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yandere-daydreams · 2 months ago

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Title: Worship of a Sacrificial Lamb.

Pairing: ???!Gojo Satoru x Yandere!Reader (JJK).

Word Count: 8.0k.

Commissioned by the very lovely @elsecrytt.

TW: Fem!Reader, Non/Con, Dub/Con, Nonconsensual Drug Use, Kidnapping + Prolonged Captivity, Physical + Psychological Abuse, Wildly Unhealthy Relationship Dynamics, Codependency, Suicidal Ideation, Mentions of Previous Suicide Attempts, and Blood. Gojo's Not The Yandere But He Sure As Hell Isn't Normal Either. Dead Dove: Do Not Eat.

You were sure, beyond the point of reason, that Gojo Satoru was an angel.

A guardian angel, actually. Maybe even your guardian angel, if you were going to let yourself be so sickeningly romantic. Even if you were going to hold yourself to some kind of distorted rationality, you weren’t sure how anyone could ever so much as look at him and not see an act of irrefutable divine intervention. He had the body of a marble sculpture – as if some great, ancient master of their art had taken decades aside to carve the embodiment of all things good and beautiful – and a face any model would’ve killed for. His hair was the most brilliant shade of white you’d ever seem, purer than cloud and softer than velvet, and there was a special place in your heart reserved entirely for his lips – pretty and pale and so lovely that if you ever got the chance to kiss him, you weren’t sure you’d be able to stop.

Of course, his eyes were your favorite. Not that it was easy to pick a favorite part of Satoru – no, you’d spent long hours deliberating over the perfectly straight arch of his jawline and the slightly crooked bridge of his nose, the gentle slope of his shoulders and harsh angles of his hands – but if you absolutely had to, you’d say his eyes were the part of him you spent the most time thinking about, that you adored above all else, that would’ve wanted to keep for yourself if you couldn’t have Satoru as whole. The color of the sky and twice as clear, you could still remember the way they’d seemed to glow in the dim light of the deserted street where you’d first met, the way your heart broke just a little every time he blinked or fluttered those perfect snow-white eyelashes. If you could’ve, you would’ve liked to keep a spare set in a small glass jar – something clear and sturdy that you could carry with you whenever you didn’t have access to the real thi—

“...ma’am?” And then, leaning forward, flashing a perfect smile and snapping his perfect fingers, “I think I might’ve lost you, there.”

You perked up, nodding frantically before thinking better of it and, with a sheepish smile, shaking your head. “I’m sorry, I—” You paused, clearing your throat and taking a sip of your coffee before going on. “I’m just having a little trouble concentrating. You can keep going.”

That was enough to earn a breath of a laugh from your perfect Satoru, and immediately, you fell in love with him all over again. He mirrored you, taking a sip of his own drink (some awful, adorable type of frozen hot chocolate served half-drowned in whip-cream) before responding, his melodic voice akin to birdsong and rainfall and every other delicate, beautiful thing in the world. “I know it can be a lot to take in. For someone in your situation, especially.” What that situation was, you weren’t entirely sure. Still, you nodded and smiled like he’d said the most comprehensible thing you’d ever heard. “Just try to stay with me. I promise – curses are a lot less scary when you know what they are.”

His head lulled to the side, his perfect eyes lulling into something softened and dream-like, and just like that, he’d lost you again. It was unfair, honestly. He’d been the one to invite you, scrawling down his name and phone number on a scrap of paper with the excuse that he owed you an explanation, but you’d picked out your meeting spot (a café on the edge of business district, somewhere he’d never go on his own but that suited his preference to a T), made sure you arrived half an hour early to claim a table in the most secluded corner and order a drink you knew he’d like just in time for his to be fifteen minutes late. You were lucky, really. Anyone else would’ve noticed your starry-eyed gaze and giddy smiles and figured out that there was something deeply, deeply wrong with you, but not your Satoru. He was probably used to hero-worship, even if the thought of anyone else sharing the same connection with him that you did was enough to make you grit your teeth.

Now wasn’t the time for that, though. You pulled yourself out of your thoughts as the corner of his lips quirked downward – the closest thing to a proper frown you’d ever seen him wear. Whatever he might’ve gone on to say about wizards and invisible monsters was lost entirely as he trailed off, his eyes darting to either side behind the dark lenses of his glasses. “Sorry, ma’am, I think I—” With an uncharacteristic clumsiness, he pushed himself to his feet, nearly tipping over his chair. In your peripheral, you watched for concerned samaritans and curious onlookers, but came up empty. That was good. That made sense. It was a busy coffee shop during the late-morning rush on a weekday – who’d ever think to pay attention to the couple in the far corner? Even half of that couple was a deity in the flesh. “I think I need a second.”

It was smart of him – to make such a hasty retreat. He barely waited for you to give one final, enthusiastic nod before cutting through the crowd and disappearing into a unisex bathroom.

It was smart, but it would’ve been smarter to run somewhere you couldn’t follow.

Saliva pooled under your tongue, your fingers drumming erratic and involuntary rhythms into the table, but while Satoru might’ve been an angel, you had the patience of a saint. You counted down the seconds, nursing your coffee and occasionally checking your phone, until three minutes had passed, only getting up when you were sure you would’ve been seen waiting. Rather than moving towards the exit, you positioned yourself at the edge of the counter, flagging down the youngest barista – a mousey girl in her late teens, with an expression that said she’d do anything to be helpful and a shrunken quality that told you she’d do even more not to get in trouble. “I’m so, so, so sorry to bother you, but—It’s my boyfriend,” you started, wringing your hands together and keeping your eyes on the floor. There was a sick thrill that came with calling Satoru your boyfriend, even if it wasn’t true, but you were careful to keep your tone strictly apologetic. “He’s, uh—He’s got a thing about crowds, and he’s kind of having an episode. Is there any way I could get him out of here without making a scene?”

There was – an employee exit just next to the door to the storage room, one that opened up directly into a back alley that would’ve kept a comfortable distance between you and the main road. Her eyes lit up, but she made a show of looking concerned, of glancing to her smothered coworkers, before looking back to you. “Well, we’re not supposed to let customers—”

“Please?” You tried, and then, with a type of cloying desperation, “It’s kind of an emergency. He just really needs to get outside.”

It took a second, then another, but finally, she cracked with a muted sigh. “There is a backdoor – past the bathrooms and to your left. I… I have to ask my manager, but I should be able to leave it unlocked.”

You didn’t have to fake your gratitude. You bowed your head, mumbling ecstatic little ‘thank you, thank you, thank you’s as you turned on your heel and moved towards the restroom. You’d been prepared to pick the lock, but Satoru must’ve been more affected than you realized – he was already so out of it, he’d left the door open. You could only be thankful no one else had seen come in. You couldn’t imagine there was anyone in the world who could resist taking advantage of someone as wonderful as Satoru in such a vulnerable state.

Grinning to yourself, you shouldered the door open and stepped inside, shutting and locking it behind you.

Satoru didn’t make himself heard to find. He’d collapsed onto the faux-marble vanity, his feet still on the ground but his back braced against the mirror, one hand clamped around the side of the sick while the other struggled to form one of the strange, distorted symbols he’d used the night you met him. His half-lidded eyes widened when he saw you, his mouth falling open, but he didn’t move, didn’t make a sound. You couldn’t blame him. The sedative you’d used was strong enough to put a grown man under with a single dose, and you’d given Satoru enough to put a horse into a coma.

“Hey, pretty boy.” You took a tentative step forward, and when he didn’t react, another. His fingers twitched, but whatever he was trying to do was forgotten as soon as you took him by the hand, intertwining your fingers with his. “It’s not that bad, is it? You should just be a little tired.”

Again, predictably, there was no response. His perfect lips opened wider before sealing into an acute, adorable pout, and you drank in the sight like a man starved.

Cooing, you leaned in closer – placing your body in the space between his open legs and squeezing his hand before letting go entirely. Rather, you cupped his face, admiring the pink flush spread across his pale cheeks, the glossy sheen over those beautiful eyes. Suddenly, it was too much to take, and you jolting forward; your mouth crashing into his and your tongue pushing past his lips, his teeth. His taste was euphoric – caramel and cream and everything good and sweet and divine – but you didn’t give yourself long to savor it before you pulled away, dropping to your knees. You hadn’t meant to move this quickly, but you loved Satoru. You worshiped Satoru.

And no real acolyte would ever refuse to kneel in front of their sacred alter, if given the chance.

Disappointingly but unsurprisingly, he wasn’t hard. You let his jeans and boxers (the latter patterned with pure-white bunnies – cute) pool at his ankles as you wrapped a fist around his cock, pressing a kiss into the curve of his shaft. Like every other part of him, his dick was perfect – long and lean, with a slight left-leaning tilt and a few thin, ridged veins that you dragged you tongue over before taking the head into your mouth properly. Admittedly, it’d been a while since your last hook-up (and even longer since you’d cared enough about another person to put any more than a passable amount of effort in), but everything about Satoru seemed to come naturally to you. His reactions were limited to a vacant stare and the occasional, breathy noise, but soon enough, you felt him stiffen against the flat of your tongue, filling out your fist where you pumped lazily over his shaft. If it’d been anyone else, you might’ve been disappointed at just how quickly he went from soft to stiff to leaking thick beads of arousal, but not with your Satoru. Of course he was sensitive. Angels were supposed to be delicate.

Using one hand to brace yourself against his thigh, you reached up with the other and found his hand, still hanging dully where you’d left it. It was a bit of an odd position – trying to hold his hand while bobbing your head and doing your best not to choke on his cock – but you made it work. It wasn’t long before those little, breathy noises built into cracked whimpers and airy whines, before you could feel him twitching against the roof of his mouth. It was hard to see, given the angle, but when you thought to look, you could make out tears forming in the corners of his eyes, something new knit into his expression. It wasn’t quite distress – or, at least, not the kind of distress you’d been expecting – but you didn’t recognize it. That didn’t really matter, though, not if you were being honest with yourself.

It was coming from your Satoru, and that was enough to make it beautiful.

You moaned around him, and a pitchy keen slipped past his numb lips, his grip going vice-like where he held your hand. You swallowed him down to the hilt as he came, determined not to waste a drop of what you’d fought so hard for, before pulling back, a string of saliva connecting your bottom lip to his cock for a lingering second, then another before that connection snapped and severed you from him completely. Suppressing the urge to mourn its loss, you pushed yourself to your feet and pulled him close – pressing a kiss into his neck, then his jaw, then the corner of his lips. “Such a good boy,” you purred, nuzzling into the crook of his neck. “My good boy. My perfect little angel.”

This time, Satoru did react – slumping against you even as his hand remained braced around yours. You took him by the shoulders, leaning back just far enough to see his eyes lull, blink, then shut entirely. He wasn’t unconscious - you could see a certain stiffness to his shoulder, a rigidity to his posture – but it was clear that you’d worn him out. You smiled, shaking your head as you raked your fingers through his hair and laughing as you found it just as soft as you’d imagined. “Think it’s time to go home, ‘toru?”

Rather than pull away from you, he seemed to melt even further. It was barely more than a whisper, but you made it out as clear as day. “…home?”

“Yes, angel,” you laughed, pressing your lips against his forehead.

“Home.”

He was asleep by the time you reached your car, and thoroughly knocked out by the time you got back to your townhouse – a modest machiya in a neighborhood that valued its privacy. Admittedly, carrying a man twice your height with triple your weight in muscle could’ve gone better, but you managed. There was a short list of things you couldn’t do for Satoru.

The sedatives had already proved less effective than you’d been promised, but still, you had plenty of time to get him into his bedroom, lock the titanium collar around his neck, and most importantly, change his clothes. You’d already picked out a new wardrobe for him – all whites and creams and soft pastels, nothing as harsh as the restrictive, black uniform he usually wore. Not that Satoru didn’t look good in black; you were sure he’d look breath-taking in anything! Even if he decided to wear, you didn’t know, an all-leather body suit, you were sure he’d—

…

You’d have to look into ordering a custom set. Preferably in white, but you’d settle for blue, if you had to.

You’d also made sure his room suited him, too. After making sure you had the bare necessities (deadbolts, bars over the windows, etc.), you might’ve gone a little overboard. You wanted Satoru to feel comfortable, so you made sure to work-in a few of the cute, soft things that reminded you of him – string lights and stuffed animals and plush blankets all the same color as his hair. You knew he was prone to migraines, but you couldn’t stand the idea of letting him put anything between you and those beautiful eyes, so you compromised with permanently low lighting and heavy curtains over his singular window. Entertainment might be an issue, since you obviously couldn’t give him anything with an internet connection, but—

You heard Satoru stir, and immediately, every logistic thought you might’ve had died and fell away. You’d planned to keep your distance while he woke up, but in an instant, you were perched on the side of his bed, your gaze fixed on his lax expression as he slowly woke up.

It was surprisingly peaceful – his slow trek back into consciousness. Long seconds passed between the first awkward stagger in the rhythmic rise and fall of his chest and the moment he actually opened his eyes, still glassy and unfocused with exhaustion. You didn’t rush him. It was all you could do to watch as he sucked in a harsh breath and pulled himself up, only to collapse against the headboard just as quickly. A hand drifted to his shirt, fisting at the alien material, then to the collar around his neck. He didn’t try to take it off, which was good. You didn’t want to have to resort to something so ugly so early on.

Finally, he seemed to perk up – glancing around his new bedroom, as if evaluating it. When he turned to you, you smiled, and Satoru remained blank.

You broke the silence. “Welcome home, ‘toru.” You swallowed back the temptation to tell him how happy you were to finally have him here, how long you’d been waiting for this moment, instead centering your attention on his needs. “Do you want something to drink? You shouldn’t eat so soon, but you were out for a while. It seemed like you could use a little rest.”

A beat passed, but eventually, Satoru shook his head – as polite as could be expected, given the circumstances. “…you’re the one who kidnapped me?”

“Mhm.”

“And you’re not a curse-user? Or working for the higher-ups?”

More made-up words. You decided to let him have his fun. “No, I’m not.”

“Why, then?”

Your smile widened. You’d been hoping he would ask. “You’re not dumb, Satoru. The day you found me—” Or, rather, the day you’d found yourself in his arms, barefoot and shaking, caught by a divinely beautiful stranger after taking a long fall off of a short building. The day you’d fallen in love with him. The most important day of your life. “I’m sure you know that no one actually pushed me.”

And, even if he didn’t, it couldn’t be hard to believe. There were only so many reasons a salary-worker would be on the roof of their office building in the middle the night, only so many reasons you would’ve left your heels and your coat on the same ledge you’d eventually topple off of. He’d been kind enough to get them for you, as you sat sobbing into your hands on the curb. He only pursed his lips, though, his eyes remaining perfectly lifeless. You took that as a sign to go on.

“My job is—” Terrible. Pointless. Soul-sucking. It paid well, and nothing you did was particularly hard, but the constant overtime and mindless pencil-pushing meant you had very little time for yourself and even less to show for it – besides the paycheck, of course. You couldn’t even say you hated it. You’d just been so ready for something, anything else, and it’d worked, in a way. You’d gotten Satoru. “—pretty boring. I’ve never really liked spending time with other people, and I’m not particularly good at anything aside from busy-work, so I really didn’t have a reason to stick around. But, then you saved me, and you were so kind, and so heroic, and I—”

You shut your eyes, curling your hands into fists. Not unlike a schoolgirl, too embarrassed to confess properly. “I love you, Satoru.”

There was no response, not at first. Internally, you panicked – what if he didn’t feel the same way? What if he didn’t realize that this was for the best? What if he’d rather die than—

“You…” His tone was light, airy, only the slightest traces of shock shining through. As if he didn’t believe you. “You love me?”

“More than anything.” And, just like that, you were spilling open. “I—I thought it’d be enough to keep an eye on you from a distance, for a while, but after a few days – after seeing how much you worked and how little you slept and how terribly you took care of yourself – I knew I had to do something. I couldn’t live without you, and, well,” You cut yourself off with a sudden laugh, only a little forced. “You couldn’t have gone on much longer if I hadn’t stopped in. Not like that.”

For a second, he seemed to regard you. It was strange, how hollow he seemed compared to how vibrant he’d been every time he’d spoken to you previously, but you didn’t mind. Not all gods could be cheerful ones. Even divinity had to be morose, from time to time.

Still, your racing heart beat a little faster when the corner of his mouth twitched into a slight, cocked smile. He didn’t say anything, but he shifted, reached out, tentatively resting a hand on your knee before bringing it up to your thigh, then your hip. After waiting for you to nod (which you did, eagerly), he pulled you closer – into his lap. You managed to keep your guard up for all of three seconds before he collapsed onto you entirely, burying his face in the crook of your neck. You melted against him with just as much pathetic desperation, grateful beyond words to have the distance between you finally closed. “Do you really mean that?”

“And then some. When you reached out to me, my heart almost burst with happiness. It was hard to believe you even remembered that I existed.” You nestled against him. “I meant what I said about wanting to take care of you, too. You shouldn’t have to worry about yourself ever again, not after everything you did for me.”

There was more, of course. Rules to go over, punishments to warn against, specifics to lay out, but he wasn’t fighting back, or trying to escape, and he was tucked so sweetly against you – it would’ve been a shame to move, let alone start listing off threats. Thankfully, tragically, Satoru ripped the band-aid off first. Slowly, he lifted his head, drawing back just far enough to dart back in for a clumsy, lip-bruising kiss. You’d already, technically, stolen his first, but there was a difference between kissing his limp body and feeling his lips move sloppily against yours. It was a fragile, immature connection – all scraping teeth and kneading hands and Satoru’s little, throaty moans, but you didn’t dare break it off until your lungs ached. Even then, you held him as close as you could as his hands fell to your waist, a thumb slipping under the waistband of your skirt and—

“Down boy,” you laughed, and Satoru glanced up, pouting. “It’s not that I don’t want to, but not so soon. You’re still in shock, and I don’t want to take advantage of you.”

The impulse blowjob a few hours prior felt unnecessary to mention.

Satoru seemed conflicted. He was still in that sort of blank, softened state, but he let out a whine by way of protest. It was all you could do to sigh, kissing his forehead before going on. “Later on, ‘toru. After I’m sure that you can be trusted to behave.”

It wasn’t that you didn’t want to make love (‘fuck’ felt to crude, ‘sex’ too clinical; making love wasn’t perfect, but it was what you had) to Satoru. You would’ve done anything to take care of him, anything to keep him happy, but there’d always been a gap in your mind when it came to your own pleasure – an instinct that urged against expecting your love to be requited. As far as you could guess, it would come with time – after you’d started thinking of him as less of an angel and more of something able to love you back. The delay was for the best, really. Intimacy would make you vulnerable, exploitable. You needed to show Satoru how strong, how strict you could be, first.

“That sucks.” It was almost endearingly childish, just how shamelessly he sulked. It took a few more pecks and another minute or so of coddling before he sighed. “You can keep kissing me though, right?”

“Of course,” you said, automatically. It was a dangerous promise to make, with plenty of chances for unwanted escalation, but you never would’ve been able to say ‘no’ to Satoru – not so directly, at least. Not when he was looking at you with those beautiful, pitiful eyes.

“Anything for you.”

“So when are you going to use the collar?”

The question was posed casually, unprompted and unrushed. Still, you paused, humming as you glanced over to Satoru. He’d gotten more talkative in the two or three weeks since you brought him home, but he still seemed caught in that quiet, liquid haze of tranquility – all easy smiles and half-lidded eyes and slow, sloppy kisses from the moment you came home to the second you had to leave. He seemed to be enjoying himself, spending his time basking in your affection and letting you take care of him, and that made you happy. All you’d ever wanted was for him to be safe and looked after, and he was. You could make sure of that, now.

(Admittedly, there was a small, negligible part of that had expected there to be some resistance – a hissy fit, a muted protest, something aggressive and combative that wouldn’t be calmed with a few kind words and a gentle touch – and mourned the fact that Satoru was taking this all so well. It wasn’t that you wanted him to hate you, but you’d always struggled to trust what came to you easily. If you had to work for Satoru’s love, you could be sure that you’d earned it. If you had to smother him into submission, you wouldn’t have to wonder if he was only lulling you into a false sense of security before stealing away all the tools you used to keep him safe. You tried not to be so pessimistic – outwardly, at least.)

“I won’t have to, preferably.” Pulling a towel off of the nearest rack, you bent down to his height and started to ruffle his hair dry. He shut his eyes, but didn’t try to stop you. Currently, he was sitting on the wall of your bathtub, only partially dressed in a pair of tan sweatpants while you finished drying his hair. You could shower alone before work in the morning, but Satoru needed more care. He needed to be treated like something precious, and he’d already proved that you couldn’t trust him with such an important responsibility. “It’s kind of a last resort. It should only go off if you try to leave.” And then, as you burrowed your nails into the towel., “Is that… Is that something you’re going to do, ‘toru?”

“Never. You keep me too good n’ spoiled.” He flashed you a lazy grin, and just like that, you were looking away, biting down on your tongue, trying to coax your heart back into beating at a steady rhythm. You pretended to be busy rummaging through the nearest drawer for a brush, but Satoru only laughed. His next question was just as probing. “It came with a remote, though, right?”

“…like I said, it’s a last resort,” you repeated, too flustered to lie. “I don’t want to hurt you. Unless you tried to escape or attacked me, I really can’t see myself doing anything so—” Blasphemous. Unforgivable. Sinful. “—harsh.”

“I wouldn’t mind.” Like always, he was a little too quick, a little too willing. You bit back a scowl. “I just think it could be romantic, y’know? I’d get to see how much you’re willing to do for me, or something like that.”

You forced a bark of a laugh. “There’s nothing romantic about me hurting you, baby. ‘specially not if I’m only doing it because you acted out.”

“I promise, I’m tougher than I look.” Another smile, even more dazzling than the first. Again, you felt your head start to speed up, only to stop beating entirely the second he went on. “I used to have this friend – Suguru – and he’d—”

Your hand was in your pocket before you had time to stop yourself, the plastic remote clenched in your fist before you had time to think. You’d never read the manual, never thought you’d have to use it, but that didn’t matter. There was only one button, and it only did one thing.

Satoru’s voice cut out as the current picked-up, pumping the maximum voltage into his throat. Satoru didn’t scream, didn’t thrash, but he reacted – going rigid as his beautiful eyes went painfully wide. The whole thing was silent save for a low, almost inaudible buzzing-type sound, and you kept your thumb pressed into the singular button for a second, then another, before forcing yourself to let go. Even that was more difficult than it should’ve been. You couldn’t stand the idea of hurting him, but…

Fuck. You would’ve done anything not to hear Satoru say his name ever again.

To his credit, Satoru didn’t collapse. When it was over, he only buckled forward – catching himself on his thighs as he dragged in a jolting, ragged breath. You were on your knees in front of him in a second, his face in your hands and your mouth on his cheek, his forehead, his neck, as if you could kiss away the pain. “I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry,” you chanted, each word less coherent than the last. “It’s just—I’ve read about him in your diaries, and I should’ve known you’d bring him up, and—”

“I love you.”

You went quiet.

You tried to pull away from him, but his arms lashed out; wrapping around your midriff and pulling you closer – burying his face in the dip of your shoulder, the crook of your neck. Again, he repeated, “I love you.”

For a second, you thought about pulling away, about sending him back to his room while you pulled yourself together. For a second, you considered reaching for your remote, again.

Then, you settled against him, shutting your eyes and resting your head against his chest.

“I love you too, Satoru.”

Admittedly, Satoru’s apartment was the closest thing you had to a guilty pleasure. The first time you’d broken in, you were still on the fence about just how much he needed your help, but by the third, or the fourth, or the fifth, you’d already made up your mind about bringing him home. You’d only visited a handful of times since, but it was nice to stop in every now-and-then, to remind yourself there were two distinct eras of Satoru’s life – prior to the day he’d met you, and post. Getting to spend a few minutes tucked into a space so essentially Satoru wasn’t something you were opposed to, either.

You made your way slowly through his former home – stepping over heaps of abandoned clothes and stopping to straighten forgotten piles of cluttered paperwork he would never be forced to re-visit. Satoru didn’t have any close friends or family who’d stop by uninvited, which meant every little detail was exactly how Satoru would’ve left it. The fridge was still empty, the freezer stocked with frozen, pre-packaged desserts; the walls were still empty and drab, utterly devoid of life; and best of all, his bed still smelled exactly like him. It was a silly thing to be so excited about, especially when you had the source waiting for you at home, but you collapsed onto the mattress without hesitation, shutting your eyes and basking in the evidence of just how hopeless he’d been, before you had a chance to—

Clipped footsteps, followed shortly by the sound of the bedroom door being pushed open. You bolted upward, your pocket knife (because self-defense was important when you treated breaking-and-entering like a hobby) in your hand in a fraction of a second, but the intruder didn’t seem quite so concerned.

It was a woman – deathly pale and worryingly gaunt, just a little too short to be considered average. She regarded you with a cold stare before nodding by way of greeting. “I’m guessing you’re Satoru’s girlfriend?”

The irritation that came with hearing someone else use his given name was immediately overshadowed by pure, euphoric delight. Smiling like an idiot, you asked, “He calls me his girlfriend?”

“Oh, I’m not going to repeat what he calls you.” Her gaze dropped to your knife, now little more than an afterthought. “You can drop the weapon,” she said, holding up a manila envelope stuffed to the point of bursting. “Just here to pick up his lesson plans. It’s been a pain in the ass – having to cover for him since you two started playing house.”

She sounded agitated, but only mildly so. A small, rational part of your mind urged you to linger on the mild irritation in her voice, the odd casualness in the way she spoke to you. She couldn’t have talked to Satoru recently, not the months he’d spent with you, but if she was concerned for his safety, she wasn’t concerned enough to bring up the issue now.

The vast, easily distracted majority could only chant girlfriend, girlfriend, girlfriend.

You opened your mouth, ready to ask if Satoru had talked about you often, if he’d ever mentioned your name, if she remembered word-for-word what he’d said about you, but she was already gone – muttering a curt goodbye and slamming the bedroom door behind her. By the time you could force yourself off of his bed, she’d disappeared entirely.

That day, you picked up roses as white as his hair and forget-me-nots as blue as his eyes on your way home. Just to remind Satoru how much you really loved him.

Satoru greeted you as soon as you got home, like he’d done every day since you gave him permission to roam freely. You didn’t call out, didn’t ring the bell, and yet, as soon as the door was closed and locked behind you, he was there; his arms wrapped around your waist and your body hauled against his. He held you in that bone-crushing embrace for a second, then another before lowering you back onto your feet. You clung to him for just a little longer before letting go.

He always seemed to be smiling, but tonight, he was beaming. He pulled you into an eager kiss, only to jerk back just as abruptly, too excited not to start talking while his lips were still pressed against yours. “Happy six-month anniversary,” he managed, quickly enough for the words to blend together. “I, uh—It’s not much, but I got you something. I thought it’d be cute to leave it in your office, but that might’ve been— I mean, I can bring it to you if—”

“Remember to breathe, ‘toru,” you cut in, laughing. He let his head lull to the side sheepishly, and you went on. “You got me something?”

“It’s not a lot,” he reiterated, still shy. “I’m sorry, I’m not really used to this. I wanted to have dinner ready when you came home, too, but I think it needs a few more minutes.”

It was hard to believe, sometimes – just how lucky you’d gotten. There were only so many human beings who could say they’d met an angel, and you got to come home to one every night.

“You’re perfect.” Satoru blushed, and you pulled him close, pecking the bridge of his nose just underneath the bar of his glasses. “Finish up. I’ll meet you back in the kitchen to tell you how much I love my gift.”

Reluctantly, you detached from Satoru, and made your way to the home office you’d all-but abandoned after bringing Satoru home. His present sat on the edge of your desk: a small mason jar, just the right size to sit in the palm of your hand, filled with water and finished off with a jet-black ribbon tied around the lid. Two spherical objects floated near the bottom. Even from a distance, you recognized them immediately.

Satoru’s eyes.

If you’d been holding the jar, you would’ve dropped it. They had to be fake, but they couldn’t be – replicas wouldn’t have been so bright, so organic, so perfect. He’d been wearing glasses, but you’d been able to see his eyes, and— and even if you couldn’t, it wasn’t like he’d be able to carve his own eyes out in the nine hours you spent away from him. Had there been blood on his clothes? You couldn’t remember, now. Was he hurt? Had you ever seen him hurt himself? He couldn’t have left, but—

You felt a pair of strong arms wrap around your midriff, drawing you against a broad chest. The metal of his collar pressed into the back of your head as he slotted himself against you. “You mentioned how much you like my eyes, once,” Satoru explained, the eagerness in his melodic voice now painful to listen to. “I… I thought you might want a couple spares. For when we can’t be together. And, after dinner, I thought we could finally…”

He trailed off, embarrassed. Still, what he wanted was clear.

For a long moment, you didn’t say anything.

Then, with a heavy exhale, you forced yourself to glance over your shoulder, facing Satoru with a smile. “Not tonight, ‘toru.” You’d never been thankful not to be able to see the clear blue of his eyes, before.

“But soon. I promise.”

You couldn’t find Satoru.

It was hard to believe, even as you hunched against the wall of his bedroom, your knees pulled into your chest and tears streaming uncontrollably from your eyes. You’d looked everywhere – torn apart every room in your house, overturned furniture, called his name until your throat ached – but he just—he wasn’t there. You’d checked the locks (still in-tact) and all the windows (decisively unbroken), but the only sign of him you’d managed to find was his collar – cold and abandoned, undone and left carefully on the foot of his bed. It would’ve been impossible for him to take off without the remote still sitting safely in your purse, the mechanism was strong enough to endure getting hit with a car, and yet, it was here, and he wasn’t.

God. You were so fucked.

The open collar sat on the floor next to you, your pocket knife immediately next to it. Satoru was gone. He’d left you, or been taken – it didn’t matter. Your life was over. He’d go to the police, and you’d be arrested, and you’d never get to see Satoru again. Even if he didn’t go to the police, he was never coming back. Either way, it was a death sentence.

You were never going to see Satoru again.

Half-consciously, your hand found your knife, fingers curling around the handle. For the first time in months, you remembered what your life was like prior to meeting Satoru. You remembered what you’d tried to do - what you would’ve done, if he hadn’t been there to save you.

You drew in a shaky breath, tightening your hold on your knife and raising it – first to your chest, and then thinking better of it, your throat. You weren’t very strong, but you weren’t very durable, either. If you were lucky, it’d only take a minute or so before—

“Baby?”

You stiffened, blotting out. For a moment, your mind went perfectly, euphorically blank.

When you came to, you weren’t pressed against the wall, but on your knees – straddling Satoru’s waist. The knife was still in your hand, but you couldn’t see the blade. It was buried in Satoru’s stomach to the hilt.

To his credit, he didn’t scream. His reaction was uncannily alike his response to the shock collar – wide eyes and parted lips, pain and shock only visible in the absence of his smile. Warm blood soaked through the fabric of his uniform jacket, washing over your hand, but you didn’t care. Only half-voluntary, you pulled the knife back and brought it down. You did it again, and again, and again, each motion repetitive and mechanical. You’d never killed anyone, before. It was unfair that the first had to be Satoru.

It was only when the blade of your knife met loose pulp rather than solid flesh that you paused, dropping your weapon entirely. Rather, your hands found his shoulders, your nails digging into his skin through tattered fabric and tearing. You let out a miserable sob as you clawed at his chest, trying aimlessly to dig to his heart. “You left,” you whined, like that would explain anything. “You were gone, and I couldn’t find you, and I thought I’d never see you again, and—” You cut yourself, gasping. “And you’re dying. Oh my god, Satoru, I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to—”

It never occurred to you to call an ambulance. Your body seemed to move on its own, clambering down just far enough to tear at the waistband of his pants, to free his cock. “’m just fine, princess,” he muttered, but you weren’t in a state to listen. With a frantic sort of desperation, you pumped your fist over his length, his blood serving as good-enough lubrication. Satoru let out a low groan – the noise impossible to read as pain or relief. “Even better, with such a pretty view.”

“Shut up, shut up, shut up.” Your fist wasn’t working. Too frantic to be graceful, you forced his cock past your lip and fucked the tip into the hollow of your cheek, doing your best to ignore how his natural bitter mixed with the near-overwhelming iron-tinge. That, at least, got you a reaction – another rough groan, his hand in your hair as his tip started to leak arousal and you felt his shaft stiffen against your hand. You almost choked on your own relief, but Satoru soothed you, his blunt nails scrapping over your scalp as he cooed. “Been waiting so long to see you like this…” He trailed off, laughed. You felt another jolt of fresh blood leak from the tattered flesh of his stomach. There was enough to pool on the floor below him, now. “’m sorry – did I say that already? Thought I could step out for a second before you got home, deal with a last-minute mission, but—” His voice hitched as you let out another sob around him. “—clearly, my pretty girl can’t be left alone for so long.”

You couldn’t understand why he was still talking. Every word hurt more than the last – like he was trying to make it that much harder for you to do the only thing you could. When you pulled away from him, it was only to let out a fractured cry, to bury your face in his thigh, muffling your voice until it was only a whisper above nothing. “You can’t leave me. If I don’t have—If you’re not here, then I can’t—”

“Hey, hey, don’t talk like that. I’m not going anywhere.” You felt the hand in your hair dip lower, cupping your cheek. Another caught you by the chin, tilting your head back, until you were staring at Satoru – blood-drenched and glorious, sitting up and smiling down at you. He shouldn’t have been moving, you shouldn’t have let him move, and yet, it was all you could to do jolt upward and throw yourself against his chest, your mouth latching instinctually onto his neck. You’d always been so careful not to bite, not to bruise, not to do anything that’d leave a mark and mar his perfection, but suddenly, your love felt less like an act of pure-hearted preservation and more like the desperate throes of a forsaken acolyte clinging to the blessings of a dying god. It was hard to worship divinity as something everlasting when your hands were stained in its blood.

So you didn’t try to. You dug your teeth into the side of his throat without reservation, cautious only not to visit the same patch of skin twice. Satoru felt any pain, if he could feel anything after losing so much blood, his only reaction was an airy laugh and a shallow kiss to your temple as his hand found your hips, then your sides. You felt yourself leaving the ground long seconds before your processed that Satoru was lifting you up, and even then, your awareness was burdened by a numbing sort of confusion. You wanted to tell him not to move, not to breathe, to let you help. You wanted to find your knife.

In the end, though, you only strung your arms around his neck and let him lay you on his bed, the mattress dipping where he kneeled in the space between your open legs.

In a daze, you felt your skirt being slid up to your waist, your panties shoved aside and replaced by the soft warmth of Satoru’s mouth. Like always, he was adorably clumsy – the bridge of his nose grinding against your clit as his tongue lapped and traced over your pussy. His fingertips dug too harshly into your thighs, his tongue thrusting into you too erratically, his little whines and occasional whimper too pitchy to allow for any real reverberation, but your poor nerves were so fried and your heart was still beating so fast and it would’ve taken a miracle for you not to cum – moaning pathetically as you bucked into his mouth. You’d imagined this scenario before, pictured yourself showering him with praise as you taught him exactly how to make you cum on his pretty tongue, but this was too quick, too abrupt, too out of your control. You weren’t in a state to teach. If he learned something from this, you doubted it would be the right lesson.

You reached for him as he straightened his back, but Satoru caught your wrist, guiding your hand to his stomach. Rather than mangled flesh and exposed viscera, your palm pressed against perfect in-tact, perfectly seamless skin. Like he’d never been injured. Like he hadn’t been on the verge of death only a few minutes ago.

Like you’d never even touched him.

“See, baby? I already told you – I’m not going anywhere.” His smile was soft, his voice soothing, but he was distracted. With a fist curled around his shaft, he aligned the head of his cock with your entrance, heavy beads of his arousal drooling onto your cunt and down your slit. “You had me worried for a while, there.” This time, his eyes flickered up to meet yours. “I know what I’m good for. Thought you might get sick of me before I ever got a chance to prove it.”

It would’ve been impossible to tell if Satoru was still in pain, or if he was capable of feeling something so human at all. The hurt that sliced through your chest, though, was agonizing. “I would never do that, ‘toru.”

“I know. And I’m sorry, too – it’s unfair to keep comparing you to him.” He bowed his head, dipping low enough for the heat of his breath to ghost over the shell of your ear, when he went on. “You’re not getting away from me that easily.”

There was a shuddering inhale, a sudden pressure against your slit. He pushed into you slowly, less concerned with your comfort than he was savoring the feeling of your walls clenching around him, of your body inviting him deeper, closer. You held your breath, doing your best to memorize every curve and vein, to accommodate him even as his length threatened to split you open. It wasn’t painful, but even if had been, you wouldn’t have complained. This was what you were supposed to want. This was what you were supposed to do for Satoru.

You could only wonder, then, why it felt so cold.

It was only when hips pressed into yours and he was fully hilted inside of you that he picked himself up – a hand planted on either side of your head, a broad, careless smile plastered across his lips. You registered that his lips were moving a full moment before you recognized the sound of his voice, as angelic as it was unbearable.

“I love you.”

For the first time, you didn’t bother trying to say anything at all.

#yandere #yandere x reader #yandere imagines #yandere jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk x reader #jjk imagines #jujutsu kaisen imagines #yandere gojo satoru #gojo satoru x reader

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psychotrenny · 2 months ago

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I think one of Imperialism's most evil strategies is the national scale torture you'll see inflicted on countries that dare to dream of freedom. Like it's not just about overthrowing the anti-imperialist regime itself, but utterly breaking the very social, economic and in turn psychological foundations it's built upon. Prolonged periods of destruction that are as systematic as they are sadistic with the aim of making life unlivable until the government either collapses or gives in, accepting whatever concessions are forced upon them as the nation is remoulded into an dependent and obedient little neocolony.

Sometimes an imperialist power will act directly to achieve this (just take the gratuitous and deliberate destruction of civil infrastructure during the bombings of Yugoslavia and Iraq), but the preferred strategy is to employ local proxies. Groups like RENAMO in Mozambique or the Contras of Nicaragua. Bands of reactionaries, traitors and general desperadoes are gathered up, trained, armed and transported over the border at the expense of the Imperialists and their local collaborators. These armed groups have no interest in build mass support, of representing an alternative way of life. Their only purpose is destruction; killing, torturing, looting, burning whatever they can in order to bring their country to its knees. Frequently targeting important nodes in the networks that sustain the nation and the people's faith in it (bridges, rail depots, factories, hospitals and schools) but ultimately happy to attack whatever they can; every house burned or person tortured contributes to the climate of terror and corrosion of government credibility. Because when they kill these groups don't like to do it cleanly; their attacks generate countless reports immolation, disembowelment, victims hacked to pieces and left to bleed. But when possible they prefer to leave their victims alive and capable of further spreading their terror, inflicting the most vicious sorts of rape and mutilation on a mass scale

It's not just just evil for the sake of evil mind you. The cruelty has a point; human destruction to accompany the physical. Every person killed is someone who can no longer contribute to the development of the nation, while even living yet physically and psychologically broken victim places further strain on their country's increasingly fragile support systems. Meanwhile the terror of these actions spreads the impact beyond their immediate victims. The murder and torture of peasants makes the survivors too scared to go back into their fields, slowly starving the nation as the rural economy grind to a halt. The gruesome deaths of traders and travelers leaves the survivors too terrified to continue their business, shutting down the distributive networks that make national development and often life itself possible. The terror unleashed on foreign professionals can prompt the survivors to flee and discourage newcomers from arriving, depriving the underdeveloped economic and education systems of the skilled workers they need to improve or even function. And every broken body, ever broken mind, is proof of the government's weakness and ineptitude; a humiliating failure to protect their own people that demoralises supporters and empowers dissenters. The motivated sadism of these terrorist attacks is a microcosm of the motivated sadism displayed by their Imperialist backers

But why go to all this trouble? Why not just send in the paratroopers or organise a coup to end those troublesome regimes quickly? Sometimes it's a matter of possibility. As great as they are, the powers of Imperialist nations are not unlimited. All manner of constraints (domestic unrest, international condemnation which advantages dangerous rivals, the simple financial and human costs of such operations) limit what actions are viable or desirable. This is especially significant when the targets are motivated and disciplined anti-imperialists with a base of deep-rooted popular support, the sort of regime that won't go down to a simple commando raid or bribe to the right general. But sometimes, it's not enough to merely cut down a dissenting government; you have to salt the earth and make sure nothing similar ever grows back. I'll finish with the words of an anonymous Jesuit priest, talking about Nicaragua yet in terms widely relevant enough to be published in John Saul's conclusion to A Difficult Road: The Transition to Socialism in Mozambique (1985):

In Chile the Americans made a mistake. They cut off the revolution too abruptly. They killed the revolution but, as we can see from recent developments there, they didn't kill the dream. In Nicaragua, they're trying to kill the dream

#stella speaks

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moongreenlight · 1 year ago

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141 gossiping about Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley for roughly 3,000 words idk titles are hard

Price was the first to notice. Priding himself on being incredibly observant, especially when it came to his boys.

He noticed that whenever they had a break from trainings or meetings, he’d somehow always find the two of you in a room together. Never close enough to give him reason to say anything. You scribbling notes on a patient report at one table, Ghost at another, his chair angled just enough so that he could watch you from the corner of his eye.

Noticed the way Ghost’s hand rested on the small of your back for a heartbeat when you entered a doorway before him. Just a brush of his massive hand on you, quick enough to be mistaken for an accidental touch.

Noticed how Ghost’s eyes seemed to always flick to you from across the mess hall. Not often, but enough for Price to casually turn his head and see that same nurse Ghost seemed to have a preference for.

At first, Price thought he could help by being a wingman of sorts. When Ghost took damage on a mission, Price would escort him to medbay and watch as he dismissed nurse after nurse until you were finally available to treat him. Price lingered as long as he could before you inevitably waved him away, cheekily reminding him you always took good care of his team and that you’d have ‘Lieutenant Riley’ back in no time. The only thing he could catch was the way Ghost’s shoulders relaxed by a hair’s breadth when you drew the curtain shut behind you.

He tried again during a meeting with his boys. Suggesting they bring a medic on a mission with them. Said something about how it would be better to have the option of a patch-up readily available. Keep his team fighting fit in real time instead of having to wait until they came back to base. Price saw the way Ghost tensed slightly in his seat, the muscles in his jaw twitching under his balaclava.

The notion was quickly vetoed. Ghost grumbling something about not wanting to babysit any more than he already does. How it’s ultimately more paperwork he doesn’t want to have to deal with.

He tried once more, going to Ghost’s office one evening. Almost turning tail once he realized how ridiculous it was to be this insistent on figuring out if his Lieutenant had some boyish crush on the sweet nurse he always seemed to be lingering around. But ultimately decided that it was good practice to know more about his team personally. Better bonding meant better interaction on the field, right?

He asked Ghost to redo some paperwork. Add a ‘next of kin’ to his file in the event that something happened and they needed to alert someone. Ghost looked a little suspicious, shrugging off the request.

“Left it off for a reason, Captain.”

He said gruffly, waving a hand. Barely looking up from his desk.

Price pursed his lips, shifting his weight slightly.

“You sure, Simon? Haven’t got anyone that’d be interested to know what happened to you?”

Ghost rubbed the bridge of his nose, like the conversation was more trouble than it was worth, before shrugging once more. Finally looking up from his desk and leaning back slightly in his chair.

“You planning on shipping me off somewhere and not picking me back up?”

A small chuckle from Price. A shake of his head.

“Can’t say I am.”

“Cheers, then. Leave it off.”

This quelled Price’s curiosity for a while, unable to dream up any other reason to try and force Ghost to indulge him. It no doubt hurt his ego a bit, thinking about how his Lieutenant and one of his closest friends was so dead set on keeping his personal life so closely guarded. He’d push the feelings aside, chalk it up to being jaded by his work. Over-involved in the lives of Soap and Gaz. It was probably good for Simon to have something sacred.

Soap wasn’t as easily deterred once he caught on. Not as immediately perceptive as the others, but he knew Ghost well enough to know his tells.

It was after a long mission. Months long. Grueling, shitty, exhausting work. They got back in the early evening, mercifully spared from a debrief until the following day. Soap somehow ended up dragging Ghost to a dive bar a few blocks from base. Trying to sound persuasive when he mentioned that it was a Friday night and they deserved a few drinks and some female attention after all this time going without.

And they did get attention. Two good looking military men sitting at the bar were bound to. Soap knew that Ghost wasn’t one to play the field, but this was a bit frigid even for him. Ignoring girls who came up and tried to strike conversation. Rolling his eyes, or huffing a sigh like it was a chore to even dismiss them, drumming his fingers on the wall of his glass like he’s bored. It was baffling.

What was even more baffling was the way that Ghost’s knee bounced slightly against the stool. An infinitesimally small movement, but the way it caught Johnny’s eye made it seem like Ghost was all but jumping up and down. He looked almost anxious. Itching to get up and leave.

“Fuck’s wrong with you?”

Ghost’s head jerked toward Johnny, cold eyes narrowing in a way that would have been terrifying years ago- before he’d gotten used to it.

“Come again?”

“Got somewhere to be, have you?”

He sounds almost indignant. Like he can’t believe what he’s seeing. Ghost is stand-offish by nature, but this is a caliber he hasn’t yet encountered. Almost enough to be offensive. To make him question the quality of his company.

“Maybe I do. What’s it to you?”

Ghost grumbled, killing the contents of his glass with a final mouthful. Setting it back on the counter and moving to drum his fingers on the bar.

“Been out of the country for months and you expect me to believe you’ve got plans tonight?”

This earned a sigh, low enough to pass as a growl.

“You keeping my social calendar now, then?”

He stood, digging through his wallet for a moment before slapping some cash down on the table next to his empty glass. Not giving Johnny an opportunity to lodge any further complaints against him. Before he nodded his goodnight and slipped out of the bar. Mumbling something about needing to get back to his flat and check on some things.

Soap couldn’t get his mind around it. Ghost was elusive, sure, but again; something seemed off. He was calm, cool, and collected. Wouldn’t be caught dead manifesting his impatience physically. The fidgeting and twitching in his seat. The first place Soap’s mind went was maybe Ghost was dying? That’d be the only reasonable explanation for his behavior. But even then, it seemed a bit extreme.

The next day after the debrief, which was nearly as brutal as the deployment itself, Soap was still so in his head about Ghost’s behavior he almost didn’t notice the pretty nurse who seemed to be waiting for someone at the end of the hall. In fact, he was so stuck in his own mind, he only caught a fleeting glimpse of Ghost’s back rounding the corner with the nurse at his side. Hushed conversation disappearing with them. A softer, much more pleasant voice than Simon’s.

He debated whether or not to follow them, maybe answer the questions that’d been plaguing his mind. Ultimately, he decided in favor of it. Padding down the hall behind the duo who seemed to be headed back to Simon’s office. They weren’t walking closely enough to touch, but Soap immediately picked up on the tension between them. Like the distance was serving some sort of purpose.

Soap lingered in the hallway for a few minutes after the two disappeared into Ghost’s office, trying to sort the pieces of the puzzle he’d barely began collecting. He ultimately decided to go the route he was most comfortable with. Not one for sneaking about, he simply strode up to the office door and swung it open.

You were sat at one of the chairs in front of Simon’s desk, him standing with his arms folded over his chest next to you. Not compromising enough for Johnny’s taste, but he still put on a wide grin and nodded to you.

“Forget how to knock?”

Ghost’s voice was calm enough, but his eyes were shooting daggers straight through Johnny. You looked stiff as a board, chewing the inside of your lip through the tight smile you were giving him.

“Sorry, L.T. Needed to know if you’re still on for trainings this afternoon.”

He didn’t miss the way your eyes flicked to Ghost, communicating something that he couldn’t quite decipher wordlessly before you began studying your nails in your lap.

Ghost cleared his throat, rolling his tongue in his cheek. Growling something obscene under his breath. The agitation rolling off of him in waves.

“No. Got another assignment.”

And with that, Soap was all but thrown from the office. Querying about this ‘new assignment’ the whole way. Simon crowding him to the door until he finally snapped it shut on his nose.

He heard later that day Ghost was seen in medbay with a toolkit swearing at an X-Ray machine that had been giving you trouble for a month. After that, Soap was on the two of you like a fly on shit. Never missing an opportunity to bring you up to Ghost or vise versa. Mock-innocently saying something to Ghost in passing at dinner about you. Asking if he fancied you. When he said no, Johnny shrugged and nodded. Saying he was glad because he had plans to ask you out the next time he was injured.

That comment landed Soap in the bay sooner than expected. Escorting him to a different nurse’s exam area and standing guard the entire time his black eye was being iced. Berating him for not being able to block a few punches when they had sparred after dinner.

And Gaz, sweet boy that he is, was always more emotionally in-tune. Observant about the little things. Able to pick up on queues Soap and Price may have missed over the years. He was keen as he was quiet, keeping all his little discoveries to himself. Over the years, he’d created a small arsenal of moments he wasn’t sure were significant enough to bring up. Things he could have talked himself into imagining if he thought about them hard enough. Not wanting to jump to conclusions about anything.

But he noticed the incredibly subtle tan line on Ghost’s left hand. Noticed the way he tapped his foot impatiently when the debrief after a long deployment ran long. Noticed the way you always seemed to be around the yard when they touched down after a mission. The way your shoulders dropped when you saw all four of them had returned home. Like you had just been relieved the duty of holding up the sky.

He didn’t immediately connect the dots. Initially thinking that you’d just taken a special liking to the task force. They were some of your most frequent visitors, after all. Price had all but claimed you as their own. Specially requesting that you were the only one to patch their wounds, claiming the other nurses couldn’t hold a flame to your skill.

He didn’t mind. Came to enjoy the little chats the two of you had when the curtains around the cot were drawn. The little kikis you had where you chatted about anything and everything. Complaining about your jobs, irritating patients, botched missions, the morsels of gossip from around base.

One day, after a particularly nasty skirmish on a mission, all four of the men had gnarly wounds. You looked a bit more tired than usual. A bit more on-edge. Your answers were a bit more flat than they usually were. So the first part of the assessment was left mostly silent spare for a few soft “thank you’s” on his part.

It was only when you were bandaging a wound on his thigh did he notice the shape of a ring on your left hand under your glove. A thin band that wrapped neatly around your finger.

“Didn’t know you were married, doc.”

It was a passing comment, more just to spare him the agony of trying to hide his soft groans of pain in the thick silence.

You hummed your acknowledgment, focused more on working sutures through his skin neatly than anything else.

“Lucky bloke. Hope he’s good to you.”

It wasn’t flirty or predatory, like so many of the soldiers could be. A genuine thought. He’d always thought you were sweet. Easy to chat with, always offering him a smile and a chirped greeting when the two of you passed in the hall. Thought you deserved someone to share in your kindness.

You smiled, brow still furrowed slightly in your focus while tying off the stitches.

“He does alright.”

You chuckled softly, straightening on your stool and rolling back just slightly so you could meet his eye.

“All these years and you never mentioned. I’m hurt.”

He words came with a practiced ease, slipping back into your usual playful chatter without missing a beat. Flashing a coy grin as he carefully flexed and relaxed his leg. Getting a feel for the newly patched wound.

You rolled the gloves off your hands and tossed them into the bin. Standing from your stool to scribble a few notes on his chart.

“Not something that ever came up.”

“Now it has. He have a name? How long you been together?”

You chuckled once more, looking over your shoulder at him with an arched brow. A little skeptical of his curiosity.

“A good while.”

He noticed the way you evaded his former question, like you’d done it before. It only fueled his curiosity.

“You worried I’ll know him? Or are you embarrassed? Not much of a looker?”

This earned an amused snort from you, turning away from the chart you’d been working on.

“Nothing wrong with wanting to keep my personal life personal, is there?”

You winked at him, pushing open the curtain that divided the small exam area from the rest of the bay.

He made a small sound of protest, making no move to stand from the cot just yet.

“Alright, forget it. Didn’t even want to know anyway.”

He sounded like a child being denied a sweet. Even playing up the act with a small pout on his mouth.

You tutted softly, conjuring up the best mock-sympathetic look you could before motioning for him to stand.

“We’ll talk later. Captain’ll have my hide if I keep you away a moment longer than is necessary.”

Another sound of protest, followed by a throaty groan as he finally pushed up off the bed. Unsure if he was being dramatic or if the aftermath of the mission had truly gotten to him that bad. Always a flare for the dramatics, him.

He muttered his thanks, cupping your shoulder in his hand as he trudged out. Making you promise to have a proper chat with him later.

He lingered in the bay, allowing himself a few moments peace before getting back to work. Just as he finally turned to leave, he saw Ghost moving stiffly- like he was trying to downplay a limp- toward your little exam area. Though for some reason, the scene looked a bit strange to him. He couldn’t help but peek in.

He caught the way you watched him lumber over with big, worried eyes. The way your nails dug into your palms until he was finally within arms reach. The way you quickly glanced around to see if anyone was paying the two of you any attention before your hands flew to his neck, fingers slipping expertly under the hem of his mask and yanking it up over his nose. Not rough or angry, but with the kind of urgency that suggested you may die if you didn’t see a sliver of his skin. Make absolutely certain he was truly there with you.

The most jarring part- Ghost actually allowing you to touch the mask. Allowing your little hands to breach his personal space. Hands that would have easily been dwarfed by his own, swallowed up and twisted or shoved away like he had seen happen so many times in sparring matches with prospect soldiers. But Ghost just let it happen.

It was a flurry of movement, so fast that Gaz was certain he could have blinked and missed it. Frozen watching the two of you from just behind another exam area. Feeling like he was intruding without even meaning to.

And then he saw the way Ghost’s big arms snaked around your waist, drawing you flush to his front. You leaning up onto your toes to bring your face closer to the Lieutenant’s. A fervid kiss. You flinging your arms around his neck. The way your shoulders shook. A small, choked sob that Gaz was all but certain he imagined. Drowned out for everyone else by the sounds of the bay.

He was almost shocked that the world continued to move after that. Shocked that something that seemed so monumental could happen tucked away into your barely private exam area. Shocked that your reunion hadn’t halted time and space for everyone else like it had for the two of you.

He felt dirty. Like he should go up and apologize for lingering and seeing what he saw. But he stayed rooted to the spot, finding it impossible to move.

Truly the most damning part was when he caught the quickest glimpse of your badge just before the curtain was tugged shut. The badge you kept carefully pinned to your uniform face-down for a reason he couldn’t fathom until now. Twisted free for just a moment and finally connecting the snippets of information he’d collected over the years.

(Y/N Riley)

3K notes · View notes

desireangel · 26 days ago

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Dark Cherry [5] | Aemond Targaryen

Aemond Targaryen x Fem!Reader

Summary: after months of a marriage that hardly harbours the passion that you'd dreamed about, you stumble across the reason for your husband's indifference and decide enough is enough. Aemond will learn just exactly what he's been missing out on.

Word Count: 6k

Warnings: MDNI 18+!! canon divergence!!! Angst!! Aegon is a little shit and doesn't understand boundaries, talk of and allusion to sex, past infidelity, grovelling, Aemond is scared of his emotions, talk of pregnancy and trouble with pregnancy. Talk of miscarriage (not reader's!). Please let me know if I have left anything out!

Author's note: thank you for bearing with me!! I have been busy but my final exam is on the 8th of Nov, and I'm taking a day off from exam prep for my birthday before then, so things should pick up soon on my end. please, once again, let me know your thoughts!

Masterlist

The tea room was silent when he stepped in the next morning. Aemond had been the first to arrive, woken from a shallow sleep at the first stream of sunlight that broke through the curtains. Sleep didn’t come easy to him lately and there was hardly any doubt in his mind as to why.

It was unlike the Dowager Queen to be late anywhere. Especially when she had been the one to tell him of her plans to discuss certain matters. Embarrassing, really. It was utterly humiliating and pathetic that your marriage had become a problem for more than just yourself and your husband.

Alicent hadn’t kept him waiting for long and Aemond had barely settled into his seat by the time she had stepped through the door. Greeting her with a stiff nod, Aemond watched as she made herself comfortable, looking ever as poised and elegant as she always did. He wondered if she ever tired of keeping up appearances, even when alone with her own children.

“Your wife,” she cleared her throat, smoothing out the creases of her dress on her lap. “Aemond, I expected better from you. You are not Aegon; I thought you would be an honourable husband.”

Sucking in a breath, Aemond refused to meet her eye. Only partly out of shame but more so because he knew Alicent could read him better than anyone. She would know his apprehension, she would know his guilt and his shame and all the heartache that came with it. And she would only make it worse.

Disappointment was all that Aemond could feel from her. It wasn’t new as such. Only, until now he had watched as she stared at Aegon with those eyes. Never himself. In fact, Alicent was nothing if not dismissive when it came to her second son and the feeling of letting his mother down created a whirlpool of uncomfortable sensations in his stomach.

Wary of his own failure and unsure of how to receive her chagrin, Aemond locked his jaw and kept his head held high.

“Did you call for me so that you could scold me, mother? For not having a perfect marriage–as if yours was?”

Alicent frowned at him. “You already know I am disappointed. But this is getting out of hand. People gossip–”

“Let them,” he turned away. “I don’t care for it.”

“You should. At least for the dignity of your wife and the threat of scandal on the entire family,” Alicent spoke clearly, with confidence and with reprimand. It was the tone she had only ever used on Aegon and Aemond felt a bubbling of distaste to be on the receiving end of it. “People are questioning your union. Give them a reason not to.”

He scoffed, annoyed at being pestered on something that was already making him lose his stability and his clarity. It had his head falling back and he pinched at the bridge of his nose. “What scheme are you preparing now, mother?”

A look of regret and sadness washed over Alicent’s features and she stood, walking around the table to take a seat beside Aemond on the settee that he sat on. She reached for hands with a tenderness that he had not felt from her in years and it almost made him wretch from the agonizing unfamiliarity. He watched Alicent collect her thoughts, her eyes flitting across his face.

“You must give her a child, Aemond–”

A knock from the guard at the door, followed by an announcement of your arrival had them turning to face you at the door. Alicent sighed, wondering how Aemond would take to hearing what she had to say in your presence but greeted you softly and invited you to sit down.

Aemond couldn’t help himself. His gaze followed your every move and his chest tightened uncomfortably when he noticed how you avoided even looking in his direction. Knowing her son better than anyone would credit her for, Alicent saw the longing and regret in the furrow of his eyebrows and the pursing of his lips. It seemed as if he was a young boy again, desperately yearning for the affection she did not know how to properly give him.

The seat just across from where mother and son sat was empty and you let yourself settle into it, apologising for interrupting them mid conversation and for arriving late. “You wanted to discuss something with us, Your Grace?”

“Yes,” Alicent didn’t let go of Aemond’s hand. The air grew tense and she cleared her throat before speaking, worried glances shared back and forth from you to Aemond. “I am not here to counsel your marriage but it has been several months. I have discussed the matter of your childlessness with Aegon and some other Councilmen.”

Struggling to find the words to say, you were thankful that Aemond had spoken first. It was exactly what you had expected to hear from her. It was surprising she hadn’t said it sooner. You wondered what exactly Aegon had to say about it but quickly realised that she probably only mentioned the King’s name for formality’s sake.

With tense shoulders and his gaze locked on you as you continued to avoid meeting his eye, Aemond’s voice was a calm contrast to his frustration. “I understand what my duty is, mother, but we are in the midst of a war. A pregnant wife followed by a new child would be untimely and impractical.”

Hoping you didn’t take his words to mean something that they did not, Aemond refused to look away from you, watching as you frowned. “If my husband does not wish for me to carry a child, Your Grace, I cannot force one upon him.”

At the tense silence that followed, you finally met Aemond’s gaze. A silent challenge that he understood as clear as day. He shifted, turning to his mother with an indifferent expression.

A child. Aemond wished for children of his own to love and adore; he wished to be the father he never had. For the first time since the wedding, Aemond could imagine making you a mother and being made a father by you. It was a sweet thought that had something stirring underneath his skin.

What he had said was exactly what he believed and there was no hidden meaning to his words. He wasn’t making excuses and it was truly just the worst possible time to bring a baby into the world. But from the way your face had fallen, Aemond cursed himself to dragonfire for speaking as he had.

“It is difficult,” Alicent sighed. “And I hate to burden the both of you. But if you have not yet come to be with child and it continues like this, I am afraid we will have to look to other options. You may be the second son, Aemond, but we still need the security of your heir.”

Alicent didn’t mean to be insensitive in reminding Aemond of his standing. She knew he was ambitious and being born second will forever torment him. But she was never good at weaving her affection for her children into her words.

“Other options?” you asked. Instantly, from the pitiful look that Alicent gave you, you wished you had stayed silent.

Somehow, Aemond hadn’t thought about that. He waited for Alicent to respond.

You could see the way that your mother-in-law looked at you. With pity and an unspoken apology. She had spoken to you only two nights prior yet it felt like the conversation had never happened. Not with how she silenced any talk of Alys within the walls of the Keep and not with how she had all but avoided you ever since.

It was easy for them to disregard everyone else. Those who were not born being given and served. You were the daughter of a lowly lord and there was no peasantry in your childhood but it was nothing compared to how pretentious and entitled the lords and ladies of the court could be. You supposed it was only a matter of time before they noticed the weakness your marriage had become for you and pounced upon it at first chance.

Aegon, who had sauntered into the tea room with heavy steps, sat down in the chair beside you. He grinned at the suffocating tension. “Before anyone complains of my tardiness, I apologise for it. A… restless night lends me to later mornings. You would understand brother, had you been tending to your wife as your duties would call for.”

A hum and a glare was all Aemond had for his brother. It was pointless that Aegon would even be present for the makeshift Council meeting that this had become.

Ignoring Aegon further than the slight bow of your head in greeting, you faced the Queen without letting your head drop. “What do you mean by other options, Your Grace?”

There was nothing that could have made it easier for Alicent to say it but she reached out and squeezed Aemond’s bicep in an attempt to comfort him through the ultimatum she was giving him.

“There are grounds to annul the marriage,” Alicent was almost whispering. “Since you have not yet come to be with child. And word that your marriage was never consummated has been travelling through the halls.”

A lie. Your marriage had most definitely been consummated but you assumed that should the King wish it, it would be as easy as his signature and his word to have everyone convinced. “You’ll have me cast out?”

Aemond was stiff as he shook his head. A surprise to you; you figured it would have made sense for him to take his out where it was presented to him. But instead, when you finally met his eye, he was glowing with a quiet anger.

“Absolutely not,” he grunted. “We will try for a child. In any circumstances, I will not have my marriage annulled. I will not dishonour my wife in entertaining such a suggestion, mother.”

As if he hadn’t already dishonoured his wife. You wanted to scratch him for saying that but he had taken a stand for you and you had to appreciate that for what it was.

Aegon snickered from his seat beside you. “There are other ladies who may bare you a child with more ease, brother.”

“I wish to do it,” you muttered, barely giving Aegon more than a sideways glance before you focused your attention on Aemond. He was not pleased, that much was obvious. “We will try–I wish to have a child.”

Laughter from the right side of you, loud and obnoxious. “With a husband who is repulsed by you? There are many Lords who–”

Aemond stood, one hand instinctively moving to rest on the handle of the dagger strapped to his side and the other tightly balled into a fist. He wouldn’t use the weapon but it was a natural response for him to rest his hand there. Risking a glance your way, Aemond felt nauseous at the fallen look on your face. “Enough, Aegon. Mind your tongue.”

Alicent looked dejected, her eyes flitting between her sons before returning to you. “It must be this way. If your body cannot take to pregnancy, then we must find someo–”

“And if it is me? If it is my body that fails to create a child even if you force another wife upon me?” Aemond turned to you, scowling when Aegon rested a comforting hand on your back. You gently shifted so that he wasn’t touching you.

“It is not you.”

A deep frown and a glance at the walls was enough to know Aemond had shared in your thoughts. It was most definitely him - just not in the way he was making it seem. It was Aemond who had not sought out your intimacy enough to give your womb the chance to bear fruit in the first place.

“We cannot know that for sure, mother.”

“Well,” Aegon ignored the pleading look that his mother sent him. “If your seed could take with Alys Rivers then you are surely not the problem, Aemond.”

In the silence you could hear Aemond draw in a long breath. He looked to you first, seemingly as shocked as you were in that moment, shaking his head when you straightened in your seat. There was a panic in his eye, a pink flush on his cheek as he swallowed his nerves.

The room felt a little like it was spinning, and an emptiness grew as you took a moment to understand Aegon’s words. When the King placed a hand daringly on your leg as if he were comforting you, you didn’t even think before pushing it away. You looked to Aemond, who watched you blink away an onslaught of tears but you refused to drop your head, no matter the shame and humiliation that prickled under your skin.

There was a waver in your voice when you spoke, forcing the words past the lump in your throat. “She is with child?”

“It is not possible,” Aemond was quick to respond. “I did not-we did not-”

“You didn’t fuck her, brother?” If he weren’t the King, Aegon worried Aemond would have murdered him. “Because that is not what I have heard.”

Alicent pinched at the bridge of her nose, grimacing at the vulgarity with which he freely spoke. “Leave, Aegon.”

He protested meagerly before a sharp look from the Dowager Queen had him sulking his way out of the room. You watched him leave, slightly perturbed at the way he was provoking Aemond, rubbing it in his face (and by extension, yours) that he had enjoyed the strain in your marriage without having to speak it. That he had enjoyed you because of Aemond’s shortfalls.

“She cannot be with child,” Aemond took his brother’s empty seat, placing his hand on your arm, holding you almost desperately. “And if she is then it is not mine. I have not laid with her in such a way.”

When you pulled away from him, you noticed him visibly shrink back. He knew you would not believe his truth but he needed you to. The mistakes had been made, and Aemond would undo them if he could. Only, there was no changing things now. And he would carry the burden of his adultery until his last breath but he would find a way to give you all the stars in the sky and all the cherries that blossomed if it meant you would give him another chance.

“Alys is no longer carrying a child,” Alicent clarified. “The servants spoke of her pregnancy. Before your marriage existed and before she had first returned to Harrenhal. She spoke of the child being yours but it did not survive in her womb.”

Before your marriage existed.

It still left a bitter taste in your mouth. “Does she remain at the Red Keep?”

“She is in the servants quarters,” Aemond answers, carefully. “I will send her away. It should bring you some peace.”

Nodding silently, you ignored how certain he was of her whereabouts and returned your attention to Alicent as she focused on her son with a pitiful look. You knew little about Aemond but you knew that if he understood her pity, he would hate it. “We will do our best, Your Grace.”

Awkwardly, Alicent stood and collected herself. “I have also arranged for the servants to shift your things to Aemond’s chambers. Perhaps it may help to stay closer to one another.”

Aemond grimaced. Had it really come down to his mother having to take such actions? He felt sick. If he had known the option was there, he would have arranged for it himself. The look on your face, however, told him you wouldn’t have accepted it. But you couldn’t argue with Alicent. Instead, you let out a breath and nodded with a smile that barely reached your cheeks.

The evening came by quickly. You had reluctantly been sorting through your belongings as they were shifted, helping the serving staff to place your things without disturbing Aemond’s too much.

A feast to welcome the Lord Pennrose, whom you had never even heard of, was being set as you organised your dresses, fitting them into the wardrobe that had been moved to sit beside Aemond’s. The maids who had been tasked to do so were hesitant to let you help but you had insisted that anything was better than spending the time listening to tiresome Ladies drone on about gossip and pester you about your personal affairs. The task was something that helped clear your mind and keep you distracted from the worry in your chest at the thought of the Queen’s kindly worded threat.

This was all you had. And if your marriage were to be annulled, it would be the end of not only your dignity but your chances at a secure life.

Your stomach had been churning without break since you had understood the extent of Alys and Aemond’s past relationship. And while she had been pregnant with his child before you had even met Aemond, it filled you with a sorrow you could not explain. A jealousy for she had been carrying his child, as you were chastised for being unable to do. It was all the more difficult knowing the child had not made it through to birth, something you were ashamed to admit a small part of you was relieved at.

You willed that part of you away, instead focusing on the fact that it was not you who had failed to do your duty. But it was your husband, who had refused to give you a fair chance to even try.

A knock at the door and Ser Tunsley had entered to inform you of the King’s presence. You sighed. Aegon was forever trouble and you were of half a mind to think that you had only encouraged his flame of indecency and immaturity by letting him into your mouth.

He was brazen, to continue seeking you out after Aemond’s wrath had left him clutching his stones and waddling for days.

Aegon let out a whistle, his eyes running over the expanse of the room, lingering on the empty chests that had been used to carry your garments into Aemond’s chambers. “My brother is an imbecile. If it takes instruction for him to let such a comely wife into his bed then he is truly senseless.”

“Why are you here, Aegon? We are unaccompanied.”

“I’m quite sure that if you were my wife,” he grinned, coming to stand directly in front of where you sat perched on the edge of the bed. Aegon let the backs of his fingers glide across your cheek, chuckling when you pushed his hand away with a glare. “You would be kept full with my seed. No matter. Should Aemond’s not take, mine would suffice.”

Swallowing thickly, you shifted so that your back was facing him. From where you had sat, your face was almost in line with his pelvis and you wondered if Aegon truly believed you would indulge him in such a way once more. “Do you not have responsibilities to tend to, my King?”

“No one would be any wiser,” he ignored your question. “Silver-haired, violet-eyed babes. Not even Aemond would know.”

“Do not be ridiculous, Your Grace. I would be more of a sinner in the eyes of the Seven,” you reasoned. “And I do not wish to–”

With a laugh, Aegon fell backwards onto Aemond’s bed. The mattress dipped under your leg from his weight. He reached out, pulling at your arm and grunting when you refused to move. “That is not how you felt when you let me enjoy that pretty little mouth of yours.”

“It was a mistake.” Feeling sick, you stood abruptly. “If you would take your leave, my King, perhaps I may rest before tonight’s feast.”

“Lies.”

“My husband will not be pleased to know that you are here and we are alone-”

“No, he would not be pleased.” Aegon rolled his eyes. “I have paid the price for that once already.”

Provocation came naturally to Aegon. In fact, you were half convinced that he revelled in it. Truthfully, he was well aware of how he would trigger Aemond’s anger. But it was so fun for Aegon to push and push, knowing that his brother could not subject him to anything of consequence merely because of the crown that sat atop his head.

Somehow, Aegon had moved so swiftly that you had barely noticed until he was standing in front of you. There was a perpetual mischief in his eyes and a boyish lust that had you stepping back, only to fall onto the bed once again. He bent forward, resting his hands on the mattress, fists curling around the linens that were at either side of you.

You gasped. “Do not.”

His breath reeked of wine. It wasn’t surprising. Aegon glanced over his shoulder, looking to the door before his face fell to the space beside yours. His lips ghosted over your cheek, as if he were choosing not to press them to your skin and you moved to push him away, releasing a relieved sigh when Aegon grunted and stumbled away.

“I see,” he straightened with a toothy grin that almost made you feel sick. “You have regained your loyalty to your husband. A shame-”

The sound of the door shutting interrupted Aegon before he could finish his sentence. Your heart dropped and when your gaze met your husband’s eye from where you sat, dishevelled and hardly looking the part of innocence, you shook your head quietly, hoping he would understand. Aemond’s jaw ticked in response and he faced Aegon, squaring his shoulders and letting his hand rest on the dagger in a wordless threat.

He had entered so silently that neither of you had noticed his presence. Aegon cleared his throat, jutting his chin upwards. “Not to worry, dear brother. I have not defiled your wife agai–”

“Get out, Aegon.” Aemond was eerily composed but the challenge in his stance gave away his anger. “There are Lords of the Council looking for their King.”

With a huff, Aegon stalked towards where the Prince stood. “I was merely offering a favour should you fail her once more. A Targaryen heir is a Targaryen heir regardless of whom it came from, no?”

It turned Aemond’s stomach. He’d had enough of these games but Aegon, despite how Aemond had just seen you refuse him, wouldn’t relent in his chase for Aemond’s humiliation. Forever taunted by his brother to no end, he wondered just how he could excuse himself for cutting Aegon’s tongue from him. Or even his cock, as Aemond had already considered such a punishment the last time he had caught Aegon alone with you.

Aemond was ashamed to admit that a part of him feared you would take Aegon for what he was offering. In the way you had turned to Aegon to satiate your desires when he was too much of an arrogant fool to push aside his ego. He had no right to hold any anger at you; not when he had first done the same to you. But it ate him up from the inside out and Aemond was certain he would not have peace from it any time soon.

Narrowing his eye, Aemond’s hand flew out to grab the collar of Aegon’s tunic. He hissed out his words, his anger seeping through his threat. “You will not bother my wife anymore, Aegon. Or you will bleed for it. Do you understand?”

“I could have you whipped for threatening me. Or worse.”

Aemond was unphased. “Do you understand?”

His calm, stoic resolve was transparent and Aegon was of enough sense to understand that it only made Aemond far deadlier. So with a grunt of acknowledgment, Aegon jerked away and nodded, barely throwing you a sideways glance before he was gone.

When the two of you were left alone, Aemond let out a long breath, moving to take a seat beside you. His shoulders were taught and you noticed the stiffness with which he moved, betraying the emotions he was so accustomed to keeping under a tight lid.

“He is an idiot,” you murmured. “A witless fool.”

Your husband let out what sounded almost like a laugh. “I cannot argue with that. Are you alright?”

A storm of guilt and disgust waged in your stomach. The idea of your tryst with Aegon was unnerving and you wondered where your repugnance was for the King only one week ago. He was a bully, a cad and he had little shame in how he behaved with you.

“I am fine,” you answered. The two of you sat at the edge of his bed, facing forward. Husband and wife, shoulder to shoulder but still somehow worlds apart. “But it is bothering you. Nothing untoward happened. He only spoke with me.”

It was an invasion of your space. And it was a bit frightening the way that Aegon had no regard for the boundaries of your privacy nor the boundaries of decency and honour. But it would only anger Aemond more to tell him of this. And you were sure that Aegon would back off under both his brother’s threat and your rejection.

Alys and her lost child had plagued your mind since you had left the tea room. And when you looked at Aemond, you can see it had done the same to him. But when Aemond looked at you, he was upset and he was insecure and you could see it all in the way he locked himself up and gave you a simple nod.

A pang of concern had you hesitantly reaching a hand for his. “I know there is distance between us. But I meant it when I said that there would be no more of those games. If that is what bothers you.”

When you finally turned to really see him, to take in the colour of his eye that reminded you of the violets that bloomed in the gardens back home. Aemond was a master of hiding himself away behind masks but he let his distress seep through the cracks, his eye holding thousands of unspoken apologies and fears.

Ten seconds must have passed as you simply tried to make sense of what you were seeing, to figure him out. Because Aemond may always know exactly what to say when faced by Lords and Ladies of title about matters of politics and philosophy but he was always clueless as to how to look at you and speak the truth of what he wishes you knew.

It was all inside of him. The way Aemond’s heart had pounded so hard when he had first met you that it terrified him into seclusion, or the way he failed to keep protecting himself from the threat he became to himself because of how he craved affection.

At first it was easy to ignore, when Aemond refused to spend any longer by your side than appearances required of him. When he came to your bed, forcing himself not to enjoy you as his beautiful, tempting wife while he spilled inside you as was required of him. Or when he wished to show you all the ways your body could fall apart only to be pieced back together by him and nobody else but bit his tongue and resisted the urge instead.

But there came an almost unrecognisable point when Aemond just could not do it anymore. Not when you had decided that you needed more from him and had shown him how you wanted him. Only for him to panic and take it as a challenge, bring Alys back to frighten you away and tempt you even more.

Control was all Aemond had known over his own emotions and even those of the people around him who were becoming easier for him to manipulate how he pleased. But it was slipping through his fingers and when Aemond was alone at night, nothing other than his own hand and imagination, his mind was entirely under your control and you had no clue of it.

Feeling scared and out of his depth was nothing new to Aemond. But this was different. This time, he couldn’t escape it and in trying so hard to run away from it, he had only created a cesspool of fucked up mistakes for which the consequences were all too much for him to handle.

The biggest problem of them all was that Aemond wanted to explain. He wanted to tell you that for you, there was a fire inside him that he once wished to quell but he no longer wanted to put it out. A flame that Aemond had become desperate to be consumed by. And that he could see you were burning in the same way for him and he wanted to protect that blaze so that it would continue to grow until it consumed you too.

Aemond didn’t know how to tell you. He didn’t know how to make you understand.

He didn’t know how to make you realise that he was sorry. That he would do whatever it took to gain back your affection; if he ever had it to begin with.

If it meant sharing all of himself with you, Aemond would learn how to do it. If it meant having you by his side at every hour of the day and every hour of the night, Aemond would do it. If it meant giving you a child, Aemond would give you many. If it meant giving you whatever you wished to wear or to eat, Aemond would dress you and feed you with his own hands. If it meant having Alys dead, Aemond would hold the dagger himself.

“I regret all the pain and humiliation I have caused you,” he murmured. Aemond brought his hand to your cheek, dropping to kneel at your lap, grazing the knuckles of his fingers across your soft skin. “I would change everything if I could. I regret it.”

Aemond could no longer hide behind all the confidence, all the teasing and the feigned indifference. But he didn’t know why the words were so painful. The truth lay heavy at the end of his tongue but his lips wouldn’t let it pass.

I am sorry.

You shivered under his gentle touch. “If you are sorry, you must say it. And you must mean it. There is much pain to overcome.”

There was a flash of something untold in his expression. The way Aemond looked at you, as if he were begging you to understand that it was so difficult for him to give in, had you reaching for him, sliding down so that you could be level with him. You couldn’t have resisted the unexplainable force that pulled you to your husband, as if you would choke and suffocate on the feelings that balled up in your throat if you were not close to him.

Hands cradling his face, your fingertips brushed against the strap of his eyepatch. Aemond’s lips parted in a silent gasp, growing rigid under your touch and when you looked at him, asking him without saying the words, he knew he needed to let you see him for how he is. Honestly and willingly. So Aemond nodded, eyebrows furrowed as his good eye gently shut.

“It is more than just the pressure to create an heir. I want to put this agony behind us Aemond,” you said, leaning forward so that your forehead was pressed against his. Each exhale of Aemond’s breath mixed with yours, warm and inviting as you held him softly. “I want to be the only one for you. I want us to be secure. I want us to have a family. I want you to love me–to try and love me at the very least. But you need to let me know if you are truly sorry so that I may find it within myself to forgive you.”

Rich, deep blue caught the light of the lamps, glimmering when you removed the leather that covered the sapphire in place of an eye. It was a beautiful shade and it was pretty against the tone of his skin and the silver of his hair. You had seen it from afar by accident but here, Aemond was closer to you than he had ever been. Vulnerable and honest, his heart aching just as yours did. The sharp inhale and quiver of his lip sent a sharp sadness to your gut.

Aemond’s moved ever so slightly against your own with his heavy breaths. You let your fingers trace the bottom of his scar, a small, hesitant smile finding your lips as you spoke. “You are beautiful Aemond. Truly. You never need to hide your true self from me.”

Words that meant more than just what they were.

“I am-” Aemond’s words caught and he swallowed as he opened his eye to hold your gaze. “I am sorry, my love.”

“Thank you,” you smiled, shuddering as he gently nudged forward, his lips so close to yours that you could feel an anticipatory tickle. “I am sorry too. We can work on forgiving each other together.”

“You never needed my forgiveness,” Aemond’s lips touched yours so lightly it may well have been a breeze from the open window. “I am yours in every which way, even in your pain and regret. In my own, as well. I can only show you how I will treasure you as I should have from the moment I first kissed your knuckles. And if it takes a lifetime to earn your forgiveness then so be it.”

A rush of heat and your lips finally met. For the first time since your wedding, sharing air and reaching to be closer, closer. Aemond’s kiss was heavy, his hands reaching for your waist, pulling you impossibly closer, as if he intended for you to become one with his body. You were dizzied by the passion that he showed you, just from his lips upon yours, greedy and grateful and holding a message that was clearer than it could ever be in spoken word.

Clutching at the back of your dress, Aemond’s hands were warm and heavy wherever he touched. You needed more of it, whimpering delicately when his lips pulled back, only to move to the crevice of your neck, leaving hot kisses on your skin that had you shuddering from the lingering sensation.

Groaning, Aemond pulled back only as far as necessary to respond to the knock at the door, pulling you up swiftly and running a tender hand across your hair to put it back in place. You were flustered, chest heaving and eyes wide, looking at him in a way that had Aemond’s blood rushing to his cock. Gods, you were beautiful like this and he thought of how he wished to see this form of you for the rest of his life.

It was your maids at the door, blushing profusely as they reminded you of the feast that they had returned to prepare you for. You sighed, stepping away from your husband, who had turned swiftly to place his eyepatch back on. Aemond’s grin didn’t falter when he stepped away to give you some privacy and you thought briefly about how his smile may be your favourite sight in the world.

Relief and excitement and a little bit of dread overcame you. It would not be an easy road ahead, but you realised that if you both tried then perhaps this was a step towards a new direction. One in which you could feel the passion and the possibility of love simmering underneath the healing you had left to do. At least now, you hoped, you would have your husband by your side.

tagging: @padfooteyes @thedyingwriter @mamawiggers1980 @queenofshinigamis @ewanmitchellfanatic @nurtargaryen @happinessinthebeing

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sirfrogsworth · 2 months ago

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Meeting my longtime artist and good friend, Chris, IN REAL LIFE!

So, I hadn't been to a restaurant in over a decade. I can't even remember which restaurant since it was so long ago. But in the past few weeks I've now been to TWO restaurants.

I am becoming a social butterfly.

And it is exhausting.

But also good.

First I reconnected with my high school best friend, John.

And that went great.

But then the opportunity to see my friend Chris (a.k.a @whosthewhatnow ) came up only a few days later. And this close proximity of social events scared me a bit, but I have been feeling much better since they figured out my heart thing, so I decided to try and do both things even though they were only a few days apart.

The key to this was strategic resting. As soon as I got home from seeing John, I got in bed and I didn't get out of it until it was time to see Chris. And that was just enough recovery time to pull this off. Typically a short outing requires 2-3 days of rest after.

I had never met Chris in real life. He has done nearly all of the artwork for my website and comics over the past decade. And he was a main character in my CRAPPRnauts series.

We know each other so well and it is crazy that we've never seen each other with our very own eyeballs.

He is such an amazing artist. He works fast and he adds so many cool extra details that you can stare at his comic panels multiple times and catch a new joke or easter egg each time. He is a dream to work with and my Corg Life series was only successful because he did such a wonderful job bringing Otis to life in comic form.

So we decided to meet up at a restaurant with his friend Michael and then I was going to take a nice portrait of him after dinner. Chris had never had a professional photo taken of himself and I decided to fix that.

I told him I had a mobile photography setup. Which, in reality, is a trunk full of lights and stands and other various camera gear that I definitely won't need, but bring anyway. It's "mobile" in that it all fits in my car if you are good at Tetris (which I am).

The restaurant was downtown and I had visions of St. Louis's famous Gateway Arch in the background of Chris's portrait. I thought that would be such a cool shot. I could see it in my head and I even dreamed about it.

So I got in my car and headed downtown and my GPS told me to exit at 249B. But I kept looking and I couldn't see the sign for 249B.

This is how much road I had left when I finally was able to see the exit for 249B.

So I ended up taking 249A and going straight to East St. Louis.

Which, if you believe the headlines, is not a place you ever want to be.

Google Maps and I have been having issues lately. They also tried to get me to take the spooky way home that night, but thankfully I actually knew the non-spooky way back from when I used to go to Cardinal games with my parents as a kid.

My short term memory was trashed by shock therapy. And so was a lot of my long term memory. But it finally came through in a pinch and remembered something useful.

I only had to loop around and cross a bridge so I didn't really do anything but touch the edge of East St. Louis. I was mostly concerned about being late for dinner more than its scary reputation. Usually those news stories about a place being "dangerous" are actually just racist and hurtful to people stuck in poverty. I mean, technically my house is in a "dangerous" neighborhood, and we do have trouble with petty crime in some spots, but aside from a few dinged-up mailboxes, I've never felt unsafe in my home.

On the way back to regular St. Louis I could see the Arch on the horizon at sunset and it was kind of magical. And I wasn't able to get a good shot of it, but it sure looked pretty from my point of view.

My photos kind of remind me of the beginning of movies like Training Day where they are trying to show you gritty, dutch angle shots of the city out of the car window to give you a sense of the location.

As I approached the restaurant I invented a new genre I call "stoplight photography." The sky was orange and the streets of St. Louis were just asking to be photographed. But I wasn't willing to die to get neat photos, so I just took them at every red light.

The big trick was trying to edit the dark area at the top of my windshield out of the photos to make it look like I didn't take these pictures from my car.

After a 15 minute detour through Illinois I arrived at my destination—a Mexican place called Rosalita's. It had a beautiful sign, so I took that literal sign as a metaphorical sign it was a nice place to get a quesadilla.

Dinner was great. Both signs were right and their quesadilla was very tasty. Chris and I both got one, so we are quesadilla twins. The waitress was one of those "I can remember your order without writing anything down" types. And I am one of those, "I get anxiety when things aren't written down" types. And, to her credit, she did not forget our orders. But she did forget to give us silverware and napkins. So I still feel like my anxiety was valid.

We told sad stories of the pups we lost. But we also had a lot of fun and laughed and I got to meet Michael who turned out to be an absolute mensch. I sometimes have trouble meeting new people with my social anxiety, but he was very affable and made me feel comfortable with his presence almost right away. He was a fan of Otis and mentioned he still has a Super Otis shirt. I always get choked up hearing that Otis is still loved. Hopefully we get to meet again.

Dinner ended and it was picture time.

I asked Chris if he wanted the high effort photo or the low effort photo. Either we figure out how to get to the Arch or we find a spot near the restaurant and just take his portrait there. Chris and Michael had a driver because they were coming from a big conference and getting to the Arch would have been complicated. So we decided to go with the low effort option.

I found a cool shop nearby that had an LED wall that changed to all sorts of different colors. And I thought that would make a neat background and give a colorful edge light on Chris's face. I pulled my car near that spot and started unloading my trunk full of photo gear.

I think Chris and Michael were a little overwhelmed when I started pulling camera gear out of my trunk like a clown pulling an endless handkerchief out of his mouth. But as far as photo setups go, it was actually pretty minimal.

Light, giant battery, light stand, umbrella, tripod, camera, rolling walker with seat.

My dad's old rollator came in clutch because I wanted to shoot from a low angle and it is hard for me to bend down. In fact, I think I'm going to look into getting an all terrain version so I can do more outdoor photoshoots.

I started shooting in the middle of a downtown sidewalk. And I was super anxious. I could not focus (my brain, not my camera). I was very distracted with all of the people walking by and staring. I was not sure if any of the photos were turning out. I wasn't even sure if they were in focus (my camera, not my brain) because I had not yet had my lens calibrated. But down the street there was a guy with an old school boombox playing random music. His music helped to drown out the ambient noise and gave me some comfort.

I had no clue if the photos were any good, but when I got home and checked them on my computer, I realized I have 12 years of experience and muscle memory built up. I probably should have just trusted myself because the photos all turned out great.

I think Chris can now officially say he has had a professional portrait taken of himself.

This photo has been officially loved by Chris's girlfriend and mother.

There is no greater seal of approval and I am honored.

I was able to comp in any of the colors the wall displayed from other shots in case Chris is feeling a little more green in the future.

A literal rainbow of options.

I also liked this one, though it is a little more "environmental portrait" than regular portrait.

And I got some nice photos of our little group to help us remember the night.

And I got a bunch of photos of Chris making silly faces like Calvin at his school photoshoot.

I love this woman's reaction to our little impromptu sidewalk photo shenanigans.

After we said our goodbyes and I gave my friend a hug, I was a little bummed I didn't get to photograph him at the Arch like I had dreamed.

But then I realized I had my own car and it was capable of taking me places. (I actually haven't gotten used to that after not driving for nearly 15 years.)

So I decided to drive a few blocks over to Kiener Plaza—a park with a view of the Arch.

TO BE CONTINUED...

#long post #whosthewhatnow #dinner with chris #photography

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finalgirllx · 9 months ago

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bartender mattheo riddle

i'm a slut for AUs and this one quickly shot up to being one of my favorites for mattheo.

for @thatdammchickennugget's hogmarch challenge, the prompt i went off of was 'firewhiskey/butterbeer'

As you tread the once-familiar cobblestone streets of Hogsmeade, the rhythmic click of your shoes provides a temporary distraction from the storm swelling inside your thoughts. For such a lively village, the action around you feels distant, too far in the past to offer any respite similar to the steady cadence beneath your feet.

To outside viewers, you appear as any young person donning a modest party dress and looking for a casual spot to unwind for the evening. They wouldn't know this was your first visit to Hogsmeade in over five years since you finished your schooling at Hogwarts. You had left the highlands, your small hamlet, for bigger, better things—or so you had thought.

Reality didn't guarantee such promises you had dreamed of in those few years. Currently barely making ends meet and running on a general sense of uncertainty, you decided it was as good a time as any to revisit your hometown and the magical communities surrounding it, including this cheerful wizarding town you had frequented throughout your adolescence.

You first tried your luck with the Three Broomsticks, but the bustling atmosphere proved too overwhelming for the discreet return you aimed for. With the decision between the rundown Hog's Head inn and a newer, more upscale establishment called 'Celestial Sips,' you opted to see what this new 'fancy-schmancy' spot was all about.

You stealthily step through the polished entry doors to scan the venue, which is dimly lit beside faint golden lights. It is adorned with oddly shaped furniture more suited for artistic expression rather than usability. It appears far more modernized than the traditional charm most common with Hogsmeade’s businesses, young wizarding folk undoubtedly curated it with heavy inspiration coming from muggle cocktail lounges.

The existence of the bar itself in a place such as Hogsmeade wasn't the most earth-shattering part of this night out. It was when your eyes met with the lead bartender, and a flood of memories filled your senses as you realized it was none other than Mattheo Riddle.

His dark curls were unruly as ever but fell in such a way that made him irresistible. His piercing dark gaze caught yours, sparking with recognition. The scar across the bridge of his nose was just as prominent as it was six years ago, as vivid as the day you had dragged him to the hospital wing to get his split nose mended after a particularly grueling fistfight.

That memory also reminds you just how close you and him once were. While you had never officially dated, you did everything a couple would and then some. You shared countless fun late nights, as well as having been there for each other during the more trying ones. And although sexual intimacy didn't come until after graduation, the passion of those post-school days also remains etched in your memory. It was your decision to pursue "bigger things" that had cut that short, leaving you with a lingering sense of what might have been.

Despite the distance between you as you reeled from the shock of encountering him here, you couldn't help but notice the changes in Mattheo over the past five years. Mattheo exuded a confidence far from the troubled boy you once knew at school. He had grown taller, broader, and even more handsome than before. He was also now littered with tattoos that only added to his allure, tempting you to bridge the distance separating you further.

Your knee-jerk reaction would have been to flee the scene, but since you had already met eyes and he was actively beckoning you forward to the bar as you battled with your thoughts, you had no choice but to participate in the unexpected reunion.

You sat at a bar stool, and Mattheo quickly welcomed you with a warm but distinctively husky tone. It was clear that Mattheo was struggling to mask his excitement over seeing you as he tried to maintain some professionalism while behind the bar.

"The greatest stroke of luck I've encountered since taking the job at this fancy joint," Mattheo started with genuine delight, "I can't believe it's you. You look fantastic," his quick work of sweet-talking you did the trick as your cheeks flushed, though still totally sober. Mattheo was also swift in amending that, sliding a vodka cranberry before you with a nod, "On the house. Let me know if you want something more 'refined' for the setting; I just went with an old favorite."

You let out a soft giggle, drawing the straw to your lips to sip the drink. The sweetness of the juice masks the burn, perfectly balanced to not overwhelm from either end.

With Mattheo's excellent job of putting you at ease, you finally replied. "Indeed, you always teased me for not being a whiskey drinker. Old habits die hard," you quipped, taking another sip before continuing. "But, look at you! A bartender? Mattheo, I must say, I'm thrilled to see you here and not, well.." your words lingered away at the implication, realizing it might not sound as encouraging as intended. There were all sorts of rumors of him headed to a life of dark wizardry, so seeing him here was a relief. But he didn't have to hear about any of that, not now. Quickly shifting your approach, you perked up to suggest, "And at this luxurious place? While I appreciate the old favorite, I would love to see what magic you could conjure up in a cocktail glass."

Mattheo laughed and shook his head momentarily before piping up again. "Seems your confidence has skyrocketed. I'm glad to see that, princess," he teased with a cheeky smirk, earning an eye roll from you that only amused him further. You again feel a little heated at the nickname, opting not to question it. You could see that the mischievous glint in his eyes was alive and well as he began meticulously combining various expensive-looking drinks and mixers just for you. Simultaneously, Mattheo tended to other existing patrons, expertly traversing the sprawling bar to ensure everyone's needs were met and drinks stayed filled.

Observing how Mattheo carried himself with such assuredness only heightened your attraction. Each movement he made to speak with patrons and craft drinks allowed you to appreciate his muscled physique. You were no better than a groupie ogling his toned, tattooed arms, his hands still bearing faint scars from his past. The sight of his veins flexing with every motion ignited a fire in your stomach that you hoped wouldn't consume you entirely.

His broad shoulders and slim waist were accentuated by his dark button-up dress shirt. That caught your attention, as did when your gaze moved downward and drifted over his perfectly sculpted behind. You were abruptly snapped from your desirous stupor when the object of your admiration set a much fancier cocktail before you.

"Like what you see?" Mattheo asked with a smug, teasing tone, causing you to want to disappear into the ground beneath your stool. You must have been less-than-subtle about checking him out, but he didn't seem to mind as he continued without further ribbing. "Try that. It's the Mattheo special," he said, watching you intently to see how you reacted to the first sip.

You smirked at the oh-so-creative name and then inspected the drink itself. It was rather extravagant, a lavender purple hue with swirls of gold shimmering with every swish of the glass.

Without hesitation, you lifted the glass and took a small sip. A delightful combination of blueberry and lemon overtook your tastebuds, almost completely shielding the strength of the alcohol in the drink. Hell, you were prepared to question if it was mixed at all had you not watched him pour at least a shot's worth of vodka into it.

You gave him a smile of approval, to which Mattheo grinned widely, clearly pleased to see you liked it. With the other patrons momentarily tended to, Mattheo rested his elbows on the counter, surprising you with his sudden proximity as he leaned forward, suggesting he had something enticing to say.

"I hope this isn't too forward, but I'd really like to catch up," Mattheo spoke in a hushed tone. It sounded innocent enough, but the question, paired with his gaze lingering on your figure, told you he meant anything but. "Would you consider sticking around till close?"

Yes, yes, yes! Your internal monologue screamed. On the outside, you locked eyes with him and smirked, your expression conveying you understood his intentions well. "I don't have anywhere else I want to go; I can stick around."

-----------------------

You were cautious with your drinking to avoid getting too intoxicated for your later plans with Mattheo. As the closing time for Celestial Sips approached, you remained near the counter, bantering with other patrons. Mattheo delegated cleaning duties to other employees while he called for final rounds and closed tabs. Each time your eyes met, a shared twinge of excitement passed between you.

After another hour or so, Mattheo finally shut down the lit 'open' sign, leaving you two together alone. While this is what you wanted, your nerves welled up upon the realization that it was just the two of you here. A hint of insecurity came over you. He had grown to be such an attractive, confident man, and you could only hope he found you equally appealing. That line of thought was interrupted when Mattheo began approaching you. His expression, filled with hunger, was directed at you. His captivating eyes combined with the deep-brown locks drooping over his forehead implored you to swoon from where you sat.

"Merlin, princess, you have no idea how much I've missed you," Mattheo murmured, his voice brimming with seduction as he closed the distance, his hands finding their place on the curve of your waist. “Please let me know if you want me to slow down at any time." His words echoed in your ears, bringing you comfort even though you felt wholly prepared to surrender to all of his desires.

Mattheo advanced until your back pressed against the front of the counter. His lips found the crook of your neck, peppering your skin with a trail of wet kisses in their wake. A moan escaped your lips as his actions ignited your longing for more; everything you had wished his hands on you would feel like coming true. However, the heat was cut short far too soon when Mattheo suddenly took a pause from all of the heavy petting.

"You seem tense," Mattheo remarked with a hint of concern. You promptly reassured him with affectionate pecks to his cheek before admitting, "I just hope I'm good for you." His eyes briefly darkened as if displeased by your hesitancy. Suddenly, both of his hands moved to cup your cheeks, and he gazed deeply into your eyes.

"You are the most beautiful person I've ever laid eyes on. I meant every word when I said I fantasized about a moment like this with you for years," he confessed. The sincerity in his voice compelled you to trust him, leaving you with no doubt about whether he wanted this.

Seeing you take his words to heart, Mattheo's expression then lit up, clearly having a lightbulb moment. "If you're ready, this place is chock full of drinks to help us both loosen up a bit," As soon as he mentioned it, you felt almost silly having overlooked the idea, realizing that some liquid confidence was the answer to easing your nerves. You nodded, and Mattheo took his hand in yours and gently guided you behind the bar counter.

"Do you trust me?" He asked, and you instantly replied, "I do."

In one swift motion, one hand made its way to the back of your head and the other to the small of your back so he could pull you into a passionate kiss. Your tongues found each other in a dance, his dominant side quickly winning over as his tongue protruded into your mouth. When you briefly pulled away to catch your breath, your cheeky side showed itself when you gently tugged on his bottom lip with your teeth. He moaned slightly, to your satisfaction, and you took advantage of the moment to run your hand over his chest, feeling the muscles underneath that dress shirt. You finally had Mattheo Riddle all to yourself, and you wanted all of him.

Without warning, he grabbed you by the hips, pulled you close, and spun you around to bend you over the counter. One hand curled around your hair to create a makeshift ponytail, the other wasting no time grabbing a bottle of fire whiskey within arm's reach and placing it beside you.

"I'm sorry, doll. I know you love vodka, but whiskey is perfect for tonight."

You looked up at him with doe-like pleading eyes as he gripped your hair, nodding as much as you could though restricted by his hold. He grinned wickedly over your enthusiastic consent before looming over you with a dominating presence. "Open up that mouth, princess."

Your lips slightly parted as Mattheo brought the open bottle of whiskey to your mouth. He poured a shot's worth down your throat, the intense heat burning on your tongue without anything to chase it down. Yet, as Mattheo force-fed you the drink and whispered praises in your ear about how you 'take it so well,' the burn of the whiskey transformed into a divine sensation, exhilarating in the best way. The bar counter was the only thing stopping you from melting to the floor as you became weak in the knees, your aroused state especially susceptible to his praise.

Mattheo lifted the bottle away from you to take a swig, holding you to the counter with a heavy palm against your back. He sighed, satisfied by the burn.

After a moment, he turned his attention back on you and pulled your hair to the side, hastily marking your neck with suctioned kisses and nibbles. At the same time, Mattheo's fingers ghosted down your back, caressing your ass and jolting you with a swift spank, finally reaching underneath your dress to stroke your cunt through your slick panties.

"Merlin, princess, after seeing the way your lips wrapped around that bottle, I wanted to fuck that pretty mouth so bad. But feeling how goddamn wet you are for me, I'm not sure either of us can wait for my cock to be inside your perfect, tight pussy."

His long fingers moved away from your aching core, reaching up and now brushing against your lips. "Will you wet my fingers a little more for me?" he asked in a voice too enticing for such an indecent request. You immediately allowed him to intrude your mouth, his fingers already covered in your taste though he had just barely begun to touch you. "We have to prepare that pussy don't we?" he groaned into your ear. You were distracted as his hardened cock ground into your ass between the fabric of your dress and his trousers.

You could tell he was beginning to lose himself as he seemed enamored by the way your mouth slipped over his fingers, swirling your tongue around them in a show of desperation to please.

Once content with your wetting of his fingers, he pulled them from your mouth and went back to exploring your panties, pushing them aside to tease your folds before slipping the first of his fingers in. It was seamless, not surprising for you, having lusted over him the entire night.

"Fuck, you're still so tight, doll. I have to stretch you out, so this feels as good for you as it will for me."

After a few moments, he introduced a second finger to your soaked cunt. He didn't move at first but gradually began pumping them inside. He could have cum on the spot witnessing your frenetic response to just two fingers.

"Careful, princess. If you want to come on my fingers, you need to beg for it." The words sent a shudder of desperation through your entire body, legs threatening to give out from underneath you as the artful use of his fingers in tandem with his dirty talk brought you toward your first orgasm, unable to resist it even if you tried. Mattheo kept his movements steady as your eyes rolled back and your walls clenched around him, a deep voice leaving the back of his throat to growl, "that's it, ride my fingers, you little slut," His tone this time was demanding, you knew he was displeased by your disobedience. His untamed, hungry expression evolved into something more conniving as he contemplated how to punish you for cumming without permission.

"You like that, huh? A slut who couldn't wait to beg? I should put my cock inside you and make you cum until you can't stand it anymore, then, hm? Do you want that? Cry for it, princess, or you're not getting it."

You quickly fulfill this command with desperate pleas, "Please, Mattheo, please, fill me with your cock."

"Fucking hell, princess--if I wasn't about to bust, I'd have you begging more. Desperation sounds fucking delicious rolling off your tongue," Mattheo growled against your ear as one of his hands haphazardly moved back to his trousers, hastily unbuttoning them to allow his needy length to spring free and press against you. The relief of finally freeing himself caused a deep groan to slip past his lips which only seemed to increase his urgency as his hands quickly found their place on your body again, yanking your dress up over your ass and delivering a forceful slap to your exposed flesh. You yelped and squirmed reflexively from the sting, much to his delight. "That's my fucking ass, don't forget it," he groaned with a certain smugness at the sight of his handprint forming on your skin.

"Please, Matty, please fuck me," you pleaded with a nearly pathetic level of desire. With that, Mattheo decided not to waste another second before indulging you. He took hold of your hips, guiding his cock to your slick folds, and slowly started to ease himself inside of you.

You gasped at the intrusion, reveling in the stretch, but Mattheo cooed praises to relax you enough so there was little discomfort as you adjusted to his size. "Fuck, you fit around me so well. perfect pussy, perfect girl." he groaned as he could feel your wet warmth surround him. “is this okay?"

"Yes, please keep going."

Mattheo used the makeshift ponytail of your hair to lift your head and press his full weight against you onto the counter. His hips began to move, thrusting slowly to start until he was absolutely sure you could take him. With you now sandwiched between his body and the cold surface, he worked up to fucking you at a relentless pace, the base of his cock clashing against your ass as he bottomed out inside of your cunt. The hand steadying you by the hip reached up to wrap around your throat, squeezing at the sides enough for you to feel his strength but not enough to cause pain. It seemed almost to be a reminder for himself not to completely lose to the animalistic urges as he continued to increase the intensity. Your pelvis clanging against the bar didn't matter; you always like it rough, and he knew it.

"Princess, oh gods, I don't know if I'll last." He moaned into your ear paired with short, hot breaths. "You feel so fucking good; I wanted this for so..fucking...long." he sang his praises between each punctuated thrust that hit just the right spot inside of you again and again. The repeated stimulation triggers your second orgasm, your walls clenching around his cock as a choked moan barely escapes your lips- the sound being caught by his firm hold on your neck.

"We're fucking meant for each other, babe," Mattheo grunted as you rode through your wave of pleasure. All you could do in your cockdrunk state was mewl in response, which fueled his ego. "Perfect dumb slut for me, you love taking my cock, don't you? Tell me how much you love my cock," his dirty talk turned more degrading as your most depraved desires inched closer to showing themselves on the surface.

"Love your cock Matty.. mhm so good..."

"Good slut. Now, say you're mine," he commanded, completely frenzied with his pacing.

"I'm yours." you babbled with complete devotion. Mattheo groaned as you so willingly gave into his possessiveness, the very idea of owning every part of you being the tipping point to let his release out inside of you. His rutting became erratic and slowed as he rode through his orgasm, the last few pumps matching your third orgasm in stride.

He then laid limp on top of you, letting out heaving exhales to regain his composure. For the moment, he left his cock to twitch inside of you, relishing in the warm feeling. Once convinced he could get up properly, he pulled out, leaving your pussy dripping with his cum as his entire body lurched over you.

"That was perfect, you were perfect. Best stroke of luck in ages," he mused with a throaty chuckle, recalling his first words when you locked eyes at the beginning of the night. "Can you walk?" he asked, mostly teasingly because the shaking of your legs answered that question without a doubt.

"No," you spoke softly, the giggles you had at the beginning of the night starting to return even if your mind wasn't still fully there from the back-to-back stimulation.

With this, Mattheo decided to hold you for a while longer. You had a lot of catching up to do and piecing together both of your stories to find out how, after so many years, you still ended up right here. But for now, the shared presence was enough.

------------------ huge thankies to @slytherinslut0 for coaching me through this. i was very spooked to share. love y'all <3

#mattheo riddle #mattheo riddle au #mattheo riddle smut #mattheo riddle x reader #mattheo riddle x you #slytherin #slytherin boys #hogmarch challenge

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itsswritten · 10 months ago

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Share your pain.

Request: From anon “Hiiii would you write reader saying something hurtful to az during an argument (established relationship btw)??? And az gets upset over it but they later make up and it ends in fluff? I'm sorry I'm obsessed with hurt/comfort 😔”

Pairing: azriel x reader

Word count: 2.3K

Warings: Angst, nightmares…I think that’s it. Let me know if I’ve missed anything.

Summary: In the wake of a heated argument, you and Azriel find yourselves adrift, the once unbreakable bond strained... :(

A/n: hi again, hope you enjoy this. First time I’ve written a bit of angst for Azriel. Let me know what you all think! <3 - L

The air in your bedroom hung heavy, the usual sanctuary of rest and reprieve now echoing with the bitter remnants of a lovers' quarrel. You hadn’t meant for things to get this tense, but as the moon cast long shadows across your bedroom, there was no denying the unresolved tension between Azriel and you.

The first six months of your mating had been a whirlwind of passion and frenzy, a time you fondly recalled. The initial intensity of the bond was like a wildfire, consuming everything in its path. You had known Azriel more intimately than anyone else, or so you thought.

Yet, as the months rolled on, the veneer of your relationship began to crack. Despite the depth of your bond, Azriel remained an enigma, his troubles hidden beneath layers you couldn't penetrate. Initially, this mystery was part of the intrigue you loved about him. But as the struggles of the war haunted him, manifesting in nightmares that would leave him thrashing in the solitude of his own battles, the barriers between you grew thicker.

This particular night had been no different. Azriel, caught in the clutches of a haunting dream, had awoken hot and thrashing.

"Az… let me help you" you whispered, reaching out with a tenderness only a mate could offer.

But he pulled away. Recoiling from your touch and standing by the side of the bed. He erected an invisible barrier, refusing the solace you offered and, as always, shutting you off from the bond.

The rejection hurt.

At times, he would freeze over, pulling a wall up so high to stop his feelings from spilling over to yours. Initially, you assumed it was to spare you the pain he felt, but with time, it began to feel like mistrust.

"Please, Azriel," you pleaded, the use of his full name an attempt to bridge the growing chasm between you. "Don't shut me out."

"Y/n…Don't" he bit back sharply, a flash of frustration in his eyes. The lump in your throat grew, emotions simmering beneath the surface. You were on your feet now too, flimsy night shorts and a vest hanging loosely on your frame, while the air around you turned cold. Any remaining shadows that had been soothing your skin fled to their master to comfort him.

"Is this how it's going to be, then?" you asked, your voice strained with the weight of unspoken grievances.

This was never how you imagined having a mate would be like.

Cold and lonely.

Your fingers played with the bottom hem of your sleep shorts while trying to muster through your feelings. Trying to keep calm, find the right words to soothe your partner, but no matter what you did or said, it never worked, and you began to doubt if you were the person he even wanted to find comfort in.

Your chest seized, a pang of hurt rolling through. You had hoped Azriel could feel the anguish he was putting you through, but of course, that ice wall was built up. It not only stopped you from seeing into him, but it rejected any connection from you too.

You had been suppressing your own needs and feelings for far too long, prioritising his pain over your own. You could feel the anger begging to spill over your edges.

“We might as well not be mates..” you choked out.

A gasp left Azriel’s lips as he said your name, disbelief clouding his expression at such a notion.

You knew it was a cruel thing to say.

Azriel had been waiting for this type of connection all his life. He had told you that you were worth the centuries of waiting. And even though you knew he loved you dearly, and his intentions were never malicious, he was hurting you.

Selfishly, you wanted to hurt him back.

“Maybe you’re better off alone with your shadows” you bit out spitefully.

His gaze shattered, a flicker of pain mirroring your own. As if the mere mention of his shadows had drained the strength from him, they slumped in a rare display of vulnerability. Before he could utter another word, unable to bear the weight of your words, you stormed out of your bedroom, and out of the House of Wind.

~~~

Days passed in an agonising blur, the weight of your words lingering in the air like a heavy stormcloud. That night, you had winnowed away to a friend's apartment in the city, seeking refuge far from the House of Wind. Leaving those walls behind offered a semblance of peace, though you remained unsure of how to navigate this situation under the prying eyes of the Inner Circle.

Your friends were always lovely, but it was hard to escape the fact that they were Azriel's friends first. Azriel’s family.

Lily, an old study companion, opened her home to you without hesitation, setting up her spare room and insisting you stay as long as needed. In moments like these, you regretted letting go of your own apartment. In the frenzy of the mating bond, you had moved in with Azriel, opting for proximity to his friends and his high lord's court.

The morning after the fight, Azriel had sent a ripple down the bond.

"Can we talk, love?"

You instantly rejected his call, erecting your own emotional barrier around the bond. The irony wasn't lost on you – you were now doing the very thing that hurt you, mirroring Azriel's tendency to shut you off.

Perhaps a taste of his own medicine was warranted?

You had been an open book for him, laying your wounds and traumas bare. Despite the difficulty of discussing certain matters, you wanted Azriel to know every part of you.

Yet, here you were, mimicking his defensive actions.

Azriel could probably find you if he wished. As the Spymaster of the Night Court, he likely knew your location without relying on the bond. Although he had never visited Lily's place, you were sure his shadows had scoured the city for you as soon as you left that night.

You missed them. His little minions, you would call them as a way to tease him. Always at his beck and call, and quick to caress you, much like his own touches

A pang of guilt washed over you as you recalled his expression before you left.

"Maybe you're better off alone with your shadows."

It had been a petty, low blow from you. Azriel had confided in the past that he once worried it would only ever be him and his shadows, that he was somehow cursed to not find love, companionship, a life partner.

A soft rap at the door interrupted your thoughts. You had secluded yourself in Lily's apartment for four days now, ignoring any attempts from Rhysand to contact you mentally.

“Y/n…It’s me” the soft female voice spoke behind the door. Feyre.

You invited your friend in. Quickly popping the kettle on and making you both tea. You sank into the plush sofa next to Feyre, bringing your teacups to the coffee table in front of you as you both idled in general chit chat.

“How is Rhys? …and everyone?” You asked. You hadn’t realised till not being there how much the inner circle had become integrated into your life. Your days often spent with laughter over meals, mornings spent sparring with Cassain and your afternoons filled with fun company of the girls.

And of course the nights, spent all consumed with your mate.

“Everyone is good” Feyre spoke, her smile dropping at the edges “Well not everyone” she spoke honestly. Feyre gently guided the conversation toward the true reason for her visit.

"I'm sure you know why I'm here," she said, her eyes filled with a mixture of understanding and concern.

"Did Azriel send you to check on me?" you asked, a hint of scepticism in your voice.

Feyre's hurt was palpable. "Y/N, I came here to check on you. I’ve been worried about you. We all have.” Your own gaze softened, embarrassed at the harsh assumption you had made.

“But I would be lying if I didn't say I didn't come partially because of Azriel. I'm worried about him too. He's not acting like himself, not sleeping, not eating, avoiding us all…even Rhys and Cassian."

Your heart hurt. The bond aching at the news of your mate suffering.

"I know you want to punish him," Feyre added gently.

"I don't want to punish him," you replied, though a part of you realised that, in a way, you were. Hurting him the exact same way he had hurt you.

Feyre sighed, her gaze never leaving yours. "I get it, trust me I do. But just come home, please" she pleaded.

You sat as you recalled what she had said. Perhaps it was time.

~~~

You waited for Rhysand to dispatch Azriel on a task before returning, unsure if you were ready to face him immediately. Feyre had kept you informed, grateful for her assistance in navigating this delicate situation.

Avoiding your shared bedroom, the space now haunted by the memories of your recent argument – you sought refuge on one of the balconies overlooking the city. The night had descended, casting the realm below into a humming sea of lights beneath the purple midnight sky.

Perched on a comfortable lounge chair, a blanket draped around you, you found solace in a book you had forgotten about. Left untouched when you departed, was laid waiting on the bedside table for you when you returned. In fact the entire bedroom looked untouched, the bedsheets had not been warmed for a while.

He’s not been sleeping. You remembered Feyre’s words from earlier, the realisation breaking you a little at your mates pain.

Deciding it was time to address the tension that lingered between you and Azriel, you closed the book and set it aside. Breaking down the emotional barrier hastily erected around the bond, you sent a gentle ripple through the thread – a subtle breath to signal your readiness to talk.

Hoping Azriel had concluded whatever task had taken him away, you pondered on the fact that, even without the ripple, he would likely sense your return. His keen senses, coupled with the vigilance of his shadows and network of spies, made you a detectable presence. You understood your mate well enough to know though that he wouldn't intrude if you needed space.

The ripple was your invitation, an indication that you were ready to see him.

The first sign of his return was the wind, a gentle breeze brushing across your face as Azriel's wings beat the air upon his descent. Looking up, you caught your breath at the sight of your godly partner. It took a conscious effort to regain your composure, resisting the urge to succumb to the overwhelming emotions stirred by his presence.

“My love…” he breathed. He looked tired, dark circles under his eyes and a ruggedness that was unusual for him.

“Azriel,” you spoke his full name, tilting your head to encourage him to join you on the lounge chair. Instead, he stepped forward, dropping to his knees in front of you.

Cauldron give me strength; he was so painstakingly beautiful.

His large hands found your lap, yours naturally finding his fingers, tracing the harsh lines that covered them.

"I've been giving this a lot of thought," he began, his voice a low murmur. "I never meant to shut you out, Y/N. I’m so sorry”

You nodded, your eyes settling on his hazel gaze. Letting your mate speak his truth, his own self-reflections.

“It’s just always been me. Me and my shadows,” he smiled, glancing over to the little grey flurries that were now tangled up in your hair. “So when I finally met you, got you…I was scared,” he admitted. “Scared, my demons might repulse you, terrify you, make you leave me. It was... instinct. To protect myself."

Your gaze softened, the realisation settling in that the barrier Azriel erected wasn't out of a lack of trust, but rather a reflex born from deep-seated pain.

"Azriel," you spoke gently, "I don't want to dictate how you deal with your trauma.” Your hand moved to his face now, thumb rubbing his cheek gently. He breathed in at your touch, closing his eyes at the intimacy he had missed for days. “But I need you to trust in us, in me. Let me share the burden, even if it's just a fraction."

Azriel's shoulders sagged, a mixture of relief and regret evident in his eyes. "I want to, Y/N."

"I understand it won't happen overnight. I just need you to believe that I'm here, that you don't have to carry everything on your own."

The vulnerability in your words mirrored Azriel's, creating a fragile bridge between you. His shadows, attuned to the subtleties of emotion, responded by weaving gently around you.

"I'm sorry for the things I said," you admitted, humility colouring your voice. "I never should have pushed you like that. It's not my place to demand you share those things with me."

Azriel shook his head, a small smile tugging at his lips. "No, you're right. I need to change, to let you in more. It's just hard, but I'm willing to try."

A shared understanding passed between you, a silent pact to navigate the complexities of healing together.

"Let's start fresh," he proposed, sincerity in his eyes.

You nodded with a gentle smile on your face. The mating bond buzzed. Azriel leaned over, his lips pressing against yours in a not-so-subtle, hungry kiss.

“Now come here” He growled with a teasing grin, you screamed lightly as he pulled you into his arms as he stood. He looked at you with a feral glint in his eyes.

We have some catching up to do, my love.

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