#fic: kalopsia | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

merryfortune · 1 year ago

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Rhapsody in Kalopsia

Title: Rhapsody in Kalopsia

Ship: Rockdustshipping | Earth/Spectre/Ryoken

Fandom: Yu-Gi-Oh! Vrains

Rating: T

Word Count: 2,614

Tags: Post-Canon, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Eventual Fluff, Established Relationship, Polyamory, V-Shape Relationship

The thing about Spectre, Ryoken had long since observed, and usually with great suffering, was that he was an incorrigible optimist. An unyielding idealist. Usually to the point of denial or delusion but it kept him alive so why complain?

Well, Ryoken would like to complain actually because he was the one who had to exist alongside this kalopsia of Spectre’s.

Though he did have to admit. Of Spectre’s ability to transmute anything into a positive, this should be the easiest one for Ryoken to bear and yet… it somehow got on his nerves the most. Which is quite the insane admission, even for Ryoken to make considering how he had been through thick and thin with Spectre for the past ten years.

From the very moment Ryoken had met Spectre, face to face, he could tell that there was something more than a little off about this child. He was beaming and he was more than eager to join Ryoken, follow after him like a lost puppy. As far as he was concerned, even though they were in the cold, drenching rain, it was all sunshine and rainbows.

Then he began to explain the circumstances of how he had got here, waiting for something - someone - outside the base of operations for the Hanoi Project. How he was an orphan. How he was bullied. How the only things he felt were worth living for had been taken from him. The first, the Hanoi Project and then the second… which was a tree he considered his mother that had been cut and felled for unknown reasons.

Yes, well, Ryoken had a lot of questions after that. Not many he wanted to ask but certainly they swarmed in his head, clogged on his tongue. There was something very incredibly, direly strange and wrong with this child. Though, Ryoken had always quietly suspected such.

Ryoken was the witness to the crimes of the Hanoi Project and the suffering the children had endured throughout but the boy in Box Number Four… He was always the quickest to stand up again, the quickest to grin and laugh and shrug off the pain and hop back into another Duel. Win or lose, it seemed all the same to him as it gave him great, if twisted, joy.

Ryoken thought it was resilience at the time. That Spectre, this particular child, was just so driven that nothing could knock him down, that his courage was to be considered admirable. That yes, it was resilience and nothing less, that prevented him from breaking where the other children hadn’t. Or, either that, he was simply not present when he did breakdown in tears, unable to get up again, rocking and self-soothing like the others, banging to be released from their captivity.

Now, Ryoken saw that it sort of was resilience but it sort of wasn’t, either. There was no upside to having his Mother Tree cut down but he did get to meet Ryoken. There was, however, an upside to being unlawfully detained, starved, and electrocuted, though. For whatever reason, that was fun to Spectre. Ryoken wasn’t going to claim that he understood it but the way in which Spectre adapted was incredibly remarkable.

No matter what happened, what cards he was dealt, Spectre took it on the chin and with a smile. And also probably rose coloured glasses but whatever helped. Ryoken was in no position to judge considering what he increasingly asked for from Spectre.

Everything from undying loyalty to killing the very reason he had been kidnapped in the first place, Spectre did it all with a blithe expression on his face. Well, usually it was more twisted than “blithe” but close enough. Spectre never asked for a thing in return for his service to either Ryoken or the Knights of Hanoi, he was just happy to have a place to belong.

That was, until, curiosity killed the cat.

Or well, curiosity tried to kill the cat but other happenstance killed it first and that was that. (Or was meant to be that.)

When Spectre began questioning why his Ignis never sought him out. In one way or another, all the other Ignis had sought out their Origins but Spectre did his best to put a lid on this curiosity. Even if it did burn him up inside, it soon became too little too late when SOL Tech got their hands on the Earth Ignis first. Before the rogue Ignises could or even before the Knights of Hanoi could and that kept Spectre’s curiosity - and more importantly, to Ryoken at least, his loyalty - in check.

To further cement and salt the ground, Ryoken had said some things around this point in time that he would later regret and would later justify again. The Earth Ignis wasn’t problematic but he was still very, very painful in Ryoken’s eyes. Maybe not quite so painful that the death penalty for his existence was warranted but almost close enough, by a country mile or two or three. Maybe even as many as six.

Still, after this Incident, there was none for Spectre to wish for. The Earth Ignis was dead. All but one of the six Ignis were dead, actually, and the Dark Ignis was not particularly interested in living on as the sole survivor of his own kind and thus, calculated his own end by his own volition at the hand of his own Origin.

It was just a shame that Playmaker was not cut from the same cloth as Spectre. Spectre was content to cloud gaze, to look for that silver lining and be done with it. Admire it from afar even whilst wasting no time on the what could have been’s because that would make him feel sad and uncomfortable, something he was loath to feel as an innate pleasure seeker.

Fujiki Yusaku, however, dove head first into the worst of it and made the changes he wanted to see.

He was not content with a world where his partner had been taken from him. So Ai had to come back, he would force it, he would put all the pieces together and it would make for a happy ending. But as previously established, Ai could not be the only one of his kind.

So one by one, the other five Ignis were found and put into place again so they could live. It was an abomination but it was a happy abomination. And now, the end result of all that hard work was that Ryoken really, badly, desperately needed… ear plugs.

Good quality ear plugs that felt soft and squishy and let him sleep in peace and harmony. That would make Ryoken very happy in this change of circumstances.

There was more explanation for this, of course. It was a bit of a strange leap to simply go from the most sarcastic yay possible that the Earth Ignis was alive and well again to needing ear plugs. An unsarcastic yay was, however, necessary because the end of warfare with the Ignis and his own Father’s influence receding over the Knights of Hanoi meant that a new, happy ending was in order.

And that overjoyed Spectre.

Against all odds, in the face of impossibility, Earth had resurrected and been returned to Spectre.

Well, returned mightn’t be the most accurate way to describe it. They had never met after all. Separated, yes, technically, twice even. In the wake of the dissolution of the Hanoi Project when police and rescue had descended after Ryoken’s phone call and again ten years later when Earth had been vivisected by SOL Tech but it still wasn’t entirely accurate. But it was how Spectre wanted to call things and describe things.

Totally ignoring the fact that the baseline of happiness that he wanted which balanced his loyalties and his desires was for Earth to simply be with his own kind, never interacting but now that all paths had well and truly crossed… It was a return to how it perhaps should have been. Even if the Ignis had been deemed a successful and profitable business venture. The Origins and Ignis were partners. They belonged together. It was truly as simple as that.

The happiness that Spectre felt when he was finally introduced to Earth was near euphoria. The glitter in his eyes, the rapid beating of his heart in his chest, the smile from ear to ear, unhinged and free and surprisingly requited from the Ignis, too. It had all the hallmarks of a bonafide honeymoon phase, Ryoken realised from the sidelines, seeing echoes of his own first meeting with Spectre in that between him and his Ignis. It would fade eventually. Become a norm.

And it did but gosh Ryoken wished that it hadn’t.

It was selfish of him to say so but it all returned to Ryoken’s original point. He had an irritant to vent when it came to Earth and Spectre’s relationship as it affected him.

The entry of Earth into Spectre’s life, of course, also meant an entry into the lives of Ryoken and the scientists of the project and it was, as Earth would put it, socially awkward. They had created him and then in the next breath decreed that he ought to be destroyed and now here he was. Helping out with things like laundry and even assisting in their activities in the Link VRAINS to monitor it from threats who weren’t them.

It was strange to say the least but much like Yusaku and Ai, Takeru with Flame, and Aqua with both Aoi and Miyu, it seems that the relationship between Spectre and Earth really was a match made in heaven. The jury was still out on the other two Ignis not accounted for in this metric but it was safe to say that there was some sort of effort towards healing and reconciliation was on-going. It was not going to be instantaneous like the other four Ignis and their partners but it didn’t seem impossible. It was just going to take time.

Meanwhile, it had taken no time at all for Spectre to adapt and for Earth to adapt, as well.

The other Ignis - namely Ai, Aqua, and Flame - were not thrilled at the idea of Earth being submerged into the hierarchies and echelons of the Knights of Hanoi and Ryoken was much the same. It did seem to be playing a dangerous game but given how petty Ryoken’s grievances currently were, it was probably fine. Ryoken was doing his best to tamp down on this issue so as to prove that he and the other Knights had turned over a leaf but damn if it wasn’t difficult.

See, all the Ignis have a certain quirk of movement. When they moved, the mechanisations of their artificial bodies produced certain noises respective to their element of their attribute. Rushing water, flickering fires, strong winds. That sort of thing and in Earth’s case, it was the harsh noise of grinding stones.

It was a terrible, horrible, no good, and very annoying noise. Ryoken hated it. Spectre, in his infinite wisdom, loved it. In fact, Spectre considered it to be a most marvellous white noise and it was exactly in the bedroom, when they were trying to sleep, when it annoyed Ryoken the most. Earth was completely and utterly oblivious to this problem as he just did what he was told.

And what he was told was that he couldn’t leave Spectre’s side.

This was for a multitude of reasons.

Ryoken didn’t like the idea of Earth having free roam of the ship whilst he and the others slept. Ryoken doubted Earth would do anything which would be considered an issue globally or on a scale far grander than they of the Knights of Hanoi would worry about.

However, his earnest attitude got him in trouble anyway. He was klutzy and awkward, causing problems in the plumbing when he tried to do a good deed and clean the toilet unasked or other such scenarios. There was a way for every chore to go wrong and go wrong disastrously at his command. He wanted to help a little bit too much and that caused annoyance or trouble unintentionally.

And the other reason why Ryoken didn’t want Earth to stray too far from Spectre because, well, Spectre loved him dearly and the novelty of him still hadn’t worn off. Earth was far superior to a new toy to cuddle and squeeze and that made Ryoken’s skin crawl but letting Spectre have him made him happy so… Ryoken obliged.

Through not only gritted teeth but a pillow fixed over his head so he could try to get some sleep in peace and silence.

The Ignis didn’t need to sleep, after all. Humans did. Earth couldn’t go too far but he needed to keep himself entertained. Most of the time he stayed put, read a book but even that sometimes proved too noisy given every page turn was accompanied by the ear-splitting noise of grinding stones.

Well, Ryoken thought they were ear-splitting noises. Spectre, meanwhile, thought they sounded quite pleasant. The compromise was obvious. Ryoken needed ear plugs because there was no way he was going to ruffle Spectre’s feathers by suggesting that no, his new favourite sound in the whole wide world was awful and terrible.

Lying in bed with Spectre, it was a simple pleasure. The sort of pleasure Ryoken had once thought would be impossible for him. There was too much in the way of their relationship, surely, despite the more than budding attraction. They were master and second-in-command. Witness and victim. There was guilt and suicidality but here they were.

Snuggled up, cuddled up under the sheets. It was too kind. All of it was impossible, surely, and yet here Ryoken was, breathing in the scent of plants that had been watered or body soaps that smelt like roses. His heart skipped a beat as he felt Spectre lift an arm over him and peck the side of his face with a kiss.

“Good night.” Spectre murmured.

“Good night.” Ryoken replied.

“Good night!” Earth piped up, making third and making Ryoken groan.

“Just put them in already.” Spectre laughed.

“I will.” Ryoken complained.

Now he shuffled over, pulling out his draw, fishing for the container he kept his ear plugs in but by his side, Spectre was still relaxed and on the other of Spectre’s side, as was Earth. He sat with a very big book which should keep him busy until morning, he was perched on the side of Spectre’s Duel Disc, more like a nightlight himself than anything else. This had become their nightly ritual.

Never in a million years, in a billion simulations, Ryoken ever guessed there was a route which would lead him to be in a V-shape relationship with Spectre and an Ignis. But he was at least a little happy about this impossible scenario that was made real on the piggyback of Playmaker’s efforts. Even if Ryoken was a grouch about it, some of it performative, some of it coming from a place of genuine dread but it made Spectre happy and his happiness meant a lot to Ryoken.

Sure, a lot of it was bizarre and inexplicable. Sometimes even twisted and vicious. It sometimes even seemed like it was more denial than it was genuine joy but when it was sincere, Ryoken cherished it. Even if it meant that he had to wear ear plugs to bed nowadays, it was so unbelievably worth it to see Spectre so happy and that the sound of grinding stones as Earth moved became rhapsody in kalopsia for him.

#rhapsody in kalopsia #yugioh vrains #vrains #rockdustshipping #yugioh #ryoken kogami #kogami ryoken #spectre (vrains)#earth (vrains)#writing tag #another fic title bingo i can square off is kalopsia #i have had a note in my fic ideas channel on my discord reading spectre + kalopsia and no elaboration for years #so i am happy to think that i've squared the prompt off even if it was likely meant to be spectre's pov #but i like using ryoken's for this ship <3

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shady-swan-jones · 1 month ago

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Alternative timeline

Elf-lover by mildthemes

Remember Me Like This by shady-swan-jones

Another Tale of Darkness Indeed by Hopeful_Foolx

This Fate Bound Throne by callitagift

Salt of the Sea and Iron Smoke by @poopsiekitten

Reforged in the Making by FormerlyIR (Irony_Rocks)

Bound to His Being by ChapterEight

A Deal with the Devil by Iblametumblrformyproblems

Poison & Wine by @coraleethroughthelookingglass

Human Halband

what makes night within us may leave stars by essaupe

These Hands are Rated E for Everyone by NumquamCedam

The Best Laid Plans by @ichabodjane

The Heat & The Pulsing Rush by AnMorrighan

The Adventures of the Low Man by @ichabodjane and @somebirdortheother

Heal What Could Be Hurt by NumquamCedam

But listen carefully to the sound of your loneliness, like a heartbeat, drives you mad by coraleethroughthelookingglass

Impulse Control by NumquamCedam

I Met the King of the Southlands Once (AND ALMOST DIED) by NumquamCedam

Back Into the Furnace by BetoWrites

I Could Get Used to This by orphan_account

Keeping Watch by @name1name1

Post s1

Know My Name As It's Called Again by @deceivedcomet

A Lord and his Builder by @90shaladriel

Lavage by kimsey

Binding by CartaEscarlate

Beautiful Lies by Ottertale

Queen of Night and Stars by @90shaladriel

King of The Southlands

The White Queen by LadyRosalune

Queen of the Southlands by FormerlyIR (Irony_Rocks)

Unsired by @shady-swan-jones

Shake Like the Bough of a Willow Tree and First Impressions by @myfavouritelunatic

Numenor

consolations of the flesh by framboise

All It Takes To Bind You by @shady-swan-jones

cry of the mourning petrel, tooth of the sea by @rain-sleet-snow

kalopsia by properhaunt

to call dark deeds good by prettybrilliantfunny

banquets have burned for you by @conundrumoftime

Adrift by bartagnans

The Souvenir by @somebirdortheother

A Curious Case of the Cart Trying to Push the Horse by orphan_account

What Happens in Numenor by @youwearfinethingswellwriter

Hands on You by @lisenberry

A Beacon Of Stars by @jhalya

Lady of the Seas by @conundrumoftime

i cannot heave my heart into my mouth by fallofrain

Slice of Paradise by @scriberated

Perfection by @nenyabusiness

All We Are, Flood Damage In The Dark by @klynnvakarian

Season 2

Splashes of colour on shades of grey by @mirroringdust

mitosis by @orcas86

the too plentiful light by @thefudge

More Painful Sacrifices by myfavouritelunatic

Until the Dawn Comes by @scribblecat27

light of the Two Trees by dxrklina

Primal Play by thenagil

destitute of the light he once craved by @mirroringdust

That all encompassing feeling by @naldoreth

and laid her soiled gloves by by @mortaltempless

A Goodbye by @youwearfinethingswellwriter

the labyrinth that binds us by eastwynds

Teeth by pinkishtea

A door, once opened by @maeday1551

I put a spell on you by @sixofwaffles

Darkness Bound by no_more_doubt

Stars & Shadows by @nowforruin

if that is to be the way of things by @hazelmaines

Epic Adventures (50k+)

A tragic age by @stitchingatthecircuitboard

The Trials of Mairon by bynightmylove

That Which Lies Across the Sea by @theriverwild

I could be your king by @cliffdivingsblog

Shadow-Bride by @conundrumoftime

In Case of Defeat, Break Glass by eastwynds

The Venus of Valinor by @thecoziestbean

Instruments of Salvation by @scriberated

The Lesser of Two Evils by @thrillofhope

Across That Fine Line by @myrsinemezzo

Beautiful Creature of Darkness by @pursuitseternal

Rainbow of Chaos by yletylyf

Litost and Beasts of the Hill and Serpents of the Den by @demonscantgothere

Special fics

the nameless by bimmyou

Half Moon by vuas

The Mirror and the Palantír by @oroniel

Dubcon/dead dove

Hérincë by @mzladybird

those who eat, those who are eaten by thehoneydoll

Until the Dawn Comes by Scriberated

Trespassers Beware and Lord of the Werewolves by @pursuitseternal

Part 2 - Modern AU, Explicit & Bonus (coming soon)

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honey-aerondight · 26 days ago

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need to tell this to wolf and have him be soft for me and only me

#wolf keum #seongje keum #weak hero #nocturne kalopsia #banana milk #everlong #wolfsbane #all of her fics tbh

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ao3feed-larry · 2 years ago

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Kalopsia

by delsicle

“I cannot believe I found you,” Louis sighed, his mouth still smelling like lime and Corona. “Sometimes I feel like you were made just for me.”

The words made Harry float high above the earth, twirling amongst the Milky Way, too much happiness to be contained in his body at what the words were, what they meant.

How every decision he had made in his life was the right one if it led to Louis, and every decision he would make after that would continue to be the right one if it meant he could keep him.

Harry spends Valentine's Day with his husband. Dark AU.

Words: 9204, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English

Fandoms: One Direction (Band)

Rating: Mature

Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings

Categories: M/M

Characters: Harry Styles, Louis Tomlinson

Relationships: Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson

Additional Tags: Dark, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Abuse, Medical Procedures

via AO3 works tagged 'Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson' https://ift.tt/sA9jqRF

#author #larry stylinson #larry fic #ao3 feed larry #Kalopsia #<p>by <a rel= href="/users/delsicle/pseu

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randomdragonfires · 5 months ago

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Kalopsia | One Shot

Text Divider by @saradika-graphics

Kalopsia (n.) The delusion of things being more beautiful than they really are.

SUMMARY | She associates the words with brighter days and happier memories that she’ll never get back. And yet, when he utters them into her ear, they've never sounded more tainted and wrong - but she'll tell herself they aren’t, until the lies become truth.

PAIRING | Daemon Targaryen x Reader

WARNINGS | 18+; smut; DD:DNE; penetrative sex; dubious consent; exhibitionism; forced prostitution; canon typical sexism; infidelity; angst; ambiguous and unclear motives for sex - both Daemon and reader are fucked up people in this story, and there is much about their mental conflict that may be quick to trigger someone. Please read with caution.

WORD COUNT | 8.8k

A/N | This is a dark fic with heavily triggering themes. Please don't hate anon me. Thanks. :)

SHE REMEMBERED THE DAY SHE MET HIM.

It was a hot summer’s day when the sun had burnt her through her dress, leaving her sweating and reaching for a drink of water every few moments. He was a vision - flying through the skies of Pentos on the Blood Wyrm, with his beautiful wife, the lady Laena Velaryon right behind him as she rode the historic wonder, Vhagar. They were a wandering couple, and talk about them had been rife in the Free Cities - dragon sightings were feared, what with the Rogue Prince’s reckless nature making people assume that he’d bathe them in dragonfire for his personal amusement.

She remembered seeing them fly out of Pentos the first time, to tour the other Free Cities. This was almost a year ago. By the time they’d come back to reside with the Prince of Pentos, the lady Laena had suspected that she was with child. Based on what she saw of the royal couple, Prince Daemon, in his own way, was appreciative of his wife.

But being appreciative of his wife certainly did not mean that Daemon Targaryen was in any way blind to everything else around him. It was this fact that had led his eyes to her.

A striking purple, and they had met her melancholic, unmemorable ones from where he stood as the Prince of Pentos barked orders and asked her to see to Lady Velaryon’s every need. His gaze held a very peculiar combination of condescension and amusement for those around him, and she was pulled to him, in the same way that fishes were to the sea. Her world seemed to melt as she looked at him in all his Valyrian beauty - it stunned her.

He took one leisurely glance at her - beginning his perusal of her, neck to navel. His eyes rested for a moment longer between her legs, and she’d never forget the way her thighs quickly met under her skirts in a desperate attempt to keep herself contained.

It had been a long while since she felt anything but the fleeting sense of sadness that had taken over every part of her since she had lost it all and ended up in this city. And now, as Daemon Targaryen lingered - nay, took over her line of sight, she felt something more, more, more.

She did not know what to think about the slow storm brewing in her mind, so she chose to disregard it for a time. This was royalty, and this entire matter was well and truly beyond her weight. She should not bother with the likes of those who were higher and mightier - those that would never choose her and harm her with no regard.

But the intense wildfire-like heat that passed through her body was hard to ignore, especially given the potent lack of it in the last many years. It scared and excited her in equal measure, and regardless of the possibility of danger, she could not help but be drawn to him. She felt like an ungrateful, wanton whore for lusting after another woman’s husband - a very good woman, she would soon find - but how could she reject the man who had woken her passions once more, after she thought they were long lost to her? All with just a single look, no less?

It was often said that the Targaryens were closer to Gods than men. With their dragons, intoxicating eyes and intense gazes, she was inclined to agree.

It was why she brought him his bathwater and helped him with his bath every morning after his dragon ride; why she scrubbed at his scarred skin with the washcloth even though he was in no need of assistance. She cleaned his chambers, and continued to do so even after he’d stepped in and burned her with his stare. Of course it burned, he was the blood of the dragon after all.

She found herself bringing his heated bathwater despite the flight of stairs that she had to brave while carrying the weight. She helped him in and out of his clothes everyday, listening to his commands like a mindless soldier who only did what she was told. She always looked for him, even in a chamber of more than a hundred people - her young girl’s gaze, flitting about - trying to find his spun-silver hair.

Whenever she caught his gaze, he was already looking.

She supposed she'd never get tired of the heat pooling in her belly whenever she was in his presence - or how her hands found their way inside her already dampened smallclothes whenever she pictured him with shut eyes at night time.

Perhaps that’s why she felt like it was a long time coming when he creeped up behind her, hand holding her in place as it snaked around her waist. His palm flattened against her stomach and the other held her neck, squeezing just enough to make the heat rush to her cheek and between her legs. He brought his nose down to the side of her neck, laughing darkly as they breathed each other in, and she let a small whimper escape her lips.

��What took you,” she breathed out before adding, “…so long?” He responded to her meek attempt at a question with a sharp bite to her neck and a growl, effectively silencing her voice and awakening the fire in her once more.

“Don’t be too loud, you’re going to wake my wife,” he whispered before turning her around to meet her eyes.

Those words should have woken her up and brought her to reality. She should have awoken from her wistfulness and tossed her fantasies where they’d bother her no more. This was a married man, a married prince.

This was wrong, wrong, wrong.

But the blood rushing through her veins, the excitement of being coveted and central to a man’s gaze - it excited her in ways that she had never been before. The allure of him was hard to ignore, and by the looks of how eagerly his hands were slipping under her haphazardly hiked up skirts, he felt the same way too.

She’d missed this feeling - this feeling of being alive and full of life. The prospect of excitement and a renewed zest for life, after all she had been through, had only pushed her towards him a lot more.

Wrong, wrong, wrong.

She was blind to the dangers of the man, and she'd never been happier to remain ignorant. She did not want to want him, and she hated that she did. She did not say yes to his command, or emphatically agree. She simply took his lips in hers and sunk her fingers into his hair, reveling in the feel of his rough hands holding her backside in a tight grip.

She may not love him, and she did not like him. But she wanted this, she needed this. She needed to feel something, anything at all. She supposed that there’s something that he wants too - though she does not know what.

She soon found that there was very little in their burgeoning arrangement that would favor her fantasies, and that Daemon Targaryen simply did not care - for anyone.

“WILL YOU BE NEEDING ANYTHING ELSE, MY LADY?”

Laena Velaryon is undoubtedly one of the most beautiful women she’s ever laid her eyes on. She is also one of kindest souls she’s ever had the courtesy of encountering - which is why her guilt eats at her tenfold whenever Daemon seeks out her company.

She wants to say no. She wants to say no each time.

Initially, it was an infatuation that was within her control - but the day she had indulged and let her body overshadow her mind, it had become a bit much. Initially, he had sensed her hesitation despite her being welcoming. He’d plied at her with sweet words, each syrupy sweet and meant to break through her doubt.

She melts each time, her weak will giving in like water slipping through her fingers.

Conflict is a funny thing. Each time his hands pin her wrists above her head as he takes her for all that she is, or when he’d let a finger slip through her smallclothes and glide through her folds, she wants to say no. She wants to be the good girl that her mother believed she was, but the pleasure was too much. The high that he takes her on each time is too much to ignore, too good to pass up on.

She wants to say no. The words wait at her throat, but refuse to tumble out of her lips.

It is wrong, but she wants to feel pleasure. She wants to be reminded that she is a woman worthy of pleasure, and she feels good- no matter how guilt-ridden - each time his cock sinks into her. No other man has wanted and loved her like this before, and despite the horridness of it all, she finds that she cannot say no - no matter how hard she tries.

However, she doesn't know what he wants. Daemon Targaryen wears his intrigue as well as he does his arrogance and condescension. She never knows what he wants - but she also worries that she may not like what she finds.

She will find out soon.

“That will be all, my sweet,” Laena says. The exhausted smile she wears as she cradles her hugely pregnant belly makes her want to throw herself at her feet and cry for mercy - but she is too in deep. How could she tell Daemon she didn’t want to share his bed anymore? How could she, when his power and famed temper may just harm her?

I’m sorry your husband fucks me each night. I’m sorry I like it. I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.

What right does she have, after allowing it all these times? What right does she have, after enjoying it each time? She doesn't love him, but in those moments, she loves what she feels. The regret that follows is gut-wrenching, but she chooses to indulge each time. It was a blind and burning desire, and it is this very same wave of emotion that compels her to follow his instructions, blind and eager to please.

A servant walks into the room and looks towards the window, eyes flitting about and nervous. “The Prince Daemon has asked to see you, lady.” Her tone is apologetic, and when Laena Velaryon stands, she feels herself crumble to a thousand pieces. When she is half-stood, the Valyrian beauty realizes it is not her that her husband wants to see tonight.

“Go. He doesn’t like to be kept waiting,” she murmurs. A heavy sigh escapes her lips as she sits back down, the weight of the impending babe taking a toll on her.

I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.

She is ashamed of the peculiar heat pooling in her belly as she walks out, unable to meet Lady Laena’s eyes. The walk to Daemon’s chambers has her head facing the floor as some of the other servants eye her and whisper the words.

Homewrecker. Whore. Concubine.

She wonders about how she could still want him after all the irreparable damage that she’s taken in her mind. She wonders when her lack of spine would dissipate, and when she’d be able to reject him outwardly and speak her mind. She wonders when she’d be able to make up her mind and stand by her decision.

She hates that she enjoys it, she hates that she’s at the center of it all. But he brings her to her peak effortlessly and with such intensity that she forgets for a moment, for just a moment, how wrong all of this is.

She pushes the door open and gulps at the sight of a half naked Daemon Targaryen sitting at the edge of his bed, hands pumping his cock with no urgency. The languid movements and his haphazard state of undress - his linen undershirt doing little to hide the lithe muscles underneath - make her head spin. He is yet to touch her.

She watches, his presence magnetic as he pulls her attention easier than he should. His gaze then finds hers as she stands frozen near the door, his breath a mangled mix of moans and groans as his hand refuses to relent. He looks at her as he continues his movements on his cock, and her thighs slap together while she folds her hands just below her breasts, pushing them up above the neckline of her dress.

A drop of sweat trickles down the side of her face as she makes her way to him, each step feeling labored and long as she positions herself between his legs. Her view of his cock is undisturbed and clear, and she hates that it is the most beautiful one that she’s ever seen. Slightly leaning to the left, the girth of it impresses her each time he pushes into her, making her feel fuller than ever before.

She continues to watch his hands move, movements as slow as ever. Her eyes are fixated upon the light silver hair that marked a path below his abdomen, and the veins that marked their way through his erect cock. The glistening white pearly drops of seed on the tip called to her, and her mouth began to water.

“Take it” - he grunts through his pleasure - “off.”

She’s been in this position long enough to know what it means.It is one thing to lust after a man from afar, and another to be fucked by him. It is neither safe, nor ideal for her to be using her mouth on a Westerosi Prince whose wife was only one door away. And yet, they’ve been giving each other company for almost a year.

She works through the laces on her front one by one, her focus on his almost black, dilated pupils. He wants her, and she wants him. It is seemingly simple, and yet it is the most complicated entanglement she has ever known.

He’s never been the most patient man to grace these halls, and it is evident as he stops the hand on his cock and stands up. He reaches for the dagger on a tray of fruit by the table, and swiftly cuts through the loops in a series of flicks. Each time the dagger cut through, the stray threads flew about and he dusted them off with the same disregard and impatience.

“You’re going to take my cock in your mouth like the good girl that you are,” he growls. Candlelight illuminates his face as his dagger makes its way through the fabric, revealing her soft skin and exposing her breasts to him.

Wrong, wrong, wrong.

And yet, as the cool metal of his dagger grazes over her nipple ever so slightly, the fire in her burns bright. Her fear dictates that she say no and run before it can spiral into something beyond her control, but the faint waves of pleasure that cause the dampness between her thighs keeps her there - almost as though her legs are stuck in quicksand.

The dress pools at her feet and she steps out of it, his hurried hands removing her shift. And when they stand, facing each other - and she wishes this was something else.

She wishes this was a simple and innocent love affair. She wishes that this was a man she could love, one that would love her just the way she would. She wishes that there was more comfort to be gained from this than the highs of the pleasure in itself - It will never be enough for her.

She reaches forward and kisses him flush on the lips, devouring his as she slips her tongue in. He bites into her lip and she tastes the copper of the blood bubbling through; he grabs her by the hair and pulls her up to meet his eye. “I said -”

“Please. Please, just… Please. Let me have this.”

He leans back and assesses her for just a moment before swooping in and taking her lips in his, no questions asked. And when he kisses her so, she can try to convince her little girl’s heart that this - what they have - is a lot more beautiful than it is meant to be.

The kiss makes her think that this is what the heavens would feel like, should she ever manage to meet the caress of a lover who’d love like she could, like she wants. A gentle and calm hand, a kind disposition that would care. But it does not last long. He is quick to wrangle her mouth away and join her forehead to his, breathing in the scent of her as she closes her eyes and wonders how this could ever be what she wants, wrestling with the contrasting realization that she has not been loved like this, not ever.

But is this love, really? This cannot possibly be love. No. She’s known love before. It is simple, easy and comforting. Nothing about this is.

She wants it just the same.

It is this thought that occupies her mind as she gets down on her knees. The stone cold floor and the ridges grate at her knees almost immediately, moving slightly as she bobs her head back and forth. She slowly but surely adjusts to his length, choking a little and allowing the spit to pool in her mouth, dripping down to her chin by the side of her lips. If she didn’t know better, she’d have mistaken him gently wiping it off with the tip of his thumb as affection.

She grabs his thigh with one hand and massages his stones with the other, her head continuing to bob back and forth relentlessly. His hands grasp at her hair, keeping the stray strands at bay as she reminds herself to breathe through her nose. She moves almost mechanically, forgetting him and his towering figure as she wonders. What do I look like to him? On my knees and eyes pooling with tears?

It is a common saying among the common folk - A King’s child will be royalty, and a whore’s child will be a whore. She is the daughter of a whore, and she hates that the words may hold true for her too.

Mama wanted for me to be more. Dignified and happy. She should not have died and left me alone.

She remembers a time when her mother had brought a friend of hers from the whorehouse back home. Her mother was a favorite amongst the nobility, and she’d entertained both the then-Prince Viserys and Daemon.

She’d become with child soon after, and had her. The idea of either man possibly being her father is sickening to her, given the position she now finds herself in. Of course, it will not matter much to them, with their Valyrian blood and queer customs - but it makes her want to cry her eyes out and worry about the kind of sickness she must inhibit to want Daemon Targaryen as much as she does despite the knowledge, despite the wrongness of it all. Her only consolation is that she has no Valyrian features. There is no way of knowing for sure, and she chooses not to entertain these thoughts while being aided by this realization.

“Good girl. Go on,” he moans. His voice immediately brings her out of her reverie, and the words are enough to send her conflicted conscience spinning on its head.

Good girl, good girl, good girl.

Her mother called her a good girl many times before she died. The connotations of the word when they tumble out of Daemon’s lips make her want to retch. He probably believes that the tears are because of her choking on him, but she knows.

Those words meant much and more to her once upon a time, but not anymore. The loss hurts her more than it should. A lost childhood, a happiness that slipped through her fingers through no fault of her own. A much happier and carefree time that is now out of her grasp.

Her thoughts are interrupted when Daemon pulls her up - a thread of spit flowing out of her lips as she adjusts to an empty mouth - and pushes her, caging her between him and the cold stone wall.

Good girl, good girl, good girl.

WHENEVER SHE THOUGHT OF THE TIMES that she got called a good girl, her mother was always the first to come to mind.

The city of King's Landing - she’d spent almost her entire life there before running onto the ship to Pentos - sprawled around them like a tapestry woven from the threads of countless lives. Towering structures of stone reached for the heavens, casting long shadows that danced across cobblestone streets worn smooth by time. The bustling crowd, a mosaic of colors and voices, flowed like a river through the labyrinthine alleys. The scent of roasted meats, exotic spices, and the ever-present stench of refuse mingled in the air, creating a symphony of odors that was, somehow, comforting in its familiarity.

Her mother worked at a whorehouse nestled amidst the chaotic and filthy heart of the Street of Silk. It was a place where laughter and merriment battled with sorrow and desperation, where secrets and pleasures were shared over wine, closed curtains and weak beds. As a child, she was vaguely aware of the nature of her mother's work, but she didn't fully grasp its complexities. What she did understand was that her mother often came home weary, her shoulders burdened by the weight of the world - or by bite marks and blooming violet bruises.

"Why would anybody bite you there, Mama?" she had asked once. Her mother had only chuckled, but she did not look happy. It always worried her. The bites always looked red, angry and painful.

It was the same bite mark and a line of violet bruises on her mother’s shoulder that she focused on today as she overheard her speak to her friend - another whore who worked at the same whorehouse. She watched as her mother exchanged quiet words with her friend, their voices a hushed whisper as they discussed their day.

“He does something magical with his mouth, Brenna. You would not believe it!” Her mother’s friend looked very happy as she giggled and recounted a story that she caught pieces and fragments of. The mother herself did not look happy, however - the little girl knew when her mother wasn’t happy. Don’t ask how, she simply did.

“I suppose I’ll see you tomorrow.”

The evening sun painted the walls with warm hues, and as the other woman departed, her mother sank onto the edge of the bed. a far-off look in her eyes and a heavy sigh on her lips.

Without a word, she fetched a basin of water, warm and soothing, and knelt by her mother’s side. Gently, the child removed her boots and began to massage her mother’s tired feet, her small, untrained hands working diligently to ease the discomfort to the best of her ability. The older woman closed her eyes, and a soft smile graced her lips as the tension in her muscles began to melt away.

In that moment, she saw her mother as more than just a tired whore; she saw her as a woman who carried the weight of their little world on her shoulders. The love she felt for her was immense, and it swelled within the child like a river after a storm. But the bite marks and the bruises still looked painful, and they still scared her.

And so, the child’s curiosity got the better of her, and she let the question slip from her innocent lips. "Will I have to work there too when I'm grown up? At the whorehouse?"

Her mother’s eyes flickered open, and a shadow of sadness crossed her face, barely noticeable but unmistakably obvious to her daughter’s young heart. She took a deep breath and then, with a gentle smile, replied, “Perhaps you won’t have to. Maybe you'll find a husband who'll love you more than anyone has ever loved me."

"But I love you a lot, Mama," the young girl said, her voice filled with innocence and devotion.

With a tender sigh, her mother pulled her close, wrapping her arms around her as if to shield her from the harsh world beyond that she was yet to see.

If only.

"And I love you, my sweet child," she whispered, pressing a gentle kiss to her forehead. "You are such a good girl. You’re my little girl."

In that moment, the girl felt a profound sense of pride in being her mother’s daughter, in the simple act of bringing comfort to her tired soul. The city of King's Landing may have been a tumultuous sea of chaos, but in that room, with her mother's arms around her, she found her anchor, her safe harbor, and a love that she hoped would guide her through any storm.

HER BACK PRESSING INTO THE STONE WALL MAKES HER SHUDDER.

The cold sensation grating against her skin and the eerie chill of the night air make her weak in the knees. Daemon Targaryen’s cock moves against her cunt like it belongs there and nowhere else - the irony of that thought while his wife waits for him in her chambers close by is not lost on her, but she cannot deny how strongly she feels that the man is made for her.

Even if he truly was not.

His lips are immediately on hers, and she devours them for all that they are worth. She enjoys being kissed - it helps her feel wanted by him.

Even if she knew he did not.

Her hands move to the hem of Daemon’s linen undershirt, pushing it up, up, up until it is carelessly thrown halfway across the chamber. She only has one moment to get a look at his naked figure before he pushes against her and cages her between his towering figure and the wall once more. The feeling of heat passing through the pair of them and the smell of sweat and sex is intoxicating to her in a way that she struggles to put into words. Her cunt is wet with arousal as she whimpers into the kiss, allowing him to slip his tongue into her mouth.

Time stops when they kiss. She supposes it is a beautiful thing, no matter how wrong it was.

Do things have to be right for them to be beautiful anyhow?

Her breasts are flush against his chest as he takes a hold of them, pinching her nipples until they hurt and she gasps into his mouth. He does not stop, however - her pain only seems to spurn him more, and she is ashamed to find that she is aroused as well. One of her hands travels above his neck and she tightly grips onto the root of his hair, pulling until he is in just as much pain and pleasure as she is. The other moves over the scarred planes of his back, almost as though she was mapping out a route to paradise.

The feeling of his cock pushing against her wet cunt sends waves of pleasure coursing through her, the blood rushing to her head and making her feel hazy. She lets the touches take her to the Seven hells - both the man and the circumstances making that their only possible destination.

She wonders if Laena Velaryon wishes for that too.

His cock pushes into her, stretching her walls so wide that she fears he may just split her into two. She needs a moment to adjust and he is generous enough to let her have it as his lips descend onto her neck, leaving her staring blankly at the bed as she breathes heavily. She cranes her neck just a little as she lets his cock settle in her.

And then, he moves.

She often believes that she lives with an aching sense of yearning and pushes through each day finding something to leave her feeling fulfilled. It is an empty feeling really, and the only time she ever feels like she is not a living shell of a woman is when he takes her. The feeling of being filled by him is one that always takes her by surprise - but unlike the other times that she's been taken unawares, this is something she welcomes.

“Yne drējī sȳrī jiōrā, talus. Sepār otāptan, sepār ñuhys ēdruryssy iemnȳ.” [You take me so well, niece. Just as I believed you would, just as I imagined.]

He always says these words whenever he enters her, and she never manages to retain them long enough to ask what they mean - the high of her peak always leaves her mind feeling like melted gold, taking away any chance for coherent conversation.

Is he referring to someone? Is he appreciating her? Is he saying that he loves her? Somehow, she knows it is not the latter. She won’t have to try and remember to ask tonight - she would find out soon what it is he has gotten out of this all these days.

Every thrust is punctuated by grunts and moans, with both of them hungry for more. She meets every single one of his harsh thrusts as one of her hands slips in between them both, circling and pressing onto her pearl like her entire life was dependent on the pleasure that came from it.

It made sense. The pleasure he gives her each time is what keeps her alive.

Each brush of his flush pink tip against a rough spot inside her cunt makes her eyes roll back in pleasure. He hits it with each thrust as he pounds into her, face always wearing a mask of pursuit - but of what?

What does he want from her?

Her hand on her pearl and his cock in her is swiftly building a pool of heat in her belly - no, not the blazing kind, but a warm kind. It builds, builds, builds and she flies, flies, flies until she can’t go any higher, and she lets herself go limp in his arms as her peak takes over her entire being.

“That’s it….” He grunts, pushing into her while punctuating each thrust with his words as he relentlessly pushes into her. “Good girl. Dāeremās, sȳres riñus iksā.” [Let go, you’re a good girl.]

She sees red as the pleasure washes over her, vision becoming hazy and rendering her incoherent for many a moment before she manages to bring herself back down to earth. And as the sights around her become clear again, she clings onto him and breathes while looking over his shoulder.

The world looks newer and brighter each time she comes down from the highs that he causes. And in this moment, his last words hit her like the stone wall that she stands in front of.

Good girl, good girl, good girl.

How can a pair of words remind her of what she was then and is now, all at the same time? How can these words hold so much power that they’d coax her into paradise and leave her there, lost and wanting for more, more, more?

She leans back and holds herself straight, looking into his eyes for only a short moment as she gathers herself. It is a deep sea of bright violet and she drowns, drowns, drowns.

She's been drowning in him and trying to catch her breath for a long while now. She's not sure if she wants to be saved - she wants a hand, and pushes it off too.

What does that mean for her?

Good girl, good girl, good girl.

The memory forms in her mind as Daemon Targaryen moves them both and turns her around to make her see out the window - fully naked. She braces herself with two palms holding onto either sides of the window as he pulls her backside to him and spreads her wide, leaving her glistening and sensitive cunt open for him to take once more. His hand moves almost softly over her rear as he enters her once more, this time purely to chase his own release.

“Good girl.”

KING’S LANDING WAS BUSTLING WITH TRAVELERS THIS TIME OF THE YEAR, and she was now fourteen summers old.

She had blossomed into womanhood, her youth adorned with beauty and a vague innocence - yet tarnished by the harsh realities of her life. She toiled at a tavern, where raucous patrons screamed sweet syrupy words at her, attempting to lure her away with their promises.

“I’ll show you a good time, lass! C’mere!” The man at the table said, patting his thighs and indicating that he’d like for her to sit on his lap.

She had witnessed her own mother endure such advances, and now, as a grown woman, she was the object of many a man’s desire. She was both confused and intrigued, for the attention made feel disgusted yet wanted at the same time.

On one seemingly uneventful day, she counted her earnings - four copper pennies - and began to try and do the addition to determine how much more she would need to settle her mother's debt with the ominous madame of the whorehouse that her mother worked at. Her brother was meant to bring home his pay too tonight, and the sum of their combined efforts held the promise of lifting their family from the pit of debt that had ensnared them. As she left the tavern to head home, the weight of her responsibilities hung heavily upon her young shoulders.

Along her path back home, she encountered a pair of inebriated travelers, their intentions dark and menacing. They seized her arm, grip threatening to harm her fragile spirit. In the midst of her fear, a figure emerged from the shadows, a protector amidst the dangerous chaos. It was Brynden, her brother’s Riverlander friend - she has secretly admired him for years. As she held onto the stone walls of the roads for dear life, he confronted the drunken men and drove them away from her.

She could not help the slight blush on her face as he checked if she was alright. Her mother once told her that she might find a husband that would love her - is this what love is?

Her young heart believed that it was.

Once he was sure that she was alright, Brynden brought her the news that he’d wanted to tell her. Her brother, it appeared, had squandered his earnings on ale once more and now lay incapacitated on the side of the Street of Silk after finishing an afternoon at a whorehouse. Determined to shield her mother from disappointment, she rushed to her brother's side, her heart pounding with a fervent resolve.

The smell of baked treats and food soon morphed into fragrant yet strong oils, wafting from half-naked women hoping to get a man to pay for their cunts. As she looked around, she finally found the whorehouse that her brother frequented.

She found him in a pitiful state, his speech slurred and incoherent as he mumbled in his inebriated stupor. Anguish welled within her; he would not be bringing any money home this time either. But despite her frustration, she could not help but love him. He was her brother, and the bonds of blood ran deep.

Gently, she guided him through the winding streets, their journey fraught with the weight of her responsibilities and the uncertainty of their future. He babbled on, his words a testament to his gratitude and admiration for her sense of duty.

“You’re a good girl, sister,” he’d said, his voice trembling with affection. “Good girl.” She pressed a tender kiss upon his sweaty forehead, her love for her brother transcending any and all disappointments.

As the night unfolded into dawn, she herself succumbed to the embrace of sleep, her brother beside her, a fragile moment of solace amidst the tumult of their lives. When she awoke, he was gone, vanished into the shadows of the city, never to be seen again. Her heart ached with longing, but she never harbored resentment. She waited, and in her waiting, she remained faithful to the last words her brother had spoken to her.

Good girl, good girl, good girl.

In the years that followed, she missed him every day. Her mother's health deteriorated, the weight of their struggles taking a toll. But she persevered, striving to be the good girl her brother believed her to be, even in his absence.

Those two words became a guiding light, a reminder of the love they shared, of what she always hoped to be.

THE COLD AIR HITS HER SQUARE IN THE CHEST, and she is made aware of how exposed she is.

Daemon’s apartments are located at the topmost floors of the Prince of Pentos’ home. From where she stands, with her naked figure holding onto either side of the window as he takes her from behind, she has a clear view of the city at night. Logs of fire are lit and fitted onto stone walls on the roads, and the blurred fiery orange is visible to her as she looks down at the city that saved her. Any passerby close to her can crane their neck up just a little, and see her naked in all her glory, from neck to navel.

Her breasts bounce as Daemon’s cock moves in and out, shining in the moonlight that her figure now obstructs, keeping the light from entering the dimly lit chamber. She lets out a strangled moan as he bullies her spot with each thrust, grunting and moaning in a mix of pleasure and exertion. The sweaty sheen on her forehead dries in the chill of the night air, and her line of sight is unstable with the way her head moves with the rest of her body.

“You like this, don’t you? For the entire world to see you spread out and wanting like this…” he says, with his lips nibbling on her ear enough to make her scream. “For them to know that you are mine. Fuck, fu-uuck!”

Mine, mine, mine.

Is it such a bad thing to be? In this moment, as she rolls her eyes back at wave after wave of pleasure and the rapid heat blooming in her belly once more, she supposes it is. She will hate herself for wanting this when they are done for the night - but she’ll cross that bridge when it comes.

Or burn it.

“Fuck,” she whispers as she loses herself. The shame of being put on display for every common man and woman to see is non-existent, but her heart drops at how she hates that she likes it.

A whore’s daughter is a whore too. How quickly had she given in, after all that she had done to escape a fate that wasn’t her doing?

With one particular thrust, she pushes forward a bit more than expected. She worries that she’s going to fall, fall, fall - the drop would be deathly steep and long.

She imagines what the fall would be like if her grip wasn’t tight. Her naked form falling down with her hands unable to find any purchase, flailing about as she is suspended in the air. She’d probably see all the bricks and windows in close view - perhaps, someone leaning against another window may scream as they notice her falling to what she hopes would be death, naked as her name day.

Would she be able to live it through if she miraculously and unfortunately survived that fall?

Almost as though he sensed her fear of slipping, Daemon’s hands move away from the loose grip they have on her waist. One hand snakes around her breasts and his forearm presses into her pebbled peaks, while the other cups her cunt and covers it from the cold completely. A fresh wave of arousal takes over her as he groans at the wetness that now coats his palm. The sudden warmth of his hand has her whining and moaning for more, and she moves, riding against his palm, wanting for more, more, more. It would seem that they are both insatiable tonight.

Daemon picks up the pace, his movements speeding up as she senses his desperation for release. She feels his cock hit her all the way up to her lower belly as the coil builds once more, giving her the excitement as she anticipates the sweet pleasure of release once more. She almost gives in right then, knees buckling and legs almost melting as she feels herself fly high, higher and higher still once more. Her peak washes over her in an instant as he pushes deep, her cunt only protected from the stone wall below the window by his palm.

It is a particularly long wave of pleasure that takes over her, making the hairs on her body stand upright as she struggles to stand on her own. Fire courses through her veins and her face is flushed as she finally smiles, drinking in the intense pleasure as Daemon’s thrusts get slower and slower until he spills in her too - a mix of grunts and moans as he falls apart.

The heady mix of sweat, slick and seed dripping down her thighs is enough to make her hazy and feel light in the head. Her head seems as though it is filled with cotton as her thighs quiver, making her experience relief like never before and she wants to turn and kiss him, hope to let the delusion that he loves her fester in her head a bit more and give herself the luxury of feeling genuinely loved for just a while as he-

“Good girl, Rhaenyra.”

His hands have moved away and he quickly pulls out of her, making her move forward. The stone wall hits the dark mound covering her cunt as she winces at the sudden emptiness - from both between her legs and her heart.

She’s lost her home, her memories, her happier days and a life that she loved. She’s lost enough and more for a lifetime. Daemon was never hers to be considered a loss, and she knows it too. And yet, as the realization that even his sex-addled, ill-meant compliments weren’t hers to own washes over her, she finds a lone tear slipping from her eye.

The salty taste on her lips feels like home.

Good girl, he’d said. To whom was he saying it, really?

TWO YEARS HAD PASSED SINCE HER BROTHER WALKED AWAY FROM THEIR LIVES, leaving an empty space that seemed impossible to fill. She was now a fully grown woman who was struggling to make ends meet in the bustling streets of King's Landing. Life had grown harsher with each passing day, and now, a shadow of illness loomed over their humble home.

Her mother had fallen ill, a fever that refused to break. She was too sick to continue working at the whorehouse, so they lived on scraps while the young girl’s earnings went toward settling their debts. She couldn't afford the services of a maester for her mother in the capital city, and the local healer's herbs offered little solace. Still, she continued to scrape together every copper she could find, pouring her earnings into the apothecary's pouch in a desperate attempt to buy her mother some time and relief.

Debt was a relentless specter in their lives. The madame of the local whorehouse hounded them incessantly, demanding the repayment of their debts. Her once cozy home felt increasingly suffocating, its walls closing in around them as they fought to survive.

One evening, as the sun dipped below the horizon, casting long shadows across the room, she returned home to a sight that sent a chill down her spine. Her mother appeared more sickly than usual, her brow damp with fevered sweat. She rushed to her mother’s side, her heart pounding with fear. She pressed her palm to her mother's forehead and felt the searing heat.

In her delirious state, her mother noticed her efforts to help and laughed softly, her voice a mere whisper. "Thank you my love, you’re a good girl," she murmured weakly, her eyes glazed with fever. The girl's heart ached, and she did what little she could to ease her mother's suffering. She prepared a hot bowl of soup and fed it to her mother, tears welling in her eyes as she watched the warm liquid spill from her mother's lips.

Good girl. The last words her mother had said to her.

The night passed in anxious vigil, but by morning, her mother was gone. She had wept bitterly, her tears soaking the tattered bed linens that held the memory of happier times.

Days later, the madame of the whorehouse came knocking, a cruel glint in her eyes. She had no sympathy for the loss, only an insistence that the debt must be paid. With ruthless determination, she thrust the girl into her mother's role, forcing her to walk a path that her mother had promised she’d never have to.

“Maybe you'll find a husband who'll love you more than anyone has ever loved me,” her mother had said once. The words had no power or weight as she braced herself to welcome the lustful drunks of King’s Landing with a closed heart and open legs.

Distressed and terrified, the girl found herself in a living nightmare. The once-bustling brothel became her prison, and her innocence was sacrificed to repay a debt she had not incurred. As the first man walked through the doors that fateful night, she realized that her life had taken a dark and irreversible turn, and there was no escape from the cruelty of King's Landing's unforgiving streets.

She remembered looking at the ceiling as she whimpered, the pain of being taken for the first time making her well up in earnest. The bed made a series of creaking sounds as she let him have his way with her, and the gold coin that he’d flicked at her abdomen afterward shined like nothing she’d ever seen before.

“Gold?” she whimpered, unable to recognize the shiny metal. She looked at the coin in awe, and the man laughed cruelly.

“Maiden whores are worth more than the usual,” he said.

In all her years living in the stink of the city, she’d never felt dirty - but she did now.

With each night, she caged her heart and saved up the money. On some days, it’d be a penny and on some others, it’d be a silver stag. Every coin saved would buy her escape and freedom. And one night, she finally ran.

Five silver stags for a journey aboard the first ship she could find. To Pentos.

Her job as a chambermaid at the Prince of Pentos’s home came to her as a kitchen maid took pity and took her in. For months, she’d safely worked and made more money. They provided her with a little chamber that she shared with the other maids, and food so her belly would never feel empty. She’d escaped the brothel and she wanted to believe that she’d made her mother proud. She didn’t know if she was happy, but she was her own person again - it had to count for something, regardless of how empty she felt.

Three months later, a silver-haired Rogue Prince made his descent on the palace grounds, atop the most terrifying dragon she’d ever seen - awakening what was dead in her once more.

DESPITE HOW ROUGHLY HE’D HANDLED HER JUST MOMENTS BEFORE, she felt as though she’d been doused with cold water.

Rhaenyra, Rhaenyra, Rhaenyra.

She’d believed that she was a blot of shame on Laena Velaryon’s marriage, but it would seem that a silver-haired princess - the Realm’s Delight, his niece - was doing far worse in her absence.

Had he been taking her from behind, hoping against hope that if he closed his eyes and thrusted enough, he’d be able to picture her?

She turns around, the thrill of being put on display while in the throes of pleasure wearing off of her. She walks over to the table near the fireplace with unsteady steps, and slips on the robe that he’d discarded - possibly before she’d stepped in. The wine pitcher invites her with open arms, offering her the comfort of ignorance and forgetfulness as she tries to wrap her head around finally finding out what he’s wanted all this time.

She wanted to be able to feel something, and he wanted to feel her. Neither of them wanted each other, and she supposes that the field is now even. Somehow, she feels a bit more powerful with the knowledge that she wasn’t just someone that he took mindlessly, but was someone who helped him satisfy what she now clearly sees as his guilty desires.

She must have known. Rumors of whores being asked to call him uncle as he fucked them dizzy have floated about before - she thought they were lies, but now she’s seen firsthand how true they are.

He was married to a woman whom he probably wishes was someone else. He was straying from his marriage vows with another woman, not even the one who he wished for. She wonders if Rhaenyra Targaryen knows how deeply she is wanted and loved.

She wonders if she will ever be loved the same way. A whore's daughter will also be a whore. Is she a whore now? Has she become what she tried to escape? And worse - does she genuinely enjoy it?

They accompany each other in silence, the only noise being the cacophony of thoughts in their own heads. He slips into his soft trousers and sits on the edge of the bed as she passes him a goblet of wine. She sits opposite him whilst nursing her own goblet, simmering in her thoughts as she muses about her life’s journey - from a mere happy tavern wench to a prince’s solemn bed warmer.

There is a knock on the door that brings both of them out of their reverie. The servant slips in when Daemon mutters his permission and she takes in the sight of them both before looking to the floor and murmuring words that are inaudible.

“Speak up, girl,” he says. As the servant maid breathes in, she has a startling realization. His Valyrian words, the ones that she did not recognize or understand - were they for Rhaenyra too? She does not plan on asking. She supposes she’ll never know.

“Lady Laena has begun her labors, Prince Daemon.”

The servant scurries out, leaving the door half open as Daemon throws his head into his hands. She sets the goblet aside and stands in front of him, taking his head in her arms and letting it rest on her robe-clad abdomen. Her hands run over his hair in a soothing motion, almost in a lover’s embrace. Almost.

In this moment, she can tell herself that what they have is more than just sin and adultery. In this moment, she’ll tell herself that what they have is not dirty, but beautiful.

“Go. She needs you,” she murmurs, the words once again reminding her of the precarious position she finds herself in. He walks away after dressing himself, and in the wee hours of the morning, the Prince and his wife welcome twin daughters - Baela and Rhaena.

Only four days later, she finds herself being summoned to his private apartments once more. She is now about to fuck a man who had not one, not two, but three girls in his life that he would disregard when he takes her - all in delusional pursuit of a woman who is half a world away. She hates what she is about to do, and she hates that she is already wet and wanting.

She wants him. Despite it all, she wants him.

Wrong, wrong, wrong.

Her mother and brother called her a good girl, once upon a time. Would they say the same about her now?

Somehow, she knows that the answer is not something she'd want to hear.

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stanurines1mp · 2 months ago

Text

Summer Nights

Pairing: Satoru Gojo x Fem!Zenin!Reader (she/her)

type: angst.

an: based on this post of mine. this was long asf 17k words but i separated it into 2 parts. uhh sm thoughts about gojo. also oml desperate gojo is so hot. gojo is so hot. i want him so bad. also i need gege to bring him back but also not but also yes. anyways, bear with me on this fic okayy

warnings: enemies to lovers-esque, forbidden love, one bed trope, angst, zenin!reader, DESPERATION HEAVY ON DESPERATION. i think that's it for part 1.

tags: @kalopsia-flaneur @bloopsstuff

Part two

~~~

Being the strongest is everyone's dream but in Satoru Gojo's experience, almost nothing good ever came of it. He would know, of course. The strongest sorcerer, the bearer of the Six Eyes, lived with a mountain of regrets.

What did it mean to be the strongest if he couldn't save everyone? What did it mean to be the strongest if he ended up alone? What did it mean to be the strongest if, in his lifetime of darkness, he had to leave the only light in his life that stood in the shape of you?

Satoru Gojo was not just a victim of the title of being the strongest. He was also a victim of his ancestral rivalry with another one of the three great clans in Jujutsu society.

The Zenin clan was known for its strength, even surpassing the strength of the Gojo clan as a whole. But there is not a single person, sorcerer or not, that could surpass Satoru Gojo just yet.

You were the closest one to it.

When Satoru enrolled in the Tokyo branch of Jujutsu High, you were brought to study in the Kyoto branch. The only time you had ever had to interact with him was during the Goodwill Events that had taken place over the course of both your high school years.

Even then, neither one of you had gotten any closer past simple acquaintances. But, you had always held a deep dislike towards the bearer of the Six Eyes.

The Zenin clan may be known to the entire Jujutsu World but the workings of the clan were hidden beneath words of their strength. You experienced it first-hand.

Having been born a woman in the Zenin clan, you were doomed to a certain type of future from the start. Much like your mother and many other women in the clan, you were forced to succumb to a childhood of serving the men of the clan.

Falling victim to their selfish needs and desires, you were submitted to their way of life. Always having to listen to their constant rambles and complaints, you were trained to heed their orders like servants.

And since many in the clan held dislike and hatred towards Satoru, you couldn't help but share their sentiment, having embedded in you that you should hate the heir to the man who once killed your ancestor.

After high school had ended, Satoru became a teacher. Your own classmates had pursued their dreams and aspirations to become sorcerers.

You, however, were stuck with the system of your clan.

You were truly a strong sorcerer, bearing an extremely powerful cursed technique but you weren't a full-time sorcerer. Or rather, you weren't allowed to.

However, there were special cases in which a mission was much too difficult or complicated that the higher-ups would request a partnership from you. Oftentimes, you were partnered up with Satoru.

Satoru Gojo was a man of too many words. His laidback personality and carelessness often swirled your blood with anger.

His never-ending rambles about nothing often had you wishing your ears were torn off. His routine of disrespecting the higher-ups was truly insufferable, leaving you as collateral damage in certain missions.

But the one thing about Satoru Gojo that truly had you crashed out with an unknown mix of emotions was the fact that above all of that, Satoru Gojo remained a caring man.

Even to you, his supposed enemy.

The girl from the Zenin clan, yet another one of them that fell nimbly to the words of the sadistic men in power. He hated weaklings and you were one of them, in that sense. But he never seemed to hate you.

No one outside the clan knew how the women of Zenin were treated. But Satoru Gojo could have guessed. And his guesses turned to knowledge.

Since Satoru Gojo knew that, it would have meant that he knew you.

So despite your glares and hurtful jabs at him, he never took any of them seriously. If anything, he made sure you could always feel comfortable to act that way around him.

Even more than that, you've witnessed him in action countless times over the missions you were both partnered up on. Without even realizing it, you somehow grew a fondness in your heart in the color of his eyes, respect taking place somewhere in there.

But he was a Gojo.

And you were a Zenin.

You were both fated to be enemies, to hate one another.

You had to always remind yourself that.

Every single ti-

"Hi," his honey-trailed voice appeared in front of you, his lips wearing a cheeky smile while his hand splayed out in a wave.

"Where the hell were you? We were supposed to leave 20 minutes ago," you seethed, eyes sending him a glare.

"Relax," he dismissed with a wave of his hand before entering the car.

"Relax? We were waiting for 20 minutes!" you nagged, your words falling right into deaf ears.

You followed after him and took a seat, closing the door with slight aggression and annoyance to the man next to you who seemed to disregard anyone else's sense of time and urgency. You leaned your head on your fist, resting neatly by the door of the car.

Your eyes followed the blurred images of the road outside, pops of colors merely to you. In a few hours, the car halted to a stop, the sky already a deep shade of blue with brightened stars illuminating the night sky.

The door of the car clicked open as you pushed it away and took a step out of the vehicle, Satoru doing the same thing on the other side. You walked to the back of the car, meeting him there while your driver opened up the boot.

Reaching out, you took your bag and waited by the sidewalk. You sent a friendly wave to the driver, watching as he drove the dark-colored car away. Turning around, your gaze lifted to the modern building that was the hotel that had been booked for you and Satoru to stay the night.

"Oh, and just so you know, they only booked us one room," Satoru grinned, sparing you a glance with his covered eyes.

Your own pair of eyes widened upon hearing his words, scrambling to follow behind him as he walked first into the hotel. Part of you were skeptical, unsure whether or not you should believe Satoru's words.

But his words were proven to be the truth when you both reached the receptionist. Satoru handled the technicalities and you watched as the man handed the sorcerer two keycards.

The white-haired shaman turned to you and handed you one which you then took and kept in your pocket. Following the receptionist's words, you both turned the corner to get to the elevators, clicking on the 20th-floor button.

Silence crept upon you both as the elevator took its sweet time to reach the 20th floor but you were the first to break the silence.

"Honestly, why didn't they book us two rooms like usual?" You frowned, toying with the keycard in your pocket.

"Budget cuts," Satoru simply replied but you only met his eyes with a deadpanned look.

"Yeah, right," you let out a scoff, returning your eyes to the small monitor that showcased the current level of the elevator.

"It's the only room available," he chuckled lightly at your reaction. "It's a pretty famous hotel," he added to strengthen his words.

You hummed lowly in acceptance, eyes only focusing on the monitor. The elevator was cold and dimly lit with warm-colored lights and borders of carved wood.

Satoru's gaze fell to the floor temporarily before following your own pair of eyes to witness the white-colored numbers changing from one number to the next. A sharp release of air escaped your lips once the digital numbers displayed a precise picture of 20.

The elevator doors opened with a ding, and Satoru stayed behind to give you the way to get out first. He followed behind you as you led him down the cozy corridor, stopping in front of a wooden door that had a small plate on it with the number of your room.

You fished out the keycard from your pocket and held it gently against the metallic scanner by the handle. Instantaneously, the light on the scanner flashed a bright green color, sending a slight buzzing sensation against your fingers.

You turned down the handle and pushed it open, with Satoru immediately behind you. He placed his right palm against the wooden door, pushing it against the wall to ease you to enter the room.

A slight thud emitted from the door closing and you and Satoru took off your shoes before moving deeper into the room. The minute you did and noticed the arrangement of the room, you heard your bag meet the floor in a light thump as your jaw dropped in absolute horror.

"What in the actual fuck?" You twitched with disgust, your emotions emphasized with each passing word that slipped past your tongue.

You heard Satoru laugh from next to you, undeniably grinning like a smug little shit at your expression but it only made you angrier. One queen-sized bed was staring you right in the face, its neatness almost mocking you indirectly.

"It's just a bed, princess," he teased, walking past you and setting himself on the edge of the bed, only fueling your displeasure with that nickname he loved to use for you.

The first time he had called you by it, you were frowning at him like he was a creepy pervert inching to touch you. But he justified his choice of nickname by saying that in the Jujutsu World, you were the closest thing they would have as a princess.

It made no sense to you but apparently, it did to him. Though a lot of things were like that, you thought. Regardless, you were stuck with it.

"It's one bed, Satoru. One," you pressured, your eyes thinly glaring at him.

Like the concept of him calling you princess, this was yet another situation where you and Satoru did not make sense of things in the same way. He seemed unbothered whereas you were extremely bothered.

Shaking your head, you walked past the bed and towards the couch, placing your bag on the floor next to it. "Guess I'll take the couch, then," you mumbled with a shake of your head.

"Wait, what?" Satoru laughed, the sound a kind of harmony that washed over with familiarity but in the moment, it only added to your internal torment. "Don't be ridiculous, the bed is big enough for us both."

"As if I would ever sleep with you," you huffed, unzipping your bag to take out your toiletries and clothes for the night.

Curse the moon and the sky for having you live through this while bringing a short-sleeved t-shirt to pair with short shorts as your choice of nightwear to battle the heat of the summer night.

But you had no choice seeing as that was the only piece of clothing you brought for your sleepwear.

"Aww, you've thought about sleeping with me?" Satoru smirked with apparent humor.

You looked at him over your shoulder and scrunched your face in distress. "As if," you rolled your eyes, only earning a soft laugh from the man.

"But seriously, just share the bed," he persuaded gently, following your unpacking actions.

"I would rather step into Unlimited Void," you spat.

"Suit yourself," he shrugged though you couldn't see since your back was facing him but you could hear it in his words.

You hummed to yourself in approval and turned around, shock coursing through you upon noticing Satoru's fingers moving to unbutton his shirt.

"What the fuck are you doing?!" You almost shout at him.

"What?" He froze, taken by absolute surprise and clearly, oblivious to your discomfort. "I'm just tryna change," he shrugged mindlessly, not seeming to give a care.

"Go change in the bathroom, pervert!"

It was like Satoru's brain finally clicked to understand what you meant. Wearing his infamously annoying shit-eating grin, he provoked you.

"Don't tell me you're not the least bit curious, hmm?" His words buzzed through the room, taking a note lower than usual, his head slightly tilted in a suggestive manner.

You could feel your heart skipping a simple beat, suddenly finding it hard to breathe but you maintained your composure.

"Not. A. Single. Bit," you assured him with a pause in between words, arms crossed tightly against your chest and eyes challenging.

"Sure, princess," he clicked his tongue and looked away, somehow finally allowing you to breathe normally again but only for a moment since next, he took off his blindfold, revealing to you his familiar icy blue eyes.

It wasn't the first time you'd seen them but somehow each time, you couldn't help but grow a little feeling of jealousy at how beautiful his eyes were. But you would never admit that, especially to him.

Not in a million years.

You watched as Satoru spared you a quick glance with his angelic eyes before heading towards the bathroom. You stared forward, body frozen until you heard the bathroom door close and click with a lock.

Another sharp exhale escaped you as you turned around to sit on the couch, praying that the little thing could give you a good night's sleep. You began reading up the file for the mission tomorrow, hearing the water begin to run in the bathroom.

Once you had done your reading and research, you decided to scroll on your phone while waiting for Satoru to finish taking his shower.

Soon enough, the running water stopped and moments later, Satoru left the toilet, taking a step into the bedroom with his hair still damp, droplets of water falling onto the carpeted ground.

His towel hugged his waist almost loosely and just low enough for you to notice certain details that you should not be noticing. especially on him. You looked away quickly with hopes that he hadn't caught your staring but unfortunately, he did notice you.

As he always had.

Thankfully, he hadn't decided to torture you and remained quiet but his lips were pulled up in a toying smirk, proud of himself for being able to catch even the slightest bit of your attention.

You walked past him to enter the shower, leaving once you had finished refreshing yourself.

Satoru was laid on one side of the bed, his back upright against the headboard while his legs were stretched out in front of him, dressed in a simple shirt and sweatpants. His hair was undone, a few strands falling over his eyes that were focused on his phone.

Next to him was the case file for the mission, leaving you to make the correct assumption that he had been reading up on it to prepare for tomorrow. You walked over to the couch and took a seat, ready to go to sleep.

"Are you actually going to sleep there tonight?" Satoru spoke, his voice sounding a little annoyed.

"What's it to you?" You raised a brow, eyes unamused.

"We've got a long day tomorrow and that thing looks about as comfortable as a shoebox," he said in a matter-of-fact tone.

"I'll be fine," you shook your head and lowered your body into a lying position.

"You do not look fine," he stated, eyes unashamedly staring as you fidgeted to find comfort on the cramped furniture. You remained silent in spite but after a while of tossing and turning, Satoru couldn't take it anymore. "For goodness sake, just share the bed."

His voice was raised slightly in annoyance, causing you to sit upright with just the same amount of frustration. Your eyes glared at him, mind contemplating your decisions. But eventually, your eyes glinted in the form of defeat.

"Fine," you huffed. "Only because I'm tired," you added, walking over to the bed and placing your phone on the nightstand.

"Sure, princess," Satoru grinned in victory.

"Just make sure you stay on your side," you emphasized.

"Sure, princess," he repeated his words, a softer tone taking place as he watched you get under the blanket.

Satoru took the files that were in between the two of you and placed them on the bedside table on his side. You made yourself cozy and turned to lie on your right side, back facing Satoru.

Unbeknownst to you, his eyes were stuck on your back, the way your hair fell against the soft sheets of the pillow, revealing the nape of your neck.

Your skin showed all signs of softness, mending and warming Satoru's heart with the urge to reach over and grace it against the tips of his fingers.

His lips were parted as if ready to say something, anything, just to get everything out in the open. But his head shook slightly to remind himself of the situation that lies beneath his strictly professional relationship with you.

Because he was a Gojo.

And you were a Zenin.

He had to always remind himself that.

His mind troubled and clouded with hints of you, he got under the blanket, careful to heed your wishes of having him stay only on his side of the bed. He sent you a glance, noticing that you had already turned off the lamp on your side.

Leaning forward, he turned off the light and whispered softly against the summer air, "Goodnight."

Your heart fluttered in silence at the sound of his voice so quiet in the night, feeling so distant when he was barely a meter away from you.

"Goodnight," you responded with just as heavy of a voice as he held.

Perhaps the burden that colored your wish was the same kind that he had. But you couldn't think that.

You forbid yourself to think that.

Satoru remained lying on his back, occasionally taking side glances to your back that faced him. You were quiet, softly breathing in an attempt to sleep.

He had no idea how long it was that he stayed awake in the quiet night. It was really silent that it felt loud and wrong. He wondered if you ever lived any moment in silence.

"Hey, are you sleeping?" His voice was barely a whisper but you were barely a hand-reach away from him.

"I'm trying to," you persisted, a hint of annoyance taking place.

Satoru felt a small pang of guilt for disturbing you. He let himself forget about you for the moment, and it took so much to do that when you were just there, lying next to him.

But he settled soon, falling into slumber with peace.

Having slept alone for most of your life, you were a light sleeper, easily waking up with any hints of movement that did not belong to you. And you were asleep, you were sure of it.

But it didn't matter anymore.

Your eyes jolted open in horror at the weight on your arm. Satoru's hands gripped your arm harshly but there was a sense of gentleness underlying his skin that met yours.

You were about to turn around and wake him up to give him an earful for not staying on his side of the bed when you heard the rustling sound of him tossing and turning.

His breathing was erratic as his lips emitted mumbled words of gibberish. You turned slightly, noticing how his closed eyes were in panic, lips quivering in fear and his skin was glistened with sweat.

He was having a nightmare.

Worried, you turned, pushing away his hand that held onto you like a lifeline. You leaned over the gap that lay in between you both, your own fingers reaching over to his arm to try and hold him in place but failed since his Infinity was on.

You could only watch as your hand struggled to reach him.

"Satoru," you called softly at first but he showed no response, too entwined by the horrific pictures his mind conjured. "Satoru!" You called again, louder this time.

His eyes tore open with a desperate gasp, his body erratic before settling down. His brows were furrowed, his eyes glassy, blue color boring right into yours. He was in a state of confusion, reeling back his mind and body to calmness.

"Are you okay?" You asked, voice soft and gentle.

His eyes searched yours.

All he could find was safety in the eyes of his supposed enemy. He swallowed the lump that stuck to the back of his throat, his head slowly nodding but lacking any sign of assurance.

"I-I'm sorry," he cleared his throat, fixing his position to remain on his side of the bed, much like your previous request to him earlier in the night.

"It's fine," you shook your head, your eyes hazy as you returned back to lying on the bed.

This time, you stayed on your left side, your hands resting under your head on the pillow. You were facing him, watching him carefully as he turned to meet you in the quiet of the night. His eyes were hazy, fluttering to maintain his breathing.

You could sleep.

Forget it happened, turn around, and just go to sleep.

But instead, you stayed, examining his features with concern, almost refusing to look away until he showed even a shred of normalcy.

You could sleep.

But instead, you chose to ask him in hopes of getting his mind to return to safe comfort. "Are you okay?"

Your voice was soft and intimate, traits Satoru rarely received from you in a more normal circumstance.

But he was receiving that care now and he almost wanted to be grateful for having to relive a painful memory since it meant that he could be with you in this moment.

"Just a nightmare," he answered almost consumed by pain, his eyes blue in more ways than one.

"I didn't know the strongest sorcerer gets nightmares," you chuckle softly with a hum, a desperate attempt to lighten the mood.

His lips quivered slightly in a grateful beam but his eyes darkened almost immediately at the reminder of the visions he saw in his dreams.

"Do you wanna talk about it?" You were hesitant, feeling your words slip out against the warnings in your mind.

You noticed the way Satoru's eyes widened with uncertainty, clearly taken aback by your question. His mind was wandering to find the words while his eyes searched yours for the familiar feeling of comfort.

"It was just something that happened when I was younger," he answered with a lingering doubt.

"If you don't want to tell me, it's okay. But if you do, I'm here to listen," you said, nodding a little as if to show your sincerity. "I promise not to be a dick about it," you joked.

Satoru let out a small laugh, it was laced with bitterness and relief at the same time. "When I was younger, there was this girl," he began, eyes looking everywhere but in yours. "She was a few years younger than me and she served for my family but really, she was more like a younger sister to me."

Your lips stayed shut, allowing him to further his story.

"One day, we were out and a Curse User was targeting me and ended up killing her," he finished with choked words.

"Oh my God," your lips emitted a soft gasp, your forehead frowning. "I'm so sorry."

"It's fine," he shook his head, playing it off but it was clearly lingering heavily on his soul. "It's just- I should have saved her, you know? I should have been able to. I'm the strongest."

"You were just a kid," you said gently.

Your words had acted as an anchor, taking him away from his thoughts of self-loathing. It was enough for him to meet your eyes again.

"You are so much more and so much less than the strongest," you whispered. Your feelings for him that you had been trying to ignore and suppress poured out with just a single call of his name, "Satoru."

Satoru Gojo was the strongest sorcerer, the bearer of Six Eyes.

But even he fell victim to your words.

His eyes leaked tears, surprising himself. But what could he do?

He should be the strongest sorcerer. But you said that he was more and less than that.

Satoru couldn't take away his eyes from you even if he tried but in what world would he ever try to do that?

But you thought that his eyes were the ones that were alluring, pulling you deeper and deeper into the rabbit hole of your feelings for him, clinging onto some sort of comfort in this world.

Your hand shifted from underneath your head, slowly stretching out to him, hoping to reach him but you were stuck. Like earlier, barely inches away from his skin, your palm was stuck in the infinite way time moved around him.

With your eyes longingly staring into his, you begged, "Your Infinity. Please, turn it off."

Who was he to deny you of your wish?

A smile graces your lips momentarily, your heart skipping a beat when you no longer feel the buzz of Infinity against your skin. Just a second further, your hand ghosted the skin of his cheek.

The tips of your fingers gently traced his skin while you shifted closer to him, feeling him stiffen under your touch before relaxing.

"I'm sorry, I've never cried in front of anyone like this," he stammered out his words, his breathing shaky as he felt closer to you.

"I know," you nodded. "You're always such a pain in the ass," you added with a soft laugh.

Satoru's lips were tugged in a small smile as he sniffled. "Shut up," he said, nuzzling into your hand that rested against his cheek.

"Satoru," his name slipped out your tongue in such an effortless manner, that he thought he was named Satoru specifically for you to say it.

"Hmm?" His hum took a tone higher, desperation entangled in his breathing as his eyes fluttered.

He couldn't help the urge he felt, the need to do more than just feel your touch.

His own hand traveled to yours, holding onto your wrist. His head turned slightly, placing a soft kiss on your palm next to his cheek while his eyes held contact with yours.

"What is it?"

Your breath hitched, feeling the gentleness beneath his kiss on your palm. It was reeling you in towards him in all the ways it shouldn't.

"We both hate each other," you repeated into the air between you two.

But it was useless.

That air that you breathed into was filled with longing desperation and need for each other. Your words were meant to convince yourself more than it was meant for him.

But it wasn't working, right?

Still, Satoru only smiled, his voice low and gentle as if anything louder could ruin the undisclosed passion held tightly in a string between both your souls.

"Yeah, we do," he nodded, pulling your hand away only to lift it slightly while he turned to place yet another kiss but on your wrist this time. "But, you're still here, with me. And that- That means something to me," he confessed.

"Satoru," you whispered sweetly.

Your mind was hazy with the feel of his lips on your skin, leaving you almost desperate with want. He was feeling the same way, if not more.

He swore he could never get tired of hearing the way you said his name, so sweet and gentle. It was truly meant for you.

Satoru looked at you expectantly, eyes filled with vulnerability. He gently guided your hand to rest on his chest, pressing it against his heart.

"Can you feel me?"

His heart was beating against your hand, the pace taking a quicker one as the frequency shifted into emotions. You nodded, realizing and understanding everything that he felt, mirroring your very own.

You could hear your own heart beating in a synchronized rhythm.

"Say something," he pleaded, adding, "Please."

Your brows furrowed as you allowed yourself to stare into his eyes. "We- We shouldn't be this way," you slurred.

His forehead creased, his hold on your wrist tightening slightly. "What way?" He asked with his voice unsteady and feigning ignorance just to keep this moment alive. "We're just talking."

You feel a sliver of courage consuming you as your eyes flickered momentarily to his lips. Using your hand on his chest, you pushed yourself further above the bed to meet him.

You felt just slightly the way the tip of your nose brushed against his, creating warmth as your lips only merely ghosted over his.

"This way," you murmured, your lips moving on his but not kissing him just yet.

Satoru froze, his eyes fluttering shut as he instinctively leaned into your touch. "It's- It's bad, right?" His voice trembled, hopeless in his need for you.

"Y-yeah," you nodded, remaining where you were against him. "But," you trailed, your heart growing louder in your own ears.

His eyes opened to meet yours, confused yet longing endlessly, a hand of his reaching to tuck your hair into the back of your ear before resting it on your cheek, fighting his selfish desires to pull you straight into his lips.

"But what?"

You closed your eyes, your voice choked as if about to cry. "But I want to kiss you so bad right now," you begged, letting your gaze fall on his lips.

His heart began to race, faster than anything he's ever felt in his entire life. His resolve was already crumbling and you weren't making it any easier on him.

There was nothing but a burning ache in the way you held yourself against him.

"I- I want to kiss you, too," he confessed, shaking as he did so. A moment passed and he worded, "But we can't."

You shook your head, knowing that he was right. "We shouldn't," you said.

But you wanted to.

He wanted it, too.

But he was a Gojo.

And you were a Zenin.

You had to always remind yourself that.

And you were reminding yourself at the moment.

Still, nothing seemed to matter to you in the heat of the night when you were on the bed, only a lean away from Satoru's lips that seemed so inviting.

You knew it was wrong.

More than the fact that neither one of you had the capacity for such a connection in life, you were meant to be enemies.

Be that as it may, you still wanted more.

You wanted him.

And you wanted Satoru to kiss you anyways, damn the world.

You wanted him to tell you that he didn't care, that he wanted you more than he cared about your family.

But he didn't say that.

Instead, he nodded and pulled away, placing your hand on the bed, in the growing gap between you both.

"You're right," his voice was quiet and defeated. "I'm sorry."

You wanted to cry, but you didn't. You only nodded and turned around, letting your back face him. "It's okay," you uttered silently.

He watched with his heart aching, his own mind screaming at him. His hand instinctively reached out to you, as though he wanted to pull you back.

To have you meet his eyes.

But he refrained.

"Goodnight," he let out softly, his voice was heavily laced with defeat and self-loathing.

"Yeah, goodnight," you replied half-heartedly, feeling your eyes start to rain tears that fell onto the pillow sheet.

Satoru was fixed on your back, noticing the way your shoulders were shaking ever so slightly. He could hear faint sounds of your sniffling that you tried your hardest to hide from him.

And it broke his heart.

He was overwhelmed with guilt but he knew things wouldn't end well for you if he had done what he truly wanted to do. But he wanted to comfort you, to hold you close and never let you go.

But he was a Gojo.

And you were a Zenin.

He had to always remind himself that.

Every single ti-

"Satoru," you whispered, frozen in your position, fearful to face him in such a vulnerable state.

He hesitated, his heart racing whenever you would say his name in such a whisper. It drove him crazy.

And he should probably ignore your call, but he couldn't.

He gave in to the devil on his shoulder, almost giving in to all his selfish needs. His arms slowly snaked around you, wrapping them around your waist.

He pulled you closer against his chest.

"What is it?" He asked softly, his voice hoarse with a mix of emotions that were too jumbled up for him to even comprehend.

"Nothing," you sighed, body stiffening under his hold as you attempted to push his arms away.

But Satoru refused, selfishly tightening his hold on you.

"Don't," he murmured, his face burying itself in the crook of your neck as he pulled you flush against him. "Just- Stay like this, please," he pleaded, his words almost muffled by your own skin.

You relaxed against him, nodding as tears escaped you. "Just don't get another nightmare," you uttered softly, feeling him nod in the crook of your neck.

Satoru let himself rest, continuing to hold you tight, never intending to let you go if he could have it his way. His eyes fluttered shut, tickling the skin of your neck as he did so.

He inhaled the scent of your shampoo, lavender, and rosemary heavy in his nose. There was peace resonating around your being and he felt content just being there, holding you like this, even if it was only tonight.

He had never felt anything like that before. As you drifted off to sleep, he held you closer, his heart settling happily in his chest. Listening to your soft breathing and little snores, Satoru could feel exhaustion catching up with him and soon, he fell asleep, his arms loosely around you.

Somewhere in the middle of the night, you woke up and escaped his arms. So you lay down on your side as you faced him, watching him sleep.

He was peaceful in his slumber, clearly unaware of your gaze. He seemed relaxed, lips parted as he breathed softly and you were glad.

You studied his features, noting how many freckles graced his skin and committing every detail to memory, afraid to never be able to see him this closely again. His white strands fell so beautifully across his forehead, his chest gently rising and falling as he breathed.

Your eyes of admiration adored him truly, your hand hesitantly reaching out to him. A moment of fear washed over you, fearful that his Infinity would get in the way like how it had earlier in the night.

But a grateful sigh was elicited from your lips once your soft fingers felt him, tracing them over his cheek while you prayed that he wouldn't wake up.

He stirred slightly, eyes fluttering beneath his eyelids, causing you to freeze, your breath caught in your airway and your fingers stopped in place.

After a moment, he settled again and you breathed a sigh of relief as you pulled your hand to rest it under your head. There was a small smile tugging at your lips as you relished the sight of his beauty.

Soon, you fell victim to slumber just as he had.

Within a few hours, Satoru woke up, finding himself under your hold. You were curled up against him, your arms wrapped around his waist and your head resting on his chest. You were still asleep, not at all noticing that he had woken up despite his body stirring slightly.

It was weird, he thought.

You had mentioned before that you were a light sleeper yet here you were, oblivious and asleep. Not to mention, you had easily woken up earlier that night when Satoru had a nightmare.

But you were still against him, your head nuzzling further into the warmth of his chest, the blanket entangled between both of your bodies.

Satoru used this opportunity to wrap his arms around you, almost protective as he buried his face in your hair, inhaling the smell of your lavender and rosemary shampoo, scents that now had become a familiarity to him.

He had no idea how long he stayed like that but he did not care.

If life would for once be kind to him, he could live in this moment forever but life was not that generous.

Because eventually, you woke up, your eyes being met with the color of Satoru's shirt. He allowed your body to shift slightly, his heart skipping a beat when you didn't push him away immediately. His gaze lowered, meeting yours that were tilted up.

"Hi," he greeted softly with a smile so beautiful and genuine that for once reached his eyes.

It was the first time you'd ever seen him this happy.

Your eyes blinked a few times, your mind still foggy and confused. "Hi," you said. "What are you doing?"

His grip on you tightened but it was still so gentle like he was afraid to let you go but also afraid to hurt you. "I should ask you the same thing," he said, his lips grinning with a glint of teasing in his eyes. "Why are you wrapped around me like a little vine?"

"Hmm?" You shook your head, not really understanding him. "What are you talking about?"

His lips parted as he let out a small chuckle, finding your cluelessness and fogginess from having just woken up cute. He looked down to where your arms were wrapped around his waist.

"You're hugging me," he pointed out, causing you to follow his gaze. "I guess you did it in your sleep. When I woke up, you were already like this," he explained softly. "And I'm not pushing you away," he admitted, his face flushed.

"Oh," you muttered, nuzzling your head against his chest as you closed your eyes. "Can we stay like this a bit longer?" Your voice was soft, almost as if you were afraid of doing such a thing.

And maybe you were.

Because you knew you shouldn't.

But there he was, so gentle with you and so warm in all the right ways, you couldn't help but allow yourself to be a little selfish. And Satoru was shocked that you hadn't pulled away.

If anything, you only pulled him closer to you.

"Just a little longer, okay?" He whispered above your head, nodding gently as he placed a kiss on your hair.

You took in the warmth that Satoru could provide you, the kind of warmth you lacked over all your years alive. A shaky breath escaped him, his fingers gently carding through your hair as he got lost in thought only to pull himself back to reality.

Because his thoughts were depressing, reminding him over and over again that neither of you should be doing this way.

Whereas in reality, he was holding you and you were holding him.

Even if it would end soon and never happen again, he didn't care.

At least he got to hold you, to feel you against him.

But that ended, not long after, when you finally pulled away from him and he had no choice but to let you go, arms dropping to his sides as he sat up.

Avoiding your gaze, he reminded, "That can't happen again."

You mimicked his actions, sitting upright against the headboard. Your knees were folded, brought up against your chest tightly as your arms hugged around them.

You looked down but nodded in agreement. "It won't."

He nodded, his jaw clenched with regrets but he knew this was for the best.

There was not a universe where the two of you could actually be together.

He got off the bed and walked over to his bag, creating even more distance between the two of you. It was a distance that he hated.

He wished to just turn back and kiss you deeply until neither of you could breathe. But doing that would only hurt you in the end.

You were the one trapped under the claws of the Zenin clan.

"I'm going to take a shower," he informed, his tone plain and blunt.

"Okay," you mumbled quietly, waiting until he entered the bathroom before letting your head fall to the valley between your folded knees, tears slowly escaping as you cursed at yourself for having lost your composure and allowing yourself to care for him.

Satoru let the water run through his body, wishing it was your hands instead. His body fell limp, leaning his back against the bathroom wall, his head tilted back to rest as well.

His eyes were closed shut, his emotions overwhelming him. Hidden by the loud sound of the shower, he hit the back of his head against the wall, his lips emitting a curse of both pain and frustration.

He knew he had to pretend it never happened. He had to return to his usual self whenever he was with you, in a professional manner. And you knew it, too.

You had to go back to hating him.

Satoru soon emerged from the bathroom and you immediately walked past him to shower. You didn't even spare a glance at the man, worried you wouldn't be able to control yourself when seeing him in such a suggestive state.

"Hurry up," he reminded you just before you could close the door.

"I will," you replied with a hint of annoyance in your attempt to return to your Satoru Gojo-hating self.

At your tone, Satoru couldn't help but let a bitter smile adorn his lips. You were trying to return things back to normal, too. This was all for the best, right?

But if it was for the best, then why didn't it feel right at all?

Once he got dressed, he took a seat on the edge of the bed, scrolling through his phone to check if there were any updates about the case.

Once you got out of the shower, already wearing your uniform, you took a seat next to him but there was some distance, both of you careful not to recreate the scene from the night.

"Any updates?" You asked casually.

"No," he shook his head and kept his phone in his pocket.

"Shall we go? We could grab breakfast on the way to the location," you suggested, finally turning to meet him.

And for once, you were glad that he was wearing his blindfold, obstructing your view of his eyes. He looked at you with an unreadable expression before nodding in agreement.

"Sounds good," he shrugged with his lips pursed.

The both of you stood up and he let you walk first, following behind you right after as you put on your shoes and opened the door.

The elevator ride was just as slow as it was last night, the numbers staring back at you mockingly as if to remind you just how silent and still everything was and how big the confinement was yet you felt too cramped, stuck with Satoru.

You bit your inner cheek, your fingers fumbling with the hem of your uniform nervously. Your eyes fluttered in relief when the elevator stopped somewhere on the 11th floor, the doors opening up for a family of 4 to enter.

The woman flashed you a bright smile as she led her daughter in by the hand, her husband and their other daughter following suit. But that relief you felt was truly just a momentary occasion when Satoru neared you, making room for the family.

Satoru's hand was slender as his fingers wrapped around his phone, his left hand buried deep within his pocket while his right foot pressed up against the elevator wall to rest. He was the definition of casual, you thought.

But when the family of 4 was settling and the doors of the elevators were closing, Satoru's head turned and his gaze fell on you. Behind the fabric of his blindfold, his eyes had widened to see that you were staring up blankly at him already.

His lips relaxed into a soft smile but it faltered once he realized that, unlike his eyes, there was nothing to cover his lips.

Your eyes blinked a few times before letting your gaze fall forward, hints of disappointment on the tip of your tongue when you felt his Infinity acting as the barrier between you.

The elevator let out a ding to announce that you had arrived on the ground floor. You and Satoru waited until the family got out first before taking your own steps.

Walking past the lobby doors, you and Satoru were silent. The air felt fresh but the summer heat did make itself known as you walked past shops, eyes peeled for a cafe.

"What about this?" Satoru stopped, gesturing to the cafe.

"Sure," you shrugged mindlessly, following behind him as he opened the door for you to enter. "I'll go find a seat, just get me whatever," you murmured lowly, earning a nod from the man.

You found a table that had two empty chairs and took a seat. After some time of scrolling meaninglessly on your phone, your head perked up, looking around as you realized that Satoru was taking too long.

Concern colored your eyes that scanned the front of the cafe and you noticed him, standing in all his tall beauty, his white hair poking out as his back faced your direction. Tilting your head a little, you could watch the scene unfolding from the distance.

His right palm was leaning on the counter, holding his weight above it. His lips were tugged in a friendly grin, gaze towards the cashier.

The woman behind the counter wore pink cheeks, her lips cheeky and excited. You lowered your gaze slightly, noticing the way the woman's hands were atop Satoru's.

His lips were moving, telling the woman something that caused her to blush even harder and laugh louder in a squeaky giggle. You couldn't help the way your eyes rolled obnoxiously as you watched the scene from your seat.

Bubbling up under your skin, jealousy took place and spread itself all throughout your body. If only your cursed technique could do more than just manipulate frequencies, like maybe allowing you to have some sort of super hearing so you could listen to their conversation.

But you couldn't do that so instead, you only returned your gaze to your phone when Satoru was beginning to leave the counter. You pretended to be surprised by his arrival at the table, sitting across you as if you weren't literally watching the way he was unashamedly flirting with the cashier.

"What the fuck are these?" You blurted, deadpanned as you looked at the pastries to the man sitting in front.

"Breakfast," he quipped happily, taking a peach strudel happily.

"Satoru, this is not breakfast," you blinked, watching the way his lips fell like a sad puppy, the sight cute as it caused your heart to flutter warmly.

"What do you mean?"

"They're all sweet," you frowned with raised brows.

"Yeah. I eat stuff like this every day."

"For breakfast?"

"Yeah," he nodded.

"That cannot be healthy," you exhaled, shaking your head slightly before reaching for the plain butter croissant to start with.

He enjoyed his 'breakfast' happily and silently just as you did, your eyes wandering the cafe to watch other customers. You thanked the waitress when she came over to place both your drinks and you smiled softly upon tasting the bitter taste of the hot cappuccino with vanilla syrup.

"How'd you know this was my favorite?" You hummed while taking another sip of the hot beverage.

"You told me once", he said casually, leaving you dumbfounded but appreciating his gesture.

Silence took place as you both finished your breakfast and left the cafe and you definitely couldn't ignore the cashier's overly excited voice as she thanked you both for coming.

The walk to the location was silent, too, which was uncharacteristically Satoru.

You had always known him to talk your ear off but his lips were pursed in a thin line. And surely, you knew why.

But you definitely didn't know that he was fighting the urge to just press his lips against yours. You were always complaining to him that he talks too much, surely you wouldn't mind shutting him up that way?

He shook his head, regaining his senses of reality. Thankfully, the both of you had arrived at the abandoned warehouse that was said to be the headquarters for the cult you were investigating.

"I'll go in first while you put up a Veil," Satoru instructed, earning a nod and an eye roll from you due to his spatting of orders. "Follow up after me."

"Emerge from the darkness, blacker than darkness. Purify that which is impure," you uttered before watching the sky and the surroundings take a darker color to resemble night.

You left your spot to go and find Satoru, soon finding him hiding behind a wall. "I think those are the followers," he informed, allowing you to glance inside and see many people standing in white cloth.

Both of you watched the followers of the cult begin to ascend the stairwell in a line, much like predicted.

"I'll check to find out how many guards there are." You closed your eyes, letting your ears trace the trails of cursed energy by listening to the frequency. "There's about 3 guards in each wing," you pointed.

The plan went smoothly and the mission ended successfully though it was nearing night, not a shocker to anyone considering that it was you and Satoru who handled the case.

You both headed back to the hotel, ready to pack your things and go home but your tracks were frozen in place as your hands flew to cover your ears, a ringing pain appearing.

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