#but for that small window of time it’s terrifying

[astraljedi]

No grave can hold my body down (Tommy Miller)

Request: Can you write reader trying to find a way to tell Tommy she's pregnant but tragedy keeps happening. It could follow episode 2 from the latest season. Thank you in advance!

Pairing: Tommy Miller x Reader

Warnings: Spoilers for TLOU, Violence, descriptions of blood loss, wounded characters, death of a parent/love one, grief, heavy themes of loss. NSFW. 18+, scenes contain sexual themes, P in V, minor dirty talk, using sex as a release

Word Count: 6k+

Song: Work Song by Hozier

a/n: Request are open if you want to send something in! This is a continuation of "Safe and Sound" but you don't technically need to read it together. Enjoy!

- No grave can hold my body down I'll crawl home to her

My eyes flutter open to the sound of shuffling and a belt buckle clinking so early in the morning. I stretch my body, squinting from the bathroom light spilling across the room. It’s still dark outside, not fully morning yet—Frederick hasn't even started singing.

“Tommy?” I squeak, still stretching my limbs against the cold comforter.

“Mornin’. Sorry, baby, the council’s getting together.” Tommy sits on the edge of the bed, on my side, and presses a kiss to my temple. I reach for his hand, watching how the silver wedding band glints under the bathroom light. We've been married a couple of years now, but every time I see that ring, it still makes my stomach flutter. “Something happened on patrol, but I’ll try and find you later. Okay?”

“Will it take long? I wanted to talk to you about something,” I say, thinking of the sealed, untouched pregnancy test hidden in my bag. I want to take it with him, not by myself.

“I don’t know, but can it wait ‘til later? I really gotta go.” He leans down, gives me a quick kiss on the lips. “Try and sleep for a while. I’ll let the chickens out before I leave.”

I sink back into bed, watching him pull on his jacket and disappear out the door. But I don’t fall back asleep—the small bit of rest still left in me is gone. I wait until I hear the front door shut before I get up and pull the pregnancy test from my bag, heading for the bathroom.

The past week has been terrible. At first, I thought I’d caught some awful stomach bug—vomiting day and night, no appetite, and the heartburn felt like it was eating me alive. 

Tommy stayed most nights with me, rubbing my back, bringing me warm soup, doing whatever he could to help me keep something down.

Even Maria had stopped by a few times, but right before New Year's, she handed me a sealed pregnancy test while Tommy was out. “This is sacred,” she said. “Had to pull a few favors, but just to be sure.”

Since Tommy’s Maria’s right hand, we’ve gotten close over the years, ever since I joined the community. “It never crossed my mind,” I admitted, taking the box with shaky hands. It wasn’t like we’d done anything to prevent it... but the idea of bringing a kid into a world full of infected has always haunted me.

Now, I’m leaning against the bathroom sink while the test sits on the counter, face down and terrified of the results. Three minutes have never felt this long. I pick it up and turn it over—two clear lines stare back at me.

“Shit.” I throw the test into the sink and scramble to the toilet, my stomach lurching as I throw up everything inside me. Even after a shower and brushing my teeth, my eyes keep returning to the test. 

I grab it, shove it back into its box, and cram it into the drawer Tommy keeps saying he’ll fix but never does. It takes a minute to get it open, and once it does, I toss the box inside and slam the drawer shut with all the strength I have. If only I could the same with the storm of thoughts brewing in my head. 

True to his word, Tommy let the chickens out and fed them. I stand at the window, watching them peck the ground, the early sun beginning to stretch across the yard. I open the fridge, but even the thought of eggs makes me gag. I settle for bread with a little butter and some tea, since even plain water seems to set me off.

Before the school year starts, I’d already planned to head to town for some trades. I pack my bag with two cartons of eggs and a few bars of my homemade lavender soap, hoping to exchange them for a couple of new bound notebooks for my lesson planning, and maybe any other supplies I can scrounge up.

Town is busier than usual—barrels being rolled through the street, trucks getting loaded, and people moving fast. Had to be a drill, probably connected to why Tommy left so early. I rush to get my trades done, even managing to grab a flannel and a jacket for Tommy in exchange for offering the seller’s kids free haircuts through the first half of the year.

I catch a glimpse of Tommy near the gates talking with a group and watch as he sends them off. It’s like he feels me watching—he turns around and spots me.

“Hey, what’s going on?” I ask once he’s pulled me into his arms.

“We’ve placed the town on high alert. Might be nothing, but two patrol members found a group of thirty infected using their own dead to hide,” he sighs, eyes scanning the street. I reach up to tuck a loose curl behind his ear.

“Are they okay?” I ask.

“Yeah. They sprinted back to warn us, and we sent out a squad to clear the infected. We just don’t know if there are more, so we’re preparing—making sure everyone’s up to date with protocols.” He nods toward my bag. “Shopping?”

“Just getting a few things before school starts. Got you a jacket too—for when it starts warming up a little.” I show him a peek of the fabric and he smiles. “Do you think you can come home early today? If nothing big happens—I really need to do something with you.”

“I’ll try. Depends on how this all plays out.” He gestures toward the town, and I nod. I understand. Tommy would do anything to keep Jackson safe.

He presses his lips to mine, but we break apart at the sound of bells ringing above the wall.

“Raiders or infected?” Maria asks, suddenly beside us.

“Infected!” someone shouts back. “Five minutes out!”

“Follow the plan. I’ll take the roof, you take Main Street,” Maria says to Tommy.

“Go to the shelter. Now,” Tommy orders. I grab his hand and pull him in for a quick kiss. When we break apart, we nod to each other—a silent promise to stay alive.

I run to the nearest store where people are already being ushered into the basement for shelter.

That’s when I hear a cry from my right. I turn and see Billie—a little boy I had in my class last year—standing alone, crying for his mom. I rush to him and grab his hand. I search for Franny, his mother, but she’s nowhere in sight.

“Hey Billie, we need to hide now, but I promise we’ll find your mom after, okay?”

He nods, still crying, but lets me lead him down into the basement. I find a spot near the back and sit on the floor, pulling Billie into my lap and holding him close.

“We have to be brave, Billie. Okay?”

He nods, curling into my chest. “Are the monsters gonna find us?”

“No. The town will protect us. And Mr. Miller is out there and you can trust him to keep everyone safe.” I squeeze him tighter.

The chaos outside is impossible to ignore—gunfire, shrieking, explosions. Billie cries into me, but I don’t let him go.

“It’s okay, buddy. We’re safe,” I whisper, though even my own heart feels like it’s about to pound out of my chest.

Each crack of glass, each thud or scream from upstairs makes me flinch. The infected have breached the town. Billie covers his ears with his hands, and I close my eyes, trembling every time the gunshots fire again and again.

Please be okay, I think. Please let Tommy be okay.

It takes hours—maybe more than two—for everything to settle, though the gunfire still rings out now and then, putting down those who got bitten. We’re still locked in the reinforced basement, but I’m growing impatient. 

When they finally give the all-clear, the sky is beginning to set, thick with smoke. Fires burn in every corner, cremating the infected. The smell is awful. I pull Billie close, shielding his eyes from the sight.

“Billie!” a voice cries out—and there’s Franny, running toward us. Billie slips out of my arms and sprints to her, hugging her tight. Relief hits me like a wave, and I fight back tears.

“I was with Mrs. Miller! She kept me safe and told me I was being brave,” Billie tells her, pointing at me.

“Thank you,” Franny says, pulling me into a grateful hug.

“Have you seen Tommy?” I ask, but she shakes her head.

“I’m sorry.” She gives my arm a squeeze before heading off to find her husband.

I swallow the lump in my throat, forcing down the wave of nausea rising up again. My eyes scan the crowd, avoiding the bodies. I start to feel dizzy, overwhelmed by every face passing by—until I spot him.

Blood’s dripping down from a cut on his head, but he’s standing. He’s alive.

I don’t think—I just run. He turns at the last second, just as I reach him, throwing my arms around his neck.

“You’re okay,” I whisper, the only thing I could say, again and again. 

He melts into me, his knees buckling and I let him lean all his weight into my arms. His face buries into my neck, and finally, I feel him exhale.

“I got you,” I whisper, and I don't let go.

The nightmare doesn’t stop.

The day had faded into complete darkness, fire overtaking the town at every corner. 

“I’m worried about Joel, darlin’,” Tommy winces as the wet cloth meets his broken skin. “He was on patrol with Dina, and they weren’t answering their radios.”

“The storm’s been the worst we’ve seen. They probably found somewhere to stake it out,” I try to make sense of it.

“I don’t know. I have this feeling that something’s wrong, and it hasn’t settled down yet,” he says. I grab his hands and press a kiss to his rough knuckles. One moment I’m cleaning Tommy’s head, and then Maria comes rushing in.

“Tommy—” Maria rushes into the hall, and I don’t like the look on her face. My stomach drops, like it already knows.

Tommy stands up instantly, and with the look on Maria’s face, he already knows too. “No.”

“It’s Joel,” Maria says, eyes shifting from me to Tommy. 

Tommy’s face is emotionless, his hands in fist by his side. His fear, his gut was trying to tell him and I tried to push it away. 

“I’m sorry, Tommy.”

Tommy doesn’t say a word. He lets go of my hand and rushes to the door.

“Tommy.” I go after him, but he stops me, grabbing my arms.

“I need to be alone. I need to do this myself.” His face is emotionless, but he leaves a kiss on my temple. I watch him disappear through the crowd and rub the spot on my chest where my heart is. This can’t be happening.

“Where’s Ellie?” I ask Maria. “Does she know?”

“She was there.” Maria’s voice doesn’t break, but I can feel the walls cracking. “She’s at the hospital.”

I don’t know what comes over me, but I rush toward the hospital. 

God, Ellie.

The long night fades to the next day, I’m still by Ellie’s side, reading a book while she’s still out on tranquilizers.

“Hey.” I turn my head toward the door and spot Maria leaning against the frame. “How is she doing?”

I close my book and stand from the uncomfortable chair. “Still out,” I say, standing by her. “I went to see Dina, trying to make sense of what happened, but she said she doesn’t remember.” My hands rest on my stomach and I lean back against the doorframe. My eyes are tired, my stomach growling angrily at me, but I haven’t had the chance—or appetite—to eat.

“Did you see a doctor?” Nothing passes Maria. She points at my hand resting on my non-existent bump. Ever since finding out, my hands keep drifting there. “Does Tommy know?” she whispers.

I drop my hand from my stomach and look back at Ellie. “I don’t think an unplanned pregnancy is the first thing I should tell my grieving husband right now. I haven’t even seen him since last night.”

“At least get checked out by someone, just in case.” She rests her hand on my arm.

“I’m fine, I promise, Maria. All I did was hide. You’re the badass on the roof shooting down infected,” I say, trying to lighten the mood.

“I heard you protected Billie. He can’t stop talking about how Mrs. Miller told him he was the bravest of them all.” Maria smiles a little. “You should go home. Ellie isn’t going anywhere, and the doctors have her.”

I look at Ellie, peacefully sleeping on the bed, and I ache for her. Once she wakes up, it’s going to feel like she never left that nightmare. It’s been years, and the look on my daddy’s face—his cold, lifeless body—still burns in my brain.

“You need to rest too. And your husband needs you right now,” Maria adds, but I’m still looking at Ellie.

But Maria’s right.

After she leaves—off to check on Dina—I press a kiss to Ellie’s temple and leave the hospital. I pull my jacket tighter to my body as I walk home. It's a bit farther than the hospital, but it feels longer than usual. 

God, I need a shower. I need food I won’t throw up immediately.

I unlock the wooden front door and shiver from the awful weather outside. I shrug off my jacket, about to turn on the fireplace, but the house is already warm—fire crackling in the living room.

My eyes shift to the kitchen and spot Tommy leaning against the sink, watching the chickens through the window. He didn’t hear me. Doesn’t notice I’m home.

“My love,” my voice is soft but clear, but he doesn’t move a muscle. I take slow steps toward him and rest my hand on his lower back. He flinches—my touch pulling him out of his thoughts. “Sorry, didn’t mean to scare you,” I say gently.

He doesn’t speak. He shakes his head and pulls me into his arms. His nose brushes my hair, and his hands tremble against my skin. What I would do to take his pain away—for him not to feel this grief, this life without his brother.

He just had him back, this wasn’t fair. 

We stay like that for a long time, holding onto each other in the aftermath of the nightmare. But only one of us lost a brother.

The town will rebuild, but Joel’s absence will haunt us. And the only two people who were there for his murder? One is out cold, and the other doesn’t remember anything.

“Let’s take a shower, yeah?” I mumble, pulling away a little and guiding him upstairs.

I unbuckle Tommy’s belt, remove his shirt, then help him out of the rest of his clothes. I strip down and turn the water on. He steps in first but then pulls me in under the lukewarm spray.

He crashes his lips against mine, desperate. He pushes me against the cold shower tiles, hands grabbing mine and pinning them above my head. I groan as his teeth bite into my lower lip, then move to my jaw.

He holds my wrists with one hand, the other trailing down my side to my core. My breath catches when he spreads my legs with his knee, fingers circling my clit. I gasp when he plunges two fingers inside me. My hands fight his grip—god, I need to touch him. My head spins from all the sensation. His lips, his tongue meeting mine, the hand holding my wrist up as the other thrust in and out me. 

His lips find my hard nipple and he sucks, his tongue swirling, making my back arch. “Tommy.” I warn him, hips meeting each of his thrusts.

I know Tommy. He craves control—needs it after everything. He needs order, for things to go exactly how he wants. And when they don’t... he has me at his mercy.

He releases my wrists and kneels, tongue landing on my aching clit, sucking as his fingers keep moving in and out of me. I cry out, hands tangling in his now-wet curls. My mouth hangs open as my climax crashes through me—but he doesn’t stop. His groan rumbles through me and I cry out, his tongue sucking my release. 

“Tommy,” I beg, overstimulated and dizzy. He pulls back and stands. He grabs my waist, turning me around, my hard nipples pressed against the cold tile as he grinds his cock against my back. I reach back for him, but he grabs my hands again, pinning them over my head.

“Don’t you dare move them,” he growls, biting my shoulder. I moan, and then he plunges into me—no warning, no time to adjust. I press my forehead to the tile and let him take me. However he needs. He lets go of my wrists and grips my waist, pulling me back into every thrust.

I don’t care if I wake up tomorrow with bruises shaped like his fingers. I’ll always let him use me—to feel and release his anger.

My walls tighten around him—he’s close, right on the edge. His hand slides down and rubs my clit, fast, needing me to come with him.

“You’re gonna take all my cum, right darlin’?” he groans, his thrusts turning sloppy. I turn my head and meet his mouth, tasting myself on his tongue. I shatter around him, eyes shut, forcing myself to keep my hands where he told me. Tommy buries his face in my shoulder and comes right after me, my orgasm triggering his own. My walls clench around him, juicing his cock as he chest falls on my back. 

He doesn’t move. We stay under the water, catching our breaths. He stays inside me for a while. And If I weren’t already pregnant, this would’ve done it.

I wince when he finally pulls out. I turn and kiss him—soft this time. Gentler.

“Let’s clean you up,” I say, grabbing the cloth. I lather the lavender soap and run it slowly over his skin. My legs wobble, but his hands steady me at the waist.

He stands still, eyes closed, letting me care for him. Then he switches, does the same for me—gently washing down my shoulders, my stomach between my thighs. I sigh, still sensitive.

After the shower, I help him into sweatpants and tuck him into bed. I kiss his cheek and lay on his chest, listening to his heartbeat drum beneath me.

I’m nearly asleep when I hear his soft sniffles. I look up and see his face wet with tears. My heart shatters.

I cup his cheek, wiping them away with my thumb. He pulls me on top of him and wraps his arms around me.

I don’t say anything. I just let him feel—feel the sadness, the anger, the grief.

Years ago, when he helped me move to Jackson after my dad died, we lay in this exact bed. He held me all night while I cried. Never let go. And now… it’s my turn to do the same. To let Tommy grieve in the same bed I once did. To guide him through the darkness, like he once guided me.

For now, the pregnancy test, this secret will stay hidden in that broken drawer.

Right now, Tommy needs me more than anything.

Three weeks have passed since New Year’s. Three weeks since the whole town was struck with tragedy. The hole Joel’s absence leaves behind is still so fresh—the front of his house overflowing with flowers from the people of Jackson.

Tommy isn’t doing any better. Grief doesn’t have a cure, and it never makes sense. Sadness lingers, always. But right now, he needs a distraction—and rebuilding the town has become that for him.

The test is still hidden in the drawer, but Maria keeps asking. I know she’s only looking out for me, making sure I’m okay, making sure this pregnancy is safe. But how do you tell a grieving husband you’re pregnant when his brother’s body was just laid to rest?

It’s eating me alive. But I have to wait—just a little longer. Tommy barely spends any time in the house these days. He leaves before the sun even rises and comes home late, slipping into bed after I’m already asleep.

But today… today he catches me off guard. I turn around and Tommy’s still in bed, just watching me.

“What?” I ask, giving him a weird look.

He doesn’t answer. He just leans over and starts kissing my neck. I sigh under his touch, letting him pull the oversized shirt from my body. His lips crash down on my nipples, and I wince—sharply, like I’ve been hurt. Tommy pulls back fast, eyes wide.

“Did I hurt you?” he asks, confused.

I yank the covers up over my chest and sit up. “No, my period’s supposed to be here soon.” I cringe inside. I hate lying. And I know he doesn’t fully believe me, but he lets it go. Whatever mood he was in, it fades fast.

“I’m sorry,” I whisper.

“No, it’s okay, baby,” he murmurs, getting out of bed. He adjusts his boner, trying to play it cool, and disappears into the bathroom. A second later, I hear the shower turn on. I lie back on my pillow, eyes drifting to the ceiling, waiting for my heart to calm down.

In the kitchen, he’s cooking eggs for himself, and I’m trying my best not to gag from the smell. I hide my face behind my coffee cup, fighting the wave of nausea crawling up my throat.

“You sure you don’t want some eggs with your toast?” he asks, pointing to the sad little plate sitting untouched in front of me.

“No. I’m not really that hungry this morning.” Another lie. I’m starving. I’ve been craving pie from the restaurant since last night, and the second Tommy leaves, I’m marching straight to Main Street to get it.

“Have you seen Ellie?” I ask, needing to change the subject.

“Yeah. I went to visit her yesterday. Dina’s getting released today—she’s feeling better, but she still doesn’t remember anything.”

Tommy’s hoping Dina might remember who was behind what happened to Joel—the people who took his brother away from him.

“If she does remember something, it might take a while,” I say gently. “We don’t know what kind of trauma she went through.”

“It’s not fair. I should’ve been there.” He scrapes the eggs off the pan and piles them onto his plate like he’s mad at them. I look away, focusing on my toast, breathing slowly through my nose, trying not to throw up.

“I get it. But you were here, protecting the town. If something had happened here while you were gone, you’d be carrying that guilt too.” I’ve listened to him, let him rant for weeks. But sometimes, he needs someone to ground him.

“I know you’re right,” he mutters, placing his empty plate in the sink—just a little too hard. “But it still makes me angry.”

“And it should. None of this is fair—especially when someone does something this evil. But we can still do what Joel would’ve wanted. We keep this town together.” I stand up, walk to him, and wrap my arms around his waist, resting my forehead against his back. His hands find mine, and he holds them there.

“I hate it when you make sense,” he chuckles. “But I love you. I’m sorry I haven’t been around that much. I know you loved him too.”

“I miss him. And I miss him storming in here, yelling about how Frederick would peck his damn feet in the yard.” I laugh, the memories of him bursting through the door, cursing at that rooster, rushing back all at once.

“He hated that rooster,” Tommy says through a laugh, and then we just stand there, quiet and still.

After breakfast, he heads out for a long day of work, and I head into town—on a mission to get my damn pie. Thankfully, school doesn’t start for another week, and I’m praying that by then, my symptoms will ease up. The idea of being surrounded by kids while trying not to puke at every smell? Not ideal.

At the restaurant, Maria slides in beside me in line. I feel awful. I’ve been avoiding her. I know she’s right—I do need to tell Tommy. I won’t be able to hide this much longer, but every time I try, the words get stuck.

And it’s not that I don’t think he’ll be thrilled—I see the way his eyes sparkle whenever I hold someone else’s baby or one of my students runs up to me in the street. Tommy Miller will make an excellent father. My fear is… is this too much too soon?

“Can you wait until after I eat my pie to ambush me?” I groan. “I’ve been craving this since last night.”

She laughs. “I remember those days.” She nudges my shoulder as we step up to the counter.

“Hi Franny! How are you today?” I ask, leaning against the counter.

“I’m good, hon. What can I get for you two dolls?”

“Can I get two pieces of pie? To go, please—I’m going to see Ellie after this.” My eyes are already sparkling with excitement.

“Doll, I think we’re outta pie,” Franny says with a frown.

Maria glances at me, and the tears well up instantly. “Oh no.” I don’t mean to cry, but the sadness rushes over me and I can’t hold it back.

“Can you check in the back, Franny?” Maria jumps in. “She’s been wanting to bring that pie to Ellie, you know… after everything.”

Franny raises a brow but nods. “Lemme double-check.” She disappears into the back.

“Honey, please don’t cry,” Maria says gently, rubbing her hands up and down my arms.

“God, I’m sorry,” I mumble, wiping my face.

“No need to be sorry. It’s just the hormones,” she whispers.

Just then, Franny comes back holding two to-go boxes.

“You’re one lucky gal. Marvin just pulled these out of the oven. Still warm—for you and Ellie.” She places them in a paper bag.

“You’re a lifesaver, Franny.” I grab the bag like it’s gold.

Maria snorts as we step outside. “That was a dramatic thank-you.”

“Please stop. I’ve been craving this and my stomach can’t take one more piece of toast and butter.” It’s already growling from the scent of pie through the paper.

“You can’t keep this up. You need to tell him,” Maria says quietly. “Franny has three kids—she’s gonna figure it out. So will the rest of the town. He deserves to know before the rumors start and that bump pops out.”

“I’ve tried,” I groan. “And then he starts talking about Joel or he’s stressed with work and the moment’s gone again.”

“There’s never gonna be a perfect time. But think of the baby. You need to get checked. What if something goes wrong? He’ll lose you both.”

That stings. My throat tightens, my chest aches.

“Maria, I love you, but right now… your words are hurting more than helping.” We stop outside the hospital, but I don’t move yet. “I know you’re worried. But I need you to be my friend right now—not the head of the council.”

I slip my arm out of hers and walk away, leaving her standing there by the entrance.

When I step into Ellie’s room after a quick knock, she scrambles up from doing push-ups beside the bed and I pretend I didn’t see it. She’s a fighter, doing what she knows best—surviving.

“I brought you some pie.” I hand her the container and plastic fork. “It’s our secret.” I grin, probably a little too happy about pie.

“You’re the best. The food here is awful.” She fake-gags and I laugh. From the times I’ve visited, her food’s mostly stayed untouched. Even after the end of the world, hospital food still sucks.

I don’t plan to stay until evening, but I can’t bring myself to leave. She’s reading one of the astronomy books I brought, and I curl up on the edge of her bed with my own. The sun’s setting when I finally stand to go.

I kiss the top of her head. “I’ll try to find more books, okay?”

She nods, and I wish I could stay. But my body’s already screaming at me. My lower back aches and I still have to walk home.

Snow crunches under my boots as I walk up to the house. The lights are on, the living room glowing from the fireplace. Tommy’s home.

“Hey, baby,” I say, kicking off my boots and jacket once I’m inside, away from the awful chill. Tommy’s on the couch, his back to me, but he doesn’t answer.

I walk around to face him, a knot of worry forming—and then I freeze.

He’s staring at me, a glass of amber liquid in his hand. His eyes drift to the coffee table and my stomach drops.

Right in the center of the table is the opened pregnancy test box. The plastic stick resting on top.

“You know I peed on that, right?” I whisper. He doesn’t say a word. Just keeps staring at the test that’s been haunting me for weeks.

“Tommy.” I beg him. Beg him to move, speak, scream—anything.

“I came home early to see my wife. I couldn’t find her, so I decided to fix the damn drawer in the bathroom she’s been asking about for months.” He pauses, finishes his drink. “I fixed it, by the way. After I found the box.”

“Please—let me explain,” I say, dropping to my knees in front of him. He chuckles, bitter, in disbelief, still not meeting my eyes.

“The vomiting. Not wanting to eat. Your breasts are huge, I caught myself staring at them more than usual and I know your body—it’s engraved in my brain. It all clicked. But the first thing I thought was that my wife wouldn’t keep something like this from me.”

The hurt in his voice shatters me and the tears start to fall down my cheeks.

“How long have you known?” he asks, rubbing a hand down his face.

“Since New Year’s,” I cry, but his face softens. He reaches for my elbows and pulls me into his lap.

“I wanted to take that test with you. That morning. But then you got called in and I… how was I supposed to tell you after everything?”

“You felt like you couldn’t tell me.” He cups my face, makes me look at him. “You’re my wife. This is our marriage. I deserved to know.”

I nod at his words, knowing he was right. “It’s been eating me alive,” I admit.

“Jesus, darlin’,” he sighs. “It’s been weeks. The stress you’ve been under—ain’t good for you or the baby.”

“I know. And I’m really sorry.”

His eyes meet mine—no anger left, just relief, and something warm. A look I haven’t seen in a while. 

“We’re going to be parents,” he says, pressing his forehead to mine. I grab his hand and place it on my stomach, and he smiles.

“I can’t wait to see you wobbling around the house with a bump. It’s going to drive me insane.”

I laugh and press a kiss to the tip of his nose. “All I want is to stop gagging and vomiting at everything.”

Two Months Later

Spring in Jackson is like seeing a different town. The snow’s melted, and animals are out and lively again—chattering, foraging, like they know things are safer now. Flowers start peeking through the soil, soft greens come back to the trees, and it feels like the whole place is exhaling after holding its breath all winter. The energy just shifts.

The mornings still carry that sharp bite, but once the sun settles in, it’s warm enough to finally pull out my comfy, soft midi dress tucked away in the closet for months. I pair it with a light jean jacket to block the wind and my usual boots. The dress flows when I walk, brushing against my legs, but it still clings just enough to show the small, growing bump I keep catching myself running my hand over.

“My littles!” I clap my hands, voice lifting to catch the attention of the little ones gathered by the fence. It keeps them in until the end of the school day, but now it’s time to let them go for the day and meet back with their parents. “Remember to bring flowers and leaves for tomorrow’s activity! And no pulling random flowers without asking an adult first,” I add, giving them a knowing look as I unhook the gate.

They burst out, squealing and shouting as they run to their parents, backpacks bouncing behind them. “See you tomorrow!” I call after them, waving at a few parents too as they exchange glances and little grins over whatever their kids are chattering about.

I stay a moment longer, watching them scatter. There’s something so healing in seeing their joy like that. They are safe within these walls and untouched by the reality of what happens outside those walls. I rest my hand gently on my bump and let the wind brush over me, letting my body relax.

Too caught up in the quiet and in the sun on my face, I jump when strong, calloused hands wrap around my waist—one landing on the swell of my bump, the other tugging me gently back into a chest I know—I gasp and let out a small squeal.

“Tommy,” I giggle, breathless as his lips press to my cheek. “What are you doing?”

“I managed to slip away for the day,” he says, already leaning down to scoop my bag from the ground. “Got something to show you.”

Since we found out, he’s been so careful. Not overbearing, not in a way that suffocates—but in this soft, sweet way that makes me feel loved and cared for. And he always finds a way to rest his hand on my belly, like he’s afraid it will all slip away.

“Is it my flower garden?” I ask, trying not to smile too big.

“Um, no,” he grins, “but I’ll get to it. I promise.” He takes my hand, my bag swinging from the other, and we walk together in the welcoming warm spring weather offers us. “But I know you’re gonna love this too.”

When we reach the house, he drops the bag gently on the porch—but we don’t go inside. Instead, he leads me around back, toward the shed behind the house where he keeps his tools, his projects. I already know the smell of wood shavings and sawdust will hit the second the door creaks open. But he stops me just short, stepping behind me and covering my eyes.

“Have you been hiding a secret from me?” I tease, cheeks starting to ache from smiling too much. 

“I have,” he says, and I can hear the smile in his voice. “But don’t worry. It’s a secret that was worth keeping.”

He guides me carefully, slow steps across the floor of the shed. When we stop, his hands slip away from my face. My eyes blink in the shift from dark to light, and then I see it.

A crib.

A wooden crib standing in the middle of the room. 

it’s not brand new—it's the bones of something old, something salvaged. He’s refinished it, though—rounded the corners, replaced the railings, sanded it down until the wood is soft beneath my fingertips. I move closer, hands trembling as I reach out to trace the grain, and I feel the lump rise in my throat before the tears come.

The headboard has tiny carvings—little stars and a crescent moon. So simple, the details and the thought of him doing this himself for our baby made my vision blur.

“This is beautiful,” I whisper, still taking it all in. He steps behind me again, his hand finding the place it always goes now—right over our baby.

“I found it a while back,” Tommy says. “And I thought our baby deserved a safe place to sleep. One made with love from my hands… and a touch of their mama’s love for stars and the moon.”

He presses a kiss to my shoulder, hands still anchored to me like he needs to memorize every second. 

“I know we’ve got plenty of time to set up the room,” he murmurs, “but I couldn’t help myself after I found this.”

I turn in his arms, my own wrapping around his neck. “You’re already the best damn dad. This is perfect, Tommy.”

He chuckles softly, his nose brushing mine. “I’ll be the best damn husband when I finish that flower garden.”

“No,” I whisper, smiling through another tear. “You’re already the best damn husband too.”

I close my eyes as his lips meet mine, and we stay like that for a moment. Soaking it all in. 

It’s been a couple of dark months. Some days still carry the weight of Joel’s absence, the ache of the loss this town suffered when the new year came in like a blade. That kind of pain doesn’t disappear. But moments like this—quiet, full of hope—they keep us grounded. Keep us alive.

It reminds us we’re still here. And there’s still so much left to fight for.

[thehighpriestess1]

Make a Wish: Mastermind

Warning: Strong themes. Manipulation.

Pairing: Gojo x y/n, Nanami x y/n

Word count: 13k

Ask box | Previous chapter | fic masterlist | Other works

You hummed softly to Matilda as the orchards blurred past, their blossoms flickering like ghosts of memories you weren’t quite ready to touch. Gojo tapped his fingers lightly on the steering wheel — rhythm absent, mind clearly elsewhere. Tangled in thoughts. Tangled in you.

Your confession had landed like a brick to the chest. You saw the flicker in his expression, mistaking his silence for disbelief. But there was nothing for him to question. He had always known. Every word you’d spoken rang true.

He should have said something right then — told you what he remembered, what he carried with him every day. But speaking the truth aloud would have fractured the fragile thing growing between you. And he couldn’t risk that. Not when, for the first time in what felt like lifetimes, you were looking at him like he was something more than the man who had failed you.

So he stayed quiet. If pretending meant keeping you close a little longer, he’d carry the lie all the way to the grave. From the corner of his eye, he watched you. Peaceful. A little distant. Beautiful in the kind of quiet way that undid him.

He cleared his throat. “How did it feel… coming back? The whole thing?”

You turned toward him, smiling gently. “So you do believe me now?”

“I always believed you,” he replied, his voice light with effort. “I just want to understand.”

You shifted in your seat, eyes drifting to the window. “It was... unnerving at first. Terrifying. But once the shock wore off—” you inhaled deeply “—it felt exhilarating.”

His brow lifted. “Exhilarating? Why?”

But he already knew. He just wanted to hear it from you. Wanted to trace every fracture in the old version of himself — the one who let you slip away — so he’d never make the same mistake again.

You exhaled slowly, fingers curling around the hem of your sweater. “Because I’d been stuck. In this loop. Pain, loss, silence… pretending everything was fine. Coming back felt like breaking out of that. Like I was finally breathing again. Like I had a second chance.”

“Pain…” he echoed. “Loss?”

You paused. The air in the car shifted.

“Yeah. Loss of my footing. My peace. Maybe even my sanity,” you said with a laugh that was almost too quiet, too sad.

His grip on the wheel tightened. “I really messed things up, didn’t I?”

“You did,” you said softly. “But not you-you. The other you. The one who kept me a secret. Who chose his clan’s approval over me.”

He swallowed hard. “But I’m still him, aren’t I? Same face. Same voice.”

You turned to him, expression gentle. “No, Satoru. That version of you lived in fear. You…” you smiled faintly, “…you listen. You chose me.”

A silence settled between you, soft but heavy.

Then, as if afraid to break it, he asked, “How did we even start dating?”

You let out a small laugh. “One-night stand. After a company party. We weren’t supposed to catch feelings.”

He chuckled under his breath. “Classy. Sounds like me.”

“Terrible behavior, really.”

“So does this mean you trust me?” he asked, taking another smooth turn.

You leaned back in your seat, exhaling. “Yeah. I guess I do.”

He glanced at you again. “Then… your walls. Ready to let them down?”

You smirked. “My walls?”

“Yeah,” he said, smiling. “You don’t let me spoil you. You flinch every time I try to take care of you. Sometimes, your independence feels like rebellion. Like you’re guarding yourself from me.”

You huffed. “Wow. Didn’t know you noticed me so much.”

“What can I say?” he murmured. “I’m hopelessly in love with you, but sometimes… it feels like I’m not allowed to be. Like if I show too much, you’ll run.”

You studied his face. Even with the glasses, you could see the sadness in his expression.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered. “Even if things are different now… I’m still not over a lot.”

“Yet here you are,” he said softly. “You should’ve told me you needed time. I would’ve waited.”

The words struck you silently. He was right. You’d kept him close, but always at arm’s length. Your heart sank.

Gojo noticed the shift in your expression. “I didn’t mean it like that. I’m sorry. It’s just—this is a lot.”

“It’s alright.” You gave him a fragile smile.

After a pause, he said gently, “Tell me something I did right. Just one thing.”

You looked out the window, thinking. “You were a good friend. Always there for others. My family. Always ready to help.”

He hummed quietly, nodding. But everything you said, while true, felt distant. Detached. Not about him and you.

“What’s something I did for you,” he asked, “that you actually liked?”

You rubbed your arm, struggling. “I… I guess I liked how you always said the right thing. You always knew what to say.”

He nodded again, silent. It wasn’t quite the answer he was hoping for — but maybe it was the only one you could give.

Nanami flipped through the file with surgical precision, each turn of the page more agitated than the last. His jaw was clenched so tightly it seemed like he might shatter a molar. The frown etched on his face had settled into something permanent over the past few days, but now it deepened to something almost dangerous.

Finally, he slammed the file shut with a sharp thud that echoed through the sterile silence of his office. Papers inside shuddered at the impact. He exhaled through his nose—controlled, cold, and deliberate—then picked up the phone.

“Miwa. Come in.”

His tone was calm, but it carried the weight of a storm building on the horizon.

The door creaked open within seconds. Miwa entered with quick, polite steps, notepad already in hand.

“Yes, sir?”

Nanami held the file beside his face like it offended him. “You expect me to submit this to investors?”

She blinked, confused. “I— I reviewed the numbers three times. I thought—”

He didn’t let her finish. He slid the file across the desk like a dealer tossing a losing hand.

“You have two hours. Fix everything and bring it back before lunch.”

Miwa hesitated, catching the file with both hands. “But sir, the investor meeting isn’t until tomor—”

“Do you give me deadlines now?” Nanami’s voice dropped lower, dangerously even. His brow arched slightly, a cold challenge in his eyes.

Miwa’s lips parted, then closed. Her shoulders stiffened, and she bowed her head.

“Understood,” she said quietly.

She turned and walked out, her breath shallow as she pulled the door shut behind her. The moment she stepped into the hallway, she nearly bumped into Maya, who had been standing nearby, having overheard enough.

“Miwa,” Maya said, reaching out. Her face was knit with concern. “Are you okay?”

Miwa nodded quickly, trying to seem unfazed, but her fingers clutched the file a little too tightly. “It’s my fault. I should’ve double-checked everything.”

“Are you sure?” Maya asked gently.

“I’ll fix it,” Miwa insisted with a forced smile, the edges of her professionalism cracking slightly. “I’ll see you after lunch.”

And with that, she rushed toward her desk, flipping open her laptop with practiced urgency. Maya stood in place, her arms folding across her chest, her thoughts racing.

She'd been watching Nanami all week. There was a pattern. He hadn’t just snapped at Miwa—Hitoshi had been on the receiving end of a biting comment yesterday, and even his usual coffee run had gone untouched this morning. He hadn’t spoken more than five words in the team briefing. This wasn’t the Nanami she knew — thoughtful, composed, meticulous in words as much as in numbers. This version was distant. Cold. Preoccupied.

Something was very wrong.

She pulled out her phone and typed quickly.

Maya: Y/n, you need to talk to Nanami. Something’s off. The whole office is tense. Y/n: What happened? Maya: No clue. But it’s not just a bad day. It feels bigger. Y/n: I’m back soon. I’ll talk to him first thing.

Maya stared at the screen for a moment after sending the last message, her reflection dim in the glass of the office window. She didn’t know what was going on, but something told her this wasn’t just about a few missed calculations.

Still unsettled, Maya headed toward the break area, where she found Hitoshi hunched over a vending machine, aggressively tapping the "C2" button.

“You know that button’s not gonna listen to you faster if you bully it,” she said, attempting a light tone.

Hitoshi glanced up, chuckling as the machine finally coughed up his can of cold brew. “It fears me. That's why it obeys.”

Maya smiled faintly, then leaned against the counter. “I just saw Miwa. Nanami really tore into her.”

“Yeah,” Hitoshi sighed, popping the tab and taking a sip. “I heard the door slam. He’s been like that all week. Short-tempered. Snappy. Kind of… off.”

“So it’s not just me,” Maya said, her voice dropping slightly.

“Nope,” Hitoshi replied. “He even gave me grief for submitting the new vendor shortlist. And I triple-checked that thing.” He raised a brow. “Maybe he’s just missing Y/n.”

Maya let out a short breath of amusement. “I wish it were something that simple.”

Hitoshi tilted his head. “You think it’s something else?”

Maya hesitated for a moment, then said, “I didn’t want to overthink it, but… a few nights ago, I forgot my phone in the office. When I came back to get it, everyone had left. Lights were off except in Nanami’s office.”

Hitoshi straightened slightly. “Okay…”

“I peeked through the glass to make sure I wasn’t interrupting anything. He was in there with a man and a woman I’ve never seen before. They weren’t dressed like clients. The woman had this… corporate air, but not from our usual circles.”

“You’re sure they weren’t new clients?” Hitoshi asked, frowning. “Nanami handles a lot of private consults. He’s always discreet about them.”

“I know,” Maya said. “That’s why I didn’t say anything then. But it wasn’t a typical meeting. No documents, no presentations. They were talking, but the vibe was tense. Like something serious was being decided.”

Hitoshi sipped his drink, watching her carefully. “You think it has something to do with his mood lately?”

“I don’t know,” Maya admitted. “But my gut says yes. I’ve worked with Nanami long enough to know he doesn’t unravel without reason. And something’s unraveling.”

“Maybe he’s trying to keep something under wraps,” Hitoshi said. “Wouldn’t be the first time leadership deals with high-stakes stuff behind closed doors.”

“Yeah… but this feels personal,” Maya murmured, more to herself than to him. “And I can’t shake the feeling that it’s going to affect more than just him.”

She looked toward the hallway that led to Nanami’s office — now quiet, the door closed, the storm temporarily sealed behind wood and glass.

“I just hope Y/n gets back soon,” she added softly. “He listens to her. If anyone can get through to him… it’s her.”

Hitoshi nodded, thoughtful now. “Let’s hope it’s not already too late.”

The room was quiet except for the soft rustle of clothes being folded and tucked away. You were sitting on the edge of the bed, your suitcase open beside you, half-packed and slightly chaotic — a reflection of your thoughts.

You were folding your sweater when the door clicked open.

Gojo stepped inside, shades pushed up into his hair, wind still clinging to him like the scent of the cherry orchards. “Hey,” he said softly. “How’s the packing?”

You shrugged, not looking up. “Therapeutic. Kind of. Helps me think.”

He wandered in, lazily draping himself across the armchair like it was his throne. “What time’s the flight?”

“Same route back,” you said, eyes still focused on a tangled pair of headphones. “Early morning. The one with the layover in Helsinki.”

There was a pause. You felt him watching you. And then, for some reason, you stopped.

You turned around slowly, meeting his eyes.

“…Are you planning to come with me?”

Gojo didn’t answer at first. He simply reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a boarding pass, waving it in the air with a triumphant little grin. “Wouldn’t miss it.”

You laughed — warm, genuine — but then he reached into his other pocket and pulled out a second one. A different one.

Now he was holding a ticket in each hand, one on either side of his face, like a magician about to perform a trick.

“I brought options,” he said, voice light. “Your commercial flight… or my jet. No pressure.”

Your eyes widened, half-amused, half-incredulous. “Your jet?”

He nodded, grinning. “Private. Smooth. No layovers. Less crying babies. Bonus points for having me all to yourself.”

You let out a breathy chuckle, shaking your head. “You’re ridiculous.”

“Maybe,” he shrugged, “but the offer stands. If you trust me.”

You bit your lip, heart stuttering a little. “I do trust you.”

“Then?” he prompted, eyes hopeful.

“…But I still want to be independent,” you added quietly. “It matters to me.”

Gojo nodded slowly, smile fading into something softer. “I get that. I do. But you said you’d try to let me in. Just a little.”

You looked away, guilt suddenly heavy in your chest. Your hands paused on your suitcase, unmoving.

He noticed. “What is it?”

You exhaled, the words catching in your throat. “I feel awful. You’ve gone through all of this— every twist, every hard moment — and most of it wasn’t even your fault. I blamed you for things… things that belonged to someone else. Another version of you.”

Gojo leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “It’s still me. Past or present. I don’t get to dodge that.”

“I punished you anyway,” you whispered.

“You were hurting,” he said simply. “And I was part of that pain, even if I didn’t mean to be. I’ll take it — if it means I get to be here now.”

You blinked quickly, swallowing the emotion rising in your throat.

He smiled, tilting his head. “So… what’s it going to be? Cabin 14A with a window view and a crying toddler behind us? Or cherry wine and custom playlists on my jet?”

You rolled your eyes. “Such a hard sell.”

“Just being honest.”

You sighed, picking up your sweater and pressing it to your chest like a shield. “Fine. We’ll take your jet.”

He beamed like a kid who’d won at a claw machine. “You won’t regret it.”

“I already do.”

“You’re still going to cuddle me mid-flight.”

“No promises.”

“You say that now.” He stood up and crossed to your suitcase, casually tossing in one of his hoodies. “You always get cold midair.”

You looked up at him. “Satoru?”

“Yeah?”

“…Thank you. For not giving up.”

He looked at you then — really looked — and said, quietly, “Never even crossed my mind.”

“And since when do you need a ticket for your private jet?”. You corked your head to the side and smiled.

“Oh it’s my boarding pass for our old flight, did it for the dramatics”. He grinned.

“You’re ridiculous”.

“Yet you love me”. 

Gojo leaned on his knuckles, elbows propped lazily on the armrest as he watched you, eyebrows pinched together in focus while you typed away furiously on your phone. His gaze didn’t waver.

“Who are you texting?” he asked, voice casual, but with a thread of curiosity threading through.

The soft hum of his private jet filled the cabin, punctuating the silence that followed.

“Oh, just Maya,” you murmured, eyes glued to the screen.

“All okay?” he asked, straightening up from his slouch.

You hesitated, thumbs still hovering over your keyboard. “Umm... I don’t know,” you muttered, the small frown between your brows deepening.

Gojo narrowed his eyes, interest officially piqued. “Can I help?”

You let out a dry chuckle and finally looked up at him, offering a half-smile. “It’s about Nanami.”

Gojo’s face twisted, barely perceptible but undeniably bitter. “What did he do now?”

The frustration in his voice wasn’t new. It tugged at the tail end of what had been one of the most serene holidays he'd ever had — and Nanami’s name had to sour it.

You sighed, your fingers slackening as you placed the phone on the glossy mahogany table between you. “He didn’t do anything. But Maya says he’s been acting weird.”

Gojo cocked a brow. “Weird? So... like himself?” he said with a smirk.

You gave him a flat look. “Yeah, sure. Maya said he’s been on edge. Irritable.”

Gojo leaned in slightly, elbows resting on his knees, the corners of his lips twitching. “Again — like himself.”

You let out an exasperated sigh and crossed your arms. “Come on, I’m being serious. Everyone’s worried.”

He scoffed and looked away, jaw tightening. “Everyone? Or you?” A beat. “And why are you even worried about him? He’s nothing but a conniving bastard.”

Your eyes sharpened. “Why do you hate him so much? He’s done nothing to you. He’s your business partner — you should have some respect.”

Gojo laughed. Not the joyful kind. The sharp, cutting kind. “Respect? For Nanami?” He tilted his head mockingly. “He’s not my partner. I’m his boss. I own his company.”

Your arms folded tighter as you leaned back, your tone clipped. “Well, he clearly built something lucrative enough for you to want to buy it and that deserves respect”

Gojo’s smirk vanished. His voice dropped an octave. “The only lucrative thing he did was hire you. I bought a loss-making company — overpaid for it, even — just to get close to you.”

You blinked. “Wh-what?”

He exhaled, tension surfacing. “Yes. The only reason I bought the company was because I— I found out you worked there. It was the only way I could... truly know who the woman from my dream was”

Silence fell. You stared at him, eyes wide. “You couldn’t just move to Kyoto? You had to buy a company?”

“Yes,” Gojo said without hesitation, tone suddenly raw. “Because it was the only organic way I could think of. Do you have any idea how pissed I was when I found out you worked for Nanami?”

Your tone turned sharp, defensive. “What’s wrong with working for Nanami?”

He shifted, jaw clenched. “I— never mind.”

You leaned forward, fed up. “Because of Mishki?”

Gojo froze mid-breath, the color draining slightly from his face. He turned his head slowly toward you. “What... what did you just say?”

Your chest tightened. But it was too late now. You inhaled sharply. “He told me. About Mishki.”

Gojo studied you — a long, unreadable stare. He could barely keep the fury from leaking into his tone. “And... what exactly did he tell you?”

“That... he was dating her. And you— you took her from him. Then mocked him when he confronted you.”

Gojo leaned back, slowly, lips curling into a dry smirk. “I took Mishki? From him?”

That look on his face made your blood boil. “Yes.”

“You believe him?”

“Yes.”

He tilted his head. “Why?”

“Why shouldn’t I?”. You shrugged like it was the most obvious thing to believe Nanami.

Gojo’s eyes narrowed. “Would you believe me if I told you my side of the story?”

You lifted your shoulders in a slow shrug. “Depends.”

“Depends on what?”

You sighed, voice softer now. “You had history with Mishki. Not now, but... in the other life.”

His eyes darkened, and his heart dropped into his stomach. “And what history did I have with her in the other life?”

You hesitated, then said it plainly. “You cheated on me with her.”

Gojo’s fists clenched in his lap. He wanted to shout, to scream it wasn’t true — but he couldn’t risk it. One misstep and he’d give away too much. “Did I?” he said quietly. “How did you find out?”

“I saw the messages. The late-night calls. You ditched me for her, over and over.” You shook your head, bitterly. “So when Nanami told me about her, I had every reason to believe you’d do it again. That you’d take her from him, too.”

Gojo’s thoughts spun. Two lies — one from Nanami, one from the past. He took a breath. “Does Nanami know about your... thing?”

“What?! No! Why would I tell him?”

“Okay,” he said, slowly. “Well, I didn’t take Mishki from Nanami. It’s true they were together. But there’s more to the story.”

Your voice was cautious. “Like what?”

Gojo gave a sad smile. “Where do I even begin?” He picked up the glass, took a long sip, and placed it down with care. “Nanami used to work with me. He was family. Even my father admired him — he was loyal, smart, dependable. Suguru hated him, though. Said something was off. He wasn’t wrong.”

You listened in silence.

“Nanami met Mishki at my birthday gala. I introduced them. Mishki’s family handles our North America ops. Nanami liked her immediately. I knew she was trouble — but I let it go. Until he started slipping. Missing meetings. Skipping work. Obsessed.”

You blinked slowly.

“One day, my accountant found that Nanami was embezzling money. Millions. Properties, gifts — all in Mishki’s name. I was terrified. If my father found out... Nanami wouldn’t walk away with just a termination letter.”

You leaned in, barely breathing.

“So I threw a party. Invited them both. Tried to talk to Mishki first. She denied being with him. Said he was stalking her — buying her apartments, gifts, begging for attention. I didn’t believe her because I knew the truth”

“The truth?”

“Mishki was hitting on me for years. Even when Nanami thought she was his girlfriend. Once he lied and said they went on vacation together. Turns out she was with her friends. Nanami was just... funding it. Alone.”

You crossed your arms, uneasy. “So he was giving her money and she was taking it but she wasn’t his— girlfriend?”.

“That’s who Mishki is”. Gojo’s voice dropped.

“What happened at the party?”

“At that party, I texted Mishki to meet me. I offered her money to leave him alone. She didn’t want the money — she wanted me. She... came on to me. And right then, Nanami walked in.”

Silence again. Your throat felt tight. “Even if that’s true... why mock him?”

“I didn’t,” Gojo said. “I tried to protect him. She twisted everything. Told him I stole her. He didn’t believe my texts, photos — anything. Said I forced her. I lost it. That was the final straw. Soon after, my father found out, and Nanami was gone.”

Your heart pounded. It didn’t sound like Nanami. But...

Gojo saw your hesitation. “You don’t believe me, do you?”

“I... I don’t know what to believe.”

Gojo’s heart clenched. You were never going to believe him. He wanted to scream and tell you that he didn’t cheat on you. He wanted to tell you that MIshki was doing the same thing again. That she was threatening him with the photos taken secretly during his birthday. That he did what he did just to save you but he ended up hurting you. He wanted to tell you that yes he was wrong to hide things, but he was tired. The pressure of his clan, the company, Mishki, all with a common goal of taking you away and he did what he did to keep you with him and it all crashed on him in the end.How could he tell you that what happened with you was the aftermath of what happened with Nanami and Mishki .He had a bad feeling that the future will repeat itself.

“I understand," he whispered under his breath. It’s all he could offer. His understanding. 

You didn’t want to believe that Nanami was the man Gojo was painting him to be but if not that then you’d have to believe, accept that Gojo was lying again for selfish reasons and it pained you to think that you were making the same mistake again. 

“Did you ever have feelings for Nanami?” Gojo asked, the words slipping out before he could stop them. His tone was even, too even, like he was trying to play it cool, trying being the operative word.

You hesitated for just a breath, then nodded. “I did.”

Gojo nodded too, mechanically. His knuckles clenched into the leather armrest beside him, blood boiling under the skin. He looked away for a moment, jaw ticking, then brought his eyes back to you with forced casualness. “What changed?”

You exhaled softly. “You showed up. He backed off. Things changed.”

Gojo’s heart twisted. He leaned back slowly, like the movement would keep him grounded. “So if I hadn’t come to Kyoto… you’d be with Nanami?”

You gave him a small shrug. “Maybe.”

That word—maybe—stabbed him. The worst part wasn’t the uncertainty. It was the possibility.

He tried to laugh, but it came out bitter and dry. “Why Nanami?”

You met his eyes, calm and steady. “He’s kind. Sensitive. He understands me. He appreciates me. And…”—your lips curled slightly—“he has a nice smile.”

Gojo’s throat tightened. He laughed again, quiet this time, a low scoff masked as amusement. But his fingers were digging crescents into his palms.

He watched you as you said it—all of it—and something ugly settled in his chest. You were here, sitting in his jet, tangled in his world, but a part of you still lived in that soft corner Nanami once occupied.

Even if you were with Gojo now, you weren’t entirely over him.

And for someone like Gojo—who had the world at his feet—not having all of you was unbearable.

He nodded slowly, biting back the million things he wanted to say. The jet’s soft hum filled the silence again, almost mocking its constancy.

“Right,” he murmured, lips pressed tight. “Nice smile. Why me?”. Gojo asked, looking straight into your eyes.

You sighed and leaned back, for a moment neither of you said anything, “Maybe parts of it were remnants from the other life, but most of it was you. You showed me that you were not the same person. You were kind, sensitive, even though I pushed you away you didn’t hold it against me. You cared for my friends, family, and even me.”

Gojo smiled, but the pain spread through his chest. You loved him in comparison to what he used to be. He couldn’t blame you. 

Suzume sat up straighter in her chair, spine rigid, eyes locked on the screen. Her corner desk was tucked away from the main floor—half-hidden behind a filing cabinet, shielded by tall bookshelves and the lazy hum of the old air vent. Usually, she appreciated the solitude. Today, she was grateful for the cover.

Because she wasn’t working on the financial projections she’d been assigned. She was scrolling through your Instagram.

Images bled into one another on the screen: the slate-grey fjord against golden-hour light, a candlelit table at a rooftop restaurant, that blurred shot of the northern lights glowing like a celestial fire. Gojo was in most of them. Gojo was beside you in all of them.

It wasn’t the location that stung. She didn’t care about the fjord or the Michelin-star meals or the private jet snaps. That life—Gojo’s life—was too far removed from hers to even envy. What she did envy, almost bitterly, was the fact that you were with him.

The man she’d fallen for. She knew about his feelings for you. Everyone did. She wasn’t an idiot.

She’d watched him light up around you. Watch him invent reasons to stop by your desk. Bringing you coffee when you look tired. Sneaking you snacks during late meetings. That dumb smirk on his face when you rolled your eyes at his jokes, and the soft look in his eyes when he thought no one was watching. Suzume watched and she didn’t understand. Because you? You didn’t even try. Half the time, you looked like you were barely tolerating him. You dismissed his kindness like it was annoying background noise. And yet there he was—Gojo Satoru, the man who could charm his way into any heart, wagging his tail behind you like a stray mutt.

She didn’t hate you. Not really. But she couldn’t help the bile that rose in her throat every time she asked herself the same question: Why you?

You were ordinary. Safe. Pleasant in that forgettable way. Suzume had eyes. She knew she was more striking. Thinner. Sleeker. Smarter. Sharper. So why the hell wasn’t it enough?

She leaned back in her chair, resting her head against the high backrest. Her teeth gnawed absently at the blue cap of her pen. Her gaze stayed fixed on the latest photo you’d posted: a long-exposure shot of the aurora borealis. She could practically feel him beside you in the cold—his arm likely draped over your shoulder, that stupid grin on his face, dimples out, sunglasses probably still on like an idiot.

She kicked her foot against the desk. Once. Twice. Again—harder—until the dull thud in her shin began to match the sharp twist in her chest.

She remembered the first time she saw him in the office. He’d walked in on a Monday,  hair sticking up in chaotic spikes. He looked nothing like the executives she was used to. No rigid formality. No ego. He gave the receptionist a high-five. He called the interns by name. And when she spilled her lunch on her skirt at her desk two weeks later, mortified, he’d appeared out of nowhere with an emergency Tide pen and a bag of clean sweatpants from the company gym.

He’d winked. “I carry spares. HR disaster-proofing.”

She laughed—really laughed—for the first time that day.

Then there were the late nights when the office was nearly empty. Just her and him and the faint buzz of fluorescent lights. He’d stop by her desk with his sleeves rolled up, tie loose, tired but still smiling. He always asked about her ideas in meetings. Genuinely listened. He teased her, but never meanly. And he noticed things—like when she started wearing glasses, or when she switched to oat milk in her coffee.

He made her feel seen. And maybe that’s all it took. But all of that—every shared smile, every late-night report they finished together, every inside joke—meant nothing. Because his eyes were only ever on you.

And no matter how many nights she dreamed otherwise, Gojo Satoru had never looked at her the way he looked at you.

Suzume needed air.

She grabbed her mug with more force than necessary and walked briskly toward the break room. Her heels clicked sharply on the linoleum, each step a reminder of how hard she had kicked the desk earlier. There was a dull throb in her shin now, but it still hurt less than the thought of Gojo sharing a private dinner under the northern lights with someone who didn't even seem to see him the way she did.

As she turned the corner by the hallway, she collided with something—no, someone—solid.

Her mug tilted, but a steady hand reached out just in time to stop the spill.

“Suzume,” Nanami said, brows furrowed. “You alright?”

She stepped back, blinking up at him. “Sorry—I wasn’t watching.”

Nanami looked down, then slowly back  at her. “You’re limping.”

Suzume straightened. “I’m fine. Just bumped my leg earlier. Nothing serious.”

He didn’t press. Not directly. Instead, he tilted his head, observing her like one might examine a file they weren’t sure about yet. “Mm. Still,” he said calmly, “you look… tense.”

She attempted a smile, but it didn’t quite reach her eyes.

Nanami glanced over his shoulder toward the corridor. “Why don’t you come to my office for a minute? You could use a break.”

Suzume hesitated. “Is this… work-related?”

He gave a barely-there shrug. “It can be.”

Something in his tone—nonchalant but warm—made it hard to say no.

She followed him. Nanami’s office was clinical but sleek, he poured her a cup of tea without asking, placing it in front of her as he settled behind his desk.

“Drink,” he said, his voice low and steady.

Suzume cupped the mug in her hands. The warmth helped. Her shoulders relaxed slightly, but she didn’t speak.

Nanami didn’t rush her. He leaned back, fingers steepled, gaze careful and unreadable.

After a moment, he asked, “Long day?”

She gave a soft laugh. “You could say that.”

“Or… something else?” he said, voice gentle, almost curious.

She raised her eyes to meet his, but he didn’t look interrogative. Just… attentive. Safe.

She shook her head slowly. “It’s silly.”

“I don’t think you’re the type to get thrown by silly things,” he replied, with quiet assurance. “But I could be wrong.”

Suzume toyed with the edge of the cup. The steam fogged her glasses faintly. “It’s just—there’s someone I like,” she said, voice low, words curling cautiously from her lips, “but he’s… with someone else.”

Nanami kept his expression neutral, not a single twitch of surprise. But inside, he already knew. Her glances, her tension, the way her eyes followed Gojo around the office like a lost thread of light — it had been obvious for a while. But now, hearing her say it out loud, was confirmation. “Hmm,” he said, as though weighing a market trend. “That can be difficult.”

Suzume nodded, staring down at the swirl of tea. “It’s not just that he’s with her… I don’t get it. She’s not—” She stopped herself. “It’s confusing. Like I’m invisible. Like nothing I do would ever be enough.”

Nanami didn’t answer right away. He let the silence stretch just long enough to make her wonder if she’d said too much. Then, quietly, he said, “Sometimes people only see what they want to. And sometimes, they’re so focused on chasing one thing, they miss what’s already right in front of them.”

Suzume looked up. There was something comforting in his tone. Not quite sympathy. Not quite advice. Something in between. “You think so?” she asked.

Nanami gave the smallest smile. “I do.”

He watched her nod, her lips parting like she wanted to say something else, but couldn’t quite find the words. He leaned forward slightly, resting his elbows on the table. “Does he know how you feel?”

Suzume shook her head quickly, suddenly guarded. “No. God, no.”

He hummed. “Maybe he should.”

She looked away. Nanami leaned back again, pleased. He didn’t show it, of course. But there was a flicker of satisfaction behind his eyes. Her little crush on Gojo wasn’t just office gossip anymore—it was leverage. Delicate. Useful. He masked his smirk by adjusting his tie, sipping his tea as if the room hadn't just shifted in his favor.

Nanami glanced over the rim of his cup, his voice smooth, casual.

“By the way… do you know when Y/N is getting back?” he asked, tilting his head slightly, as though it were an afterthought.

He didn’t miss the way Suzume’s expression shifted—just a flicker, but enough. A tightening at the corners of her mouth. A dull shadow crossing her eyes.

“Monday,” she replied, curt and clipped. She set her cup down a little harder than necessary on the coaster.

Nanami smiled faintly, the corner of his mouth lifting as if in amusement. “Ah. Took a long break, didn’t she?”

It wasn’t really a question.

He leaned back slightly in his chair, adopting a thoughtful air. This was the moment. Time to drop the hook.

“Since we’re talking,” he said, voice dropping an octave into something quieter, more vulnerable, “can I… confess something?”

Suzume blinked and nodded, instinctively leaning forward. “Of course. I’m here for you,” she said warmly, offering a small, encouraging smile.

Nanami lowered his gaze, playing the part of reluctant sharer. “I’m in a similar situation, actually. The woman I—” he paused, allowing his breath to hitch slightly for effect, “the woman I love is in love with someone else.”

Suzume’s lips parted slightly, eyes widening with empathy.

“I had a chance,” Nanami continued, his voice soft and wounded, “a brief one. But I misread the moment. And before I could do anything… another man swooped in like a hawk. Took her from me. Effortlessly.” He chuckled, sad and self-deprecating, before shaking his head. “So I understand,” he murmured. “What you’re feeling. It’s not easy—watching someone give their affection to someone who doesn’t even realize how lucky they are.”

Suzume’s shoulders slumped, heart pinched by the unexpected vulnerability in him. “I know,” she said quietly. “We all know.”

Nanami raised a brow, a mask of subtle confusion. “Know what?”

She gave a small, almost conspiratorial smile. “About your feelings for Y/N.”

Nanami stilled. Not enough to seem alarmed—just enough to feign surprise. “Oh…” he said slowly.

“Believe me,” Suzume continued, “I’m on your team. I’ve seen the way she looks at you. She seems… lighter. Calmer. Happier, when she’s with you.”

Nanami’s lips curved into something gentle—grateful on the outside, victorious on the inside. “I appreciate your confidence,” he said, voice wrapped in restraint. “But…” He exhaled, shaking his head. “Never mind all that.”

“No, no,” Suzume said quickly. She reached forward on instinct, placing her hand gently over his. “Please. Let me help you.”

Nanami looked down at her hand—delicate, sincere, eager—and lifted his eyes slowly, with just the right amount of hesitance. “How, Suzume?” he asked, his smile tinged with sorrow. “No one can help me.”

“Yes, I can,” she said, nodding earnestly. “Y/N is my friend. And I want what’s best for her. I won’t sway her, but I can help her see. Help her realize that you’re the right man for her.”

Nanami blinked, like the idea had never occurred to him. Like it was too generous to believe. “You’d do that?” he asked, softly. “For me?”

“Yes,” Suzume said, with unwavering conviction. “I will.”

Nanami leaned back, hand still under hers, and smiled. A quiet, deadly smile. She had no idea she had just made a deal with the devil.

“I have a feeling something bad is going to happen”, Maya said as she slowly brought the coffe mug to her lips.

“Why?”Hitoshi asked mindlessly as he chewed on his muffin. “Y/n is coming back today, you should be happy”.

“I am happy, but..”, She trailed off as her eyes fixed on Suzume walking through the double glass door of the cafeteria. She looked, different. Her hair, usually in a pony tale, was now open and cascading down her shoulder in delicate curls. Her usual attire of straight pants, shirt and cardigan now replaced by a dress. Her tennis shoes now  replaced by pencil heels. She even had make up on. “Is that–”.

Hitoshi followed Maya’s gaze and his mouth hung open. “Oh my god. Why is she dressed like y/n?”.

“What?!”, Maya scoffed as she turned her attention to Hitohshi.

“Yes, She looks like y/n. The hair, makeup, even the dress. I think y/n has the same dress, no?”. He shrugged.

Maya hummed to herself. He was right. “Suzume!”. She called out and raised her hand to get her attention. 

Suzume smiled when she saw Maya and Hitoshi. She walked over to them with her coffee in hand. “Hello!”. She said cheerfully.

“Hello to you!”. Hitoshi exclaimed. “What’s with the new change?”.

Suzume smiled as she gracefully sat down between Maya and Hitoshi, “Oh I just wanted to experiment”.

“Experiment?”, Maya questione.

“Yeah”, She shrugged, “Do I not look good?”. She asked, looking at Maya and Hitoshi.

The surprised pair exchanged questioning looks. Hitoshi knew Maya would never ask this so he took one for the team, “You look so much like y/n”.

“What?!”. 

“Yeah”. Hitoshi shrugged.

Suzume felt attacked. She knew what she was doing but being confronted like this didn’t sit well with her. “I don’t think y/n owns a particular style”. She fidgeted with the hand of her coffee mug. “I just wanted to try something new. I thought you guys would be supportive”.

Maya sensed her agitation and gently put her hand on top of Suzume’s, “You look beautiful”. She smiled warmly. 

Maya’s voice barely left her lips before Suzume stood abruptly. “I should get back,” she said with a polite smile, brushing invisible crumbs from her dress. “Client call in ten.”. Without waiting for a response, she grabbed her coffee and walked away, her heels clicking steadily down the corridor. But her pace slowed as she turned the corner leading to her cabin.

There he was. Gojo. Coming out of your office, running a hand through his silver hair with that same half-smirk he wore whenever he was satisfied with himself. Suzume froze mid-step, ducking slightly behind the wall. Her breath caught. He looked… smug. Relaxed. That soft confidence that always made her heart twitch. But seeing it now, right outside your door—it stung like salt in an open wound.

She waited. When he disappeared down the hallway, she emerged, walking briskly toward your office. She didn’t knock—just pushed the door open.

You had just set your bag down on the couch and turned around, surprised. “Suzume!” Your voice was warm and genuine. “I was about to head to the cafeteria to see you and Maya.”

Suzume forced a smile, trying not to let her eyes drift, but they had already locked on it. The necklace. A delicate, glinting emerald resting on your collarbone. Elegant. Expensive. Real. Suzume knew the clarity, the depth of green—it wasn’t costume jewelry. She came from a family of jewelers; she could identify a genuine emerald from across a room. Gojo. It had to be him. Her chest tightened like a fist.

“You look amazing, by the way,” you said, tilting your head with a sincere smile. “That color really suits you.”

Suzume blinked, yanked from her spiral. She looked at you, really looked—and for a moment, her heart twisted with something sharp and ugly. But she kept the smile on.

“Thank you,” she said sweetly. “I… I just wanted to stop by and say hi. Welcome back.”

“That’s so sweet of you,” you replied, and she hated that you meant it.

Suzume’s eyes darted once more to the emerald on your chest. “I actually have a call,just stopped by to see if you were back” she added quickly, stepping back, “so I should head.”

You nodded, still smiling. 

But Suzume was already out the door. Her composure cracked the moment she turned the corner. Her breath sped up, her heels clicked faster, her grip tightened around her coffee cup until the lid popped off.

She didn’t care anymore. The bubbling jealousy, the polished mask, the forced smiles—she had shed them all by the time she marched down the corridor toward Gojo’s office. Her heels clicked with purpose against the tiles, and she barely paused before pushing open the frosted-glass door.

Gojo looked up, his thumb still mid-text. He was alone, seated in his usual relaxed sprawl, but his bright eyes narrowed slightly in surprise. “Suzume?”

She closed the door behind her gently, slipping into the room with a too-bright smile. “Good morning!”

He returned her greeting, still clearly puzzled. “Morning. What can I do for you?”

“Oh, nothing urgent,” she said with a casual wave of her hand, her voice light, breezy. “Just wanted to ask—how was your trip?”

Gojo’s brows lifted slightly. “Uh, it was good.” He smiled politely, still trying to gauge what this was about. “Relaxing, I guess.”

“That’s good to hear,” she said, taking a step closer before tilting her head innocently. “By the way, have you seen Y/N this morning?”

There was a beat. Gojo’s expression didn’t change, but the air in the room shifted subtly. “Ye– Why?”

Suzume gave a shrug, feigning nonchalance, but her eyes flickered, sharpening with calculated mischief. “Oh, it’s probably nothing. Nanami was looking for her. Said he had something important to tell her.”

Gojo frowned slightly, lowering his phone. “Tell her what?”

“Well…” she trailed off, as if hesitant to continue, then leaned in just a little—enough to make it seem like she was trusting him with something fragile. “We don’t really know, but... word is, it might be a confession.”

“A confession?” Gojo’s voice lost its playful edge, and now he was watching her more carefully. “Suzume, be straight with me.”

She drew back, laughing nervously. “I mean, it’s just office gossip, so who knows, right? But please—don’t tell anyone I said anything. I don’t want to be dragged into this.”

Gojo didn’t respond right away. His jaw ticked once, and though he nodded, there was something unreadable in his gaze. “Right. No, I haven’t seen her,” he finally said, lying with practiced ease.

Suzume smiled sweetly, knowing exactly what he was doing. “I see. Well, I should get back to work. Have a good day, Gojo.”

She turned and walked out, her expression cool and composed until the door clicked shut behind her. Once out of sight, she pulled out her phone and typed a quick message.

Suzume: It’s done.

Nanami: Good.

Suzume: Now what?

Nanami: Wait. I’ll tell you when the time is right.

Suzume locked her screen and slid the phone back into her pocket, her heels echoing once again as she disappeared down the corridor—this time with a quiet, dangerous satisfaction curling at the corners of her lips.

Nanami placed his phone down like he was laying a relic on an altar. His smile crept in slowly, curling his lips into something unnatural. With a smooth, silent motion, he turned his chair toward the window, bathing himself in the golden morning light. It fell across his face like a halo, warm and soft—ironic, really, given the thoughts boiling beneath his skull. It felt like a divine signal, a blessing from whatever god still dared to watch. Victory, yes. That’s what this glow was. The light of inevitability.

He had been worried for weeks. The plan—his perfect, intricate plan—had been threatened by delays, unforeseen variables, Gojo’s arrogant presence. But then Suzume walked in. So eager. So desperate to be seen. And just like that, fate had handed him a scalpel. She would cut the way forward while his true machinery turned behind the scenes. Maybe, if he nudged her just right, she could even start a fire he could never be blamed for.

Let them call him evil if they wanted. Let them whisper about his darkness behind closed doors. He wasn’t evil. No. He was in love. A love so pure, so absolute, that it demanded sacrifice. When he first saw you—eyes bright with ambition, lips parted nervously in your interview—he had felt it crack open inside him. A knowing. Like the universe had ripped itself apart and whispered your name into the hollow of his soul. He had watched you through glass and paper and screens, your résumé memorized, your past dissected like a sacred text. Every friend, every interest, every secret you thought you had—he knew them already. But it wasn’t stalking. No. It was preparation. You can’t love someone if you don’t know them completely.

And when you chose his company over Domain Dynamics, he had wept. Literally fell to his knees and wept, because the gods had listened. You belonged to him. The first time you kissed—his fingers in your hair, your breath catching like a bird trapped in his hands—he felt the world stop spinning. Time slowed, warped, broke. Nothing else existed. He’d tasted you and knew: this was home. You were home.

But then… then you left. The moment Gojo arrived, it was like you forgot. Forgot the late nights, the trembling confessions, the way you said his name when no one was listening. You abandoned him. For him. A clown in a suit. A fool with a smile. A thief. You didn’t even hesitate. And that… that was where you failed him.

He could’ve given you everything. Power, money, worship. He would’ve sold his soul—his company—brick by brick to build you a palace. But you couldn’t wait. You were too blinded by Gojo’s laugh, his charm, his glinting lies. Nanami’s breath hitched, sharp and sudden, as the fury burned hot under his skin. It wasn’t your fault, not really. You were soft. Easily misled. Like a lamb. And Gojo? Gojo was the wolf. He knew what he was doing when he set eyes on you. He knew Nanami loved you. And he took you anyway.

But he wouldn’t have you for long.

Nanami leaned forward, his hands folded like a man in prayer. But his eyes were empty, cold pits of calculation. You would come back to him. You would realize your mistake. Even if he had to break the world to make it happen. Even if he had to burn everything Gojo touched and salt the ashes.

He would have you again. One way or another. A soft knock at the door shattered Nanami’s thoughts like glass underfoot. His head snapped toward the sound, every muscle in his body tensing—and then relaxing in slow, stunned waves as you stepped inside.

You.

The light from the hallway pooled behind you like a halo, making it hard to see your face at first. But he didn’t need to. He’d memorized your silhouette long ago. His heart kicked violently in his chest, thudding against his ribs like a prisoner desperate to escape. You smiled—soft, easy—and closed the door gently behind you.

“Hey,” you said with a casual warmth, walking toward the chair opposite his desk. You moved with the unbothered grace of someone who didn’t know you were the sun in someone else’s orbit. “I hope I’m not interrupting.”

He swallowed hard and stood quickly, almost too quickly. “Not at all,” he said, voice unusually tight. “Please.” He gestured to the chair, already watching your every movement with obsessive intensity. You sat down and opened your bag, pulling something out wrapped in tissue paper.

“I got you something,” you said with a small laugh, setting it down on his desk. “Just a little souvenir. I saw it in this tiny shop in Bergen and thought of you.”

He stared at the package like it was a holy artifact. His fingers trembled slightly as he reached for it, unwrapping the paper with a carefulness reserved for relics. Inside was a polished piece of carved wood—a traditional Norwegian troll figurine, its expression somewhere between mischievous and wise. Beside it, a small leather keychain stamped with a Viking ship.

Nanami’s breath caught.

You thought of him. In a foreign country. While with Gojo. In spite of Gojo. He felt the earth tilt slightly beneath his feet. You remembered him. You still remembered him.

“I know it’s a bit silly,” you said, brushing hair behind your ear, “but the shopkeeper said trolls are meant to bring good luck. And I figured you could use a little luck”

“It’s not silly,” Nanami replied, his voice barely above a whisper. “It’s perfect.”

He meant it. You had no idea what that meant to him. You could’ve given him a rock from the side of the road and he would’ve kept it in a glass case. But this—this was something you chose for him.

“How was the trip?” he managed to ask, willing his voice to stay even.

“It was amazing,” you said, your smile widening. “We went on this hike outside of Oslo—up to the top of this ridge where the fjords just stretch forever. I’ve never seen anything like it. I thought I was going to pass out halfway through, but Gojo somehow made it look easy. Of course.”

The name made Nanami flinch internally, but he held the smile on his face like a mask stapled into place. He clung to your words—I thought I was going to pass out. He made it look easy. You weren’t impressed. You were tired. You didn’t enjoy it as much as you could have. You would’ve enjoyed it more with someone like him. Someone who would’ve let you rest, who would’ve carried your bag, wiped the sweat from your brow like a lover should.

He pictured the two of you on that ridge instead. Your legs over his lap. Your laughter echoing over the fjords. His jacket on your shoulders. Not Gojo’s. Never Gojo’s.

“I’m glad you’re back,” he said softly, the words laced with deeper meaning you didn’t catch. “Things weren’t the same here without you.”

You smiled kindly, eyes bright. “Thanks, Nanami. That means a lot.”

You didn’t see the way his hand tightened into a fist under the desk, veins bulging with restrained impulse. You didn’t hear the scream inside his mind that begged him to reach out, to tell you how everything—everything—he was doing was for you.

“How have you been? Things have been quite intense here with all the new projects, right?”. You smiled.

“I am better now. It was stressful but-”, Nanami looked down at the little figurine, “I feel it was all worth it”.

“That’s good to hear. Don’t stress yourself too much Kento. We are all here for you”.

Nanami smiled. He didn’t know what it was about you but your presence brought him peace. Just being in your presence felt like finding an oasis in the desert. “Thank you y/n, it means a lot”.

“I should get going”, You stood up and smiled at him, “Lots of work to catch up on”.  

As you turned toward the door, Nanami’s voice stopped you mid-step. “I was wondering…” he began, striving for nonchalance, “would you like to grab lunch today? I’d love to hear more about your trip and I could catch you up on what you missed.”

You looked back at him, tilting your head slightly. “Sure,” you said with a smile that could melt iron. “That sounds good. It’s been a while.”

His heart slammed against his ribs. You said yes. So easily. So warmly. You wanted to spend time with him. You chose to. “Great,” he replied with quiet composure. “I’ll message you when I’m free.”

With a soft “see you then,” you stepped out of his office, the sound of the door clicking shut behind you echoing like a slow exhale through his chest.

Nanami stared at the little wooden troll on his desk, the one you'd just handed him moments ago. It sat there, tiny and grinning, and yet in his eyes, it radiated something sacred. He reached for it gently, as though it might shatter if he held it too roughly. His thumb traced its carved smile.

You didn’t have a bag. That meant you had carried this in your hand. Through the corridors, past others—unconcerned about what anyone thought. You brought it straight to him. A piece of your trip. A piece of your time. Given only to him.

He closed his eyes and clutched the figurine to his chest. The heat of it, faint and imagined, felt like your warmth. Like a pulse in wood. “She thought of me,” he whispered, lips curling. “Even while she was with him.”

He leaned back, slow and reverent, placing the troll on his desk like it was a religious idol. He adjusted it carefully, so it would face him directly—as though it might speak, as though your voice could pass through it.

She hadn’t forgotten. No matter what mask you wore with Gojo—no matter how you smiled or laughed or touched his arm—your heart hadn’t changed. Nanami could feel it. Like a wire humming under the floorboards. You were still his. You had to be.

Lunch today would be just the beginning. He would listen. He would remember every word. Every pause. He’d find the tension in your stories. The disappointments. The subtle shadows you didn’t even know were there. He’d press, gently, carefully—until Gojo started to crumble in your eyes and when you were finally ready to see things clearly—when your heart remembered the truth—Nanami would be waiting. He always had been. The little troll sat smiling back at him, unaware it had become a symbol of devotion, obsession… and destiny.

There was too much to do and not enough time to breathe. The morning had been a blur of half-finished reports, emails demanding immediate attention, and forms that seemed to multiply every time you blinked. You were knee-deep in departmental approvals when your phone buzzed on your desk. A message from Gojo lit up the screen.

Gojo: Lunch? Just us?

You paused, thumb hovering over the keyboard. For a second, you considered changing your plans. But the polite smile Nanami gave when he asked you earlier flickered in your mind—and more importantly, the fact that it was a work lunch. You typed back:

You: I have lunch with Nanami today. He wanted to catch up on the Norway trip and go over some work stuff I missed.

You didn’t get a reply.

You assumed Gojo was busy. So were you. You buried yourself back into the digital avalanche.

An hour slipped by. You were focused on redlining a supplier contract when the door to your cabin burst open.

“Why are you having lunch with Nanami?” Gojo stood at the doorway, his brows drawn tight, his usual easy smile nowhere in sight.

Your eyes snapped up from your screen, startled. “Gojo, what are you doing?”

“You didn’t answer my question.”

You sighed, pinching the bridge of your nose. “He asked me. He wanted to hear about the trip and update me on some things I missed while I was away.”

“Yeah, and why does he need to hear about your trip?” Gojo stepped fully into the room now, voice sharper than you were used to hearing.

You straightened in your chair, surprised by the edge in his tone. “It’s not that deep. It’s lunch. We work together.”

Gojo folded his arms, jaw clenched. “You could’ve just said no.”

“Why would I do that?” you asked, blinking in disbelief. “I’ve barely spoken to him since I got back. He was being polite.”

Gojo scoffed. “Nanami doesn’t do anything just to be polite.”

“What are you trying to say?” your voice rose slightly. “That I shouldn’t have lunch with someone just because you don’t like them?”

He stepped closer, lowering his voice but not the intensity. “I’m saying I don’t trust him. You don’t know what he’s like behind that boring façade.”

You stood now too, closing the laptop with a soft snap. “Gojo, this isn’t high school. It’s one meal, not a confession of loyalty.”

“And what about us?” he asked. “You think I want to sit around wondering what Nanami’s whispering to you over coffee and spreadsheets?”

You stared at him, stunned by the jealousy flickering just beneath his words. “You don’t get to control who I eat with, Gojo.”

The room was thick with silence. For a moment, you both just stood there—he breathing heavily, you glaring back at him, pulse quickened not from fear, but from sheer frustration.

“Lunch is lunch,” you said, voice calm but firm. “If you have a problem, maybe talk to me like an adult instead of barging in here like this.”

Gojo’s lips parted, but he didn’t say anything at first. His eyes searched your face, the fire in them slowly retreating. “Fine,” he muttered eventually, stepping back. “Enjoy your lunch.”

And with that, he turned and walked out, leaving the door open behind him.

You let out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding and sat back down. The lunch hadn’t even started, and somehow, it already felt like the beginning of something much more complicated.

Nanami had chosen a quiet, tucked-away bistro with soft lighting and minimal chatter—perfectly suited for private conversations. The little troll figurine you’d given him earlier that morning still sat proudly on the table beside his bento, as if it had been given a place of honor. You smiled faintly at the sight, touched by the gesture, and took your seat across from him.

He poured you a cup of tea without asking, and the two of you exchanged light pleasantries. You told him about the mountain hike, the freezing wind, and how the fog had rolled over the cliffs like a moving wall. Nanami listened closely, nodding occasionally, his expression warm—invested.

But even as he smiled and responded with quiet attentiveness, his gaze never left your face. He was reading you. Measuring every pause, every breath.

“You’re back, but you don’t seem all the way back,” he said, tone casual. “Something still on your mind?”

You gave a small, almost dismissive shrug. “Just a lot to catch up on. You know how it is.”

Nanami hummed thoughtfully and lifted his tea to his lips, studying you over the rim. “Gojo seems a bit… unsettled today. Did something happen?”

You blinked at him, mildly surprised. “You noticed that?”

“Hard not to,” he replied smoothly. “He practically slammed a door in the hallway. Not like him to be that graceless.”

You laughed softly. “He can be dramatic sometimes.”

Nanami tilted his head slightly, keeping his voice light and conversational. “Let me guess—he’s not thrilled you’re here with me?”

You looked down at your food, your expression faltering just for a second. “It’s not a big deal.”

“That wasn’t a no,” Nanami said gently, almost teasing.

You sighed, letting your guard down without realizing it. “He just… asked me not to have lunch with you. Said it was about work, but I think he got weirdly possessive.”

“Hmm,” Nanami murmured, his voice soft, laced with something you couldn’t quite name. “That sounds like him.”

You frowned. “What do you mean?”

Nanami set down his chopsticks and looked at you with an air of reluctant honesty, his tone carefully measured. “Gojo doesn’t like sharing attention. Or space. Or people. Especially not when he thinks something belongs to him.”

You straightened slightly, bristling. “I’m not a thing to be shared.”

“No,” Nanami said quickly, shaking his head. “You’re not. Of course not. That’s what makes it so frustrating to watch.”

You let the silence linger a moment, sipping your tea. Nanami leaned forward just slightly, his voice quiet, tinged with concern. “Look… if my presence is creating tension between you two, I don’t want to cause problems. If it’s easier for you, I’m happy to step back.”

You blinked, caught off guard by the offer. “Nanami, no. That’s not fair. You haven’t done anything wrong. I’m not going to cut off a good friend just because Gojo can’t handle it.”

He held your gaze for a moment longer, then gave a small, sad smile. “You’re too kind.”

You returned to your meal, unaware of how precisely you’d been steered into that exchange. Nanami picked up his chopsticks again, but he didn’t eat right away. Instead, he watched you—his fingertips brushing the troll figurine as if it were a talisman.

She defends me. Even against him. She trusts me. She chose to tell me.

The seed had been planted. And Nanami knew exactly how to make it bloom.

Gojo sat motionless at his desk, eyes staring blankly at the glowing screen in front of him, but his mind was adrift—caught somewhere between rage and restraint. The cursor blinked in the silence like a metronome ticking toward something he didn’t want to face.

He shut his eyes and drew in a long, steady breath, trying to anchor himself. You can’t mess this up again, Satoru. Not like last time. Not with her.

But how was he supposed to stay calm when Nanami was whispering poison into your ears, turning you against him with that polished restraint and deliberate calmness? Gojo knew exactly the kind of game Nanami played—subtle, precise, emotionally manipulative in the most maddeningly rational way.

He was playing from a disadvantage—he always had been. But this time, he wasn’t going to retreat and lick his wounds. No. If Nanami expected him to burn out and spiral, Gojo would do the opposite. If Nanami thought he had the upper hand, Gojo would shift the rules entirely.

He shut his laptop with a sharp click, the sound final and decisive. Rising from his chair, he left his office without another glance. His steps were fast, purposeful—cutting through the hallways like a blade. That’s when he ran into her again.

Suzume.

She almost stumbled when their paths crossed. Gojo caught her arm, steadying her.

“Suzume,” he said, polite but unreadable.

“Mr. Gojo,” she blinked, clearly flustered. “You haven’t gone for lunch yet?”

He tilted his head slightly. “Not yet. What’s in the bag?”

Suzume’s eyes widened as she instinctively tucked the paper bag behind her back. “Oh, it’s nothing—just a delivery for Mr. Nanami. He wasn’t in, so I picked it up for him.”

Gojo’s gaze darkened slightly. “Then why are you hiding it?”

Her smile faltered. She looked away, unsure whether to lie again or fold under the weight of his stare.

“Suzume.” His voice dropped lower. Stern. Cold.

She hesitated, then slowly brought the bag in front of her, reluctantly handing it over like a child caught sneaking sweets.

Gojo opened the bag, pulled out the velvet box inside, and let the packaging drop to the floor without care. He opened the box and stared.

A necklace. A delicate butterfly pendant, glittering faintly beneath the lights—an imitation diamond piece on a chain too thick for your taste.

He let out a shaky breath, but it wasn’t relief—it was disgust, coiled and venomous. “Tell Nanami,” Gojo said quietly, snapping the box shut with a sound that echoed off the tiles, “that if it’s for Y/N, she doesn’t wear fake diamonds. Also…” he paused, offering a cruel smile, “the chain’s too heavy for her neck. She hates feeling caged.”

He pressed the box back into Suzume’s shaking hands. She didn’t dare meet his eyes.

Gojo leaned in just a little, enough for only her to hear. “He should’ve known better. Or maybe he does… but still likes playing with things that aren’t his.”

Gojo had barely taken three steps when he felt a hesitant tug at his wrist. He stopped, head tilting slightly, eyes narrowing as he turned around.

Suzume was gripping his hand—not tightly, but enough to stop him. Her eyes widened as if realizing what she’d just done. She quickly let go, her hand recoiling like it had been burned.

“I—I’m sorry,” she said softly, brushing her hair behind her ear and looking down at the floor. “I just… um… I was wondering if you might… want to grab lunch with me?”

Her voice was light, nervous. A soft flush rose to her cheeks, whether from embarrassment or something else, he couldn’t tell. For a moment, Gojo’s instinct flared—his pride wounded, his mood poisoned by the pendant still etched in his memory.

He was about to refuse. Polite but distant. He didn’t have the patience for small talk or clumsy flirtations, not today.

But then, a thought struck him.

Suzume. Nervous. Observant. A little too eager.

She was clearly trying to get on someone’s good side—and it wasn’t his. Not at first. She’s closer to Nanami than I realized. And if she’s playing messenger for him, maybe she’s hearing things too.

Gojo's expression softened instantly—like flipping a switch. He smiled, slow and disarming.

“Lunch?” he echoed, the sharpness melting from his voice. “You know what… that actually sounds good.”

Suzume blinked up at him, surprised by the sudden change.

“Really?” she asked, a small hopeful lilt in her voice.

“Yeah.” He slid his hands into his pockets, gaze leveling on her. “Lead the way.”

As they began walking side by side, Gojo's eyes flicked briefly to the velvet box still clutched in her hand. He didn’t mention it. He didn’t have to. The pieces were already moving.

Let’s see what you know, Suzume, he thought, keeping his expression light. And let’s see how much you’re willing to say if I smile long enough.

They sat across from each other at a small café tucked between office buildings, a warm breeze brushing past the awning above them. Gojo stirred his iced coffee absentmindedly, eyes flicking over Suzume as she glanced shyly down at her menu.

She had dressed up a little more than usual today. Lighter lipstick, earrings that caught the light just enough, and that tentative, hopeful look she gave him over the rim of her glass—he saw it now.

And it clicked. She liked him. Oh. Gojo leaned back in his chair, a slow grin creeping across his lips. This could be useful.

“You know, Suzume,” he said lazily, propping an arm up on the back of his chair, “I didn’t realize how cute you looked when you’re nervous.”

Suzume blinked. “W-What?”

“Just saying.” He sipped his drink with casual arrogance. “It’s kind of endearing. You should smile more—you have the kind of face that makes other people smile back.”

A visible flush bloomed across her cheeks. Suzume tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and gave a tiny, flustered laugh. “I… didn’t think you even noticed me most days.”

“I notice more than you think,” Gojo said, his voice dropping just enough to feel deliberate. “You’re sharp. Efficient. Kind of wasted doing Nanami’s grunt work, honestly.”

Suzume looked away, visibly flattered. “He just trusts me with stuff, that’s all.”

“Does he?” Gojo leaned forward slightly, pretending interest while quietly watching her squirm. “Or does he just like keeping you close?”

She looked up in surprise. “You think Nanami—?”

“I think Nanami doesn’t do anything without a reason,” Gojo said simply, then gave her a wink. “But hey, I’m glad he’s careless enough to let someone like you slip through the cracks.”

Suzume giggled softly, taking a sip of her water to hide the grin. Then, hesitantly she asked, “Does Y/N… mind? You having lunch with me, I mean.”

Gojo raised a brow. “Why would she?”

Suzume shrugged. “I don’t know. You two seem… close.”

Gojo gave a soft, amused chuckle and leaned in, resting his chin in his palm. “Let me be clear about something, Suzume.”

She looked at him, wide-eyed.

“No one tells me what to do. Not Y/N, not Nanami, no one. If I want to have lunch with a beautiful and intelligent woman who clearly deserves more attention than she’s been getting…” He let that hang in the air for a moment. “Then I’m going to do exactly that.”

Suzume practically glowed.

He tilted his head slightly. “Unless you don’t want to have lunch with me. I’d understand. Could always go eat alone, sulking in a dark corner of the office.”

“No, no,” she said quickly, too quickly. “I’m really happy you agreed. I mean—I didn’t think you would, but—”

Gojo smiled. “Good. I like being unpredictable.”

Their food arrived, and as Suzume eagerly launched into a story about a client she dealt with that morning, Gojo nodded along, half-listening. Under the table, he tapped his foot slowly, rhythmically. A quiet beat of strategy.

Suzume had a crush. Nanami was distracted.

If this was going to be a game, then he’d play it with the same recklessness that had always kept people guessing and now, he had a new pawn on the board. Willing, eager, and completely unaware.

Gojo smiled again, this time to himself. Let the game begin.

The office was unusually quiet that morning. The kind of stillness that settled like fog before a storm. Suzume walked in with a little spring in her step, still replaying yesterday’s lunch in her mind—Gojo’s laughter, his voice, the way he said beautiful and intelligent. She’d barely slept.

She reached her desk, fingers adjusting the collar of her blouse, and stopped dead in her tracks.

A box. Not just any box—a Cartier box.

It sat there, perfectly centered on her desk like it had been waiting just for her. Her breath caught. Her fingers trembled slightly as she reached out and touched the velvet red case, the unmistakable gold trim shimmering under the office lights.

She glanced around—no one was watching. With a shaky breath, she opened it.

Inside was a delicate Cartier Love necklace. Rose gold. Classic. Elegant. Undeniably expensive.

Her heart skipped a beat.

Tucked into the satin lid was a small note, cream-colored, embossed in neat calligraphy:

Only the best for a woman like you. —G.S.

For a full second, her mind blanked.

G.S.

Her lips parted, barely forming the words.

“Gojo Satoru…”

Her fingers traced the fine curve of the pendant. She had admired this exact design online more times than she could count. Daydreamed about someone thinking her worthy of something so precious. But this—this wasn’t a dream.

She unfastened the chain, almost too eagerly, and slipped it around her neck. The metal was cold against her skin, sending a chill down her spine. She clasped it shut and looked down at the reflection in her phone screen.

It looked perfect. Like it belonged there. She brushed her fingers lightly over the charm and smiled. Her cheeks flushed, her heart hammering against her chest.

She turned to grab her coffee, but something in the air shifted. A quiet voice in the back of her mind asked, Why would Gojo Satoru give you this? But she crushed it quickly, like snuffing out a candle. He noticed me. He said I deserved more attention.This necklace—this wasn’t just a gift. It was a message. He saw her and now, she was wearing proof around her neck.

The café across the street from the headquarters was buzzing, but your table in the corner had a little pocket of calm to it. You sat across from Suzumeand Hitoshi, Maya and Gojo sat beside you, leisurely sipping his iced coffee as if he didn’t have a care in the world.

You were halfway through your salad when a glint of light caught your eye—rose gold, delicate, unmistakably Cartier. Your gaze flicked up.

Around Suzume’s neck hung a Cartier Love necklace, the rose-gold band sitting perfectly against her skin like it had been made for her.

You swallowed and casually asked, “That’s a nice necklace. Where did you get it?”

Suzume’s fork paused mid-air. Her eyes darted to yours for a moment too long. Something about your tone made her shoulders tighten.

She gave a small smile, but it didn’t reach her eyes. “It’s… from someone I’ve recently started seeing.”

There was something defensive in her voice. As if she thought you were mocking her—questioning whether someone like her could really wear something like that. Your brows lifted ever so slightly, not in judgment but in curiosity, though Suzume seemed to misread it completely.

Before you could say anything else, Gojo leaned forward, eyes flicking to the necklace.

“It looks beautiful on you,” he said smoothly, voice low and warm. 

Suzume’s face lit up. She tilted her chin down slightly, fingertips brushing the pendant as if to draw more attention to it. “Thanks,” she said, breathy.

Gojo offered her a small, knowing wink—quick, almost imperceptible.

Maya’s interest immediately perked up. “Oh? A new guy? Tell us more!”

Suzume leaned in, confidence blooming like a slow flower. “He’s amazing. Really thoughtful. Always knows what I like without me having to say it. Honestly, he’s the best man I’ve ever been with.”

Across the table, Hitoshi whistled, raising his brows. “He must be loaded if he’s giving you Cartier.”

Suzume gave him a look—half-playful, half-dismissive. “It’s not about the money, Hitoshi. It’s the effort. He notices the little things.”

Her eyes slid to Gojo as she said it, and she smiled again. Gojo didn’t miss the cue. He returned her smile with one of his own—charming and just vague enough to be misread by anyone who wasn’t paying attention. But Maya was paying attention.

Her eyes narrowed slightly. She watched the smile pass between them like an invisible thread.

You tilted your head, tone light but curious. “He sounds like a catch. I’d love to meet him sometime.”

Suzume blinked. Her smile tightened just a little. “Oh, I don’t think that’ll be necessary.”

You raised an eyebrow at her response, but before the moment stretched too far, she turned sharply toward Gojo. “So, Mr. Gojo, how was your trip?”

Gojo took a sip of his drink, eyes still glinting. “It was great. Norway’s always beautiful. The fjords, the little towns, the air—nothing like it.”

He kept his voice smooth and steady, dancing around any details that might tie his experience to you. He didn’t mention the quiet moments you shared on that secluded hike, or the way your laughter echoed down mountain paths. None of that would help him now.

Suzume listened intently, nodding as if she was memorizing every word. “Sounds like a dream.”

“It was,” Gojo said, glancing at you just once from the corner of his eye—just enough to see if you caught anything in his tone. Then his attention swung back to Suzume. “But it’s always good to be back.”

Suzume’s eyes lit up. “I’ve always wanted to go to Norway. It looks like a dream.”

“Maybe you can go with your new man”. Hitoshi commented with a wink.

“Maybe I will”. She quipped.

Gojo glanced at her with a lopsided smile. “Maybe we should.” Then he added, almost as an afterthought, “We should all go.”

You nodded, thinking nothing of it. “I wouldn’t mind going again”

Maya arched a brow at the suggestion but said nothing, simply sipping her drink.

Hitoshi chuckled. “If someone’s paying, I’m packing tonight.”

Everyone laughed, the moment light again. Suzume, however, was glowing. She turned her head, letting the pendant catch the light again, clearly relishing every second. And Gojo? He leaned into the moment, calm and unreadable, every move intentional

Nanami’s office was quiet, awash in the mellow glow of a desk lamp as late afternoon light spilled through the blinds. The hum of conversation and clacking keyboards beyond the glass was faint, almost muffled — a soft reminder that the day was still ticking forward.

Maya stood by his desk, holding a tablet, flipping through reports on the latest client onboarding metrics.

“I think if we stagger the internal review with client comms, we can bring the close date forward by at least two days,” she explained.

Nanami nodded, eyes scanning the document she’d just handed him. “That would work. Good call.”

There was a moment of silence as he leaned back, the chair creaking slightly.

Then, in a casual tone, Nanami asked, “By the way... how’s Suzume doing?”

Maya blinked, caught off guard. “Suzume?”

“Yes.” Nanami tapped his pen against the armrest, feigning disinterest. “Just noticed she’s seemed... a bit distracted lately. Not in a disruptive way — just not quite her usual self.”

Maya paused, unsure where this was going. “I guess... she’s been a little more talkative than usual. But I haven’t noticed anything serious.”

Nanami gave a nonchalant shrug, as if it hardly mattered. “Mm. I only ask because I’ve seen a few moments — in the team meetings especially — where she seemed a bit… off. And maybe a little cold toward you?”

Maya’s eyes narrowed. “Cold how?”

He held up his hands slightly. “Could be nothing. Maybe I’m reading into things. But she barely acknowledged your idea in yesterday’s review — which was strange, considering she usually backs your suggestions without question.”

Maya folded her arms. “Why are you telling me this?”

Nanami offered a smooth smile. “Just making sure there’s no tension in the team that could affect delivery. That’s all.”

Maya hesitated. Her instincts told her to be careful. But the concern in Nanami’s voice — so calm, so reasonable — made her guard falter.

She exhaled slowly. “I’ve been meaning to talk to someone about it, actually.”

Nanami leaned forward slightly, just enough to signal interest without pushing. “Go on.”

“I don’t know for sure,” Maya began, lowering her voice slightly. “But I think Suzume might be... infatuated with Gojo.”

Nanami’s expression didn’t change. Not even a flicker of recognition. “Really?”

Maya nodded, frustration creeping into her voice. “She keeps staring at him in meetings. Laughing a little too hard at his jokes. And last week at lunch, she couldn’t stop smiling at him. She even wore a Cartier necklace and claimed some mystery man gave it to her.”

Nanami leaned back again, arms crossed. “I don’t know. That doesn’t sound like Gojo. He’s... not exactly subtle if he’s involved with someone. He’d flaunt it.”

Maya frowned. “I didn’t say Gojo’s reciprocating. I’m just saying something feels off.”

“I see.” Nanami tapped the pen against his desk once, twice. Then stopped. “Maybe you should talk to Y/N about it.”

Maya blinked. “Why?”

Nanami met her eyes. “Because if something’s really going on — even if it’s one-sided — Y/N should know. Especially if it’s going to turn messy.”

Maya looked down, conflicted.

“You’re close to her,” Nanami added, voice low and measured. “She’ll trust you. Better it comes from you than someone else.”

There was a beat of silence. Then Maya gave a small nod. “Alright. I’ll talk to her.”

Nanami smiled faintly and returned to the file on his desk. “Good. Let me know if you need anything.”

Maya walked out, still unsure whether she’d done the right thing — while behind her, Nanami’s smile slowly faded, replaced by something far more calculating.

The soft golden hue of the setting sun stretched across the quiet neighborhood, casting long shadows against the pavement. Trees rustled gently with the spring breeze, their leaves whispering secrets to one another as Maya waited outside your door, her hands buried deep in the pockets of her coat. The look on her face was unreadable — a blend of concern, hesitation, and quiet resolve.

You opened the door, surprised to see her.

“Maya? Everything okay?”

“Yeah, yeah. Just…” She gave a tight smile. “Thought you might like to go for a walk. Clear our heads. You’ve been cooped up with those campaign reviews all day.”

You hesitated for a beat — her tone was casual, but you knew Maya well enough to sense when something was off.

“Sure. Just give me a sec to grab a sweater.”

A few minutes later, the two of you were walking down the quiet, tree-lined street, the occasional car humming past. The air was crisp, the kind that makes your lungs feel clean, and for a while, neither of you spoke. You appreciated the silence — Maya often gave you space to think when she sensed you needed it. But today, she was the one struggling with her thoughts.

Finally, she spoke.

“You ever get a gut feeling about someone and you can’t shake it?”

You glanced at her. “This about work?”

She sighed. “Sort of. It’s about Suzume.”

You stopped mid-step, then resumed walking slowly. “Okay… what about her?”

Maya took a deep breath, choosing her words carefully. “I’ve been watching her the past week or so — not in a weird way, just… observing. And something’s changed. She’s constantly hovering around Gojo. Sitting closer in meetings. Laughing at things that aren’t even funny.”

You frowned. “Suzume’s always been a little… eager around new people. Maybe she’s just trying to fit in?”

“It’s not just that,” Maya said firmly. “She’s... infatuated. And I think she’s trying to get his attention. Honestly, I think she has it.”

You stopped walking. The word infatuated echoed in your mind longer than it should have. You stared ahead, lips pressed in a thin line.

“She’s been wearing that new necklace every day,” Maya added. “Said it was from someone she’s started seeing. At lunch, she couldn’t stop smiling at Gojo. He even winked at her.”

Your stomach tightened, but you kept your expression even. “That could mean anything.”

Maya gave you a long look. “I know how this sounds, okay? I’m not trying to make you suspicious for no reason. I just… something feels off. And I’d never forgive myself if I didn’t tell you.”

You stayed silent, the wind brushing strands of hair across your face.

Internally, your thoughts swirled. A week ago, you might’ve believed every word Maya just said. But now? Things between you and Gojo had shifted. He’d opened up to you. Let you see a part of him he rarely shared with anyone. You couldn’t let your past — the betrayal you swore you’d never let happen again — cloud your judgment.

“I appreciate you telling me,” you said quietly. “I really do. But you don’t have any actual proof.”

Maya stopped walking. “So you’re not going to say anything?”

You met her eyes. “Not yet. If something is going on, it’ll come to light. But until then… I trust him.”

Maya looked unconvinced, but she didn’t push. “Okay. Just... be careful, alright?”

You nodded. “I will.”

The two of you continued walking, but the silence now felt heavier — weighted with things unspoken. Behind you, the shadows of the street grew longer, the sun dipping just beneath the horizon, as if warning that some truths were better seen in the dark.

Somewhere behind you, hidden in the folds of the night, a pair of eyes watched from across the street — from the shadows behind a parked car.

A phone screen dimmed.

Someone walked away, unseen, happy that his bait had landed.

@commandertorindhepard @inlove-maze @starlightanyaaa @missybrat @lem-hhn @valleydoli @definetlythinkimanalien @luckyangelballoon @sheep-infog @gojoprincesss @kanaojacksonofc @bubera974 @ginginha @mari-ho14 @mashtura @concretewishes

[thirteenheavens]

Zombie Apocalypse || Kim Mingyu

Concepts and warnings: zombie universe similar to train to busan so has blood warnings etc

Notes: guys I’m so happy with this fic it took so long to finish I love concepts like this thank you so so much

You, Mingyu, and your son board the train, excited for your weekend getaway. Your son is bouncing with excitement in his seat, chattering away about all the fun things he's going to do.

"I can't wait to see the mountains, Daddy!" he says, looking out the window as the train starts to move. "And the waterfall too!" Mingyu smiles at him, ruffling his hair affectionately. "We'll see all of that and more, buddy. Mommy and I have planned the whole trip." You lean against Mingyu's shoulder, feeling content as the scenery rushes by outside. The train ride is peaceful, with the sound of your son's chatter filling the air.

As the hours pass, you start to feel a strange tension in the air. Other passengers seem unusually restless, checking their phones more often than usual. But you chalk it up to typical train anxiety and continue enjoying your family time. Suddenly, the train comes to a screeching halt, and you hear shouting and commotion outside. Your heart starts racing as people rush past your carriages, panic evident on their faces.

Mingyu stands up, his protective instincts kicking in. "Stay here with Jin-Woo," he says firmly. "I'm going to see what's going on." You grab Mingyu's arm, your eyes wide with concern. "Be careful, please. What's happening out there?"

Mingyu looks down at you, his expression serious. "I don't know yet. But I have a bad feeling about this. Just stay in our compartment and keep Jin-Woo safe." He leans down to kiss your forehead before hurrying out of the carriage, disappearing into the chaos outside. Your heart pounds in your chest as you pull Jin-Woo closer to you, wrapping your arms around him protectively.

You hear more shouts and screams from outside, and the tension in the air grows thicker. Something is definitely wrong, and you can't shake the feeling that this trip has just taken a dangerous turn. You focus all your attention on Jin-Woo, trying to keep him calm and distracted from the chaos outside.

"Hey sweetie, do you want to play a game?" you ask, forcing a smile onto your face. "We can play I Spy, or we can make up stories about the people we see." Jin-Woo looks up at you, his eyes filled with confusion and fear. "Mommy, where's Daddy?" he asks, his lower lip trembling. You pull him into your lap, holding him close as you try to think of something to say. "Daddy just had to go check on something. He'll be back soon, I promise."

As you try to comfort your son, you hear the sound of gunshots and screaming getting louder and closer. Your heart races faster as you wonder where Mingyu is and what's happening outside. You hold Jin-Woo tightly on your lap, feeling his small body trembling against you. The gunshots and screams continue, and you can hear what sounds like a stampede of people rushing past your compartment.

"Mommy, I'm scared," Jin-Woo whimpers, burying his face in your chest. You stroke his hair soothingly, trying to stay calm for his sake. "I know, baby. But I'm here with you. Nothing is going to happen to you."

Suddenly, the compartment door bursts open and a group of disheveled passengers rush in. They look frantic and wild-eyed, clearly terrified of something. One of them spots you and Jin-Woo and points a shaky finger at you. "There's still people in here!" he yells. "We have to get out!"

Your voice trembles as you speak, your fear evident in every word. "Please, we're not going anywhere. We're just trying to stay safe." The group of passengers doesn't seem to hear you or care. They start pulling at your arm, trying to drag you and Jin-Woo out of the compartment.

"You have to come with us!" one of them insists, his grip tightening painfully around your wrist. "It's not safe here!" Jin-Woo starts crying in earnest now, his small body shaking with sobs. You try to shield him with your body, feeling desperate and trapped.

You hold Jin-Woo close, rocking him back and forth as you whisper soothing words in his ear. "Shh, it's okay, baby. Mommy's got you. Just keep breathing." But the terrified passengers are getting more agitated, their panic making them irrational. One of them grabs Jin-Woo by the arm, trying to pull him away from you.

"Stop!" you scream, trying to protect your son. "Leave him alone!" Just as you're about to lose hope, Mingyu appears in the doorway, his face streaked with sweat and dirt. "Get your hands off my family!" he roars, pushing the passengers away from you and Jin-Woo.

He immediately scoops you both up in his arms, shielding you from the panicked group. "What's going on here?" he demands, his voice cold and furious. The passengers start stuttering and backing away, finally realizing that they've crossed a line. One of them points shakily at the windows.

"There are... things outside," he manages to say, his voice trembling. "Zombies." Mingyu's eyes widen in disbelief, but he quickly regains his composure. "Zombies?" he repeats, his grip on you and Jin-Woo tightening protectively. He looks around at the compartment, taking in the chaos and destruction. "We need to get out of here, now," he says firmly, starting to move towards the exit. "Stay close to me."

"Mingyu, wait," you say urgently, grabbing his arm. "What's happening out there? Are they really zombies?" Mingyu turns to you, his expression grim. "I don't know how it's possible, but it looks like the passengers are telling the truth. There are people attacking others, biting them and spreading some kind of infection."

He looks around at the panicked passengers, his jaw clenched. "We need to find a safe place to hide until we can figure out what's going on and how to stop it." Mingyu nods decisively. "Let's follow them to the last carriage," he says, leading you and Jin-Woo through the chaotic train.

The passengers are already rushing towards the last carriage, pushing and shoving to get inside. Mingyu keeps a firm grip on you and Jin-Woo, making sure you don't get separated in the crowd. As you approach the last carriage, you see a group of zombies stumbling towards you from the other end of the train. Their eyes are blank and lifeless, their mouths stained with blood.

The passengers scream in terror and pile into the last carriage, frantically trying to get the door closed. Mingyu helps them barricade the door, pushing a heavy metal cabinet against it just in time to keep the zombies out. Mingyu quickly ties his tie around the door handles, creating a makeshift lock. The sound of the zombies pounding against the door echoes through the carriage, but the barricade holds for now.

"That should keep them out for a while," he says, his voice tense. "But we need to come up with a better plan." The other passengers are huddled in a corner, their faces pale and frightened. Some are crying, others are whispering prayers under their breath.

You hold Jin-Woo close, grateful that you're all safe for now, but knowing that this is far from over. The train continues to rattle and shake as it moves towards an uncertain destination, the sound of zombies outside growing fainter but never disappearing completely. You cradle Jin-Woo in your arms, rocking him gently as he clings to you. He's exhausted and scared, but you can feel his small body starting to relax slightly now that he's safe with you and Mingyu.

Mingyu sits down beside you, wrapping his arm around both of you protectively. "We'll get through this," he whispers, pressing a kiss to your forehead. "I promise." Despite the chaos and danger outside, you feel a sense of comfort and security in his embrace. The other passengers whisper amongst themselves, occasionally casting worried glances in your direction.

You sit in silence, holding Jin-Woo and Mingyu, lost in your thoughts. Just a few hours ago, you were excited for this trip, full of hope and anticipation for the adventures ahead. Now, everything has changed so drastically. You can't help but wonder how this nightmare started - how normal people could suddenly turn into monsters. And what could possibly be waiting for you at the end of this train ride?

Mingyu seems to sense your unease and pulls you closer, rubbing soothing circles on your back. "Stay with me," he murmurs, his voice low and comforting. "Whatever happens, we'll face it together." The door starts rattling and shaking as the zombies outside grow more agitated. Their groans and snarls fill the air, making your skin crawl with fear.

Mingyu tenses beside you, his grip on you and Jin-Woo tightening protectively. "They're getting stronger," he says through gritted teeth. "We need to find another way out." The other passengers start panicking again, shouting and arguing over what to do next. But you know that this moment requires calmness and quick thinking, not panic.

"Mingyu," you say quietly, looking up at him. "Do you see anything we can use to reinforce the door?" Mingyu shakes his head grimly, scanning the carriage for anything useful. "There's nothing in here except broken furniture and luggage," he says, frustration evident in his voice. The banging on the door gets louder, and you can hear the metal creaking under the pressure. Jin-Woo starts whimpering again, sensing the danger.

"We're running out of time," Mingyu mutters, his eyes darting towards the emergency hatch on the ceiling. "If we don't get out of here soon..." Mingyu scoops up Jin-Woo and grabs your hand, leading you towards the emergency hatch. The other passengers are shouting and pleading with you not to leave, but you know you have no other choice.

He quickly opens the hatch, revealing a ladder leading up to the roof of the carriage. "You first," he says urgently, pushing you towards it. "I'll follow with Jin-Woo." The zombies continue their assault on the door, their growls growing louder and more desperate. Mingyu climbs up after you, holding Jin-Woo tightly against his chest.

As you reach the roof, the cold night air hits your face, and you realize that you're now trapped between two terrifying choices - stay and face certain death, or risk the unknown by running along the top of the train. You help Mingyu climb onto the roof, holding onto Jin-Woo's hand tightly. The wind whips around you as you stand on the metal surface, the ground rushing by beneath your feet.

Mingyu glances down at the zombies, who are now spilling out of the carriage below. "We need to move," he says firmly, starting to walk carefully along the top of the train. You follow him closely, trying to stay balanced while also shielding Jin-Woo from the cold and danger. The wind is deafening up here, and every jolt of the train makes your heart leap into your throat.

"Where are we going?" you shout over the noise, your voice trembling with fear. "There's nowhere to go!" Mingyu looks ahead, where you can see the train approaching a station in the distance. "We'll jump onto the platform as soon as we're close enough," he explains, his eyes scanning the tracks ahead. The wind picks up even more, making it difficult to see or hear anything. Jin-Woo clings to you tightly, his face buried in your chest as he trembles with fear.

"Can you make the jump?" Mingyu asks, his gaze fixed on you with concern. "It's going to be dangerous, but it's our only chance." Mingyu moves ahead, his movements careful and precise as he makes his way towards the edge of the train. "I'll clear the way," he calls back to you. "Stay close behind me." He takes a deep breath and leaps off the train, landing safely on the platform below. The station is eerily quiet and empty, with no sign of other passengers or staff.

"Your turn!" he shouts, holding his arms out to catch you and Jin-Woo. You lift Jin-Woo into Mingyu's arms, your heart pounding as you watch him pass him down. The train rattles and shakes beneath your feet, making it harder to maintain your balance.

"Hold on tight to Daddy," you tell Jin-Woo, your voice cracking with emotion. "I'll be right behind you." "You can do it, buddy. Just jump and I'll catch you." Mingyu calls from the platform. As Jin-Woo jumps into Mingyu's arms, you feel a surge of pride and love for both of them. Mingyu lands safely on the platform with Jin-Woo, holding him tight against his chest.

"Now it's your turn," he calls up to you, his voice steady and reassuring. You take a deep breath and back up to the other end of the train, preparing to make the leap. The gap between the train and the platform seems wider than before, and you can hear the zombies still banging on the door behind you. You jump off the train, your heart racing with adrenaline. But as you reach for the platform, your hand lands on a jagged piece of broken glass.

A sharp pain shoots through your palm as the glass slices into your skin. You cry out in pain, but manage to keep your grip on the edge of the platform. Mingyu's eyes widen in alarm as he sees the blood running down your arm. "Y-N! Are you okay?" he calls up, his voice filled with worry.

The zombies in the train car below hear your scream and start to grow more agitated, banging even harder on the door. You look down at Mingyu, trying to mask your pain and keep him from worrying even more. Blood continues to trickle down your arm, but you force yourself to stay calm.

"I'm fine," you whisper, gritting your teeth against the throbbing pain in your hand. "Just help me up." Mingyu carefully adjusts Jin-Woo in his arms and reaches up towards you, his face a mix of concern and determination. "Hold on, I've got you," he says firmly.

Mingyu helps you down from the platform, being careful not to jostle your injured hand too much. Then he grabs your other hand and starts running through the deserted train station. Jin-Woo is crying again, scared by the sight of your blood and the unfamiliar surroundings. You try to keep up with Mingyu's pace, but your hand is throbbing and you can feel the blood seeping through your clothes.

"We need to find a safe place to hide and clean up that cut," Mingyu says as you reach the exit of the station. "The city is just ahead." Mingyu freezes in his tracks, his grip on your hand tightening. "There's too many of them," he whispers, horror etched on his face as he looks out at the horde of zombies blocking the exit. They're everywhere - shuffling towards you in a grotesque mass, their eyes fixed on your small group. The car that Mingyu spotted earlier is just out of reach, a symbol of safety that seems further away with every passing second.

"What do we do?" you ask, panic rising in your chest. "We can't go back into the station, and we can't fight our way through that." Mingyu quickly muffles Jin-Woo's cries with his hand, his eyes darting back and forth between you and the zombies. "Shh, baby," he whispers urgently, his voice barely audible. "Don't make a sound." The zombies continue to approach, their groans growing louder and more insistent. You can feel the tension radiating off Mingyu as he tries to keep Jin-Woo quiet while protecting you both.

"We need to find another way out," he murmurs, his eyes scanning the area desperately. "There has to be something we're missing." The toy clatters against the concrete, echoing loudly in the tense silence. The zombies turn their heads towards the noise, their attention drawn to your group. Mingyu curses under his breath, his heart racing as he sees the zombies starting to shuffle towards you more quickly. "Damn it," he mutters, pulling you and Jin-Woo closer to him. "We have to move - now!"

Jin-Woo starts to cry again, this time louder and more desperately. You can see the fear and helplessness in Mingyu's eyes as he tries to keep you both safe while keeping the zombies from getting too close. You and Mingyu sprint away from the zombies, holding Jin-Woo tightly between you. The undead creatures are gaining on you, their movements quickening as they pick up speed.

"There's a warehouse up ahead!" Mingyu shouts, pointing to a large building in the distance. "We can hide in there!"

The warehouse doors are heavy, but Mingyu starts banging on them frantically, yelling for someone to open up. "Please! Let us in!" he screams, his voice raw with desperation. Mingyu groans trying to open it a little bit only managing to open it a small amount. You rush inside the warehouse, pulling Jin-Woo in with you. The door creaks as Mingyu tries to squeeze through, but he's too broad to fit.

"I can't get through!" he yells, panic in his voice as the zombies get closer. "You have to lock it behind you!" You look back at him through the crack in the door, tears streaming down your face. "No! I won't leave you!" you cry, your heart breaking at the thought of being separated.

Mingyu's eyes are filled with tears as he struggles against the door. "I can't... I can't make it fit," he chokes out, his body pressed against the door frame. The zombies are just outside, their hands clawing at the door as they try to force their way in. You can see the fear and pain in Mingyu's eyes as he realizes this might be the last time he sees you and Jin-Woo.

"Please, just go," he begs, his voice breaking. "Take care of our son and stay alive." You scream and sob, unable to control your emotions as you cling to Jin-Woo. The zombies' growls grow louder as they press harder against the door, their decaying hands almost touching Mingyu's face. Mingyu tries to force himself through the gap one last time, his muscles straining against the metal frame. "I love you," he whispers, his voice filled with heartbreak and determination. "Never forget that."

You can see tears streaming down his face as he accepts his fate, knowing that he won't be able to protect you and Jin-Woo any longer. You watch helplessly as the zombies drag Mingyu away from the door, his body struggling against their grip. He looks back at you one last time, his eyes full of love and pain.

Then he screams - a raw, anguished sound that echoes through the warehouse. You cover Jin-Woo's ears as the zombies tear into him, his cries growing weaker with each passing moment. The warehouse falls silent, except for the sound of Jin-Woo's sobs and your own heart breaking into a million pieces. You collapse to the ground, holding your son tightly as you mourn the loss of his father and your own broken heart.

You sit on the cold warehouse floor, your body numb and your mind reeling from what you just witnessed. Jin-Woo cries against your chest, his tiny body trembling with fear and grief. Time seems to stand still as you hold him, your own tears flowing silently down your cheeks. The reality of Mingyu's death settles over you like a heavy blanket, suffocating you with its weight.

You rock back and forth slowly, trying to comfort both yourself and Jin-Woo as you struggle to process the horrific events that have just unfolded. As you sit there, memories of happier times flood your mind. Memories of your wedding day - Mingyu smiling at you as he slid the ring onto your finger, the joy on his face as you became husband and wife.

Then there are memories of giving birth to Jin-Woo, the way Mingyu held your hand through the pain, the look of awe and wonder on his face as he first held his son. These memories mix with the present, creating a bittersweet agony that tears at your heart. You hold Jin-Woo closer, feeling both the love you have for him and the gaping hole left by Mingyu's absence.

Jin-Woo's small voice breaks through your thoughts, and he looks up at you with hopeful eyes. "Maybe Daddy will come back?" he whispers, his voice shaking. Your heart aches at his innocent words, and you want to tell him that it's impossible, that you both saw what happened. But you can't bring yourself to shatter his hopes completely.

"Maybe," you whisper back, trying to keep your voice steady. "Maybe he'll find a way."

[satanslovergirl]

═ ° \ * 𝑺𝒐𝒇𝒕 𝑺𝒄𝒊𝒆𝒏𝒄𝒆, 𝑯𝒂𝒓𝒅 𝑯𝒖𝒏𝒕𝒔 * / ° ═

"So get this… something weird's going on in Black Water Ridge."

═════

Pairing: Sam Winchester x She/Her Reader

Tone: Fluffy romance, sweet intimacy, hunter x hunter, Young!Sam, Cuddly!Sam, Nerdy!Y/N

Rating: T (Canon-typical Supernatural discussion, light intimacy, cuddling, implied intimacy)

Written by: Little Devil ♡

Word Count: ~6,600 words

Based on: Supernatural Seasons 1–2, Non-specific episode

═════

Synopsis: The case was nothing flashy—just some strange disappearances in an Oregon forest town—but it was enough to pull the trio into another dusty library, another empty diner, another late night poring over old records. For Y/N, it's just another day in the life of a hunter. For Sam, it's the first time someone’s been this close since Jessica. And it's terrifying. But when late-night investigation turns into stolen glances and nerdy jokes, he starts to realize: maybe this new chapter doesn’t have to mean forgetting the last. Especially when Y/N starts quoting him back to himself.

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Scene One: Small Town Shadows

The town was called Maple Hollow. Population: barely a thousand. Enough to have a single diner, a run-down library, and—most importantly—a suspicious uptick in missing persons and two campers gone off the grid.

The Impala rumbled to a stop outside the local sheriff's station, its engine groaning like it too was tired of the chase. Dean threw it into park, stretched like a cat, and glanced back at Sam and Y/N.

“Alright, Sammy, Y/N, you two charm the local law. I’ll hit up the morgue, see if anyone’s got claw marks and a half-eaten spleen.”

“Charming,” Y/N said dryly, hopping out. The air was pine-sweet and damp. Fall pressed in close here—everything smelled of leaves, wet bark, and chimney smoke.

Inside, Sam worked his soft smile like a scalpel, clean and precise. Y/N trailed him, flipping her FBI badge with a casual air. The sheriff, mid-40s and shaped like a fire hydrant, barely looked up from his paperwork.

"Can I help you?" he asked, voice heavy with disinterest.

“We’re investigating the recent disappearances," Sam said, glancing at the file on the sheriff's desk. "Two campers went missing around Black Water Ridge, right?"

The sheriff leaned back in his chair, sighing. “Yeah. It’s a damn mess, but I can’t make sense of it. People around here... they like to talk. All kinds of stories float around, but there’s nothing concrete. Just missing persons and a few odd reports from hikers.”

Y/N raised an eyebrow. “What kind of reports?”

“People claim they heard strange noises, saw weird shapes in the trees, but no one’s found anything that makes sense. Not yet, anyway. We’re still looking into it.”

“Any clues on where they were last seen?” Sam asked, flipping through the sheriff’s file.

“Black Water Ridge. That’s where the last two disappeared,” the sheriff muttered. “Not the first time people have gone off the grid around there, but this one’s a little different.”

Y/N exchanged a glance with Sam, both of them trying to read between the lines.

“We’ll keep an ear to the ground,” Sam said, offering the sheriff a polite smile before they made their way out the door.

---

Scene Two: Lore and Lightning Bugs

That night, they holed up in a dusty motor lodge with carpet that crunched underfoot and a TV older than God. Dean was snoring by ten, boots on, mouth open. Sam and Y/N had taken the table by the window, lore books and local legends strewn across it like a storm blew through a library.

Sam leaned over a worn book of regional myths, his long fingers tapping idly. Y/N had a notebook open, scribbling notes in between sips of lukewarm coffee.

“Alright,” she said suddenly, snapping the silence. “So, get this—”

Sam looked up, blinking.

Dean, half-asleep on the bed, cracked one eye open and barked a laugh. “Careful, Sammy, she’s stealin’ your catchphrase.”

Y/N paused, then smirked. “What? It’s efficient.”

Sam flushed a little, ears pink. He smiled down at his book, the corners of his mouth tugging in that quiet way of his. Something warm bloomed in his chest.

She was picking up his habits. Quoting him back like muscle memory. The thought was absurdly endearing.

“You were saying?” he asked, voice softer than necessary.

Y/N glanced back down at her notes. “So, I think we’re looking at a Leshy. A Slavic forest guardian. Mischievous, territorial, and… pretty damn possessive of its woods.”

“That would explain the missing people. And the strange reports. People are drawn into the woods when they’re overhunted. The Leshy tends to keep to itself, but it doesn’t like being disturbed.”

Sam leaned closer to see her notes, and their shoulders brushed. She didn’t pull away. Neither did he.

---

Scene Three: Sparks and Salt Circles

They found the Leshy's lair just past a crumbling ranger outpost, vines overtaking the trail and claw marks scratched into tree bark like warnings. The air was colder here—charged, like lightning about to strike.

Dean laid salt and iron traps with practiced efficiency, circling the clearing’s edge. Sam and Y/N prepped the charges—aconite-laced silver blades, smudged with old Latin rites.

When the Leshy appeared, it wasn’t gradual. It dropped from the canopy with a sound like cracking wood, its massive limbs sheathed in bark and moss. Its eyes glowed like hot coals.

“Move!” Sam shouted, as it lunged.

Dean rolled forward and slashed upward, his blade barely nicking the creature’s thigh. It screeched—high, dry, furious. Y/N ducked behind a fallen log, breath short, and flung one of the silver blades. It embedded in its chest—only to be yanked out with a roar.

Sam got in close, drawing its attention, while Dean looped behind. Y/N used the distraction to scrawl a quick banishment sigil onto a stone. The creature knocked Sam back into a tree—but he recovered fast, grabbing another blade, this time slicing clean across its arm. Sap bled like venom.

Dean delivered the final blow: a two-handed thrust to the creature’s sternum, right where Y/N had aimed before. The Leshy staggered, convulsed, and crumbled into dust and bark.

They stood panting in the sudden silence, the scent of crushed pine needles heavy in the air.

---

Scene Four: Tangled Hearts

Back at the motel, Dean muttered something about celebratory pie and promptly fell asleep in the second bed, boots still on. Sam was quiet, sitting at the edge of his own bed, running a thumb over a scratch on his arm.

Y/N emerged from the bathroom, her shoulder wrapped, her hair still damp. She climbed onto the bed beside him, slow and easy.

“You good?” she asked.

He nodded. Then shook his head. “I just—sometimes I think about how easy it would be to lose someone again.”

Y/N didn’t flinch. She reached out, rested a hand over his.

“You’re not losing me. Not without a hell of a fight.”

He looked at her then, really looked. Like the weight of that truth was still settling into his bones.

She smiled. “Also, if I start saying ‘friggin’ all the time, call me out.”

He laughed. A real one. “Deal.”

They slipped under the covers, limbs tentative but warm. Sam's arm found its way around her waist, and she tucked her head beneath his chin. They didn’t say anything else.

Just the hush of night, the thrum of distant cars, and the way Sam held her like he finally believed the world might let him keep something good.

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═ ° * 𝑺𝒐𝒇𝒕 𝑺𝒄𝒊𝒆𝒏𝒄𝒆, 𝑯𝒂𝒓𝒅 𝑯𝒖𝒏𝒕𝒔 */ ° ═

[islakaliko]

— Just like you, dad

disclaimer: a/b/o universe, alpha john price, male omega reader, very self indulged

< previous | next >

The sun was low on the horizon, casting long golden beams over the garden. The chatter from the rest of the house had faded into the background, muffled through half-closed windows.

(y/n) sat on the cushioned bench outside, blanket over his lap, two steaming mugs in hand. He didn’t have to wait long.

Mia and Luna came out together, still inseparable even after sixteen years. Their steps were quieter than usual. They didn’t say anything at first—just curled up on either side of him, letting out mirrored sighs that made (y/n) smile to himself.

He handed each of them a mug and waited.

It took a moment, but eventually, Mia broke the silence. “Everything feels louder now.”

Luna nodded. “Like my skin doesn’t fit right some days.”

“I keep crying at commercials,” Mia muttered, clearly horrified.

“And I almost bit Noah’s head off because he didn’t knock before entering my room,” Luna added, frowning into her tea.

(y/n) chuckled softly. “Yeah. That all sounds familiar.”

Both girls looked at him—curious, cautious, and a little surprised.

“You felt like this?” Mia asked.

(y/n) nodded. “I still remember the week I presented. It felt like the world tilted on its axis. I was angry one minute, crying the next, and then starving. All while being terrified someone would treat me differently because I was an omega and a boy.”

The twins went quiet.

“But,” (y/n) continued gently, “that fear didn’t last forever. I figured myself out. I found my rhythm. And then I met your dad. And for the first time, I didn’t feel like I had to hide any part of myself. He saw me for me—not just my designation, not just my gender.”

Luna leaned her head on his shoulder. “Did people… say things to you? About being an omega dad?”

“Sometimes,” (y/n) admitted. “But I stopped listening. Because none of them had what I had. A partner who loves me. A pack who respects me. Kids I’d move the world for.”

Mia smiled, a little shy. “I’m glad we’re like you.”

“Me too,” Luna added, hugging his arm. “We always thought it was cool that you were different.”

(y/n) blinked, throat tight. “You did?”

Mia nodded. “You’re strong and soft. And no one else’s dad knows how to make the perfect tea and shoot a rifle like it’s nothing.”

(y/n) laughed through the emotion, arms wrapping around both of them. “You two are going to be amazing. I already see it. Even if you feel a little untethered right now—it’s part of growing into who you are.”

Luna’s voice was small. “It’s just hard sometimes.”

“I know, sweetheart. But you’re not alone,” (y/n) said gently. “You have me. You have each other. And you have an entire pack behind you.”

They sat in silence for a while after that—mugs empty, nightfall creeping in, the garden quiet around them.

Mia reached over, brushing her thumb gently over the scent gland on (y/n)’s neck. “I want a bond like yours and Dad’s someday.”

(y/n) smiled, leaning into the touch. “You will. But don’t rush it. The right bond will feel like peace.”

Luna kissed his cheek. “You always know what to say.”

“It’s a dad thing,” he teased softly, holding them close. “And an omega thing.”

And beneath the starlight, wrapped in their father’s arms, Luna and Mia felt a little less alone. A little more seen. A little more themselves.

[rottenherbs]

Love on the Silver Screen (pt.3)

Pairing: D.M x Actress! Reader Summary: Draco, desperate not to lose his chance, invites you for coffee, where you share an easy but meaningful conversation; he nervously reveals he’s seen her films and, instead of scaring her away, deepens their fragile, growing connection with his honesty. W/C: 1.6k A/N: [masterlist] Much Love, Saige

The end of the panel came like a sudden gust of wind — loud, disruptive, final.

Chairs scraped against the floor as witches and wizards stood, eager to leave. Conversations burst into life all around them, drowning out the speakers’ closing remarks. People began gathering their things, moving in slow, tangled knots toward the exits.

Draco barely heard any of it.

All he could focus on was you — standing, stretching slightly, brushing the wrinkles from your robes — and the awful realization that you could vanish from his life in a matter of seconds if he didn’t act.

Panic clawed up his chest, wild and irrational.

Say something.

Don’t let her leave.

Don’t just sit there like an idiot.

He fumbled for words, for anything at all to bridge the distance between you — but his mouth was dry, his mind scrambled. It felt like trying to catch smoke in his hands.

You slung your bag over your shoulder and offered a polite, small smile toward him — the kind you give a stranger you might never see again — and began stepping into the flow of the crowd.

No.

No, no, no.

Draco shot to his feet so fast his chair clattered backward against the wall. A few people glanced his way, annoyed, but he barely noticed.

You were already two steps ahead of him, weaving easily through the thick throng of attendees. He hesitated for one painful heartbeat, caught between pride and desperation.

Then he moved.

“Wait—” Draco’s voice cracked as he pushed forward, trying not to shove too many people aside. His heart slammed against his ribs. “Sorry, excuse me—”

He caught a glimpse of you just a few paces ahead, pausing to let an elderly wizard shuffle by.

This was his chance.

Draco surged forward, his hand brushing your elbow lightly — just enough to make you turn.

You looked back at him, surprise flickering across your face — not annoyance, not fear — just mild curiosity, as if wondering why he had followed.

Up close again, it was dizzying: the realness of you, the softness of your gaze, the very fact that you hadn’t yet vanished.

Draco swallowed hard, scrambling for something — anything — to say.

Something that wouldn’t make him sound like a complete lunatic.

Something that would keep you here, just a little longer.

“Would you—” he started, then stopped, cursing himself internally. He ran a hand through his hair in frustration, tried again, softer this time. “Would you want to maybe — get a coffee or something?”

The words hung there, raw and awkward between them.

You blinked, taken aback — but then the corners of your mouth lifted, slow and thoughtful.

“Now?” you asked, amused.

Draco nodded, heart hammering.

You glanced around at the chaos of the packed hallway, then back at him — and after a beat, you smiled properly, bright enough that Draco’s knees almost gave out.

“Yeah,” you said easily. “Why not?”

And just like that, the frantic, terrified knot in Draco’s chest loosened.

The café was tucked just outside the bustling main halls, a small, tucked-away place humming with quiet conversations and the low clatter of teacups. It smelled like roasted beans and warm pastries, and somehow, Draco was grateful for the way it muffled the noise of the world outside.

You picked a table near the corner — away from the large windows, half-shielded by a tall bookcase filled with enchanted novels that whispered their titles when you passed. Draco trailed after you awkwardly, every step feeling stiff and deliberate, like he had to remember how to move.

You sat first, offering him a casual smile over the rim of your cup as you glanced over the menu chalked on the wall. Draco took the seat across from you, struggling to keep from staring.

Merlin, she’s real.

She’s right here.

“So,” you said lightly, settling back into your chair, “is this your usual tactic? Chasing strangers through crowds to offer them coffee?”

Draco huffed a short laugh, rubbing the back of his neck. “No,” he admitted, wry. “Not exactly my style.”

You raised a brow, clearly amused.

He hesitated, then forced himself to meet your gaze properly. “Honestly,” he added, “I didn’t want you to leave before I had a chance to — I don’t know — speak to you properly.”

The admission felt raw, almost too honest. His fingers fidgeted with the edge of the table, betraying nerves he hadn’t even realized he still had.

You looked at him for a long moment, like you were trying to figure him out. Then — to his immense relief — you smiled again. Softer this time. Less teasing.

“Well,” you said, “I’m glad you stopped me.”

A comfortable sort of silence settled between you as a server came by. You both ordered — Draco something simple, black coffee; you, a tea that came in a small floral pot that steamed gently on the table.

When the server left, you leaned forward a little, resting your chin on your hand.

“So what’s your name?” you asked. “Unless you prefer to stay mysterious.”

Draco hesitated. Part of him wanted to lie — to give you some version of himself untouched by his family’s past. But then he realized, strangely, that he didn’t want to start this — whatever this was — with a lie.

“Draco,” he said simply.

You didn’t flinch, didn’t recoil the way so many others did when they heard it. You just nodded, filing it away like any other fact about him.

“And you?” he asked, though he already knew.

You gave your name easily, smiling at the way he pretended he hadn’t recognized you the moment he saw you. Draco felt his mouth curve up involuntarily.

You were real. You weren’t just the girl from the screen anymore — this wasn’t some unattainable dream he could lock away in secret.

You were sitting across from him, sipping tea, smiling, teasing, asking him questions like he was worth knowing.

“So,” you said after a beat, tapping your fingers lightly on the table. “Tell me something about you, Draco. Something that’s not about panels or wizard conventions.”

He blinked, caught off guard by the simple request.

Something about him.

He thought for a moment, then said, a little self-consciously, “I like gardens.”

You blinked, surprised — and then you smiled again, wider this time.

“Gardens?”

Draco shrugged awkwardly. “Yeah. Plants don’t care who your family is. They just… grow.”

You laughed quietly, a soft sound that curled into the spaces between them.

“That’s actually very charming,” you said.

Draco flushed slightly, ducking his head to hide it by pretending to focus on his coffee.

And for the first time in a long time, sitting there across from you, Draco Malfoy felt something stirring deep inside him — a tentative hope. A sense that maybe, just maybe, he wasn’t doomed to be the sum of his past mistakes forever.

Maybe he was allowed to start again.

And maybe — impossibly — that start could begin with you.

———

Draco turned his coffee cup between his hands, searching for the right words.

The conversation had drifted into easy things — favorite places to visit, spells gone wrong, little absurdities that made you both laugh under your breath. But the truth of how he even recognized you still hung in the air, unspoken, heavy.

He didn’t want to lie.

He didn’t want to scare you off either.

Finally, after a long moment, he cleared his throat and glanced up at you.

“I should probably tell you,” Draco said, voice low, “that… I’ve actually seen you before.”

You tilted your head, puzzled but curious. “At the convention?”

He shook his head. “Before that. I mean—” He faltered, feeling a flush crawl up the back of his neck. Merlin, this was mortifying. “In… your films.”

Your eyebrows lifted slightly in surprise, but you didn’t look alarmed — just interested, waiting.

“I’m not — I’m not some obsessive fan,” Draco rushed to add, suddenly desperate to make that clear. “It’s just that… after the war, there wasn’t much that felt good. I —” He cut himself off, frustrated at how clumsy this sounded. His hand clenched briefly around the cup before he forced himself to relax.

You watched him carefully, kindly. Not judging.

“I found one of your films by accident,” he said finally, his voice steadier. “And it was… it was different. It made things feel lighter. You made things feel lighter.”

The admission felt like peeling away armor he hadn’t realized he was still wearing.

He dared to look at you then — and instead of the pity or discomfort he feared, there was something gentler in your expression. A soft understanding.

You set your tea down slowly. “That’s… honestly one of the nicest things anyone’s ever said to me about my work,” you said quietly.

Draco blinked, startled. “Really?”

You nodded. “A lot of people like the glamour of it. The fame. They don’t really see what it means to actually connect with someone. To matter to someone, even if just for a little while.”

There was a stretch of silence between you — but it wasn’t awkward. It was warm. Weighty in a good way.

Draco exhaled a slow breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding.

“I just thought you should know,” he said softly. “That you mattered. Even before you sat next to me.”

The look you gave him then — tender, almost vulnerable — undid something deep inside him.

You didn’t say anything for a moment, just gave a little nod, as if tucking his words away somewhere private, somewhere important.

And for the first time, Draco let himself believe — just a little — that maybe this wasn’t a foolish, impossible thing after all.

Maybe you were meant to find each other here, in this small, strange moment — two people trying, quietly, to begin again.

[hmsdoodlin]

Soul probably thought that as soon as they brought Heart back from apathy everything would be ok again. Sure he knew there’d be pushback, heightened emotions and snarling. Heart wouldn’t be happy when he came home, but Soul was sure they’d get back on track soon enough.

How could he be so naive?

All he got was an empty husk, something staring at him that’s devoid of any life. Heart doesn’t speak, he barely even responds, apathetic and broken for days on end.

It gets to a point where Soul is crying, begging, shaking him and wailing for his Heart back. He wants him to cry, to speak, to scream, to do anything!

He misses him so so badly, it’s almost as if he’s dead.

Apathy had consumed him whole. And Soul has no idea how to fix it.

[luv-lock]

ㅤֹㅤ⊹ㅤ #ㅤYOUNG LOVEㅤ.ᐟ ֹ ₊ ꒱

☆⁠ PAIRING : Robins x Fem Reader

☆⁠ HEADCANON : How Would They Be As Your Boyfriend?

☆⁠ CHARACTERS : Dick Grayson, Jason Todd, Damian Wayne.

☆⁠ NOTES : English is not my first language. Hope you enjoy!

— DICK GRAYSON ⋆

Affection Overload: Dick is all about physical affection. Hugs, kisses, holding hands—he’s constantly touching you. If you’re in public, expect him to have an arm around your waist or your hand in his at all times.

Grand Gestures: He loves making big romantic statements. Random flowers delivered to your class? Check. Swinging into your bedroom window just to say goodnight? Double check.

Jealousy Level: Surprisingly chill, but only because he’s confident. If someone flirts with you, he’ll swoop in with a smug smile and casually remind them that you’re his.

Protective Side: He’s sweet and easygoing most of the time, but the second he thinks you’re in danger, he turns into serious protector mode. He’s not above scaring people off if necessary.

Clingy but Cute: He hates being away from you. Even if you’re just apart for a day, he’ll text or call constantly. "Miss me yet? Because I miss you."

The Cheerleader Boyfriend: Dick is your biggest fan. Whether you’re pursuing a hobby, trying something new, or just having a bad day, he’s there hyping you up like, “You’re amazing, don’t forget that.”

Drama King: If you ever fight, expect him to show up at your door with flowers, chocolates, and the saddest puppy-dog eyes you’ve ever seen. He cannot stand the idea of you being upset with him.

— JASON TODD ⋆

Acts Tough but Is a Softie: Jason tries to play it cool, but deep down, he’s so soft for you. You’ll catch him staring at you like you hung the moon, and he’ll deny it every time.

Overprotective: Jason is feral when it comes to your safety. If anyone so much as looks at you the wrong way, he’s ready to throw hands. “You okay, babe? Need me to deal with them?”

Big on Small Gestures: He’s not a grand-gesture kind of guy, but he’ll quietly leave your favorite snacks on your desk or slip a note into your bag that says, "Have a good day, idiot."

Jealousy Level: Off the charts. Jason tries to play it cool, but the second someone flirts with you, his hand is on your waist, and his glare is lethal.

Supportive but Real: Jason is your rock. He’ll always be there for you, but he’s not afraid to call you out if he thinks you’re being too hard on yourself. “Stop beating yourself up. You’re amazing. End of story.”

Loves Quiet Time Together: He’s happiest when it’s just the two of you curled up on the couch, watching movies or reading. Those moments mean the world to him.

Secretly Romantic: Jason pretends he’s not into cheesy romance, but he’ll randomly do something that makes your heart melt, like showing up with a book he thought you’d like or quoting poetry at the most unexpected times.

— DAMIAN WAYNE ⋆

Awkwardly Affectionate: Damian isn’t great at expressing his feelings verbally, so his affection comes in the form of small, thoughtful actions. He’ll make sure your tea is brewed perfectly or bring you handmade gifts.

Possessive but Polite: Damian hates sharing your attention. If someone flirts with you, he’ll politely (but firmly) remind them who you belong to. “I believe you’re wasting your time. She’s spoken for.”

Jealousy Level: High but controlled. Instead of losing his temper, he’ll subtly outshine whoever is trying to steal your attention. “Ah, yes, you’ve met my girlfriend. Isn’t she magnificent?”

Protective in a Subtle Way: He’s not loud about it, but Damian is always watching out for you. If someone wrongs you, he’ll handle it quietly and efficiently. “You’ll find they’re no longer a problem.”

Always Wants to Impress You: Damian is constantly trying to prove himself to you, whether it’s through his art, his fighting skills, or his intellect. He’s desperate for your approval, even if he pretends he’s not.

Secretly Vulnerable: Behind his confident exterior, Damian is terrified of losing you. He doesn’t know how to handle those emotions, so he’ll sometimes withdraw until you reassure him.

Over-the-Top Romantic in Private: When it’s just the two of you, Damian lets his walls down. He’ll read you poetry, kiss your hand, and whisper how much you mean to him.

How They’re Similar

All of them are incredibly protective of you and hate seeing you hurt or upset.

They’re obsessed with making you happy and will go out of their way to ensure you feel loved.

Whether they’re soft and sweet or intense and dramatic, they all love you with their whole heart—and they’re not afraid to show it.

— MASTERLIST ☆⁠

— © luv-lock. Don't copy, use or translate any of my works here or any other websites ☆

[fleurbly]

Baked In Blood

summary: Driven by kindness, you walk to a secluded house every day, leaving freshly baked pies for the mysterious man who never shows himself. But when your neighbor, Mrs. Hatcher, is violently killed one night, everything changes. As fear spreads through the town, the man you've been silently serving steps into your life—and the true, terrifying nature of his obsession begins to unravel.

warnings: non-con, dub-con, explicit content, dirty talk, mentions of blood and murder, forest sex, prey and predator dynamics

pairing: dark!remmick x fem!reader

words: 6k

based off this request

The air was thick with that early morning quiet — not cold, but not warm yet either. Just still. Hushed. Like the world hadn’t quite decided to wake up. The pie in your hands was still warm, warmed in a red gingham towel that gave a slight aroma of sugar and cinnamon. You carried it like you always did, how you carried it to his house every morning. Steady, careful, both hands under the dish so the heat didn’t slip through and burn your fingers.

You took the long way, even though you didn’t have to. Past the lot where the hydrangeas used to grow, Past the old gas station that hadn’t sold gas in years. The street was empty, save for a squirrel darting across the sidewalk and a newspaper half soaked in dew.

You liked mornings like this. Quiet ones. Nobody needing anything from you yet. 

His house sat at the far end of the block, past where the road cracked deeper and the shade settled in early. You could barely see the roofline through the trees most days. No cars in the drive. No signs of the sun shining into his house in the mornings, windows and curtains closed. Just that porch with the crooked step and the step and the front door that never opened. 

You didn’t know who he was. No one really did. 

You’d never seen him up close. Never heard his voice. Just a name once, muttered by a neighbor who looked like she regretted saying it the second it left her mouth.

But none of that mattered. Never mattered to you. 

You climbed the creaking and worn steps like usual, pie in hand, the porch groaning under your weight. You paused at the door. Knocked once… twice then three times and that was it. Never more. 

SIlence only met you. Not even a sign of a curtain drawing back. Though you waited just for a few seconds more. Long enough to maybe give him a chance to open the door and accept the pie you usually baked.  

There were signs he took the dishes you left on the little table posted by the chair on his porch. And you needed him to open the door sooner or later in the future because you sure were running out your plates and dishes. 

So you crouched down slightly, set the pie down on the small round table. You adjusted the towel, smoothed it down with your fingers. And then left like you always did. Same way you came. With your back turned you never saw the figure that stood by the window– shifting the curtain ever so slightly to watch you leave.

It was a good twenty five minutes by the time you reached your gates, your rhoughts still back at that old house. You’d never gotten anything in return except for an empty door. But it didn’t stop you. Some things couldn’t be helped, and kindness was one of them. It was just who you were.

You didn’t know why you were this way– always looking out for others, always taking the time to lend a hand, even if it meant nothing in return. Maybe it was because your mama had always taught you that small acts of kindness could make all the difference in a world that could be a little too harsh and unyielding sometimes. Or maybe it was just your heart, too damn big for its own good.

You’d seen people look at you strangely when you held the door open for them or when you offered a smile to the grumpy old guy who owned a small grocery store cross the street who barely even returned the smile. But you didn’t mind. You’d always been this way, and you’d always keep doing it— whether it was helping your neighbor Mrs Hatcher with her groceries or just leaving one too many baked goods for a man who never even bothered to show his face. 

As you reached the steps of your porch, you noticed Mrs Hatcher was sitting outside again, her rocking chair creaking steadily. The morning sun barely touched her, casting her face in a sharp light that made her look even more critical than usual. You almost didn’t want to stop, but you were too polite, so you gave her a quick wave as you neared the gate. 

She didn't wave back. Not like how she would regularly do so. Instead, she looked you up and down, her eyes narrowing slightly, and for a moment, the silence between you both felt a little too thick. “Been out walking again, huh?” she said, her voice carrying the same sharpness it always did, but now there was something else in it— a little more judgement, a little less warmth than usual.

You nodded. “Just dropped something off.”

Her eyes flickered toward the street, and she took a slow drag from her cigarette, the smoke curling up into the air like it had a mind of its own. “And what’s that, exactly? Your ‘good deed’ for the day?” You shifted on your feet, a little uncomfortable, but you didn’t want to seem rude. “Just took the guy that lives in that old house near the woods a pie. I baked it in the morning.”

Mrs Hatcher raised an eyebrow, leaning back in her chair as if shw was trying to make some sense of you. “That house,” she started slowly, like she was comprehending her own words in her head before letting them out, “It ain’t one for pies, sugar. And it ain’t one for kindness neither. You might want to stop before you‘re the only one left out there handing things to a ghost.” 

You felt a small flutter in your chest, but you didn’t show it. Sure you’ve heard the whispers about that house— from the strange way it sat, half hidden behind thick trees, the rumours that no one had ever seen the man who supposedly lived there. People called him strange, distant, dangerous even, but it didn’t faze you. You didn’t need to know him to know that everyone deserved a little kindness. 

“I’m sure he’ll like it,” you said simply, smiling. “He’s always been taking them in.” 

Mrs Hatcher’s lips pressed together in a thin line. “Is that so huh?” She leaned forward, the creaking of her chair louder now, her tone dripping with a subtle challenge. “Well, maybe he don’t mind. But I’m telling you sugar, one day you’ll find out kindness don’t always come back around the way you think it will.”

You didn’t know why, but there was something in the way she said it that left a bitter taste in your mouth. Something that didn't sit right. But you ignored it, like you always did with her not bothering to listen to any of the bullshit any more, you just gave a simple smile and nodded. “I’m sure I’ll be fine,” you said, offering a half smile before stepping toward your front door. 

The last thing you heard before you entered was Mrs Hatcher’s voice, barely above a murmur, like she was talking to herself. “Just be careful, girl. There’s kindness… and then there’s being a fool for it, and that’s you right now.”

You didn’t let it bother you. It was just Mrs Hatcher, always watching, always waiting for something to go wrong. But somehow, her words hung in the air, and for the first time in a while, you wondered if there might be more to her warning then you realized.

Everyone was shocked to hear the news, but nobody could say they were surprised. 

It wasn’t the kind of thing that was completely unexpected in a place like this. The kind of place where people get to be known by their routines, their quirks and their habits. So when the sheriff made his rounds, grim faced and speaking low, people leaned in a little closer, nodding pretending they didn’t already know.

Mrs Hatcher had been found in her chair— rocking still, like she was just taking one of her usual evening naps. But this time, her chair wasn’t creaking from the wear of decades. It was still in a way it never had been before. Her neck, torn open, blood spread thick across the porch, pooling like dark wine against the old wood. 

It was late, the street bathed in that heavy hush. The silence clung to the scene, to the dark windows and the front door that creaked ever so slightly due to the wind. 

But it wasn’t just the manner of her death that had the town rattled. It was the fact that it had happened right there. Just a few houses down from where you could practically hear the crickets and see the stars in their endless stretch above. Mrs Hatcher had never been the type to keep quiet. She knew too much, talked too loud, watched too long— and all her sharp words, there was always a thin, hidden thread of fear running underneath them. 

The sheriff said it was too early to say much. But you didn’t need to be a damn detective to know that whatever had happened to Mrs Hatcher, it had come from the deep shadows beyond the streetlight’s reach. And that, as always, made you nervous. 

You stood at the edge of the gathering, the murmurs of the townsfolk was a distant hum as your eyes were just fixed on Mrs Hatcher's porch. The air was thick with the scent of iron and something else— something you couldn’t quite place.

As you begin to take a cautious step closer, a sudden chill ran down your spine. You turned slightly, sensing a presence behind you. 

Remmick stood there, half shrouded in shadow, his eyes reflecting the dim light with an unsettling gleam. His expression was unreadable, but there was a hint of amusement playing at the corners of his mouth when he saw your reaction to him somehow startling you.

“Ain’t you—” you began to say, but he beat you to it, laughing low in his throat as he took a slow, deliberate step forward. “Lord, you spook easy,” he said, voice thick just soft enough to make you lean in without meaning to. “Didn’t mean to startle you, sugar. Though I s’pose I got a knack for it.”

You didn’t answer right away— couldn’t, really. It wasn’t just that he’d come out of nowhere. It was that this was the first time you were actually seeing him. Up close. And he wasn’t what you expected. He was just a normal man. Tall, wth skin pale like it hadn’t met sunlight in years. But it wasn’t his looks that held you. It was something else you couldn't quite take hold on. 

“You’re…” The words trailed from your lips, thin and uncertain,

“Remmick,” he offered, with the faintest tilt of his head, the smile still ghosting at the corners of his mouth. “Though it sounds like folks ‘round here prefer other names for me.”

He glanced across the street, toward the sea of curious people that had gathered in front of Mrs Hatcher’s house. The porch light burned too bright now, casting hard shadows over shaken faces and murmured prayers. Someone was crying, but no one had dared to step past the old woman’s front gate. No one even noticed him. Not with the chaos. Not with the way the fear made them all look anywhere but the dark.

“Hell of a night,” he muttered, almost to himself, voice curing like smoke in the stillness. 

Then he looked back at you. “You been bringing those baked goods, didn’t you, specially the one today?” 

You blinked. “What?”

“The one in the red towel. Sugar and cinnamon.” His gaze lingered. “Tasted real good.” 

Unease tightened in your chest, and something more but you weren’t sure if it was fear or something colder.

He chuckled again—low, almost fond. “Meant to bring the dish back. Got a mind like a cracked jar, though. Things slip out easy.”

You swallowed, unsure if you meant to nod.

“If you’re not too spooked to walk back with me,” he said, voice light like he was asking you to fetch a paper off the porch, “I could hand it off now.”

He held your gaze a second longer, then added with a crooked smile, “Seems like nobody’s watchin’ but you anyhow.”

You cleared your thrat, trying to keep your voice steady. “That’s alright, I can just come by in the mornin’ and pick it up.” 

You didn’t even get another sentence out before he titled his head, slow and deliberate, and stepped in just a tad closer. “Nah,” he said, low and smooth, like he was talking to some skittish animal. “Best do it now.” There was something in the way he said it—not harsh, but final. As if he was the one deciding for you instead. 

You tried to laugh it off, light and easy. “It’s no trouble really. I don't mind—” 

“But I do,” he cut in, still smiling. “Ain’t polite, lettin’ a lady like you walk all the way just to fetch her own plate back. ‘Sides, I got somethin’ for you.” That made you pause. “A gift,” he added, like he was sweetening the offer, though the word came off strange in his mouth, like he’d never had much reason to use it. “For all those baked goods. Seemed only right.” 

You hesitated, eyes flicking toward the crowd again that was still buzzing around Mrs Hatcher’s porch, not a single one of them looking in your direction. His voice dropped slightly, though the smile stayed. “AIn’t nobody gonna notice you’re gone, sugar. Not tonight.”

And it was true. They wouldn’t. The streetlamps were dim, the shadows stretched long, and everyone’s attention was wrapped up on what had happened. You could simply leave easy right now, and nobody would even call your name. 

You swallowed, throat dry.

He turned then, back toward the narrow path leading toward the woods. “C’mon,” he said over his shoulder, his husky and slow with a soft roughness to it. “It’s just a short walk. You already know the way.” 

Yeah a short walk… a twenty five minute short walk with a guy you baked for but he never did have the face to open the door, and suddenly he’s asking you to follow him home after the events that took place tonight. But you didn’t give it a thought any longer, telling yourself you were just now paranoid. So you just followed behind him.

The road felt longer this time. Each step kicked up dust that didn’t seem to settle, and the cicadas had gone quiet, like even they didn’t want to listen in. You kept a few paces behind him, watching the sway of his shoulders, the way he didn’t look back once—not even to make sure you were still there.

You told yourself it was fine. He was just being polite. Returning a dish, offering a gift. That’s all it was.

But the dark felt thicker out here. Heavier. Like it was pressing in, one slow breath at a time.

It was a good ten minutes before either of you spoke.

Just shoes on the forest floor. The occasional creak of a distant fence outside of the trees shifting in the wind. You were starting to think maybe he wasn’t much for small talk—maybe he’d changed his mind about that “gift” entirely—when his voice finally cut through the dark.

“You always that generous with folks who don’t bother sayin’ thank you?”

You blinked. “Figured you were just shy.”

That made him huff a laugh. “Is that what they’re callin’ it these days.”

You could see the back of his head tilt slightly, like he was chewing on whatever thought came next. Then he added, “Truth be told, I didn’t expect you to keep bringin’ those goods. Thought you’d give up after the second one went untouched.”

“They weren’t untouched,” you said quietly.

Another beat of silence.

“No,” he said at last. “No, they weren’t.”

And that was all he said.

Just enough to make your skin prickle.

You kept walking, telling yourself you were just tired. Just tired and rattled from everything with Mrs. Hatcher. But still, something in his voice made you wonder if the pies were all he’d been taking.

The road narrowed as you walked, the trees leaning in closer like they were listening, their bare branches creaking softly in the wind as though whispering to one another. Crickets had gone quiet somewhere along the way. You didn’t notice when. Just that the silence had started to hum, low and constant, like something was holding its breath.

“You always walk this way alone?” he asked, voice low like he was afraid to break something in the dark, or maybe like he hoped he would.

You glanced at him. “Most mornings.”

“Brave,” he muttered, though it didn’t sound like praise. “Folks ‘round here talk too much and see too little. That kind of silence’s dangerous when no one’s listenin’ right.”

“You listen?”

“Sometimes,” he said. Then, with a half-smile that didn’t quite meet his eyes, “Don’t mean I always like what I hear.” You didn’t answer that. Just kept your eyes ahead, the trees curling over the path like ribs, and the moonlight catching in strange, pale flashes on the gravel. It wasn’t the first time you’d taken this road, but it felt unfamiliar now, like the dirt had been stirred different, like something unseen had stepped ahead of you first and left the path colder behind it.

“Why now?” you asked suddenly, the question clawing out before you could think better of it. “All this time, you never said a word. Never showed your face. Then tonight, after—” you didn’t finish the sentence. You didn’t need to. The name didn’t need to be said again out loud.

He took his time responding, just like he took his time walking. “Reckon I just figured the timing was right.”

“That because of Mrs. Hatcher?”

That smile again. Crooked. Sharp at the edges. “Didn’t say that.”

You stopped walking for a beat, not because you meant to, but because something in your chest pulled tight. “But you didn’t say it wasn’t.”

He looked back at you slowly, eyes gleaming in the dark like wet stones, and for a second, his face was half-lit by the moon, carved in angles and shadows that didn’t look entirely human. “You ask a lot of questions for someone still walkin’ beside me.”

That stopped you more than anything. Not the words, but the way he said them—calm, like he was commenting on the weather. Like he already knew you’d keep walking anyway.

And you did.

Maybe it was foolishness. Maybe it was that same part of you that kept leaving pies at the door of a man you’d never seen, even when the dishes never came back. That stupid softness your mama used to call your ‘God-given curse.’ Either way, your feet moved before your mouth could argue.

Ten more minutes, you told yourself. Just ten more minutes. And then you’d turn around.

But deep down, you already knew you wouldn’t.

The woods felt suffocating, each step you took making the air grow thicker, heavier, as though something in the darkness was pressing against you. It wasn’t just the trees, it wasn’t just the silence. It was him.

Remmick walked ahead of you, so calm, so assured—like this was all part of some twisted game, and you were the only one who didn’t know the rules. His back was turned, but you couldn’t shake the feeling that he was aware of you, every movement of yours, every step you took.

Finally, you couldn’t do it anymore. The weight of his presence, the heavy silence, the way he didn’t even seem to care that you were still walking behind him—it all piled up. You had to say something.

“I think I’m just gonna head home,” you said, your voice shaky, betraying the panic you were trying to keep under control. “You can just give me the dishes and gifts another time.” Your words felt like a desperate attempt to break the tension, but they fell into the woods like a pebble into a deep, dark well—no echo, no response.

For a moment, there was nothing but the low rustling of the trees, the soft whisper of the night wind. Then, without turning to face you, his voice cut through the air—low, dark, chilling.

“Daft.”

It wasn’t a word. It was a sentence. A judgment.

You froze. His voice, though soft, felt like it was wrapping around your throat, squeezing just enough to make it hard to breathe. Your heart skipped a beat, your skin prickling. You couldn’t tell whether it was fear, the cold, or something else entirely making your body shudder.

Your mouth went dry, but you tried to force out something—anything to break this moment, this growing nightmare. “I—I'm just not feeling well. I think I should go.”

You took a step back, but he wasn’t having it. He didn’t even turn to face you.

“Daft,” he repeated, sharper now. “You think I’d let you walk away after you followed me here?” Your breath hitched. Your feet felt glued to the ground, like the air was too thick to move through. You wanted to run, to scream, but your body betrayed you, stuck in place as if you were trapped in quicksand.

You looked at him now—his back still turned—but something about his posture had shifted. It wasn’t just his body language, though. It was in the air. It was in the space between you. Something darker had taken root, something unrecognizable.

He finally turned, slowly, deliberately, and the smile he gave you wasn’t the same one from earlier. There was nothing warm in it. It was sharp, cold, like a blade dragging across skin.

You swallowed hard, your throat tight. His eyes locked onto yours, but they were different now—flickers of red deepening in the corners, glowing faintly in the dim light. He didn’t look human but at the same time he did.

He took a step closer, and you backed up, your heart pounding faster. But your feet wouldn’t move. You wanted to run, but your body was paralyzed. The closer he came, the harder it was to breathe. “You don’t just walk away from me, sugar,” he said, his voice smooth like silk, but each word felt like a weight. “You don’t follow me into the woods and think you can just... leave.”

There it was again—his smile, wider now, crueler. It made your stomach twist, nausea rising up your throat.

“You really don’t get it, do you?” he asked, his voice almost too calm. “You think you’re safe, walking through the woods like this? Like I’m some normal guy you can just forget about?” He took another step toward you, and you felt yourself sway back, but your feet stayed planted.

His eyes were glowing now, too bright in the dark, his pupils slit like a predator’s. This wasn’t right. This couldn’t be happening.

“You wanna know what it felt like?” he asked, tilting his head slightly, eyes narrowing. The way he looked at you then—like he was studying something precious, something fragile—made a shiver crawl down your spine. “What it felt like to kill Mrs. Hatcher?”

You blinked, eyes wide. Your mouth opened, but no words came. You couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think.

“Her blood was so warm,” he whispered, as if speaking to himself, the words heavy with something sinister. “The moment my teeth sank into her throat, she stopped fighting. She knew. She knew she couldn’t outrun it, couldn’t escape me. But she didn’t stop trying, not at first. She kicked. She scratched. She screamed—but there was no sound. No sound at all once I got my hand over her mouth.”

You could barely hold your ground now, your legs trembling. Every word he said made you want to run, but your body was frozen, immobilized by something you couldn’t explain.

“She tried so hard to get away,” Remmick continued, his voice softer now, like he was savoring the memory. “But the harder she fought, the better it felt. I could feel her pulse—fast, frantic, desperate. It was like the world had slowed down, and all I could hear was the sound of her blood rushing, beating in her veins, until it wasn’t.”

Your body was shaking now, your hands clenched into fists by your sides. You couldn’t escape his gaze, couldn’t escape the pull of his voice.

“She went limp, finally. And I could taste it—the victory, the power. The moment her body stopped fighting? That was the moment I knew. I knew it was perfect.”

You felt sick, but you couldn’t look away. His eyes—those damn eyes—had you trapped, every word sinking deeper into your chest, twisting, turning.

“You should’ve stayed away,” he murmured, taking another step closer, and your body lurched, the terror of it all finally making your feet move. But not fast enough. “But now it’s too late darlin’ cause I intend to keep you for myself now.”

That was when you began running.

Branches whipped your arms and tore at your clothes, but you didn’t feel it. You were moving on instinct—raw, clumsy, frantic. The darkness swallowed the path, and still you ran, lungs burning, eyes stinging. You didn’t even know where you were going. Just away.

Behind you, his footsteps didn’t rush. He wasn’t chasing. He was following. Like a predator who already knew exactly where you’d end up. “Keep running,” he called, voice almost playful. Almost. “It’ll only make me want to fuck you harder.” You didn’t scream. You couldn’t. Your throat was tight with terror, your body buzzing with the kind of panic that drowns thought.

Then your foot caught—root, rock, something—and the forest flipped sideways. You hit the ground hard, your palms shredding on gravel and bark. The pain jolted up your arms and knocked the air from your lungs. You scrambled to your feet, but your ankle screamed the second you put weight on it. There wasn’t time—he was too close.

So you crawled. Half-dragging yourself through the underbrush, eyes wild, hands trembling, and ducked behind the thick trunk of a gnarled pine. You pressed yourself against the bark, heart slamming against your ribs so loud you were sure he could hear it. The forest had gone still.

Dead still.

You clamped a hand over your mouth to quiet your breathing, every breath coming in sharp, panicked gasps through your nose.

He yelled out your name—how’d he even know your name? There was a guttural edge to his voice—low, primal—that tore something loose in you. You cried silently, not daring to make noise, not out of fear, but because your body didn’t know what else to do.

He found you before you could move again — an arm slipping around your waist from behind. You barely had time to gasp before he pulled you back, gently but firmly, like you'd simply wandered too far. 

Then, without warning, your head was guided down, not slammed, but pressed hard enough into the earth that the shock still jarred you. Dizziness bloomed behind your eyes. By the time you blinked through it, Remmick was already on top of you, his body blanketing yours with a frightening calm. His chest pressed against your back, steady, too steady. One hand slid up, slow and deliberate, until it curled around your throat — not choking, just holding. Controlling.

A broken sound escaped you as tears streamed down your face, hot and helpless. Your fingers clawed instinctively at his hand, the one wrapped so carefully—so cruelly around your throat. There was no strength in your resistance, only fear and the desperate hope that he might hesitate. 

He takes his hand from your neck, and you barely register when it slips beneath your long nightgown. One hand forcefully parts your thighs—rough and possessive—while the other holds your wrists captive above your head. "You don’t even know," he murmurs, his voice almost gentle, as he continues "You're fortunate that I want you all to myself."

You try to push against his hold, but he only tightens his grip, his touch sending shivers down your spine. His words echo in your mind as fear and confusion swirl within you. You feel trapped, vulnerable beneath him as he looms over you with a hunger in his eyes that chills you to the core. 

You can see the intensity of his gaze fixed upon you, a mixture of desire and possession that makes your heart race with both terror and a strange, forbidden thrill. And as his lips brush against your ear, whispering promises of pleasure and pain, you can't help but wonder what fate has brought you to this moment, where his will dominates your own and the line between fear and longing blurs into something dangerous and intoxicating.

You don’t even notice he’s moved your undergarments aside, not warning you.You suddenly wince as he inserts two fingers at once, not bothering to be gentle. His breath is hot on your neck, his voice a low growl. "You're mine now. Every part of you belongs to me." You can feel his heartbeat, steady and calm, unlike your own which is pounding wildly against your ribs. His fingers move inside you, exploring, claiming, and you gasp, your body betraying you with a shiver of pleasure.

He shifts slightly, his lips trailing down from your ear to your collarbone, leaving a path of fire in their wake. "You can fight it all you want," he whispers, his voice like velvet darkness, "but your body knows who it belongs to." His thumb finds your most sensitive spot, circling slowly, deliberately, drawing out a moan from deep within you despite the fear that still lingers in your eyes.

You buck against him, a futile attempt to deny the sensations coursing through you.

He laughs softly against your skin, a sound that resonates with triumph. His teeth graze your shoulder, a gentle bite that should be a warning, but your mind is a swirl of confusion and desire. The nightgown tangles around your waist as he shifts again, releasing your wrists to push the fabric higher.

Oddly enough, when your fight waned, that was when things…changed. "There she is," he says, his hands warm on your bare hips. You know you should run, scream, do anything to break free from the spell his touch weaves around you, but your muscles betray you, your body succumbing in various ways as pleasure envelops you completely.

"You were made for this," he breathes, his eyes dark with certainty. He pins you down again, and this time you don’t struggle, the fight leaving your limbs as your own desires betray you. You can sense the mounting bliss intensifying within you, building pressure in your lower core as you teeter on the edge, about to climax on his fingers.

He watches your face closely, like a man studying a piece of art, ready for the moment when it overtakes you. "There you go darlin’," he murmurs, urging you on, and the sound of his voice is the final push. You cry out as waves of release crash through you and every nerve in your body sings with surrender.

He holds you through it, his fingers slowing to a languid pace until your breathing evens and your heart calms, pulling back slightly to look at you, satisfaction etched across his face. He removes his fingers slowly and careful, you don’t even have a second to even catch a break before you can hear the rustling of his belt and pants and you know what's coming. He parts your legs wider, opening you to him again, and presses against your entrance.

“Gonna claim ya real good now darlin’, you’re doing such a good job.” The sensation of him entering you is intense—stretching, burning, and pulling you apart with the thick, weighty movement of his shaft. He fills you completely, every inch commanding submission, and you arch under him, the feeling overwhelming and all-consuming.

 His hands grip your hips, steadying you, pulling you closer as he begins to move. He thrusts slow and deep, each motion a deliberate staking of his claim, and your body responds in ways you can't control, meeting his rhythm, rising to meet him as he buries himself inside you over and over.

Your mind reels with the impossibility of it, the way desire silences resistance, and your body betrays every instinct to flee, surrendering instead to the brutal, relentless pleasure he forces upon you. You gasp his name, a broken plea caught between a cry and a moan, and he only pushes harder, his breath hot and wild against your throat.

"That's it," he groans, his voice rough with need, "take it all."

As he bent down to kiss you, you without thinking returned the gesture. His thumb grazed your damp skin, and a soft hum in his throat soon transformed into a groan. You didn't desire it, nor did your mind, yet it seemed as though your body was operating independently, driven by hormones.

His hand snaked through your hair, pulling gently as his lips pressed against yours with a fierce hunger. The kiss deepened, full of demand and promise, his teeth and tongue teasing you until you couldn't tell where you ended and he began. The force of it all—the thrusting, the kissing, the claiming—pulled you further into a daze where pleasure eclipsed pain, and you were lost, floating on the brink of something infinite.

Your body arched helplessly, wave after wave of sensation leaving you breathless, raw, and vulnerable. He quickened his pace, his movements more urgent, pushing you both toward an inevitable release. The air was thick with the sound of skin on skin, punctuated by his ragged breaths and your own soft, involuntary cries. It was too much, too fast, and yet nothing else mattered in those moments but the wild, terrible ecstasy of being taken, utterly and completely. 

You closed your eyes, too overcome with the overstimulation, he curved his hips deeper into you.  “Open your eyes darlin’.” He says getting your attention again. You obeyed, though some quiet part of you understood how dangerous it was—how locking eyes with the one unraveling you piece by piece would only carve the memory deeper.

"Don’t look away," he breathed, his nose brushing yours with each slow, deliberate motion—like he needed you to witness what he was doing. You did, though your vision blurred with the weight of it all. Maybe it was instinct, maybe something deeper—but you obeyed. Looking into his eyes was like staring down a storm: wild, old, and wholly untamable.

“Keep your eyes on me,” he murmured again, breath hitching against your cheek, his drawl low and possessive. “Ain’t no one ever gonna see you like this but me, you understand?”

The air felt thick, like the woods themselves were leaning in to watch. His nose brushed yours with every movement, his brow pressed to your temple. You weren’t sure when the tears started again, but they did—quiet, unrelenting.

“You’re mine now,” he breathed, voice coated in something reverent and frightening all at once. “Ain’t just sayin’ that either—I felt it in my bones the second I saw you. Like God carved you out just for me.”

As he continued to whisper shameful, dirty words to you, saying things like you’d never leave him, and as he still relentelly thrusted into you, his mouth found your neck—then came the sharp, sinking pain of his bite. It wasn’t just teeth. It was a claim. A seal. Something final.

And in the haze of it all, in the breathless dark, you stopped fighting the truth. Somewhere between fear and surrender… you accepted it.

[elsaclack]

Yeah okay so like I said in the tags of the last post I’m rising from my tumblr grave to say that the ban on TikTok is symptomatic of a MUCH larger and more terrifying problem. Because yes, on its surface it’s silly dances and asmr and cooking videos and whatever, but in truth and at its core, TikTok single-handedly revolutionized the way 170 million Americans communicated with each other AND the rest of the world. Non-Americans love to point out how America-centric Americans are, but fail to realize that we are purposefully raised in an isolated, insulated environment where we are told from basically day 1 that America Is The Best and not to even bother taking a look around because it’s all downhill from outside of here. TikTok has, for MANY Americans, single-handedly destroyed that notion and allowed them (us!!) to broaden our world-view and realize that actually, things are better in other countries, and it did so in a kind, empathetic, and compassionate way.

And yeah most people wake up to the truth of that on their own as they get older, but holy shit!! The VAST majority of the Americans on TikTok are millennials and gen z (and even some older gen alpha)!! People who are becoming disillusioned with “The American Dream” (said with the HEAVIEST sarcasm) while they’re still school-aged or are just entering young-adulthood!! People who are entering - or TRYING to enter - the American workforce who suddenly have an unfiltered window into non-American lives and are wondering why tf we’re struggling and penny-pinching and toeing the line of poverty while our rich elected officials sit around and fight and argue over everything that actually matters to the citizens they supposedly represent and get richer all the while. THAT is why they’re banning the app, and that fact alone should terrify every single American citizen.

Not to mention the precedent it sets for other social media platforms!! You think some nebulous, unproven, and unfounded “threat to national security” will stop with TikTok?? They’ve already censored Adult Material on tumblr, who’s gonna stop them from coming back and doing it again or getting rid of it altogether for the exact same reason? It’s a blatant act of censorship and a direct attack on the American first amendment right to free speech.

NOTHING radicalized me the way tiktok did. I watched people in my life who were STAUNCH Trump supporters in 2016 AND 2020 wake up to the truth and vote blue for the first time in their lives BECAUSE OF TIKTOK, and did so with al the nuanced understanding that even Democrats are severely failing this country, but are at least better than the alternative. That level of awareness and presence in the average US citizen scares American politicians.

The fact that the vast majority of them - including the ones loudly opposing the ban!! - bought stock in Meta BEFORE the ban was legalized/upheld by the Supreme Court?? That Mark Zuckerberg and Elon Musk were legally allowed to lobby congress to ban TikTok when BOTH stood to DIRECTLY financially gain from their biggest competitor being banned in the US and are guilty of unethically gathering data and selling it to MULTIPLE third parties?? The fact that Trump is now teasing that he may or may not intervene to save TikTok when he was the one who talked about banning it in the first place AND ALSO OWNS HIS OWN COMPETING SOCIAL MEDIA PLATFORM??

It’s the burning of Alexandria. It’s the loss of a significant chunk of culture. It’s the sharp and sudden loss of contact with the rest of the world for more than half of all American citizens. It’s the loss of $240 BILLION dollars in the GDP when the country is already TRILLIONS of dollars in debt. And on an individualistic level, it’s the loss of millions of small businesses and primary income streams for so many individuals and families who found their primary audience on TikTok. Is the app perfect? HELL no. Are there significant changes needed to make it a safe environment for all users? ABSOLUTELY. But that can also be said of ANY social media platform. TikTok openly fostered connection and communication and creativity and compassion that is completely unique to that platform! It made so many people - myself included!! - feel less alone. I get the feeling I know what the general consensus is about TikTok on this site, but the ban on this app should scare the shit out of everyone.

[aegonstradwife]

exposure therapy | aemond targaryen x reader

summary: anonymous requested; you and aemond were recently married. you're afraid of him, but aemond goes to great lengths to show you he's not that scary.

warnings: excessive use of ellipses, #1 wife lover aemond targaryen, brief mention of childhood trauma, smut. (fingering, face riding, oral.)

a. note:link to the original request.

As Aemond's new wife, it's surprising how little time you spend together. The servants whisper about it around every corner; how you skulk through the halls hoping to avoid him, how nearly every meal you take is apart from each other.

But there's a very good reason for this, one that you've never admitted to anyone.

You are terrified of him.

Even at night, you might share the same bed, but it's big enough that you can sleep soundly without ever once touching him. Although even that was difficult at first; those first few nights you dreaded climbing into bed with him and got nearly no sleep at all.

He is so much bigger, and much stronger, than you. He really could do anything he wanted to you and you would have no chance of fighting him off.

Eventually, however, Aemond's still body beside yours throughout the night, you realized he either wouldn't, or didn't want to, touch you. And finally you were able to get some sleep.

But now, though sleep comes much more easily and your nights are no longer fraught with peril at the thought of him forcing himself upon you, it still doesn't mean you have any desire to be around him.

And you thought he felt much the same. Until tonight.

Aemond is already comfortable on the settee by the window, reading, when you retire to your shared bedchamber for the night.

Hells bent as usual on ignoring him, you busy yourself with removing your shoes in front of the wardrobe.

"Come. Sit with me."

In the quiet of the room, Aemond's sudden, uncharacteristic, voice makes you jump, going very still. His tone is soft; now that you think on it, you've heard Aemond's voice very few times, either before or after you were married.

In your mind, the few times you had heard him speak, you remember him sounding like a complete barbarian. Not this lilting, almost melodic, softness....

Straightening, you nervously smooth the skirts of your dress down over your thighs. Aemond's silhouette is stark against the candles guttering on the windowsill.

You gulp, starting to tiptoe toward him, but stopping at the opposite arm of the settee. "Do I have to?" You ask quietly, and even that takes every ounce of courage in your weary body.

This is probably as close as you've ever been to him when not in bed together at night.

"I won’t bite." Aemond's lips are quirked in a half smirk. He closes the book in his hands and sets it aside, patting the space beside him. "I assure you, I won’t hurt you. Come. Sit."

Though he had indicated the middle cushion, you sweep your skirts under you and take a seat on the one beside it, furthest from Aemond.

Normally you would have loved sitting and reading by candlelight, the cool breeze from the open windows ruffling your hair.

But now you bite your lip, heart hammering hard against your ribcage like a frightened bird.

Aemond can feel the tension radiating off of you. Your shoulders tight as a bow string, the muscles in your jaw taut, hands folded in your lap fidgeting with a loose thread on your gown.

He simple looks at you for a very long moment. Your features are delicate, almost fragile, your frame small and dainty when compared to his. To Aemond, you look very much like a porcelain doll. He has no idea how someone could be so beautiful and yet so…. breakable.

You glance nervously at him, wondering what he could possibly be thinking.

"What?" You ask, though you keep your voice low, not wanting to anger him.

"You're afraid of me," Aemond states bluntly. He leans against the back of the settee, studying you with one intense purple eye. "Why?"

You laugh aloud, unable to stop yourself. Now seems as good a time as any to tell him exactly what you've been thinking since your wedding day.

"Look at you. And look at me. You could do whatever you want to me and I wouldn't be able to stop you. Not to mention...." You shrug. "The stories about you aren't kind...."

Aemond raises an eyebrow at your laughter, that same small, wry smile never leaving his lips. He can't help but wonder if you're mocking him as he leans forward, gaze still locked with yours.

"And what do the stories say about me, little wife?" His voice is low, a dangerous, frightening edge to it.

For seemingly the first time, you look your husband in the eye. One piercing violet eye stares back, the other covered by his customary eyepatch. "They say you're a fearsome warrior, one of the strongest swordsmen alive. And they say.... they say you killed that boy. Rhaenyra's son...."

Aemond’s eye narrows. There is so much uncertainty in that gaze of yours, something about your innocent face makes Aemond feel.... bad. His jaw clenches and he leans back.

"Lucerys Velaryon. Yes, I did kill him. Though I didn't mean to.... I lost control."

"You didn't?" Your eyes narrow as well, suspicious of him. "Then.... what did you mean to do?"

Your husband lets out a long sigh and crosses his arms. "I meant to scare him. I was.... angry. I wanted to teach him a lesson, to frighten and humiliate him. And I did not have such good control over Vhagar as I do now...."

At the mention of his dragon, you perk up - that's one thing you've always been curious about. The Targaryen dragons are so beautiful and powerful; you would love to ride one one day, if given the chance.

"So your dragon, she disobeyed you?"

Aemond is clearly taken aback by your interest in Vhagar. For a moment, it seemed you forgot you were supposed to be scared of him. He tries to hide the hint of surprise flickering across his face.

"Well, yes and no," Aemond says, diplomatic. "Vhagar is a very old and powerful dragon, and she is used to doing what she wants. Sometimes.... it's difficult for any Targaryen to control a dragon, even the strongest of riders."

You are positively fascinated, hearing about Vhagar, leaning in toward Aemond without realizing. "What is it like, riding her? Does it ever get cold, so high up?"

Aemond can smell your perfume as you lean toward him, a mix of jasmine and honey, faint yet sweet. He clears his throat.

"Riding Vhagar is like nothing else," he tells you. "And yes, it does get cold at times, but the feeling of the wind in your hair and the power of the dragon beneath you is.... indescribable."

"Do you think she'd let me ride her?" At this point, you're nearly nose to nose with Aemond, eyes sparkling with curiosity. "Or do they only let Targaryens?"

Aemond freezes, gaze still locked with yours, your heads so close together that he can feel your breath ghost across his lips. He is surprised by your question and even more surprised by how badly he wants to fulfill the request.

"They only let Targaryens ride them, yes," he says, voice sounding much huskier than he intends. "But.... I'm sure Vhagar wouldn't mind letting someone else ride her.... if I were to accompany them."

"Would you?" You reach out, hand finding his thigh and giving a thankful squeeze. Realizing what you've done, how close you've become to him, you quickly snatch that hand back as though Aemond is on fire. "I'm so sorry...."

Aemond’s eye widens; for a heartbeat, your touch sent a shock through his entire body.

"It's alright." His voice is rough. “Don’t apologize....” He catches your wrist gently, before you can pull your hand away completely. "It was.... nice."

You tense, wrist caught in his strong embrace. "What are you doing?"

For a long moment, Aemond doesn't respond, simply staring at your slender wrist in his hand. Your skin is so smooth, so soft. He can feel your pulse beating against his palm, fast and fluttering like the wings of a small bird.

"Doing?" He finally asks, looking up at you with a sly smile. "Just.... holding your hand, that’s all."

"Holding my.... oh." All things considered, Aemond is handsome, you suppose. With his long silver hair, that chiseled jaw, the little moue of his lips. "You.... you really aren't all that scary, are you?"

Chuckling softly, Aemond's fingers gently stroke the skin of your wrist. Your words, spoken almost as a question, take him by surprise.

"I'm not trying to scare you," he says, his voice low and slightly amused. "And I don’t want to be scary, to you. Can I be honest with you, little wife?"

You nod, letting him continue to stroke that sensitive bit of skin around your wrist. He is very gentle, which has taken you by surprise.

"The truth is," he mutters, "I don't like it when you're scared of me. I don't like the way you look at me, as if you think I'm going to pounce on you and tear you apart at any moment. That's not what I want."

Slowly, still wary of him, you curl your fingers around his thumb and Aemond's breath hitches. Your hand is small compared to his; Aemond's fingers look massive beside yours.

"Everyone else seems so frightened of you. I thought.... I should be as well. I didn't know, that you hadn't meant to kill that boy. Have you told anyone else that?"

“No,” he says after a moment. “No one else knows. I haven't told anyone.”

He pauses, looking down at your hand in his. His other hand comes to trap your fingers inside of his palms, his thumbs tracing back and forth over your skin. “You’re the first I've shared this with.”

"You should tell others, that way no one will be scared of you."

Aemond lets out a soft chuckle, his gaze still fixed on your fingers intertwined with his own.

“I quite like others being afraid of me,” he admits. The smile on his face fades, just a bit, in the flickering candlelight. “But not you.”

"Not me?" You query, a sweet blush rising high on your cheeks. "Why not me?"

Aemond’s eye is drawn to that color blooming across your cheeks, the innocent flush sending a strange feeling coursing through him. He continues to stroke your wrist in a gentle, almost reverent, way.

"A wife should not be afraid of her husband," he says finally, his voice soft. "She should be worshipped by him....”

Slowly, so as not to startle you, he brings your wrist to his lips and places a gentle kiss there.

You lick your lips, nervous as all seven hells with the way things are going. Not only are you still afraid of Aemond - though growing less so by the moment - you have also never been close like this with anyone else before.

"And why.... why is it so important for other people to be afraid of you?"

Aemond’s lips linger over your skin, the faintest ghost of a smile there. He can feel the way your hand trembles slightly in his, the nervous flutter of your pulse against his fingertips. But he also notices how you don’t draw back, how you sit still and allow him to hold you.

“It's.... payback, almost,” he confesses. “For the torment I suffered as a child. It is better to be feared than loved - no one will ever again treat me the way they did when I was young.”

You are not aware of any torment in Aemond's childhood, though that isn't saying much. Of course the Targaryens keep much of what goes on between them a secret. Even now that you're married, you're hardly privy to all - or even most - of their secrets.

"Is that.... how this happened?" Shaking ever so slightly, you raise a hand to Aemond's face, fingers stroking the strap of his eyepatch.

As your slender fingers brushed against the edge of it, Aemond tenses, every muscle in his body going taut. No one has ever touched him there before, and it's an unfamiliar intimacy.

He closes his eye for a moment, trying to control his reaction, before speaking. “Yes,” he says, his voice thick with emotions he finds difficult to name. “That's how this happened.”

You feel for Aemond; having to grow up that way must have been torture.

Pulling your hand gently from his grasp, you bring both up to hook beneath the rough leather strap. "May I?"

His breathing hitches as your hands tug gently at the straps of his eyepatch. He knows your touch is innocent.... but no one has ever dared to remove it for him before. He nods once, his voice low.

“You may.”

With fierce concentration and a desire not to ruin his perfect hair, you slide the eyepatch up and off, gasping at the gorgeous sapphire glimmering where his eye should be.

"Gods, it's beautiful, Aemond." Letting the patch rest in your lap, you run your fingers lightly over the scar tissue below Aemond's eye. "Who did this to you?"

Aemond's breath hitches again, rougher this time, as he feels the tips of your slender fingers graze the scarred tissue around his eye, the touch stirring something deep within him. The feeling of your touch against the sensitive skin there is almost overwhelming.

He swallows hard, that old pain and anger bubbling up inside of him.

"My.... nephew," he finally says, his voice surprisingly even. "Lucerys Velaryon."

You inhale sharply; all you can think of is that if Aemond had really meant to kill the boy, he would have been well within his right to, after having been mutilated like this.

Grabbing for his hands, you hurry to say something. "Aemond, I-"

But your husband cuts you off. "There is one other reason it's important for others to be afraid of me."

"A-And what is that?" You ask, holding his hands close to your bosom.

"So that I can protect my wife, and my family." That sapphire is positively glowing in the light of the flickering candles. "The more afraid people are of me, the less likely they are to try and harm me, or you, or our family.... once we make one...."

His declaration takes all the air from your lungs, and you find it hard to breathe. "If I had known all of this, I.... I would never have been so frightened of you. I'm sorry, Aemond."

You cast around desperately for something else to say, some other way to apologize.

"Do not apologize."

His voice is gentle, yet firm. Your hands are still holding his against your breast, and he can feel the warmth of your skin even through the layers of your gown, the rapid beat of your heart.

"You didn't know, it is not your fault for being afraid," he soothes you. "But.... now that you know.... may I ask you something else?"

You nod, eager now to answer Aemond's questions and to ask more of your own - you want to learn so much more about him.

Aemond's fingers tighten around yours, the feel of your soft skin against his own sending a strange heat through his veins. He draws you in a little closer, his face now so close to yours that he can feel the warmth of your breath, that same scent of sweet honey and jasmine in your hair.

"You.... have not shied away from my scar, or my missing eye," he says, his voice a low whisper. "You have touched them, caressed them even.... why?"

Why...? You find it odd he even has to ask.

"Because I think they make you beautiful. Is that wrong?"

Your thumbs find his wrists now, pressing in against his pulse points, which are fluttering erratically.

Aemond's breath catches in his throat, the feeling of your dainty thumbs resting against his wrists, feeling the rapid beating of his pulse, setting his skin on fire. Your words, declaring him beautiful, ring in his ears, stirring something deep within his chest.

"Be-Beautiful?" He repeats, his voice a terrible croak. No one.... no one has ever called him beautiful. The word sounds strange in his ears, as if they're not meant for someone like him.

You nod, and after only a momentary hesitation, you bring one hand up again to his scar. This time, brushing the side closest to his hairline, a few strands of long silver hair getting in the way.

"Beautiful, Aemond. You're beautiful. I mean.... I did always think that. Just.... was too afraid of you to tell you. Do you forgive me?"

Aemond's breath hitches once more as your fingers stroke his hair, your soft touch sending a shiver down his spine. No one, no one, has ever touched his scar with such tenderness, such care.

"I.... I forgive you," he whispers, voice raw. "And for what it's worth.... I'm sorry, that I.... that I made you afraid of me. I never wanted that, I swear."

"I know. It wasn't even your fault, really." You roll your eyes, relaxing against the back of the settee. "I was just.... assuming that what everyone else said was true. Which is a terrible thing, really. My parents raised me much better than that."

A particularly chilly gust of wind blows in through the window and you wrap your arms around yourself. "I have to admit, I thought if my shenanigans went on much longer, you'd be forced to.... well, force yourself on me...."

Aemond is silent, as if that thought, the notion of forcing himself on you, is something he refuses to even consider. He turns to look at you, the pale glow of his sapphire eye giving him an otherworldly appearance.

"I.... I would never force you to do anything, little wife, not ever," he says, his voice low and serious. "I believe the first time a man and wife.... are together.... it should be.... enjoyable.... for both of them."

Suddenly, all words are caught in your throat. The thought of your first time with Aemond still makes you nervous, even knowing that he would never want to do anything against your will.

"I thought.... a woman's first time was always painful?" That's what you've always been told. You have never done anything of the sort, but perhaps Aemond knows better.

At your words, Aemond's jaw tightens. His fingers clench into a fist, the thought of you in pain during your first time together sending a wave of anger through him.

"No. No, never. It shouldn't be painful, not unless you don't want it, too," he says, his voice low and urgent. "Your first time should be.... enjoyable. Pleasant. I would never take you simply for my own pleasure. I would make sure you...." he falters.

Flinching slightly away from him at the sight of his hand in a fist, you gasp softly. Have you said something wrong?

Still, you dare to ask, "You would make sure I what?"

In the candlelight, Aemond's eye flashes dangerously and that sapphire blazes.

He takes a very deep breath, forcing himself to relax, to open his hand again. "I'm sorry," he murmurs, "I.... I don't like the idea of hurting you, it.... makes me angry."

He looks down at you again.

"I would make sure that you.... felt pleasure as well. It wouldn't be about me. It's about both of us."

If you had known how protective Aemond was of you, you would have asked him about these things sooner. He is, after all, the only person you can think to ask. If you can't discuss bedroom matters with your husband, who can you discuss them with?

"How does it feel?" You ask him softly, scooting closer to him on the settee. "When you have sex, how does it feel?"

Aemond is taken somewhat off guard by the sudden question, his cheeks going pink at your unexpected candor, but he doesn't back down. He doesn't want to shy away from your questions, not when you're so close to him, peering at him through those wide, innocent eyes.

He takes another deep breath, shifting on the settee so he can face you fully.

"it.... it feels.... good," he begins, his voice a low rumble. "It feels.... full. Warm. Tight. But.... good. More than good, especially when you do it with someone you care about. It feels safe, like nothing can hurt you ever again."

The look on Aemond's face as he speaks is one you've never seen before - something vulnerable and almost childlike staring back at you. You wonder how you could ever have been afraid of him.

"And you? Who was your first time with?"

As your question hangs in the air between the two of you, Aemond goes stock-still. No one has ever asked him that before.

He hesitates for a moment, peering warily at you. "Why.... why do you want to know?" He asks finally, voice cautious.

Now you know you've definitely said something wrong. "I was just curious," you hurry to tell him. "It's wrong of me to pry, I'm sorry...."

Aemond sighs softly, shaking his head. "No, no, don't apologize," he says, his voice a light simper now. He reaches out, taking your hand gently in his.

"It's okay, I just.... wasn't expecting you to ask that." He pauses, and you can see a flicker of something run across his face. "You.... you really want to know?"

"I do," you admit bashfully. "If you feel comfortable telling me?"

Aemond's hand grips yours a little tighter, your words sending a strange, tight feeling through hm. He hasn't thought about that night in a long time, and the memory is still painful enough to make him wince.

"All right," he says, letting out a slow breath. "I.... I'll tell you. Just.... just don't.... don't judge me, all right?"

"I won't judge," you assure him with a shake of your head.

Aemond looks down at your intertwined hands, his fingers tracing a light pattern against your palm. He closes his eye, gathering his thoughts, before lifting your hand to his lips and pressing a barely-there kiss to your knuckles.

"My.... my first time," he begins, and his voice is rough, "was with a whore, in a pleasure house, at the behest of my brother who frequented - and still frequents - them much more than I did."

"I don't think that's anything to be ashamed of," you admit, mulling the idea over. "Most men visit those types of places at some point in their lives.... don't they?"

Aemond pauses for a moment, his eye locking with yours. He looks almost surprised by your response, as if he hadn't thought you would be so blasé about the situation.

"Yes...." he says slowly, "they do. But.... it's not.... it's not the sort of thing a wife would expect to hear, about their husband's past exploits."

You chew your lip thoughtfully, running your fingers around and through the spaces between Aemond's. "I don't mind, as long as...."

You hesitate, wondering if you really want to say this now or leave it for another night. "What I mean to say, Aemond, is that.... now that we understand each other better.... perhaps you can show me what it's like? Sex? And, if you do, I expect there to be no more pleasure houses in your future, is that clear?"

Aemond's gaze darkens as your words register, his heart stuttering in his chest. His fingers twitch against yours, breath catching in his throat.

"You.... you want me to show you...?" He repeats weakly, his eye wide and disbelieving.

You close your fingers tightly around Aemond's now, leaning in toward your husband. "Mm. But as I said, you must promise - no more pleasure houses. After all, you did say you want to worship me, did you not?"

Aemond's head swims with your words, his heart hammering in his chest so hard it's difficult to catch his breath. The way you're looking at him, the sweetness in your voice, the scent of honey and jasmine in your hair.... all of it is almost too much to bear.

He swallows hard, and nods. "No more pleasure houses. I promise," he whispers, his voice hoarse and rough.

His oath sets you at ease, but there's one more thing you must tell him.

"I must admit, Aemond, I'm still scared...."

He looks about to interrupt, but you cut him off. "Oh, not of you. I'm.... terrified of the pain. I've never done well with pain, and I'm so scared it's going to hurt like hell."

Aemond's heart twists at the worry and fear in your voice, his fingers tightening over yours. He hates the thought of you being scared, hates his own inability to take that fear away from you.

"Why do you still think it's going to be painful?" He asks quietly.

Instead of making you feel trapped, his fingers around yours make you feel safe. Aemond is lethal; you can see it in his face, in the hard line of his body. But he wants to use all of that to protect you....

Though what could he possibly do to prevent his own body from hurting you, even though he might not mean to?

"That's all I've ever been told." You gulp. "A woman's first time is always painful. And.... There's always blood."

Aemond's jaw clenches in anger. He doesn't know who planted these false, hurtful notions in your head, but he wants to tear them limb from limb.

He reaches out to you, tilting your head gently up to meet his gaze. "No. No, no, no," he says, his voice low and intense. "It's not supposed to be painful, especially the first time. You've just.... you've been told wrong."

He pauses. "Sometimes there is blood, I won't lie to you about that. But there are ways to minimize the chance of that."

Aemond's fingers start to skirt back and forth under your chin. "How .... How can we stop there being so much blood? I want you to show me."

Heart now beating much faster, Aemond's stomach twists with a mixture of desire and trepidation. He swallows, hard, his eye dark and heavy-lidded as he gazes down at you.

He runs his fingers through your hair, the soft feel of it against his skin maddening. "I can show you," he murmurs, "but.... you have to trust me."

"Of course. I do now." You turn your face toward his hand, palm skimming your cheek as he touches your hair. "I know you'll take care of me."

He takes another deep breath to steady himself, his hand coming to rest against the side of your face, thumb tracing the line of your jaw. "Good," he whispers, "because I will, always. But there's something.... something I need to know first."

You shiver, Aemond's fingers reverent along your cheek and jaw. "What is it?"

Fingers now trailing down your neck, he pauses, hand coming to rest on your collarbone, your pulse beating fast and hard against his palm.

Aemond leans in close, his voice a rumble in your ear. "You.... you have never even been touched, have you?"

You are very aware of how hard your heart is beating, thumping underneath his fingers. "I haven't.... is that bad?"

Aemond breathes heavily, pulling back to look at you.

"No," he says emphatically, "it's not bad. It's.... it's just...." He trails off for a moment, struggling to find the words. "I need to know.... if you're still.... if you're still intact."

The question makes you blush furiously, looking down at your laps, side by side, so you don't have to look Aemond in the eye. "I.... yes.... isn't that where the blood comes from?"

You don't know much, but you do know that.

He places two fingers gently under your chin, coaxing you to look up at him again.

"Yes," he says, "that's where the blood comes from. But it can break in other ways. For instance, from fingers or.... other objects." His fingers trace along your cheek, obviously trying to soothe your growing discomfort at this conversation.

"But it.... it doesn't have to," he adds after a moment.

You chuckle, reluctantly meeting Aemond's gaze. "Can we try?"

He takes a moment to steady himself, his hand now trailing back down your neck, slowly caressing. "Are you sure? Absolutely sure?"

You nod fervently, gripping onto his wrist. "Positively. Now that I understand you better, I can think of no one else I'd like to teach me such things...."

He leans in, lips brushing your ear again, breath hot against your skin. "Then I will," he murmurs, his voice an uneven, ragged whisper, "I will show you. And I will take my time."

Long have you waited for someone to come along and share this experience with you. When you were initially betrothed to Aemond, you thought all hope was lost - he was so frightening and the thought of sharing a bed with him sent a shiver of panic through you.

But now.... Women have desires just as much as men do, surely... At least you know you do. And Aemond is offering to take care of them for you....

You steady yourself with a hand on Aemond's chest, nails digging into the soft cotton of his tunic. "Please.... I want it."

Aemond's stomach clenches, your soft, pleading voice sending a bolt of white hot desire through him.

"Patience," he murmurs, his sizeable palm laid against the back of your hand on his chest, "I'll take care of you, I promise. I just need you to relax for me, all right?"

"Mm, I'll try...." With another nod, you take a deep breath, shuddering at the feeling of Aemond's big hand covering yours entirely. "Maybe a drink would serve to relax me better...?"

This gives Aemond pause, and he pulls back slightly, his eye raking over your face, taking in the soft blush on your cheeks, the way your lips are parted as you catch your breath.

He gives a single, slow nod. "Yes," he admits, "I think a drink might help."

Without another word, he moves to a small table on the other side of the room, pouring you each a generous glass of sweet wine.

As he does so, you finger the pendant at your throat, a gift from your late mother. The way Aemond looks at you; any woman would be lucky to have a husband who looks at her that way. Like you're precious, like he would do anything to protect you.

Once offered your glass, you take it and swallow a large mouthful, hoping to get drunk as quickly as possible, to make this whole ordeal more bearable.

Aemond watches you closely, a small frown tugging at the corners of his mouth as he sees you gulp the wine so quickly. He knows you're trying to get drunk, trying to use the alcohol as a crutch to make this easier.

"There's no need to rush," he says quietly, taking a seat beside you again, his knee bumping yours. He lifts his own glass to his lips, taking a slow, measured drink.

Swallowing another substantial mouthful of wine, you furtively watch the way Aemond's lips purse around the rim of his glass.

You smooth the skirts of your dress down, taking a deep breath. "I just want to be as relaxed as possible for you, Aemond."

He continues to watch you, that striking violet eye taking in every tiny detail - the way your fingers grasp the fabric of your dress, the soft movement of your body underneath the silk.

He takes a deep breath, his eye watching you as he drains the last of the wine from the glass. "I know," he murmurs, his voice a husky rumble, "but there's no need to get completely drunk, my love."

"It can't hurt." You upend the first glass of wine, draining the last dregs, and hold your glass out toward him. "Another?"

Apparently highly amused, Aemond raises a brow, but refuses to pour you another.

"I think that's quite enough. There's no need to be quite so drunk tonight, I promise."

You pout, setting your glass aside, but starting to feel a pleasant warmth wash over you from the first glass all the same.

"How do we start?" You question, leaning in close to him. Aemond smells of chamomile and sweat and.... maybe just a hint of blood? It's the best thing you've ever smelled.

Aemond reaches for you suddenly, his hands moving to your hips, pulling you gently onto his lap so you can straddle him.

The next breath he takes rattles through him as you settle on top of him, his hands gripping your waist, heart beating fast. "We.... we start here," he whispers, his voice a rough murmur.

"Goodness," you breathe, hands curling over his shoulders to steady yourself. "And.... what do we do here?"

You're trying your best to be brave, and the wine is making it easier, but there is still that niggling worry at the back of your mind, chanting blood blood blood.

Aemond feels that slight tremble in your hands as you grab his shoulders, the way you hesitate and swallow nervously as you ask your question. He can practically hear your thoughts racing, paying attention to the fear and trepidation in your words.

He leans in close, hands slipping from your waist to bracket your ribs, pulling you flush against him, your body cradled easily in his lap. "We start like this," he murmurs, his fingers gently tilting your chin up to look at him. "Just like this."

Slowly, fingers gentle but firm on your chin, he's bringing you in for a kiss.

The sound that leaves your mouth at the first dry press of your lips together is embarrassing. You curse. "I'm sorry." You bite your lip hard, searching Aemond's one violet eye for forgiveness. "Can we try again?"

Aemond chuckles good-naturedly, hands coming up to cup your face, thumbs tracing slow, gentle patterns over your cheeks.

"You have nothing to apologize for," he whispers, leaning ever closer to you, his breath hot against your lips. "We can try as many times as you like, darling."

With a hand again around his wrist to steady yourself, you don't have far to go, what with Aemond's face so close to yours. You press your lips to his - soft yet firm. Your other hand slides up the outside of his thigh as you open your mouth under his, grateful for his willingness to teach you.

You hear Aemond's breath hitch again as he feels your hand moving up his leg, the touch of your slim, soft fingers against his body sending a shiver down his spine. He groans as you open your mouth, his tongue immediately seeking yours, tangling, tasting, claiming.

He grips your hair in one hand, angling your head back so he can deepen the kiss, his other hand back to gripping your hip, pulling you tighter against him.

You do the same, hands migrating down, loving the feeling of Aemond's slim, strong muscle under your fingers. As you kiss, you surreptitiously move the thin cloth of Aemond's tunic aside so you can touch him skin to skin over his sharp hipbones.

This earns you a keen inhale from your husband, who jerks away from you.

"I'm sorry," you breathe. "Is this okay?"

His mouth has opened in a gasp against yours, eyes squeezing shut.

When they open again, he merely looks at you, taking in the soft, pink flush of your cheeks, the way your pupils are thoroughly dilated, your chest heaving. He takes a deep breath, steadying himself. "Yes," he says ruggedly, his voice a scratchy gasp, "I'm sorry, it is. It's okay."

A flood of warmth washes over you, and you grin. You don't know why, but you want to kiss his neck.

Fingers digging hard into his hip, you lean in, nosing his long hair out of the way as your lips meet his neck, sucking and biting. Aemond tastes clean and faintly of rose water.

Aemond's head tips back immediately, giving your lips and teeth free reign over his neck, his skin breaking out in gooseflesh at the unfamiliar sensation. A soft, low moan escapes him as your mouth traces a path along the sensitive skin of his neck.

His body arches against yours. "My love," he gasps, his voice a ragged, breathless plea, "this is maddening."

"Need you to teach me," is your reply, pushing harder against him. "Don't go mad just yet."

He runs his hands down your sides, skimming over the soft, silky material of your dress, his body reacting powerfully to your closeness. "Gods, woman," he gasps, thumbs playing idly along the edge of your ribs, "are you sure you haven't done this before?"

You rest your cheek on Aemond's shoulder, nose brushing along the chiseled line of his jaw. "Positive," you sigh, arms now slung around him. "But I like the way you touch me. It's making me feel all hot and wet.... down there."

At this declaration, Aemond makes a noise you've never heard anyone make before. He nuzzles against your collarbone, pressing slow, hot kisses along the line of your chest just visible over the collar of your dress.

His mouth is starting to curve into a wicked smile. "Do you want me to touch you there, too?"

With a nod, you begin to pull the folds of your dress up over your thighs. "Please. The feeling down there, it's.... very insistent." And Aemond's fingers look perfectly long and warm and rough with calluses.

Aemond swallows hard as he watches the fabric of your dress retreat up over your thighs, the soft, bare skin of your legs suddenly exposed to him. His gaze rakes over you, taking in every detail - the soft, pale flesh, the way the candlelight casts shadows over the curves of your body.

As though trying not to startle you, Aemond runs his knuckles painstakingly slowly up the inside of your thigh. "When we were first betrothed, I knew I had gotten lucky."

That drunken haze still hovering around you, you let your legs slip further apart around him. "Lucky? How so?"

His hand moves further up, touch feather-light against her skin. "Lucky," he murmurs, "because I knew I'd be marrying the most beautiful woman in all Seven Kingdoms."

He lets his hand move higher still, fingers stopping just before they reach the edge of your smallclothes. He pauses, looking intently at you, the question plain on his face.

"I never knew you thought I was beautiful...." You lean more against him, feeling impossibly safe and comfortable in his embrace. "Please. You can."

Hips canting forward, you try to push his hand in toward you.

"The most beautiful," he replies. He can feel your hips moving subtly against his, feel his own desire rising with every move you make.

Those long fingers hook into the edge of your smallclothes, running the backs of his knuckles along the sensitive bit of skin he finds there.

Your eyes flutter shut, the feeling of his gentle fingers finally scooping up under your dress making your stomach flip nervously. "Please." The word is uttered against Aemond's chin, where you've pressed your lips as you wait to feel his hand where you need it most.

As slowly as he an manage, he insinuates those fingers fully inside your smallclothes. He can feel the heat of your skin, the way you squirm in his lap as he moves closer to his destination, his own body reacting strongly to the anticipation.

He leans in, mouth finding yours in a heated, hungry kiss, his fingers finally, finally touching that wet, sensitive flesh between your thighs.

A sharp inhale accompanies the meeting of Aemond's hand to your sex. Everything down there feels so wet already, you suppose you should be embarrassed, but the wine is making it hard to feel so, which you're grateful for.

"Aemond...." Seeking his lips for another kiss, you mutter, "please don't stop."

One long finger sinks into your wet, hot flesh, his entire body shivering at the feeling of you beneath his hands. He lets out a ragged gasp as you kiss him, mouth moving fervently against yours, tongue delving into your mouth, tangling with yours.

With a low, gruff noise, he starts to move his finger inside of you, slow, gentle circles that make your muscles tighten and twitch against his hand. "I won't," he murmurs against your lips, his eyes squeezed shut, "I promise, I won't."

Aemond's finger has slid easily into you, all the way down to the knuckle. "Is it -?" You gasp, glancing down, tugging your skirts out of the way to see better. "It's inside? I thought it would be much more painful...."

You know it might not be the same with his manhood, which is surely a fair bit bigger than one of his fingers, but you're glad things have gone smoothly so far all the same.

Aemond's other hand presses itself solidly against that little bundle of nerves, the one you're familiar with, the one that makes you see stars, and you bite his lower lip a little too hard in response.

"Shit, sorry."

Aemond lets out a low chuckle at your reaction, his lips curving into a smile against your mouth. "No need to apologize, sweet girl," he mutters. "There's a possibility it might hurt more than this when we go further, but I promise I'll be gentle."

He moves his finger in and out of you slowly, his other hand still pressing against you, the pad of his thumb circling that swollen bud, his touch gentle but firm. "How does this feel?"

A pang of fear shoots through you at his declaration that you will likely be in pain later on, but it's soothed by the way Aemond's fingers are gently coaxing themselves inside of you and over your clit.

"It feels perfect, Aemond. I never even knew it could feel this good." Not even when you'd touched yourself in bed at night.

Aemond's eye darkens as he hears your words, the sound of your voice, gutted and breathless, making his stomach clench. "This is just the beginning, sweet girl. There's so much more I can show you."

He slips another finger into you, feeling your body tighten and go taut around him, his own body still reacting powerfully to the sight and feel of you. He leans in to kiss you again, his mouth hungrily claiming yours.

With another finger inside, you start to squirm in his lap, and your hand slips, colliding with something hard inside of Aemond's trousers.

"Aemond," you gasp, "it.... it's hard."

Aemond lets out a strangled noise as your hand brushes against him, his body shuddering, his eye squeezing shut. "Ah, shit, sweetheart," he gasps, his breath ragged, "Don't do that."

He looks at you, his breath coming in quick, rough pants, his eye darkened to a deep, intense violet. "I'm going to be patient with you."

He says this like he's trying to convince himself of it.

"I'm sorry," you gasp again, hands flying to your mouth. "I didn't mean to touch it...."

Gaze flickering to the windows, to the Targaryen flags flying from every turret, you stifle a smile. "But maybe.... maybe you don't have to be so patient...."

Aemond growls at your words, fingers slowing their ministrations over you. "How impatient would you have me be?"

You reach down to take his free hand - the one currently touching your clit in nice, soft circles - in yours, lacing your fingers as you lean into him. "Still gentle, just.... Maybe lead me? Show me how things like this should be done."

Aemond can practically feel his self-restraint slipping at your words, the feeling of your small, soft hand in his making his head spin. He takes a deep breath, trying desperately to maintain control, to keep up the facade of gentility.

He grips your chin with his free hand, lifting your face to meet his eye, his voice low and rough. "Are you sure you're ready for that?" He asks, the question almost pained.

"I am. I'm sure." You wrap your shoulders around him, burying your face against his neck. "Take me to bed and show me, please."

Aemond swallows hard, the feeling of your breath against him sending a shudder through him. Lifting you easily in his arms, he stands silently from the settee.

The loss of Aemond's fingers from inside of you makes you whine, clinging to his broad shoulders as he makes his way to the bed.

He lays you gently down, crawling over you, hand once again trailing up the soft expanse of your thigh.

"Aemond...."

A sweet noise rumbles through him as he positions himself on top of you, body pressing you down against the covers, hips slotting between your legs. His gaze as he looks down on you is fiery, eye raking over your body, hands gripping and kneading the supple flesh of your thighs.

"You drive me mad, do you know that?" He murmurs. He leans down to kiss your neck, his mouth hot and insistent against your skin.

With Aemond on top of you, you reach around to tug the back of his tunic up, skimming your fingers along the warm skin of his lower back.

"Why did you never.... tell me before?" You mutter quietly, nibbling at Aemond's earlobe.

Aemond allows himself a deep moan as you touch him, your fingers roaming over his skin, your mouth on his ear. He rolls his hips against you, the aching hardness of his body weighing you down.

"Gods, I don't know," he gasps, his hands roaming over the soft curves of your body. "Maybe I could tell you were afraid of me. Maybe I was a fool."

"I suppose we both were fools." You curl your tongue around Aemond's ear, teasing.

His hardness is pressing insistently against you through your clothes. Aemond leans his forehead to yours. "I'm going to take your dress off now. Is that alright?"

You've never been naked in front of anyone before, but Aemond is making you feel so safe that you nod hurriedly, sitting up. "Yes, please."

Aemond's eye darkens at your nod, his hands immediately going to the laces of your dress, working them loose until the fabric falls away from your body. He lets his gaze roam over your exposed skin, his fingers tracing the soft planes of your body, reverent and gentle.

"Seven Hells," he mutters, his voice a ragged whisper, "I've never seen anything so perfect."

The wine allows you to feel comfortable enough to stretch out over top of your discarded dress, staring up at him over the swell of your breasts. "Don't you want to touch your perfect wife, Aemond?"

"Of course I do," he mutters. He moves aside only slightly, letting his fingers scrape over one of your hardened nipples. "I want to touch every part of you."

You arch into his touch, his fingertips hard and callused against your sensitive nipple. "Aemond.... Would I be a complete whore if I asked for your fingers back inside of me?"

"No," he mutters easily, a hand running its way down your body, the other holding himself above you. "No, you wouldn't. But I want you to ask for it, my love. I want you to tell me exactly what you want."

Your breathing quickening, the air in the room thick and heavy, you spread your legs around him, unabashed. "i want you to touch me. To touch my stomach, my hips and thighs .... my cunt. Please."

Aemond makes a ragged noise at your request, his body shuddering as you open yourself to him. He trails his hand lower, his fingers grazing over your stomach, trailing over your hips and thighs, before coming to rest between your legs.

He lets that hand rest on your for a moment, feeling your wetness, his violet eye dark and full of lust. "Is this what you wanted, darling?"

"Yes," comes your voice, wrecked, entire body feeling overheated and overwhelmed already. "Gods, Aemond, I.... I'm sorry I didn't ask for this earlier."

You run your hands up Aemond's toned arms, tugging on the short sleeves of his tunic. "M-May I take this off?"

Feeling you tug at his tunic, Aemond nods, loving that ragged and pleading tone in your voice. He can feel the heat radiating off your body, can see the raw, pleading look in your eyes, and he's never been more turned on in his life.

By way of a real answer, he reaches down and hooks his fingers under the hem of his shirt to rip it off over his head. He shakes his hair out majestically, making you giggle.

But after that giggle.... You can do nothing but lay beneath him and stare. His body is perfect, abs cut into his skin above the smooth, narrow line of his hips.

"Goodness ...." You whisper, fingertips prodding at his hardened stomach. "You're.... actually perfect."

"Perfect, really?" He replies, clearly perplexed. "I'd say I'm looking at perfection right now."

You whimper, Aemond's moist lips once more at your neck, his body pressed to yours. "How do you.... get your body to look that way? Maybe you can teach me that too, as well as how to ride a dragon."

Aemond laughs softly, his teeth scraping against you as he kisses down your neck. "It's actually quite simple," he murmurs, his hands roaming over your body, arms caging you in against the bed. "Just a lot of sword practice and fighting."

He pauses, his lips trailing teasingly over the line of your jaw. "I'm going to teach you to ride more than just a dragon, my love."

"I could sword fight." Your voice doesn't sound like it ever has before. "Easy. Train me."

You gasp at his words, nails now digging into his back. "And what else are you going to teach me to ride, husband?"

Aemond lets out a low chuckle at your response, his muscles coiling where your nails dig into his skin. He rolls his hips against you and makes you gasp.

"I can teach you how to ride me," he mutters, his voice a rough, ragged whisper. "Or maybe you'd like a ride on my face."

Your eyes go wide, and you press him away by the shoulder just so you can look him in the eye. "I.... I'm allowed to do that?"

You've never heard of this - using your mouth? Why have you never thought of it before?

"Of course you are," he murmurs, looking bemusedly down on you. "And I would be more than happy to let you."

His hot breath whispers over your skin as he leans to speak into your ear. "You've never heard of it before, have you?"

"I haven't." You tilt your head, fingers tender along Aemond's jaw. "How should I.... How do I do it?"

Aemond's eye closes at the feeling of your fingers, tender on his jaw, your touch ever gentle and caressing. He makes a very small noise and shudders over top of you. "It's easy, darling."

"I just lean back here...." With one swift movement, Aemond rolls and settles himself against the pillows. "You come up here...."

Gentle but insistent hands guide you, pulling you all the way up. "And swing a leg over me."

Still helped along by his strong hands, you throw one knee on the opposite side of Aemond's head, bracketing his ears with your thighs. "Like.... this?"

This position makes you feel as nervous as you have all night, even with the aid of the wine - Aemond can see all of you. Truly all of you, and you can't quite meet his eye because of it.

Aemond's hands tighten on your thighs, his breathing growing ragged. He can sense your nervousness, the way your muscles are tensing up, the way you're avoiding his eye.

He rubs his hands soothingly across your thighs, trying to relax you. "That's it, darling." His voice is soft, comforting. "You look gorgeous."

You bite your lip, carding one hand through Aemond's alluring silver hair. The other you place over his good eye, the hint of a smile on your face as you mutter, "Don't look...."

Aemond smirks, and yanks you suddenly, roughly forward by the backs of your thighs, so that your womanhood is directly above his smirking lips. "As you wish."

He places a single, open-mouthed kiss to your clit and the suction, the wetness, of it all is enough to make you squeal.

There's one poignant moment where Aemond's intensely hot, wet mouth rests over your womanhood. Then, with a jagged moan, he begins to lave over you, lips, tongue, and teeth working in tandem.

His callused palms cradle the backs of your thighs, keeping you in place as his tongue works you over. And when that same tongue points itself deep inside of your core, you can no longer keep your hand over his eye, lest you want to smash your husband's head painfully into the sheets.

Instead, that hand flies to the headboard, holding on for dear life. "Gods, Aemond! I.... I've never felt anything like this, what.... what in the seven hells...."

Aemond redoubles his grip on your thighs, keeping you in place as he works you with his tongue, his mouth and teeth and lips bringing you to new heights of pleasure. He moans roughly, and the sound reverberates through you, making your mouth fall open.

"Just... relax, my love," he mutters against your folds, "I did say I would worship you, did I not?"

You nod, still petting a hand gently through Aemond's hair, coiling your fingers around the strands, feeling how soft it is. Your eyes, however, are trained on the gilded ceiling when you answer.

"Y-You did, but.... this.... I didn't even know this was a thing people did. Is this.... common?"

"No, sweet one," he mutters, his voice thick with desire and - somewhere - a hint of disdain, "it isn't common. Most men see their wives as something to be claimed, conquered. And I...."

"You see them as something to be worshipped," you answer, remembering his words from earlier.

Aemond lets out a low chuckle against you as you knot your fingers in his hair, his tongue continuing to lathe across you. He lifts his head for a moment, his lips and chin glistening, a smirk on his face. "Look at me."

You do, and are rewarded with his fingers climbing the insides of your thighs, splaying themselves over you. "You are the most exquisite creature I've ever laid eyes on."

The sight of his face, so slick with you, his eye dark, his sapphire glinting, his fingers roaming over your thighs, it all makes you shiver, your breathing coming in short, ragged gasps.

"And you," he continues, voice muffled against your folds, "you taste divine."

And without another word, he dives back in, his tongue delving into you once more, his hands gripping your thighs, bringing you lower, closer to him.

All of this - Aemond telling you how beautiful you are, his talented mouth on you, the haze of the wine moving through you - has you tumbling toward the edge quicker than you've ever done so by yourself.

"Aemond.... close!" You give a hard tug to Aemond's hair, warning him.

He closes his eyes as he focuses on nothing more than bringing you further to the edge, the heat of your body and the taste of you driving him wild, pushing him to give you more, more, more.

"Just.... let go," he mutters against you. "I want you to let go for me, my sweet."

You're trembling now, hips riding down against his face of their own accord. "Oh, gods...." You've never done this in front of anyone before. What will Aemond think of the way you climax? Will it be embarrassing? "Aemond...."

There's no longer any time to think it over, though, as one last swipe of his tongue sends you spiraling with a loud cry.

Aemond's heart is pounding hard, watching you cum, his eye wide and alight with desire as he watches your body shudder and shake above him, your cry of pleasure filling the room and, undoubtedly, the hallways around it.

He helps you ride out the wave of pleasure, his tongue slowly bringing you back down, peppering your thighs and hip bones with hot, open-mouthed kisses.

Your eyes fluttering, your chest heaving, Aemond coaxes you through your first climax with him and then maneuvers you down to lay beside him. You feel so boneless, you sure you aren't much help in this endeavor.

"That was...." You don't even have the words to describe what just happened to you.

Aemond watches you closely as you lay beside him, breasts rising and falling heavily, your skin flushed and marked all over with his mouth, one hand trailing lightly over your stomach. The sight of you, well-loved and satisfied, makes his chest burn with desire.

He leans in close to you, curling his body around yours like a protective shield. His mouth trailing over your neck, his voice a quiet whisper. "That was beautiful. And we're only getting started."

You gaze at him out of half-lidded eyes, your body already feeling drained from just one round. "What...." You stifle a yawn behind your hand, trying to hide it. "What's next?"

Aemond laughs at the sight of you yawning, both hands now brushing over your body, his touch gentle. He can see the exhaustion in your eyes, hear the tiredness in your voice.

He leans down and presses a loving kiss to your forehead. "I don't think you're quite ready for more yet, my love. You look like you're barely awake."

Through your tiredness, you whine, "But you promised to show me. What it's like...." You're pressing sleepy kisses to Aemond's jaw, lips sweeping down over his neck.

Aemond's lashes flutter at your tiny kisses, his arms curling strong and protective around you. He makes an odd noise, and you realize you may have had an orgasm, but he never did.

"I can take care of it for you." Searching down below, hands clumsy and heavy with sleep, you feel Aemond grab for your wrist.

"And you will," he mutters, admonishing. "But tonight it's getting late, and you're tired. We have our whole lives together, we need not rush this."

Another yawn overtakes you, and you snuggle down into his warmth. "Tomorrow, then?" You mumble, arms slung lazily around him. "And dragon riding tomorrow, too...."

Aemond chuckles again at your insistence, hands gently rubbing themselves over your body, comforting you. He shifts back on the bed, pulling you into his chest and wrapping his arms around you, holding you as close as possible.

"Of course, my love," he murmurs, his voice a gentle, soothing rumble in your ear. "Tomorrow. And dragon riding, too. But for now, you need to sleep."

Aemond runs the very tips of his fingers up and down your back, just along your spine.

"I really am sorry, Aemond...." You're already half asleep, struggling to stay awake, to get the words out. "D'you really forgive me?"

Aemond sighs.

"Of course I forgive you," he whispers, breath tickling your ear. "It's all in the past now, my love. The only thing that matters is you and me, right here, right now. And dragon riding tomorrow, I promise...."

[aemondsbabe]

Deliverance

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

pairing: aemond targaryen x sister!reader

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

word count: 7.4k

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

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

gif creds to @feodor-dostoevsky

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“But, princess, what about –”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Tell me what distresses you so?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I have… I have done something terrible.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“If… if I had n-not been at the…” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I have always been an outcast.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

If only he could see himself as you do. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Aemond?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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[yois2aki]

wc. 4.2k

cw. fluff, smut, worshipping, caleb is head over heels for you, he calls you pipsqueak during it, use of toys, bondage, unprotected sex, edging, fingering, caleb admits to being a perv at some point

the night was quiet, the only sound in the room the soft rustling of the sheets as you shifted closer to caleb. the warmth of his body enveloped you, the steady rise and fall of his chest against your back a soothing rhythm. his arm was draped over your waist, his fingers absentmindedly tracing slow circles against your skin, as if he needed to remind himself that you were real.

“you’re still awake,” he murmured, his voice a low whisper against your ear. it wasn’t a question—he knew you too well, could tell by the way your breathing hadn’t evened out yet.

you hummed in response, shifting so that you could turn and face him. in the dim glow of the moonlight filtering through the window, you could just barely make out the softness in his expression, the way his gaze lingered on you as if you were the most precious thing in the universe.

his fingers brushed against your cheek, featherlight. “you’re so beautiful,” he whispered, his voice full of something tender, something reverent. “do you know that?”

you felt a warmth spread through you at his words, a slow and steady burn that settled deep in your chest. “you always say that,” you murmured, your voice barely above a breath.

“because it’s always true,” caleb countered, his lips quirking into the faintest of smiles before he leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. “every time i look at you, it’s like i fall in love all over again.”

your breath hitched slightly at his words, at the way his voice dipped lower, softer, meant only for you. he had always been protective, always intense in the way he loved, but moments like these—where his entire world seemed to narrow down to just you—left you feeling weightless.

his hand slid down, tracing the curve of your waist before settling on the small of your back, pulling you even closer. “i love the way you fit against me,” he murmured, his lips ghosting along your temple. “like you were made just for me.”

you shivered, not from the cold, but from the way his voice wrapped around you, warm and intimate. you tucked your face into the crook of his neck, breathing him in. he smelled like home—like something safe, something constant.

caleb let out a quiet hum of contentment, his hand slipping under the hem of your shirt, fingertips grazing along the bare skin of your spine. “i could stay like this forever,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. “just holding you… feeling you against me.”

your fingers curled into the fabric of his shirt as you pressed closer. “me too.”

he smiled against your hair, his breath warm as he whispered, “i love the way you say that.”

you pulled back slightly to meet his gaze, a teasing glint in your eyes. “say what?”

“me too,” he repeated, his thumb stroking lazy circles against your skin. “like you mean it.” his eyes softened, his expression turning impossibly tender. “like i’m your home, the way you are mine.”

your heart clenched at his words, at the sheer devotion in them. you reached up, brushing your fingers along his jaw before guiding him closer, pressing a slow, lingering kiss to his lips. he sighed against you, his grip tightening as if he never wanted to let go.

when you finally pulled away, he rested his forehead against yours, his fingers threading through your hair. “i love you,” he whispered, his voice rough with emotion. “more than anything. more than the planes in the sky, more than the air in my lungs.” he let out a quiet, breathless laugh. “god, i love you so much it terrifies me. every time i remember the things i would sacrifice for you, i get scared."

you felt a lump form in your throat at the raw honesty in his voice, the way he bared his soul to you without hesitation. “caleb…”

he shook his head, pressing another kiss to your forehead. “i don’t think you understand what you do to me,” he murmured. “how you make everything feel right, even when the world is a mess. i don’t care where we are, what happens, as long as i have you.”

your fingers tightened around his shirt, your chest aching with how much love you felt for him in that moment. “you have me,” you whispered, your voice unsteady. “always.”

his breath hitched, and for a second, he just held you there, his grip unrelenting, like he was afraid you might slip away if he let go. “you promise?”

you reached up, cupping his face between your hands. “i swear it.”

caleb exhaled, something in him finally settling, and then he was kissing you again—slow and deep, like he wanted to memorize every inch of you. his hands traced your sides, his touch reverent, worshipful.

“i love every part of you,” he whispered against your lips. “the way you smile at me when you think i’m not looking. the way your nose scrunches up when you’re focused. the way you sigh my name when you’re falling asleep.” his voice dropped even lower, barely audible. “the way you let me love you.”

your eyes burned with unshed tears, overwhelmed by the depth of his affection. “caleb…"

he shook his head again, silencing you with another kiss. “you don’t have to say anything,” he murmured. “just let me hold you.”

you nodded, burying yourself against him, and he tightened his arms around you, pressing soft kisses along your temple, your cheek, the corner of your mouth. “i’ll never stop loving you,” he whispered. “never.”

the words settled deep in your heart, filling every space with warmth. and as you lay there, wrapped in caleb’s arms, his voice a constant murmur of love and devotion, you realized that no matter what happened, no matter where life took you, you would always be safe here—in the quiet of the night, in the strength of his embrace, in the love that bound you together.

caleb’s hands moved slowly, reverently, as if he were memorizing every inch of you. his fingers traced the curve of your back, his touch featherlight, sending a shiver down your spine. the warmth of his palm pressed against your skin, grounding you, making you feel like you were the only thing in the world that mattered to him.

“you’re so soft,” he murmured, his lips brushing against your temple before trailing down to your cheek, then lower, grazing the edge of your jaw. “so perfect.”

your breath hitched as he tilted your chin up, his fingers tracing the line of your throat. his touch wasn’t hurried—it was deliberate, lingering, as if he wanted to savor every second.

you sighed as he pressed his lips to the spot just below your ear, his breath warm against your skin. “caleb…”

he hummed in response, his lips curving into a small smile. “i love the way you say my name,” he whispered, his voice low and thick with emotion. “like it belongs to you.”

his fingers curled into the fabric of your shirt, pulling it from your body. “it does,” you murmured, your voice barely above a breath.

his eyes darkened, something tender and intense flickering in them as he gazed at your naked torso. “yeah,” he agreed softly, pressing a slow, lingering kiss to your lips. “it does.”

he suddenly made you lay on your back, his position shifting to stay on top of you. hands moving to your waist, his fingers splaying out against your skin as he pulled you even closer, your bodies perfectly aligned. his touch was gentle but firm, like he wanted to hold you there forever.

the kiss deepened, slow and unhurried, as if you had all the time in the world. he tasted like warmth, like safety, like home. every brush of his lips, every soft sigh that escaped between you, felt like a silent promise—one of love, devotion, and unwavering need.

when he finally pulled away, his forehead rested against yours, his breath uneven. his fingers traced slow, lazy patterns along your back, his touch both soothing and electric. “i never want to stop touching you,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper.

you smiled, your fingers threading through his hair, relishing the way he leaned into your touch. “then don’t.”

his breath hitched at your words, and in the next moment, he was kissing down your neck, his hands roaming your sides, holding you like you were something fragile and precious. but there was a hunger in the way he moved, a deep, aching need to be as close to you as possible and claim you as his.

“you have no idea what you do to me,” he murmured against your skin, his voice thick with emotion. “how much i need you."

you let out a breathless laugh, your heart racing. “then show me.”

a soft, reverent groan escaped him as he pulled you even closer, his lips trailing down your collarbone, pressing slow, lingering kisses to every inch of skin he could reach.

“i plan to,” he whispered, his voice full of love, devotion, and something deeper—something that made your heart stutter and your body melt into his.

the night stretched on, filled with soft whispers, gentle touches, and endless love, as caleb made good on his promise—to hold you, to cherish you, to love you in

"relax, pipsqueak," caleb's deep voice resonated, his sulky tone adding a touch of exotic charm. his breathing sent a shiver down you spine, and you found yourself nodding, eager to surrender to his expertise.

caleb sat up, his long legs brushing against your bare thighs. you felt the warmth of his skin, and a rush of excitement coursed through your veins. his strong hands rested on your knees, and he gently caressed your skin, his touch sending sparks of pleasure up your legs. "tell me, do you trust me?" he asked, his eyes holding yours in a captivating gaze.

"yes," you whispered, your voice hoarse with desire. "i trust you, caleb."

a slight smile played on caleb's lips, and you swore you could see the way his gaze changed. he leaned closer, his breath tickling your ear. "good. i'm going to make you feel like the luckiest woman alive, baby." with that, he stood up, his movements graceful yet commanding. he reached for the bedside lamp and turned it on, noticing the way you cringed at the sensitivity in your eyes.

you could just make out caleb's silhouette as he moved towards the dresser. he opened a drawer and retrieved a small black bag, the contents of which clinked softly as he placed it on the bed.

"you'll let me use this to make you feel good, right?" he questioned, his voice a soothing murmur in the darkness. "first, i want you to relax and let go of any inhibitions." he guided you to lie back on the pillows, his hands gently urging you into a comfortable position.

obeying his instructions, you allowed you body to melt into the soft mattress. caleb's lips traced your collarbone once again, sending shivers down your neck. his touch was firm yet gentle, and you felt yourself surrendering to his will. "breathe deeply," he instructed, his warm breath caressing your cheek. "in and out, just like that..."

caleb's hands moved down your body, his fingers, stopping just where he stared at. he felt his entire body warm, and immediately pulled his shirt off to get rid of the uncomfortable feeling, revealing his muscular build.

his hands moved to your breasts, and his touch sent a jolt of pleasure through you. his fingers teased your nipples, rolling and pinching them gently, causing you to arch your back and let out a soft moan.

"that's it— fuck..., you sound so good," caleb whispered, his lips brushing against your ear. "let the pleasure consume you." with that, he moved his hands lower, his fingers deftly grabbing the hem of your shorts and sliding down. you lifted your hips to aid his efforts, eager for his touch.

the cool air caressed your bare skin as caleb slowly slid your underwear down your legs, his hands brushing against your inner thighs. his breathing hitched. he'd seen you naked like this many times before, but every time it happens he genuinely thinks he's fainting. "my beautiful princess..."

you felt your wetness, a testament to your growing desire. caleb's fingers trailed along your sensitive skin, making you squirm with anticipation.

"you're so responsive," he murmured, his voice filled with approval. "i can see you're ready for more." he positioned himself between your legs, his knees pressing against your outer thighs. you felt the heat of his body, and your core throbbed with need.

caleb's hands explored you intimately, his fingers stroking your wetness, spreading your essence along your folds. "you're so wet, so ready," he whispered, his voice thick with desire. "are you that desperate for me? want me to show you all my love?" he teased your clit with his thumb, applying just enough pressure to send waves of pleasure through your body.

as he continued to stimulate you, your breath became shallow, your moans filling the room. caleb's fingers worked their magic, bringing you closer to the edge of ecstasy. just as you were about to climax, he withdrew his touch, leaving you teetering on the precipice of pleasure.

"not yet, beautiful. i'm sorry," he whispered, his breath hot against your neck. "i'm going to draw this out, make it last." he reached into his bag and retrieved a small, sleek vibrator. "this will help us... is that okay, princess?"

as soon as you nodded, caleb positioned the vibrator against your clit, and as he turned it on, a low hum filled the room. the vibrations sent shocks of pleasure through your body, and you gasped, your hips bucking involuntarily. caleb cursed as he held the toy firmly, controlling the intensity, ensuring you didn't find release too soon.

"she likes that, doesn't she?" he asked, talking about your squelching pussy, his voice a low growl. "everything about her... it's so perfect. she's so desperate like this. my girls." he adjusted the vibrator, moving it lower, pressing it against your entrance. slowly, he eased it inside you, filling you with a delightful sensation.

the vibrator pulsed within your insides, and caleb's fingers worked in tandem, massaging your clit as the toy stimulated you from within. your body trembled, and your moans grew louder, echoing off the bedroom walls. caleb's control was slipping, and his hand seemed to start shaking exactly when he was to push you to the brink without letting you fall.

"please... let me come," you whimpered, looking up at him with pleading eyes, your voice hoarse and desperate.

"pipsqueak, fuck... don't do that," he whispered, his own need aching between his legs as he sucked in a heavy breath against your ear. "i want you to beg for it. show me how much you want it."

caleb's words sent a surge of desire through you, and you arched you back, pleading for release. he increased the intensity of the vibrator, and your body shook with the effort of holding back your awaited orgasm. "please, caleb, please let me..."

"keep going, my love," he insisted, his voice firm yet laced with desire. "you're doing so great, pretty girl..."

"please, caleb, i beg you..." you whispered, your voice raw with need.

caleb's control seemed to falter at the sound of his name on your lips. still, he withdrew the vibrator, and you whimpered in protest. but he wasn't done yet. he reached into his bag once more, this time retrieving a pair of soft silk restraints.

"trust me," he whispered, securing your wrists gently to the bedposts. "i need to see you tied up for me, pipsqueak."

caleb's eyes gleamed with a mixture of protection and desire as he stood over you, his body a powerful presence in the dim light. he resumed his position between your legs, his fingers replacing the vibrator, stroking your wetness, and bringing you back to the brink of ecstasy.

"now, my love, let go," he commanded, his voice a deep, commanding rumble. "let her pleasure consume you."

his words were like a spell, and as he worked his magic, your body exploded in a cascade of sensations. you cried out, the orgasm ripping through you, wave after wave of pleasure washing over your cunt. caleb's fingers continued their relentless assault, drawing out your climax, making it last, ensuring you experienced every exquisite moment.

as your body trembled and your cries filled the room, caleb leaned down, his lips capturing yours in a passionate kiss. he then tasted her release, his tongue mimicking the rhythm of her orgasm. you clung to him, your wrists straining against the restraints, as your body continued to convulse in aftershocks.

finally, as your orgasm subsided, caleb released your wrists, his hands moving to caress your face. "my baby, my love," he whispered, his eyes sparkling with a promise of more. "you did so good for me, my angel. you deserve a reward."

and you, breathless and sated, could only nod, your body still buzzing with the intensity of the experience.

he captured your lips in another searing kiss, his tongue delving into your mouth to claim you completely. caleb’s hands continued their exploration, sliding lower and lower until he cupped your ass, squeezing the firm flesh roughly.

breaking the kiss, caleb spun you around and forced your head down into the pillows, pushing your ass up by grabbing your waist. “i've wanted to do this since the moment i came back home,” he rasped, running a hand over the smooth expanse of your backside. “got a boner just from staring at your back while you baked like a damn teenager."

you whimpered, your body aching with need. “please, caleb. i need you.”

caleb pulled down his sweatpants and stroked his hard, throbbing cock through the fabric of his undergarments.

"remember when i told you i went showering?" he sighed, throwing his head back as he got rid of his last piece of clothing. he made eye contact with you through his entire speech, as if confessing his sins. "lied through my teeth. had to bust one out real quick, otherwise i'd just take you there. insane."

"that's how much i love you, baby," he rubbed the tip against your slick entrance, teasing her mercilessly. “so beg for me, pips. beg me to fuck you. again.”

“please, caleb,” you pleaded, your voice breathy with desire. “fuck me. make me yours.”

with a growl of satisfaction, caleb opened the bag to remove the largest sized condom he could find. tearing it open with his teeth, he slid it down his shaft, something in his gaze changing.

he leaned forward and slammed into you, burying himself deep inside your tight heat. you cried out, walls contracting around him as he began to move, setting a hard, fast pace. the bed creaked beneath you, the sound of flesh slapping against flesh filling the room.

“fuck, love,” caleb groaned, his fingers digging into the sheets as he pounded into your pussy. “you feel so fucking good. so tight and wet and perfect.”

you could only moan in response, lost in the overwhelming pleasure of caleb's cock filling you, stretching you, claiming her. you arched your back against the bed, meeting his thrusts with your own, desperate for more, for everything he could give you.

caleb's long fingers went to rub your clit, his touch circling the sensitive nub in time with his thrusts. “come for me, pipsqueak,” he commanded, his voice rough with desire. “come all over my cock.”

your body tightened, another orgasm building with each thrust, each touch “yes, caleb,” you gasped, your head falling backwards as you teetered on the edge. “i'm going to come. i'm going to come so hard.”

“fuck, yes,” caleb growled, his thrusts becoming erratic as he chased his own release. “come for me, baby. now.”

with a scream of ecstasy, you came, your body convulsing around caleb's cock as wave after wave of pleasure crashed over you. caleb followed you over the edge, his cock pulsing inside your hole as he spilled his hot seed.

you collapsed onto the bed, caleb's body covering yours as you both struggled to catch your breath. after a moment, caleb pulled out, his cock slipping free of your still-quivering pussy. he slowly lowered your thighs, massaging any area of your body that had been under too much pressure and kissing you deeply.

“that was incredible,” he murmured against your lips. “i love you, baby. love you so much.”

you smiled, eyes shining with satisfaction. “i had no idea you were such a passionate man.”

caleb chuckled, his thumb brushing over your cheekbone. “i try my best to keep my emotions away, but with you, i find that impossible. you bring out a side of me i never knew existed.”

you reached up to touch his face, your fingers tracing the strong lines of his jaw. “i like this side of you, love. the side that’s not afraid to take what he wants, to claim what’s his.”

caleb's eyes darkened with desire, his cock already hardening again at your words. “is that so? and what if i told you i want to claim you again, right here, right now?”

your breath hitched, body already responding to his words, to the promise in his eyes. “then i would say that i'm yours, caleb. yours to take, yours to claim, yours to fuck until neither of us can move.”

caleb growled as he took off the previous condom, tying it before throwing it somewhere. his hands sliding down to grip your ass as he lifted your hips to meet his. “my good girl,” he rasped, spreading your thighs wide.

“because i'm going to fuck you again, and again, and again, until you’re screaming my name and begging me to stop.”

you moaned, your head falling back as caleb's fingers found your clit, stroking the sensitive nub with expert precision

“yes, caleb,” you gasped, your hips bucking against his hand. “fuck me. make me yours again and again.”

caleb didn’t need to be told twice. he positioned himself at your entrance, his cock throbbing with need. he didn't care about a condom this time, and straight up slammed into her, filling you completely. you cried out, walls tightening around him as he began to move, setting a punishing pace that had the bed shaking beneath them.

“fuck,” caleb groaned, his hands gripping your hips hard enough to bruise. “you're so fucking tight. so perfect. i could fuck you forever.”

“then do it,” you panted, nails digging into the pillows as you urged him on. “fuck me forever, love. make me yours for eternity.”

caleb growled, his thrusts becoming harder, faster, deeper. he could feel his orgasm building, his balls tightening as he neared the edge. “i'm going to come, baby,” he warned, his voice strained with the effort of holding back. “i'm going to fill you up, mark you as mine.”

“please, caleb,” you begged, body trembling beneath him. “come inside me. give me everything you have.”

with a roar of pleasure, caleb came, his cock pulsing as he emptied himself inside her. you followed him over the edge, your body convulsing around him as you milked him for every last drop.

your collapsed together on the bed again, caleb's body covering yours as you both struggled to catch their breath. after a moment, caleb lifted his head, his eyes filled with a tenderness that made your heart skip a beat.

“that was incredible,” he murmured, brushing a strand of hair from your face. “you're incredible.”

you smiled, hand coming up to cup his cheek. “i could say the same about you, caleb. i never knew sex could be so intense, so all-consuming.”

caleb chuckled, his lips brushing against hers in a soft, sweet kiss. “it's not just the sex, pipsqueak. it's you. you bring out something in me that i never knew existed. something i never knew i needed.”

your heart swelled with emotion, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes. “i feel the same way, caleb. i never thought i could feel this way about anyone, but with you, it’s different. it’s special.”

caleb's eyes softened, his thumb brushing away a tear that had escaped down her cheek. “you're so beautiful, you're so mine. and this is real. you're real. and i'm not going to let you go.”

your heart soared, a laugh bubbling up from your throat. “i don’t want you to let me go, caleb. i want to be with you, always. no matter what happens, no matter where life takes us.”

caleb smiled, his eyes shining with love and happiness. “i love you, baby. love you so damn much.”

you kissed him then, pouring all of your love, all of your devotion into the kiss. caleb responded in kind, his arms wrapping around you as he pulled you close, your bodies fitting together perfectly.

you stayed like that for a long moment, lost in each other, in the love and passion that had blossomed between you.

[bunnis-monsters]

NSFW

Fern x Reader PT3(Final)

part 1

part 2

a/n: this is the final part of Fern’s main story, but not the end! You can still make Fern requests and I may rewrite this mini series in the future when I have time.

Fern had been depressed lately. He was a fairy, a dainty little thing, and you were now pregnant. He watched as you waddled around, struggling to do things.

If he were just bigger, he could ensure you never had to lift a finger.

All he could do was use magic to help when he could. Vines sprouted to grab things out of your reach or play with your pussy when you were feeling needy.

Fern wanted you so badly, to properly fuck into you and stretch out your fat cunt like he had before.

At night his wings fluttered softly as he rubbed your pregnant belly, kissing it. When his child was born, would he even be big enough to hold them? It made his heart ache to even think of such a thing. How could he protect his family when he was the size of a small doll?

That’s why he made a tough decision. Fern backed a bag, kissed your forehead and promised he would be back.

There were tales of a witch that lived in the center of the forest. She’d grant a single wish for anyone that came to her… but for a price.

He knocked once on the dirty window, noticing it was cracked and the wooden frame was chipped. Did anyone even live there?

The door creaked open, an old crone beckoning him in. “Hurry, I don’t have all day. Go on and tell me what you want.”

Fern sat on an upside down teacup, watching as the witch bustled about the dusty old cabin looking through books and half empty potion bottles.

“Uh… I wanted to know if you can make me… the size of a human.”

The witch paused, glancing at him. “I can, for a price. What are you willing to give me in exchange?”

~

It had been an entire day since you last saw Fern. He wasn’t the type to be out late, always returning before dark, so it was alarming that he had been gone for more than a few hours.

It was a bit hard walking now. You were six months along, but looked like you were closer to nine. Fern liked to joke that you seemed about ready to burst while laying his tiny head on your belly.

You could tell that his size was bothering him even more lately. As your pregnancy progressed, you needed more help, the kind someone as small as him couldn’t provide.

Despite what others may think, Fern was a proud fairy and hated that he wasn’t able to help his pregnant lover.

Fern wanted to provide and care for you, but that wasn’t really possible when he couldn’t even do most things for himself.

When the second day without any sightings of him filled around, you started to panic. It really wasn’t like him to be gone so long, especially when you were carrying his child.

‘Where could he be?’

Nearly a week passed without him. It was both depressing and terrifying, leaving you nearly bedridden at times. Everything seemed harder with Fern gone.

Even if he couldn’t do much of the heavy lifting, he used his magic to keep you from getting morning sickness, always comforted you when you were hormonal, and made sure all of your vegetables stayed fresh.

Without him, the world felt cold and uninviting. He made all the gray clouds disappear, but now that he was gone the sun had left with him.

You sat in your rocking chair as tears fell down your cheeks. After crying so much, your eyes were puffy and sore.

Even knitting for your unborn child was a chore these days, and you had only finished a single foot when you heard a knock at your door.

For a moment you thought Fern would be behind it… but that was stupid. He was the size of your hand, there’s no way he could knock that loud.

You didn’t rush to greet your guest. Instead you slowly put down the onesie you had been knitting and stood.

Trudging towards the door, you slowly unlocked it and pulled towards yourself…

“Hello, my love.”

You were breathless, eyes wide and mouth agape as you looked up to see a hair of brown curls and eyes as green as fresh oak leaves.

A hand reached out, cupping your cheek and swiping at your tears as you began to cry.

“Fern…”

You sobbed into his chest, warms wrapped tightly around him. He hugged you back, his eyes softening when your baby bump pressed into his abdomen.

“I’m so sorry, love. There was something I had to take care of, something so important I had to leave you for a while.”

As your lip wobbled, Fern began to explain what had happened.

After the witch asked him what he’d give in return, Fern was quick to answer.

“My immortality.”

You covered your mouth, eyes going wide as you swallowed harshly. “You… gave that up to be the same size as me?”

He nodded, smiling fondly as he tilted your chin up. “And I’d do it a thousand times over, love.”

Your eyes fluttered shut as he pressed his lips to yours a gentle, yet needy kiss. Although it felt amazing to kiss him after such a stressful week without him, you pulled back after a moment.

“But… why did you stay away for so long?”

Fern went pale, scratching the back of his head with a nervous laugh. “Let’s just say the process to become tall was… long and painful. That old witch enjoyed it too, I’m sure.”

After a moment of simply enjoying each other’s presence, you both walked inside.

After that, Fern waited on you hand and foot. He adored you, that was for sure. Every meal, activity, and even bathroom visit was managed by him.

Fern smiled down at you as he helped you into a bath, his eyes lingering in your heavy and swollen breasts.

When you hissed and winced in pain as your hands brushed against your sensitive nipples, Fern cooed out sympathetically.

“Here, just relax.”

His wings fluttered as his hands groped your fat tits, massaging and squishing them lightly. You let out such a delicious noise that he couldn’t help but lean forward and kiss your neck.

Fern’s cock twitched to life when milk spurted from your perky buds. He always got so hard when he was reminded you were heavily pregnant with his young.

“That’s it, feels good doesn’t it?”

His hand slipped between your legs, a vine replacing the now missing one at your tit while his other continued massaging you.

“Mmph… Fern…”

You had been so needy lately, begging for him to properly fuck you since he had returned. But he was hesitant. Fern didn’t want to potentially harm you or his unborn child…

But with some reassurance from you, the fairy joined you in the tub. He settled you onto his lap, continuing his ministrations.

His cock nudged at your warm cunt, desperate to be enveloped by your velvety walls.

And you wanted him just as much.

Fern groaned against your neck, keeping a hand on your baby bump for leverage as he bounced you up and down on his cock. It felt so good to stretch you out again and have you clench around him.

The vines rubbed at your clit, making you tighten up even more. You came again and again, your body way more sensitive due to your pregnancy.

He loved getting to fill you up with his seed. Watching the hot, white cum leak out of your cunt as he rinsed you off made him want to do it all over again.

But Fern wanted to go easy on you until after your pregnancy.

~

Months passed by, and Fern held onto your hand as you gave birth. Labor hadn’t been easy, but he was by your side the entire time.

“It’s a girl…”

You held onto your baby, eyes half lidded from exhaustion. Fern was an absolute mess, his eyes puffy and red as he sniffled.

“She’s beautiful…”

Fern handled almost everything as you recovered, and as your baby girl grew, her wings started to slowly develop.

“She has wings… is she..?”

“Immortal? Maybe, but I’m not sure… I impregnated you before the witch took my immortality, but she is half human…”

You kissed her little head, letting her nurse as your now husband knelt in front of you.

“I don’t want that for her, Fern. She would outlive all of us. Wouldn’t that be lonely?”

Fern paused to think, slowly reaching out to place a hand over your belly.

“… it wouldn’t be if we… gave her a sibling.”

And so the two of you had several children through the years, slowly repopulating the fairy race. You’d grow old together, and even if your children lived forever, at least they would have each other.

————————

NSFW TAGLIST: @avalordream @icommitwarcrimes @bazpire @im-eating-rn @anglingforlevels @kinshenewa @pasteldaze @yoongiigolden @peachesdabunny @murder-hobo @leiselotte @misswonderfrojustice @dij-ology @i8kaeya @lollboogurl @h3110-dar1in9 @keikokashi @aliceattheart @mssmil3y @namjoons-t1ddies @izarosf1833 @healanette @lem-hhn @spufflepuff @honey-crypt @karljra @zyettemoon1800 @exodiam @vexillum-moeru @imperfectlyperfectprincess1 @enchantedsylveon @mysticranger575 @readeryn68 @danielle143 @kittenlover614 @filthybunny420 @annavittoria-mm @makimamybelovedwife @blubearxy @omglovelylaila @toocollectionchaos-universe-blog @fruk-you-usuk-fans @wil10wthetree @hammerhead96-blog @slightlyusedfloormat @bubblez-blop @sunshineangel-reads @heroneki-neko @soapybabyboop @anonymouskiwi

[yukioos]

LIKE A TATTOO

SUMMARY: hwang in-ho x wife reader // you came to the island with your husband to help him out with the new games. as you took a moment for yourself, reading a book in your shared bed, a fist knocked on your door. the guard escorted you to the observation room, where in-ho was. the two of you drink bourbon and make out, not paying much attention to the games.

AUTHORS NOTE: hi! this is my first squid game oneshot, i hope u like it! i’m still working on arcane ones so dw im not abandoning the requests. i’ll most likely start taking requests for squid game characters as well. might make a part 2 if people like this. this is 1.7k words. here are the links to part 2 part 3

WARNINGS: not proofread, blood, guns, murder (players sabotaging n pushing each other in red light green light), making out, drinking

the frontman sat on a plush, luxurious seat in his private, sound-proof room. a player who won the game three years ago had come back to compete, supposedly to avenge all the people he lost. outside the window, the players were engaging in their first game; red light, green light, the first game.

he hadn’t had much time for himself as he was constantly busy overlooking the games and creating new ones. it was as if his work was perpetual, as if he was meant to be the frontman for the rest of his life. he later considered settling down with you, the love of his life. but he couldn’t leave the games behind, it was part of his life, of course. he was extremely against giving the role of the frontman to anyone, as there was no one he would expect to run the games properly and orderly.

you knew about his feelings about the games, and how he wanted to quit but he was terrified of being caught. of you being caught. it wasn’t that you personally killed any of the players, no, but you knew who was running it, knew him like the back of your hand. that made you an accomplice, and he was scared for your life, he didn’t want you to become too wrapped up in his troubles.

that, of course, was quickly dismissed as soon as you became his spouse. when he told you about his job, and how he needed to leave for a business trip, you asked if you could come with him. he hesitated, and it took him days to decide if it was safe enough for you to spend around two years there, with him. he needed to create new games to entertain the VIPs, so he could use some help from his creative wife, and you had been begging to see what his job was like ever since you married.

so you assisted him in creating designs for the games and a new addition in between games, the possibility to leave the games and split the money. however, this would be the first game you would watch. you were nervous, not sure what to expect, but your husband had secretly hoped you’d be impressed by the first game, and hopefully the next ones as well.

the emptiness on the couch saddened him. he wondered why he felt so uncomfortable alone, in the room where he had idly watched the games he ran. it was too quiet. but he missed your touch, the sound of your breathing, your pulse, and your heartbeat.

he tapped his finger against the armrest before slightly grinning. he clicked and held down a button on a stand, marked with a small, white square. he commanded, “bring my wife to the observation room.” he then grinned once he gained a reply, knowing someone had gotten the message.

you, on the other hand, were reading a book in your bedroom, bored out of your mind, as you didn’t know where your husband was. suddenly, a fist knocked hard on your door, three times. must’ve been a guard, as in-ho normally just walks into the room, as you both shared it.

you tilted your head slightly to the right, staring at the door before you placed a bookmark in between two pages. you wondered what it could be about. nothing important was happening today, right?

once you placed your hand on the cold doorknob and twisted it, you saw a tall worker in a pink jumpsuit standing in front of you. the square guard stated, “the frontman asked me to escort you to the observation room.” and stood still, eerily waiting for you to respond.

you mumbled, “um, okay,” then hesitated, as you stepped into your heels, “do you know why he asked me to go there?” he began walking, and you followed after him, heels clicking with every step you took.

the guard shook his head and walked a short distance, until he arrived in front of a bland, pink door. you shook in anticipation, giddy to see your husband again. the guard knocked his fist on the door, then after a couple of seconds, opened it and held the door open for you.

you bowed your head as a thank you and shot him a gentle smile. he bowed back and closed the door, causing you to turn around. you quickly noticed the room was padded, most likely a soundproof room. two doors were lining the sides of the walls, leading to a larger space, where your husband was watching a doll place her hand on something. he sat on the left side of the double seat, next to a coffee stand. a bright chandelier hung above him, lighting up the room.

did he invite you so you could watch the first game together?

he felt your stare on him and smirked to himself. he asked, without turning around, “are you going to come up and sit down, honey? wouldn’t want your legs to hurt from standing for so long.” he smiled once he heard you shudder from feeling nervous. he always knew what you felt like, even if you didn’t know yourself.

you slowly traveled to the spot next to him, looking at him up and down, eyeing his all-black outfit. you sat next to him, thighs touching as you noticed his black mask to conceal his identity. two glasses sat next to one another on the coffee table, a subtle reminder that he was always thinking about you. a bottle of whiskey was placed on the table next to the glasses, which your husband began to pour into the small glasses. he handed you yours first and stared at you for a moment.

you crumbled under his intimidating gaze, rarely having the ability to know what he was feeling. you wiped your lip with your index, asking, “do— do i have something on my face?” your eyebrows furrowed in worry, not wanting to look bad in front of such a handsome man.

he mumbled, “no,” and continued to eye you up and down, as if he wanted to memorize every part of your body. glancing at your lips for a moment too long, he placed his hand on your thigh, caressing the skin uncovered by stockings. he couldn’t help but stare at your plump lips, wanting his on yours for eternity.

in-ho wouldn’t stop staring at your lips, but of course, you noticed. you tried to hold your grin back, heart pumping as his staring made you nervous. maybe catching him off guard would make him stop staring.

so you gently placed your hand on the back of his neck, pulling him into the kiss, eliciting a groan out of the man. even as you heard people talking from the game, he moved his hand down to your ass and placed both of his hands there, picking you up and placing you on his lap, not breaking away from the kiss.

you giggled into the kiss and cradled his face, rubbing your thumb on his cheek. the kiss was slow and passionate, as if both of you were trying to savor how the other felt in your hands, falling apart just for one another.

even as you heard an unfamiliar robot-like girl speaking, and the sounds of many footsteps running, you continued to move your lips against his. he ran his hand along your back, wishing he could feel you more through your soft fur coat. but you slowed your movements down, wanting to watch the game he had worked so hard on.

you slowly pulled away from him, causing him to needily chase your lips, wanting more. he gripped your thigh with want, you let out a small whimper, almost inaudible. as you rubbed his chest, he stared at your soft eyes, looking up at him as if he hung the stars and created the universe. he had never felt more loved than he had with you.

as soon as you sat back down on the couch, in-ho swiftly brought your legs up to his lap, gently taking your black heels off, wanting you to feel comfortable. he smiled at you after he gently placed them on the ground near the coffee table. his touch tickled your thighs, gently rubbing up and down as he watched the games from the window.

you suddenly heard a gunshot, making your eyes go wide as you tucked your knees more into yourself than him. he noticed the small movement and rubbed your calves, attempting to soothe you and your nerves. multiple guns fired, and people laid on the ground, blood pooling around their bodies, trying to run away from the doll.

in-ho clicked a remote, playing the song ‘fly me to the moon,’ which went with a model, containing toy singers that moved on beat. as the doll exclaimed, ‘green light!’ then ‘red light!’ no one dared to move a muscle. a player began to shout out commands, and the whole group quickly formed into lines at the next green light.

as the doll yelled, ‘red light!’ the leader of each line would halt first, and the last person in the line would stop last, however, the doll couldn’t detect their movements. it was a smart idea, you had to give them credit. your husband seemed displeased, however, as his hands halted, keeping his hands steady on your thighs. he sighed in frustration, but now it was time to soothe him. you grabbed his hand and held it, rubbing your thumb on the back of his hand. he glanced at you and his eyes spoke for him, he wanted to say thank you, but was too frustrated to speak.

gunshots began to fire, due to players pushing one another, sabotaging each other, as humans were greedy and always wanted more. their own life was important to them, but they didn’t seem to care about taking the life of another, as it wasn’t theirs.

but in-ho unexpectedly turned to you and stated, “i’m participating in the games this time.”

your heart dropped.

[ozzgin]

It is the 19th century and you are returning home by ship. Before you embark, you happen to find a glowing shell abandoned by the docks. It seems that the sea creatures are searching for it. Or maybe it's something else they're interested in. content: gender neutral reader, violence, dubious consent, based on Return of the Obra Dinn

January 1802 What's the matter with me, I wonder? As if my luggage wasn't heavy enough already, I had to drag around a big shell of sorts. Found it by the docks while I waited for my ship to arrive. It has a strange glow to it, this shell. Can't quite place it.

January 1802 Cheeky bastards! The seamen are such a flirt. From the moment I stepped onto the main deck, a handful of them haven't dropped the whistles and stares. One of the topmen - I recall he's Scottish? - he's been pestering me about the ship. "I'll show ye around, can't find a better guide," he says. His mates laugh and clap to his petty attempts.

February 1802 Some of the sailors are dying from lung illness. I was on the orlop deck, playing cards with the three Russians, when the surgeon rushed to one of the cabins ahead. "If it was contagious, we'd all have it by now. Damned if I know what it is, or where it comes from," I could hear him groan. I wondered out loud if I might catch it myself, but then I noticed one of 'em rascals trying to cheat the cards. February 1802 I saw it again tonight. Ever since we launched from Falmouth, as soon as the sun sets, there's an eerie glimmer in the distance. It reminds me of this damned shell. Are my eyes playing tricks on me? Oh, the sea is so terrifying in the dark. There's nothing but black stretching all around. My window is low; whenever the waves break against it, the wooden walls let out a groan that awakens me from the deepest slumber. Surgeon gave me pills to sleep. The creaks of the ship sound like a weeping maiden. February 1802 I think the cursed glow is getting closer. I couldn't sleep anymore, so I snuck onto the main deck. Scotsman found me wandering towards the bow, so he quietly hoisted me up by the waist. I thought he'd tell the Captain, but he sat me on the lower rigging, next to him, and we listened to the waves. I was afraid I'd fall off, but he kept a steady hand on me. I wish I could tell him about the light stalking our ship. Would he think I'm mad?

February 1802 Second Mate returned today on a small boat. We heard shouts coming from upstairs, so we rushed to see what was happening. Bosun had his pistol readied next to the Captain, and the sailors lifted the cargo from below. I thought I was dreaming at first. Some creatures, unholy beings, were caught in the net. They had the body of a human, but thick, fish tails covered in spikes. One of the Formosan passengers muttered something in Chinese, and some of the tail spikes suddenly pierced him dead. The old Miss next to me fainted on the spot, and the stewards urged us to leave. Right before I turned, I noticed one of the beasts pointing at me. It had a monstrous grin on its face. Oh, what a sight! The Scotsman guided me away, but I can't forget those eyes. Was it malice? Such an intense stare, burning straight into my soul. Now that I'm writing all this, a memory has come to mind: the creature had the same shell as mine, dangling from its neck.

February 1802 The pills no longer work. I can't rest anymore. Every time I close my eyes, I hear its wretched voice, calling me from the lazarette. That's where they locked those sea monsters. It sings nonsense, blasphemous lies. We're not fated soulmates. I've nothing to do with those devils. I should've never picked up the shell. I can only pray we reach land soon.

March 1802 God, oh God, what disaster has befallen us? I don't have much time. The gun deck is in shambles, more than half the crew dead. Underwater beasts have crawled their way up our ship; strange humans with spears, saddled on top of crabs larger than I've ever seen. The poor midshipman, oh, a young boy! He set himself on fire to stop the nightmarish fiend. Threw the lamp across the floor, and the flames swallowed both of them up. I scrambled up on the main deck, but there was no peace to be found; colossal tentacles sprawled around the ship, pulling the rigging apart, tearing humans like insects. The Captain's wife was struck by a falling pillar, I saw her crumble right before me. Scotsman is still alive, but his arm is missing a good chunk of it. I don't know where to find the surgeon.

March 1803 They left. They took the last boat, I only found out this morning. I tried to join them, but one of the sailors stopped me. "Witch," he shouted at me, "the beast down by the cargo hold screams your name. You must've called it here, brought this curse upon us." I don't know what he's talking about. Tonight I'm going to the lazarette, I can no longer bear the calling. This blasted fiend, oh, he's ruined me. I'll rot on this wreck. Mother, I don't think I'll ever reach the shore.

Your steps are hesitant as you tiptoe your way around the dried blood and debris, until you reach the locked chambers. The door is bent and folded away, as if hit by a great force. You do indeed notice the round prints against the rusty surface: giant suckers from a blasphemous being.

There he is, the wicked varmint who plagues your sleep! A pale creature is propped up, halfway out of the water, welcoming you with a toothy grin. The shell around his neck glows mockingly.

You throw your own shell at him. The small, ivory object rolls with a hollow thud.

"Is this what you wanted, damned monster?"

"Why, what am I to do with two?"

His voice is harsh and deep, rapping against your eardrums, scratching the inside of your head.

"I've been waiting for you. Can't leave this place without my beloved, can I?"

"There you go again with this nonsense. Villain! Drown me if you must, but spare me your deceit."

His smile falters, eyes narrowing in a frown.

"Is that how you find my love? Some petty lie told by a charlatan? Ungrateful brat, who do you think freed you from their shackles? Who do you suspect has summoned the leviathan, from the deepest trenches of the sea, to save your mortal soul?"

"The kraken left with the storm," you counter as the blood drains from your face. Could it be that you were to blame, after all?

"No, it left after the bargain."

He pulls himself up and sits on the edge of his former cage. You observe his features in mild awe: the texture of his skin, the dark locks of hair reaching all the way to the tail, the spikes breaking out of the thick, hard scales.

"What bargain," you ask fearfully.

"The last ones are free to escape, if they leave you to me."

Why, your horrified expression is not quite something he expected. Surely one must feel relief once their freedom has been guaranteed. And not just any kind of freedom - you've been returned to your soulmate.

He's spent weeks chasing the currents, trailing the faint glow in the distance. He hasn't stopped once, tail pushing forward to the promise of a reunion.

Yet, you seem unsure. Perhaps his approach has been too hurried, too nonchalant. You need a little bit of convincing, and he happens to be a master of courting.

His thorax suddenly expands, and you can almost hear the twisting sound of his ribs cracking and breaking under the pressure. A sweet voice rolls out of his mouth, a song you've never heard before. Your heart pounds tremendously, threatening to burst out of your chest, and a foreign panic floods your senses.

Despite your desire to flee, your lids are heavy, eyes slowly closing. Through your lashes, you can discern the beast crawling towards you, the same defiant grin plastered on his face.

It's time for you to come home.