrel and the bartender who keeps walking her home.

wc. 7k+

rayray yaps. popping my vi!oneshot cherry, hehe, and i'm happy to do so. the vi brainrot has been real as fuck lately. i fear it's not going away anytime soon. but i wanted to give a special shoutout to @hypnagogics for proofreading this fic, means sm to me ily + my sweet bubba, @absfawn for the title name, i could kiss you until my lips fall off. the best people ever, i love them so much. okay, now i have yapped enough! happy reading, hope you enjoy.

Trapped in the abyss, just when everything had been taken from her life seems to sacrifice another offering on a silver platter. Something else that she thought could be hers, but wasn’t. In the end, all of it was the same. Life is the same. She takes three steps forward, circumstances out of her control take her apart like enforcers imposing their will on Zaun, and she’s forced to move five steps back. It’s all she feels, powerless. 

Wanting nothing more than to drown her sorrows, forget all that she's lost. For everything that’s been taken, Vi feels an overpowering loss, threatening to take over everything she’s trying to build. But Vi thinks of none of it now, she can’t afford to think of one more thing. So, she doesn’t. All of her mind forgets. She forces herself to. 

Zaun, Piltover, Jinx, Vander, Silco, and Cait. 

She drowns in blood, sweat, and liquor for nights to come. She forgets everything and you are just the cherry top on this one shitty sundae. Anytime she’s here, Vi manages to get herself into a fight. Each time. Every time she tries to apologize or hold an ounce of guilt in her eyes, you see right through her crystal blues. From the very first night, you called her bullshit. Even if Vi didn’t give in, it was hard to hide her small smirk. 

She lets herself think it’s because you’re a bartender. You practically get paid to read people, listen to them vent about shit you probably don’t give two shits about and break up the fights that erupt every thirty minutes. Overinflated egos and drunken assholes weren’t a great mix. The jury was still out if you though Vi was one. She could have both, she didn’t really talk much. Vi fought, drank until she couldn’t see straight, and you helped her up to her small apartment right across the street and up the steps into her said apartment. 

No matter how hard she tries, it always ends the same. Vi looking like an imbecile and you, the pretty bartender who shuts down every advance she throws your way. Vi wonders who had a stronger shell, what you’re hiding in order to protect yourself. 

Maybe she is just an asshole. 

“You don’t have to walk me up here. I-I can make it just fine on my own.” 

As soon as your fingertips let go of her fragile frame, Vi’s inebriated body collapses on the concrete steps, grabbing onto the metal framing as if her life depends on it. 

“Really? Now you wanna prove a point?” 

“For your information, I’m always in it to prove a point.” 

Even if your words are harsh, with a soft smile and a hand open, Vi takes it as you let her lean on your weight as you assist her up the steps. There’s little shame to be had once the two of you make it in. It isn’t like the first time and when she noticed the scrunch of your nose in taking the smell, tequila and grease. Vi thought it was cute but she halts any further thought. 

Quickly, Vi disposed of her leather jacket and pants she’s left in boxers and the wrap protecting her chest. The part of her life that seems to be kept together. She doesn’t really mind it though, you. Seeing her like this. Even more so, she enjoys it. You’re always so dismissive at the bar, hardly holding eye contact, turning down any flirting she hurls your way. Just like the vomit Vi had nearly thrown up on your shoes but made a quick diversion for the bush to the right of her instead. 

This is truly the only time she knows you want her. Not so subtly, your eyes trace her like each pinpoint of your gaze is painting her on a clean canvas, one Vi wonders if she’ll like or not. When she’s been around you, she’s been wondering about a lot of things — thoughts she quite literally can’t afford. 

It’s her, nothing ever ends well when her feelings can get crushed on the other side. 

Everything she touches burns to ash before she can even hold it for a moment, a second of symphony retaliates with years of misery. How could you be any different? She wishes you would burn her underneath your gaze, put her out of the misery she feels growing every day, but you don’t. You’re always pulling her out of trouble when you truly don’t have to. It’s not your job to take care of her or hell, even look after her. 

But you do and she can’t seem to figure out why. 

“Why are you doing this?” 

“Just shut the fuck up and let me help you. Not everyone has a motive. Some people just like to help when someone is so clearly struggling.” 

“I’m not—” 

You give her a glare that seems to shut her up. You draw a bath for her. It’s easy to find her towels in the only cabinet. It’s an acute studio apartment. More so of a small room with a stove stop, minimal counter space, and one bathroom enough to bathe and brush her teeth in. There isn’t much left of it but it’s hers. Grabbing the first aid kit, you kneel between her legs, the mattress sits on the floor, her legs spread and stretching out in front of you. 

“Let me help you. Alright?” Vi grumbles, a incoherent complaint, but she lets you tend to her wounds. 

It’s mainly just cleaning off her dry blood as she still complains in the process, but there’s a few cuts on her face and her cheeks are already beginning to bruise. It’s not a secret, she bruises like a peach but she always makes sure her opponent is leaving a lot more with just a few cuts and a bruise the size of a plum. 

It’s then, when you’re concentrating on the cuts on her face, the busted lip she’s sporting; she looks at you. Maybe it’s the first time she has, but without even realizing it, she gets lost. Not in the way Vi doesn’t know who she is, that she’s completely lost on, but Vi sees you. 

Bright-eyed, optimistic, helpful, kind — all attributes she couldn’t claim but wears like a badge of honor. As if helping others instills you with a sense of purpose, something that’s always been a lost cause to her. Fight until the next fight, and the next, and the next. That’s what she’s done, she's always been a fighter. She’s fallen back on it when needed. It’s clear to her. Like a vision she could see, crystal clear through some stupid ball, it’s always been about survival. 

But how much longer does she want to fight and how much more does she have in her? 

“Thanks.” Vi speaks softly. 

Not knowing where to place her palms, she settles for her thigh. Silent as she watches, nearly analyzing every moment, every glance, every little thing you’re doing. It’s sobering to say the least. You don’t need to be delicate but you are. It’s more kindness than she deserves, nearly leaving a bitter taste on her tongue but when you offer a small smile and a soft whisper, you’re welcome. 

It’s the sweetest thing Vi has ever seen. 

There’s something different in the way you look at her. The soft omission exposes how sweet on Vi you may be. Definitely more than you’d let on, which was well…none. Up until tonight, she thought you hated her. With each word uttered in your direction, Vi assumed you’d rather swallow bile than stomach her slurred, flirty speech. 

“Why do you want to help? It’s not like I’ve exactly been—” 

“Kind?” 

“Yeah, something like that.” 

This time Vi lets the smile reach her eyes and your smile gets even sweeter. She can practically feel the sweetness rotting her teeth as she speaks. It’s the first time she feels something new, something as bright as the light radiating through your eyes. 

“You just seem different. Even if you do try to hide it.” 

With a flush of crimson coating the apple of her cheeks, she’s never been quite as exposed as this. The next few weeks are spent with less drinking, but Vi frequents the bar just as much as she did before. She orders a few pints just to talk to you. She’s learning more about you, slowly but surely, you’re opening up more. Divulging information you wouldn’t have before, trust is earned. It’s something you told her the first night you met and to this day, Vi still remembers it. 

Regardless of how drunk she’d been when you said it. 

It’s a typical night. Vi flirted with you but you aren’t being dismissive tonight but you’re careful enough to not let her know exactly how you feel. Everything you say is guarded enough you keep her on her toes, for a moment she thinks she might have to become a ballerina. It’s a slow night, Wednesday. Go figure Vi thinks. There was a woman who’d also been flirting with you all night. Vi thought she was beautiful, sweet, funny…certainly was making you laugh all night. 

Part of Vi wanted to feel jealous but it feels too good hearing you laugh, she says nothing. Maybe you just don’t like women. Vi was known for reading into things too much, thinking everyone thought with their heart first just like she did, and assuming every hot and attractive woman was into other women — just like she is. 

But the brunette left before closing, leaving Vi and a few other regulars paying their tab as they stumbled home with a belly full of liquor of their choosing. 

“Alright Vi, don’t you have somewhere to be? Maybe getting some sleep for the night?” 

“I don’t sleep much, it’s better if I don’t.” 

“Keeps the nightmares away.” 

All Vi does is nod. 

“Story of the century.” You take Vi’s empty pint before washing it dispersing in the sink before cleaning up the remainder of the bar top. “Everyone’s got one around here and the new one is usually even more depressing than the last.” 

“What about yours?” 

“If you wanna hear that, I’ll have to be the one doing the drinking.” You smile but it’s the first one Vi recognizes as insincere. 

“Yeah, seems to be the stone cold requirement for a heart to heart.” 

Vi’s silent as you vent to her about the customer who refused to pay up tonight until you threatened to kick his ass and that wasn't enough, you threatened Letty on him. Vi found herself only slightly entranced as you spoke with such color, your animated voice doing impressions of the stubborn patreon, moving your hands as you speak, eyebrows furrowed as you finished the story. 

You’re done cleaning and are ready to close by the time you finish, locking the door as Vi stuffs her hands in her pockets, “Can I ask you something?” 

You cling to your bag like a lifeline. Vi notices how tight your grip is on the strap, almost as if you’re afraid. Of what? She has a craving to find out. “Why’d you turn her away? She seemed plenty interested. Not your type?” 

You take a step forward, just as close as the last time you were in her apartment, tending to wounds she wouldn’t have really cared about but still she let you clean them. 

You didn’t have to know that. Not yet, anyway. 

“No, not really. I like my women a little rough around the edges, stumbling out of bars so wasted they can’t even walk home by themselves.” You smirk, grabbing the lapel of her leather jacket as you tug her closer to you. “Or is that what you want me to say?” 

“Is it true?” 

You both know the hope in her eyes is dangerous. 

Hope. 

A foreign concept in Zaun. If you get too close to the flame, you’ll get burned, dusting into ash as if you never existed. It’s what shimmer did to people, wipe them off the map until they reformed into a shell of what they used to be. You didn’t just get out of a place like this, not without some help. Vi could barely even help herself. 

The both of you know it’s a bad idea. A terrible, god awful idea, but you still move in closer to her. Vi notices and she wipes the smirk off her face, your warm hands finding purchase on her exposed hips, drawing soft circles on her hip bones. She likes it, even when her heart feels torn from being blown to bits by a certain blue-eyed beauty. 

Vi likes you. 

“Your skin is softer than I thought it would be, smooth like pure silk. Not that I’ve ever touched it before but I’ve got to believe it would feel a lot like this.” 

Vi feels a tingle up her spin, your touch is overwhelming, more than she bargained for really. A stumbling, messy kiss is all she really expected if anything. Not this. Clearly, you knew what to do. Leaving Vi a little clueless in that department, she’s knocked off her feet once again but this time in a way she wants to be. But actually bringing something this special to anything more than a few flirty quips? It never seems to be her strong suit. 

So, she puts her best foot forward. Her big stupid mouth, one she can never quite fully silence. “I can guarantee my lips feel a lot softer.” 

“Vi—” You speak her name like a warning, an unspoken law you’re breaking by entertaining your feelings and the bubbling sentiments you hold for her close to your heart. You know better than to keep it so close, but the halo in her eyes blinds you to reason and you let it. 

“It’s Violet but you can call me whatever you want, sweets.” 

You chuckle at the pet name. 

“Just one night. That’s it. Just to get it out of our system.” 

“One night, sweets. It’s all I need.” 

— 

It’s how you ended up here, the third night in a row since the first, trapped under the web of Vi and her eager mouth. Slender, perfectly sculpted fingers feel like a hex to your cunt, every moment causing you to fall further into her spell. To say she has a certain talent would be considered an understatement. It’s clear Vi’s enjoying herself, fuck, damn near suffocates herself in your weeping cunt. Last night wasn’t nearly enough, she needs to have you, again. Not that you were complaining. 

As much as you hate to admit it, there has been no one as generous as her. As good as her, as sweet, as kind, and she did whatever the hell you asked for. Nothing has beaten the first night, her thumping clit nudging against your as she hiked one of your legs over her toned shoulders. 

It’s not a secret how built she is, far from it, but it’s another thing entirely to watch her flexed bicep ripple with every grind of her hips. Each movement seems to be calculated with precision, focused on doing more than just making herself feel good. With pure determination, glazed over crystal blue eyes, and a pouty scarred lip, she makes sure you’re enjoying this as much as her. With each moan you let slip, her confidence only grows until she’s commanded full control over you. She takes what she wants from you and in return you’re seeing stars behind your eyes, constellations created in the shape of her name as you come. 

“That’s it pretty girl, just for me, yeah?” Vi talks you through  as she works you through your orgasm with her strong hips, not stopping even after you’ve cum. She wants more and Vi pulls three more orgasms out of you before she’s done for the night. You expected her to be good. There was no shocker there but you didn’t expect her to be so sweet afterwards. Vi is a drunk, an addict, whether she wants to accept it or not. You could be just another object she’s addicted to. Somehow, you convince yourself it’s just a one time thing. It doesn’t mean anything, it won’t. 

Truthfully it feels much more than just a one night stand, more than an itch being scratched — the blossoming ache in your soul feels tethered to your heart every time Vi makes you feel an ounce of love — even when she tries to hide it behind a wall. Whether you’re aware, the wall can’t seem to stop crumbling. Brick by brick, it’s coming undone just as you have. Weak-willed and with purpose, you fall into her. 

There isn’t an inch of your body Vi didn’t kiss. Her lips tattooing every inch of your skin with marked affection, almost as if she’s mending your skin with the burn of her lips. When she claims your soft lips, haunting you with the salvation of perfection as her velvet tongue invades your mouth, the taste of you melting from her tongue to yours. The silent declaration you didn’t ask for but craved, the carnal moan leaving her mouth as she chuckles when your hips pathetically grind into hers. 

Vi enjoys your company, that much is clear, but this time you bring her to your place. It’s more or less the same. Both of you coming down from the highest of highs, you feel sticky, dirty, and damn right heavenly. Vi disappears into your bathroom, grabbing a wash rag before dampening the material underneath a warm faucet. Carefully, she kneels by your hips, legs twitching softly as her skilled fingers find your slit before Vi’s sucking the digit in your mouth. 

“I just wanted one last taste before I clean you up.” 

As she has before, Vi makes good on her promise and cleans you up. She enjoys when the pad of her thumb grazes against your clit, terribly overstimulated, your stomach twitches. All Vi can do is chuckle. 

“I’m just a little—” 

“Sensitive?” Vi smirks as you hide your face in the palm of her hands, the pad of her thumb gently caressing your skin.  

It’s the lightest she’s felt in weeks. Almost as if she’s floating on a cloud, she wants to stay up there in the cloudiest of nines. Just you and her and an aging mattress as she offers you everything she can give. Albeit, it isn’t much but she’ll still freely give. 

Like a dog with a bone, Vi corners you on the third night when it’s just you and her in the bar. Closing time has long since arrived and vanished into the crisp air of the night but Vi has you bent over the bar, desperation clawing at the weathered countertop of the bar as Vi’s fingers fucks your pretty little hole while her tongue laps at the slick that’s dripping out of you. Your pretty little skirt pushed up, your panties pushed to the side as she laps and sucks at your juices. She can feel you dripping onto her chin and it only makes her that much more eager to swallow every bit you have to offer. 

“We shouldn’t be doing this—” Fuck. Vi starts doing tricks with her tongue, sliding in another finger, pushing against the soft spot buried deep as she toys with you in the way knows best. “We, um, Vi we said just one night.” 

“Shut the fuck up and take it like a good girl. Or did you forget?” Vi moans into your cunt, the vibrations causing your thighs to shake under her mouth. “It’s not like you were complaining last night.” 

Vi silences you as her pace picks up, her fingers fucking you at such a pretty pace, feeling the build grow in the pit of your stomach edging to come to a full bloom. 

All of you begging for it to be released. Vi uses her free hand to slap your ass, sending you moaning and lurching forward. You push yourself back grinding against her tongue, before she removes her divine mouth as she kisses up your spine, her fingers stuffed inside you not faltering for a moment. 

Vi continues to kiss up your spine until she reaches the nape of your neck, her breath kissing your skin, your body shivers into her touch. Full lips ghost over your ear before whispering quietly, “Are you sure you want me to stop? I will if you want me to. I just thought you might wanna, you know, take my cock tonight. Give it a good ride.” 

The moan you let out would put Aphrodite’s to shame, needy and choked sobs escape you as her fingers thrust inside you faster than they have before. 

“Oh? Do you like the sound of that, babygirl? Want to show me how good you can be for me?” Vi doubled down on her efforts, enjoying how much you arched into her body, your hips pushing back as you grind into quick fingers. She’s fucking you better than well…anyone. 

“Vi, please.” Your voice catches in your throat, hoarse and full of need. An insatiable craving; one you fear only she can provide. A few mindless days and careless flirting to land in her sheets, her in yours, the details didn’t truly matter. A vampire out for blood, almost more venomous than precious canines breaking the skin, you yearned to suck on every last drop. But she didn’t seem to be in a mind frame to relinquish control. 

“Please what? I’m not sure if I understand you.” 

All of it, so tantalizing, so fucking infuriating. Three fingers inside you, effectively making you silent, shutting you up as she brings you closer to the edge. That’s the thing, truthfully, Vi has you right where she wants. Only a few thrusts away until you come undone around her. The black haired succubus increases the pace, thumb playing with your clit, her calloused fingers increasing your high as she applies more pressure on the thousands of nerve endings on your precious pearl. 

“Shit. You’re gonna pay for this.” 

“What? For making you come? I hardly constitute that as a crime.” 

Your hands reach for the counter top, you’re not sure what exactly you want, but Vi makes you come for the first time that night. It’s a game, the push and pull. Dangerous. Intoxicating. Some disposition falling far from your fingertips, a game to her and a downward hill spiral for you. Addiction festering next to an open wound and the only antidote can be found on her tongue. Tasting the devil’s mouth is one thing but swallowing the sensation of the woman you’re beginning to love is something else entirely. 

Vi, despite her best efforts not to, makes you fall over the edge. It’s more than her eager tongue and expectant mouth slurping at the vindication of your taste. The craving builds like an exposed vein. Her confidence irrevocably soars like a raven through the midnight sky. Even if Vi acts like she’s done this before, you could pull the curiosity intertwined with naivety a mile away. Violet has never done this before, not with a woman at least, you’re sure of it. She’s a fast learner and such a great accomplishment should replenish such a reward. 

With the energy you have left, you push your skirt down first, as Vi puts your underwear back in place. She doesn’t stop touching you. She can’t. There isn’t much she feels she has control over, this arrangement being one of them. She’s good at this and Vi enjoys it. Every other part of her life, failure surrounds her, her ability not to please anyone in her life. 

In a constant loop, she finds herself caught in the crossfire. Tugged between sister and lover, family and righteousness. Her enemy becomes her lover and lover becomes enemy — all of it poisons her blood and cures her core — and all of it makes her hear a voice she doesn’t recognize but it’s just as true as the four walls surrounding her. 

Oil and water. 

Collecting like scars on her porcelain skin, Vi feels herself sink like an obliterating star. There’s a wonder settled in her chest, it feels heavy and weak, two incapable fists unable to surround her heart with anything but loss, betrayal even. She can’t punch her way out of this one.

All of it wakes a fire in her chest, a dagger being punctured in her heart by the one Vi thought she could trust the most. She doesn’t want to admit it so she doesn’t. 

But this? It feels easy. 

She needs easy, light, even good. Maybe she doesn’t deserve it. 

Vi definitely doesn’t, the sentence flows like a never-ending stream of waterfall continuously drowning her. The blood on her hands stains her perception of all things pure, she wonders how she even sees you at all. How you see her more vividly than anyone, possibly even Cait. There’s no judgment, no snarky remark of where she comes from. Even if she thought there had once been love, Vi questions it now. 

When you come, it feels like a breath of fresh air, a golden wave washing over her sinful hands. Each stroke of gold, your grit and blind hopefulness soaks Vi’s entity. This is what she wants. There’s nothing more than this, someone she could love, who loves her. It’s uncomplicated but the feeling flees as you come to it. Vi can’t help but feel regretful as you cover your ass, it’s such a pretty sight. She can’t stop that she’s greedy, you’ve fed her for the first time in her life and now Vi feels full but she’s only human. 

A sinner always craves more. 

She lets her touch linger on the gold between your thighs, pushing the white substance back into you before Vi lets you feel how wet you are, the dripping slick feels uncomfortable caged into cotton underwear and she wants you to feel it. The breath Vi hears are still heavy, impossibly heavy, and there’s pride in hearing you center yourself, back pressed against her chest as Vi keeps you in place. 

The pleasure within your body begins to slither away as you come back into the angel you are and not the sexual deviant bent over the woman who never pulls her punches. 

“Felt good, yeah?” Vi says. Her angelic, sweeter than the cotton candy stick in your teeth, voice penetrates through. You like it too much. It shouldn’t make you feel as good as it does. Desperately, you want to keep this casual but you’re even losing your footing. 

You pride yourself on the lack of attachment; you don’t need it. Never really had. But then with her it seems to change even faster than the seasons, your wall breaks somehow in between from spring to summer. With intent, you move around, her bright eyes have darken a bit but the fading light looks brighter than you’ve ever seen it. 

Fuck, Vi is making this difficult. 

“You could say that.” You speak softly, a tremble in your voice occurs but Vi says nothing but she does smirk. “Can I ask you something?” 

You turn around and suddenly Vi is staring at your exposed cleavage, the one you use to draw in patreons and to fill your pockets with as many tips as one can muster. Vi had been one, a faithful one trying to drink her away to the bottom of every bottle until she found something else for her. Something that didn’t leave a burn in her throat. 

“What is it?” 

“Was it your first time? The first night?” 

Sheepishly, Vi blushes. For a second, she contemplates lying but you’d see right through it. Right through her. It would only take one look in her blues and you would know. 

“That obvious?” Vi struggles with her words next but she manages to murmur a lame excuse. “Stillwater didn’t leave much time for this.” 

“And after?” You tease but the sincerity in your eyes soothes her. 

“There could have been but there wasn’t. Some things just don’t fit.” Oil and water is what she wants to say but she bites her tongue. 

“You should have told me. I wouldn’t have been so, I don’t know, selfish?” 

“There’s nothing selfish about it. I wanted to make you feel good. Did you enjoy yourself?” This time she makes your skin feel hot. Fuck. 

“Yeah, I did enjoy myself,” you pressed against her as your arms loop around Vi’s necks to bring her closer “but I think it’s officially my turn to offer my services. Don’t you think so?” 

It’s how Vi ends up here, in your place, in your bed — soaked. 

If there was one thing you knew, it was how to please someone. You managed to pull whimpers out of her she didn’t even know existed. The desperate plea coming from her shivering body as she spilled in your mouth the first time sent a shiver down her spine, the band in her stomach snapping as you sloppily spit on her cunt, constant circles of pressure on her clit seeing nothing but your eyes look up at her. 

Not letting a single drop go to waste, you fucked Vi through it, swallowing her completely. Vi shed the wrap covering her chest next. Her body bruised from the pit fights but you couldn’t think of anyone more beautiful than her. You paid attention to her collarbones, neck, and her tits. Sucking on her nipples as Vi tries to come down from the high you placed her on, she doesn’t think she ever will. 

She tries not to think that she wanted these things with Caitlyn. Cait. Cupcake. 

Vi only allows herself to think of her when she’s dreaming, visions of what that could have been, what she used to be. All of it so trivial, so senseless when she thinks of you. How you make her feel is different and she tries not to think of what it all means. 

One night. 

Then two. 

Now three. 

In another life, maybe she was stronger, and didn't need to be wanted. Hell, even needed. She could wait for someone who she thought loves her but the other part of her doesn’t want to think, she wants to feel. Vi likes feeling the softness of your skin, the light in your laughter, the swell of your exposed chest, the way your greedy eyes take in her abs, your soft lips kissing every part of her skin. The smooth, the scarred, the unworthy — you take it all in such stride. 

“Do you want to stop? I think I lost you for a second.” You inquire to the pretty girl beneath you, her hands find your waist, creating makeshift circles on your hip bones. 

“No, that’s the last thing I want.” Vi brings you to her lips, capturing your bottom lip, tongue invading your mouth. She tastes herself as your tongue melts with hers and the rest of her worries melt away. It’s just you and her. “I want to keep going.” 

“Then tell me what you want, baby. I’ll do whatever you want. It’s yours if you want it.” 

It’s spoken as a reminder. All of this is her decision. Vi decides when she wants this, how she wants it, and you’re letting her take all of it in the way she needs. Vi tried not to think the first couple times, she never wanted her first time to be a big deal. Maybe with Caitlyn it could have been, but then she changed. 

Vi thought maybe she could too. So, she did. 

“Can you—” Vi stutters. Yet again her attention gets pulled to your tits, the softness of your stomach, she can’t stop looking at you. As if she’s trying to remember everything about you. She’s committed to it. Vi wants to remember the soft curves of your hips, the way you moan when she comes on your tongue. 

The sight of you looking down at her makes she lose every rational thought, she wants to commit to memory forever. It won’t be something she easily forgets. 

“Gotta speak up, babygirl. Especially if you want me to keep my attention focused on this pretty cunt of yours.” 

You sit between her legs, tilting your head, you look at her glistening pussy, the way it shines with her cum and your sloppy spit. It would look even more exquisite with a little more. Taking a beat as you take your time, you gather enough in your mouth before spitting slowly, Vi whimpering as your spit makes contact with her lower pair of lips. She couldn’t stop it, it slips and you’re grinning, hips desperately bucking to feel more of it. 

“F-Fuck, need your cock. Please? I need it more than anything.” Vi confesses. There’s no need for dignity, especially if she keeps it and you won’t give her what she’s itching for. 

“Yeah? Are you sure about it? Don’t want you backing out just in case you can’t be a good girl and take it.” 

She can take it but she can’t take the countless teasing, trapped underneath the images drowning in her mind. This is what she wants, someone to dissolve into her, make her forget everything that has happened, just a pretty girl with some pretty tits who knows how to fuck. Right? That’s all this is. It’s all it can be tonight. Her lip is busted from the fight tonight, knuckles bloodied and bruised, but you don’t seem to mind all that much. It’s all the same to you. Vi is all the same, that’s been clear from the start. 

Then, she decides to let her mind get shut off, let herself fall into you. You did know how to take care of her and tonight she would let you. 

“Let me know if it’s too much, okay?” 

“I promise.” 

Once the harness is on, you wedge yourself in between her thighs, tattooed and toned, brave and brawny but she transforms into someone else entirely once you’re sinking inside her warm walls. You think about what it would feel like to feel her. Is she clenching around your cock? Would you feel the throbbing heartbreak of her clit? What you can hear is the whimper, uncontrollable and breathtaking, you slip further into her as you make home in her beautiful cunt. 

She’s made it yours to take. You’d do anything and everything for her, the thought alone scares so you do what you do best, you grind your hips slowly. Not wanting to overwhelm her too quickly, it’s the first time she’s taking penetration and you want it to be good for her. 

“You’re so perfect. Doing so good for me, taking my cock like a fucking champ.” You whisper out, taking too much enjoyment in her getting lost in your soft thrusts. Vi’s chest starts to heave as her hips roll into yours. Vi never even imagined wanting this, or that she could really have it with someone else. It’s not like she’s experienced, she has nothing to compare it to, but it feels incredibly intimate. 

She likes how you’re being with her. Soft, gentle, delicate. Vi thought she’d never want to feel that way, but maybe it’s just under the right circumstance in the right light. 

“Shit, shit, shit” Vi chants as your hand grabs the headboard, giving her one particular powerful thrust. Perky tits spring to life, jolting against the sudden movement, her moan so fucking load, as you continue your movements. This time not as hard, but you pick up your pace, wanting to see if she would have any arguments against it but Vi doesn’t. Profanities and whimpers leave her mouth as you split her on your cock. Face half-smashed into the pillow, trying to muffle her moans and you offer this one mercy. 

She’s still shy. 

Now is a good time as any to fuck it out of her. 

“Do you want more Vi? Want me to go…faster?” Placing a hand on her abdomen, the abs defined and clenching as you halt your thrust for a moment. “Do you wanna feel me in your stomach, baby?” 

“Can you even do that? I’m not so sure you’re even capable. Looks like the rookie knows more moves than the veteran.” Vi bites back. But it doesn’t last for long. Vi thinks she must have said the wrong thing, pushed you too far, you slipped off her but only to move her body to the edge of the bed, placing her on all fours right in front of a very convenient mirror. 

“Fine. Thought I’d be sweet but that isn’t what you really want. If you want to get treated like a whore, I’ll fuck you like one.” You take a beat to appreciate her wonderfully sculpted back, the artwork is truly exquisite. It feels so much like her but the foolish girl is smirking at you through the mirror. 

You know you’ve been caught ogling at her body, checking out every inch of her exposed body, you slap her ass in retaliation but she just grinds her ass back onto you. 

“I’m waiting.” Teasingly, Vi arches her spine more. “Where’s the whore fucking you’re muling about?” 

In one move, you’re inside her, fucking her beautiful face into the mattress. Never in her life has she felt so full, so good, so sweet. You grab her by the meat of her hips, bringing you back on her repeatedly. Vi wonders what she would give to have this, have you, and the thought scares her just as badly. She instead focused on you. 

Tits bouncing as you thrust into her at a punishing pace. Divinely and so perfectly you, making her see stars, she feels trapped. Not in a punishing way, but in a way that has her never wanting to leave the entrapments of your coaxing cock. At this moment, this is where she’s meant to be, just a toy for you to use. 

But it’s more than what meets the eye. If Vi was just a toy, you’d be done after the first night. Tonight, you weren’t using her for your own pleasure. You seemed perfectly content to give. The shine in her eyes gave you something only she could, edging you even further, a constant wave hitting Vi like a tidal wave making home on the shore. 

“God, you’re just too perfect. Fuck, just like that, take what’s yours.” Bouncing back on the strap, the words fall from her lips before she can’t stop them. Overflowing like a water fountain, it’s before she really even realizes what she’s saying, it just feels right. 

“Mommy, please.” 

Vi has had those words on the tip of her tongue but not that you’re fucking her into a different dimension, she lets the aching plea slip from sinful lips. It’s only once but it’s enough to set you off. You pull Vi up, her gorgeous back pressed against your chest, sitting on your thighs as you fuck up into her. Brutally, she takes everything you have to give. 

Sweat glistening across her body, accentuating her chest as she tries to compose herself  but you don’t give her the option. No. It would be too easy, wouldn’t it?

“I want you to watch, Violet. Watch yourself when you cum, be a good girl and show me how pretty you look, hm? Wouldn’t wanna disappoint, Mommy, now would you?” 

Vi sucks on your middle digit, tongues swirling as she feels the tight band in her stomach, threatening to snap. She’s close. When the sensationally soft pad of your thumb applies pressure on her clit, Vi’s done for. 

“Shit, oh my fucking god, baby baby babbyyyyy.” Incoherent murmurs and moans come in abundance as Vi bounces herself your cock, falling right apart as you toy with her clit, fucking her through the impending high. Your other arm tweaks around and up, fingers squeezing her tits, over stimulating her as she slumps against you. 

It’s the easiest task ever done. Submit to you, your skilled fingers, the power of your sinfully sensational thrusts, she comes all over you. The powerful demeanor weakens before your very eyes. When you gently move her back on the bed, slipping out of her, Vi’s eyes begin to water from the loss. 

The first time getting strapped down is always a lot to handle, you’d still taken it easier on her, too afraid you would push her too far but by the blissed out eyes, she’d enjoyed herself. She had enjoyed herself and you couldn’t really ask for much more. 

When the both of you are cleaned up, Vi cuddles into your frame and you let her. Even if your first instinct is to push her away, saying something you know that’ll hurt her, none of it finds any merit on your tongue. For the first time, you find it difficult to turn away a pretty girl, her lips kissing your collarbones, up your neck until she finds home on your own lips, sloppily invading your mouth with your tongue. 

Hitting you where it hurts, she moans your name in her mouth, unable to contain the neediness she feels around you. It’s worse than Cait. This is pure addiction entangled with something carnal. Vi knows if she doesn’t get to fuck you again, you fucking her cunt again, she might as well give up on life now. 

“I could go again.” 

You chuckle. Of course she could. 

“Don’t know rookie, that might be all you can handle for the night.” 

It’s a challenge and you know she’ll bite the bait. 

With ease she gets on top of you, and just as if she’s done it a hundred times, Vi sinks on your cock, “I think I can handle another ride, don’t you?” 

[hoshigray]

𝐒𝐮𝐝𝐝𝐞𝐧𝐥𝐲, 𝐈 𝐇𝐚𝐝 𝐚 𝐕𝐚𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐞 | satoru gojō

𝐒𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬: Going on a date with the guy who broke your heart is something you’d never thought would happen – especially on Valentine’s Day! But it’s just for him to be in your good graces again, nothing more…Yeah, go ahead and tell yourself that.

𝐂𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬: Gojo x fem/afab! reader - explicit content; minors DNI - modern + college AU - frenemies to lovers + mutual pining + confessions - Gojo and reader are at least age 20 - going on a date - sex in a public space; hotel room - breast fondling + sucking + nipple play - fingering (f! receiving) - oral (f! receiving) - clitoral play (sucking and swiping) - missionary position - unprotected sex (psa: wrap it up or get tf up + Gojo doesn't shoot inside) - pet names (baby, cutie pretty, princess, sweetie) - angst + fluff - cameos: Shoko, Mei Mei, Utahime, Geto, Nanami - mentions of tears and spit - humor bc I'm [not] funny.

𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐂𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 10.3k (going out with a bang, jfc)

𝐀𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐍𝐨𝐭𝐞: final part to this short yet fun story !! tysm for the love you've given this series, it was a random idea that came to me last year and I'm so glad I was able to put more thought into it. all y'all's comments and rbs have been entertaining to read thru, love the support and engagement this story sparked with you, and I thank you sm for sticking around ccc: also!!! ty for 5.9k loveliessss mwah mwah~

and lol, yes, the title is based on the laufey song, hehe~

prev story » ❤︎

“Sorry, Satoru, Y/n doesn’t wanna see you right now — like, at all.”

“Oh, Gojo. Sorry, Y/n’s in no mood to talk to you right now. Said you better not make so much as a step past this door. Because if you do, I’ll have to charge your savings.”

“Hmph, you got some nerve, Gojo! Didn’t you hear from Mei Mei earlier? Y/n doesn't wanna talk to you…What the hell did you do this time?”

You could hear your roommates telling off the person showing up at the front door from your door. Before, they’d come to you and ask if you wish to give this person an audience for your presence. Yet you say the same thing: you’re not ready to converse with them. You’ll probably never want to talk with them again. 

It’s been like this for the past week. Ever since the little fiasco between you and Gojo — not to mention you slapping him across the face for his upsetting words — things between the two of you have been quiet as promised. The very last words you ever told him were to never speak to you again after publicly humiliating yourself by crying in front of him.

Outside of being the talk in everyone’s mouth (I mean, who wouldn’t gossip about one person slapping another after walking into them saying some mean shit about the other), you’ve been worried about by your friends ever since the incident. Your direct senior roommate, Utahime, was the first one to see you crying to yourself after coming home from classes and immediately called up Gojo to rip him a new one for making her junior roomie cry. Shoko was the passive one who listened to both sides yet still put your emotional state above anything else, telling Gojo white lies that you weren’t in your dorm room whenever he’d try to visit. And Mei Mei walked with you to your classes throughout the week in case the tall figure tried looking for you.

But it didn’t stop there. After that day, your Contemporary Issues course with Professor Naga was sheer awkwardness. The silent tension between you and Gojo was so thick that it effortlessly suffocated your peers and made it hard to concentrate — especially for the professor and your friends, Ijichi and Haibara. Outside of the class, you did your part in avoiding Gojo, and the same applies to the lectures you shared with him. No words, no greeting – not even a mere glance – were shared in his direction. It was as if your life mission was to avoid him at all costs.

However, this is Satoru Gojo we’re talking about. Although he respected your no-talking rule in the premise of lectures, he’d still try to get your attention once class was over. And even then, you’d bolt to the door to not give him the chance. He’d follow right behind you and have to maintain a respectable distance when Mei Mei was the light lavender eyes behind your back.

But what the hell did he expect? What he said hurt you to your core, so there was no way you’d want to speak with him again. He deserved that slap! The sting you inflicted on his face for a few minutes was nothing compared to the torment of your heart that’s been aching for a long while now. You can’t even look at Gojo after what had transpired. The pain he caused has been with you for a while, yet it still felt new and fresh to reflect on. 

And yet…your mind still can’t help but agonize you even more. Do you think it was easy to not engage with Gojo this entire time? Oh, it was the worst, both for your soul and mind. The memories of his smile and dimples would come up every often, pooling you deeper into your dread. The routine of him speaking to you with whispers when it was just the two of you — like he didn’t want others to find you in the comfort of each other’s presence — like it was sacred. And the way he said your name. It toyed with your heart whenever you’d reminisce it. 

“Y/n!”

Especially after how much has changed in your relationship with him, you really thought things between you and him were going for the better. Or, to be honest, becoming something a lot closer and personal. Something you grew to want with him as the days’ encounters and nightly calls went by. 

“Y/n...”

But you were wrong, lecturing yourself for being so dumb and naive for wanting such a thing. Amid the fun, you had forgotten what you two were and believed that you could change from that. Change with him. And yet here you are, broken-hearted, barely concentrating on your Word document on your laptop. 

“Hey, Y/n,” your brow twitched with the snap of reality, Utahime opening the door after knocking. “It’s the front door again; it’s—“

“GRRRAAAHHHHHHHHH!!” 

You were never one to shout within your apartment — Utahime’s eyes widened at the sudden shout of vexation. You stood up from your desk and walked past her, marching through the hallway. Mei Mei peeks from her shared room, and Shoko pours coffee in the kitchen. All three of your roommates observe you stomping to the door.

You swung the apartment door open with vigor, “I SWEAR TO CHRIST, GOJO, WHAT PART OF ‘DON’T EVER TALK TO ME’ DO YOU NOT UNDERST—…Geto?”

“Oh, hey there, Y/n. I was worried about you.” You were surprised to open the door and not find the unusual silver hair you expected. Instead, it was Suguru Geto, Gojo’s dark-haired direct roommate, rubbing his cold hands together that weren’t covered with his black windbreaker. Next to him was Kento Nanami, standing silently in his sand-colored trench coat.

“Hey, guys,” knowing they aren’t who you thought it would be, your shoulders relaxed with your tone. “What’s up?”

“Well,” Geto sighs heavily before telling anything. “We wouldn’t be here for a reason. And, after hearing what happened between you and you-know-who, I think you can guess why we're here, too.”

And then it hits — the realization of how these two’s abrupt appearance came to be. “…He asked you two to come and talk to me for him.” 

The two roommates look at each other for a second, and then Geto points behind him with his thumb to the stairwell door. You follow his finger, seeing the person you’re talking about watching you from the door window. You try not to contort your face into an ugly, exasperated expression in front of the other boys. So, you settle for a sigh to alleviate the stress growing inside you.

“Ugh. What is it.” You ask Geto with an attitude that wasn’t easily sheathed.

“Honestly, all I know is that he really – like, really – wants to talk to you.”

“Well, I don’t want to talk to him. So there,” you shake your head and backtrack past the threshold of your door. “Sorry you two came here for no reason, but I can’t—“

“—Wait!” Geto cuts you off and brings a hand on the door to stop you from closing it. You caught the intervention, widening the door again. Geto explains himself. “Look, I don’t know what happened between you—well, no, sorry. I get that Satoru said some things that hurt you last week. Believe me: I already lectured him hell and back for it when Shoko told me you came home crying, and you have every right to be mad at him right now…But—“

“Did he tell you what he said to me?”

“H—No, he didn’t,” your brow quirked at that response. He didn’t? “All he told me when I confronted him was that he messed up real bad and crossed a line.” 

“A line?” You enunciated after him. “That’s cute...Geto, he won’t tell you what he said because I caught him saying those things. That scumbag,” you averted your gaze to the door window, seeing Gojo gulp at your fierce eyes. “—knows what he said. And he knows that I told him I want nothing to do with him for that.”

Nanami was quiet throughout the entire thing, so it took you aback when he spoke. “And I’m on your side in that regard. You’re right, he is a scumbag; tactless, crude, borderline annoying—“

“Just borderline?” Geto points the word out to lighten the mood.

“And the type of person to get on someone’s nerves purposely. And with that, I don’t blame you for cutting him off. If anything, it’s what he deserves, if not more.”

You knew there was more to say beyond that. “And yet…"

“And yet,” Nanami picks it up. “…I’d be lying if I said that guy doesn’t know when he’s at fault. He can be prideful and childishly playful — albeit disrespectful to anyone he thinks doesn’t deserve it. However, he’s not emotionless, and if he is disrespectful to his friends, he knows when he’s in the wrong.“

“And take it from me, Y/n.” Geto comes in with the assist now that things are a bit calm. “Fucking asshat will take days to apologize to me for something stupid, and that’s if he feels like giving me one. But even if he doesn’t, I know he cares about me like any best friend…Like he cares about you.”

You had to fight the urge to roll your eyes, so you close them and shake your head. “He doesn’t care—“

“Yes, he does.” Nanami doesn’t let you finish that sentence. “Like I said: Gojo is many things, but he’s not an emotionless moron. Because I can tell that whatever he said distraught you to your core and made him feel bad about it — pathetically so.”

“…How do you know?” You don’t know why you asked that question; why the fuck should you care? The fucker in question is the one that broke your heart behind your back, so why bother?

“Because when he came home that day, Geto pulled him by the shirt, threw him against the wall, and yelled at him like no tomorrow. And he just stood there, letting Geto give him his rightful lashing. He even told him he didn’t deserve you as a friend, which I agreed with. But then Gojo said something after that…”

Again, this isn’t something you should be caring about. So why are you turning to Geto to ask, “…What did he say?”

“He said I was right, that he definitely didn’t deserve you.” Before the raven-haired boy answered, he exhaled through his nostrils. “And that what he said about you was, by far, the dumbest thing he’s ever done, which is saying a lot.”

“A whole lot.” The blond-haired boy jumped in. “Y/n, don’t take this as me vouching for him. But, if you could have seen the look on his face when he said that,” he nods when you shake your head ‘no’ again. “You would feel the guilt and shame pouring from him. It was pathetic to look at — pathetic for him to express. But it was real.”

And you know it’s the truth — not because it came from Nanami, but because you could picture the scene as if you were there. You could just imagine Gojo’s face, a dangerous move as your heart skipped with a twinge. You imagine the emotions he was expressing, your skin crawling thinking about his blue eyes – usually filled with life and light – appearing so broken and devoid of animation. 

“He does care about you — there’s no mistake about it. You two have been friends since freshmen year; he’d be an idiot to let those years go down the drain because of him. And that’s why we went along with coming here in his stead and asking you to talk to him.” You open your mouth, but Geto isn’t finished. “Please, Y/n. You’re the mature one, but you don’t have to act strong on this one. I can only assume, of course, but I’m sure you want this handled, too.”

He wasn’t wrong, yet at the same time, you couldn’t shake the heavy feeling that was weighing you down. 

“I…I don’t want to speak with him.” The two guys didn’t change their facial expressions. “Not now, at least...I don’t want to see his face right now.”

“Then how about a phone call later tonight?” Nanami proposed. “You two can talk it out with each other after you guys think about what to say to each other. You can even have the call while we’re sleeping so you can have privacy.”

“Ehhh, but I’m nosy.” Geto teases his sophomore roommate, making the younger blonde huff. 

“Not tonight, you are. Plus, you got a project to present tomorrow, so you need sleep.”

“Fair, fair…But seriously, Y/n, you should talk with him. If not for him, then for us, for Shoko, Utahime, Mei Mei, all of us. We don’t want you upset about what this idiot did this time. So, one talk should be okay, right?”

It should be okay. Keyword: should. However, the anxiety that you harbor within your limbs tells you otherwise. The pool in your stomach churning into a state you find uncomfortable to fight against. 

But concurrently, you couldn’t lie to yourself; a piece was missing in all of this. The resolution was needed — there had to be a way to see the entire picture in this matter. Otherwise, you’d be walking around campus mad at the person behind a door examining your reactions for the entire semester — no, the whole next year! You knew you didn’t have the mental capacity to deal with that. You can barely go through it right now. So, might as well get this off the table before it worsens…At least, that’s what you say to rationalize.

“…Okay,” you straightened your posture. “The girls have morning classes tomorrow. Tell him to call me at midnight.” 

Your answer sealed the deal, the two males dismissing themselves before you closed the apartment door. Your roommates peered around the corner once they heard the door lock, coming to ask if you were all right. You molded a faux smile and said you were fine, and yet you couldn’t tell if that was a lie to them or yourself. 

From there, the time felt so long to witness and experience throughout the day, watching one hour pass after the other. The sun had never settled under the horizon so slowly before, taking its time to draw the curtains of darkness over the Earth. And yet the time went fast simultaneously — the minutes spooked you every time you looked at the clock. 

Was this the universe’s way of toying with you for agreeing to talk to Satoru Gojo? It had to be. Your stomach doing somersaults didn’t help either; you could barely get through eating dinner because the dreaded talk bound to happen in a few hours was all your mind could think about. 

And then, when everyone was fast asleep ten minutes before midnight, your nerves couldn’t settle down. Five minutes before, you decided to take yourself and the phone to the bathroom (because the fan would be loud enough to tune out your conversation), needing the tiny space to yourself to pace back and forth and not to disturb Utahime snoring away. One minute before, you were sitting on top of the toilet, watching the seconds go by on your phone, praying that he wouldn’t call on the dot. He wouldn’t buzz you at the immediate stroke of twelve, right? He had to be doing something — anything else — hoping he’d spare you another minute if he could.

BZZZR!! BZZZR!!

However, that wasn’t the case. He called you right on the dot, and your heart jumped at the vibration from your phone. His display name was titled ‘do not answer this jerk,’ a change you made the day after the incident. Yet here you are, in the bathroom, and your thumb shaking over the green button. 

It wasn’t until the sixth vibration that you pressed the button with a sharp inhale, bringing the phone to your ear with haste. The silence was in the air for a couple of seconds, worsening your anxiousness. Until—

“…Hey.” He was the first to say something, thank God.

“Hi…..Where are you?”

“Outside my apartment, sitting on the stairwell...You?”

“In the bathroom.”

“You sitting on the toilet?”

You know what he was doing, making the conversation easier before getting to the hard stuff. Nonetheless, you admit it was working while your nervous state gradually deteriorated. “…And what if I am?”

“Then I’d say….Heh, actually, no. I can’t make that joke right now. Not when we’re like this.”

“Mmm, like this…” You hummed, the awkward tension filling the silence once again. “….Look, Gojo—“

“Before you say anything,” he cut you off, but you allowed it. “I have a lot I wanna say to you, and I want to get them out the way before I forget and never get the chance to say them to you…Can I say them?”

Your brows scrunched together, your free hand drawing reassuring circles on your thigh, and your teeth gnawing on your bottom lip. “…Go ahead.”

“Okay…So, first off,” you held your breath to brace yourself. “What I said about you on that day — I’m not gonna sit here and say I didn’t mean those things when I said them because I did. But NOT in the way you’re thinking.”

“Then what way did you mean them, Gojo?”

“I meant them in the implication that I was trying to protect what you and I had.” Had? “Our relationship was being questioned, some girl was asking about us and…I know you weren’t ready to have our business out in the world yet, so I thought….I just said what was believable with how everyone sees us since we’re always butting heads and shit. So, I said and meant those things to protect us in the heat of the moment. And then…I guess I got carried away.” 

“You guess you got carried away?” You repeated, your anxiousness now substituting for subtle anger. “…Just a little person angry at the world around them? So exhausting to deal with someone so boring and uncute as me?”

“Holy fuck, you remember it all—“

“Of course I did!” How could you not!? “And then — hmph, now this one I’ll never forget — ‘I’ve seen prettier, been with better, I feel sorry for the poor bastard who does end up with them’…” Your emotions were a mix of offense and pain, irritation and misery. Despite that, your voice maintained a calm tone, even if you wanted to do nothing but yell at the screen. Yet that wouldn’t solve this. “Gojo, the fact that I know all of that, verbatim, and have refused to talk, think, touch, or even look at you since them…To say you got carried away is just…like, holy fuck. Who the hell were you?” 

He didn’t say anything for a minute, but you couldn’t blame him. Being hit with his own words like that, any moral human being would stop and let that shit simmer into their skin. 

“…I’m sorry,” you wanted to call bullshit so bad, but not after he followed up with this. “Really. I’m so…so fucking sorry, Y/n. I know that shit wasn’t cool, and, to be honest, I expected more than one slap for that. I only meant it to save you the burden of gossip; believe me when I say that.”

“I—ahem…” Nope, you were not going to do this. Not tonight. “I want to believe you, Gojo. But I just…I can’t; it hurts my head thinking about it.”

“I know…I did that to you, and I’m so fucking sorry. My foot was too far up my mouth when I said all that, just one useless thing after another….And you know what’s crazy? I think my conscience knew me spouting shit wasn’t the right call. I mean, I literally walked with you to the class that day; what kind of friend does that and say shit like that afterward? And when I saw you….the way you looked so…distant? Just like that, everything that we had was just gone. I couldn’t see it — I saw absolutely nothing when I saw you. That scared me, seeing the happiness and the smile you had minutes ago just vanish with the flip of a switch. And I fucking did that. I knew at that moment that I lost you…..Y/n…? Are you crying?” 

You immediately moved the phone away from your ear, covering your mouth with the arm of your sweatshirt. The cries you tried to suppress poured out at that moment, and the pain that scratched your insides left your system with every sob and intake of breath. The tears damped the material, soaking them in as they rolled down your cheeks.

As ways to start the eve of your Monday, crying with the person who broke your heart on the phone was not one you expected to be one of them. It all hurt: the rapid emotions, the memories of that day replaying in your head, the genuine sincerity expressed in his voice. It was all too fucking much, your face heating up to a concerning level that you’d think you’d blow up.

You give yourself a few seconds before bringing the phone to your ear, “….What else?” 

“Huh?”

“You said—sniff—that you had other things you wanted to say to me.” A change of subject was necessary, not wanting him to notice the broken crack of your voice. “So, what else?”

The request took him aback, but he knew better than to question or fight you. “…Second of all, I wanna say – since I’m not sure I’ll ever get the chance to tell them to you in person – I want you to know that you’re more than what I said. There’s nothing 'kinda' pretty about you — you’re pretty all over. I’m not saying that to butter you up; it’s something I’ve said to myself all this time…Who am I kidding, saying I’ve been with prettier and better when I hurt the most beautiful and kindest one my eyes ever laid on….? Boring and uncute? Heh, you’re anything but. Sure, I say you're uncute when you nag at me to no end, but I don’t think there’s been a single day that I’ve thought you were a sore for my eyes. You’re too gorgeous for that.”

“Gojo—“

“I don’t deserve you as a friend, Y/n.” Your breath hitched. “Honest. I shouldn’t even be talking to you right now. And yet, you gracing me with time to spare shows that I really don’t have the right to have you close to me…I’m sorry.”

It didn’t take a rocket scientist to know he was honest about his apology. You felt it in your bones; your gut told you what Gojo told you was true. Your anger was nowhere to be found, but your guard was still up.

You slowly exhale through your mouth before taking your turn in the conversation. “So…Is that all?” 

“….”

“…Gojo?”

“….”

“Gojo? Are you still—“

“I like you.”

Okay, you lied; your guard wasn't up for that.

There’s no way he just said that. There’s no way those three exact words left his mouth and entered your eardrums. They kept ringing throughout your head, bouncing off the walls of your cranium with each repeated syllable. Your eyes widened by the second, your body coming to a complete standstill. And yet, the only thing that was moving and showed signs of life was your heartbeat increasing with the silence.

He likes you. The Gojo Satoru — your frenemy, annoying peer, and friend who enjoys your yelling and nagging — likes you.

“You…You what?” You heard him perfectly, but you wanted to confirm this wasn’t some joke.

“I like you.” He didn’t hesitate to replicate. “I do, I really do. I’ve liked you for….quite a long while, way before we started having sex together.”

“How long ago is that?”

“I think since the spring semester of freshman year when we had started to get a little closer before you became friends with Geto...Yeah, for a while now.”

“…Why?”

“Hmm?”

“Why do you like me? 

You heard him sigh out a large breath before answering. “…To be honest, I just like how you…are you. Like, you’re not scared to be yourself around me. Many people I’ve known try to kiss my ass for me to call them a friend, and even then, those guys are assholes…But you, I don’t see that — I never saw that. You’d never kiss my ass; you’d always be down to tell me when I’m wrong or right. Being around you was different from other people; I felt comfortable around you like you were one of my friends.” 

You didn’t intervene, listening to every word he was to say. 

“Not to mention…Heh, you’re so cute. Like, actually. And pretty, and independent, and bright. I can’t count how many times I’ve been lost in my thoughts about you. Especially recently, you’re all that I can think about. I like how it feels to hold your hand, and your fingers look small against mine. I could never get enough of you talking to you; it’s one of the things I look forward to. And, holy fuck, the way you smile. I swear, you could kill me with that face of yours. And your eyes — I’m always told mine are so beautiful to look at, yet I find that impossible whenever I get stuck when you look at me….Y/n? Are you—You’re not crying, are you?”

You said in sniffles. “You’re such a fucking asshole, Gojo…”

“Huh!? Why??”

“You break my heart one day and then say all these things the next…Are you trying to tell me that stunt you pulled is that dumb thing where people say stupid shit about someone else because they like them?”

“Hey, I told you why I said them! Besides, those two bimbos were getting in our personal life, and we didn’t have anything to call our relationship, so…!”

“Sniff—And you! Why didn’t you tell me you liked me for so long instead of annoying me to no end?”

“I could’ve done that, but…I don’t know. I guess our relationship was easier the way we had it. Things were less complicated for you. Plus, you’re cute when you’re angry at me.”You had to scoff at that. Of course, he’d say something like that. He can be such a prick sometimes. “I was okay with how things were, being all naggy and arguing with you while secretly close to you. I didn’t want to change something we were used to into something more.”

“Mmm.” You could only hum to that sentence, letting his words sink in before saying anything. “…Would it have been a bad thing if it was something more?”

He didn’t answer immediately, indicating that he took the question in serious thought. “No…I wouldn’t have minded. But that decision was all yours to make.”  

“Gojo,” The words you were about to say were about to be so nerve-wracking that you had to take in a deep breath. Chewing on your lips while exhaling through an open mouth. “….Would it be a bad thing if I said….that I liked you, too? And that…I still like you—”

KA-BANG-BANG!!

You jumped at the sudden sound coming from the other side of the line, as it was not the response you were expecting, and you could hear him saying curses further from the phone. After a few brief seconds, Gojo’s voice comes back.

“Fuck, sorry, sorry! I just dropped my phone on the stairs!” He sounded so worried, as if he lost you. “You.…You like me?”

“Yeah, I do…” Gosh, you didn’t think this would happen, the heat on your cheeks expanding to your ears and neck. “I really do. And I’m also willing to forgive you. BUT, you have to prove your worth by redeeming—“

“I WILL!” Again, it wasn’t the reaction you were expecting! He replied with such momentous excitement that you could imagine the sparkle in his blue eyes. “I will, I promise! In fact, I have an idea; how about I take you out on a date?” 

Huh!? “A date??”

“Yeah, on Valentine’s Day, this Wednesday! I know this great place not too far from here, or maybe you wanna go to a small café to wind down from classes? You can pick—”

“Wait, wait! We have classes that day; we have our night class with Professor Yaga—“

“We could skip—“

“Hell. No.” You shut him down with quickness. “We’re going over some serious discussions that day for our papers on Friday; we’re just gonna have to do the date after class.” 

“Pfft, God, you can be such a geek sometimes.”

For the first time that night, you rolled your eyes. “Says the Digimon-fanatic talking to me right now.”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever.” He snickers at the phone, and your heart swoons at it. It felt like you hadn’t heard that laugh in ages. “So…Is that a yes?”

It had you thinking for a temporary moment; talking with Gojo again just felt so…familiar. It was something you’d been missing for the past week, accepting that you’d never experience it again. And here he is, inviting you on a date? This was, by all means, a weird night. An apology, a confession, and now being asked out? 

Regardless, you can’t shake the feeling of wanting to be by his side again. And with a chance like this, why brush it off? “Yes, I accept your date.” 

“Then it’s a Valentine’s date. Cool.”

“Cool.” You awkwardly repeated after him, becoming squeamish with the brief silence. “Okay, well, now that we talked. I need to get some sleep.”

“Mmm, okay. Go get your sleep, then. Be sure to think of me in your dreams~”

Your head is shaken again, this time with a smile. “Whatever. I’ll try…Think of me too, Satoru.”

“I always do, Y/n.” Jesus, the way he gently and affectionately said your name. Is this what it’s like to admit you like someone? “Good night.”

“Good night…Oh, wait! You said you had a joke earlier.”

“Hmm…Oh, yeah?”

“Well, now that we’re kinda on good terms…What was the joke?”

“Oh! I was gonna say it’s kinda a shame that you’re sitting on a toilet and not on my face.”

“Goodbye, Gojo.”

“PFFFT, No, wait, I’m so—“

CLICK!

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

As far as dates go about, this is one that Satoru Gojo was the most nervous about. 

As promised, after your class with Professor Naga ended, Gojo waited for you with his car on Main Street by your dormitory. He was already dressed for the date, adorned with a black turtleneck and jeans that matched his Chesterfield coat. But you had a few things you wanted to touch up on before going out for the night, so he texted back that he’d wait for you outside.

What he didn’t expect was being instantly shot down by you once you came down and walked to his car. Because holy fucking shit, you looked so fucking beautiful. If this was a “touch-up,” all the people he went on dates on must’ve not been trying.

You were wearing a black halter long-sleeve top; your collarbone and shoulders were out for his eyes to trace and breathe to hitch. Your arms were shielded by a hoodie that looked a bit big for you but did its job of protecting you from the cold winds. And black thigh socks that contrasted with the plaid skirt and the puffy boots. And…did you put on lipgloss on? Holy shit.

“So,” you’d say meekly to catch his attention since he’s examining your every feature. “I’m ready…” They were simple words, yet they had the power to have him stop leaning on the car and grab the door for you. You were chewing on your lip, avoiding his gaze that watched every step you took. “You’re staring, Satoru…”

“Hmm? Oh! Sorry...” He’d close your door and mutter, scratching his neck where the heat from his ears crawled around. 

And from there, the date began. The plan? He wanted to take you to some fancy restaurant, but you politely declined and told him you’d settle for dinner and a movie. And you two did just that, going to this burger joint that was popping off when you entered. You two sat at a booth by a window, enjoying your food and conversing about each other’s day.

“You did not have to do that.” You said in giggles, bringing a fry to your mouth. 

“I did, too!” Gojo replied after taking a big bite from his burger. “The fucker almost tried to dirty my basketball shoes; do you know how much those shits cost? Expensive as hell.” 

“Yeah, but to push your buddy to an ice bath because he almost dirtied your shoes?” You shook your head with a smile. “And all shoes are expensive these days, Satoru.”

“Yeah, well, mine were custom-made. So,” he takes another bite. “Serves him right.”

Gojo didn’t notice it himself, but you saw a bit of ketchup on the corner of his mouth. Tending to your friend’s obliviousness, you grab a napkin and stretch to him. At first, he thought you were giving it to him to wipe it off himself; nope. You did it for him, tenderly dabbing the condiment off his lip. 

And you didn’t even notice what you were doing until your eyes met his, instantly pulling your hand back. “Sorry! You just…had something on there…”

“Mmm, thank you…” he said it low, but you heard him. What you couldn’t hear, thank God, was the beat of his heart going at an unsteady rate. It took a minute for you two to shuffle uncomfortably for the conversation to flow back.

After the dinner was the movie, a random action movie that you two felt interested to see. And it wasn’t that bad of a film; the plot was pretty subpar, the acting mediocre, but overall, a good movie. 

However, Gojo couldn’t focus on the movie for lengthy periods because his eyes would usually drift to the right of him where you sat, surveying how engrossed you were watching the film that you didn’t notice him. God, even in the dark, you looked so gorgeous and cute. 

Sometimes, he’d glance at your armchair and look at your hand, the inner dialogue between himself on whether he should go for it and place his hand on top of yours. But he doesn’t do it. He wants to, but he can’t, not like this. It was killing him so much; the feeling of wanting to touch you and have you against him again was haunting him — they’ve been haunting him for the past few days now.

“Fuck…” he’d mutter under his breath, but you wouldn’t hear because of the sound of explosions coming from the theater speakers. He wanted you but didn’t want to mess this date up. He couldn’t afford to screw this chance with you, he just couldn’t. 

Once the movie was over, he’d walk with you to the parking lot where the car was parked. The chill winds of February crawl up on your bodies, and you bundle up into your warm hoodie. “Did you enjoy the movie?”

He hummed with a tilted head. “Meh, I’ve seen better. It wasn’t too bad. What about you; you liked it?” 

You looked up to ponder and shrugged, swaying side-to-side as Gojo leaned on his car. “Yeah, it was okay. There’s better stuff out there.”

“You just saying that to agree with me?” 

“No, maybe you’re reading my mind and copying my answers.” You give a tiny smug look, only for him to smile along.

He then asks, “So…did I do good with this?” He can’t lie; how you lifted your brow instead of giving an immediate answer made him a little nervous. And with the tilt of your head and turning your body fully towards him, you knew you had him in the palm of your hand. You hand him your verdict:

“I think so. You treated me to good food, didn’t try to poison me, and got a free movie ticket out of it.” You jokingly punch his chest. “Yeah, I liked this date, Gojo. Consider yourself redeemed.”

He snickers lightly, “Good, I don’t think I can take another day of you being mad at me.” That made you giggle; good. Things go quiet for a while, and he averts his stare downward. His eyes land on your hand, the thoughts from the movie theater teetering back to his head. Goddamn it, he really wants to touch you—

“I can see you staring through those glasses, Gojo.” And just like that, you propelled your hand to link with his, making the tall boy flinch. “Your subtlety is wearing thin.”

Your teasing tone evokes a chuckle disguised in a sigh from Gojo, his fingers slithering to intertwine with yours. “What makes you think so?”

You peer up to him. Fuck, your eyes were so beautiful. “You were practically staring daggers at me while watching the movie. Am I on your mind that much?”

“Yes.” You expected a different answer – something more playful – and it’s why you couldn’t breathe after he brought his face closer to yours. “Infintely.”

Suddenly, the cold air didn’t bother you anymore. The heat on your face blossoms across your cheeks and ears while maintaining eye contact. “Am I on your mind right now?” He nods, your noses barely brushing each other. You whisper to him, “What are you thinking about?”

“I wanna kiss you.” He closes his eyes; you can see from his shades. “I want to hold you like I did before.” The hand clutching yours gets firmer. “I want you…Just you.”

The way he has with words effortlessly pulls you in, his voice comforting to the point you allow him to put his other hand around your waist. You faintly reply before connecting your lips with his. “I want you too…Satoru.”

When he pecks your lips, a feeling you two feared was wiped off the Earth returns to warm your bodies. Your hands instantly go around his neck like usual, sighing through your nostrils as you permit to sink into his hold and kiss.

Gojo uses this to bring his hand behind your neck to keep you on him, the kiss becoming more passionate by the second. He licks on your bottom lip, a sign of wanting entry. So, you open and lick him back before he takes the initiative to put his tongue inside your mouth. And you moan into his lips — fuck, how he missed the sounds you’d make for him. It felt like forever since the last time he heard them. 

This moment brings the spark between you two back, the sounds of the world around you drawing out from your space. All that mattered was you being in his embrace and him having you with him like this again. It all felt right — being with each other — with nothing bothering this peace meant for you two.

So much so that Gojo took it upon himself to convince you to stay with him tonight at a nice hotel close by, where you two couldn’t get off each other the moment you closed the door to your room. Hot kisses are exchanged as you two remove each other’s clothing, Gojo undoing your bra and lifting you to place on top of the bed. 

His lips never leave yours, even when his hands play with your chest. Your legs wrap around his waist to pull him closer as he rocks into you. Your core down south experiences throbs that entail you want him, your horniness dialing up with every grind of his groin.

He breaks the kiss to playfully bite your lip so he can hear you yelp for him, placing his lips from your chin down to your neck. You say in shaky breaths, “Hahhh, Satoru, please touch me more…”

He lifts his lips from your clavicle, “Of course, princess; you know I always got you.” He then licks from your collarbone down to one of your nipples in a tantalizingly slow fashion, your body squirming from anticipating what he’s about to do. His tongue finds its way to swirl around the bud, having your hum to the wet touch. And when he decides to suck it into his mouth when it’s hardened, you gasp. 

But it doesn’t stop there, one hand tweezing the other nipple as he licks around the one in his mouth. The free one snakes down your abdomen to your skirt, lifting the material for his digits to meet the damp spot of your panties. 

You jerk at the feeling of him moving the material to the side, rubbing his bare fingers on your precious, wet cunt and clit. “Ahhnn! Satoru, Satoru—Mmmm…” He rubs around on your folds in circles before adding his forefinger smoothly inside, his slender digit efficiently rubbing your vaginal walls have you holding back whimpers. 

When he thinks you’re ready enough, he adds his middle finger inside. Both his digits scrape and graze around your inner walls, provoking silent screams to leave your lips. Your fingers find his hair to tug, which only has him suck on your breast more. 

“Hooohhh, mmmmh…Right there, right thereee…please—Ohooo…!” You moan to him, your thighs jerking with every scratch of his fingers in your chasm.

“Mmm…you close, pretty?” Gojo releases your nipple for a quick second, returning it inside his warm mouth after he sees you nod hurriedly. “Hold tight, okay? Lemme get you ready, sweetie…”

You cry at the increase in speed, the nails of his fingers scraping the velvety tender spots inside you. Your body jerks to him as your hands find his shoulders to pinch on. Gojo lets go of your bud once again to move his lips down south, spreading your legs to take a look at your mess.

“Holy shit,” he says with a bitten lip before he crouches down to kiss your clit after slipping your panties off. “I fucking missed this pretty thing so fucking much.” He licks your soapy folds up to your clit, drowning the delicate button with feverish laps of the tongue. It has you screaming his name, and he loved that so fucking much.

Gojo stuffs his face to your slit, drinking your essence while teasing the clit with fast swipes. Your wails get louder and louder, and he doesn’t make it any easier when he keeps your legs spread for him to continue his work. Oh, fuck, oh, fuck, fuck, fuck! I’m gonna cum, I’m—“Ahhahnn!!”

That’s when you come onto his face, your cunt spasming with electric pulses and your legs shaking with every hit of your orgasm. And he keeps on sucking and licking your fluids; you’d think he’s sucking the life out of you. But you can’t blame him; the boy is starved for you.

He soon withdraws his face from between your legs when you’re done with wailing and crying, licking his lips and leaving off the bed to take out a condom, throwing his jeans and drawls to the floor. But then something is wrong, and you can see it when Gojo presses his lips into a thin line before climbing back to the bed and maneuvers on top of you. He aligns the glans of his cock to the entrance of your vagina, and it’s there that you notice he doesn’t have the rubber on.

“I…I forgot to bring a condom, sweetie.” He says to you in a tune that harbors slight worry, and you can tell from his azure eyes that he’s a little nervous about this step. You held back a giggle; for once, he looked adorable when worried about something.

“…How good is your pull-out game?” You ask, half-jokingly.

His white brows trench together. “Are you sure?” 

You nod and kiss him on the cheek. “I trust you, Satoru, so just be careful, okay?” 

He blinks at you, taken aback by your lack of resistance. Yet, at the same time, he knew you needed this just as much as he did. So, with that in mind, he pushes the glans into you, observing your breathing to gauge how much to propel inside. The tip of his length then bullies itself inside you, a sharp gasp coming from your sweet lips while Gojo moans at the raw feeling of you around him.

“—Hnnn! H–Hooooly fuck,” with every inch he pushes inside of you, the sensation of your pussy chills him up his spine. The rubber had been shielding this away from him, every dent and smooth tissue of you wrapping around him. Oh, fuck, this was a dangerous game to play. “Oh, shiiit, you feel so fucking good..”

You could agree with that notion, experiencing his naked girth inside you for the very first time. You could feel his veins graze against your walls, the curve scraping your spots tenderly. “Ohhhh, fuck, you too, ‘toru…Oh my God…”

Even starting with slow thrusts was a hard card to pull, the subtraction of the condom making this feel so new and fresh — a scary dance to do with two young lovers. He pulls his cock slowly til halfway up the tip and then rushes it back inside to your wetness. Your pretty purrs fly out with every movement.

Gojo takes this time to look at you with your disheveled figure sprawled out for him to see and pick at like eye candy. Watery eyes batting up at him with pleasure behind half-lidded orbs, your chest that he loves so much out for him to give a nipple another tweak, and your legs curling around him as his tempo increases. You’re so fucking beautiful, and he’s so lucky to be able to have you under him again. He wouldn’t want it any other way — he wants to belong to you and you with him. It’s a dream he’d kill to have with you.

“Y/n…” he says your name in a shaky breath, groaning at your slit clamping onto him so suddenly. “Can I…Be your boyfriend?”

You didn’t have enough time to react appropriately because Gojo hammers his cock into you with no warning. You scream out for him to stop, to wait a minute so you can give an adequate response! But no, he ruts into you like his hips have a mind of their own, forcing you to cling onto him for dear life as the curve of his length jabs you in places that have you rolling your eyes to the stars.

“—Ahahhnn!! Ahhh! W-Wait, Satoruuuu!!” Your words slur out with a hot breath, drool coming down your mouth with no control. “You want me….Mmnph! To be your—“

“Yes! Oh, fuck…yes!” He says with no hesitation, slamming his pelvis down to your pussy so fast that his balls smack on your taint. Oh, fuck, this felt way too damn good! “I wanna be yours, and I want you to be mine—Hooooh….No one else’s…!”

“Nnahh…!! Ohhh, my God, fuuuuck…!” Your heart beats eighty miles per hour, your whole body endures heat shared with Gojo, and your thoughts travel too fast to keep up. He wants to be my boyfriend? He wants to be my boyfriend! “…R–Really?”

“Yeah, really, really.” He smiles breathlessly at you, placing a kiss on your forehead. “Let’s be a couple, yeah? I want you so bad; you drive me so fucking crazy—Hannhh!! Shit, shit… I don’t want to hide this anymore — to hurt my cutie anymore. Let’s make this official so I can be with you without worries.” He snaps his hips harshly, grinding his pelvis with the flex of his abs, provoking more horny howls to seep from your puffy lips. He lowers to whisper to your ear while a hand clings to yours on the side. “Whatcha say, princess, hmm? Let’s be together….Hmmm…!”

Holy fuck, this is not a confession you were expecting while having your insides churned out, with your crush between your legs, in the middle of a hotel room, on Valentine’s Day. Your mind was getting foggy enough from the hot commotion in your inner thighs — now your head was filling up with fantasies of being with Gojo as a couple! This was beyond bizarre, something out of a fucking movie! 

And yet, you couldn’t find any reason to say no! There’s no denying it — those feelings Gojo had for you were the same as you had for him. You feel so happy being around him, in his hold, whispering and expressing his vulnerable side to you, and you’d want to throw all that away? Hell no! 

“—Mmm, yessss,” you can’t help but shed a little tear at him, to which he readily dries away with a thumb. “Yesss, Satoru, I wanna be yoursss — please…take care of me!”

Gojo slams his lips onto yours, your mewls taken by hungry lips while his strokes go at a rapid tempo. You almost choke on his spit from the way your clit catches abrupt hits from his pelvis, and the tip of his dick pokes your fragile spots with precision. 

Oh, Jesus fucking Christ! You felt it; it’s coming. You felt it in your bones, the shivers crawling up your spine as you inhaled to prepare. “Maahhh! ‘Toruuu, I’m gonna cumm…! Quick, pull out—Oooooo!!” 

Thank God you gave him a warning. The tall other was too lost in the feeling that he was just about to come inside you! He removes his body off of yours to swiftly pull his member out, using his hand to finish the job for him, although he already misses the warmth of your cunt. 

He comes at the same time as you, his load shooting out from his urethra and spilling onto his hand. White fluids slide between his fingers as he continues to stroke himself off while your legs twitch and your slit contracts and flutters on nothing, letting the wave of your climax pass on through with every howl. 

The air of the hotel room cools your bodies after disconnecting your sexes off each other, and huffs and pants from heaving figures are evidence of you two trying to find your balance in the world. Sky-blue eyes lock in with yours, and he laughs in faint puffs.

He crawls his way back between your legs after wiping his hand, placing kisses up your neck and chin. “Hahhh, fuck, that felt way too good.”

“Mhmm,” you hum with him, letting him place his head in the crook of your neck. 

“Hey,” he traces a finger along your collarbone. “Wanna skip classes tomorrow?”

Your eyebrows draw upward. “One day of Valentine’s isn’t enough?”

“Nope~. Plus, I wanna make up a week’s worth of not being around you.”

“Pfft, sure,” you stifled a laugh. “But you need a single day to do all that?” 

He lifts his head with a grin. “Well, we don’t have enough clothes to stay here until Saturday.” He maneuvers himself to lie on his side. “Why? You doubt I can do it?”

“You’re free to prove me wrong,” you give him a sneer. “I suggest you start getting to work.” You didn’t expect your words to flip a switch, causing the snow-haired other to grab you by the legs to him. He restrains your hands above your head, and you can’t fight the giggles from his playful manner.

“With pleasure,” he claims your lips again, your sweet murmurs entering his ears.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

“Psst, oh my God, do you see that?”

“Holy shit, this can’t be real!”

“Woah…Am I in the right universe?”

“Satoru, I told you people would stare…hurry and let go of my hand—“

“Nope! I like where your hand is right now~.”

It was like this the entire day. Ever since your Valentine’s Day date with Gojo, things instantly returned to where they were supposed to be and more! It was amazing how one day could make the bitterness of the weeks prior dissipate with the February wind. There was nothing to be scorned about —nothing to be scared of — everything felt clear to you and the person you were holding hands with.

After that date successfully went well — and won your heart in more ways than one, you’ll admit — you and Gojo decided it was time to unveil the status of your relationship. No more secrets, no more hiding feelings for each other; you two were officially a couple, both in private and outward!

Spending two days alone together felt like a dream, being so close to each other without worrying about being seen and critiqued in the eyes of others. But now, back on campus grounds, you can’t go back on your promise and have to walk with your cheeks and ears burning as Gojo’s fingers tighten the grasp around yours. 

Of course, the change of pace was a complete shock to the students and staff on this Friday. The number of perplexed gazes and starstruck figures who stopped to look at the two of you was too many to count — hell, you even saw Professor Gakunaji’s eyes widen for the first time! It was all so embarrassing, being the talk on everyone’s mind after keeping a low profile for so long. And here you are, holding hands with the star basketball player, the guy everyone knew assumed you couldn’t stand being within arm’s length with, and now, the boy you want to spend the rest of your college life with, Satoru Gojo.

Who, by the way, is loving every single second of this — of course he is, the fucking cheeky bastard! You don’t think you’ve seen his smile and dimples never leave his face for the entire day. He was stuck to you like glue, walking you to your classes and immediately returning to your side after his lectures ended like a happy puppy. He knew you were a little overwhelmed with it all, but that wasn’t a problem because he’d happily make sure you didn’t think you were the only one going through with this. Plus, you just looked so fucking cute looking all bashful around him now that he expresses his love for you publicly. I mean, the way you were in shock after he kissed you on the cheek after walking you to your second class of the day with Utahime? Oh, he wished he had a picture! Especially with your roommate’s jaw dropped to the floor (which never closed throughout the remainder of class as she just stared at you) after seeing the startling, romantic interaction.

And now, here you two go, walking out from your last class of the day with Professor Yaga — who was caught off guard when you two walked in together with a lovey-dovey (mostly on Gojo’s part) atmosphere but gave you a small smile as you walked to your seats (which were changed because Gojo pleaded you sat next to him from now on) as Haibara and Ijichi exchanged cheeky glances at the observation. 

You two were walking down to the dining hall, where you planned to have dinner with Shoko and Geto and tell the two best friends of Satoru Gojo of your intimate relationship. But gosh, everything was going too fast! “Hey, Satoru—“

“Yeeeess~?” He says in a sing-song tune, too pleased with himself as he swings your hand to and fro with his. 

“Do we really have to do this today? Why not eat with Shoko and Geto tomorrow—“

“Huuuh!!? But I’m taking you out tomorrow!” You want to hide your face when passersby hear your boyfriend’s reaction, immediately swapping gossip when they’re out of your vision. “Besides, they’ll be hella busy studying tomorrow at the library, so today was the best option.” 

You nod aimlessly. Ughhh, this is just too much. I feel like my head is gonna implode. Then, you felt Gojo grip your palm tighter and put your walk to a stop, prompting you to look up at him again. 

“Hey,” he says with his signature smile, his dimples becoming more prominent now that you’re gazing up at him. “It’s gonna be okay, alright? I got you, and you got me, right?” And he brings you in for a tight hug that has you squeaking and your lips quivering from hearing people gasp at the display of affection. “And now that I finally have you to myself — officially! — don’t think for a second that you can ever get rid of me!”

On the one side, you really want this fool to let go of you so everyone can stop staring and you can get this dinner over with! And yet, on the other side, your heart was beating in such a tune that had you melt into his embrace, and the smell of his cologne made you hum to his chest. You can’t seem to fight the smile growing on your face and your hands coming around to hug the white-haired, lovestruck fool back. “You’re too silly, Satoru…”

“Uhh, are we interrupting something?” 

With haste, you and Gojo break the hug to see the owner of that familiar voice. To your surprise, it was Shoko greeting you two with a smile. Next to her was Geto, also harboring a sly smile on his face before you. 

You cough to clear your throat away from Gojo, who sneaks his hand on your shoulder to keep you close. “H–Hi Shoko, Geto! I see you guys beat us to the dining hall.“

“Yeah, we were wondering if you two would make it. But now,” Shoko’s brown eyes venture from the figures of Gojo and you being close together, “I can see that you two wanted a bit of time to yourselves.”

“Uhhh, oh, you know; we just wanted to walk together since we had our last class for today!” You try to move your shoulder away from Gojo, but his grasp gets firmer and firmer.

Geto laughs, “Oh, no need to act so shy on us, Y/n! It’s good to know that you two are back to being close and cool now. Especially now that you two are a couple.”

“Ohhh, c’mon now, we’re not—“ you stopped, your body going rigid, and everything suddenly fell silent. “Wait….You knew?”

Geto hums as confirmation. “Yeah? Gojo told me.”

Your face forms into confusion. Gojo?

“Me?” Silver brows hang up at the statement. “I never said anything.”

Shoko makes a slightly bewildered expression. “What are you talking about? Remember that photo that you sent to Geto on Wednesday, and—“

“Woah, woah, woah.” Gojo’s fingers tense on your shoulder. Oh, he knows he’s in trouble. You can tell as he silently removes his hand while you question his best friends. “What picture?”

“Uhhh, the one he sent when you two were out for Valentine’s?” When we WHAT!? “Hold on, lemme pull it up from our messages…Yeah, this one.”

The moment Geto brings out his phone and gives it to you, Gojo felt his heart dropped to his ass. Not that you could tell, but the aura of fear was enough to be picked up. What showed on the screen not only had your jaw drop to your feet, but the cutesy feelings you had a minute ago with Gojo faded. Instead, it was replaced with the growing irritation that had your fingers tremble.

Geto’s phone screen displays a message and an attachment from Gojo on the night of your date. Judging by the time, it happened when you assumed you two were sleeping. The attachment proves your point, showing your sleeping face peacefully on Gojo’s bare chest. And the man in question is shown groggily awake, holding his phone to take the picture while his lips are planted on your forehead. The message below the photo answers Geto’s question, “Yo, you two made up already?” To which the taller figure says, “Yeah, kissed and made up. :3”

“Gojoooo….”

Before you do or say anything, your shaky hands return the phone to its owner, which Geto takes silently while backing three steps away with Shoko. 

“SATORUUUU!!!”

You yell out his name without a care for the people around you who immediately look at you. You turn to where he’s supposed to be — supposedly by your side. But you’re not surprised to see that he’s gone, turning your heel to find that the snowy-headed figure was backing up with his hands up.

“H–Hey now, Y/n,” He says nervously. He better be nervous because your eyes showcased a wrath he wasn’t ready for. “Calm down for me, okay, princess?”

“You…Are so…FucKING DEAD!!!”

And it was there that you chased him down, running around the halls. Geto and Shoko watch with baffled expressions before they scoff with laughter. The same goes with the other students who witness the commotion, enjoying the familiar banter between you two. 

It’s weird to say that you and Gojo are officially a couple now, at least to the public eye. However, no one seems to be in denial of it or push it aside. If anything, they seem happy for you two, finally coming around to express each other’s love for one another in a better way than insults and shouts.

And your friends can say the same, enjoying the change of ambiance whenever you two are in the same space. No more trying to ignore the rambles and arguments between you two, no more tired eyes rolling around their sockets when you call each other names. Because they know those will happen anyway; nonetheless, it’s now in a better light that the banner of young love is finally open and hanged.

 It’s a love that you and Gojo can finally express, be free, and be happy with.

“COME BACK HERE, SATORU GOJO!!”

“NO, YOU’RE JUST GONNA HIT ME!!”

And you two wouldn’t want it any other way. 

© 𝐇𝐨𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐠𝐫𝐚𝐲2024 ❤︎ reblogs + comments are appreciated wholeheartedly ☆ dividers by @/cafekitsune & @/animatedglittergraphics-n-more.

[amaranthinespirit]

Hello! I have some thoughts for Simon x murderer wife cause I absolutely love them!!!!

Simon coming in while wife has the men in their home. It could either be a situation where he comes and both wife and soon to be dead guy panic because 1. Simon is interrupting her olan for murder and 2. The guy thinks he’s getting caught in an affair

Another option is maybe wife’s plan falls through somehow and the guy figured out she’s planning to kill humans starts fighting her off. Just then Simon comes in and ends up being the one to kill him for laying his hands in wife (I personally like this scenario better)

Ty for these snippets, we need more morally questionable/downright Immoral readers hehe

husband!simon riley interrupting your kill prev next

simon couldn't wait to come home to you. it had been a particularly long day, and he had a small inkling of suspicion that you'd have a new victim today. it gave him almost the same adrenaline rush to simply clean them that it gave you to actually kill them.

so imagine his surprise when he arrives home, a crinkle at the edge of his eyes as he approaches the front door, stepping inside to see a very much alive, and tall—not as tall as simon—guy standing in your living room.

simon instantly realizes his mistake, but so does the guy. he assumes you were taking him back to your house for a fun time, only to be interrupted by your very loving, very big husband.

the man only raises his hands in defense, thinking you got caught cheating with him. meanwhile all his attention focuses on simon, he leaves his back turned towards you.

very big mistake because you plunge the knife deep into his flesh, and the man staggers to the floor. bleeding out way to close to another rug for simon's comfort.

simon groans, kicking the man to the side as he scolds you, "what have I told ya about killin' near your rug?" he shakes his head, burly hands squeezing the flesh of your hips. "gonna have you punish ya to get it through yer head." he taps a finger against your forehead before throwing you over his shoulder. the knife slips from your hand, and leaves the man to die a very slow and painful death.

something tells me simon would probably get turned on by this at some point, and maybe fuck you over a dead body. maybe.