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mononijikayu · 3 months ago

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if the world was ending, i’d wanna be next to you — itadori yuji and ryomen sukuna.

“You’re scared, little one.” Sukuna observes, voice low and taunting. “Quite a face I’ve never seen in a long time.” Your heart pounds, every instinct screaming at you to run, to get away from him. But something roots you in place, the inexplicable connection between the face you loved and the one you now feared, pulling you in two directions at once. “How low you’ve come, little one.” he continues, his voice dripping with amusement. “Really? A green boy like him?” He leans in closer, his presence suffocating. “An insult to your standards, little one.”

GENRE: alternate universe - canon convergence;

WARNING/S: spoilers for jjk chapter 271, not safe for work, angst, fluff, one sided romance, eventual romance, conflicted feelings, hurt/comfort, reincarnation, happy ending, hurt, physical touch, character death, mourning, loneliness, pain, grief, afterlife, internal conflict, future, letting go, depiction of moving forward, depiction of one-sided relationship, depiction of rebirth, depiction of internal conflict, depiction of complicated relationship, depiction of character death, depiction of canon related violence, depiction of loneliness, mention of grief, mention of illness, mention of loneliness, depiction of happy end, true form! sukuna, itadori yuji, reincarnated concubine! reader;

WORD COUNT: 11k words

NOTE: this was highly requested, that concubine reader from the other woman has some closure and freedom and happiness in her next life. well, this is it. i feel like after having read chapter 271 completely, i feel like this was also a good sort of closure on sukuna's character. as ive said, i wasn't satisfied much, but i decided to write a path of my own here. and i hope you like it!!! i love you all <3

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THE PAST WAS SOMETHING THAT INTRIGUED YOU. You used to wonder if you had a life before this one. The thought lingered like a shadow on quiet nights, gnawing at the edges of your consciousness. You were always curious: Was it a good life? Did you laugh often? Were you loved? And in the end, did you grow old surrounded by warmth, or did your story close abruptly, lost to the currents of time? These questions, though unspoken, echoed through your mind like the turning pages of an unfinished book.

Yet, it’s in moments like this—simple, undemanding, and unexpectedly tender—that those questions fall away. You realize that the answer doesn’t matter as much as you once thought. You and Itadori Yuji, sitting side by side, the air filled with the sound of his laughter, his energy contagious and effortless. It's not always what you do together, but how he has a way of making everything feel lighter, even when life is at its heaviest.

In these instances, where time seems to slow down and the weight of the past dissolves, you’re reminded that perhaps the life before—if it existed at all—was not as important as the one unfolding now. This is where the heart finds its peace. Being with Yuji, you feel that indescribable warmth. It’s the warmth of being cared for, the joy of connection, the quiet happiness of simply being. Moments like this feel like the reward of a life well-lived, even if the past is a mystery.

Maybe in another life, you were loved. Maybe you weren’t. But in this one, as you sit here with Yuji, you feel blessed in a way that transcends time, as if this companionship, this simplicity, is enough to fill whatever came before.

You glance over at Yuji, who’s still laughing, the corners of his eyes crinkled in that way that makes him look so carefree, so utterly at peace. It’s moments like this that make you forget about the world outside.

“You know, Yuji,” you say, leaning back a bit, “sometimes I wonder if I had a life before all of this. Like, did I have a good life? Was I happy? Did I do anything important?” Your voice trails off, unsure if you’re even making sense. It’s one of those thoughts that sounds bigger in your head, harder to explain aloud.

Yuji pauses, the smile still lingering on his lips but his eyes now softening as he looks at you. “I dunno about a past life,” he says, shrugging in that easy, nonchalant way of his, “but I think it doesn’t really matter, right? I mean, what’s important is now, right here. And… if you’re happy now, then that’s enough, isn’t it?”

You look at him, surprised by the simplicity of his words. Yuji always has a way of cutting through complicated feelings with such earnestness, and it hits you every time.

“Yeah, but what if I didn’t get that? What if I didn’t get the chance to be happy then?” you say, not sure why you're pushing the point. Maybe you want to hear more of his optimism, that unwavering belief in the present.

Yuji thinks for a second, rubbing the back of his neck. “Then… maybe that’s why you’re here now. To have those moments. To feel that happiness.” He grins suddenly, almost sheepish. “And hey, if that’s true, then I guess it’s my job to make sure you’re having a good time in this life.”

You smile, something warm settling in your chest. "You think so? That’s your job now?"

“Yep!” Yuji says with a bright nod. “And honestly? I think I’m doing pretty good at it, don’t you?” He nudges you playfully, and you can’t help but laugh.

“Yeah,” you admit, feeling lighter. “Yeah, you’re doing a pretty good job.”

Yuji leans back, satisfied. “See? No need to worry about the past. We’re making good memories right now. And who knows, maybe in the next life, we’ll be laughing about this one.”

You chuckle at the thought, realizing he’s right in a way. The present, with all its little joys, is more than enough. And with Yuji by your side, it feels like it always will be.

Itadori Yuji was your opposite—he was vibrant, bursting with energy, like the sun at its highest peak. Where you were quiet, thoughtful, perhaps a little reserved, Yuji was a whirlwind of light, so bright it was impossible not to be pulled into his orbit. He was the type of person who loved easily, fiercely, without hesitation. In the short time you had known him, it felt like he had illuminated parts of you that you didn’t even realize had been in shadow.

Six months. That’s how long he had been in your life, and in that brief window, Yuji became your biggest friend. He was the kind of friend who made you forget your worries, who could turn a mundane moment into something extraordinary just by being there.

You weren’t sure when it happened, but somewhere along the way, your feelings for him deepened into something more. You didn’t just care for him, you were falling for him. His smile, his laugh, the way he’d look at you with such unguarded sincerity—it all crept into your heart before you had a chance to stop it.

But then, as suddenly as he had entered your life, he was gone.

You mourned him in the rawest sense, the grief hitting you like a wave, unrelenting and suffocating. You had barely begun to process what he meant to you, and now you were left with nothing but memories. Memories that once brought joy now twisted into something painful, aching. The world felt dimmer without him, like someone had extinguished the light you had grown so accustomed to.

You grieved the moments you never had, the confessions that were never spoken. You grieved the time you lost and the love you never got to fully express. And in the quiet, lonely nights, you found yourself missing even the smallest things—his goofy grin, the way he’d always try to cheer you up, the warmth he carried with him wherever he went.

Itadori Yuji had changed your world in just six months, and now, with him gone, you didn’t know how to go back to how things were before him. Maybe you never would.

And now, you stand face to face with someone else. Someone you didn’t know—someone that terrified you. Ryomen Sukuna. The King of Curses, wearing Yuji’s face but twisted into something cold and malevolent. His presence was overwhelming, a suffocating aura that made your skin crawl, your heart race in dread. The Yuji you had known, the boy you had fallen for, was nowhere to be found in the dark, calculating red eyes that now gazed at you.

But as you meet Sukuna’s gaze, there’s something strange—something unsettling in its familiarity. Amidst the malice, the sadistic smirk, and the chilling sense of power, there’s a flicker of something that shouldn’t be there. Something… almost tender. A subtle glint of fondness that feels utterly out of place in someone like him.

Your breath catches in your throat. It doesn’t make sense. Sukuna should have no reason to look at you this way, no reason to show anything other than contempt or amusement. And yet, there it is—just beneath the surface, a strange warmth, a recognition.

He steps closer, and you instinctively take a step back, fear surging through you like ice in your veins. This wasn’t Yuji. This wasn’t the boy who made you feel safe, who filled your days with laughter and light. This was a monster. A curse. But the way Sukuna’s eyes linger on you, the way his lips curve in a slow, deliberate smirk—there’s something disturbingly familiar in it. A haunting echo of the person you lost.

“You’re scared, little one.” Sukuna observes, voice low and taunting. “Quite a face I’ve never seen in a long time.”

Your heart pounds, every instinct screaming at you to run, to get away from him. But something roots you in place, the inexplicable connection between the face you loved and the one you now feared, pulling you in two directions at once.

“How low you’ve come, little one.” he continues, his voice dripping with amusement. “Really? A green boy like him?” He leans in closer, his presence suffocating. “An insult to your standards, little one.”

You swallow, throat dry, unable to tear your eyes away from his. “You’re not Yuji.” you whisper, the words feeling like a betrayal, even though you know they’re true.

“No.” Sukuna agrees, a dark chuckle escaping his lips. “I’m not. I’d rather not be. But…” His eyes narrow, that strange fondness flashing again, almost as if he’s toying with something deeper. “It’s far better that it is I in front of you.”

Your chest tightens at his words, the weight of them sinking in. It’s impossible, and yet… something in Sukuna’s gaze—something about the way he looks at you—makes you feel like, in some twisted way, you’re still staring into the remnants of Yuji. Or perhaps the remnants of what could have been.

“Stay back!”

“How cruel, little one. When I was your life.” Sukuna says, almost thoughtfully. “You grieved for him. A brat. And yet, here I am, standing right in front of you. Isn’t that what you wanted?”

His words feel like a cruel mockery, slicing through your defenses with the precision of a knife. Yet, amid the taunts and the darkness that envelops him, there’s an undercurrent of truth that stings—a painful reminder of everything you’ve lost. You find yourself grappling with an unsettling confusion, a whirlwind of emotions that makes your head spin.

This is a monster, you remind yourself. A malevolent being born of curses and chaos. You do not know him, no matter how he tries to push, no matter how his eyes—those dark, swirling eyes that resemble Yuji’s—seem to reach deep into your soul, searching for something buried within. You’re scared. Scared of the implications, scared of the truth that threatens to unravel everything you thought you understood.

You had wanted Yuji back—longed for him, missed him so much that it hurt. The ache in your heart was a constant companion, an echo of laughter and warmth that once filled your days. You had spent countless nights wishing for a miracle, hoping to see that familiar, infectious smile again. But now, faced with the twisted reality of what stood before you, you weren’t sure if you could handle the price of that wish.

Could this—this—be the cost? A piece of Yuji entangled in a form so horrifying, so devoid of the light he once radiated? The very thought makes you recoil. You want to reject it, to deny that any part of Yuji could reside within Sukuna. But the familiarity in Sukuna’s gaze, the hints of fondness mixed with malice, make it impossible to ignore.

You take a shaky breath, grounding yourself as you try to separate the remnants of your grief from the reality before you. “You’re not him, stop. Stop talking!” you say again, more forcefully this time, but it feels like a hollow declaration. Deep down, you know it’s not enough. The monster in front of you wears Yuji’s face, and it shakes you to your core.

Sukuna steps closer, his presence a dark shadow looming over you, and you can’t help but feel trapped in this moment. You wonder if you should flee, escape the suffocating tension that surrounds you, but something keeps you rooted. It’s as if a part of you is drawn to this interaction, compelled to understand, to confront the tangled web of loss and longing that you’ve been avoiding.

“Tell me, little one.” Sukuna murmurs, his voice low and almost teasing. “What is it you miss about him? The laughter? The heroism? Or is it simply the idea of what he represented—hope?”

His words pierce through the fog of confusion, and you find yourself grappling with the truth of them. What did you miss about Yuji? Was it just the memories of the boy who filled your life with laughter, or was it something deeper—a feeling of safety, a light in the darkness that made everything feel manageable? The longing you felt was so raw, so visceral, but now it felt tainted, complicated by the monstrous form before you.

“I don’t know…..I….” you admit, your voice cracking under the weight of your emotions. “I just know that I wanted him back. I wanted him to stay.” The admission slips out before you can stop it, a soft confession echoing in the heavy silence.

Sukuna watches you closely, a smirk playing at the corners of his lips. “And yet here I am, standing in his place.” he says, his tone laced with dark amusement. “Perhaps you should reconsider what it is you truly prefer, little one.”

His words hang in the air, heavy with implications you’re not ready to confront. The dread creeps back in, entwined with that lingering curiosity. You realize, with a shiver, that this moment is a threshold—a chance to either run away from the painful truth or face it head-on. You don’t know what it means for you or what it might cost, but deep down, you understand that avoiding Sukuna will not bring Yuji back.

Caught in this whirlwind of emotions, you stand there, heart pounding, feeling the walls close in around you. The weight of grief and longing collides with fear, and you can’t shake the feeling that in this moment, every choice you make could lead to something irrevocable. The haunting question lingers: What if you truly do remember? And what would that mean for both Yuji and the monster that now embodies him?

Sukuna smiles, a slow, dangerous curve of his lips, and somehow, even through the fear, you feel it—the remnants of Yuji still flickering in the dark recesses of this cursed form. And it breaks your heart all over again.

You swallow hard, your heart pounding as you look into Sukuna’s eyes, those dark, unsettling orbs that seem to mock everything you once knew. But you force the words out anyway, your voice trembling but determined. “I don’t remember you.”

Sukuna snickers, his laughter low and taunting. It sends a chill down your spine, as if he’s amused by some private joke you’re not in on. He leans in slightly, tilting his head, his smirk widening into something more dangerous, more possessive. “Is that what you tell me after all this time, little one?”

The way he says it—so familiar, so intimate—makes your breath catch. It’s like he’s speaking of something only the two of you should know, something hidden beneath the surface of your shared history. But how? You’ve never met Sukuna before. And yet… something in his voice, in the way he calls you little one, stirs something deep inside you. A flicker of something you can’t quite place, something buried.

You take a step back, shaking your head, trying to keep your composure. “I don’t know you. You’re not Yuji, you’re not….” you say again, though this time it sounds more like a plea. A desperate attempt to hold onto the truth, to make sense of the chaos swirling around you.

Sukuna’s grin only deepens. He watches you with a look that’s far too knowing, as if he can see right through your confusion, right through your walls. “Oh, but you do, little one.” he purrs, his voice dripping with dark amusement. “Perhaps you just don’t want to remember.”

Your pulse quickens as his words settle over you, heavy with implications. His gaze feels like it’s piercing through you, dredging up memories you aren’t even sure exist. Could there be something you’re missing? Something you’ve forgotten, or worse—something you’ve buried?

“Look at you, little one. More fragile than what you had been.” Sukuna continues, his voice lowering to something almost dangerous. “Pretending you don’t know. But your eyes betray you. You know me. Maybe not in this life… but somewhere, deep down.” He lifts a hand, lazily gesturing to himself. “You’ve always known me.”

Your chest tightens at the weight of his words, at the way they seem to pull you into something far more complex than you can grasp. You feel torn, the familiar pull of Yuji clashing with the terrifying presence of Sukuna. There’s a part of you that wants to run, to escape whatever this is. But another part of you—the part that feels that flicker of recognition when he speaks, when he looks at you—keeps you frozen in place.

“I don’t…” you start, your voice faltering. “I don’t understand.”

Sukuna laughs again, that low, predatory sound that makes your stomach churn. “Of course you don’t. But you will, in time.” His eyes gleam with something dark and possessive. “I’m not going anywhere, little one. So you’ll have all the time in the world to remember.”

Your hands tremble at your sides, the fear still coursing through you, but now there’s something else. Something far more dangerous than fear—a curiosity, a pull you can’t explain. Even though you know you shouldn’t, you’re drawn to him, to the way his words tug at something deep inside you, something lost.

Sukuna takes another step closer, his presence overwhelming, his gaze never leaving yours. “And when you do remember,” he whispers, his voice dropping into something almost tender, “you’ll realize that it’s not this brat you mourn, little one.”

Your heart skips a beat, the words hitting you like a punch to the gut. You want to deny it, to push him away, to convince yourself that the darkness in Sukuna’s eyes holds no truth. But you can’t shake the unsettling feeling that maybe, just maybe, there’s a twisted truth in what he’s saying—something buried so deep inside you that it makes your skin prickle. And that terrifies you more than anything else at this moment.

“You have better memory than that.” His voice is smooth, a honeyed drawl that curls around you, laced with a sinister undertone. He steps closer, and you can feel the warmth radiating from his body, a heat that’s both inviting and suffocating. His breath brushes against your skin, sending a shiver down your spine, and you find yourself caught in his gaze—those scarlet eyes gleaming with an intensity that both captivates and horrifies you.

“Try to remember me.” he continues, the words dripping with a twisted sense of familiarity, a beckoning that both draws you in and repels you. There’s an almost playful cruelty in his tone, as if he knows the power he holds over you in this moment—knows that your heart is already torn, straddling the line between longing and fear.

You swallow hard, your throat dry as you grapple with the conflicting emotions swirling within you. The essence of Yuji—the boy who brought light and laughter into your life—now feels irreversibly entwined with the dark curse standing before you.

The memory of his warmth, his laughter, and his unwavering kindness feels like a distant dream, overshadowed by the reality of Sukuna’s presence. And yet, the way Sukuna looks at you, the way he carries himself, evokes echoes of the boy you loved. It’s confusing, maddening, and all-consuming.

“Don’t you want to know what’s buried inside you?” he taunts softly, leaning in even closer, as if sharing a secret only you can hear. “What really lies behind that grief? The truth of your feelings? Your past?”

You shudder at his words, feeling as though he’s reaching into the deepest corners of your mind, teasing out thoughts you’re not ready to confront. The idea of facing whatever remnants of Yuji’s essence are hidden within this creature, this manifestation of all your fears and sorrows, makes you want to flee. But the truth is, you’re caught in a web of curiosity and dread, tethered to the boy who once filled your heart.

“Stop it.” you whisper, your voice shaking. “You’re not him. You’re not Yuji.”

Sukuna chuckles, a low, rumbling sound that reverberates in the stillness around you. “Ah, but that’s where you’re wrong. I wear this brat’s face, little one. And I am here —whether you want to accept it or not.” His scarlet eyes bore into yours, a challenge lingering in the air. “And whether you like it or not, he’s a part of me too.”

The weight of his words settles heavily in your chest, a visceral truth that makes you want to scream. How could he say that? How could he twist the memory of Yuji into something so dark and cruel? But as you stand there, heart racing, you realize that he’s right in a way you’re terrified to explore. The grief you feel is a testament to the love you once shared, and now that love has taken on a new, twisted form.

As Sukuna’s presence looms over you, you feel the tension of this moment wrapping around you like a shroud. The air is thick with uncertainty, and you’re caught in a battle between wanting to retreat into safety and an insatiable desire to confront the truth lurking just beyond your grasp.

“Good night, little one.” he repeats, the command soothing and commanding all at once. “And when you wake, perhaps you’ll see things more clearly. I promise you, it will be… enlightening.”

With those final words, he steps back, allowing you to breathe again, but the weight of his gaze lingers. As he fades into the shadows, you’re left standing there, your heart pounding in your chest. The fear that grips you is palpable, but beneath it lies a flicker of curiosity—a yearning to understand what lies hidden within, to uncover the truths that connect you to both Yuji and Sukuna.

You know you should feel safe in your denial, but as you process everything, you realize that the only way forward is to confront this new reality. Whatever it takes, you have to know what Sukuna means, what truth lies within you, and what it might reveal about the love you lost and the monster that now stands in his place.

A THOUSAND YEARS HAD PASSED AND YET, HE THINKS A LOT ABOUT THAT LAST WISH. It was Ryomen Sukuna’s hope that you would not be reborn like this. After the years of misery he had put upon you, such loneliness and bitterness — this is not what you deserve. In the depths of his cursed heart, he had wished for you to have a better life—a life filled with warmth and love, a life free from the shadows that clung to him.

He had imagined a future where you would thrive, where your laughter would echo in the halls of a home filled with joy and not tied to the darkness he embodied. He wanted for your hope to come true, for you to carve out your own path, one that didn’t intertwine with his own cursed existence. So that you may be free from the cage of him, and fly away.

Yet, here you were, standing in the remnants of a life he had never wished for you. A life as a sorcerer, a role steeped in danger and darkness, where you faced the very curses he had once commanded. And most of all, you found yourself in adoration of his vessel, Itadori Yuji—the very embodiment of what Sukuna had wanted to keep separate from you.

Every day was a constant reminder of that bittersweet reality. You had grown to love the brat, the boy whose spirit shone brighter than anyone else’s, whose laughter brought light to the darkest corners of your heart. He had an infectious enthusiasm that made the world seem a little less heavy, a little less daunting. And now that he was alive, Ryomen Sukuna could only watch as you found the joy that he could not give you.

“Hey! Are you coming or what?” Yuji called out, his voice cutting through your thoughts. He stood a few paces ahead, hands on his hips, a bright smile lighting up his face. “I thought we were going to train today!”

You couldn’t help but smile back at him, your heart swelling at the sight of his excitement. “Yeah, I’m coming!” You jogged to catch up with him, the momentary rush of adrenaline distracting you from the weight of your thoughts.

As you fell into step beside him, you felt the warmth of his presence, the way he made the air around you feel lighter. “You really are too slow sometimes, you know?” he teased, nudging you playfully. “I mean, I know I’m faster, but you’ve gotta at least try to keep up!”

“Please!” you laughed, shaking your head. “You’ve been training longer than I have. I’m just trying not to trip over my own feet!” The banter flowed easily between you, but even in this moment of lightness, you couldn’t shake the nagging sense of Sukuna’s presence lurking just beneath the surface, a shadow that never quite left you.

“Speaking of tripping, you’re not going to freak out again when I show you that new move, are you?” Yuji’s expression turned mock-serious, eyebrows raised. “Because last time, I swear I thought you were going to lose your lunch!”

“Okay, that was one time! I told you I wasn’t ready for a backflip!” you protested, recalling the embarrassment of that training session where you’d ended up flat on your back. “Besides, you can’t just expect me to be a natural like you!”

Yuji laughed, the sound bubbling up from his chest and enveloping you like a warm embrace. “Hey, you’ve got potential! I mean, you did get back up after I knocked you down. That counts for something, right?”

His encouragement filled you with a warmth that momentarily pushed aside the darkness threatening to creep in. He was everything Sukuna had hoped you would find—kind, brave, and full of life. Itadori Yuji’s laughter echoed in your mind, a stark contrast to the chilling presence of the curse that loomed behind you, hidden yet always felt, a constant reminder of the complexities entangled in your heart.

Yet, in the depths of Sukuna’s being, a flicker of something unexpected stirred—a faint, bitter jealousy. He had often wondered if he had ever truly felt envy regarding the affection you held for that brat, as he so often referred to Yuji in his darker moments. A part of him questioned whether he was conscious of the pain he had caused you, the heartache that clung to your spirit like a shadow.

“Do you even understand what you’ve done to her?” he mused silently, as if you could hear him echoing in your mind.

There was an awareness in him, a recognition that you had somehow managed to love all of him, even the twisted, cursed side of his existence. Perhaps that was what stung the most—knowing that you had opened your heart to him and, in doing so, had become entwined in a relationship that was more chaotic than he had ever intended.

But even amid that jealousy, he had no regrets about his feelings for you. His love for Hiromi—the one who had filled his heart with warmth before darkness overtook him—remained unwavering.

That love had been pure and innocent, a light that could never be dimmed by the shadows he had embraced. He could not deny it, nor would he wish to. Yet now, watching from the sidelines, he felt an ache in his chest, a realization that he could never be the one to bring you that same joy.

In the quiet corners of his mind, he harbored a secret wish—a hope that he could have made you smile like this. So vibrantly, so free of grief. A happiness so clear that one could see it gleam in your eyes, untainted by the complexities of his existence. The laughter you shared with Yuji resonated in a way that he could only dream of, a melody of innocence that felt forever out of his reach.

“What would it take?” he pondered, the thought lingering like a ghost. Would he ever be able to evoke such joy? Or was he forever condemned to dwell in the shadows of what he could never be?

Sukuna’s thoughts spiraled, twisting through memories of moments shared with you—soft smiles, fleeting touches, and the warmth of your laughter that once danced around him like sunlight. The contrast was stark; he had only ever known how to wield darkness, to embrace fear and chaos, while Yuji seemed to thrive in the light. The way you looked at Yuji, filled with admiration and affection, was a dagger in his chest, a poignant reminder of the connection he could never replicate.

Yet, in that moment of reflection, a different feeling began to take root—a deep, abiding wish for your happiness. Perhaps the greatest act of love he could offer you now was to allow you to chase that joy, even if it meant stepping aside, relinquishing his hold on your heart. You deserve every ounce of happiness, unencumbered by his darkness.

As you stood there, laughing freely, the shadows that had haunted him felt a little less suffocating. He knew he could not change who he was, nor could he rewrite the past, but perhaps he could shift his focus from his own pain to the happiness that blossomed in front of him. He wanted to see you flourish, to break free from the chains of sorrow he had inadvertently wrapped around you.

“Thanks, Yuji. I really appreciate that.” you said, your voice softer, the sincerity in your tone catching his attention. Your face flustered and shy. It was a face Sukuna had never seen from you.

“Hey, you don’t have to thank me. We’re friends, right?” His eyes sparkled with genuine warmth, but beneath that, you could feel a hint of concern lurking. “You know, if something’s bothering you, you can tell me. We’re a team.”

You paused for a moment, the gravity of his words settling over you. Sukuna knew that you wanted to share your fears—he could see it in the way your lips parted but never released a sound, in the slight tremble of your hands as they hovered between reaching out and retreating. It was written all over your face, the tension in your furrowed brow, the flicker of uncertainty in your eyes. Sukuna knew you too well, after all the years you'd lived together. He understood every unspoken word, every hesitation, even when you couldn’t bring yourself to voice your thoughts.

But this time, things were different. You didn’t remember any of it—not the life he had spoken of, not the shared moments he swore existed. The memories he claimed you both cherished were nothing but a void to you, a distant fog where nothing came into focus. Sukuna knew that too. He wasn’t oblivious to the confusion in your expression whenever he spoke of the past you shared. You couldn’t recall the way your lives had intertwined so deeply, and that lack of recollection gnawed at you just as much as it pained him.

And yet, despite your lack of memory, despite the blank slate that your mind had become, Sukuna still knew you. He could sense the turmoil bubbling within you, the words that remained trapped in your throat.

They were right there, on the tip of your tongue, waiting to be released, but fear held you back. What if speaking those fears out loud made them real? What if your confusion, your lack of memories, created a rift between you that couldn’t be mended?

Sukuna’s gaze never wavered from you. His usual harshness softened, if only slightly, as if silently urging you to speak. He understood that what you were facing was beyond your control, but he wanted you to know that he was still there, that he would wait. No matter how long it took for you to find your voice, to trust him again—even if the memories never returned—Sukuna wasn’t going anywhere.

“I… I’m fine, Yu.” you finally replied, forcing a smile. “Just a lot on my mind, you know? Training always helps clear it up.”

“Alright, but I’ll be here if you need me,” he said, his tone earnest, making your heart ache at the kindness in his eyes. “We’ll figure it out together, I promise.”

As you walked alongside him, the weight of Sukuna’s presence felt more like a lingering shadow, a reminder of your complicated reality. That was very much obvious to him. The joy you found in the brat’s company was intoxicating, but it was intertwined with the fear of what Sukuna represented—a darkness that loomed over everything you cherished.

But in that moment, as the brat’s laughter filled the air, you resolved to focus on what you could control. You would embrace the light he brought into your life, even if it meant wrestling with the shadows of the past. For now, you would fight alongside him, a sorcerer in your own right, finding strength in your love for him and the hope that one day, the shadows would fade into something less consuming.

“Okay, enough talking! Let’s go!” Yuji said, breaking you from your thoughts as he took off, racing ahead. You couldn’t help but laugh, the sound spilling out of you, bright and free, as you chased after him, if only for a moment forgetting the weight of the curse that loomed over your life.

You had become a sorcerer not merely to fight curses, but to protect what you had come to cherish. It was a decision that had grown within you over time, shaped by your encounters and the people you had come to love. You weren’t driven by blind heroism or reckless ambition.

No, it was about preserving the bonds that had become precious to you, about standing your ground in a world where curses threatened the very fabric of those connections. But this choice—this path—you had taken wasn’t what Sukuna had ever wanted for you.

Sukuna never believed in foolish ideals like heroism or self-sacrifice. To him, they were weaknesses, things that would only lead you into harm's way. And that was what unsettled him most. He hadn’t fought for you, protected you, only to see you willingly step into danger for others. In your past life, things were different.

He had kept you safe, shielded you from the horrors that roamed the world. Under his watch, you didn't need to lift a finger. You were his to protect, a treasure he wouldn’t allow the world to tarnish.

But now, things had changed, and not in ways he could easily control. A part of him resented the world you had been pulled into—a world filled with curses, death, and peril. He especially resented the boy. Itadori Yuji.

Ryomen Sukuna had watched it happen—watched as Itadori had unknowingly nudged you towards the life of a sorcerer. It wasn’t malicious on Yuji’s part. The boy had only meant to encourage you, to bring out a strength he saw in you. But to Sukuna, that encouragement was nothing more than an invitation to danger. Yuji had no idea what he'd set in motion. And Sukuna couldn’t forgive him for that.

In your past life, Sukuna had made sure you were safe. There had been no need for you to risk yourself in battle or face the horrors of the world head-on. He had taken care of everything. You didn’t need to be strong; you didn’t need to fight. That was his role—to crush anyone who threatened you, to be the shield that protected you from harm. It was his way of keeping you close, of ensuring you never had to suffer.

But now, standing in this new life, all he could do was wonder—how could this brat, this boy, possibly take care of you? How could he, with his limited power and naive ideals, protect you the way Sukuna once had? It infuriated Sukuna to think that Yuji believed he could guide you in this treacherous world, when in reality, he was the one who had exposed you to its dangers in the first place.

Ryomen Sukuna clenched his fists, his thoughts simmering with frustration. You had been safe before, with him. But now, he feared that this world of curses you had chosen—this world where you now stood alongside Yuji and the others—would one day rip you away from him. And Sukuna wasn't sure he could bear that.

Sukuna felt a twisted sense of validation in the aftermath of Shibuya. It had been him—not Yuji, not any of your so-called allies—who had saved your life when everything went to hell. The moment the curses descended, the city had become a chaotic battlefield, one where even the strongest sorcerers struggled to hold their ground. But not him. Not Sukuna.

He had watched it unfold, his sharp gaze tracking the danger closing in on you, and in that split second, everything he had warned against crystallized. The fragility of your humanity, the danger you had willingly embraced—it all came to a head.

You had faced curses far beyond what you should have been dealing with. It was the recklessness, the vulnerability, the need to prove yourself as a sorcerer that had led you to the brink of death. And for what? To protect others? To fight alongside those who weren’t worthy of your devotion?

In that critical moment, when you had been on the verge of being overwhelmed, it wasn’t Yuji or any of the other sorcerers who had come to your aid. It was Sukuna. His power had surged through the chaos, his strength unmatched, obliterating the curse that had dared to lay its hand on you.

He had kept you from being crushed, from the fate that would have surely claimed you had he not intervened. The irony wasn’t lost on him—that in the midst of this world you had chosen, it was still his power that protected you, not the one you had turned to.

Sukuna could almost laugh at how right he had been. Your decision to become a sorcerer, your reliance on others to protect you—it had all crumbled in the face of reality.

In your past life, you had never needed to face this kind of danger, because he had kept you safe. It had been him who ensured your safety, him who made sure the world’s darkness never touched you. And now, in this life, despite everything that had changed, the outcome was still the same: you needed him to survive.

He hated to admit it, but a part of him reveled in the fact that you couldn’t escape his grasp. The boy, Yuji, had tried—tried to pull you into a world where you could stand on your own, where you didn’t need to rely on Ryomen Sukuna’s power.

But Shibuya had proven otherwise. The truth was undeniable: there was no escaping the fact that Sukuna was, and always would be, the one who kept you alive.

His crimson eyes lingered on you as you lay unconscious, the aftermath of the battle leaving you battered and bruised. He crouched beside you, his expression unreadable.

There was no warmth in his gaze, no affection—only a sense of possession. A sense of knowing that you were a part of him. Whether in this life or the last, it didn’t matter. The world could change, your memories could fade, but the fact remained: Sukuna had saved you, and he always would. No one else could protect you the way he could, and in the end, he was the only one who truly understood that.

"You see now, don’t you, little one?" he murmured, his voice low, almost to himself. "No matter how far you run, no matter what life you choose, you’ll always come back to this. To me."

There was a finality in his words, a certainty that rang through the empty streets of Shibuya. In his eyes, this moment only reinforced the bond between you, one forged not out of love, but out of necessity, out of survival. And though you may never remember the life you once shared, Sukuna knew that as long as you walked this path, you would always need him.

And then, in the stillness after the battle, Sukuna froze.

A pulse of cursed energy rippled through the air, faint but unmistakable. It was old, ancient even, yet familiar in a way that twisted something deep inside him. For the first time in a thousand years, Sukuna felt her presence. Hiromi.

Sukuna's mind recoiled from the realization, the pulse of cursed energy stirring something long-buried within him. The sensation clawed at him—ancient, familiar, undeniable.

Hiromi.

His heart, or what remained of it, twisted with an emotion he hadn't felt in centuries. He had thought it impossible.

But there it was, a presence like a faint echo that had finally resurfaced after a thousand years. His eyes narrowed, scanning the distance as if he could pinpoint the exact location of the cursed energy.

Without hesitation, his body moved on instinct, the need to chase after that familiar presence overwhelming him. He didn’t even spare a glance back at you. The urgency consumed him. You’ll be fine, he thought to himself. You were unconscious, battered but alive—safe, for now.

“Uraume.” His voice was cold and commanding, cutting through the still air. Almost immediately, Uraume appeared at his side, their faces calm and collected, as if they anticipated his order even before he had spoken it.

“Sukuna-sama.” Uraume bowed slightly, eyes flicking toward your limp form lying on the ground.

“Take care of them for me.” Sukuna instructed, his tone flat, devoid of emotion. It was an order, not a request. His eyes were already fixed on the horizon, his mind far from the present moment.

Uraume nodded without question. “Understood.”

With that, Sukuna turned his back on you, his form disappearing into the distance with terrifying speed. You were unconscious, vulnerable, but he left you without hesitation. Because even now, after everything, it wasn’t you that occupied his thoughts. Not fully. Not entirely.

As the wind whipped past him, his mind raced, trying to process the flood of emotions that came with sensing Hiromi’s energy after so long. It felt like an eternity since he had last known that presence—familiar yet distant, like a memory from another life. He clenched his fists, the anticipation mounting as he closed in on the source of the cursed energy.

But beneath the rush of adrenaline, Sukuna felt something else, something darker—guilt. It was fleeting, barely noticeable, but it was there, nagging at the edges of his mind. He knew he was a hypocrite.

He had kept you by his side, held you close, and claimed you as part of his world. You had become entangled in his existence, and yet, despite everything, despite the way he protected you, he could never love you. Not in the way you might have wanted. Not in the way that mattered.

Because love had always been reserved for someone else.

Hiromi.

The name echoed in his mind, sharp and clear. Hiromi had been everything to him in a way that transcended time. Even after a thousand years, Sukuna could feel it—that deep, consuming affection that had once tied him to Hiromi like a chain. He didn’t need to question it, didn’t need to doubt. Hiromi was the one he loved, the one he would always love. That had never changed.

And yet, as he chased after the familiar energy, a dark, bitter thought rose in his mind. He had kept you close for so long, but not out of love. It had been care, yes, concern even—but not love. You were valuable to him, a piece of his life that he refused to let the world destroy. But love? No, that was something you would never receive from him. That part of his heart had been taken long ago.

He didn’t regret it. Not for a second.

As he raced toward the source of Hiromi’s energy, Sukuna's lips curled into a slight, dangerous smile.

“Hiromi…” he whispered under his breath, a mixture of longing and hunger in his voice. “After all these years, you still haunt me.”

The urgency in his steps betrayed his growing anticipation, but beneath that, another feeling simmered. A strange unease. Sukuna knew what this meant—what it would mean for him, for you, for everything. He was a hypocrite, and he knew it all too well.

He had spent lifetimes keeping you close, ensuring your safety, binding you to him with his strength. He claimed you as his, possessed you in a way that transcended time and memory. He protected you, watched over you, but love? No, love had never been part of the equation.

Sukuna was no fool. He cared for you, yes. There was a connection, a bond that had grown stronger over time. But it wasn’t love, not in the way most would understand. He knew that. It had always been about control, about ensuring that you remained part of his world, tethered to him by the invisible threads of fate.

You had chosen a path filled with danger, and he had allowed it, begrudgingly, because he didn’t want to lose you. But he did not love you. Not in the way that mattered. Not in the way that consumed him.

That kind of love was reserved for someone else. Hiromi.

The name reverberated in his mind like an old song, the memory of a time long past. Hiromi had been the one he loved, truly loved. The one who had held his heart, back when he had one. The connection between them was something deeper, something far more potent than what he had with you. It was raw and ancient, a passion that transcended lifetimes.

Ryomen Hiromi had been his equal, the one who had understood him in ways no one else ever could. And now, after centuries, Hiromi’s cursed energy was stirring again, calling out to him across time.

Sukuna felt the sharp contrast between what he had with you and what he had once shared with Hiromi. You were his, yes—but in a way that was almost pragmatic, transactional. He cared for you, protected you because you were his responsibility, someone he would never let the world destroy. But it wasn’t the kind of love that set his soul ablaze. Not like Hiromi had.

And that truth didn’t bother him. He didn’t regret it. He didn’t regret holding you close while reserving his deepest, truest love for Hiromi. That was how it was meant to be. You and Hiromi occupied different places in his life, and that was something he had long accepted.

As he sped through the streets of Shibuya, his mind was a storm of thoughts. He knew he was leaving you behind, abandoning you without a second thought to chase the echo of someone he had lost long ago. And yet, he couldn’t stop himself. The pull was too strong, the memory of Hiromi too powerful to resist. You were safe. That’s all that mattered.

But Hiromi… Hiromi was everything.

Sukuna knew, with absolute certainty, that no matter what he had with you, it would never compare to what he had with Hiromi. And he didn’t need it to. He didn’t want it to. He had spent a thousand years in the shadow of that love, and now, with Hiromi’s cursed energy suddenly awakening, all he could think about was reclaiming what had been his—what had always been his.

As Sukuna moved through the city, his chest tightened with anticipation. He was a hypocrite, yes, but he had no regrets. He would protect you, care for you, but the fire that burned within him was for Hiromi alone. You were never meant to hold his heart—not the way Hiromi did. And for that, Sukuna was unapologetic.

This was who he was. This was who he had always been.

Meanwhile, Uraume knelt beside your unconscious form, their expression unreadable as they gently lifted you into their arms. They glanced in the direction Sukuna had disappeared, their lips tightening slightly.

"Always leaving." Uraume muttered quietly, more to themselves than to you. They knew better than anyone what Sukuna was chasing, and why he hadn’t hesitated to leave. "It’s never enough, is it?"

They looked down at you, a strange softness entering their gaze.

"You’re fortunate he cares for you as much as he does." Uraume added quietly, though the words felt hollow. Because they knew, just as you might someday come to realize—Sukuna’s heart belonged to someone else, someone from long ago.

And no one would ever replace that.

HE HAD NOT REMEMBERED WHAT HE THOUGHT THE FIRST TIME HE DIED. But this time around, he did. As Ryomen Sukuna lay on the ground, his once-imposing form crumbling, the weight of his own mortality pressing down on him for the first time in centuries, he felt something stir in the space around him. A soft, familiar presence, like a breeze carrying the scent of a life long forgotten. It was not a presence he had ever felt in a long time.

He opened his eyes, and there you were. Your past self, standing before him as though summoned by the final moments of his life. You were just as he remembered, yet different—there was a lightness in your eyes, a peace he hadn’t seen in so long. And as you approached, there was no anger, no bitterness, no pain. You smiled at him. A gentle, almost wistful smile, as though all the years of cruelty, all the darkness that had passed between you, had never existed.

“Sukuna–sama.” you greeted softly, your voice carrying an odd tenderness, as though you were greeting an old friend.

He stared at you, confused, his chest tight with an unfamiliar emotion. The weight of his sins, the centuries of violence, grief, pain and manipulation—all of it should have driven you away. And yet here you were, standing before him, smiling as if nothing had ever been wrong. As if he had never hurt you. As if you hadn’t hated him for it.

“You’re really here….little one.” Sukuna rasped, his voice rough, but there was a vulnerability in it he hadn’t allowed himself to feel in a thousand years. “After everything...you’re still here?”

You nodded, kneeling down beside him, your gaze soft but resolute. “I’m here, Sukuna–sama. But we both know this is the end, don’t we?”

He grunted, dark scarlet eyes flickering with both amusement and bitterness. “So it seems.” He paused, the weight of what was to come settling in. “And now what? What happens next? You’ve come to watch me die, little one?

You shook your head gently, your expression unchanged. “No. I came to say goodbye.”

A silence stretched between you both, heavy and profound. Ryomen Sukuna’s breath grew more labored, the energy draining from him faster now. His dark eyes never left yours, trying to read you, to understand what this moment meant. You were supposed to go wherever he was, you would follow. Words were wind and yet, your actions — they said other things.

“Goodbye, huh?” he muttered, his lips curling into a smirk that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “And what am I supposed to do with that? After everything…after all these years, little one?”

You hesitated, looking down at your hands before meeting his gaze once more. “I need you to let me go, Sukuna–sama.”

Sukuna’s eyes darkened. “Let you go? I’ve kept you for a reason, little one. You’ve been mine for longer than either of us can remember.”

You exhaled softly, shaking your head. “Not anymore. Not this time.I can’t love you like this, Sukuna–sama. Not like I did before. That love—it’s gone.”

His jaw tightened, a spark of anger flashing in his eyes. “And why is that? Because of him? Because of that brat?”

He didn’t need to say the name. You both knew who he meant.

You didn’t flinch. “Yes. I love Yuji now. I had…I had been reborn now, Sukuna–sama. He’s who I’ve chosen. He’s who I am in this life. And I want to be happy, Sukuna–sama. Truly happy.”

Sukuna scoffed, his lips curling into a bitter smile. “Happy, huh? That’s what you want?”

You nodded, your voice soft but firm. “You always said you wanted that for me, didn’t you? You kept me close because you said you wanted me safe. But I don’t want to live like this anymore. I don’t want to be bound to something that doesn’t exist—something that’s only pain and emptiness.”

Sukuna was silent for a long moment, his breath shallow, his eyes narrowing as he stared up at the sky. “So that’s it then? After everything, you’re just going to walk away?” His voice was laced with bitterness, but beneath it, there was something else—a resignation, an understanding that this was inevitable.

You reached out, gently taking his hand. The gesture surprised him, and for the first time in a long time, Sukuna didn’t pull away.

“I want to let you go, Sukuna–sama.” you said softly. “But I need you to let me go too. So we can both be free.”

His eyes flickered with something unspoken, a quiet turmoil that even he didn’t fully understand. For so long, he had kept you tethered to him, not out of love but possession, out of the need to control, to keep you as part of his world. And now, here you were, asking him to release you from the very chains he had forged. Asking to be separated from you, forever.

“You think it’s that easy?” Sukuna whispered, his voice hoarse. “After everything we’ve been through, after all the years…”

“No, no.” you replied gently, a small ghostly smile on your face. “It's not easy. I know that much. But it’s what needs to happen. We’ve both held on for too long. You and I—we’re not meant to be like this anymore.”

Ryomen Sukuna’s eyes searched yours, and for a moment, he saw something he had long since forgotten. The softness, the kindness in your gaze—the person you had once been before all of this. And he knew, deep down, that you were right.

He had kept you close out of fear. Fear of losing the one thing in his life that had ever mattered, the one of the very few people who had ever made him feel something beyond the void of his existence. But you were no longer his, and he was no longer yours. It was never meant to be. He knew that from the beginning.

With a deep, labored breath, Sukuna closed his eyes, his grip on your hand loosening. “Fine, little one.” he rasped. “Go. Be with him. Be happy. It’s what you want, right?”

A tear slipped down your cheek as you smiled at him, the sadness in your eyes mixed with a profound sense of peace. “Thank you, Sukuna–sama.”

For a moment, you both sat in silence, the weight of all those years of history between you. And then, quietly, you leaned forward, pressing a soft kiss to his forehead. He lets the warmth echo through his flesh. He didn’t want you to let go, he didn’t want you to leave him. And yet, he had to let you go.

“Goodbye, Sukuna–sama.” you whispered. “Be free. Choose your path too.”

With that, you stood up, turning away from the man who had once held your heart, leaving him to the twilight of his life. You didn’t look back as you walked away, knowing that this was the end of one chapter, and the beginning of another. You will never find each other again.

Ryomen Sukuna watched you go, his vision fading, a strange mix of regret and relief flooding through him. He had let you go, and in doing so, perhaps, for the first time in his long, twisted life, he had let himself go too.

IT WAS ODD, THIS PLACE. And it was where all souls go. At least that’s what his father used to say to him. Sukuna had not believed it then. But here is the proof. Here is the truth. The path of souls stretched endlessly before him, an ethereal twilight where time held no meaning and silence enveloped the realm.

Ryomen Sukuna’s hand held firmly to Uraume’s own, though Uraume’s presence beside him was faint, as if they too were fading into the beyond. Uraume, after all, was too young to understand it all yet.

And he didn’t want to distress them. His crimson eyes scanned the surreal landscape, not for the first time wondering what came next. Death had always been an abstract concept for someone like him—feared by others, but never himself. Yet here he was, on this path, somewhere between existence and oblivion.

He felt a pull, a presence just ahead, and as they walked, familiar figures began to emerge in the mist. Among them, Mahito lounges carelessly, his usual playful smile twisted with curiosity as he looks over at Sukuna.

“Well, well,” Mahito said with a chuckle, “It’s been a while, hasn’t it, Sukuna?”

Sukuna glanced at Mahito, but his eyes were drawn past him, pulled to a figure he hadn’t expected to see again in this realm. Hiromi.

Hiromi stood a few paces away, her form illuminated by the soft glow of the path. Her presence was calm, unwavering, as though the centuries of separation between them had not dulled the bond that once existed. She smiled at him—a small, knowing smile, one that held both understanding and a quiet challenge.

"It’s been a long time." you said, your voice cutting through the haze of memories that clouded his mind. You had appeared beside Mahito, your eyes softer now than when you last spoke to Sukuna.

It had been a lifetime ago—literally. But here, in the land between worlds, there was no more need for pretense. It had been so long since you both had been truly honest with one another.

Sukuna’s expression softened slightly, though his sharp edges remained. He wasn’t one for sentimentality, and yet, standing here, he felt something stir within him. He inclined his head to you, acknowledging your presence, but his gaze drifted back to Hiromi.

“Hiromi.” he said with a quiet intensity, his voice lower than usual, almost…reverent. Uraume, sensing the moment, quietly stepped back, releasing his hand.

Hiromi stepped forward, her dark eyes locked onto Sukuna’s. She looked just as she had the last time he had seen her, centuries ago. The weight of their shared past hung in the air between them, unspoken but ever-present.

“It’s been too long….Sukuna.” Hiromi said softly, her voice carrying a quiet warmth. She looked at him with that same measured calm, though there was something in her eyes, something that had been left unsaid for far too long.

Sukuna remained silent for a moment, taking in the sight of her. He had never been a man to reflect on his emotions, to consider the consequences of his actions beyond immediate gratification or power. But here, now, on the path of souls, stripped of the pretenses of life, there was a clarity he couldn’t ignore.

“What path will you walk, Sukuna?” Hiromi asked, her voice steady but soft, as though she already knew the answer.

For the first time in what felt like an eternity, Sukuna smiled—a small, almost imperceptible curve of his lips. It wasn’t the predatory grin he was known for, but something quieter, something…honest.

“A path with you.” he answered, his voice carrying the weight of every century that had passed. There was no hesitation in his words, no mask to hide behind. Here, in this liminal space, he could admit what had always been true. “Even if there will be nothing between us.”

Hiromi’s smile deepened, though her eyes were tinged with something bittersweet. “Even if there’s nothing?”

Sukuna held her gaze, his expression uncharacteristically vulnerable. “I was bound to you the moment I met you. You know that too well, don’t you?”

His words were simple, but they carried the weight of a lifetime—perhaps several lifetimes—of unspoken truths. He had never been one to voice such sentiments, not in life, not when there was always another battle, another conquest, another way to assert his dominance over the world. But here, stripped of all that power, all that ambition, there was only the truth.

Hiromi’s eyes softened, and she reached out, her hand brushing lightly against his. The touch was fleeting, but it was enough. She didn’t need to say anything; the silence between them spoke volumes.

Mahito chuckled softly behind them, amused by the display but wise enough not to interrupt. “So, Sukuna…..” he teased back. “Even a human curse has your attachments, huh?”

Sukuna shot him a glare, but there was no real malice in it. “And what of it?” he muttered, though his usual venom was absent.

Hiromi gave a small laugh, shaking her head at Mahito before returning her attention to Sukuna. “It’s not attachments that hold you down.” she said softly, her eyes reflecting the soft glow of the path around them. “It’s what you choose to carry.”

“And what are you carrying?” Sukuna asked, his voice quieter now, the question more personal than he’d intended.

Hiromi’s eyes held his, the connection between them clear and unbreakable, even in this world of shadows and souls. “Only what I choose. And now, I choose peace.”

She let her hand fall from his, the warmth of the touch lingering between them. The path stretched out before them, infinite and unknown, but somehow, less daunting with her beside him. It was just like back then. When they were together. Happy. At peace.

Sukuna nodded, a rare understanding passing between them. He had been many things in his life—cruel, selfish, a god of calamity—but here, now, there was only one thing that mattered.

“I’ll walk with you then.” he said, his voice firm. He looks at Uraume. “Both of us will.”

Hiromi smiled, the kind of smile that held centuries of history, of pain, of love, and of letting go. “Then let’s walk together.” she said simply.

And for the first time in a thousand years, Ryomen Sukuna felt something other than hunger, other than rage. He felt…whole.

epilogue

You and Yuji were crouched behind a row of bushes, peeking over the top like kids playing hide and seek. Except, instead of hiding from a grumpy neighbor, you were hiding from a low-grade curse that looked like a giant, angry turnip.

"Okay, so what’s the plan?" Yuji whispered, his face way too serious for someone talking about vegetable-based curses.

"I was thinking... you distract it, and I’ll sneak around and exorcise it fully." you replied, glancing at the turnip monster, which seemed to be getting more agitated by the second.

"Alright, alright. I got it." Yuji said with a determined nod. Then, after a beat of silence, he looked back at you, his usual playful grin sneaking onto his face. "You know, we make a pretty good team….They were right to assign us together for missions, hm?”

You chuckled softly, feeling your heart skip a beat despite the fact that this was the least romantic setting possible. "We do, don't we? Not many people can take on turnip monsters with such finesse."

Yuji grinned, then cleared his throat awkwardly. "Hey, uh, while we’re on the topic of being a good team, there's... there's something I’ve been wanting to say."

Your eyes widened a little, curiosity and nervousness stirring in your chest. "What is it?"

"Well, it's just... I like being around you. Genuinely…..It’s….I just….I like…I like spending time with you." Yuji said, rubbing the back of his neck, his cheeks turning a little pink. "Like, a lot. More than just the 'let's-fight-curses-together' way."

Your heart started racing, and you could feel your face getting warm. "I... I feel the same way." you admitted, trying to keep your voice steady even though your insides were doing cartwheels. "I’ve liked you for a while, actually."

Yuji blinked in surprise, then broke into the brightest, most ridiculous smile you’d ever seen. "Wait, really? Do you like me? Like, like me?"

You nodded, biting back a grin. "Yeah, I like you. A lot."

For a moment, the two of you just stared at each other, grinning like idiots, the turnip curse temporarily forgotten. Laughter echoes from Yuji and then you, and all at once, there was some harmony. The peace that you both had been craving to have. The joy that comes with being together.

"Man, I should’ve told you sooner!" Yuji said, looking like he was about to burst with happiness. "We could’ve been doing all this curse-fighting and dating at the same time!"

You laughed, your nerves fading as the warmth of the moment settled over you. "Better late than never, right?"

Yuji nodded enthusiastically. "Yeah! And now that we’ve got that out of the way, I say we finish off this turnip monster and then—"

Suddenly, the turnip curse let out a loud, disgruntled roar, reminding you both that, yes, you were still on a mission.

"Right, curse first, dating later," Yuji said quickly, scrambling to his feet. "Let’s do this!"

In a blur of movement, Yuji launched himself at the turnip, giving you the perfect opening to come around the side. With a swift, precise strike, you exorcised the curse, watching it dissolve into nothing.

Yuji jogged back over to you, grinning. "See? Told you we’re a good team."

You smiled back, feeling a rush of affection for him. "Yeah, we are. And from now on, we’ll be a good team together—on missions and in life."

Yuji’s smile softened, his brown eyes locking with yours in a way that made your heart flutter. "I like the sound of that," he said, his voice a little quieter but full of warmth.

You reached out, taking his hand in yours. "Come what may, right?"

"Right." Yuji agreed, squeezing your hand gently. "No matter what happens, I want to be by your side. Happy. Together."

And with that, the two of you stood there, hand in hand, as the remnants of the curse faded into the wind, feeling lighter than ever—ready to face whatever came next, as long as it was together.

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creamflix · 25 days ago

Note

Can I request Ratio + warm, fuzzy blankets (nice) please? Thank you and enjoy your holidays!

you’ve received a gift! ⋆˚��𝜚˚⋆ want to check out other gifts? ・:〃➜ click here!

"veriiiitassss," you whined, dramatic as ever, arms outstretched like a desperate villager begging for salvation.

“i’m freezing over here! c'mon, you’re practically a furnace. just lemme —”

“no.” his response was swift and firm, his usual tone laced with the faintest hint of exasperation as he glanced up from his book. “you’re perfectly capable of using the blankets you insisted on buying last season.”

you gawked at him, scandalized. “blankets don’t have body heat, veritas! i need you. this is life or death!”

“if you were truly freezing, you wouldn’t be standing there flailing like a lunatic,” he said, snapping his book shut and resting it on the table beside him.

his reddish-pink eyes flicked over to you, sharp and piercing. “stop being dramatic.”

“dramatic? dramatic?!” you clutched your chest as if he’d mortally wounded you. “this is betrayal. betrayal of the highest order. i’m your lover, veritas. you’re supposed to keep me warm. isn’t that, like, a rule or something?”

“the only rule is to use common sense,” he said, standing and gesturing toward the blanket pile in the corner of the room. “go. wrap yourself up. weighted blankets exist for a reason.”

defeated but not willing to give up entirely, you stomped — childishly, admittedly — to the pile and dragged out the heaviest, fluffiest blanket you could find. muttering about boyfriends and their frigid hearts, you buried yourself in the cocoon of fabric and plopped onto the bed, pointedly turning your back to him.

“i hope you’re happy,” you sulked, voice muffled by the blanket. “your poor, freezing partner is left to fend for themselves. what a cruel, cruel world.”

the room was silent for a moment, save for the sound of pages turning as he resumed his book.

then, you felt it — the bed dipped under his weight, his warmth radiating against your back as he laid down beside you.

“your attitude is appalling,” he muttered, his voice low and gruff as his arm snaked around your waist, pulling you flush against him. “you sulk like a child.”

your pout morphed into a smug grin as you wriggled against him. “says the one who gave in.”

“i didn’t give in. i’m ensuring you don’t suffocate yourself in that ridiculous blanket,” he retorted, though his hand rested on your hip, fingers curling possessively.

“mhmm. suurrre.” you craned your neck to glance at him, catching the faintest hint of a smirk tugging at the corners of his lips.

“admit it, you missed me.”

“missed the silence, maybe,” he replied, though the way he pulled you closer betrayed his words.

you snuggled deeper into his chest, grinning like you’d won the lottery.

“you’re warm,” you murmured, your tone softening.

he huffed, the sound almost amused. “you’re insufferable.”

“and yet, here you are,” you teased, pressing a kiss to his jaw. “spooning me like the big softie you are.”

he sighed, resting his chin atop your head. “only because you’ll never stop complaining otherwise.”

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sturnsdarling · 1 month ago

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teenage dirtbags, part three

Skater!matt and overachiever!reader study in the library

vibe check: enemies to lovers au, a lingering look from reader? matt being goofy, bickering, just all the shit we love guys come on

1.6k words

A/N: this is like a filler part before the actual fun bit where they aren't just studying and bickering. ugh i'm sorry its taken me so long to get out a part three i'm so busy with uni. send me ideas for what you wanna see from them because your girl is braindead. also you know i had to make matt a feminist skater boy...being able to yap about philosophy in my fics gives me a little too much joy. anywaysssss i hope you love this

intro, part one, part two

love and cigs, merc

You had told Matt to meet you in the library, not wanting to be in a confined space with him like your room like you had been the last few times you'd studied, being around him was painful enough, you didn't need it to be a private one on one situation every single time.

You were sat, one leg up on the creaky wooden chair with your head tucked in your current read, absent-mindedly twirling a small strand of hair by your ear into a ringlet around your finger. The library is near enough silent, the only sounds being that of a whirling printer and a few whispers from people doing joint projects a few tables over.

The serenity of the building was quickly interrupted by an obnoxious slam of the giant stain glass doors, one hitting the door frame after the other. Everyone in the room turned to look at the noise with a scowl, and the loud crash was followed by a small 'sorry'. You were torn from your book, only to be met with the apologetic frame of Matt, shuffling through the tables, his board in hand and an apologetic look, that was hiding a boyish grin, spread on his face.

you couldn't help but roll your eyes as he sauntered over to you, not a care in the world as he loudly placed all his belongings on the old, shiny oak table you were sat at.

"wussup, y/l/n" Matt said, shocked that you were already here, "am I late?" he said.

you looked at the gold, vintage watch on your wrist with a deadpan face, "only three minutes" you said, looking back to him, "lets get started" you pulled your notes for him out your bag, spreading everything out on the table.

"Jesus, not a minute to waste, huh?" Matt chuckled, sitting down opposite you and getting his notebook out, followed by all the readings you had assigned him.

"I'd like to cut the amount of time I have to be seen with you in public down to a minimum so, yeah" you said, shooting him a sarcastic smile that he returned.

Matt laid out his books on the table, all five of them riddled with little sticky notes and tabs, seeming to be very throughly annotated and read. You scanned his collection, you only assigned him three, albeit they were the heaviest with the dark green tabs you had given him, but not only had he actually done what you'd asked, he did more.

A small smile attempted to form on your lips but you quickly reminded yourself of your distaste and forced your face muscles into compliance.

"I, um, I liked this one a lot, she seems like she knows what she's talkin' about" Matt said, picking up Simone De Beauvoir's little red book and scanning it quickly.

"Beauvoir was one of the first modern philosophers I read, she's pretty cool" You nodded, focused on the hundreds of tabs in the pages, "you annotated these really thoroughly" you picked up his copy on Fanon, fanning through the pages and creating a little wind tunnel in front of your face.

"you asked me to" Matt said non-chalantly, shrugging.

You caught his eye line and let a downwards smile form on your face, raising your brows quickly before tearing your eyes from his.

You and Matt got right to it, going over everything he had written previously and cross referencing it with all the new content he had consumed. His approach was near enough perfect now it just needed its 'meat and potatoes', as Matt would say, and he was good to go.

It was nice, being able to talk to someone about philosophy in a way that wasn't just them trying to prove that they knew more than you, helping Matt study was easy and, despite the company, a nice break from the dick slinging competition your degree often felt like.

"I think I want to make Beauvoir more central to my point" Matt said, "I feel like this whole concept of 'the Other' can be applied to further corners of society and... I kinda wanna try" His final words came out more nervous than the rest, as if he lost faith in himself half way through.

"okay" You nodded, pulling out your own copy of Beauvoir and flitting through the pages, "you can definitely do that" you nodded with a shrug, not looking at the way his face lit up in response to your confidence in him.

You and Matt spent the next few hours reading basically every bit of text the library had on Beauvoir, silently flicking through everything she'd ever written, trying to find the perfect point. Matt was man spreading on his chair, back low against the seat as his leg bounced at a rapid pace against the old, dusty blue carpet, his fingers effortlessly twirling a highlighter in circles as he lost himself in the tattered book in his hand.

You were cross legged across from him, head hung low on its hinge as you chewed on the end of your pen, scanning through applications of Beauvoir, trying to find something that hadn't been said, and hoping Matt was smart enough to say it.

You knew he was, he wasn't an idiot, he just never tried. It was infuriating, how despite his complete lack of effort, he was still always on the podium with you, taunting you with his effortless wit and intelligence.

"can you stop shaking your leg" You said, growing more irritated by his movements by the second

Matt looked up from his book, "it helps me focus" he said, still shaking his leg.

"its annoying" you said, huffing and placing your feet on the floor

"more annoying than your little incoherent mumbles?" Matt said, cocking his head to the side

you slammed the book shut in your lap, "what are you talking about?" you screwed your face up at him

Matt chuckled and shifted in his chair, "so maybe if we, actually no, oh actually what about, hmm, no that won't work" Matt mumbled, mimicking you down to the pen in his mouth. Once he had finished his performance, he looked back to you with a smug smile

"I don't do that" you scoffed, looking him up and down

"yeah, you do" Matt nodded

"no, I don't" you pushed, tone growing more annoyed by the second.

"yes, you do" an unfamiliar voice sounded from beside you, a stranger, joining Matts side

You immediately turned your head to shoot him a dirty look, returning your attentions to Matt, his lips tight in a smile as he lazily pointed at the stranger as if to say 'told ya'

you rolled your eyes with a deep sigh, pulling your legs back up under you as you opened you book in a strop. Matt smirked, biting down on the end of his pen with a small shake of his head.

"nothing to say, y/l/n?" Matt taunted

"just read your book, Matt" you snapped, looking him up and down once more.

Matts eyes widened slightly as his smug smile grew on his face,

"yes ma'am" he said, sarcastically as he returned to his book, no longer shaking his leg.

You both returned to silence, losing track of time in your selected readings. Matts legs were crossed over one another on the table, creating a small bridge between the surface and his chair. He had taken his beanie off, exposing his fluffy brown hair that fell in a perfect yet messy middle part. A toothpick hung from his lips as he once again twirled a pen round his fingers, unable to just simply read without doing at least something. You were tucked up in a ball on your chair, back against where your ass should go and legs hung over the arm rest slightly as you held yet another text above your face, mumbling to yourself.

You caught yourself mid mumble, and it tore your attentions from your reading. You shifted in your seat, looking over to Matt, who was perfectly illuminated by the green table light, his bright blue eyes flitting over the lines on the page. You let your gaze linger on his mouth for a moment, watching how he let the toothpick dance over his teeth, guiding it with his tongue.

As if he could feel you looking at him, he locked eyes with you, his head and body unmoving. You quickly looked away and soon noticed that everyone in the library had begun to filter out one by one, leaving you the only people in there other than the librarian.

"we should go" you cleared your throat, sitting up completely.

Matt looked around, seeing all the lights other than yours turned off and hearing the jingle of keys from the librarian getting ready to lock up.

"why?" Matt said

"because the library is closing?" you said, explaining it to him in the tone you would a five year old.

Matt deadpanned at your condescending tone, tilting his head slightly, "I know that, dickhead, what I mean is, lets stay"

"but the library is closing..." you said, cocking your eyes to the side.

Matt let out a short chuckle and shook his head, collecting all his things messily and getting up, "come on" He said, ducking into the darkness of the towering stacks of books.

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beforetimes · 4 months ago

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if there's one thing that can be said about peter maximoff, it's that he's always got his ear to the ground when it comes to gossiping. it's like, his thing by now. if anyone wanted to hide their secrets from him they'd be fresh out of luck because despite how much he darts around and lets himself trail off sentences in the middle of them to zip off and do something else because he got tired of slowing himself down in the middle of it, he is surprisingly good at being quiet when he needs to and being at the right place at the right time. he has a very good record when it comes to this stuff, so he knows it's not bullshit when he's figured out that his dad—which, like, wow, his dad?—is in the dating scene. he knows it. what's more of a surprise is that he's gotten all strung up with charles xavier, of all people.

which, like, peter doesn't hate the guy. he doesn't! he was just under the impression that ten years ago—wow, ten years really fly when you really think about it, that day feels like forever ago and yesterday at the same time—that charles and erik hated each other. so he guesses he missed the memo where they kissed and made up after punches were thrown in the pentagon's elevator by a drenched, half-sober man who looked like he would laser erik to death with his eyes the way scott tries to do to peter about four times a week without even taking off his glasses in case he'd accidentally make it stick. though he couldn't, because, like. peter is very fast. duh.

so. the evidence behind his claims goes as follows (of course he collected evidence, peter says to ororo, affronted, when she asks if he even had proof. what was he, an ameteur?):

1. erik keeps taking lunch breaks.

it's not like he didn't before but he was definitely less likely to. when they were rebuilding the x-mansion after it blew up and he was their heaviest lifter, it would be rare to peel him away from all the construction. erik was actually weirdly good at building, which peter didn't really expect for some reason because he was always under the impression all the guy did was like. terrorize people. or kill them. or twist spoons into pretzels just because he could. but no, nowadays he's been taking more lunch breaks than ever and it's a very pointed difference, even though they've already finished construction a few months ago and erik didn't really have a reason to stay. unless the reason to stay was so he could be with charles! (scott stares at him with that unimpressed, laser-eyes look again so peter flips him off and continues past the sputtering).

2. he's also like, weirdly nice now?

which isn't to say that peter didn't think terrorists couldn't be nice. which sounds bad but erik might be the one exception. anyway, when peter saved him about a decade ago he remembered the guy being kind of an asshole when he met up with charles for the first time and yes he knows that it puts a damper on his dating theory, jean, but he's not done yet so wait a second. anyway, he was less of an asshole when he came back to help fix the mansion after trying to kill the whole world so peter guessed he kind of swings on a pendulum between good and evil and whatever they get on that day is like the worlds most important and demented coin flip. that's besides the point. so when he was back here to help fix things up he stayed out of everyone's way and he wouldn't do much to bother anyone because in peter's opinion erik didn't want to scare the little kids who knew of his reputation even if they didn't know his face. but, like, now he's been here a while it's like a complete 180. peter caught him teaching a seven year old how to tie his shoes the other day. a thirteen year old shortstack was rocking back and forth on her heels while erik got her a book from one of the higher shelves of the mansions newly refurbished library (who knew that once you saved the world there would be at least one or two places willing to donate books on top of charles' infinite wealth?). it was like stepping into the twilight zone. but it was real. like, peter saw the hint of a real smile on erik's face one time when he saw the man looking over the grassy field of the school. it freaked him out a bit.

3. charles knows how erik takes his coffee

this is admittedly one of his weaker arguments from the lead-in, peter concedes when he gets blank stares from storm, jean, scott, and kurt. like, even kurt! he didn't think that was a look he could pull from that kid. anyway, peter says that it's pretty damn obvious that erik has a whole thing when it comes to charles being in his head. he's heard from someone who heard from a friend who eavesdropped on a teacher who overheard charles and raven after a faculty meeting that the helmet erik wore all the damn time when he was evil was to keep charles from getting into his head. which explains a lot. anyway erik has a complex about charles getting in his head. but he doesn't wear the helmet now and peter heard charles one morning when he was getting ready to start the day off by eating at least two and a half boxes of poptarts. he heard the man say something like coffee? and he heard erik reply with a hum and charles went how dyou want it and erik said don't you know already? and peter had peered in then and seen erik gesture to his head. and he wasn't defensive about it at all and charles had this really weird look on his face that peter spend a few seconds examining in hyperspeed before getting away from the whole thing because the vibes were so weird. but yeah. erik let charles into his head just for some coffee after spending like two decades trying to keep charles out of his head. which has to mean something (and peter knows he's hooked them now because even scott is leaning in like he's interested and that kid would pretend he had a ticklish throat and needed a water bottle more than anyone else in the immediate vicinity if peter was on fire in front of him).

4. all the chess boards

like, they're all over the place. it's excessive. there's a different game set up in the library, on a table in the garden, on charles' desk in his office, on erik's desk in his office and his bedroom. and no one touches them because no one likes fucking chess except for cute little ten year old jenny because her grandfather taught her before she accidentally turned his house into clouds and seventeen year old thomas who's a prick because he thinks he's more distinguished than anyone ever because he came all the way over from europe or whatever the fuck and peter can't see either of them sitting down to play one game, let alone multiple. and he knows chess is charles and erik's thing because he saw the board in erik's room one time—(you were in his room? ororo asks with a very deep look and peter nods and goes yeah we've been bonding lately but it's kind of one sided because it's more like me showing up and him tolerating me until i leave but like it's progress!)—and peter asked before erik could get a chance to politely kick him out and erik actually paused and told him that chess was a shared hobby of theirs from a few years back and get this, peter says conspiratorially, leaning forward as the rest follow suit. he smiled. like a full on real smile with teeth. and peter was so taken aback he was like that's sweet man and then left before he could be kicked out. and now he knows that the only people who play chess in this mansion are dickhead european thomas and sweet little jenny and charles and erik, all the games all over the place have to be charles and erik's which means they spend a lot more time together than he thought before. and they plan to spend it together because a lot of these games are half finished, like they leave and come back every few days depending on how much free time either of them have. (and now everyone looks thoroughly hooked because the evidence peter brings is good because peter is a hell of a gossip, dammit. he won't have people questioning his skills when it comes to this. he was made to be at old little women's tea parties where they talk about their evil husbands doing war crimes. that's what he guesses goes on there, anyway, considering his first gossip session with his mom went that way)

5. charles is happier now

and jean frowns at this one right off the bat but no one really says anything because the way peter said it was soft and kind of less jokey than the rest of his tirade. because it was something he wasn't really expecting? because charles wasn't sad per se, he was always happy in front of the kids and he didn't try to drag them down with his own moods and ever since the guy got sober he's looked a hell of a lot more put together than when he showed up on peter's doorstep, tired and hungover and just plain heartbroken. but even in that small time frame between defeating apocalypse and the mansion being rebuilt, he was just... sort of happy. happy he lived, maybe. happy the world made it and his mansion was being rebuilt so he could home all these poor kids without anywhere to turn to that understood them. but wow, the stark difference between a charles that was kind of okay and a charles that was happy was like night and day. he was just so much brighter now that it took peter aback sometimes. he hummed under his breath whenever peter walked by him in the halls at a human speed and those old withered plants in his office started to stand taller, as if someone finally started watering them. and hank stopped staring at charles the way he did when peter met them a decade ago—waiting for something to give. so, yeah, charles is definitely happier now when no one even knew he was unhappy at all. and it all started when erik started taking lunch breaks.

and jean and scott and ororo and kurt are looking at him less like he's pulling their legs and more like he's made a point that makes them a little sad which wasn't the goal but he gets it. charles is like, jean's dad in a way, and the rest really look up to him despite only being here just shy of a year, so to hear this guy that they always saw as this strong bastion of optimism and goodwill was just sort of sad all the time right under their noses was probably depressing the hell out of the four of them. but it was the truth. and peter knows it was because he can practically see them recalling how the professor was before he got there and before he made up with erik.

so yeah. peter is right. erik and charles are probably dating and now four more people know that charles is happier than he was before and erik is too. and privately, peter thinks maybe if erik is happy to find family in charles, he'd be happy to find family in peter, too. but that's something for another day. he's just suddenly aware of the fact that he's so glad these guys who were so bent out of shape and angry and irritated and heartbroken and assholeish ten years ago are looking at each other like the sun took up custody of both their smiles or whatever.

anyway i'll see you guys later, peter tells them, and races off before they can say anything. he's already halfway across the school and in his room playing pac-man before any of them can blink.

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greenqueenhightower · 6 months ago

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Thoughts on the Alicent x Aegon Scene in 2x04:

Aegon realizes he has no words of wisdom and zero contributions to offer his small council and sits there, listening to his councilors make all his decisions for him. It unnerves him.

Alicent is absent from the small council yet again. Is she in Viserys’ /the King’s rooms searching for crumbs of confirmation that Viserys cared for her and her children, or is she seeking the history books so that SHE might become a more informed and wiser ruler? Has she finally accepted that they are headed to war and that she needs to sharpen her political acumen?

Her sudden interest in the histories parallels Rhaenyra in 2x02 perusing the documents available at her library. Once again, the two heads of the factions mirror each other in their quest for wisdom and their attempt to make informed decisions for the good of their side before all hell breaks loose.

Alicent is dealing with the aftermath of her abortion as is evident from her need to steady herself and her teetering walk. Has she so much become like Larys in her ambitions and disposition?

“What thoughts would you have?” Alicent speaks her mind and doesn’t hide behind words anymore. She smirks at Aegon’s naïveté. Aegon is upset for not being taken seriously just like Alicent is upset for not being in a position where she can make meaningful decisions. However, Alicent understands that to become a significant contributor she needs to cultivate her mind and further develop her political skills. This necessity eludes Aegon. It makes her laugh because he doesn't see the worth in seeking his own advancement and pressing on to maturity ever since he's been crowned King.

“I ruled in your father's absence.” Alicent recognizes that she ruled ON HER OWN when Viserys was sick. Especially now that she’s embraced the high stakes and weightiness of their position, she wants to resume a more active role in the realm’s governance: “You should humbly be seeking OUR opinions and counsel.” Alicent tells Aegon that he needs to be observant and obedient to make studied and wise decisions.

“In the hope you might become half the king your father was.” She never hoped that Aegon, with his disinterest in history and his distaste for learning, would make a good king just as Viserys wasn’t a great king. Yet, she continues, if Aegon lets the most studied minds rule in his stead, he will compensate for his incompetence, like Viserys. Being compared to his father makes Aegon, once again, feel lacking and redundant.

“You have no idea the sacrifices that were made to put you on that throne.” Alicent wants Aegon to take on her heaviest weight on his shoulders, that of proving all her sacrifices worthwhile. She wants him to affirm her expectations of him and become that pawn that she and Otto thought would be easy to manipulate. The same pawn that she had been all these years.

“What would you have me do mother?” Aegon genuinely looks for his mother’s approval and guidance. He wants to please her and yet fails to grasp how he’s always been her political gasp for air, her passageway into a world of greater power. He doesn’t have to do anything for Alicent to achieve this.

“Nothing.” Aegon has always been dispensable. His father didn’t need an heir. His mother required an heir but now has no use for an impetuous and unruly King. The realm doesn’t need an Aegon II who speaks his mind because there will always be a member in his council who will make better decisions than him. No one has a use for his personality, his psyche, or his world, but no one has shown it before because he is the King. Alicent is the only person who dares to hit him in the face with the bitter truth: his sole existence ever since birth was to sit on that throne so that she might secure her family’s lives and her own ambitions.

Aegon, on whom his mother projects her own fears and insecurities and whose broken soul mirrors Alicent's unyoked and distorted pieces within herself, inherits Alicent's frustration with the system and the world he's born into. He responds to that condemnation the only way he knows how:

He rides Sunfyre to battle and to his—almost—death.

It's his own duty and sacrifice.

The price to pay for being born the unwanted, essential, and disposable Targaryen King, all at the same time.

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muiitoloko · 3 months ago

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Would it be messy to say that Elisabeth should hear them shaboinking (difficult woman) 🙈

Title: A Wild Awakening

Summary: Karl guides you through an intense, emotional night that strips away the walls between you, leaving nothing but raw desire and a deep connection in its wake.

Pairing: Karl Hoffmeister × Fem! Reader

Warnings: Smut

Author's Notes: I finally managed to write something I’m really happy with! I hope you all enjoy it just as much as I did.

First, Second, Third, Fourth, Fifth, Sixth, Seventh and Eighth part here.

Also read on Ao3

For the rest of the day, you did everything you could to avoid Karl. Fortunately, it seemed he understood your need for space, and he granted you that rare gift. The tension from the earlier encounter still weighed heavily on your mind, but with Karl keeping his distance, you could at least find some semblance of peace. You spent the morning in the living room, seated by the large window with Mouse curled up on your lap. The puppy’s warmth and gentle breathing soothed your frayed nerves as you absentmindedly stroked his fur, watching the clouds gather in the sky. The weather, once bright and clear, was slowly turning, the darkening clouds signaling that rain would soon fall.

The quiet was welcome after the chaotic events of the morning. The rhythmic ticking of the clock, combined with Mouse’s soft snores, provided a calm backdrop to your thoughts. Occasionally, you glanced toward the door, half-expecting Karl to intrude, but he didn’t. It was a relief, and yet, there was a strange, nagging feeling in your chest—something you refused to acknowledge.

By lunchtime, the clouds had fully overtaken the sky, casting the property in a soft, gray light. You glanced out the window, spotting a car approaching the estate. Johann. A smile crept onto your face as the vehicle came to a stop, and Johann stepped out, holding something in his hand. He looked up, noticing you through the window, and waved enthusiastically, shaking what appeared to be a book in the air. You laughed softly, feeling a rush of gratitude for his presence. Unlike Karl, Johann’s energy was light, easygoing, and without the complicated weight that seemed to hang between you and his cousin.

Carefully placing Mouse on the cushion beside you, you rose and made your way outside to greet Johann. As you stepped out, the cool air brushed against your skin, and Johann’s eyes lit up when he saw you approaching.

“I found it!” he called out, his voice filled with triumph as he held up the thick book. “The heaviest one in the whole city.”

You laughed, shaking your head. “A dictionary?” you asked, reaching out to take it from him. The book was indeed heavy, a massive tome that seemed to contain the entire world’s knowledge. “I could knock someone out with this,” you joked, glancing at Johann with a playful glint in your eye.

“That was the idea,” Johann said with a grin, his green eyes sparkling with mischief. “Next time Karl bother you, you’ll have a weapon at the ready.”

You laughed again, the sound light and easy, and for a moment, all the tension of the morning slipped away. Johann’s laughter joined yours, a deep, warm sound that seemed to echo in the cool air. There was something infectious about his joy, and you couldn’t help but be swept up in it.

As the laughter died down, Johann’s gaze lingered on you a moment longer than usual. His expression shifted slightly, the playfulness in his eyes replaced by something softer, more thoughtful. He studied you, his eyes tracing your features as if seeing you for the first time. The way your hair caught the light, the gentle curve of your smile—there was something about you, something that made his heart skip a beat.

You noticed the change in his demeanor, the way his gaze softened, but you didn’t say anything, unsure of what it meant. Instead, you playfully hefted the dictionary in your hands, pretending to weigh it as though considering its effectiveness as a weapon.

“This will do nicely,” you said with a grin, breaking the brief, silent connection between you and Johann. “I’ll be sure to put it to good use.”

Johann chuckled, though his eyes remained on you, a slight smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “I’m sure Karl won’t know what hit him,” he teased, but his voice had taken on a quieter, more contemplative tone.

For a moment, the two of you stood there, the playful banter giving way to something unspoken, a subtle shift in the air between you. Johann’s green eyes, so often filled with easy laughter, now held a trace of something deeper—an appreciation, perhaps even admiration, that hadn’t been there before. And as he looked at you, laughing and holding that ridiculously thick book, he found himself noticing details he had never truly paid attention to: the way your laughter seemed to light up your entire face, the grace with which you moved, even the warmth of your presence.

It was a fleeting moment, one that passed as quickly as it had come, but it left an impression on Johann. He shook his head slightly, as if trying to clear his thoughts, and offered you a smile—one that was a little softer, a little more genuine than before.

“I’ll have to find something even bigger next time,” he said, his tone light once more. “Maybe an encyclopedia.”

You grinned, stepping closer as you handed the dictionary back to him. “I think this one will do for now,” you replied, feeling a strange warmth at the way Johann was looking at you. “But if you find anything heavier, let me know.”

Johann glanced up at the darkening sky, his expression thoughtful as the first hints of rain began to sprinkle down from the heavy clouds. He waved a hand, motioning for the two of you to head inside. "We should go in before it starts pouring," he suggested lightly, though his gaze seemed to linger on the horizon, as if lost in thought.

You followed him back into the house, grateful to escape the cool, damp air, and as you entered the hallway, Johann’s voice broke the comfortable silence between you. "Have you seen my sister today?"

You glanced at him, briefly wondering what had prompted the question. "Elisabeth is in the bedroom," you informed him. "I saw her earlier, but she’s been keeping to herself since then."

Johann nodded absently, as if the news didn’t surprise him. He ran a hand through his hair, a small sigh escaping his lips. "And Karl? Is he still locked away in his office?"

You couldn’t help but smile faintly at the question. "Yes, he’s been working all day. You know how he is when he gets into one of his moods."

Johann chuckled softly, shaking his head. "Workaholic as ever," he muttered. "Well, I suppose I should go say hello."

He gave you a brief, warm smile, then excused himself, heading down the hall toward Karl’s office. You watched him go for a moment, then turned back toward the living room, feeling a strange sense of relief that Johann’s visit had provided a welcome distraction from the events of the morning.

When Johann reached Karl’s office, he didn’t bother knocking. Instead, he pushed the door open and walked in, unceremoniously interrupting whatever his cousin had been working on. Karl looked up from the papers scattered across his desk, his brow furrowing in irritation as he sighed heavily.

"I put a door there for a reason, Johann," Karl remarked dryly, his baritone voice carrying a note of displeasure.

But Johann only grinned, clearly unconcerned with Karl’s irritation. Without missing a beat, he strode over to the drinks cabinet and helped himself to a glass of whiskey, pouring it with casual ease. "You’ve been working too hard, cousin," Johann said cheerfully, ignoring Karl’s pointed glare. "I went to town today. It was fun. The girls there are still as charming as ever."

Karl sighed, leaning back in his chair and rubbing his temples as if preparing for the inevitable. "I can only imagine where you spent your day," he muttered, his tone heavy with resignation.

Johann shot him a knowing look over the rim of his glass. "Where else? The brothel, of course. The girls were asking about you, you know. One in particular seemed quite disappointed that she hadn’t seen you in a long time."

Karl’s expression darkened slightly, his irritation flaring. He picked up a stack of papers and began shuffling through them, as if to avoid the conversation. "I’m a married man now, Johann," he said flatly. "I don’t have time to entertain whores anymore."

Johann chuckled, clearly amused by Karl’s attempt at propriety. He sauntered over to the desk, taking a seat across from his cousin as he swirled the whiskey in his glass. "Married, yes," he drawled, "but celibate forever? Come now, Karl. I know you too well. You’ll go mad at this rate."

Karl leaned back in his chair, a sly smile tugging at the corners of his lips as he set the stack of papers aside. He didn’t answer Johann right away, taking his time to adjust his position, his hazel eyes gleaming with something that piqued Johann’s curiosity.

Johann raised an eyebrow, his grin widening as he noticed the smirk playing on his cousin’s face. "What’s that look for, Karl?" he teased, leaning forward with renewed interest. "Come on, now. You can’t hide anything from me. What’s going on?"

Karl waved a dismissive hand, as though brushing off the question, but Johann was having none of it. He leaned in further, eyes sparkling with mischief. "Spit it out, cousin. Don’t tell me you’re still chasing after that poor wife of yours like a lovesick schoolboy."

At this, Karl let out a low chuckle, his baritone voice rich with amusement. He glanced at Johann, his smirk widening. "Let’s just say… I don’t think I’ll be celibate for much longer."

Johann’s eyes widened with surprise and intrigue, his glass of whiskey forgotten on the table. "What?" he asked, his voice laced with disbelief. "You’re serious? What happened? Don’t tell me she’s actually warming up to you."

Karl shrugged, trying to keep his tone nonchalant, but the glimmer in his eyes betrayed his excitement. "She asked me to kiss her," he said simply, leaning back in his chair as though it were no big deal. But Johann could see the pride in his cousin’s posture, the subtle shift in Karl’s demeanor that spoke of more than just a kiss.

Johann let out a low whistle, shaking his head in disbelief. "She asked you?" he repeated, his voice full of amusement. "Well, well, this is quite the development. And here I thought you two were constantly at each other’s throats."

Karl’s smirk remained, but he didn’t offer any more details, content to let Johann stew in curiosity. But Johann wasn’t about to let him off the hook so easily. "Come on, don’t hold out on me," Johann urged, leaning forward with a playful grin. "I need details! When did this happen? How did it happen?"

Karl sighed, knowing that Johann wouldn’t drop the subject until he got his answer. "It happened in the garden earlier today," he said, his voice calm as though recounting an ordinary event. "We had a… heated conversation, and then out of nowhere, she told me to kiss her."

Johann’s grin widened, his eyes gleaming with interest. "She told you to kiss her? Now that’s something! And you didn’t waste a second, did you?" he teased, giving Karl a playful nudge.

Karl chuckled again, a deep, rumbling sound. "Of course not," he admitted, his smirk growing more pronounced. "I kissed her, and she didn’t pull away. In fact, she kissed me back."

Johann leaned back in his chair, shaking his head in amusement. "I don’t believe it. The cold Mrs. Hoffmeister finally melting under your charm? You must be feeling quite proud of yourself right now."

Karl didn’t respond immediately, his thoughts briefly returning to the moment in the garden—the feel of your lips against his, the way you had responded to his touch before abruptly pulling away. He conveniently left out the part where you had slapped him and called him a pervert, as that was irrelevant in his mind. What mattered was that you had asked for the kiss. You had wanted him, even if only for a moment.

The rain outside had begun to fall in earnest, the soft patter against the window blending with the low hum of conversation between the two cousins. Johann noticed the distant look in Karl’s eyes and gave him a knowing smile.

"You’re leaving something out," Johann said slyly, tilting his head. "Come on, Karl. You might be a master at business, but you’ve never been good at keeping secrets from me. What else happened?"

Karl shifted in his chair, rubbing his hand against the back of his neck as he avoided Johann’s gaze. "Nothing important," he muttered, trying to downplay the moment. "The point is, she kissed me back."

Johann laughed, clearly not buying Karl’s attempt at dismissal. "Nothing important? You, Karl Hoffmeister, think something isn’t important? That’s rich." He leaned forward again, his grin wide as he pressed on. "Did she slap you afterward? Did she run off in a fit of passion? What aren’t you telling me?"

Karl sighed, knowing that there was no use in trying to avoid Johann’s persistence. "Fine," he said, a touch of exasperation in his voice. "She did slap me… after the kiss. But that’s not the point."

Johann threw his head back and laughed, his laughter echoing through the room. "Ah! There it is! I knew it!" he said, wiping a tear from the corner of his eye. "She slapped you, and you’re still sitting here with that smug look on your face. What is wrong with you?"

Karl couldn’t help but laugh as well, though it was quieter, more subdued. "It doesn’t matter," he said with a shrug. "What matters is that she kissed me first. That’s something, Johann. It means there’s something there."

Johann shook his head, still chuckling as he leaned back in his chair. "You’ve always been a hopeless romantic, Karl," he teased, taking a sip of his whiskey. "But I’ve got to admit, I didn’t see this coming. So, what’s your next move? Are you going to woo her with flowers and poetry?"

Karl rolled his eyes, though there was a hint of amusement in his expression. "I’m not going to rush it," he said, his voice more thoughtful now. "But I’ll find a way. She’ll come around. I know she will."

Johann raised his glass in a mock toast, his grin as wide as ever. "Well, I wish you luck, cousin. You’re going to need it."

The rain continued to fall outside, a soft, steady rhythm that mirrored the quiet determination in Karl’s mind. He wasn’t sure how or when, but he was certain of one thing—you had kissed him, and that meant there was a chance. A chance for something more, something real. And Karl Hoffmeister never backed down from a challenge.

As Johann settled back into his chair, still grinning from ear to ear, Karl allowed himself a rare moment of quiet contemplation. The rain fell steadily against the windows, but inside, a slow burn of hope flickered within him, growing stronger with each passing moment.

Later that evening, after dinner, the mood in the house was surprisingly light, considering the tension earlier in the day. The rain outside continued to fall steadily, creating a soft, rhythmic sound that seemed to soothe the atmosphere within the grand estate. Johann, always the playful spirit, had been eyeing everyone mischievously, as if plotting something.

As the group retired to the living room, Johann finally broke the comfortable silence. "Alright, enough of this quiet. I propose a game!" he declared, his voice filled with excitement.

Elisabeth, in an unusually good mood after winning a stunning piece of jewelry from Johann in an earlier bet, immediately perked up. "Oh, that sounds like fun! What kind of game, Johann?"

Johann, ever the entertainer, grinned. "We’re going to play a game of charades!" His green eyes sparkled with excitement, and he was practically bouncing on his toes.

Karl, sitting in his armchair with a glass of whiskey, raised an eyebrow, his hazel eyes narrowing suspiciously. "Charades?" he muttered in his deep, baritone voice, clearly unimpressed.

"Yes, charades," Johann replied, waving his hand dramatically. "But here’s the twist—we’ll mime, no talking allowed, and the rest of us have to guess. It’ll be fun!" He glanced around the room, landing on you with a mischievous smile. "You’ll play, won’t you?"

You shot him a skeptical look, leaning back in your chair, trying to make yourself as invisible as possible. "I was actually thinking of heading upstairs," you started, hoping to slip away from the chaos that was about to unfold. But Johann wasn’t having it.

"Oh no, no, no," he said, shaking his head vigorously. "You’re not getting out of this that easily. This is going to be a family game, and you, my dear, are part of the family."

You sighed, shooting a glance at Karl, who was clearly just as reluctant. He looked up from his whiskey, meeting your eyes with a mutual understanding—this was going to be painful, but Johann wouldn’t let either of you escape. Still, there was something about the challenge in Karl’s gaze that made your competitive side stir.

"Fine," you finally agreed, rolling your eyes. "But only one round."

"Excellent!" Johann beamed, clapping his hands together again. Elisabeth, who had been lounging by the fire, immediately perked up. She grinned at the idea of seeing her brother and Karl struggle, her eyes twinkling with amusement.

"I love this game," Elisabeth said, leaning forward. "But Karl has to play too."

Karl’s hazel eyes flicked over to her, his mustache twitching slightly in annoyance. "Do I really have to?" he grumbled.

"Yes!" Elisabeth and Johann said in unison.

Karl let out a long, suffering sigh, placing his whiskey on the table. "Fine," he growled, but there was a spark of determination in his eyes that you recognized. He might have been reluctant, but now that he was in, Karl Hoffmeister wasn’t going to lose. Not without a fight.

The game started with Johann going first, his broad gestures and exaggerated movements drawing peals of laughter from everyone. He was miming what appeared to be a chicken trying to cross a busy street, and though you and Karl both shouted out guesses at lightning speed, Elisabeth was the one who nailed it first.

"Johann, you're terrible at this," Karl muttered, shaking his head, but his hazel eyes gleamed with the fire of competition. You could already tell he was strategizing.

Then it was Elisabeth’s turn. She mimed something graceful—perhaps a ballet dancer—and before you could even process it, Karl, with surprising speed, shouted, "A swan! A ballerina! A dancing swan! Swan Lake! Tchaikovsky!" He was practically tripping over his words, throwing out guesses so fast it made your head spin.

Elisabeth laughed, nodding. "Swan Lake it is!"

Karl smirked triumphantly, casting a quick glance in your direction, as if to say, "Try to beat that."

Next, it was your turn. You stepped up, feeling the weight of Karl’s competitive energy bearing down on you. You tried to keep your cool as you began to mime, exaggerating your movements just enough to make it a challenge but still clear enough that they should be able to guess it—if they were quick enough.

But Karl was faster than lightning. "Fishing! A fisherman! No, a knight—a knight fighting a dragon! The sword, it’s Excalibur! No, wait, it’s fencing! Sword fighting!"

His words tumbled out at what felt like ten words per second, his German accent slipping through in his haste. You could barely keep up with his rapid-fire guesses, and before you knew it, Karl was shouting out the right answer—a knight fighting a dragon—and standing up, pumping his fist in victory.

"I knew it!" he said, his chest puffing out slightly as he grinned like a proud schoolboy. You couldn’t help but laugh, shaking your head in disbelief at how seriously he was taking the game.

"You’re insufferable, Karl," you teased, crossing your arms over your chest.

He shot you a sly smile, one eyebrow raised. "That's why I win," he said simply, as though it were the most obvious thing in the world, making you roll your eyes with a smile as you sat back down on the couch.

It was Karl’s turn to mime, and you couldn’t help but notice how awkward he looked standing there in the middle of the room. His broad shoulders hunched slightly, his gray hair catching the dim light of the chandelier above, and his mustache twitching as if it was trying to prepare itself for the challenge ahead. He shifted from foot to foot, clearly uncomfortable, his hazel eyes flickering with hesitation.

Johann and Elisabeth were doing their best to encourage him.

“Come on, Karl, don’t be shy!” Johann called, swirling his glass of whiskey, clearly enjoying the sight of his cousin looking out of his element. “It’s just a game, after all. You’ll be fine.”

Elisabeth, sitting by the fire with an air of quiet elegance, clapped her hands lightly. “Yes, Karl,” she said, her voice soft but full of support. “You can do it. We believe in you.”

You, on the other hand, couldn’t resist poking a bit of fun. Karl, looking flustered? This was too good an opportunity to pass up.

“Oh, poor Karl,” you teased, raising an eyebrow with a mock pout. “What’s the matter? Going to give up already? I thought you were all about winning.” You tilted your head, a playful smile curling your lips. “Unless, of course, you’re scared of losing to me.”

That was all it took. Karl’s eyes darkened slightly, his competitive nature sparking at your words. He straightened up, his chest puffing out as if to reclaim some of the confidence he had lost.

“I’m not giving up,” Karl muttered under his breath, his baritone voice rumbling with determination. “I’ll show you.”

Elisabeth shot you a dirty look, her lips pressed into a thin line. You knew she didn’t like you very much—and why would she? She was in love with Karl, though he, in his obliviousness, had never noticed. But you ignored her icy glare, too focused on watching Karl prepare for his performance. You had a feeling this was going to be good.

Karl cleared his throat, rolled his shoulders, and began. For a moment, it looked like he didn’t quite know where to start. He raised one arm, then lowered it, then rubbed his chin, clearly trying to figure out how to mime whatever he had been assigned. You couldn’t help but smirk.

“Oh, this should be good,” you murmured, just loud enough for him to hear.

Karl shot you a quick glare, but he pressed on, finally deciding on his first move. He crouched down, holding his arms out in front of him, mimicking the shape of… something. You blinked, trying to make sense of what he was doing.

“What… what is that?” Johann asked, leaning forward, his green eyes squinting in confusion. “A bear? No, wait… a cow?”

Elisabeth furrowed her brow, watching Karl intently. “Is it… a cat?” she offered, her voice hesitant.

Karl shook his head violently, his mustache twitching with frustration. He repeated the action, this time adding in a low growl, which only made him sound like a slightly angry vacuum cleaner.

You bit your lip to keep from laughing. “Is he… trying to be a dog?” you whispered to Johann, who chuckled quietly beside you.

Karl glared at you again before switching tactics. He stood up abruptly and began to flap his arms wildly, his movements jerky and uncoordinated, like a chicken that had just realized it was about to be turned into dinner. His face was set in a determined scowl, but the sight of him flapping around the living room was enough to send you into fits of giggles.

“A bird?” Johann ventured, laughing as he watched Karl’s attempt at flight.

“No, no, it’s a—” you gasped for breath between laughs, “it’s a windmill! Karl’s a windmill!”

Even Elisabeth couldn’t suppress a giggle at that point, though she quickly composed herself, shooting you another glare as if your laughter was somehow an affront to Karl’s dignity.

Karl, red-faced now, continued his flapping, this time adding in a strange hopping motion that made him look like a goose with a limp.

Johann slapped his knee, roaring with laughter. “A goose! No, wait, a stork! Karl, are you laying an egg? What on earth are you doing?”

Karl stopped abruptly, his chest heaving with frustration. He pointed to himself, then mimed holding something round in his hands, trying desperately to steer the group back on track. But his mime was so far gone at this point that you couldn’t help yourself.

“Is he… a baker now?” you asked, still laughing. “Are you baking a cake, Karl? Kneading dough? Should we call you Chef Hoffmeister?”

That did it. Karl threw his hands in the air in defeat, glaring at you with mock outrage as you and Johann continued to dissolve into laughter.

“I was trying to be a horse!” he finally exclaimed, his baritone voice exasperated.

“A horse?” you repeated, incredulous. “Karl, that was the worst horse impression I’ve ever seen!”

Even Elisabeth, who had been trying to remain composed, let out a quiet snort of laughter. Karl sighed, shaking his head, but despite the frustration, you could see a reluctant smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

“I guess not everyone can be good at everything,” you teased, giving him a playful nudge. “But hey, at least you tried.”

Karl rolled his eyes, but there was a spark of amusement in his hazel gaze. “I’ll get you next time,” he muttered, sitting back down with a sigh.

As the laughter died down, Johann grinned and poured Karl another glass of whiskey. “Well, I’d say that was the most entertaining mime we’ve seen all night,” Johann said, still chuckling. “Cheers to you, cousin.”

Karl took the glass, shaking his head as he muttered something under his breath about never playing charades again, but the smile that lingered on his face told you that, despite everything, he was already plotting his next move in this ridiculous game.

And you couldn’t wait to see what happened next.

After the laughter from the charades game had finally died down, you found yourself standing in front of the mirror in your shared bedroom, slowly undoing your hair. As you released each pin, letting your hair cascade down your shoulders, you couldn't help but chuckle to yourself.

"A horse," you muttered, shaking your head, still amused. "What kind of horse was that?"

Behind you, Karl was already in bed, half propped up against the pillows, watching you with a mixture of embarrassment and determination. He let out a low grumble, clearly still wounded by your earlier teasing.

"It was a perfect imitation," he mumbled, his deep, baritone voice laced with defensiveness. He shifted slightly under the covers, adjusting his position as if trying to reclaim some of his dignity.

You rolled your eyes playfully, glancing at him over your shoulder. "Oh, please," you retorted, your lips curving into a teasing smile. "You looked more like a windmill than a horse."

Karl narrowed his hazel eyes at you, but he didn’t respond immediately. Instead, something softened in his gaze as he watched you, his expression shifting from mild irritation to something warmer, more thoughtful. There was a vulnerability in the way you looked in that moment, standing in front of the mirror, your hair down, dressed in your pajamas, preparing for bed. Why did you have to look so absurdly beautiful all the time?

He sat up straighter, his breath catching slightly as an idea formed in his mind. The words slipped out before he could stop them, surprising even himself.

"Can I draw you?"

You froze, your fingers stilling in your hair as you stared at him through the reflection in the mirror. The question was so unexpected, so out of character for him, that for a moment, you didn’t know how to respond. You turned slowly, facing him fully, your eyes wide with surprise.

"You want to draw me?" you repeated, unsure if you had heard him correctly.

Karl cleared his throat, suddenly feeling a bit self-conscious under your gaze. "Yes," he said, his voice a little quieter now, almost hesitant. "I… I like to sketch sometimes. It helps me clear my mind. And you… you look beautiful tonight."

The sincerity in his words caught you off guard. For a moment, the playful banter and the teasing were forgotten, replaced by something deeper, something more vulnerable. You hesitated, unsure of what to say. There was a part of you that wanted to refuse, to keep the walls between you both firmly in place. But another part of you—the part that had felt the weight of his gaze on you all evening, the part that couldn’t quite ignore the way he looked at you—was curious.

After a brief moment of silence, you nodded.

"Alright," you said softly, your voice barely above a whisper.

Karl’s eyes lit up with surprise and relief. He quickly stood up, moving to the nightstand where he kept a small sketchbook and pencil. His movements were uncharacteristically nervous, as if he couldn’t believe you had agreed. He sat back down on the edge of the bed, sketchbook in hand, and looked at you, his expression serious now, as if this were the most important thing he had ever done.

You turned in your vanity chair to face him, your hands resting in your lap as you tried to keep still. The air between you was thick with unspoken tension, a strange mix of anticipation and uncertainty. You weren’t sure what to do with your hands or where to look, and the longer Karl stared at you, the more self-conscious you felt.

"Just relax," he said gently, sensing your discomfort. His voice was softer now, the usual sternness replaced by something more tender. "You don’t need to do anything. Just be yourself."

You swallowed, nodding slightly, but it was easier said than done. Karl’s gaze was intense, his hazel eyes focused on every detail of your face, your posture. The room was quiet, save for the soft scratching of pencil against paper, and the silence only made the moment feel more intimate, more charged with emotion.

As he sketched, you found yourself stealing glances at him, watching the way his brow furrowed in concentration, the way his fingers moved deftly across the page. He was surprisingly graceful, his touch light but precise, and for the first time, you saw a different side of him—a side that was quiet, introspective, even gentle.

Minutes passed, and you slowly began to relax, the tension in your shoulders easing as the awkwardness faded. You let out a soft sigh, shifting slightly in your chair, and Karl glanced up at you, his eyes meeting yours for a brief moment.

"Are you almost done?" you asked quietly, feeling the need to break the silence.

"Almost," he replied, his voice low and soothing. He didn’t look away from you, his gaze lingering on your face a little longer than necessary before he returned to his sketch.

You weren’t sure what had shifted between you, but something had. There was a tenderness in the air now, a sense of quiet understanding that hadn’t been there before. For the first time since you had been forced into this marriage, you felt as if Karl was seeing you—not as his wife, not as someone he needed to possess or control, but as a person.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Karl set his pencil down and looked up at you, his expression soft. He hesitated for a moment, as if unsure of whether or not to show you the drawing, before he turned the sketchbook around, revealing the image he had created.

Your breath caught in your throat. The drawing was simple, but there was something undeniably beautiful about it. He had captured the softness of your features, the way your hair fell around your shoulders, the quiet strength in your posture. It wasn’t perfect—it wasn’t meant to be—but it was undeniably you.

"I… I didn’t expect it to be so…" you trailed off, unsure of how to express what you were feeling. "It’s lovely."

Karl smiled, a rare, genuine smile that lit up his face. "Thank you," he said softly. "I’m glad you like it."

For a moment, the two of you simply looked at each other, the unspoken tension between you growing heavier. You opened your mouth to say something, but the words died in your throat. You didn’t know what to say, didn’t know how to navigate the strange emotions that were swirling inside you.

"I… should go to bed," you murmured, finally breaking the silence.

Karl nodded, his eyes lingering on you for a moment longer before he stood up and placed the sketchbook back on the nightstand. "Of course," he said quietly, his voice steady. "Goodnight."

You turned away, pulling the covers over yourself as you lay down, your heart still racing from the unexpected moment of connection. You couldn’t explain why, but something about that quiet, intimate exchange had left you feeling unsettled, as if the lines between you and Karl had blurred in ways you hadn’t anticipated.

As you closed your eyes, you could feel Karl’s presence beside you, the quiet weight of his gaze still lingering in the room. Despite everything, despite the walls you had tried to keep between you, there was a part of you that couldn’t quite deny the truth: in that moment, Karl had seen you in a way that no one else ever had.

And that terrified you more than anything.

The night was still, and the quiet hum of the rain outside only added to the tension in the room. You lay beneath the covers, your eyes shut tightly, trying to will yourself to sleep, but your mind wouldn’t settle. You could feel Karl’s presence beside you, the weight of his gaze heavy in the room. The earlier kiss, the sketch, the strange, unspoken connection—it all hung in the air like a thick fog.

His voice suddenly cut through the silence, low and insistent. "Are we really going to ignore this?"

Your eyes snapped open at the sound of his voice. Turning to face him, you saw Karl sitting up in the bed, his hazel eyes locked on you, his expression unreadable. There was something almost predatory in the way he looked at you, and it sent a shiver down your spine.

"Ignoring what?" you asked, your voice hesitant, though you already had a sinking feeling you knew exactly what he was talking about.

"The kiss," Karl said, his tone serious, almost accusing. "Earlier today. You asked me to kiss you."

Your cheeks flushed with embarrassment at the memory of it, the heat rising to your face despite your best efforts to remain composed. You quickly looked away, your gaze landing on Mouse, who was curled up peacefully in his bed on the floor, completely oblivious to the charged atmosphere between the two of you.

"I… I don’t want to think about that," you muttered, trying to deflect the conversation, your hand absently running over the covers as if you could smooth away the tension between you. "It was nothing. Just… just one of your perversions."

Karl’s eyes narrowed at your words, but he didn’t bite back immediately. Instead, he leaned closer, his hand brushing lightly over your arm, sending a jolt through you. His voice dropped lower, more dangerous. "I’m your husband. I have every right to touch you… just as you have the right to touch me." His fingers lingered on your skin for a moment before retreating. "But that’s not what this is about right now."

You kept your gaze averted, unwilling to meet his eyes. "Then what is it about?" you asked, your tone clipped, still hoping to deflect.

"It’s about the kiss," Karl said firmly. "I want to know why you asked me to kiss you. You never wanted anything like that before. What changed?"

You sighed, frustration bubbling up inside you. You didn’t want to have this conversation, didn’t want to delve into the mess of emotions that had led to that moment. But Karl wasn’t going to let it go. He was relentless when he wanted something, and right now, he wanted answers.

"Fine," you finally muttered, rolling your eyes. "If you must know, I did it to annoy Elisabeth."

Karl frowned, clearly confused. "What do you mean, to annoy Elisabeth?"

You scoffed, unable to hide your irritation at his cluelessness. "She was watching us, Karl. I just… I wanted to irritate her."

"Annoy her?" he repeated, his brow furrowing in confusion. "Why would you want to do that?"

You stared at him for a moment, incredulous. How could he be so oblivious? It was almost laughable. "Are you really that blind?" you snapped, poking him in the chest with your finger. "It’s obvious, Karl. Elisabeth likes you—romantically."

Karl recoiled slightly, his expression one of pure disbelief. "Elisabeth? She’s my cousin. She doesn’t… No, that’s not possible."

"Of course it’s possible!" you shot back, your frustration growing. "She’s been fawning over you since the day she got here, and you’re too much of an idiot to notice!"

Karl’s eyes flashed with anger at your accusation, his fists clenching the covers as he leaned over you, his body looming closer, dominating the space between you. His breath was hot against your skin as he growled low in his throat. "Don’t accuse my family like that," he warned, his voice dangerous.

You glared back at him, unafraid of his anger. If anything, it only fueled your own. You jabbed him again in the chest with your finger, pushing back against his closeness. "You’re a fool, Karl. You think your family is perfect, but they’re not. Elisabeth helped me escape, and you’re too blind to see it!"

Karl’s face twisted with fury, his jaw tightening as he clenched the covers even harder. His body was so close now, you could feel the heat radiating from him, his breath quickening with barely restrained rage. "Enough," he growled, his voice thick with anger. "You’re accusing her without proof. You think you can just say anything and I’ll believe you?"

"Because it’s true!" you snapped, your voice rising as you pushed against his chest again. "She wants you, Karl. She always has. And the fact that you can’t see it just proves how much of an idiot you are!"

Karl’s eyes darkened, a low, dangerous sound rumbling in his chest as he grabbed your wrist, pinning your hand against his chest. The touch was rough, possessive, but there was something else too—a crackling tension, an undeniable pull between you that neither of you could ignore, no matter how much you tried.

"You’re calling me an idiot?" he snarled, his face inches from yours now, his voice low and thick with fury. "After everything I’ve done for you, after all the patience I’ve shown, you still treat me like this?"

Your heart pounded in your chest, a mixture of fear and something darker, something you didn’t want to acknowledge. His grip on your wrist was firm, unyielding, but not painful. His body was so close to yours, his heat enveloping you, and despite the anger simmering between you, there was an undeniable current of desire that coursed through your veins.

"Let go of me," you whispered, your voice trembling slightly, though whether it was from fear or something else, you weren’t sure.

Karl didn’t move. Instead, he leaned even closer, his lips brushing dangerously close to your ear. "No," he murmured, his voice low and rough. "Not until you admit the truth."

You shivered, the heat of his breath sending a jolt of electricity through you. "What truth?" you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

"The truth that you want this just as much as I do," Karl growled, his grip on your wrist tightening ever so slightly as his other hand slid up your arm, his touch both possessive and strangely gentle. "You asked me to kiss you. You wanted it."

Your breath hitched, the undeniable truth of his words making your heart race. You had asked him to kiss you, and in that moment, you had wanted it—whether out of anger, spite, or something deeper, you couldn’t deny the pull you had felt.

"I…" You struggled to find the words, but they wouldn’t come. Instead, you looked away, your gaze drifting back to Mouse, who was still fast asleep on the floor, blissfully unaware of the tension that crackled between you and Karl.

Karl’s hand moved to your chin, forcing you to look at him. His hazel eyes burned with intensity as he leaned in closer, his lips brushing dangerously close to yours. "You can’t deny it, [Your Name]," he murmured, his voice thick with desire. "I can see it in your eyes. You want me."

You swallowed hard, your body betraying you as a shiver of desire coursed through you. You hated him—hated everything he had done, hated the way he controlled your life. But in this moment, with his body pressed so close to yours, his voice low and commanding, you couldn’t deny the heat that flared between you.

"I hate you," you whispered, your voice trembling, but even as you said the words, your body betrayed you, leaning ever so slightly into his touch.

Karl’s lips curled into a dark, knowing smile. "You can hate me all you want," he murmured, his hand sliding down to your waist, pulling you closer. "But you can’t deny this."

You gasped as his hand tightened around your waist, his body pressing against yours. The tension between you was electric, charged with anger, frustration, and an undeniable desire that neither of you wanted to admit.

His lips hovered just above yours, his breath hot against your skin as he whispered, "Say it. Say you want me."

You clenched your fists, trying to hold onto the anger, the hatred, but it was slipping through your fingers like sand. The truth was undeniable, and you hated yourself for it. "I…"

But before you could finish, Karl closed the distance, capturing your lips in a fierce, possessive kiss that left no room for denial. The heat between you flared to life, burning away the anger, the frustration, and for a moment, there was nothing but the two of you—locked in a battle of wills and desire that neither of you could control.

And in that moment, you knew you were lost.

Karl's lips pressed against yours with a fervor that left no room for hesitation. His tongue slipped past your lips, exploring your mouth with a confidence and hunger that sent a shiver down your spine. You had never been kissed like this before, never felt such intensity, such raw desire pouring into you. It was overwhelming, confusing, and yet you couldn’t bring yourself to pull away. A soft moan escaped your lips, unbidden, and you felt Karl’s grip on your waist tighten in response, pulling you even closer.

Your mind raced, caught in the whirlwind of sensations. You had always been so careful, so controlled in your interactions with Karl, keeping him at arm's length, but now, in the heat of the moment, something inside you was shifting. His kiss was relentless, his tongue dancing with yours in a way that left you breathless, your body trembling under his touch. You didn’t know what you felt—something warm was forming deep in the lower part of your belly, spreading outward, making your legs feel weak, your heart pound faster.

Karl's large hands moved to your hips, and in one fluid motion, he gently but firmly pushed you back onto the bed. Your heart raced as your back hit the soft sheets, Karl’s body hovering over yours, his weight settling just enough to remind you of the power he held. His lips never left yours, and you could feel the heat of his breath against your skin, the slow, deliberate way his body pressed into yours.

As he shifted, you became acutely aware of something hard pressing against your thigh, rubbing against you through the thin fabric of your pajamas. The realization made your cheeks burn with embarrassment, and you instinctively squeezed your legs together, trying to understand the unfamiliar sensation. Your body tensed under him, your breath hitching in your throat as you felt the hardness of him against you.

You had never been in a situation like this before—never been this close, never felt the weight of a man’s body on top of yours, the heat of him so palpable, so consuming. You weren’t sure what to do, what to feel. A mix of confusion, fear, and a strange, simmering desire swirled inside you, leaving you flushed and disoriented.

Karl pulled back slightly, his hazel eyes dark with something primal as he looked down at you. His breathing was heavy, his mustache brushing lightly against your skin as he spoke in a low, gravelly voice. “You’re trembling, liebling,” he whispered, his German accent thick as his fingers gently brushed a strand of hair from your face. "Are you scared of me?"

You swallowed hard, your voice caught in your throat as you stared up at him, your heart pounding so loud you were sure he could hear it. “I… I don’t know,” you admitted quietly, your cheeks still burning with embarrassment. “I’ve never… I’ve never done this before.”

Karl’s gaze softened for a moment, the intensity giving way to something more tender, more understanding. His hand moved from your face to your shoulder, his touch surprisingly gentle as he leaned down, brushing his lips against your forehead in a rare gesture of affection. “Shh,” he murmured softly. “You don’t have to be afraid, mein Schatz. I would never hurt you.”

You felt a lump form in your throat at his words, the tenderness in his voice catching you off guard. This was the same man who had always been so stern, so controlling, yet here he was, speaking to you with a softness you hadn’t expected. You didn’t know how to respond, didn’t know how to navigate the emotions swirling inside you. All you knew was that his touch, his presence, was awakening something within you that you hadn’t felt before.

His hand slid down to your waist again, his fingers grazing the fabric of your long nightgown as he leaned in closer, his lips brushing against your neck. You shivered at the contact, your body responding despite your confusion. The warmth that had been building in your belly spread lower, pooling between your legs in a way that made you feel both embarrassed and… something else.

Karl’s lips moved slowly, trailing soft kisses down the curve of your neck, his breath warm against your skin. “You’re so beautiful,” he whispered against your collarbone, his voice husky, filled with a mixture of desire and admiration. “I’ve wanted you for so long.”

His words made your heart race even faster, your mind spinning as you tried to process the conflicting emotions coursing through you. Part of you wanted to push him away, to regain the control you had always fought so hard to maintain. But another part of you—a part you barely understood—wanted to surrender, to let yourself be carried away by the strange, thrilling sensations Karl was stirring within you.

As his hands slid lower, resting on your hips, you felt the pressure of his body against yours intensify. The hardness pressing against your thigh was undeniable now, and the sensation made your face flush even deeper. You bit your lip, unsure of how to react, unsure of what was expected of you.

Karl seemed to sense your hesitation. He pulled back slightly, his hazel eyes searching yours, his expression a mixture of desire and restraint. “Are you okay?” he asked quietly, his voice still thick with emotion.

You met his gaze, your breath coming in shallow, uneven bursts as you tried to find your voice. “I… I don’t know,” you admitted again, your voice barely above a whisper. “I’ve never… been this close to anyone before.”

Karl’s eyes softened at your confession, and for a brief moment, the intensity between you eased. He leaned down, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to your forehead. “We don’t have to rush,” he murmured, his voice gentle. “We can go slow… or stop, if that’s what you want.”

You stared up at him, your mind racing, your body trembling with the weight of the moment. You didn’t want to stop—not really—but the fear of the unknown, the fear of what might happen next, was overwhelming. You had never been vulnerable like this before, had never let yourself feel this much.

But as you looked into Karl’s eyes, saw the sincerity in his gaze, the way he was holding himself back for your sake, something inside you shifted. You weren’t sure what was going to happen, weren’t sure if you were ready. But in this moment, with Karl’s body so close to yours, you found yourself wanting to trust him. To see where this would lead.

“I don’t want to stop,” you whispered, your voice trembling slightly. “But I don’t know what to do.”

Karl’s eyes darkened with desire at your words, but there was a tenderness in his expression that reassured you. He leaned down, pressing a soft kiss to your lips, his hand gently cupping your cheek. “Just let me take care of you,” he murmured, his voice low and full of promise. “I’ll show you.”

Your breath hitched in your throat as Karl’s lips met yours again, his kiss slower this time, more deliberate. His hands moved with a careful precision, sliding down your sides, grazing over the thin fabric of your nightgown. The warmth in your belly intensified, spreading through your entire body as you let yourself fall into the kiss, into the moment.

Karl's fingers slowly traced the hem of your nightgown, and as his hands slid beneath the fabric, you shivered at the sensation. The moment was thick with tension, your heart pounding in your chest as he gently pulled the garment over your head, leaving you exposed save for the thin panties that still clung to your hips. You blushed deeply, instinctively crossing your arms over your chest in an attempt to cover yourself. The vulnerability of the situation hit you like a wave, and your body trembled with both anticipation and uncertainty.

Karl’s hazel eyes darkened with something intense, his gaze never leaving your body. His breath hitched as he took in the sight of you, and for a moment, he just watched, as though committing the image to memory. Fuck, you thought, he’s definitely going to draw this later.

But for now, his focus was entirely on you. Slowly, gently, Karl reached out, his rough, calloused hand brushing against your arm as he coaxed it away from your chest. His touch was firm but patient, as though reassuring you that there was no need to hide from him. Hesitantly, you let him pull your arms away, exposing your bare breasts to his gaze.

Karl inhaled sharply, his eyes darkening even further as he took in the sight of you. “Schön,” he murmured, his baritone voice thick with desire. “You’re beautiful.”

Before you could respond, his large, rough hand moved to cover one of your breasts, his palm warm and calloused as it cupped your soft flesh. You gasped at the contact, your body arching instinctively toward his touch. The sensation was overwhelming—his hand was so big, so strong, and the contrast of his rough skin against the softness of your breast sent a shiver down your spine.

A soft moan escaped your lips as his thumb brushed over your nipple, teasing it into a hardened peak. The feeling was unlike anything you had ever experienced, and it sent a rush of heat straight to your core. Your breath came in shallow, uneven gasps as Karl’s hand moved with deliberate care, kneading your breast gently but firmly, his touch sending sparks of pleasure through your entire body.

“Does that feel good, liebling?” he murmured, his voice low and husky as he leaned closer, his lips brushing against your neck. “I want to make you feel good.”

You couldn’t find the words to respond. All you could do was nod, your body trembling with need as his hand continued its slow, sensual exploration of your breast. His touch was both tender and commanding, and it left you breathless, every nerve in your body alive with sensation.

Karl’s other hand moved to your free breast, his fingers brushing lightly over your skin before gently cupping the soft flesh. The contrast between his large, rough hands and the delicate sensitivity of your body made you moan again, your hips shifting slightly as the heat between your thighs intensified.

“Karl…” you gasped, your voice trembling as his hands continued to work over your breasts, teasing and kneading with a practiced skill that left you aching for more.

He growled low in his throat, clearly pleased by your reaction, and his lips trailed a line of kisses down your neck, across your collarbone, until they hovered just above the swell of your breast. You shivered in anticipation, your hands fisting the sheets beneath you as you waited for his next move.

Karl’s lips finally descended, pressing a slow, heated kiss to the peak of your breast. His tongue flicked out, teasing your nipple with gentle, deliberate strokes that made your back arch off the bed. You cried out softly, your body trembling with the intensity of the sensation as his mouth worked over you, sucking and licking with a skill that left you breathless.

The warmth in your belly pooled even lower, settling between your legs in a way that made you squirm beneath him, your panties damp with your arousal. You had never felt anything like this before—this all-consuming need, this desperate ache for more.

Karl’s hands slid down your body, his fingers brushing over the waistband of your panties as his lips continued their sensual assault on your breasts. You whimpered softly, your hips lifting slightly as if begging for more contact, more of him.

He pulled back just enough to look at you, his hazel eyes dark with desire as they roamed over your flushed, trembling body. “Are you ready for me, schatz?” he asked, his voice low and rough, filled with barely restrained hunger.

You swallowed hard, your heart racing as you nodded. “Yes,” you whispered, your voice trembling with anticipation. “I’m ready.”

Karl’s hands moved with deliberate care as he hooked his fingers into the waistband of your panties, slowly sliding them down your hips, past your thighs, until you were completely bare before him. The cool air of the room brushed against your heated skin, making you shiver, but the look in Karl’s eyes—dark and possessive—sent a different kind of warmth rushing through you.

He was still in his pajamas, but you could see the outline of his arousal straining against the fabric. He shifted slightly, and for a moment, you wondered what he was waiting for, why he hadn’t made his next move. But then you realized—he was savoring this. Savoring you.

Karl leaned down, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to your lips before pulling back just enough to speak. “This is your first time,” he murmured, his voice gentle despite the desire burning in his eyes. “I’ll be careful.”

You nodded, your heart pounding in your chest as you looked up at him, trusting him in this moment, despite everything. “Okay,” you whispered.

Slowly, Karl slid his pajama bottoms down, revealing himself to you. Your breath caught in your throat at the sight of him—he was big, bigger than you had expected, and the thought of what was about to happen sent a mixture of fear and excitement coursing through you.

Karl positioned himself between your legs, his hands gently guiding your thighs apart as he leaned over you. His lips found yours again, kissing you deeply, his tongue sliding against yours in a way that made you moan into his mouth.

Then, with one slow, careful movement, Karl pressed into you.

You gasped at the sensation—the pressure, the fullness, the strange mix of pain and pleasure as he entered you. Karl groaned softly, his hands gripping your hips as he moved with deliberate care, his body trembling with the effort to hold back, to be gentle for your sake.

“Shh, liebling,” he whispered against your ear, his voice thick with desire. “I’ve got you.”

You nodded, your hands gripping his shoulders as your body adjusted to the unfamiliar sensation. It was overwhelming—the heat, the pressure, the way Karl filled you completely, making you feel like you were on the edge of something you couldn’t quite describe.

As he began to move, slowly at first, your body responded instinctively, your hips lifting to meet his movements. The initial discomfort began to fade, replaced by a slow, building pleasure that made your breath hitch and your body tremble. Karl’s pace was measured, his thrusts deep but careful, and with each movement, the pleasure grew, building into something more intense, more consuming.

“Karl…” you gasped, your hands clutching at his shoulders as your body moved in time with his. “It feels… so good.”

Karl groaned in response, his hands gripping your hips tighter as he picked up the pace, his movements becoming more urgent, more desperate. The tension between you was electric, every thrust sending waves of pleasure crashing through your body, every moan from his lips making you tremble with need.

“I want you to come for me, liebling,” Karl growled, his voice low and rough as he thrust deeper into you, his pace quickening. “I want to feel you come around me.”

The heat in your belly intensified, your body trembling as the pressure built, pushing you closer and closer to the edge. Karl’s hands moved to your breasts again, his fingers teasing your nipples as his thrusts became harder, faster, driving you wild with need.

You moaned loudly, your back arching off the bed as the pleasure became too much, too intense. “I’m… I’m going to…”

Before you could finish, your body exploded in a wave of pleasure, your orgasm crashing over you with a force that left you breathless, trembling beneath him. You cried out his name, your hands clutching at his back as your body tightened around him, your mind spinning with the intensity of it all.

Karl groaned loudly, his own release following soon after, his body shuddering as he spilled himself inside you. He buried his face in your neck, his breath hot against your skin as he held you close, his body trembling with the aftershocks of his orgasm.

For a long moment, neither of you moved, the only sound in the room the soft, ragged breaths you both shared. Karl’s weight was warm and comforting on top of you, his body still pressed close to yours as the reality of what had just happened slowly began to sink in.

You had just made love to Karl Hoffmeister. He had claimed you, taken your virginity, and yet, in this moment, lying in his arms, you didn’t feel regret or fear. Instead, you felt a strange, quiet sense of peace.

Karl lifted his head, his hazel eyes soft as he looked down at you, his hand brushing a strand of hair from your face. “Are you alright?” he asked, his voice gentle.

You nodded without knowing what to say, feeling a strange sense of vulnerability as Karl slowly pulled out of you. As he did, he noticed a small trickle of blood on his cock, confirming your virginity. His hazel eyes softened, filled with a mixture of pride and tenderness as he reached down to caress your thigh. His fingers brushed gently over your skin, and he murmured, "I’ll get a cloth for us to clean ourselves." You nodded again, still processing everything that had just happened, your body humming with the aftershocks of your first time.

Karl rose from the bed and disappeared into the private bathroom. You heard the sound of running water as he cleaned himself, wiping away the blood and the mingled evidence of your shared experience. He took his time, a small, satisfied smile playing on his lips. I claimed her, he thought happily, feeling a surge of pride. He had finally done it. The one thing he had wanted for so long was now a reality.

After wetting a cloth under the faucet, Karl returned to the bedroom, the confident swagger in his step barely concealed. You were still lying on the bed, your body still and your eyes staring up at the ceiling, as if trying to make sense of the overwhelming rush of emotions flooding through you. Karl’s smile widened as he saw you, so beautifully bare, the marks of his presence on your body. He knelt beside you on the bed, his rough fingers brushing a strand of hair from your face before he pressed a soft kiss to your lips.

"Let me clean you, liebling," he murmured, his voice low and husky as he gently wiped between your thighs. His touch was tender, yet there was an unmistakable possessiveness in the way he moved, as if he were savoring this moment, knowing that you were his now—completely. "Did you like it?" he asked, his tone expectant as he wiped the last of the blood and wetness from your skin.

You nodded again, your voice caught in your throat as the question lingered between you. But Karl wasn’t satisfied with just a nod. His hazel eyes darkened with intensity as he leaned closer, his lips brushing against your ear. "I want to hear you say it," he growled softly, his German accent more pronounced as his voice dropped an octave. "Tell me, liebling. Was it good?"

You swallowed hard, your cheeks flushing as you whispered, "It was good… well, it was nothing like the books I’ve read about it."

Karl’s brows lifted slightly in curiosity, his lips curling into a wicked smile. "The books you’ve read?" he repeated, his voice a teasing rumble. "What kind of books?"

You felt your face grow even hotter, and you looked away, embarrassed by the confession. "Just… stories," you muttered. "In the books, it seems wilder… more exciting."

Karl chuckled softly, his gaze darkening with understanding as he leaned back slightly, letting his eyes roam over your flushed face and trembling body. "Wilder, hmm?" he repeated, his tone full of intrigue. He paused for a moment, as if considering your words, before his voice dropped again, deeper and more seductive, his German accent thickening with every word. "I can make it wilder, liebling, if that’s what you want. I just wanted to take things slow for your first time… so you wouldn’t feel pain."

You looked up at him, your heart racing at the promise in his words. The way his tone shifted, the raw intensity behind his gaze—it sent a shiver down your spine. You had imagined your first time differently, but now that Karl was offering more, a thrill of excitement coursed through you.

Before you could respond, Karl stood up, his hands moving to unbutton his pajama shirt. He pulled it off with deliberate slowness, letting it fall to the floor in a heap, finally revealing his full, naked form before you. His chest was broad and solid, a little chubby but undeniably strong, the gray hair on his chest catching the soft light of the room. His muscles shifted as he moved, his body a perfect blend of power and control, and as your eyes trailed down, you couldn’t help but notice the hardness of his cock still evident, ready for more.

"Now," Karl began, his voice dark and commanding as he knelt back down on the bed, his hand sliding up your thigh with a firm, possessive touch. "If you want wild, I’ll show you wild."

His lips crashed against yours in a kiss far rougher than before, his tongue demanding and insistent as it explored your mouth. His hands roamed your body with a newfound urgency, gripping your hips, your breasts, teasing every inch of your skin with a touch that was both possessive and intoxicating.

"You want it to be like the books?" he growled against your lips, his breath hot and heavy as he shifted his body over yours. "I’ll make you scream for me, schatz. I’ll make you forget every word you’ve read."

Karl's kisses grew more insistent as his lips moved down your body. The roughness of his mustache left a prickling sensation on your skin, sending shivers down your spine as he teased one of your nipples with his mouth, sucking lightly before moving to the other. His hands roamed your sides, possessive and deliberate, each touch igniting the embers of the passion that still lingered from your previous encounter.

You bit your lip, unsure of what he intended as he kissed lower, trailing his lips down your belly, his gray hair brushing against your skin in a way that sent a fluttering sensation deep in your core. A soft sigh escaped your lips, but the moment quickly turned into something much more intense as Karl's mouth reached the space between your legs.

His breath was warm against your thighs, and you gasped as his lips pressed to your pussy, his tongue flicking out to taste you. Your body jerked in response, the sensitivity from your earlier orgasm making you instinctively pull away. But Karl wouldn’t allow it. His strong hands gripped your thighs, holding you firmly in place as his mouth continued its sensual assault.

"Karl..." you moaned, trying to push him away, your body too sensitive, too overwhelmed by the intensity of his touch. But he refused to relent, his hazel eyes dark with desire as he looked up at you, his tongue delving deeper, teasing your swollen clit with slow, deliberate strokes that made your body tremble.

"Stay still, liebling," he growled, his baritone voice vibrating against your core as he licked and sucked with a ravenous hunger. "Let me taste you."

Your hands flew to his hair, gripping tightly as your back arched off the bed. Every nerve in your body felt like it was on fire, the pleasure mounting rapidly as Karl’s mouth worked with skilled precision. His tongue circled your clit, alternating between soft, teasing licks and harder, more insistent strokes that made your thighs tremble.

"Fuck, Karl..." you moaned, your voice shaking as the heat between your legs became almost unbearable. You pulled at his hair, trying to regain some control, but his grip on your thighs only tightened, his hazel eyes flickering with amusement at your futile attempts.

"Does it feel good, schatz?" he murmured, his lips brushing against your sensitive flesh. "I want to hear you say it."

You could barely form coherent words, the pleasure building so quickly it left you breathless. All you could do was moan his name, your body writhing beneath him as he continued to devour you, his tongue moving faster, more urgently now.

"Karl... oh God," you gasped, your voice trembling as the pressure inside you mounted, the familiar sensation of release drawing closer with each flick of his tongue.

"Come for me, liebling," he growled, his mouth pressing harder against you, his tongue swirling around your clit with relentless precision. "I want to feel you come on my tongue."

His words sent you over the edge. Your entire body tensed, a wave of pleasure crashing through you as your orgasm ripped through every inch of your being. You cried out his name, your hands gripping his hair so tightly it must have hurt, but Karl didn’t stop. He kept licking, kept sucking, dragging out your orgasm until you were a trembling, moaning mess beneath him.

Only when your body finally relaxed did Karl pull away, his lips glistening with your release as he stood up, a satisfied smirk playing on his face. His chest heaved with his own labored breaths, and his hazel eyes burned with desire as he looked down at you.

"That’s how I like you, liebling," he murmured, his voice dark and possessive. "Moaning my name, trembling beneath me."

You were still catching your breath, your body spent from the intensity of your release, but the way Karl looked at you, with that mixture of pride and hunger, sent another wave of heat coursing through your veins.

Karl wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, his eyes never leaving yours as he slowly climbed back onto the bed, positioning himself between your legs once more. "I’m not done with you yet," he growled softly, his hands sliding up your thighs again, teasing the sensitive skin. "I want to hear you scream for me one more time."

Karl didn’t waste a moment. With a deep growl, he thrust himself into you hard and fast, his cock filling you completely in one swift, brutal motion. The sudden force of it made you gasp, your body jolting as the bed slammed against the wall with each powerful thrust. The rhythmic banging echoed through the room, loud enough to make the entire house hear, but neither of you cared. The only thing that mattered was the raw intensity of the moment, the way Karl claimed you over and over with each relentless stroke.

“Fuck,” he grunted, his breath ragged as he drove himself deeper, his hands gripping your hips with a possessive strength that left no room for doubt. The bed creaked beneath you, the noise growing louder as he quickened his pace, slamming into you with a rhythm that left you breathless, moaning his name over and over.

“Karl!” you gasped, your hands clutching the sheets as your body trembled under the force of his thrusts. The pressure inside you was building fast, too fast, and you could feel the familiar coil of pleasure tightening with each deep stroke. The way he took you—so rough, so completely—was everything you hadn’t realized you craved.

Karl’s baritone voice growled low in your ear, his breath hot against your skin as he leaned down, his lips brushing against your neck. “You feel so fucking good,” he rasped, his hips never slowing, the sound of the bed hitting the wall growing louder, more insistent. “You’re mine, liebling. Do you hear me? Every inch of you belongs to me.”

You could barely respond, your body overwhelmed by the pleasure coursing through you, the way Karl filled you so completely, so perfectly. His cock stretched you in a way that was both painful and pleasurable, each thrust driving you closer to the edge, closer to the release you so desperately needed.

But just as you were on the brink, your body trembling with the impending climax, Karl pulled away abruptly, leaving you gasping, empty. The sudden absence of him sent a wave of frustration through you, and you turned your head, ready to protest, but Karl was already moving, his hands gripping your shoulders as he growled his next command.

“Kneel,” he ordered, his voice rough, demanding. “Kneel on the bed and grab the headboard.”

You hesitated for only a moment before obeying, your body still trembling from the loss of his touch. You pushed yourself up onto your knees, your hands gripping the headboard as you turned your back to him. The vulnerability of the position, the way it left you completely exposed to him, made your heart race with both anticipation and excitement.

Karl’s hand slid up your back, his touch firm but surprisingly gentle as he positioned himself behind you. You could feel the heat of him, the hard length of his cock pressing against your entrance, teasing you with the promise of what was to come. His breath was hot against your ear as he leaned in close, his voice a low growl. “Is this wild enough for you, schatz?” he murmured, his lips brushing against your shoulder. “Do you want more?”

Before you could answer, he thrust himself back inside you, hard and deep, his cock filling you in one swift motion that made you cry out in pleasure. His hands gripped your hips, holding you firmly in place as he began to move, each thrust harder, faster than before. The force of his body slammed yours into the headboard, the sound of wood hitting the wall mixing with your moans, your cries of pleasure.

Karl’s hands tightened on your hips, his fingers digging into your skin as he drove himself into you over and over. His lips found your shoulder, biting down hard enough to make you gasp, the mix of pain and pleasure sending a wave of heat straight through your core. You threw your head back, your body arching into him as his thrusts grew more urgent, more desperate.

“Fuck, you feel so good,” Karl growled, his voice thick with desire. “I love you so fucking much, liebling. You’re mine… all mine.”

The intensity of his words, the raw emotion in his voice, sent you spiraling. The pleasure was overwhelming, building with each powerful stroke, and you could feel your body tightening, your release just out of reach. You moaned his name, your fingers clutching the headboard as you pushed back against him, desperate for more, desperate to come.

Karl groaned in response, his hips slamming into yours with even more force, his breath hot against your skin as he leaned down, his lips brushing against your ear. “Come for me, liebling,” he whispered, his voice low and rough. “Scream for me.”

His words were all it took. With one final thrust, your body exploded in a wave of pleasure so intense it left you gasping, your entire body trembling with the force of your orgasm. You screamed his name, your hands gripping the headboard as your body tightened around him, the pleasure ripping through you in wave after wave.

Karl wasn’t far behind. He groaned loudly, his hands tightening on your hips as he thrust into you one last time, his release crashing over him with a force that left him breathless. He buried his face in your neck, his breath hot against your skin as his body trembled with the aftershocks of his orgasm.

For a moment, neither of you moved, the only sound in the room the soft, ragged breaths you both shared. Karl’s body was warm and heavy against yours, his arms wrapping around your waist as he pulled you close, his lips pressing a soft kiss to your shoulder.

“I love you,” he murmured, his voice soft, full of emotion. “I love you so fucking much.”

And in that moment, with Karl’s arms wrapped around you, his body still pressed close to yours, you knew that you had found something real—something wild, something intense, but most importantly, something true.

Translation:

Liebling – "Darling"

Schön – "Beautiful"

Mein Schatz – "My treasure" or "My darling"

Schatz – "Treasure" or "Darling"

#alan rickman #alan rickman x reader #karl hoffmeister x reader

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mammons-lover · 3 months ago

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Live Streaming with Mammon!

Mammon: Hey, chat! Today we're doing the quote of the day!

(Mammon slides into frame dramatically with a cheesy grin and a hypnosis wheel in hand.)

Mammon (Spinning the wheel): Quote of the day: always give Mammon your money. You don’t need it, give it to Mammon!

(Suddenly, Satan bursts in with fire in his eyes.)

Satan: Where the hell are my hypnosis books?!

Mammon (Nervous laughter): W-What books? You can’t just barge in like this, I’m live right now!

Satan: Are you seriously trying to hypnotize your fans into giving you money?

Mammon (Guiltily): NO! Of course not! I’d never do that to my little Grimmie gang! I love em! And they love me ‘cause of my charm!

Satan (Deadpan): Right. I’m telling Lucifer.

Mammon: Wait, no, no, please! Don’t snitch! I’ll do anything!

Satan (Smirking): Anything?

(Cut to Mammon on another livestream, holding a book like it’s the heaviest thing in the world.)

Mammon (Monotone): Today... we’re reading a book about a king and his loyal cat. It’s a very... touching story written by my wonderful little brother, Satan.

(Meanwhile, Satan’s lounging in his room, snacks in hand, watching the stream with a gleeful grin. He’s kicking his feet like a delighted child.)

Satan: This is better than the ending to Tale of the Seven!

#obey me shall we date #obey me nightbringer #obey me #obey me imagines #obey me crack #obey me scenarios #obey me devildom #obey me shenanigans #obey me fluff #lucifer obey me #mammonobeyme #satan obey me #asmodeus obey me #leviathan obey me #beelzebub obey me #belphegor obey me

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watermelonlovershigh · 1 year ago

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The Diaper Blowout👶🚼

AN: this idea came out of nowhere but when i thought of it i started writing it imidiantly. i love some good dadrry so i hope you do too. don't forget to share your feedback. thx.

This story contains: VERY poopy diaper, mentions of throw up, fluff

{ dadrry - husband!harry - softrry - Rayne is two weeks old - au harry }

word count- 1,590

Your two week old daughter wakes up in the middle of the night with her first diaper blowout and when Harry realizes the situation is much bigger than he can handle alone, he resorts to waking you up for some help.

You and Harry just welcomed your little baby girl, Rayne, two weeks ago into this world. The labor process was one you'd rather forget but after seeing your little bundle of joy for the first time, you knew you'd do it a million times over just to have your baby.

Rayne makes you both first time parents but honestly Harry and yourself read every parenting book under the sun and went to every parenting class that when she was born everything came so natural to you.

Every cry and ounce of discomfort she lets out does of course cause anxiety to fill you, but luckily once she's in one of your arms, Rayne's little body relaxes and she knows everything is going to be alright now that one of her parents are holding her.

One thing you knew you'd expect after Rayne was born was how amazing Harry would be at fathering your baby girl. He was so attentive during your entire pregnancy process and now two weeks after she was born, it's still the same attentive man but ten times more.

Harry has always wanted to be a dad so you making him one was the best gift anyone has ever gave to him. He's eternally grateful for you in that aspect. Seeing Rayne be born and hearing her first cry into this world made him sob so loud in the delivery room that it startled all the nurses who was present.

Now just because you love being parents doesn't mean it's not hard. It's very hard at times. The lack of sleep. The sore boobs after not feeding or pumping for a few hours. The raw nipples from feeding so frequently that no one warns you about. But luckily Rayne is a pretty well behaved baby so you are grateful for that.

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It's two in the morning when the wailing cry from Rayne's nursery jolts Harry awake. He was never the heaviest sleeper before she was born but now he's an even lighter sleeper. Not wanting to disturb you, he gets out of bed and assumes he can handle the situation himself. Feeling confident he's a pro at this dad thing.

If she's hungry there was pre pumped breast milk in the freezer he could feed her. If she just wanted a cuddle he could give her some of those because he likes to think of himself as a professional cuddler, though you're the one who gave him that title.

As quickly as possible, Harry pads his feet in the dark until he reaches the hallway and rushes over to the baby's nursery down the hall. When he finally makes it, he flips the light switch on and moves swiftly over to her crib. "Hey," Harry coos in his soft baby voice, "what's the matter, little love? Huh?"

Once Harry is right in front of the crib, he goes to lift the small baby up to hold her and asses what could have her crying so hard in the middle of the night when all of the sudden he sees, and rather smells the issue instantly. Poop. Everywhere. Well luckily not near her hands or face but it's leaked out of her diaper and got on her sheets. Rayne had her first diaper blowout.

Now Harry would like to say that after becoming a husband and a father that his stomach is made of steal but that's just not the case. He can handle a little throw up from time to time and has changed Rayne's diapers several times. But none smelled and looked this bad. It has him holding down gags.

Being the good dad he is though, Harry pushes through his own weak stomach and grabs an extra baby blanket to wrap around her small body and lift her out of the crib. Then he scrambles to think of what to do. He really didn't want to wake you up but this is far too much for him to handle on his own.

He shushes Rayne in his hold while making his way back into your bedroom. Harry turns on the lamp and nudges your shoulder gently. "Love, Y/N, wake up f'me."

Thinking the worst, you jolt awake and sit up quickly. "What, what, is everything okay? Is the baby okay?"

Trying not to let a giggle out at the situation in hand, Harry replies, "Yeah, well I think everythin' is okay. Or will be okay but I need your help. Little miss Rayne shit everywhere and I don't know what to do. It's leaking out her nappy and got on her sheets."

Though you are concerned about your baby's tummy troubles, you can't help but laugh out loud. Harry looks so stressed which isn't inherently funny but the way you can tell he's trying not to throw up at the thought of the diaper blowout is hilarious. And the fact he had to wake you up.

"Don't laugh at me!" Harry retorts, not really mad because he has a small smile trying to peek out over his fake frown.

"Alright, it's gonna be okay. Help strip her clothes off and yours as well and I'll help you wash her in the shower." you respond as its the only solution to the problem right now. Harry carries her to your bathroom and begins to peel away the soiled blanket and her soiled onesie. Then he takes her diaper off to throw it in the trash can beside the toilet.

"You think I should shower with her naked?" Harry asks.

You reach in the shower to get the water going and the temperature just right before answering, "Yes H, she's two weeks old. She's not gonna remember seeing her dad naked. You'll get shit on her boxers otherwise."

With that, Harry holds a dirty and naked Rayne with one hand and his other hand reaches down to slide off his underwear. When you confirm the water is just perfect for a newborn, he steps in the shower with her cradled to his chest and allows you to instruct further instructions.

"Okay I'm not getting in but I'll hand you the soaps and stuff. First rinse her off with the water. The pressure shouldn't bother her. Just don't get it in her face." Harry does as told and carefully turns to face the shower head and allow the water to rinse off any poop she still had on hers and his skin. He even turns Rayne around in his hold to get her front really well rinsed.

You grab her baby soap and apply some to a soft cloth before handing it to your husband. "Here, now gently wash her bottom off. But start from the front to back so she doesn't get a UTI, please."

Though Harry already knew how to safely wash a baby girl he listened to you anyways. He takes the soapy cloth from you and while one arm cradles Rayne to his chest facing forward, the other hand very gently wipes over her vagina, making sure no poop got on the area. Then he hands the cloth back to you so he can turn her around in his hold.

While he washes over her bum area, Rayne just now starts to cry. She had been handling the shower really well up until now. "Oh, shush. It's okay. Daddy's got you." Harry coos to the small baby in his arms. As you stand on the outside of the shower doors all you can think about is how much you love them both so much. Snapping you out of your thoughts, Harry looks over to you and says, "All done. Take her from me while I wash up quickly."

"Yeah, of course. Let me grab Rayne's baby towel." You get a towel from the stack of towels specifically for your newborn and walk back over to the shower where Harry leans out the shower doors and carefully places her in your arms.

While you began to dry off your small, crying baby, Harry bathes himself off. Some poop did transfer onto him and he wants to make sure it's all gone and he's clean before going back to sleep for the night.

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Once Harry is all clean and dry and he's put on a fresh pair of briefs you'd laid out for him, he walks back into the bedroom to see you sat up in bed, half asleep, with Rayne feeding from your right boob. The sight makes Harry feel all warm inside. The people he loves the most just looks so comfy and safe.

Harry rolls the bassinet over to his side of the bed and when Rayne is done feeding and you burp her, he places her inside to finish her sleep for the night. Her bed still had shit on it and that's something neither of you have the energy to deal with tonight. When he's made sure she's all nice and cozy in her bassinet, Harry climbs back into bed beside you and you instantly crawl over to cuddle into him.

Once the bedside lamp is off and the covers are over you both snuggly, you whisper, "Love you. Thank you for helping with Rayne tonight. She has the best daddy in the world."

Harry whispers back, "Love you too, baby. And you're welcome. She means the world to me and I'd do anything for her. And you too, you know. Night, night. Sweet dreams." With that, you're both off to slumberland until Rayne wakes up again three hours later....

(PLEASE REBLOG BECAUSE WRITING IS NOT EASY AND IT'S FREE SO JUST DO IT)

(no more tags are allowed because i've hit my number limit. sorry : ( )

tag list: @one-sweet-gubler // @harryscherrysugar // @hsfanficsrecss // @lollypopsx // @harrycanyonmoonn // @itfeelslikemytherapisthatesme // @damnasstyles // @mrsstylesharry // @softmullet // @meetmyblondemuffins // @thegirlnextdoorssister // @stanleystyles // @haarrrys // @michellekstyles // @skyangel57 // @the-gardener-31 // @lhharrylilpumpkin // @yousunshine-youtemptress // @clairestylessss // @kissmyaxe140 // @goldenmelonsugar-hi // @kaitieskidmore97 // @florencepughily // @alienorknight //@dancearoundthelivingroom // @swiftmendeshoran

// @luv-flor7777 // @alohastyles-x // @tenaciousperfectionunknown // @sleutherclaw // @siredtohybrid // @whoscamila // @a-strange-familiar // @golden-elodie // @mrspeacem1nusone // @goldenkhae // @lntwithharry // @shadowygladiatorlight // @manifestrry //@mendesblurb // @sunshinemoonsposts // @depersonalizationsucks // @academiaghost // @zendayassimp // @reveriehs // @vsnnstuff // @dancinsunflowerkiwi // @quinnsgrapejuice // @walkingintheheartbreaksatellite // @justlemmeholdyou // @stylesmygucci // @hsonlyangelxo // @luvonstyles // @howdey

______________

My Masterlist Masterpost

#harry styles #harry styles fan fiction #fan fiction #harry x reader #dadrry #dad!harry #husbandrry #husband!harry #softrry #soft!harry #harry styles fluff #harry styles angst #harry styles fic rec #harry styles blurb #harry styles one shot

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makeyoumine69 · 1 year ago

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The Light in the Darkness

— PAIRING: Patrick Bateman x Fem!Reader

— SUMMARY: You like to think of yourself as a grown, independent person. But one day when the power goes off and you're all alone, your fear of the dark starts acting up and just then you realize how much you find comfort on Patrick's presence.

— CONTAINS: Fluffy romance, hurt/comfort, small mentions of panic attacks, soft but sassy Patty, pet names, a lot of hugs/kisses.

— WORDS: 1.7k

— SONG REC: Black Veil Brides - When They Call My Name

— A/N: This is dedicated to @sleeplessphantom. Love you bro, hope you like it!💞

— LINKS: [MASTERLIST] [support]💗

It was a normal evening, you were waiting for Patrick to come back home, sitting in the living room of his fancy apartment and watching the sky split into pieces every time the lightning flashed with a loud thunderclap. To be fair, you loved the rain and the fresh smell that came after a thunderstorm, but not when you were alone and especially not at night.

With a sad sigh, you tried to concentrate on reading, but when you realised that you were reading the same sentence for the fifth time in a row, you put the book on the coffee table and got up from the couch. Slowly, you walked towards the large window and closed your eyes, feeling a growing anxiety in your heart. You couldn't help but worry about Patrick and why he had to be so late, he hadn't told you about any events or business that he was going to attend, so these worrying thoughts kept spinning in your head like a perpetual washing machine. What if something happened to him? You shook your head (as if that would help you get rid of these silly concerns), but you still felt sad.

Sad and lost.

Taking a deep breath to calm down, you tried to think rationally, but when you imagined how Bateman would laugh about this whole situation and remembered his pretty smile, you felt even worse.

"Damn it, Patrick! Where are you?" You asked no one and sobbed as the panic hit you hard, all those horrible outcomes like the one of a car crash or even a burglar attacking him with a gun started running through your restless mind.

Right when you were about to call his office, a huge flash of lightning came on, illuminating everything around you, and then a disorienting thunderclap almost broke the window from how loud it was. You didn't even have time to scream because the entire district seemed to black out, sweeping you into the darkness — one of your greatest phobias.

You stood still for a moment, holding a phone in your trembling hand and feeling the air stuck in your lungs. Why did all this happen when you were left alone in the big flat, and only God knows what creatures might be hiding in the shadows — Oh, hell no! Scared, you put the phone down and sprinted to the bedroom, the endless flashes of lighting brightening your way.

Shivering, you weren’t even thinking when you climbed into the bed and hid under the covers. You knew it wouldn't help, but somehow you felt safer lying there, the sheets smelling of him, his scent oddly soothing. You closed your wet eyes and tried to get some sleep, deciding that it’s the best that you could do in this situation. You wished that when you opened your eyes you would find yourself wrapped in Patrick's strong embrace. Because at the end of the day - nothing lasts forever and even the heaviest rain would eventually stop. Using the blanket as your shelter from the outside world, you curled up on the bed and hugged the pillow, thinking of your beloved man, whose charming voice lived free in your head and was the only thing that helped you fall asleep.

Some time had passed, and the weather outside was getting better. You were finally at peace again. But when you heard the sudden sound of footsteps approaching the room, you froze in place and even stopped breathing for a moment. After some seconds of silence, you felt a brief touch on your small frame, which made you flinch away and almost scream.

"Whoa, whoa, calm down, Bunny! I'm not the Big Wolf, it's just me," as soon as you heard that voice you sneaked peeked from under the covers to see Bateman's amused face. "Good morning, babydoll."

The way he smiled almost made you cry in relief, so you just snuggled into him with all your strength, causing him to giggle and press you closer to his firm body.

"You’re finally back!!" You sobbed, clinging to his broad shoulders.

His perfectly sculpted eyebrows were now knitted together as he looked slightly confused. "Hey, what's wrong?" Patrick asked nervously, pecking your cheek and helping you to sit on his lap. "Did someone do something to you?"

You couldn't help but sneer, inhaling his scent as you hid your face in the crook of his neck. "No," you muttered, looking up at him, his hazel eyes scanning your features intently as if he was trying to find the answer in them. "It's just... I was afraid something might happen to you."

Bateman just snickered loudly and rocked you gently in his arms. "Like what?"

You paused and turned away from him, not really wanting to tell him things like that.

"Baby, talk to me." Patrick noticed your sad face immediately and gently held your chin to entice you to look at him.

"Well, I was thinking about you getting in a car accident or someone attacking you in the street and—"

He chuckled again and pulled you closer, his brawny hands continuing to stroke your body here and there, sending little shivers down your back.

"Sweetheart, I'm a big boy and I can protect myself." Bateman murmured and brought your palm to his pouty lips to plant a small kiss on it. "Besides, this is one of the safest areas in New York."

"I know," you hugged him again, trying to get as close as you could. "But just the thought of losing you made me sick."

As soon as you said those words, you heard him groan and you even thought he'd got angry for a second, but as soon as his warm, big palm cupped your face, you lost the ability to speak and think.

Looking deep into your eyes, Patrick murmured: "I'll never leave you, (y/n)," his thumb lovingly traced your lips, making you gasp silently. "I want you to remember that. Will you do that for me?"

You nodded and nuzzled against his hand.

"And I'm sorry for being late. I just got stuck in a fucking traffic jam," he frowned before pressing his forehead against yours. "I know you don't like to be alone, especially at night."

It was a little embarrassing to hear him talk about your fear of the dark, but it didn't matter now. After all, he was your light in the darkness, and you were his.

Smiling, you wrapped your arms around his neck, bringing him closer to kiss his lips. You quivered when he kissed you back even more passionately, but then he suddenly stopped.

"Patrick?" You asked him a little confused.

"Why didn't you change before you went to bed?" His stern voice made you fidget in your place. "That's not what good girls do."

Even though he wanted to sound stern, Patrick couldn’t hold back a little smile, which made you relieved.

"I needed to hide somewhere fast," you chuckled awkwardly. "That thunderstorm really scared me."

"Jesus," he let go of you and stood up. "I wonder what you are not afraid of."

As you watch him walk away, you sit on your knees and whimper. "Where are you going?"

Bateman stopped and turned, his cocky smile growing even wider. "I have to change and I'll bring you your nightgown. Since you couldn't do it yourself."

He winked at you before heading for the closet, and as soon as you lost the sight of him, you let out a sad sigh. Even if you were really afraid, who wasn't? Moreover, you doubted that Patrick was fearless too, he just never told you about his fears. Although he did mention one once — he was afraid of losing you as you were.

Trapped in your thoughts, you didn't even see him come back, wearing only his white underwear. Without saying anything, you smiled at him as he beckoned you to the edge of the bed.

"So tell me, little girl. Do you need any help?" His sweet voice was so captivating that you accepted his offer before even thinking about it. "Good."

Slowly he knelt down in front of you and began to remove your pants, leaving little hickeys wherever he could, starting with your ankles and then going up to your hips. When you were completely naked, he gently laid you on your back as he took his place next to you. Smirking at how cute you looked when you were embarrassed, Bateman darted his fingers across your belly, eliciting a sharp breath to erupt from your chest. The way he was touching you right now made you levitate.

"Mmmm, so gorgeous, so innocent," he whispered, sliding his hand along your rib bones. "My little Bunny."

Bateman matched his words with a sensual kiss on your lower abdomen, and you almost squealed at how hot his lips were — you could feel that he wanted much more. Patrick clearly intended to devour you here and now, his rapid breathing scorching your tender skin, but he stopped himself and finished his journey around your body, kissing you lovingly on the lips.

"Patrick, I—" you murmured as he pulled away to finally put a nightgown on you. "I love you."

Shyly, you looked at him as he laid down next to you and opened his arms for you.

"C'mere here, Bunny," he paused as he watched you climb on top of him, your head pressed against his buffed chest. "Are you comfortable?"

"Yeah, this is exactly what I need right now." You closed your eyes and felt his palm stroking your head.

"Sleep, my dear," he lulled you, cradling you like a treasure. "I'll protect you even from the daylight if I have to."

God, the feelings you had for this man were overwhelming, you wanted to scream how much you loved him, but now you slowly drifted off in his warm arms, feeling protected as never before.

P.S. Thank you for reading until the end! I don’t have a taglist. You can follow my side blog @makeyoumineagain and turn on notifications to know when I update!

#american psycho #patrick bateman x reader #patrick bateman imagine #patrick bateman #patrick bateman x female reader #patrick bateman x you #slasher x reader #slashers x reader #slasher x you #patrick bateman headcanon #christian bale smut #christian bale x reader #patrick bateman reader #christian bale

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strangersteddierthings · 1 year ago

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Daily Ficlet 7

I’m challenging myself to write a little ficlet every day, using the prompts from this list. Today’s prompt is recipe book.

Steve finds Wayne in the hallway, pulling what items he can from the closet there.

"Need some help?" Steve asks as Wayne struggles with a bigger box that seems wedged in pretty good.

"Sure. Just get yer hands up here and ready to catch," Wayne answers, shimmying the box to and fro while Steve moves to follow his instructions. The box isn't by any means light when it falls into his hands, but it's not the heaviest thing Steve's had to catch -don't think about it, don't think about Eddie's limp body awkwardly shoved through a gate. Don't-

"Thanks, son," Wayne climbs back down the stepladder he was on and takes the box from Steve' hands, walking down the hall to place it on the counter. The front half of the trailer is missing, the gate took it, but a decent amount of of the trailer remains (Eddie's room remains) and the government has finally allowed Wayne to return to pack up what he can.

It's better than starting over completely.

"What's in the box?" Steve asks, because it's the only item Wayne hasn't just demanded he load into the moving truck outside.

"It was supposed to be Eddie's graduation gift," Wayne says softly. "'Suppose it'll have to be a 'glad you woke up from yer coma' gift instead."

"Yeah," Steve says, even if he doesn't believe it. Eddie's been asleep months now. They saved the world, killed Vecna, closed the gates, Max woke up, and the kids have started Sophomore year; Eddie remains comatose. "Can I get a sneak peak at the present?"

"It's not much, and ain't nothin' new," Wayne says, opening the box and beginning the process of pulling things out. It looks a bit like the contents of a hope chest. Things to start living on your own with. Robin's mom has one for her that Steve's seen, and even contributed to. There's an envelope of $500 tucked along the side of Robin's chest.

"This was his grandpa's. My dad's," Wayne says, pulling out a belt buckle. "And my ma made this, not for anyone in particular, mind you, but just because she liked to keep herself busy." It's a blanket, thick and a little scratchy when Steve touches it. "And this. This is the most important." Wayne pulls out a binder from the bottom of the box, handing it over to Steve for inspection.

He takes it carefully even though it looks sturdy. Holding it in one hand, he flips it open. He was thinking maybe it would be a photo album or something but it's not. It looks like a recipe book. All the recipes are hand written on looseleaf paper, with post it notes sticking out randomly. "What makes this special?"

"That's his mom's handwriting," Wayne smiles but he sounds sad. "Eddie lost her when he was five. She got real sick, y'know, and never got better. But she wrote out all them recipes. I'm amazed Al kept the thing, but I guess I shouldn't be. No real value in a binder of recipes 'cept to the people close to the author."

Steve looks back down at the binder. He still has both his parents, however distant they might be, so he doesn't know if he'll ever fully understand the significance of getting this piece of someone back. "Does he not have anything else with her writing on it?"

"No, not writing. We got plenty of things they used to own. Eddie's caseworker let us go through the whole house, after Al'd been shipped off to the penitentiary, to gather anything Eddie might want or need. Was supposed to just be his stuff, mind you, legally speakin', but I think that lady knew if we didn't take other stuff, Eddie'd never see it again.

"So, Eddie's got things that were hers. But nothing that's uniquely hers. There's jewelry, and a coupla blankets, but all that stuff is replaceable and not... Well, I dunno what I'm tryin' to say, but that's just stuff that was hers. But this. This was her. Y'understand?"

And Steve does. There's a difference between having something that belonged to someone once, and something that really feels like them when you hold it. Steve doesn't have anything like that, personally, but he knows there will come a time when the difference matters. When everyone grows up and scatters into the future. He imagines a hand written letter from Dustin will mean much more for him to find after a long time of no contact than it would to find his old Roast Beef t-shirt in the back of a drawer or something, moth bitten and musty.

"I can't wait to find out if Eddie's an angry emotional, or a sad one."

Wayne laughs. "He can be both."

#wayne and steve #daily ficlet #just a lil thing for if eddie lived but didn't like... live #bittersweet #my fic

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awkwardandeccentric · 6 months ago

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I made a joke five minutes ago about Blitz finding a DSM and he and Stolas finally figuring out why they’re Like That,

But now I’m laughing at the idea of Blitz obtaining the densest, heaviest, most random books he can find in the human world as a game for Stolas. There’s no rhyme or reason, either. Some of them are on botany. Some of them are novels. Some of them are engineering textbooks. Some of them are the history of drag in New York City. Some of them are binders of newspapers. Some of them are dictionaries for Klingon.

And the mental image of the red lizard man running around with a hardcover copy of War & Peace to chuck at Stolas’ head (don’t worry, Stolas will always catch it) when he gets home from work is so fucking funny to me. Someone draw this pls.

#stolas #blitzø #helluva boss #stoliz #stolitz #blitz is a service top #you cannot convince me otherwise

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celtigxr · 3 months ago

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THE PINK DREAD - CH. 16 (Masterlist)

Chapter Summary: Hangovers, blackmail, & a favour for a Prince. Word Count: 5098 CHAPTER WARNINGS: Implied homophobia, insinuated (dub) noncon

Series tags: Aemond x Plus size!OfC, Aegon x Plus size!OfC, Celtigar!ofc, Plot with Smut, mdni 18+, Aemond End Game, Angst, Comedy, The Dragons Don't Dance, slow burn, friends to enemies to lovers, enemies to friends to lovers.

Credits: Lace Banner by Aquazero, pearl divider by Pommecita

Notes: This is a bit of an inbetween chapter, so I'll hopefully get the next one out soon. Chapter 26, 27, and 28 were taking me so long.

Arthor Celtigar wasn’t an early bird, he was simply an insomniac. It also did not help that his day-to-day activities were lackluster, and did not require him to be awake early in the day, unlike his elder counterpart. He could sleep for a few hours in the middle of the day, and no one would notice his absence. It was easy to be forgotten in the Red Keep, he realized, especially if you were a boy of little consequence, which he preferred. It made his hobby of eavesdropping all the more easy.

He was in the family apartment’s shared solar when the door opened and Ser Steffon Hardy had ushered in his dishevelled and despondent sister before closing the door after her. Arthur briefly caught a glimpse of long silver hair standing in front of the entrance before the view was obscured by iron and wood.

“Long night?” He asked Valeana, who predictably ignored him as she fell into a settee and buried her face in the cushions.

He waited a few moments before he decided that she was unconscious enough to inspect her. Dress looked like she had spent the night in the dungeons, but it was otherwise intact; her hair had a few cobwebs stuck to it, and it was a bit frizzy. The humidity would explain the latter, but the former, well, he could only assume that was due to something far more scandalous. She also reeked of alcohol and body odour; so much so he wrinkled his nose in disgust.

“Oh, Valeana…” He tutted, wrapping his arms under her arms and hoisting her up with quiet difficulty. “Floris is going to be absolutely chuffed to hear of this.”

He was careful not to wake Shyla as he dragged his heaviest sister across the floor and into her bedchambers. With a soft grunt he pulled her onto her mattress, and dutifully picked up her legs after removing her shoes and laying them on the bed. Arthor even did her the favour of removing her prosthetic; with careful hands, he unbuckled the straps around her thigh, then knee, and slowly removed the wooden appendage.

The youngest Celtigar couldn’t help but wonder if Aemond was privy to her exposed thighs that night. It would explain her appearance, though he didn’t quite know the prince well enough to determine if he was capable of being deplorable enough to take advantage of an inebriated noble maid. Particularly one that was so toxic for him.

He supposed Valeana was attractive. In another life, had the Celtigars been more like the Targaryens and the Velaryons, Clement would have been married to her ages ago, and he would have been betrothed to Shyla. Sometimes, Arthor thought that’s exactly what Clement desired. The way he stared at Valeana was different to how he stared at Shyla, but then again, perhaps that was because they were full-blooded siblings and had a bond that neither he, Shyla, and especially not Floris could understand. Not to mention, Arthor wouldn’t know what lust and desire for a woman even looked like.

Women weren’t attractive creatures to him. A fact that Floris knew and took advantage of by making him her personal spy. She had a way of spreading gossip and conjecture like a forest fire, and being a man of his… tastes, Arthor was not welcomed in this world. At least, not in Westeros.

He returned to the solar, body laid out on the sofa with a book cradled in his hands until Floris awakened – she was always the first to. And she was used to seeing him already awake, or never haven slept at all, so she strode passed him with a soft ‘good morn’ and walked over to the table strewn with fruit, preserves, cheese and bread that had been laid out by a servant not a half hour ago.

Arthor stared at her in hard contemplation, wondering if he should tell her what he saw. He considered not to, as an act of defiance, but surely there would be whispers by others, and Floris will undoubtedly realize that he would’ve witnessed Valeana stumble in at dawn with Aemond on her tail. Then, she would use her blackmail: Arthor’s sinful rendezvous with a lordling under their father’s banners.

“I have something you would like to hear,” he forced himself to say. Floris’ large eyes perked up, all evidence of sleep clinging to her gone in an instant. She was politely chewing on grapes, but stopped so she could hear him in full.

“A certain sister of ours returned at dawn, looking quite bedraggled.”

Floris swallowed, the ends of her lips quirking in a poor attempt to conceal her morbid elation, “Is that so?”

“She wasn’t alone,” he sat up, using his finger in place of a bookmark. “A prince had escorted her back.”

That smile was pulled into a frown. Now her brow twitched, threatening to expose her suspicion and rage over this as well. “Which Prince?”

“One-eye.”

Floris scoffed and tossed her head back with eyes tightly closed. Her hand ran over her face, then she let out a growl of annoyance, “That bloody fool.”

When Valeana dreamt that night, it was more of a nightmare fueled by the raging headache that gripped her temples like pincers. Body sore, hot, and filthy from sweat and dust, she was a bag of bricks in the center of her bed. She was in complete paralysis, a motionless victim to the terrors of her subconscious, which was fed by the alcohol of last night and the shame and humiliation orchestrated by Aemond Targaryen.

She dreamt of running through that same passageway, completely naked, being pressed between stone walls and having to wade through murky knee-deep water. There was something or someone following her, which drove her to flee in the first place. Val could hear him, but couldn’t see him. A shadow with pupil-less blue eyes, much like how light would reflect against a cat's eyes in the dark. The crippling fear of being taken by this creature of the dark caused her heart to beat rapidly in real time, and the pounding sounded like war drums in her mind. At some point she had considered allowing it to happen; to submit to the predator that moved steadily faster than her pace. Maybe he would not devour her; maybe he meant no ill will; maybe he was her only option; maybe she’d enjoy it.

But the water began to rise and the walls opened up to the ocean, wide and endless, and plunged into a stormy darkness. A thunderous roar caused the surface of the ocean to ripple at its intensity, then the black water started to pull in various directions, collecting itself in a mountain that towered over her. The wall of the massive tidal wave folded in over Valeana, plunging her into its cold depths.

She woke up to ice cold water being poured over her head.

“Oh, you’re awake,” Floris’ self-satisfied greeting was met with rough coughing.

Valeana sat up straight, gasping and trying to learn how to breathe through her now waterlogged nose. Water collected in her eyelashes, which dripped into her eyes and blinded her momentarily.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” The blonde started to wipe at her eyes as her coughing started to subside.

“It’s past midday,” Floris tilted her head, a small smile uncharacteristically set upon her long face. “And I’ve done you the favour of ordering a bath. You desperately need it.”

Still wiping her face, Val was now able to see Floris, albeit through manic blinking. “I could’ve done that myself, you know.”

“You were still unconscious, and I was impatient.”

“Impatient for what?” Val turned away, moving her legs stiffly over the side of the bed. She looked down, seeing her stump tightly wrapped in linens from last night. She had no recollection of removing her leg, nor did she remember even making it to her bed.

“To tell you the juicy little morsel that I heard this morning. It’s been a buzz all over the Keep.”

Valeana’s eyes flickered over to her suspiciously and a bit nervously.

“A little birdie told me that Prince Aemond was spotted dragging around a drunk woman all over the castle like a sack of rocks,” she guffawed, an obvious false laugh that made Valeana silently groan in annoyance. “Imagine the scandal. Imagine that woman’s family, and the shame they must feel because of her.”

The younger sister glared at the older, “I do not care about my reputation, Floris.”

“Father will care. Though, as it happens… People seem to think the woman he helped was just another Targaryen bastard trying to pretend they’re something they’re not. So you are off the hook, dear sister.”

“Oh good,” Val’s tone dripped with sarcasm, “So this conversation is over.”

“Not quite,” Floris’ expression became a little more conniving and sharp, which didn’t settle well with Valeana’s already unsettled stomach. “Father and mother will be home soon, and I am sure you do not wish for him to know what actually happened.”

“The problem with blackmail, Flo, is that you need something to prove what you are saying has verity, otherwise it is just hearsay.”

“Hm,” Floris smirked, “I have a witness. Two trusted ones, in fact, that father would believe.”

Val eyed her, “What do you want?”

“I want you to stop fraternizing with Prince Aemond.”

“You do realize I’ve been actively trying to avoid him, right?”

The brunette scoffed, “Please, I was not born yesterday, Valeana. I know your little game.”

Val looked at her with clear bewilderment, “What ga–”

Floris continued, completely ignoring her, “It has come to my attention through a series of grapevines, that the betrothal between Helaena and Aegon is steadfast. So, it seems that I will not be the one to marry Aegon.”

“I thought we’ve established that Shyla called dibs–”

“-- That leaves Aemond. It is a smarter match, anyhow. We are of similar intellect, interest, height.”

Valeana continued to stare at her step-sister as if she was babbling nonsensical madness that needed to be decoded by a maester.

“You want to court Aemond?” Val asked, trying to process this information with black and white answers.

“If you recall, you did give me your blessing.”

Valeana wanted to laugh, but her heart was beating at her temples. She felt more angry, if anything. She had every right to be, given how she was woken up.

“Y’know what, Floris,” she pressed her fingers into her eyes and exhaled noisily. “I don’t care.”

Floris smiled satisfyingly, but it quickly vanished when Valeana continued.

“I don’t care if you tell father. In fact, tell the whole damn court – no, the Realm. I want the fucking Dothraki in their grass sea to know about it. Because, the worst thing that could happen is that he will put me on a ship back home until my choice of betrothal or-or septa-tude will be made for me, saving me from a bigger fucking headache I have right now.

“I am not giving you Aemond. He-he was my friend first, and I honestly would rather see him… fall off his dragon, into—into the waters of the bloody God’s Eye, never to be seen again, than see him married to you, my dear, devious, deceitful step-sister. But! By all means, try. Truly. It would be very entertaining seeing you being knocked off that brittle pedestal you try to put yourself on.”

The silence in the room was heavy and suffocating. Valeana didn’t know where that all came from. She blamed it on the headache. And she blamed Floris for exasperating it. She justified it all.

Floris stood up from the bed, face pulled into a frown. “You know, Valeana, oftentimes you can be such a bitch.”

Aegon was another soul in the Red Keep whose sleep suffered that night. He had gone to the Street of Silk as he intended that night after Throne Room, but had arrived back home earlier than intended. It didn’t matter who’s hand or mouth or cunt was on his cock, he couldn’t get hard. And that was unheard of for him. It usually took almost nothing to get Aegon hard and ready for any willing and wet hole. When he returned to his bedchambers, he tried to do it himself. He managed, albeit it took much longer than he’d like. By the end of it, his meat was raw as venison, and he came so pathetically, it might as well not have happened at all.

When he did sleep, it wasn’t until dawn and the servants had started to come in with plates for him to break his fast. He managed to get at least four or five hours of slumber, and would have gotten more hadn’t it been for his grandsire waking him up in the only way Otto Hightower knew how: Loud, reprimanding, and merciless.

He ripped the tangled sheets from Aegon’s legs and glowered at his nudity before barking at him to wash up and dress, for Daeron was home.

Daeron.

Fucking Daeron.

The golden child, right after fucking Rhaenyra.

Helaena had taken Dreamfyre more times than Aegon took Sunfyre to visit Oldtown. Aemond never seemed to bother, and that is probably why he was the smartest of the three of them. Daeron had always been insufferable; the level of his arrogance rivelled both his and Aemond’s combined. As a young lad, he always demanded the attention of everyone in the room the moment someone wasn’t paying attention to him. Always “look at me! Look at what I can do!”, and his Hightowers cousins all did, cutting off any attention they were giving to Aegon and Helaena.

Aegon stopped visiting after Daeron’s thirteenth birthday, when he insinuated that Tessarion could best Sunfyre in a race. Aegon took the challenge, because of course he was wrong.

The Blue Queen won and Aegon was so bitter about it, he decided that was the last time he would grace Daeron with his presence. But now he was in King’s Landing for the first time, likely to consume as much attention as possible from every damned corner of the Seven Kingdoms. What’s worse, Otto wants Aemond and him to sup with him, as well as his baby brother’s syndicate of arse-munchers – his cousins.

There’s absolutely no bloody way he was going to sit at that table for longer than five minutes. The problem was that his grandsire would surely appoint a guard to drag him back into his chair after every try. Mayhaps there was a way to make it more interesting, or at the very least, tip the scales in his favour. Besides, it would be quite the sausage fest with only one woman in attendance… He would be doing his cousin’s young wife a favour by inviting more feminine guests to entertain her.

It would also be a triple win for Aegon. Not only will he have a buffer between himself and Daeron, not only will he make Aemond incredibly uncomfortable (a small morsel of revenge for last night), but he also has an excuse to see– Hm.

Well, best not dwell on why he desires to see Valeana so much.

Before he darkens her doorstep, he visits the kitchen knowing exactly what she needs, and has the cooks and servants prepare it for him. With a corked bottle, a bundle wrapped in canvas and twine in his hand, Aegon sauntered over to the Celtigar apartments, greeting their ever loyal knighted guard.

“Good morrow, Good Ser,” Aegon smiled cheerfully.

The knight nodded, his look of suspicion not concealed, “Good morrow to you, as well, my Prince. What can I do for you?”

“I was wondering if Lady Valeana was still in her rooms. I have something she’d appreciate, and I’d like an audience.”

The knight stared at him for so bleeding long, Aegon was tempted to pull rank.

“She is bathing.”

The thought of Valeana bathing made his balls quiver, which reflected in the twinkle in his eye. He looked too eager, he had to tone it down.

“Ah. Right then. I can wait for her in the solar, then,” Aegon nodded towards the door. When the knight did not make a move to open it, the prince’s friendly smile turned into an impatient one. “Well? Open the door for your prince.”

The knight sighed through flared nostrils, then moved at a glacial pace as he opened the door with reluctance. Aegon gave him a smug nod and strode in with confident strides. He looked about the room as if it didn’t look like countless others in the Holdfast. When he turned around he was met with the same knight again. Standing at the entrance, hands on the pommel of his sword and eyes boring into Aegon like he could read his intentions.

“Oh, you do not need to entertain me, knight. You may return to your post.”

“I am at my post, my Prince.”

Aegon’s lips went tight over his teeth in annoyance, “Right. Of course.”

“I’ll inform my lady of your presence, my Prince. Remain where you are,” he kept his eyes on him as he walked over to the quarters to the right of the room, which likely led to the twin bedchambers that the girls had shared. Aegon watched him closely, determined to show he felt no discomfort under this recalcitrant, bothersome guard’s scrutinizing leer.

The man knocked on the door, and a few seconds went by before it opened a few inches. Aegon strained to look over the hulking armoured fellow, but couldn’t make anything out beyond a thinly veiled opened window, the sound of water moving about, and the bonnet of the handmaid who answered the door.

“Inform Lady Valeana that Prince Aegon wishes for an audience with her.”

The maid had a brief look of surprise before mutely nodding and closing the door. The knight turned around, and rested his back against the wall next to it, resuming his ever wavering glare at Aegon.

Aegon stood idly for about 7 seconds before the awkwardness forced him into a chair, trying to act nonchalant.

“So,” Aegon clicked his tongue, “What is your name, knight?”

“Ser Steffon Hardy, my Prince.”

“Ah, from Crackclaw Point.”

“Yes, my Prince.”

Aegon tucked his lips under his teeth and nodded, “Interesting peninsula I heard. Tell me, have you ever seen a squisher? I’ve heard many old wives tales.”

Ser Steffon merely stared at him for a moment before shaking his head very subtly, “No, my Prince.”

“Ah,” Aegon nodded. “How disappointing.”

Just as the silence reached the precipice of painful awkwardness, the door finally opened, and Aegon immediately stood up. At first, he grinned cheekily, having a jest on her crapulous state on the tip of his tongue, but when she emerged, that was quickly forgotten.

Valeana emerged in a burgundy robe, tightly secured around her waist, and a muslin chemise underneath. She was still damp from her bath, making little wet patches on the white material underneath her robe. Unfortunately for Aegon, both robe and shift was floor length, and hid her modesty well. Even her large breasts, no longer caged in a tight bodice that pushed them against her ribs, were covered by the thick fabric of the robe. What took him off guard the most was her pink appearance; she was completely flushed from the hot water. Her cheeks were the colour of roses, deepening the faint freckles that he never noticed before. Val’s nose also was pink, like she had just been sniffling, or perhaps that was just from the steam as well. Then there were her flushed lips, that above all else, he felt captivated most by. Instinctively, he ran his tongue and teeth over his bottom lip.

“Prince Aegon,” her brow was already furrowed when she emerged, but it deepened at the sight of him. Her hands moved over her damp hair, gathering it over her shoulder. Aegon was once again taken back by a new thing: her hair was long. So very long and thick, and soaking wet. It darkened the fabric of her robe when it landed over her shoulder. He watched, enraptured as she ran her fingers through it to squeeze out the water. “How can I help you?”

He could only assume the formality was for the sake of their audience, and that snapped him out of his trance.

“I came bearing gifts,” He smiled politely, gesturing to the items he was cradling in his arm. “And to ask you a favour.”

She raised an eyebrow, looking at the bottle and bundle of canvas in his arms, then back at him, “What’s the occasion?”

Aegon’s eyes flickered to the guard and maid, and then back at her, “May we speak privately?”

Valeana immediately looked to Hardy, who’s jaw clenched disapprovingly. Thankfully, before the knight could bark a refusal, Val gave a directional nod towards the entrance.

“Ser Steffon, would you?”

“It is not proper for a lady to be left alone with a man, my lady. Especially after–”

“--I am aware, but my maid, Rosey, is here with me.”

Aegon watched smugly as the knight hesitated, fingers curling on the pommel of his sword before he complied. He bowed his head, sent Aegon a pointed look, and then stepped out of the solar. Once the door was closed, Valeana gave off a sigh and walked over to an armchair.

“Well, isn’t he a charmer,” Aegon eyed the door before returning his attention to her.

“He is protective, and after what happened last night, he wishes to keep me near until my parents and brother return from Dragonstone.”

“Speaking of last night,” Aegon took a seat nearest to her and placed the objects on the short table at her feet. “These are for you. They’ll help with the–” he pointed towards her head. At the look of her confusion, he elaborated, “As you know, I am no stranger to drink. I like to think I’ve become quite the crapulent expert.”

The muscles in Valeana’s face softened as she gave a soundless laugh through her nose, “Right, of course. Thank you.”

She reached over and took the bundle of canvas first, then unwrapped it. The immediate smell of bacon, eggs, and buttered toast met her nose, and she looked up at Aegon, her amusement evident on her face.

“Breakfast was a few hours ago, Aegon.”

He smiled, and shrugged, “It’s a reference from last night. Egg-on-toast, you called me…. Then said we were like eggs and bacon. So, I–” he gestured to the food. “I thought it would be an appropriate gift. As it happens, it will also help with your headache. And that,” he pointed at the bottle. “Will help the exhaustion.”

Valeana took the bottle to uncork it, then took a whiff of it and pulled away, “Hells, that smells like vinegar.”

“It’s pickle juice,” Aegon smugly confirmed. “Works every time.”

She gave him a skeptical look, “Is this a prank?”

“Never. I’ve grown out of that.”

She looked at him, completely unconvinced.

“... I’ve grown out of pranking you. Bloody hells, just drink and eat.”

Valeana still eyed him suspiciously, but threw caution to the wind and took a tentative sip of the juice. She cringed and shuddered, making Aegon chuckle.

“You’ll get used to it.”

After a short moment of her munching on her bacon and her ‘Aegon Toast’, she leaned back into the chair and crossed her legs. Aegon found it difficult to not stare, particularly since he could see the form of her legs underneath. The dark wood of her prosthetic was easy to see through the thin veil of the muslin material.

“I suppose you want to know what happened last night.”

Her blunt comment took him a bit off guard. He glanced up at the maid, who silently stood by the door. Valeana caught his look, and shook her head dismissively.

“She already knows… Rosey has been with me for years, she knows everything about me. And she’s mute,” Val craned her neck and gave her maid a kind smile, which the shy girl returned along with a short nod.

Aegon cleared his throat, “What–uh, what happened then?”

“I don’t remember much. It honestly feels like it was part of the headache-addled nightmare I had last night,” she sunk into the chair further, then took a piece of bacon and munched slowly. “I remember Aemond dragging me along the floor, because I refused to move.”

The prince couldn’t contain his smirk, “I wish I had witnessed that.”

“Hm, I am sure it was quite the sight,” she went on. “Then I vomited at some point… very demure of me. At some point we went into a passageway to get to the Holdfast faster, and–”

Aegon watched as she folded her arms over her chest and sort of caved into the chair. His entertained demeanor faded. Aegon moved to the edge of the seat in concern, “Valeana, don’t tell me he–? What did he do? Did he touch you, did he–?”

Val sighed hotly through her mouth and pinched the bridge of her nose, “No… Well, yes but– I wanted him to. He didn’t force himself on me, and…it didn’t go very far. Just– just, y’know, my br–my breasts…” Her face turned into a deeper shade of rouge at the admittance.

Aegon huffed, his fingers curling into his palm as he tried to contain his anger. That fucking little prick; he had the balls to accuse him of taking advantage of her whilst drunk, while he went on and did that very fucking thing?

“Valeana, he took advantage of you–”

“Aegon, stop. I consented to it. I wanted him to touch me. I still– fuck. Bleeding hells, it doesn’t matter anymore. He stopped and looked at me like he was appalled of me. Like I was the most disgusting thing in the world.”

Aegon ran his hand over his face before resting his chin on his palm, and then his elbow on his knee. He shook his head, peering at her through his fingers, “You’re very much the opposite of disgusting, Valeana. Aemond is just a righteous fool with a massive spear stuck up his arse. If I know my brother, and I believe I do, he must have stopped because he realized how weak and pathetic he was appearing.”

Valeana huffed a humourless laugh, “It didn’t feel like it.”

Freeing his hand, Aegon reached and grabbed hers, then leveled his eyes with her green ones. “Valeana… I may say this to a lot of women,” he spoke in a voice so serious that she had no choice but to remain quiet. “But I want you to know that I say this with all the sincerity in the world. You have the best tits I’ve ever seen, and I have never been more envious of Aemond until this moment.”

That got her to laugh. Her other hand slapped over her cheek as she descended into a fit of giggles. Even Rosey covered her mouth to shield her grin, but her shaking shoulders exposed her mute amusement.

Aegon grinned as a warmth grew in his chest at the sound, “Honestly, I am very tempted to run him through with a sword in your bosom’s honour.” He allowed her to laugh it off for a moment before running his tongue over his lip again as nerves wracked him. Aegon wasn’t used to being serious, let alone with a female that he was trying to console. Consoling at all was a foreign to him, but it appeared he had talent for it, somehow.

“In truth, Valeana, he wouldn’t have touched you if he wasn’t attracted to you, you must understand that.”

She swallowed thickly, and then proceeded to blink rapidly as she stared off into the corner. “Perhaps he really is no different than any other man.”

“He’d loathe to admit that,” Aegon concurred.

Val gave a rueful smile and a small nod of her head, “He always thought he was better than the average man. But he quickly turned into a ravenous beast the moment he saw flesh.”

Aegon raised a brow at that, “Is that so?”

“Yes,” the girl took a deep inhale of air and straightened herself up in the seat. It didn’t go unnoticed how she looked down at her chest, “His lips left bruises in their wake.”

The other brow rose with the first. Aegon’s eyes flickered to her modestly covered chest, and after a beat of processing that information, he asked:

“Can I see?”

She gave him a kick in the shin.

“Ow! Alright!” He peeled away from her, rubbing his leg. “Alright. I get it, he marked his territory – I am jesting!” He moved further away from her when she went to kick him again.

Rolling her eyes, Valeana relaxed into the chair, and took a tentative sip of the pickle juice, forgetting what it was for a moment. With another shudder, she quickly took a bite of the toast with egg.

“You mentioned a favour?” She changed the subject, bringing Aegon back to his initial purpose of his visit.

“Yes,” he crossed his leg, and cradled his knee with his hands, “You might’ve heard that my brother, Daeron, arrived on dragonback.”

“Mhm,” she nodded, continuing to eat.

“My grandsire wants Aemond and I to dine with him and my cousins this eve… And I am dreading it. As estranged I am with most of my family, Daeron’s presence is a burden I do not wish to endure alone.”

Valeana put down her food and blinked at him, “Are you asking me to keep you company?”

“I am.”

“Wouldn’t the Hand be displeased with my presence? Especially since I have no relation to the Hightowers? I would be intruding on a family gathering.”

Aegon waved dismissively, “Do not worry about Otto. He will be civil in front of his nephew and his wife in order to keep up appearances.”

“And what about Aemond? I don’t know… I don’t know if I can see him after last night.”

“Valeana,” Aegon reached out again, grasping her hand from the armrest. “Do not worry about him. I will not allow him near you. You can rest assured that your breasts will be in much more capable hands than he.”

“Aegon!”

“He left you in bruises, Val! The man’s a starved savage.”

CHAPTER SIXTEEN SNEAK PEAK “I seem to have been robbed of a childhood growing up with you lovely ladies. I wish I had visited,” his smirk widened flirtatiously, “Seeing such beauty would have likely forced me to stay.” Aegon’s face soured with every word spoken by Daeron, forcing Valeana to bite the inside of her cheek to stop herself from laughing. “Perhaps you should have,” Valeana spoke, pursing her lips to contain her grin. “If only to sweeten our pallets from our otherwise bitter friendships with your brothers.” Daeron cocked his head, “Oh? Were they that troublesome?” “Ah, Prince Daeron, if only we had the time. A day could not even cover the bullying we had to endure at the hands of your elder brothers and nephews.” Daeron tisked, throwing Aegon a look, shaking his head...

Notes: Aegon, Avenger of Tits. Oh, and if you're interested in the playlist I made for Pink Dread, it's posted in the masterlist, or the direct link to the spotify list here

Tag: @queen-of-elves, @keylin1730, @anakilusmos, @weepingfashionwritingplaid, @sugutoad, @desireangel

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Please do not re post, redistribute or plagiarize my work. The only other place this story is posted on is ao3 under the same username.

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