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damagdsnow · 7 months

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Fix my reputation

Pairing: young!Coriolanus Snow x fem!reader

Summary: You and Coryo are together for mutual benefits, he needs a well known woman by his side to look vulnerable and loving during the presidential elections and you need your reputation to be fixed after your unforgivable scandal.

Tag: fake dating, slow burn, enemies to lovers, arranged marriage, manipulative/soft Snow, strong and independent reader (as she should), fluff, angst, power play, smut, fingering, thigh riding, switching sub/dom, degradation, denied orgasm, piv, dirty talk, overstimulation, oral (fem/male receiving), praise

Chapter 1, chapter 2;

aesthetic chapter one, aesthetic chapter two;

Tw: Snow being Snow, mention of alcohol, panic/anxiety attack, mention of blood, mention of parent death, physical aggression (not detailed and not from Snow)

Word count: 11.3k

note: before reading this I recommend you to read the first chapter here. Also, thank you so much for all the love and support on chapter one I didn’t expect all of this, I love you guys ❤️

He is the forbidden fruit, I shall not fall in temptation.

The first time you had met Coriolanus was when Dr. Gaul had announced he was going to be her apprentice Gamemaker during the next Hunger Games.

At that time, you got a job as a health advisor, essentially you monitored tributes' vital signs and whether they were injured, you formulated unique medicine so mentors and sponsors could help their favorites heal faster and be a step ahead of the others. You were used to stitch wounds, examining patients, making prescriptions. This was a whole new thing to you. Dr. Gaul said to you that you were one of the most qualified doctors in that department, this is the reason why she pressured you to ‘amaze’ her.

”When I read your qualifications I was shocked to learn you were looking for employment,” was the first thing Dr. Gaul said to you when she requested to meet you.

You were in her laboratory, a bright room filled with gruesome creatures, dead and alive. She was standing in front of you, with her voluminous curly hair and her reddish long tunic, while she was feeding some sorta of genetically modified fish.

“I was looking for some thrilling experience,” you started fidgeting your fingers, “making me useful for the good of Panem.”

You practiced saying these words many times before meeting her, what were you supposed to say? That you desperately needed a job? That as soon as you found another position you would quit immediately?

”Your idea to formulate a drug that would help tributes in the arena?” With a long tweezer she dropped a pink cube in the small pool, ”so original,” she smiled while feeding the fishes with more cubes.

“You know what it means right? The games will last longer, people spending money on their helpless and injured tributes, mentors fighting to get the best sponsor,” she continued, her icy eyes were staring at you, “this is going to revolutionise the games.”

“I’m glad you liked my proposal,” you looked down, wondering if it was better to make eye contact with her or watch those horrific creatures with long fangs and thorny tails.

“Liked? I absolutely adore your way of thinking,” she put the tweezer back on a metal tray. “No one was able to surprise me since–” she paused and you looked back at her, ”do you know Coriolanus Snow? You two would get along well.”

At that time you wondered who he could be. Coriolanus Snow? His name sounded familiar to you. Only when Dr. Gaul introduced him to the department as an apprentice, you recognised his face.

You both graduated from the Academy, he was just a year older than you, and during the tenth annual Hunger Games his name was popular amongst students. Even though you went to the same school, you had never talked to him. Until a couple of months before the reaping, Dr. Gaul let you and other members work in her lab to do research. Of course he was there too, and chance had it that you were paired up with Coriolanus, sharing the same desk in the library section.

You could see him sitting opposite to you, his side was impressively tidy, just a black leather notepad and a book. Your half was full of microbiology volumes, agar plates and creased post-it. Coriolanus was too focused on his writing that he never gazed over you, on the other hand you were distracted by his presence. You remembered him differently in the Academy, his hair was slightly longer than before, his facial features were more defined, but the same cold aura surrounded him.

You felt kinda intimidated by him.

You’ve heard colleagues saying how brilliant he was: he won the Plinth prize in his senior year, he graduated with honors at advanced military strategies and he now had a high position as the right hand man of the pretentious Head Gamemaker.

He intrigued you.

You thought you were not the smartest person in the room. There was something in him, probably his confident behaviour while he was writing on his notebook, as if he was superior to you. You couldn’t take your eyes off of him, you thought of ways to start a conversation, not a small talk, but something smart to impress him.

Your heart was beating fast and you finally figured what to say, “Mr. Snow I found a better technique for–“

“What makes you think you can talk to me?” He cut you off while still writing in his notebook.

His words stunned you. The conversation you imagined in your head was now gone, what could you say at this point? “I just wanted–” you stuttered

“Don’t bother, I don’t want to know.”

Your admiration for him slowly faded each day. The way he corrected you every time you had a proposal, pointing out your mistakes in front of everyone, or when he made you work till night in the laboratory to perfectionate your research. You tolerated that, you were used to hard work and mean teachers in your university years, but sometimes he didn’t even show the slightest remorse on things he would say about the districts. About you, indirectly.

Every year on reaping day you thought that it could have been you. Your name in that little piece of paper, read out loud changing your destiny. If it wasn’t for your father’s role in the Dark Days, you could have been in that arena yourself, instead of having the privilege to control tributes’ lives in a cozy chair.

Your dad was an engineer, more a genius mastermind who designed and built high tech weapons. Specifically incendiary bombs, which were crucial to stop the rebels from invading the Capitol during the last year of the war. The project was so successful that he obtained an honorary medal from President Ravenstill himself. He was able to buy a place in the Capitol, for the only purpose to give you and your sister a better future, and you actually lived in luxury compared to your old life back in the districts. However, your father did not side with the president’s political view, still he had to conform to it or he would probably be considered a rebel.

He played the game, to stay alive. Until he was not part of that show anymore.

“I only did it for you and Darla, I don’t care about heavens or hell. As long as my family is safe, I regret nothing of the atrocities I’ve done,” were the words your father wrote to you in a letter, before being killed.

They had never been clear about the dynamics of his homicide, but you were sure it was not an incident as someone would say. The Capitol killed him, they took your dad away from you, the only person you admired, that never let you down.

Your blood was from the districts, even if you’ve lived all your life in the Capitol, you couldn’t change your origins. Coriolanus reminded you of that, with his despicable comments about how ‘horrible and disgusting’ the people from the districts were. As if you didn’t exist to him, you were not a person from his perspective. But he did not know that, no one knew you were not from the Capitol, it was only written on your official documents.

“The games are meant to remind us all who we truly are,” was something Coriolanus often said, bullshit you thought, for you the Games were an insult to humanity and civilisation, cruel entertainment for empty people.

Coriolanus Snow, such a brilliant mind but wicked thoughts.

At the same time, you were not better than him. You worked for the Head Gamemaker and indirectly supported the unnatural destiny of those children. It was easier blaming the government, the bad guys, than admitting to be part of the corrupted system you truly despised. Your excuse was that you had no choice, and partially it was true, but can money win over your beliefs? Were you so desperate to bend your morality just not to be jobless and not respectable? You were acting as your father: were you a fighter or survivor?

Little did you know that your worst nightmares were going to haunt you soon. After the incident you were unemployed, with a bad reputation and with a man you hated.

Check, check, check.

You woke up at lunch time for the third day in a row, it was like being a child again. But there wasn’t your mom taking care of you, your dad making your favorite dish or your big sister spoiling you with presents. You couldn’t ignore your responsibilities and let the adults do the big things for you. You were the adult now, but if you kept self destroying your life this way, it was like everything you’ve done vanished away. Giving up was not an option, or to put things clear, it was the easier possibility amongst the other challenging beginnings.

One of these included him.

Coriolanus was not a beginning, he was more like someone you bump into when you are in a rush, someone who wasn’t supposed to be there but that let you miss the train, made you change your destination. However, the end of the journey was a mystery, with him nothing was clear from the start.

The gala was proof that you couldn’t handle that world, it felt like everything you did made your situation in a much worse position. If it wasn’t for Coriolanus, you would’ve busted into tears on live tv, he was used to that world, lying so naturally that he convinced them.

Cameras, flashes, interviews. Not exactly what you have been preparing for all your life.

You didn’t want to remember what happened that night. Your mind replayed memories as if it was a film, but you were trying to stop it. The dancing? The photographers?

No, the kiss.

The thought of his hands on your skin, his hair on your hands, his lips against yours. The more you pushed that image away, the less it faded from your mind. How could you let him do something like that? You knew that letting him in again would only bring more chaos into your life, but at the same time, you needed to fix your mess and he was your solution.

Also, you didn’t want to acknowledge that all the attention was something you needed. Not the bad press, the misleading articles and intrusive photographers. It was the care for you, the way he defended you, the warmth you didn’t feel in a long time. You knew it was fake, just a facade, but that pretending was healing an empty spot you have been hiding for ages.

When you checked your mail, you recognised the reddish envelope. It was from Snow manor.

"Be ready at 7 pm, someone is going to pick you up.’ signed by Iris Davebonn.

Of course it was not over.

He had a plan, and he didn’t give up easily. You also had a plan, he was not the only one with something to prove, but was he the only way out to your hell? Or was he another villain in your tragedy? You had nothing to lose but everything to gain.

Coriolanus is the forbidden apple, the fruit I shall never be tempted to desire.

You opened the fridge, still sleepy but hungry. For your breakfast you had a couple of options: water and rotten eggs or rotten eggs and water. So as always you decided to steal from your neighbor’s tangerines tree, you could easily pick the fruits from your window, the advantages of living on the first floor. You knew that the old lady next door noticed your thefts, but she hated you either way so at least you gave her a reason to. Since you didn’t have a monthly paycheck anymore, you had to live with your remaining savings, but soon you were left with nothing with bills and rent to pay.

Actually, Dr. Gaul never fired you, she wasn’t as upset as Capitol people, she even congratulated you because this way The Hunger Games were discussed more on tv and newspapers. For her, the incident was a perfect strategy to make the Games popular. She even thought you did that intentionally, because in her distorted view,”it was funny seeing their faces when for the first time, a 12 years old boy from district eleven won”. Against all odds, the unknown tribute without sponsors and hope to make it alive, won the games because “I killed everybody else.”

Not as funny as she thought.

Eventually, you couldn't handle the pressure anymore and you quit. The last time you saw her she persuaded you to be by her side the next year, “if you did that by accident, I wonder what you could do purposely.” You never considered that offer, you didn’t have to work there in the first place. If only you could go back, maybe… Maybe, everything would’ve gone differently.

The world fell apart when you heard the sound of cannon in that room. Everybody was cheering for that girl from district two, the favorite, the one that won Capitol’s heart during the interviews. The lovely Rea, the brave tribute that was bit by an horrific dog. That creature cannot be defined as a ‘dog’, more like a venomous lion with a crocodile mouth. Your role was to make a medicine that could heal her wound. Sponsors asked it, her mentor was willing to pay whatever price to save her, the Capitol was betting every penny on her.

The pressure was such that you mistakenly switched two drugs and gave her the other for the boy from District three. Fatal mistake.

You were their only hope but you became the death of them.

Relying on somebody else was the last thing you wanted, especially if it was Coriolanus Snow. You didn’t want to need him. But there you go, on your way to his house. Again.

An avox opened the door for you and silently you followed her to the living room. Iris and Coriolanus were both standing near a star shaped glass table surrounded by small couches, you wondered what their conversation was about because they stopped talking the moment you walked in.

“Speaking of the devil,” Coriolanus said looking at you, he was wearing a white shirt and black pants, his hair was messy as if he woke up a couple of minutes ago.

”There she is,” Iris stepped towards you, opening her arms, “the new star of Panem,” she hugged you like you were an old friend she hadn’t seen in a while, it didn’t feel as awkward as you thought, it felt sincere.

”I think you meant a fallen star,” you laughed hugging her back.

”Honey, the gala was a success!” She said with a warm smile.

You perceived his blue eyes gazing at you, the same look he gave you when you were walking with him arm by arm at the gala.

Why is he staring? Am I wearing something inappropriate? Or is it just the indecipherable look he always has?

“Did you read the newspaper?” Iris pointed at the glass table in front of you but you were distracted by a bowl full of pastries to even pay attention to her.

You leaned forward to read the page but your sight was too blurry. The tangerines were the only thing you ate since this morning, not really an energetic meal. You sat on the small couch and you put the newspaper close to your face, nose almost touching the page, squinting to have a better view.

“Are you blind?” Coriolanus said with an annoyed tone, he tore away the paper from your hands.

”I don’t have my glasses with me,” you lied, you have never worn glasses in your entire life.

You rubbed your temples trying to see clearly again and you swiftly took what seemed to be a pink cookie from the tray on the table. What flavour was that? You tried to make a straight face while chewing that sugary stuff, at least your body was eating something.

“To make things short— they think we are the couple of the moment,” Coriolanus started while reading the page, “that everybody was shocked— bla bla,” he rapidly said, “oh and they mentioned my name four times!”

“No, Mr. Snow, if you have to do something you have to do it right,” Iris intervened, taking the newspaper from his hands.

She sat down on the couch near yours and started reciting the article, reading word by word.

“Is love in the air? In Capitol City probably is.” She read the first line,“what a great title isn’t it?” Iris commented

“Go on or we are going to stay here all night,” Coriolanus said.

You looked at him, he was standing up making you feel inferior, like a shadow looming over you.

“After the unsettling events happened in the last Hunger Games, there is finally some hope in our community. The aspiring president Coriolanus Snow showed up with someone not-so-new in the latest gala before the presidential campaign.”

“ ‘not so new’ so kind of them—” you said and he shushed you. How dare he?

“She studied medicine and has worked with the Head Gamemaker for the past year. Rumor has it that for some kind of incident, she was the cause of the premature death of two tributes.”

Iris took a breath. “Unexpectedly, last night Coriolanus proudly walked with her for the very first time in public. Both dressed in white, representing the noble Snow name, they conquered the attention of the media and the crowd. Are they the couple of the moment?” She smiled while looking at you, “the best part is about to come.”

“If we are basing the answers on the way they look at each other, they definitely stole our hearts. We are looking forward to seeing how this unexpected love will grow.”

You laughed, that was too corny for you, was it possible that they truly believed that little show you made?

”Will Coriolanus Snow win the election the same way he won her heart? Right now we are in love with both of them.” Iris finished.

“Did they really write an article about our possible love story?” You took another cookie, green this time, “they really are bored people.”

”You should be happy they didn’t talk about what happened in the arena,” Coriolanus said but you couldn’t see him, he was standing behind you.

“Well, they mentioned it anyway,” you said while chewing that lemon pastry, or was it mint? For a moment you thought it was better starving than eating whatever thing it was.

”Thanks to me they probably will give you a chance,” he said.

”The tone they used– it was like they think you are doing charity by being with me.”

“Well it kinda is–”

”Oh shut up,” you stand up, turning to him, “your name has never been this many times in a newspaper.” You were close to him, and even if you were not sitting anymore, you felt small standing there facing him.

His eyes were still examining you, as if you were a book written in a language he couldn’t read.

“You two look like siblings fighting over meaningless things,” Iris said, stepping in, getting in the middle of you.

“See? Even Iris thinks you are being overly dramatic.”

You fought the urge to answer back, did he just call you over-dramatic?

“Honey, look who's talking,” Iris said pointing a finger at him, “you are not really easy to work with,” then she turned over to you, “in just one day people fell for your fairytale, imagine what you can do in a month.”

“Do you really think this can work?” You avoided looking at him behind her shoulder.

“They don’t care about what you did, you are just another distraction from their empty life,” she explained to you, “they need something else to talk about.”

“The world doesn’t revolve around you, there are more important things,” Coriolanus said, “such as the presidential elections.”

”Is there something else you can say instead of politics and fame?”

”What do you want me to tell you? My sad story about when I mixed some drugs in the laboratory?” He stepped closer, ”oh no, that is something you always talk about.”

”I liked you better when you ignored me,” you said remembering the first time you tried to have a conversation with him.

“Stop please,” Iris said, “you two should bond more, this atmosphere is making me wanna retire early,” she touched her hair, orange this time, “maybe you will like each other.” She walked away from your sight.

“It's going to be tiring enough pretending to like him in public,” now there was just the glass table separating you from him.

“So this is a yes, you are going to do this,” his face lightened up.

“It seems this charade it’s working,” you said convincing yourself that was your best chance of getting your reputation back.

Did you just sign a pact with the devil?

He is the forbidden apple. But it doesn’t mean I can’t just play with it.

“Before I forget,” you heard Iris voice coming from the door entrance, “next week dinner with the Holdens and Suncots,” she was putting her yellow coat on, “they gladly accepted the invite here,” then she put her gloves on, “see you tomorrow—oh and try to bond you two,” she pointed a finger at him before closing the door and leaving you alone with Coriolanus.

You looked at the clock above the coat hanger and it was getting late, but you had nowhere else to be at that moment. No one waiting for you at home, no one expecting your call, nothing to do the next day.

“Tigris is going to design another dress for you,” he said referring to the dinner.

“Can’t I just wear something I already have?” The thought of him deciding what color and style your dress had was not something you tolerated.

“Of course not— do you dine here or?” That didn’t sound like an invite, more as if he was suggesting you go home.

“So kind, I’ll pass,” you said with a sarcastic tone.

”I asked because you almost devoured the entire jar of pastries.” He smiled, waiting for your reaction.

”For the record, they are tasteless.”

He rolled his eyes, “the car is waiting for you outside,” he turned his back and walked towards the kitchen.

”I can walk, I don’t need your personal driver,”

Your words stopped him right in his tracks, ”what if you get lost? How could I do without you?” He said jokingly, turning over to see you, “and it’s fifteen minutes away, in the dark— don’t be a child and go by car, you’ll get used to it.”

You didn’t answer, not like you had something to say. Of course you would’ve accepted the ride, your apartment was too far from his house, you just wanted to irritate him. Maybe you were not so different from Coriolanus, you were playing the same game.

Car rides make you recall only good memories. Your dad got a car when you were little, it was gray and smaller than this one, and he used to drive you to school everyday. Until you got into university and you moved to your current house, it was ten minutes from university so you got used to walking.

The engine stopped and you stepped out of the car, it was cold outside and you wished you had heating at home, a luxury you couldn’t afford anymore.

You fumbled with the keys trying to open the door, you were freezing and you rushed because you heard some steps. You didn’t want to have a conversation with your neighbor, she’ll probably just scold you about the stolen tangerines and how loud you shut the door when you go out, the old same story. You finally walked inside but someone blocked you from closing the door. It was a young man, probably in his thirties, he had a tiny recorder on his hand and you immediately clicked.

“Hi, I’m from Capitol’s People Magazine, I wanted to ask you some questions about your relationship with Coriolanus Snow,” he said pointing you to the black device.

”I’m sorry— for interviews, talk to my manager,” you said with a kind tone.

Iris suggested that every time journalists asked you questions you did not want to answer, you had to say those words, and now was the case. You slowly closed the door but the man put his feet in between.

”How could the heir of one of the most influential figures be with a corrupted woman like you?” He looked at you with eyes full of anger.

Corrupted woman, this was new to you. What was the correct answer to that?

“It was a pleasure to meet you,” you smiled while trying to close the door by pushing it against his feet but he was not intending to leave you alone.

He aggressively tried to wedge his foot into the door, forcing it to stay open while he continued to badger you with invasive questions about the gala.

”Are you planning on ruining his image while stealing his money?” He reached your arm and grabbed it.

“What’s wrong with you?” His grip was getting tighter as you tried shoving him.

He was strong enough to smash the door open, stepping inside your house. With his hand on your wrist, he roughly pushed your body against the wall, your back facing him as he stood behind you, your heart pounding outside your chest.

“You are just a crazy bitch,” he whispered, “you think you can fool them but are a disgrace for Panem,” he pushed your head against the wall, one side of your face hitting the coarse plaster making your skin burn.

“Get off me! ” you shouted, struggling against his grip.

In response he hit your head again against the wall. You squinted your eyes in pain as a tear streamed down your face, you felt powerless, everything happened so fast.

“Tell me what you want from me,” you said with a weak voice.

“After all you did, you should shut the fuck up and do what you are asked to do,” he put his hand on your scalp as he pushed you harder against the wall.

You screamed like you never did in your entire life, someone had to hear your cry for help, right? But he was quick to cover your mouth with his palm and that was the perfect occasion for you to bite his skin. He kept his hand on your mouth while he choked on his own screams.

Your muffled howl echoed in the room but no one seemed to hear you. Or so you thought. Someone grabbed the man from his collar and pushed him away from you. It was the driver, his tall figure was now beant down to beat that man. You were paralyzed, now your back was against the wall and your lungs finally breathing, but your body was unable to answer your brain’s orders.

”Run!” The driver screamed at you while punching the man one more time, “go in the car! Run!”

You ran towards the car but your legs felt weak and your head too heavy. You opened the car door and you laid down in the back seats. What the hell just happened?

What if he came back? What if next time there is not someone to save you? Your anxiety grew inside your chest and you kept yourself from crying.

“Are you okay, Miss?” The driver asked breathlessly as he violently closed the front car door with a rush, “should I take you to the hospital?” He was looking at you, he had an old scar on his cheek that you didn’t notice before.

You shook your head, “I just need water” you mouthed, trying to maintain a regular breathing.

“Thank you for saving me,” you whispered.

You looked at him through the rearview mirror, his eyes reflecting the street lights while he was driving as if nothing happened, as if his bloody knuckles on the steering wheel were not hurting.

After minutes that seemed hours he talked, “It is my duty,” he said, “Mr. Snow wouldn’t have forgiven me.”

Coriolanus was in his study preparing a speech for the next interview, he had to be careful to pick the perfect words, to speak with the right tone, and to make the adequate facial expressions. Nothing was left to case. Every single action had to be meticulously studied and calculated.

It was his specialty. Playing with words and making people fall in love with his charm. He did it naturally, molding people the shape he wanted. Because he had to have everything under his control, his power, his eyes.

For the first time he was struggling. He was stuck on the opening line and he didn’t know how to continue. Sleepless nights and alcohol were the usual in the past week. This was one of the nights. Locked in his study until he wrote something of that speech, depriving himself from sleep.

Coriolanus was walking around the room, fidgeting with a pen on his long fingers. Until his mind-wandering was stopped by a firm knock on the door, annoyed it could be an Avox, he ignored it. But the knocking didn’t stop.

He let out a sigh as he unlocked the doorknob, “how many times do I have to tell–” to his surprise, the driver showed up at his door, “Virma, what are you doing here?”

Coriolanus soon found the answer to his question by looking over the driver’ shoulder. You were hidden behind his back, like a hurt animal scared of its fate. You didn’t want to come here, like a lost child brought back home. But where were you supposed to be? What place instead of his?

Your ruffled hair, your smeared makeup and your empty look. It didn’t take long for him to understand something happened. A sense of anger grew inside of him. This was not written in a script, it was not meant to happen and when things did not go according to plan, Coriolanus lost his composure, he could have been unpredictable.

His face darkened. He grabbed your arm and he dragged you in his study, along with Virma. You felt his hand on your wrist, his touch was something familiar to you, maybe gentle, as if he was actually worried about you. He pushed Virma to the side and closed the door behind him, casting you both in the dim light of his opulent study.

You were now facing him, his expression was different from an hour ago. His hand traveled to your face, his fingers lifting your chin as he leaned to have a better view of you. The left side of your face was scraped, fresh cuts burned on your temple as droplets of blood trailed your skin. Coriolanus traced his fingertips on your bruised skin and you flinched, instantly regretting the movement as a flash of pain shot through your head, but he was not rough like that man. He loosened his grip on your arm, his eyes softening as he took in the sight of your injuries. He was delicate, as if he was touching something fragile.

You were too focused on his expression to even pay attention to your sore skin. His knitted brows, his parted lips and his concerned look.

“Who did this to you?” His voice barely above a whisper, he glared down at you as he inspected your figure, as if he was looking for other scratches he missed.

You could almost feel the tension radiating from him.

His hand was now on your neck, fingers touching the back of your head, “a journalist, I don’t–” you looked down, “he was asking questions but I–"

“Mr. Snow, I think I know who he is ,” the driver said and for a moment you forgot he was in that room, “he is Lucius Cliffhard' son.”

"Cliffhard' son? The father is running for president why would he–” Coriolanus didn’t finish his sentence and he looked back at you, “thank you for your service Virma,” his hand left your neck leaving a warm spot, “we will talk about it later.”

You heard the door closing and now you were left alone with him. You could barely stand up, your adrenaline was leaving your body and your anxiety was taking its place.

“Tell me exactly what happened,” he walked towards the opposite side of the room, looking for something in the small bathroom of his study.

You were standing in the shiny black floor, your heart was pounding so loud you could not hear your weak voice, “he probably was waiting for me to come home because the moment I opened the door he uhm—“ you stuttered, "started asking questions but I didn't answer, so he pushed me against the wall and his hand was on my mouth—“ you paused, ”he hit my head and—“ you felt a lump on your throat and you hoped he didn’t hear you.

His steps were again echoing the room, his figure walking closer to you. He had a piece of cotton wool in his hands and without a notice he held it against your scratches by cupping your face with his other hand. It was burning your skin, his fingertips were slightly brushing your neck while he dabbed gently the cotton to clean the wounds on your temple.

”Continue talking,” he said nonchalantly as he tilted your head to have a better view of tour left side of the face.

You stopped breathing in that moment, maybe because of the nauseating smell of the disinfectant or maybe it was because he was inches away from you, his focused look on the bleeding cut, “I think he just wanted to scare me,” you managed to say in a steady tone.

The blonde snapped his head at you, his blue eyes now on yours, “he is a psychopath,” his scent reminded you of that night at the gala, “he hit you because you didn't want to be interviewed, he could've killed you."

You reached his hand where he was pressing the cotton wool and for a moment your fingers brushed before he removed his hands from your skin. “you are exaggerating– he just needs help, ” you said.

Coriolanus closed his eyes, he clenched his fists and the knuckles turned white. He walked towards the desk and he poured himself a drink, taking a long burning sip. You watched him in silence as you inspected the reddish cotton on your hands.

“Do you trust him so much you want to come back to your house?” He was behind his desk, arms resting above the chair, “I told you, here you could have been safer from the media,” he raised his voice, “but you are stubborn, you risked your life and– if it wasn’t for Virma who knows what could have happened,” he said nervously while pouring himself a drink.

“So now it’s my fault?” You bawled at him.

“You don’t understand that now whatever happens to you affects me,” he said, “what are they going to say when they see your bruises and god forbid— he writes an article saying who knows what lies of what happened.”

“See? You don’t care about my safety, you only care about what they think,” you stepped closer to him because he wasn’t even looking at you, “you want me as your puppet, so you can have me under your control— your house, your peacekeepers, your scripts— it’s all part of your plan,” you said.

”You are free to go back to your pathetic life if that’s what you want," he took a sip of his drink, still looking down, “I can’t save you from yourself, after all– you were miserable before and now too,” it was like venom coming from his lips.

A tear streamed down your face, “this is what I hate about you,” you scoffed, “you are a selfish and heartless man, I was right from the start.”

You have called him only good names: uncaring, unaffectionate, disrespectful, selfish and heartless. The list was getting longer.

“What did you expect? I thought it was going to be easier with you but you are getting on my nerves,” he stood up walking towards you, “you should be grateful— but no, you like acting so superior to me,” his chest was getting closer to you.

You scoffed, “why? Who are you?” You looked up at him through your lashes, “just a rich spoiled kid who is playing at being the next president of Panem.”

“And you fucking need me,” he said against your cheek, “this is why you didn’t leave, you don’t want to admit that without this ‘heartless man’ standing in front of you who knows where you could be right now,” his eyes were consuming you.

”Look who's talking,” you pointed a finger at him, “the Capitol's favorite toy who needs a ‘miserable girl’ to make him popular.”

Coriolanus placed his free hand on your wrist, squeezing it lightly, “you like this am I right?” He licked his lips, “talking back at me, uh?”

His nose was touching yours, his grip was burning your skin and you could feel his hot breath mixing with yours. The blonde was dangerously close to you, but you missed that feeling. Have you already erased what he has said to you? Was he so powerful to make you fall for his spell?

He is the forbidden fruit, I shall not fall in temptation.

His lips brushed yours, memories flooding back to you. You didn’t know if he was about to bite you or kiss you. It would have hurt you either way.

“Tell an Avox to prepare your room,” he said, “or freeze in the streets, I don’t care— your choice.” Coriolanus let your arm go and he walked away from your sight.

It started to be just for show but the backstage was even worse than the real life. At the same time you could not give up on this play, you had to change your rules, your morals, to keep being with him.

So you were alone in the dark in the hallway, thinking about running away or staying.

Coriolanus could not win this way, you hated to admit you still needed his presence to fix your reputation. The darkness seemed to swallow you as you hesitated, torn between your principles and the pull of his influence. He had too much power right now, but you were willing to wait, by making things your own terms.

As you stood there, unwilling to give in to his manipulations, the lingering memory of his touch warred with the sharpness of his words. You slammed the door shut for him to hear you, he would have to do better to get you away from him.

Coriolanus could have touched your face as if you were the rarest creature on earth but the same lips once brushed yours, could tell the most hurtful things to you.

But you did that too. You were both craving the same sin. But too proud to admit on your faces.

“Is everything okay now?” You were in Tigris room, a colorful space barely illuminated by the outside light. It was in the basement, not really a cozy place to work.

You were talking about the aggression that happened a couple of days ago, nothing you wanted to recall actually, especially your conversation with Coriolanus, but you didn’t tell her that.

”Yes, the bruises are healing over,” you answered, touching your temple.

Tigris smiled at you while taking your measurements. She didn’t look like her cousin, apart from the blonde hair, she was pure and kind hearted. Why was an angel like her on earth with people like you? Like him?

“Why are we doing this again?” You asked “Didn’t you already have my measurements?”

You were standing on a stool, only wearing your undergarments while Tigris was putting the tape measure around your chest.

”Coryo sent me a note telling me that last time the dress was a little loose,” that was the last thing you could ever expect to hear from her, because it was in fact true, he noticed that.

“He did what?”

“I know, I was surprised too,” she smiled, “anyway, I read the newspaper.”

Oh no, you didn’t want to talk about that too.

“You two look great in the picture,” she handed you a wrinkled page where you could see a black and white photo of you and Coriolanus at the gala, he was looking at you while holding your waist.

You didn’t know about the existence of that picture until now. That night you were too starved to even pay attention to the newspaper, how could you miss that?

“It was so strange seeing him with a woman,” she commented while looking for some fabric.

“What do you mean? Has he ever had a girlfriend?” You knew the answer to that question but you wanted to hear from her.

“More like ‘girls’ than ‘girlfriends’, ” she laughed, “I’ve never met one of them,” Tigris wrapped a red cloth around your waist.

“Well, not that I’m special,” you looked at the mirror in front of you, “it’s just a stupid show.”

“What a shame,” she folded the excess fabric on your side and put a needle, “I liked you,” Tigris whispered.

You wished you could do something for her, she deserved more than a molded little room and a cousin like Coriolanus.

“So we are seeing each other more often, am I right?” she broke the awkward silence.

“Yes, Iris forced me to stay in this house,” Iris was really in apprehension when she saw your bruises, she lectured you on how people are vicious and in your ‘situation’ it was better not risking more.

“How lucky, aren’t I?” You added.

“I know my cousin can be– difficult to understand but,” she walked behind you, “there are some things that brought him to be this way,” her fingers tighten the fabric on your back, “and of course he’s not a saint, he just needs something– someone perhaps, to make him remember who he really is.”

“I can’t fix him,” you glanced at her reflection in the mirror, “I’m broken as much as he is and– we are incompatible.”

“As the sun and the moon?”

“Maybe.”

The comparison did fit well.

One is the star planets gravitate around, the only source of light at the center of the solar system. The moon is a small satellite whose only purpose is to spin around the earth, showing only one face and depending only on the planet's gravitational field.

Coriolanus wanted to appear like the sun, bright and powerful but he only displayed one face like the moon. You felt small, needing for something to orbit around as the moon did, but you didn’t know how radiant and capable you actually were, exactly like the sun.

Since you moved in his house, nights were longer than the others. It was getting harder to fall asleep because of your intrusive thoughts keeping you awake.

Is the door locked? Am I safe here?

The positive side was that your new room was probably bigger than your whole apartment. Then, you were not freezing anymore and you were finally eating food, not stolen fruit and smelly milk.

Even though you were living in his house, you tried avoiding his presence: by not having lunch the same hour as him, by going out your room only when you heard his door locking or having your usual meetings with Iris before him. That was your way of saying that he could not control your life, especially when he treated you the way he did.

However, that was still his house.

Red silky bed sheets, roses scent, his gold engraved initials on objects.

Coriolanus was not easy to forget. It was as if he had poisoned the air you were breathing, everything reminding you of him. The good and the bad. You promised yourself to not be tempted anymore, he was mercilessly manipulating you into believing he was the person he wanted to appear at the Capitol. But other than his mesmerizing eyes, his golden curls and delicate hands, there was another man hiding in his shadow. You had to picture that side of him every time he teased you, or you could be a sinner.

You were laying on the bed, leafing through the pages of the brand new script it was sent to your room. This was even worse than the other. Not only you had to remember some political matters regarding the current campaign, but you had to pretend again how good of a man Coriolanus was. How he supported and cared for you and how bright your plans as a couple were.

“I was extremely lucky to meet him, he is the sun to my dark days,” what an irony, “I am looking forward to living this exquisite love fully by his side.”

So cheesy for what?

“You can’t avoid me forever.”

You heard a muffled voice coming from the hallway, you walked towards the door but you didn’t answer. It was him of course, after the bad there was the good. He surprisingly tried talking with you on other occasions, but you had walked away before he could even finish his sentence, running away was easier, or god knows what you could’ve done.

“I can hear your heavy breathing,” he said close to the door, “open the door or I will,” he was waiting for your response, thinking about what he could say to get your attention. “Please?” Good manners are always the right answer, right? Right?

You let out a sight as you unlocked the door. Coriolanus was standing close to the room’s entrance, his arm was leaning against the wooden jamb and you noticed he was wearing his coat, as if he was about to go out.

“Oh so you’re alive,” he said, “I was worried about you.”

You couldn’t tell if he was being sarcastic or not, but it didn’t matter either way. Right?

“What do you want?” You were still holding the doorknob, not letting him step inside the room.

“Come with me, we have to go somewhere,” he said with a rush in his tone.

“I kindly refuse your invitation,” you were about to close the door but he put his hand in between. I could squash his fingers, you thought, nothing he could not recover from.

Coriolanus rolled his eyes, “sooner or later you will have to pretend to like me,” his face was partially illuminated by your room light, making his eyes brighter.

You looked at his long fingers keeping the door open, he had his usual shiny ring on his index finger and for a moment you thought you could really squash his hand, “I think it’s better we have less interactions possible apart from the social events.”

“It’s been days since people saw us together, yesterday they asked about you at the debate,” he hissed, “see? Instead of asking about my political project they were– nevermind, just come with me.” His eyes were begging you, such a satisfying image.

“I’m not dressed up, what a pity,” you said mockingly.

He peeked at your figure, “you’re fine.”

You did not feel fine. You weren’t even wearing your clothes, you did not had the chance to pack up your things from your apartment and you had to ask Tigris for some piece of clothing that could fit you. She gave you some of her designs, a green matcha wool skirt matched with a cotton white top. At least you were about to wear pretty clothings, not your old unironed shirts.

“Just for show,” you said while grabbing a jacket.

“Just for show,” he echoed.

You realised that in this game of power and appearances, keeping your distance wasn't an option anymore. You knew that you were now entwined in a dangerous dance with Coriolanus, one that could lead to momentous success or catastrophic ruin. The stakes were high and your mixed feelings towards him could not interfere with your plan, he was not the only manipulator anymore.

“Where is he bringing me?” you asked Virma after fifteen minutes of silence in the car. It was better not talking directly to Coriolanus when possible.

“Miss, isn’t this a date? Enjoy the ride,” the driver said with a smile.

You and Coriolanus laughed. Date? The only date you were looking for was the date this show would end. The car stopped and from the window you immediately recognised the place. It was not a fancy restaurant, a loud club or someone’s wealthy mansion.

First date with Coriolanus Snow at… the Citadel?

That was not what the script said.

You heard the car speeding away as he walked towards the huge grey entry, he unlocked the door and he stepped inside. You stood on the sidewalk, not sure if you wanted to follow him, it was too late to change your mind and too dark to be alone outside.

At least ten peacekeepers were guarding the entrance but Coriolanus walked towards the grey corridor unbothered. The first time you were there, you were searched as if you were a prisoner, as if you could hide a bomb inside your small pockets. This time they did not even consider you, because you both spent months working day and night in that cold laboratory.

The elevator plunged down at least twenty floors, the dark walls were so thick you could strain your vocal chords for hours but no one would hear you. You were standing beside him, waiting for the door to open as soon as possible. The only sound echoing in that place was the loud machinery that was slowly moving down.

“Did you miss this place so much you wanted a guided tour by me?” You asked, breaking the silence, “or is it a surprise party for me?” Five floors left, “tell me now so I put my best smile for the cameras,” you said mockingly, but he didn’t even look at you.

Couldn’t this man laugh for once? So boring.

The elevator doors parted and you finally stepped inside the laboratory. It was an open space divided into three areas. The center was where Dr. Gaul did experiments with animals, occasionally it was also where she did her lectures and exams; one side was the sterile area where the researchers did surgical operations and medical trials where they often experimented with new drugs on genetically modified animals; on the other side, there was the library and research tables, where you mostly spent most of your time studying advanced biotechnology methods.

“How romantic– I guess what people are going to say when I tell them for our first date you took me to see these sweet and lovely creatures,” you said as you looked at the wall glass with dead beasts inside clear yellowish cases.

“You should keep the bar low with me— and I just need to find some documents, you know this laboratory better than me,” he removed his coat and stepped towards the library on the other side of the room.

“You tricked me– you just wanted a favor from me,” your voice echoed and you were not sure he heard you. You walked through the library looking for him.

“I’m in the archives section,” his voice was not far away.

The library was arranged in a circular pattern, as if the bookshelves were layers and in the very core there was a large space with study desks, the ones you had slept on many nights back when you worked there. Soon you found the blonde leaning over a desk while reading some pages in an orange envelope.

“Did you find it?” You asked in an annoyed tone.

“Here there is– this is your file,” he said while standing up.

“My what now?” You walked over him, intended to grab the envelope with the 'confidential' print on the cover.

Coriolanus stepped back, leaning his back on the bookshelf behind him, “given your precedents, I thought it was better to check your past before they did,” he had already read your file a long time ago, but he didn’t tell you that.

He started reading the first page, “you uhm graduated with honors in medicine– bla bla bla first student in your class, —okay here, you specialized in general surg— oh no you did not” he paused, “yet?” Coriolanus looked at you with a puzzled face, suggesting you to say something.

“I will this year,” you looked at your fingers, fidgeting with the ends of your jacket.

“Lie number one, here it says you didn’t pay the tuition,” he pointed at the paper.

Fuck. You couldn’t afford paying for electricity, imagine the university fees, in the most expensive city in Panem. You stuttered something but he continued talking.

“Anyway, you got a place in the Ranvistill Clinic —impressive— and then you mysteriously asked for a transfer after two years, and this is how you got here,” he looked at you, “what happened?”

Was that a tricky question? This conversation was making you uncomfortable. You felt under trial, as if you were accused of crimes, Coriolanus was the judge and you were the only one defending yourself.

“Is this an interview? I didn’t know that apart from being interested in writing scripts you also were a human resource guy,” you tried switching the topic, the conversation was getting too personal.

“Do you have something to hide? I must be prepared for anything they can ask me,” he frowned.

You had many secrets you hoped he didn’t already know, “I changed jobs, that’s it.”

“You failed my test,” he chuckled, “you lied straight to my face in a serious matter –this is lie number two.”

“A test? What the hell Coriolanus.” You sighed as you walked over a desk, sitting on it.

“See? This is why you don’t have my trust.”

The man that cannot be trusted was really talking about trust?

“If you already know every detail of my life, why are you talking with me?”

“Oh, I knew it was going to bother you —anyway no, there’s just something that does not add up.” His eyes went again on that file, hands leafing through pages.

“Which is,” you said with a passive tone.

“Clodius South, head of the surgery department —or I should say, your umh— ex boyfriend?” He closed the folder and put it carelessly on the shelf behind him.

Your heart skipped a bit, “I’m done,” you stood up but he came closer to you.

“Answer just one question, I'm curious– why did he fire you? I mean, officially you transferred but I know it wasn’t voluntary,” he didn’t seem to give up, his look was pleading for answers, “so strange, you had been together for a year.”

“Why are you so interested in my sentimental life? You don’t have a chance with me, you know that right?” You laugh, feeling the tension in the air.

“There is no such risk, I’m not attracted to you,” his figure blocked you from walking away, “I just need your popularity, so I can fix it to something good.”

“You were the one kissing me in the car,” you bit your tongue, that kiss was something you didn’t want to bring up, it was better to forget about it. However, the other option was talking about your past, not something you were proud of.

“Oh please as if you didn’t want to,” he tilted his head, eyes locked on yours.

You laughed at his words, “you wish,” your back leaned against the desk.

“Then why did you kiss me back? I remember you didn’t let me breathe for a moment.”

“That was part of the show, Coriolanus Snow.”

“Now you use my full name? Last time I checked you called me differently,” he rested his arm on the desk you were lying on, making his height the same as yours.

You damned the only time it slipped from your lips calling him Coryo, a nickname you promised yourself to not say ever again.

“Why? Did it turn you on?”

His other hand was near your leg, slowly moving closer to your exposed skin.

“You can’t even imagine,” he swiftly looked down to your lips then back to your eyes.

The room did not feel cold anymore. Your breathing was getting slower, his parted lips warming your skin, his arm grazing your leg.

“So tell me, what happened with him?” Coriolanus insisted, but you had other plans in mind.

He was in power right now, he brought you here just to humiliate you with your deepest secrets. Weren't you just a miserable girl? It was your turn to make him feel miserable.

“You say you’re not attracted to me but you always find an excuse to touch me,” you whispered to his ear, his curls brushing your nose and his hand slightly brushing your leg.

This would have made him back off, telling you how stupid you are to think something like that, gaslighting you about the fact he never did such things like touching you.

“If it bothers you so much why you never push me away,” his hand traveled up to your leg, “go on, I’m waiting,” his fingers were now brushing your thigh and you felt his cold ring against your skin.

Fuck. That was not your plan.

You can always get back to it.

“I know your limits— I bet you barely touched a woman in your life,” you knew it was not true, you only said it as a provocation, to hurt his fragile ego as you planned.

I won.

”I don’t have limits, and we both know you would lose your bet,” his hand went under the hem of your skirt, making you shiver in surprise.

His index finger traced the outline of your panties, slightly playing with the waistband. Coriolanus didn’t break eye contact with you, his pupils were wide, you couldn’t see the blue that usually painted his iris, he was breathing slowly with parted lips, as if he wanted to control his heartbeat. And his hand felt so warm and familiar, so close to your core.

You knew that look, the one that he gave you when he let his guard down. The same look Coriolanus had when you came in his study a couple of days ago, his other side that he rarely showed to anyone.

His palm rested on your bare naked thigh.

“You don’t talk now?” His voice soothed your face, “tell me to stop and I will.”

That was the perfect occasion to slap that smug from his face, but you couldn’t even make up a coherent sentence. His voice was a gentle whisper cutting through the tension, but all you could manage was to stare at his eyes, trying to calculate his next move.

You knew what it was. It was a dangerous game you were playing, one that could shatter your plan. Did you have something to lose? You have already bent your morals, risked your life and crossed lines you never thought you would. Coriolanus would have been another crime to add to your list.

He is the forbidden fruit, I shall not fall in temptation.

But what if I took just a bite? A taste of mortal sin.

“Why did you bring me here?” You managed to say trying to control your breathing.

“You once asked me why did I chose you,” Coriolanus whispered to your ear, “and I told you that it was for the presidential campaign,” his hand moved up again, “publicity, press and interviews— I only care about that,” his fingers were covering your clothed cunt.

You took a deep breath and swallowed, your back was still leaning against the desk edge, his other arm on your side. His words were not making things easier for you, not because you were listening to what he actually was saying, but because his tone of voice was something you could only hear in these moments. When he acted good, for the cameras, for the show. But there was no one in that room.

Coriolanus kept talking, “but my point is, why didn't you leave?” His index finger circled around your covered core, “I mean— I could list a few reasons why, considering also how wet you are right now,” he pulled your panties to the side, exposing your wetness. “But you always say you hate me, that you despise me, why are you here then? Are you so desperate?”

Your eyes were closed, your mind wandered prohibited thoughts while his hand was painfully too far away from what your body needed. What could you say to him? That he was right about being so desperate to pretend to be with him, so you could clean your image? That despite his selfish behavior he was tempting you into falling in his game?

Coriolanus brushed your soaked entrance with his fingertips as he massaged your clit with your own wetness. You shamefully spread your legs giving him more access to your folds, his digits that once touched your face were gently rubbing your needy center.

Your silent whimpers were enough as an answer for him to slide one finger inside you.

Your hand was now on his biecep, grabbing his arm so tightly or you could fall. There was something in you that was holding you back from punching him to his face. Was this the charm everyone talked about? Was this the version of him everyone adored?

“Given that you prefer remaining silent— I can tell you why,” his hand moved inside you, “you like the attention,” your cheek was against his, while your other hand rested on the nape of his neck.

Your reaction to his movements made him close his eyes in bliss, but you were too focused on not making sounds that you didn’t notice his expression. You didn’t want to give him the satisfaction that he was making you feel good.

“I bet you’ve barely been touched by a man,” Coriolanus echoed.

It’s just one bite of the apple.

You looked at him this time, and you wished you did it before. The blue in his eyes, his plump lips, the glistening on his forehead covered by his falling blonde curls. An angel.

No, no, he is the devil, not an angel.

“Wrong,” you breathed and his pace fastened, “actually they were better than you,” you whispered and his eyes widened.

“Lie number three,” he slid another finger, “I can tell when you’re pretending and when you’re not,” he brushed your clit with his thumb.

Oh.

You bucked your hips to make some friction, Coriolanus was painfully slow as if he was taking all the time in the world. He leaned his head to your left temple, where small reddish bruises were fading away from your skin, and he planted feather kisses on it. Coriolanus slowly traced a trail of wet kisses alongside your face. His soft lips were healing your bruises, his hand was igniting your core.

His fingers moved faster, pumping in and out your hole and slightly curled to hit exactly your sweet spot. Your little moans echoed in the room along with the sloppy sound of his hand never leaving your cunt. Coriolanus stroked your bundle of nerves once more, his lips sucked a spot behind your hear, slowly moving down your neck, marking your delicate skin with his warm kisses.

That was it. You were sure your high was coming in a matter of seconds, your mouth curved as pleasure began flowing through your body.

“But wasn’t I an uncaring, disrespectful —and what was that—oh, selfish and heartless man?” His hand stopped moving, “well I guess you were right,” his fingers were slowly pulling out your unfulfilled hole.

What was he doing?

“Did you really think you could do whatever you wanted? Having meetings without me, eating locked in your room, ignoring me for days— I have the control here.” Coriolanus looked down at you with a satisfied expression, believing that he finally asserted his dominance over you.

Your mind raced for a response, but before you could gather yourself, his words hung heavy in the air.

That was his revenge.

You thought you could teach him a lesson but he was a step ahead of you. Coriolanus humiliated you, exactly as he planned. His intent was to make you feel ashamed of your past but you gave him a better opportunity: he made you feel needy for him.

Self sabotaging.

“They are here,” he said in a calm tone, as if you were not almost buckling in that very moment.

Five seconds ago you were close to your orgasm and now you were feeling the emptiness growing inside you. You looked around confused, adjusting your body so now you were standing up, your weak knees begging for rest.

Who?

“They?” You stuttered as you watched him stepping back.

“Yes, I called them before,” he smirked, ”put your best smile for the cameras.”

Coriolanus acted like he did not just had his fingers inside you, but his body was telling another story, his bulge was visible from his pants and you noticed that as he swiftly covered his erection with his hand.

He walked towards the elevator where two peacekeepers were waiting for him. You fixed your skirt, probably too ruined and sticky to ever wear it again.

Fuck him.

You followed him, making sure to walk properly or he would’ve noticed how flustered you were. The thick doors closed, it was you, two peacekeepers and the blonde. You were sure he could smell your arousal, you still had traces of his saliva on your neck and a little bruise on your skin. A new one.

Coriolanus took a handkerchief from his pocket and he carefully cleaned his hand from your wetness, like he was cleaning his hands after a crime. Yours. The cloth wrapped around his fingers, as your walls clenched around him moments ago.

Then he caught you staring at his hand, “are you okay? You look flushed.”

You sick bastard.

Your cheeks were painted in a crimson color, of course he could see that, he was the cause of that. The same cause that made you cream your panties and shake your legs. If it wasn’t for the peacekeepers, you would have probably strangled him. But that was his lucky day.

He won.

After an infinite amount of time where your mind couldn’t stop picturing the sloppy sound from before, the elevator’s door parted. Coriolanus grabbed your shoulder as he was directed toward the exit. The silence in that room was now replaced by loud voices coming from the outside.

“Who did you call?” You tried pulling away from his grip but he kept you close.

“I told you, they haven’t seen us in a while.”

He opened the entrance and you heard someone shouting, “they are here!” A group of unknown faces were pointing microphones towards you, asking questions you didn’t bother to listen to.

You walked through the crowd side by side to him, his arm around your waist as you covered your face from the blinding flashes. The car was waiting for you in the exact spot it left you, Coriolanus let you enter in the car first as he followed by closing the door, blocking the loudness outside.

You sat on the back seat, heart racing outside your chest, forcing yourself to completely ignore his presence.

Coriolanus was again back in your thoughts as your wetness slid down your legs.

He is the forbidden fruit.

I am tempted by thee.

A/N: finally it’s out!! It has been so hard writing this chapter, I had so many ideas that I couldn’t mold them together into a coherent text lol. Anyway, as always tell me if there are grammatical mistakes because another difficulty was my limited vocabulary (a special thanks to wordreference.com or I wouldn’t be here today.) Every day I’m trying my best to improve my English so have mercy on me! Let me know if you want to be tagged next time!! 💌

Thank you so much for all the love and support!! Your comments mean a lot to me ❤️❤️ I love you all

ask me questions here 💌

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ewanmitchellcrumbs · 8 months

Text

Push the Sky Away - Part Two

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x original female character (Lorra Stark) Chapter warnings: Angst. Canon typical sexism and violence. Word count: ~7.1k

Summary: Lorra and Aemond get to know each other, and Aemond grapples with the idea of what it means to be a husband. Series masterlist.

Author's note: For @sapphirehearteyes. I don't have a tag list. Please follow @fics-by-ewanmitchellcrumbs and turn on post notifications. Community labels are for cops.

Time feels as though it freezes for Aemond, stretching on for an eternity as he stares into Lorra’s eyes. He searches the depth of her gaze for any indication of fear or disgust, confused when he sees neither. He has never wanted quite so desperately to know what another person is thinking.

He is broken from his thoughts by the voice of his mother. “Lady Stark,” Alicent says warmly, “welcome to King’s Landing. It is a pleasure to finally meet you. Please forgive the King’s absence, he is eager to greet you, however, he must rest for the good of his health. I trust your journey was a safe one?”

Lorra looks away from Aemond, turning her attention to Alicent, and smiles. It lights up her delicate features in a way that makes warmth swirl uncomfortably in his chest, and he forces himself to divert his attention, fixing his eye upon the furthest wall of the Great Hall, a feeble attempt to calm himself.

“Thank you, Your Grace. It is an honour to be here and to meet you, and I look forward to meeting the King soon, please send him my regards until then. My guards ensured my travel from Winterfell was uneventful.”

Aemond’s eye widens, looking back at her as he hears her speak. He has had few dealings with those of the North, but had not expected her voice to sound quite so different from those who occupy King’s Landing. Lorra is soft spoken, though there is a lilt to her accent that lifts and subtly elongates the vowels of her words. It fascinates and horrifies him in equal measure.

“I had anticipated that we would be hosting the entirety of the Stark family, my lady,” Otto interjects. “Where are Lord Stark and Lady Glover?”

“Back in Winterfell, Ser Hightower,” Lorra responds matter of factly. “I hope it is agreeable to you, but I have asked my mother and father to delay their arrival so that I am free to become acquainted with my betrothed without the pressures of formality.”

Aemond feels his throat run dry as she says this.

What precisely is she expecting of him?

Otto bristles slightly, clearing his throat. “Delay their arrival for how long?”

“Six months.”

Aemond’s mouth falls open, his chest tightening as Aegon titters quietly beside him, clearly finding the entire display amusing.

“That is most–” Otto begins, cut off as Alicent steps forward, taking Lorra’s hands in hers.

“That is most wonderful,” the Queen interrupts. “We look forward to meeting the rest of the Stark family when they arrive. We will be hosting a welcome feast for you this evening, in the meantime we’ll have you escorted to your chambers, so you can get settled. You must be weary after such a long journey.”

“Thank you, Your Grace.” Lorra smiles and Aemond watches as her delicate fingers intertwine with those of his mother’s. He wonders whether her hands would feel soft against his own, and quickly shakes his head as if to clear the thought from his mind.

It isn’t until the bustle of people filing out of the Great Hall breaks him from his reverie that Aemond realises they have not uttered a word to each other since her arrival. He watches her as she walks away, and as though his stare beckons her to him, she looks back over her shoulder at him, giving him the subtlest of winks. He immediately lowers his gaze, feeling his skin flush warmly.

She is unspeakably crass.

Aegon has not budged an inch from where he stands, a lecherous smirk plastered across his face as he eyes his younger brother with amusement.

“Fuck off,” Aemond hisses, striding away to return to his own quarters.

He is restless, opting to pace the length of the room instead of sitting; he finds each time he takes a seat he fidgets to the point that he irritates himself, standing once more and allowing his feet to carry him aimlessly.

Books cannot hold his concentration, every attempt to lose himself in a philosophical tome is fruitless, Lorra’s presence has unnerved him too much. Her looks, her voice, her self assuredness were all far beyond the realm of what he had imagined. It rattles him that she has foregone the presence of her mother and father, he does not understand what she expects of him, and the fact that she had had the audacity to wink at him as she walked from the Great Hall makes his pulse quicken in a way that no amount of deep breaths can calm.

Perhaps she simply means to torment him for her own amusement?

Later that evening, having been alerted by a page boy that supper is to be served, Aemond is slow to make his way down to the dining hall. He immediately regrets his hesitation upon taking in the seating arrangements.

Otto and Alicent sit at one side of the long, wooden table, with Aegon to Otto’s right at the head of it. Helaena sits on the opposite side, to Aegon’s right, with Lorra seated next to her. The only available chair remaining is at the opposing head, between his mother and Lorra. Unsurprisingly, Viserys is absent.

A group of musicians play softly in the corner, the sounds of vielle, harp, psaltery and flute carry a dulcet tune throughout the candlelit space, as serving staff place platters of steaming food and jugs of wine upon the table.

He pulls out the seat, keeping his eye fixed upon the tabletop, grimacing inwardly at the loud scrape of the legs against the flagstone floor. He can feel every set of eyes in the room upon him and he detests it, muttering a quiet thank you to Alicent as she places a slice of roasted venison upon his plate.

Aemond allows himself to glance at Lorra. Her dark curls are free of the braid she wore earlier, her hair framing her soft face, and falling almost to her elbows in soft waves. No longer wearing her travelling cloak, he can see that her figure is svelte, the lines of the grey and white brocade gown she wears hug her subtle curves and bare the pale flesh of her shoulders.

He feels his mouth run dry at the sight and lifts his goblet to his lips, eager for relief. The tart taste of Dornish red envelopes his tongue. His mother has made a big effort this evening; musicians, Dornish wine, roasted venison. It all seems ridiculously over the top to Aemond for something that is nothing more than a mere formality.

“Such lovely music,” Lorra comments, nodding towards the corner where it plays. She fixes Aemond with her big blue eyes. “Do you dance, My Prince?”

“No,” he replies simply, glancing her way as he sets his wine down upon the table. He does not trust himself to speak further, he fears the pounding of his heart in his chest will cause his voice to falter.

“Aemond can dance though,” Alicent says with a proud smile, leaning slightly forward to address Lorra. “Him, Aegon and Helaena all learned as children.”

“I love to dance,” Helaena tells Lorra dreamily, leaning her elbows on the table’s edge.

“Does Aegon ever dance with you?” Lorra asks, turning to look at her.

Helaena shakes her head. “No, he is usually in his cups, and he trips on my skirts.”

“Would you like to dance, Princess?”

His sister nods enthusiastically, taking Lorra’s hand as she offers it out, and once more Aemond feels envy rise acridly in his throat that yet another member of his family has experienced her touch before he has.

Both Alicent and Otto turn to look, as Lorra and Helaena move to the open space of the room, the music rising in volume as they begin to twirl and skip around each other. Aemond watches, transfixed at the bright smile upon Lorra’s face and the way that her hair fans out around her as she moves. Helaena’s eyes are lit up in a way he rarely sees, and he marvels that with such a simple gesture this stranger from the North has managed to make his sister seem happier than she has in a long time.

He reluctantly looks away as he notices Aegon stand, moving clumsily from his own seat and around the table, slumping heavily in the chair that Lorra had previously occupied.

“She is pretty, brother,” Aegon slurs with a slight smirk. “Do you know what to do with her?”

Aemond wrinkles his nose in disgust, his older sibling reeks of wine, the stench pungent in his nostrils. “Your breath could light a brazier.”

Aegon chuckles, plucking a fig from Lorra’s plate and biting into it. “I shall take that as a no,” he mumbles around a mouthful of fruit, “considering it is our sister she dances with, and not you.”

He scoffs, rolling his eye. “I have nothing to prove to her.”

“Then I don’t suppose you will mind if I dance with her too?” He raises his eyebrows, popping the rest of the fig in his mouth.

Annoyance prickles at Aemond’s skin and he narrows his eye as he looks at the mocking expression of his brother.

“That’s what I thought,” he grins, moving in his seat to face where Lorra and Helaena currently dance.

“Lorra!” Aegon calls out loudly across the table. “Your betrothed wishes to dance with you also.”

If proper decorum did not dictate otherwise, Aemond would throw himself out of his seat and throttle the life out of Aegon. Instead he stares at him, wide eyed with a mixture of horror and anger.

Lorra halts her movements, looking over her shoulder towards Aemond, before approaching where he sits. She is breathless, pale cheeks flushed, as she extends a hand to him.

He cannot possibly deny her now. Fucking Aegon.

He has never seen anyone appear so carefree, a marked difference to his unwavering stoicism, and he stares at her unblinking for a few moments before slowly reaching out to take her hand.

Her touch sends a ripple of warmth through his body from head to toe, and as he rises from his seat he worries he will stumble, utterly disarmed by the softness of her palm against his.

Helaena goes back to the table as Lorra and Aemond make their way to the space in which she had previously been dancing with her.

He swallows thickly, desperately trying to recall the steps he had learned as a child, feeling yet another surge of heat travel through him as Lorra raises her hand, placing her palm flat against his. Her hands are so much smaller and more delicate than his, he is certain that if he made a fist then his would cover hers entirely.

Lorra never once breaks eye contact, the ghost of a smile upon her lips as her and Aemond circle each other. He finds it is much like sparring, remembering where to place his feet, anticipating the movements of his opponent, though he does not possess the natural grace that she appears to have as she moves.

“You dance well,” Lorra murmurs, as they step in close to each other, “though you are stiff.”

“Dancing is not something I enjoy,” Aemond replies simply, eye raking over the way her hair tousles around her bare shoulders.

“Well, I am flattered you made an exception for me,” she says with a wry smile. “I look forward to finding out what you do enjoy.”

His lips part slightly, unsure of what to say. He cannot understand her interest in him. He had expected a meek, little thing, happy to endure the formalities of a political union, and instead he has been presented with an ethereal beauty intent on taunting him to the brink of madness.

Aemond feels as though he is in a daze for the rest of the meal, picking silently at his food, grateful for the fact that his family carry on the conversation so that he is not forced to participate. However, he finds his gaze is constantly drawn to Lorra, she fascinates and terrifies him in equal measure.

He breathes a sigh of relief when the evening finally draws to a close and he can retire to his bedchamber. Though, to his dismay, having left her physical presence behind, Aemond finds that Lorra is not so easily shifted from his thoughts. Her hair, her smile, the way she moves, all occupy his mind with alarming frequency. His fingers flex restlessly each time he recalls the feeling of her hand against his.

It is because she is different, he reasons, I just need to get used to her and then she will not haunt my thoughts quite so often.

The next day, Aemond shuts himself away in the library. He is certain that the fuss from yesterday was simply because it was Lorra’s first day within the Keep. Now they will be free to pursue their own interests outside of each other, and any time spent together will be arranged by either his mother or grandsire, with a chaperone present.

He takes down a large book on the history of Old Valyria from one of the shelves. Aemond has read it countless times before, and he seeks comfort within its familiar pages as he seats himself at a reading table. The words he knows by heart provide welcome refuge against the tug of uncertainty he has been thrust against.

The door creaking open startles him, the library is a space in which he is rarely bothered. No one but him and the Keep’s maesters ever set foot in here.

His heart lurches as he sees Lorra enter silently. A satin gown that matches the blue of the cloak she arrived in the previous day serves to illuminate her irises, making them shine in the low lighting of the dimly lit space. Her ebony hair is braided once more, falling across one shoulder.

Aemond wets his lips, gripping the pages of his book tightly. “Are you lost?”

She chuckles quietly, taking in his shocked expression. “Exactly where I mean to be. I was told I would find you here.”

He leans against the back of his chair, regarding her with silent suspicion as she moves towards him, taking the seat next to his.

“Fret not,” she tells him with an amused smile, “Ser Cole is outside the door, if you are worried I mean for you to have me against the bookcases.”

His eye widens at this, heat licking up his spine in a way that makes him shift uncomfortably in his seat.

How can she be so coarse and not feel the slightest shame for it?

“So, what are you reading?”

He clears his throat, his focus returning to the book. “A history of Old Valyria, nothing that you would find interesting.”

“On the contrary, it is my duty to learn of the ancestral history of my betrothed, it is what we will teach our children. Do you not wish to learn the history of House Stark?”

“I know the history of House Stark.”

“Then we could share our learnings.”

“There is no need.”

“Why not?”

“We did not choose this.”

Lorra sighs. “We did not, and yet I see no reason why we cannot make the best of it. I want to know my husband.”

Aemond looks up at her, his expression hardening. “I study history and philosophy, I train with the sword, I ride the largest dragon in the world. There is nothing else to know.”

She lowers her gaze, fidgeting with her fingers in her lap momentarily, before turning her attention back to him. “And they say Northerners have an icy demeanour…I intend to thaw you out eventually.”

She rises from her seat, sweeping silently out of the library, and leaving Aemond alone to stare after her. Suddenly, his historical tome is of little interest to him.

Aemond does not see her again until suppertime, though she crosses his mind often, and he is resentful of the twinge of disappointment that burrows its way into his chest at the dinner table when she opts to converse with his mother and sister instead of him.

It does not escape his notice, however, that all of the dishes she passes to him throughout the meal are his favourites; sturgeon cooked in parsley and vinegar and covered with powdered ginger, and rabbit stuffed with minced loin of veal. She had clearly been watching what he had eaten the previous evening.

He feels slightly embarrassed to realise he has no idea what she enjoys eating, keeping silent as he watches her carefully. She seems to enjoy the plums stewed in rosewater, and she helps herself to a slice of game pie, his lips quirking in mild amusement as he sees her pick away the pastry, leaving it to one side as she eats the filling. It unnerves him a little, he has never wished to know the intricacies of anyone before, and yet here he sits attempting to commit to memory the culinary likes and dislikes of a woman he barely knows.

She makes no further attempts to speak to him that day, and he retires for the evening believing that she finally shares his view that they need not interfere in each other’s affairs.

That is until the following morning. His boots crunch against the gravel of the training yard as he spins his sword in his hand, slowly circling to keep Ser Criston Cole in his line of sight as the Queen’s sworn protector wields his morningstar. He is about to surge forward, when he spots Lorra making her way towards the spread of weapons that are laid out on the bench.

She is dressed in form fitting grey trousers with a matching jerkin, her hair pulled back into a tight bun. She is picking up each of the smaller blades, inspecting them in turn as he approaches, nostrils flared in annoyance and patience thin.

“What are you doing?” He asks coldly, frowning down at her as she rights herself, looking up at him impassively.

“Choosing a blade,” she says simply, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “I have not been able to spar since I left Winterfell.”

Aemond scoffs at this. “But you are a woman.”

His mother and sister never set foot in the training yard. He has never seen a woman spar before, the very idea seems ridiculous to him. In his opinion, the last of the female warriors died with Visenya Targaryen.

“An astute observation,” Lorra smirks, cocking her head. “My father ensured I was trained to fight as well as he and my brother, Cregan, can. Women of the North know how to defend themselves.”

“Cole, are you going to allow this?” Aemond demands, turning as the knight walks over to them both.

“You say you have trained before, My Lady?” Criston enquires.

Lorra nods. “I can fight with a sword and shield. I also hunt, fish and ride on horseback. My father has given me every advantage afforded to my brother.”

“Well then, My Prince, I suppose there is your answer,” Criston says with a slight shrug, stepping away.

“Perhaps my betrothed will train with me?” Lorra asks, picking up a sword and testing the weight of it.

“Absolutely not,” he replies coldly. “There is no honour in fighting a woman.”

“Are you craven?” She asks with a mock pout. “Afraid you will lose?”

Aemond’s brow furrows, eye narrowing as he exhales heavily through his nose in irritation. “Fine.”

He stomps to the centre of the training yard, turning as Lorra takes up a fighting stance, feet planted shoulder width and blade raised in a defensive position.

She easily dodges him, sidestepping him as he strikes forward with his own sword and rounds on him as she delivers a blow of her own, a dull thud against his bicep that makes him wince in pain and growl in frustration.

“Not bad for a woman after all, eh?” She taunts, jutting out her chin defiantly.

Aemond snarls, his sword clashing against her own as he pushes her backwards. “Why must you torment me so?” He hisses. “Is this a game to you?”

“I simply wish to spend time with my future husband,” she breathes heavily, “what is so terribly wrong with that?”

She winces, yelping in pain as he delivers a particularly hard whack to her outer thigh, and she falls backwards. He holds the point of his sword to her throat, as she stares up at him, wide eyed and panting.

“You are to be my wife,” he hisses, “not my friend, not my companion, learn the fucking difference.”

The metallic sound of armour rings out across the courtyard as Criston rushes over, pushing Aemond back by his shoulder, away from Lorra. She scrambles to her feet, gasping for breath, dropping her sword and hurrying away.

Aemond watches after her, the adrenaline of his anger slowly subsiding as guilt blooms heavily within him.

“You took that too far, My Prince,” Criston says sternly, his grip on Aemond’s shoulder still firm.

“She angered me,” he mutters quietly, still staring after Lorra, though she has long since disappeared from view.

“Every woman is created in the image of the Mother,” the knight tells him, “we must treat them as such.”

Aemond sneers, shrugging off Criston and stalking back towards the Keep.

Having returned to his chambers to bathe and change his clothing, Aemond is unsurprised when later that afternoon he is summoned to his grandsire’s study. He is anticipating a scolding for what had happened in the training yard earlier.

Otto sighs wearily as Aemond enters the study, leaning back in his chair and regarding his grandson through hooded eyes.

“What happened earlier was an appalling display, stupid boy. You will apologise.”

“I suppose she has told you everything?” Aemond responds wearily.

“No, actually,” he says, folding his hands in front of him upon the desk. “Your mother did, and she heard it from Ser Cole.”

Aemond is surprised by this, his eyebrows raising slightly as he realises Lorra had not rushed to tell of his misdeeds.

“I appreciate that you did not ask for this, Aemond, but it is important that we build an alliance with House Stark, for the good of Aegon’s succession. Apologise to Lorra. You must learn to get along with the girl, or…”

“Or what?”

“Or Lord Baratheon has four eligible daughters, and we can begin the process all over again.”

Aemond balks at this, the prospect of having to welcome someone new into his life and endure the formalities of courtship all over again causes dread to gnaw at his stomach. But also, in the very recesses of his mind there is a part of him that knows he does not want anyone that is not Lorra Stark.

As he leaves Otto’s study, he is certain he hears the rustle of clothing and hurried footsteps, yet when he peers further down the corridor, he sees no one.

At dinner that evening, Lorra is subdued, not speaking to anyone at the table. Aemond stares at her regretfully, saddened by the loss of the simple gesture of her passing him dishes of the food she knows he enjoys, and is struck by an idea of his own.

He reaches for a slice of game pie, sliding it onto his plate, and with a knife he carefully cuts the pastry from the top and the bottom, before pushing the filling onto a side plate. He passes it to Lorra and she looks up at him, wide eyed, taking it from him hesitantly.

“You noticed.”

“I may have lost an eye, but the one that remains does not miss much. However, I allowed my pride to blind me in the training yard earlier. I hope you will forgive me.”

*I shall think about it,” she says with a grin.

He feels the faintest tug of his own smile pulling at his lips in return, his heart feeling lighter than it has all day.

Over the next two months, Lorra and Aemond spend more time together. Afternoons are whiled away in the library, they either read silently side by side - Aemond preferring historical accounts and philosophical studies, while she opts for tales from the Age of Heroes - or they share stories of their lineages. Lorra recounts her own knowledge of direwolves and wildlings beyond the Wall, while Aemond tells her all about Aegon the Conqueror and how the first dragons came to be.

In the training yard, Aemond continues to spar with Criston, and Lorra is appointed a squire to train with. Though the two never cross blades again, Aemond often finds his gaze drawn to her, impressed by the fluidity of her movements and the ferocity with which she fights.

Lorra is a welcome addition to the Red Keep, she converses easily with all of the family at mealtimes, and they all seem fond of her. On the rare occasions that Viserys can be roused from his sick bed to the table, she is even able to draw a laugh from him, despite his lack of lucidity.

As Aemond and Lorra grow closer, his inner conflict grows with it. He has never had a friend before, let alone anyone he feels affection for. He has grown accustomed to a life of solitude, simply slotting another person into his daily routine proves difficult enough, when it is accompanied by a longing to reach out to her and hold her hand, or stroke his fingers through the lustrousness of her hair, he does not know what to with this. So he resists, ignoring the restlessness of his hands and the quickening of his pulse each time she is near.

He has never craved physical or sexual intimacy before, both times he had endured it he had found no joy in it, so he cannot understand why Lorra evokes such desires within him.

Over time, he finds that simply avoiding her alleviates his burden, and so his flights on Vhagar become ever more frequent. Up in the skies is the only place that she cannot follow, and when he is on dragonback he is given a momentary respite from the war that rages inside of him, a clash between the comfort of seclusion, and the desire for her to be close to him.

Late afternoon bleeds into early evening, the sky a tapestry of dusky orange and pink as Aemond lands Vhagar on the outer edge of the Godswood. He dismounts, stunned to see that Lorra is patiently waiting for him, her cerulean cloak with white fur trim clutched tightly around her as she stands by a large elm tree.

“So, this is the mighty Vhagar,” she says softly, no trace of fear in her tone as she marvels at the great beast that rumbles cantankerously, mere feet away, as Aemond approaches her.

“You should not be here,” Aemond tells her, “dragons are not playthings for those unused to them.”

“But you have yet to introduce me, and she clearly means a lot to you. I would like to meet her.”

He hesitates. His dragon is the only remaining barrier he has between himself and Lorra, if he breaks that down then there is no more escaping her, and he will be forced to deal with whatever the consequences of that may be.

“No.”

“Why do you avoid me?”

“I do not.”

“You do. You were not in the library this morning, you missed training yesterday. More often than not you go where I cannot follow. I do not understand why.”

Aemond sighs, averting his gaze. “I–I cannot give you what you want.”

Lorra’s brow furrows in confusion. “What do you mean? We have been getting along well.”

He shakes his head. “I am not built for companionship. I would only disappoint you. I can be your husband in name, but I cannot be your lover.”

“Do you not even wish to try?” She asks pleadingly.

More than I have ever wanted anything.

He says nothing, shifting awkwardly from foot to foot. Every fibre of his being burns with the urge to pull her close and press his lips to hers, but uncertainty holds him back.

“Let me visit you in your chambers tonight, let us see if you really cannot play the part of a husband in anything more than name. If that turns out to be the case then I promise we shall never speak of it again. Do you agree?”

Aemond draws in a shuddering breath, icy tendrils of fear wrap themselves around his heart, while excitement flutters urgently in his lower abdomen. “Yes,” he utters simply.

Lorra nods, turning and walking back towards the Red Keep, leaving him alone in the Godswood.

Aemond anxiously awaits the knock at his door that evening, and even though he expects it, he still feels his heart skip a beat when he hears the soft tap of her knuckles against the wood.

His mouth runs dry at the sight of her, she is wrapped in a quilted robe, which she sheds upon crossing the threshold leaving her in just a thin cotton nightgown.

Once more, Aemond is stunned by how forthright Lorra is as she perches on the edge of his bed. He hovers nervously in the middle of the room, not quite knowing what to do with himself.

“I am no longer a maiden,” she tells him honestly, “I feel that is something you deserve to know ahead of our nuptials, and I hope that doesn’t disappoint you.”

Aemond swallows thickly, opening his mouth before quickly closing it again when he realises he does not know what to say.

“I was on a hunt with my father and my brother. I allowed a squire to sully my virtue, believing it to be true love,” she scoffs, rolling her eyes. “As it turns out he was just eager to get beneath the skirts of a nobleman’s daughter.”

Anger prickles beneath Aemond’s skin, the very thought of someone using her in such a manner is almost more than he can stand. He will wring that pathetic excuse of a man’s neck if he ever gets his hands upon him.

“I am sorry that happened to you,” he utters, “you did not deserve that.”

She waves a hand dismissively. “It matters not. So, tell me, what of your experience?”

Aemond sucks in a breath, moving slowly to sit beside her on the mattress, keeping a respectable distance, as he contemplates what and how to tell her.

“It was my thirteenth name day, and Aegon decided that the appropriate gift would be to take me to a brothel.”

Lorra nods, keeping quiet and allowing for him to continue.

“It was not an enjoyable experience for me. Truthfully, I was disgusted by it, and for a long time I never entertained the notion of being intimate with anyone again.”

“Until when?”

“Until I was told I was to be betrothed to you.”

“So what did you do?”

“I did not want to be inexperienced for my wife, I wanted to see if I could derive enjoyment from coupling with a woman after all, so as not to embarrass you or myself. I took a maidservant.”

“And how did you find that?”

“It was…better than my experience in the brothel, but beyond the physical sensations, I felt nothing. It was humiliating to have to see her after that. I made sure she drank moon tea and then had my mother move her to kitchen duties, so I would not have to see her again.”

Lorra nods in understanding. “So, we have both been unlucky. Have you considered that perhaps it is not the act itself that is unenjoyable, more so the person you are doing it with?”

“What do you mean?”

“If there is no emotional connection between you and the person you are intimate with then there is little joy to be found in the act. You are merely two bodies rubbing against each other.”

“I have never experienced an emotional connection with anyone before, so I would not know.”

“Not even with me?”

Yes, with you. Only with you.

The words stick in Aemond’s throat, unable to express how he feels. He cannot allow himself such vulnerability.

“Can I kiss you?” She asks, shifting closer.

Deciding to act, before he can change his mind, Aemond leans in, pressing his lips to hers. Lorra leads the movements, clearly the more experienced of the two - he has never kissed anyone before. Her lips are soft against his, yet press with a firmness that coaxes him to mimic her gestures.

He buries his hands in her hair, finally feeling its silkiness between his fingers as he pulls her closer. The stickiness of their saliva as they deepen the kiss, her tongue licking against his, makes his cock ache painfully hard in his breeches.

Lorra moves to straddle his lap, and Aemond’s hands wander from her hair, down the smoothness of her skin, his grip gentle yet filled with desperate want.

It is as if something finally clicks into place for him as she presses herself against him, the delicate scent of rosemary and lavender that clings to her flesh makes him feel lightheaded. This is what Aegon had been talking about. He wants nothing more than to throw her down upon the bed, and tear her nightdress from her.

Yet as she pulls back, breathless, glassy eyed and glossy lipped, he feels the same awe he had felt the first time he had looked into the fiery jaws of Vhagar. Only this time, it is not the white hot intensity of the Seven Hells that he sees reflected back, it is the vision of the Maiden herself. He has never seen a sight more beautiful.

His reverence of her quickly causes him to freeze, he is unworthy, does not know what to do with someone he feels so strongly for, and it morphs into terror. This time, instead of claiming his prize he pulls away from it.

“I–I cannot. I am sorry,” he whispers, pushing her gently from him and moving to stand.

She sighs softly, her head bowed dejectedly as she brushes past him to gather up her robe and wrap it back around herself.

“Well, I suppose that is that then,” she says. Her voice sounds so sad, so weak, that it causes a lump to form in Aemond’s throat. He detests that he has made her feel this way.

“As agreed in the Godswood, we shall speak of this no further,” she continues, fiddling with the ties around her waist.

“So our marriage will be a mere formality?” Aemond asks in a hushed tone.

Lorra shakes her head sadly, finally looking up at him, eyes wet with unshed tears. “There will be no marriage at all.

It feels as though Aemond’s heart drops into his stomach as he stares at her, the lump in his throat seeming as though it means to suffocate him. “Why?” Is all he is able to rasp out.

“I have never wanted a marriage that is for mere political alliance. I want someone who loves me, who desires me. That is why I asked my mother and father to delay their arrival, so I could see for myself if you were someone I could fall in love with.”

Aemond’s eyebrows pinch together, ripples of pain reverberating in his chest, and yet he stays silent, allowing her to say her piece.

“The sad fact is that in these last few months I have fallen in love with you, but I do not think you will ever love me back. I am sorry, Aemond, but I cannot marry you. Tomorrow I shall return to Winterfell, and perhaps you will have better luck with one of Lord Baratheon’s daughters.”

Those final few words strike Aemond like a hammer blow. She had heard.

He watches sorrowfully as she turns and leaves his chambers. He is desperate to call out after her.

Please do not go.

Do not leave me.

I do not want a Baratheon girl.

I want you.

Instead he says nothing, frozen to the spot and cripplied by grief as one of the only things he has ever truly wanted walks out of his life, knowing he only has himself to blame.

Aemond stays shut away in his chambers when Lorra departs the next morning, unable to bear the sight of her leaving the Red Keep and him forever. He keeps the curtains closed, sitting in darkness, not having slept, thinking of all the things he should and could have said and done differently. But it is too late now, and Lorra is better off without him.

It is nearing early afternoon when Alicent knocks softly at the door, allowing herself in without awaiting an answer. Her big, brown eyes are filled with sadness as she stares down at Aemond as he sits there. It reminds him of how she used to look at him as he would sit by the fireplace as a child, trying to hatch his egg.

She rounds his chair, standing behind him and places her hands tenderly upon his shoulders. Aemond reaches up a hand, gently grasping her fingers with his own.

“Oh, my dearest love, I am so sorry,” she whispers sadly.

They remain in silence for a few moments, before Aemond finally speaks. “Will you ask Grandsire to wait before sending a raven to Lord Baratheon? I–I am not ready. Not yet.”

Alicent’s fingers squeeze gently around his own in a comforting gesture. “Of course. I will not allow him to rush you.”

He breathes a quiet sigh of relief, though he feels no amount of time in the world will make him feel ready.

Over the next week, Aemond attempts to return to life as normal, though it feels empty and colourless without Lorra.

As he reads in the library, the empty space beside him seems almost ominous with its lack of her presence. He takes to reading tales from the Age of Heroes as a means to feel that she is still there.

In the training yard, his eye wanders every so often to the space where she used to spar, a wave of melancholy washing over him each time he looks to find that she is no longer there. He wonders who she will train with once she is back in Winterfell.

One night at dinner, he catches himself absentmindedly cutting the crust from his pie, a sigh of frustration leaving him as he agitatedly pushes the plate away.

He hates this. Aemond is comfortable in solitude, he always has been, yet now it feels too vast, too lonely. The empty space is haunted by the memory of Lorra, creating an ache and a longing within him that he has never experienced before.

The hour grows late as Alicent, Otto and Helaena depart the dining hall. Aemond is about to rise to return to his own quarters when Aegon holds up a hand, halting him.

“Stay a while,” he says, moving into the chair next to Aemond’s. “There is still wine in this jug, let us see it off.”

“I think you are sufficiently in your cups enough for us both, brother,” Aemond says with a sigh.

“Anything to help cope with how you have been skulking around the Keep this past week,” Aegon replies, splashing the table with red wine as he fills both their cups messily.

“I have not been skulking,” Aemond says petulantly, taking a sip of his wine.

“You have,” Aegon tells him, gulping from his own cup. “If you are this saddened by Lorra’s departure then why did you allow her to leave?”

Aemond sighs. “Because…because I cannot give her what she desires in a husband. My only examples of what marriage really looks like is what I have seen of mother and father, and you and Helaena.”

“That is exactly why you should strive to give her what she desires. Those are poor examples to set the basis of a marriage upon.”

“And how would you know?”

“Do you know what I know? I know that you have made yourself at home in a lifetime of misery and isolation, so much so that the very idea of happiness frightens you.” Aegon titters as he takes in Aemond’s annoyed expression. “Can you believe it? Aemond Targaryen, the boy who claimed the world’s largest dragon at the age of ten is afraid of happiness.”

“I am not afraid,” Aemond glowers.

“Then what is it? Because it seems ironic to me that you have spent your entire life coveting what I have and resenting me for not wanting it, and then when you find yourself in a position that I so desperately want for myself you do not want it either.”

“What do you mean?”

“Love, Aemond. The love of a good woman. I had that once, and due to my own cowardice it slipped away from me.”

“You were in love?”

Aegon nods, drinking deeply again. “There was a reason I used to frequent that one particular brothel. There was a woman there that I loved, and she loved me.”

“She loved the golden dragon you paid her each time she let you rut atop her like an animal.”

“No, it was not that,” Aegon shakes his head. “I wanted to marry her, she was with child. But when mother and grandsire found out they had her taken away from King’s Landing. I never found out what became of her, or the child she was carrying.”

“I had no idea.”

Aegon scoffs. “You would not. Mother did a thorough job of ensuring no one ever found out. But my point is, I was a craven, I should have boarded a ship to Essos the moment I became aware of her condition. I would be rid of a life I hate and free to be with the woman I love. Do not let your own cowardice deprive you of happiness. Goodness knows you have enough reasons to be a miserable twat as it is.”

Aegon claps Aemond on the shoulder as he rises from his seat, taking both his cup and the jug with him as he staggers away from the dining hall.

Aemond sits at the table a while longer in silence, contemplating his brother’s words. He is shocked at what Aegon has divulged, yet there are rare pearls of wisdom to be found in what he has said. He is right, Aemond does want Lorra, and it is time he casts aside his pride and apprehension to ensure she knows this.

He goes back to his quarters that night, with a plan in mind. Sitting at his writing desk, Aemond places quill to parchment and begins to write.

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sourpeachsayshi · 7 months

Note

omg peach if you could write a little something for me and sukuna in a garden 🌺 thank you!!

༺tags༻ virgin!princess reader; demon king sukuna; haunting au; reader is watched; suggestive; describes the reader's hair "sukuna plays with he strand"; size difference; all characters are 21+

༺notes: I want to write more of this!! thank you for sending this ask in!! ༻

your palace is cursed by the being who originally built it. countless of stories have been shared between the maids and workers. as a result keeping staff was difficult, but as the princess you had nowhere else to run.

this is your home.

you’ve never thought much of it until recently, when you began spotting a pair of red eyes in the shadows. when you started hearing the echo of a dark laugh through the empty hallways. feel the tickle of hot air against your neck whenever you undress, before catching a tall, broad figure in the reflection of your mirror.

you were being watched.

your heart flutters wearily in your chest, while you hold the lantern in your hand. you're light on your feet, careful not to make a sound. "momo?" you whisper, your eyes squinting in search for the warm fur of your beloved kitten. you don't know what possessed her to bound out of your bedroom and run down the hallways so erratically. but here you are now, all alone on the massive palace grounds trying to find her.

the wind brushes against your cheek, making you spin on your heels nervously, but you see nothing and can only hear the soft rustle of the leaves from the trees. you tuck your bottom lip between your teeth, swallowing your fear as you continue trudging between the bushes and flowers.

you don't want to leave her out here all by herself.

"momo?" you repeat, speaking a little louder this time even though there's a crack in your voice.

you just can't stop thinking about those red eyes.

you stand in place for a few seconds, slumping your shoulders in defeat. you're unable to shake off the eerie feeling despite the peaceful scene around you. you've moved deeper into the garden now, the beautiful grounds bathing underneath the glow of the soft moon. your bare feet cold against the earth.

you sniffle quietly to yourself, rubbing the tip of your icy nose. you conclude that you'll just have to ask the guards to find her in the morning, and as you take a step back to turn around and return to your quarters, you feel yourself hit a tree.

your heart quivers. your robe is caught within it's sharp branches, but as you drop your guard to try and untangle yourself, you freeze when you notice the figure behind you move.

"shouldn't you be in bed, your highness?"

the blood drains from your face, your ears ring out of fear at the sound of the low, gruff voice.

you slowly drop your hands by your side. your fingers relaxing uneasily before letting go of the lantern.

it lands on the ground perfectly with a tiny thump.

the catch tightens against your waist, only then do you recognize the touch of a hand.

"you're usually asleep at this hour," he adds on.

the shadow moves, circling around you like a predator whose finally caught it's prey. your eyes draw up at the presence of his daunting height, your lips parting in awe identifying those familiar irises.

there was a heavy aura surrounding him, the crisp air now thick and making it harder for you to breathe. he's wearing a black robe, most of his chest exposed to reveal the intricate tattoos on his body. his hair reminded you of autumn, the fiery change of the leaves just before they turned a muted brown. he looked human, just like you, but the chill seizing your spine was a staunch reminder that he isn't.

he's not of this world. he's nothing like you.

"looking for something?" he teases, bringing forward the hand hidden behind his back.

he slightly unfurls his fingers, revealing your precious kitten in his palm. she somehow looks even smaller, her paws latched to his finger as she nips her small fangs into his skin.

you tremble as you reach for her, but the being moves his hand behind his back.

he clicks his tongue, curling his spine forward to meet your face. "not even a thank you, your highness?" he remarks with disapproval, feigning his distaste by pinching his brow.

"please," you whisper quietly, fully consumed by fear.

"remembered your manners, I see..." he chuckles, his free hand moving to touch the strands of your hair. his eyes fall to the lock between his fingers, which he twirls with playful ease. "my wife had a pet too. a white cat named yuki..."

your chest rises and falls heavily when you notice the distance in his eyes. the red deepens as memories bleed through but he is quick to blink back into the present.

"please don't hurt her...or-or me..." you beg, remembering your old maiden stating that if you show respect to the ancient demon king, then he may spare your life.

the being quirks his brow. "I've had my eyes on you this whole time, princess. have I hurt you yet?"

your heart drops to the pit of the stomach at his confirmation, affirming what you've been suspicious of this whole time.

you shake your head no.

he releases your hair, his fingers curling carefully around your throat. "thank me properly," he commands, using his thumb to outline the curve of your bottom lip.

your cheeks burn. no man has ever touched you this intimately before. but your move on instinct, submitting to his will in the hopes to leave his clutches. you stand on your tiptoes to meet him halfway, pressing your lips into the corner of his mouth where you leave a chaste peck.

you drop back on your heels but he doesn't loosen his hold just yet. your pulse skips over itself when he tightens his fingers instead, his eyes boring into your own.

they looked somber.

"you look so much like her," he whispers, the gentle tone of his voice catching you off guard as everything else around you goes still.

seconds pass until he unravels himself. taking your shaking hands into his own where he carefully hands off your kitten. you curl the tiny animal into your chest, your body tingling unexpectedly.

"you better run back before they notice that you're gone,"he warns, the timbre of his voice rough and unsettling. "or before I decide to keep you here for good."

you squeeze you legs unexpectedly as you nod your head, then dash back towards the palace, and leaving your lantern behind.

#sukuna x reader #sukuna x you #sukuna x female reader #sukuna x y/n #jujutsu kaisen au #sukuna au

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baby-yongbok · 1 year

Text

Sunset

Bang Chan x Thick Fem!Reader

Genre: Smut, non idol

✨Masterlist ✨

Warnings: Unprotected sex (Wrap it up, guys), Cheating (Married reader/ Chan is dating someone) , Strangers to One night lovers, Dirty Talk, Fingering, Oral sex (M receiving) Slightly rough, Uh.. that’s it really? It’s just Smut, Sorry if I missed any tags. Explicit content so MDNI please.

Word Count: 2677

Note: First Person POV + This was something that I just whipped up real quick and wanted to share. It’s short compared to what I usually like to write but I thought you’d enjoy it! Just a quick smutty Chan fic to entertain ya.

Summary: The Sunset diner is your go to place to retreat, it allows you to meet new people while immersing yourself in the arts. It’s become your routine to relax at the diner every night and seek some...company. One night a new customer arrives and you just cant seem to keep your eyes off of him. You have to have him.

The Sunset studio and diner has always been a safe haven for me, ever since I was thirteen years old my step dad would bring me here and buy me a hot chocolate and two cookies before letting me roam around the studio and stare at the artwork in awe. It bought him enough time to smash whatever girl he picked up along the way in the bathroom then come back and act like he was never gone. I never cared, I was too fascinated with the artwork and the soft melodies of the guitars that the customers brought from home, or the grand piano by the entrance being played by whoever thought they were good enough to have the entire studio hear them. I was always amazed by those people, by their confidence, it was different from the kind that I possessed and I enjoyed being in its presence. No one has dared to play the piano in months though, not in my visits to the diner.

"Thank you, Lali." I nod my head to the waitress that serves me almost every night and she smiles back as always.

I continue my watercolor painting enjoying the ambient sounds of guitars and what I’m pretty sure is a ukulele when suddenly I hear it. My head snaps up and my eyes land on the brown haired man focusing on the keys of the grand piano. Others in the diner still their movements as they stare, those who are sitting around me stop talking and listen to the melody that he's producing. He continues to play a song that I've never heard before, an original maybe? The beauty in the notes that he's playing makes me close my eyes as the music builds me up to a feeling of bliss that I haven’t felt in what feels like forever.

As the piece picks up speed I start to wonder about its purpose. Is it an ode to tragedy or love? They are both one in the same in the end but I'd love to pick his brain. Suddenly the melody comes to a halt before he lightly strokes the last three keys. The sound of the last key drags out beautifully and applause erupts quickly after. The young man's head jolts upward and a small dimpled grin plays upon his lips before he stands and playfully bows before the studio. As the studio calms down I watch him carefully as he picks up his bag and makes his way to the counter to order a drink. I can’t help myself as I find myself ear hustling.

"That was beautiful." One of the employees that I don't know that well raves.

"Thank you, I appreciate it." His response is dry, he's uninterested.

"Chan?" Lali calls from the pick up counter and I glance back to watch him pick up his drink. He smiles warmly at Lali but he's still uninterested, what is he interested in? He scans the studio searching for a spot to sit and I quickly continue painting. He makes his way past my booth and I decide to go in for the kill.

"Excuse me." He turns around to me and his eyes soften once they land on mine, why's he so tense?

"May I ask what you got to drink? It looks divine." The same small grin as before plays upon his lips as he turns completely to me.

"An iced black tea with mint and cream."

"Oh, wow that sounds as divine as it looks, thank you." His eyes stay on mine as I offer him a smile and for the first time since he's stood from the piano he seems interested.

"It's my pleasure, I can't help but notice your painting. It's beautiful, truly stunning." Tapping the end of my paint brush against the table I shrug at him.

"It's alright, I'm experimenting with watercolor tonight. Would you like to have a seat?" I wave my hand towards the seat across from me and he kindly accepts. Sliding into the booth I get a swift whiff of his scent, a musk of some sort, Egyptian? Himalayan maybe.

"I'm not much of an artist, the world of paint intimidates me." He chuckles and I bring my hand up to rest my chin in the palm.

"Funny, you don't seem like the type to be intimidated by much." His eyebrow raises at my response as he lets it linger, he clearly doesn't plan to ask what I mean. He's waiting for me to elaborate, but I'm not the type to volunteer information and he doesn't seem like the type to ask about it.

"Do you come here often?" He asks disregarding my previous comment, I can't help but chuckle.

"Every other week since I was thirteen, I upgraded to every day at 9pm a year ago." He shakes his head and sips his drink.

"I'm passing through this town, thought I'd look for a place to relax and stop driving for a while."

"You made a wonderful choice stopping here, especially since you seem to be a fellow creative. That was a beautiful piece you played earlier." He nods and offers a quiet thank you. "Have you always played? Or have you just recently learned how to move your fingers like that?"

There his eyebrow goes again, raised and displaying his curiosity. "I've always played."

"Oh, how wonderful you must have such a careful way of doing things then. I've always found that those who play the piano are drawn towards the more intricate things in life."

We stare at each other for a few seconds, both grinning and scanning each other. He breaks our gaze, sitting up straighter he pushes his drink over to me.

"Have a taste." His eyes meet mine again and this time I challenge his gaze, holding it as I wrap my lips around the straw and suck up the tasty liquid. "Don't be greedy, now."

A small moan escapes me at the sound of his warning. Releasing the straw from my lips I grin at him. "Delicious, the mint is a really nice touch."

"Would you like for me to get you one?"

"No thank you, I like yours." The chuckle that falls from his lips stirs something up in me that I haven't felt in a while. He's flipping a switch that no one has been able to in a while and I am loving it.

"What do you do for a living?" Eyebrows furrowed and both elbows on the table he awaits my answer.

"I'm an art professor." There goes that eyebrow raise.

"Professor? Excuse me for my rudeness but my curiosity is getting the best of me. May I ask your age?"

"You may." He's visibly amused by my answer. He's clearly a bit younger than me. He's easy to get to but not too easy.

"Twenty-five and yourself?"

"Twenty-three" I knew it, experienced but not too much. "Too young for you?"

"Not at all, you'll be fun to seduce." There go those damn eyebrows, I wonder if he knows he's doing that at this point. I'm not mad at it, it's just interesting.

"Seduce, huh?"

"Mhm, I'm already turning you on." He leans forward in his seat and folds his arms.

"How so?"

" You like that I'm not easy to read, you're also into the fact that we both dabble in the arts of some sort. You're impressed by my age and my beauty, and you've been keeping consistent eye contact with me. Not to mention your manspreading which when across from an attractive female is an invitation to make an advance." He leans back against the booth, arms still crossed.

"Are you sure you don't teach psychology?" Smiling in his direction I nod before checking the time.

"Drive me home?" Checking his watch he keeps his eyes on me as I pack my art supplies.

"Is 11:15pm your cut off time here?" Grabbing his bag and finishing his drink he slides over to the end of the seat.

"Not usually, but I have to get to the next step in seducing you." Laughing, he stands and grabs my bag for me.

"I should've probably told you this before but I'm actually driving down to see my girlfriend." Shrugging my shoulders I pass him.

"And I'm married, your point?" Making my way through the doors of the studio I close my eyes briefly as the night air brushes my skin, the beginning of fall is always so relaxing.

"This way." Brushing his hand along the small of my back he starts walking towards his black Mercedes Benz G-Class. I guess he's not bothered by my relationship status, I'm glad we're on the same page. "After you." Opening the door for me and placing my bag at my feet he closes it after me and I quickly do a breath and pit check before he gets to the driver's side. Once he's inside he asks where I live and I say nothing, looking over at me I meet his gaze and smile at him.

"I never got your name.” he relaxes into his seat

"Chan, and yours" I don't plan on answering him, it's actually best if I don't. His breath hitches in his throat as I begin to palm him through his jeans.

"I like to think about how you'll recall this memory over the next couple of months." Getting on my knees in the passenger seat I leaned over to unbuckle his belt. "How you'll recall the blissful feeling of my mouth on you, the nameless woman you met at the studio."

Unzipping his pants teasingly slow, neither of us break our continuous gaze. "How I'm so much better than the girl you're going to visit, sexier, more spontaneous. Has she ever sucked you off in your car?" He shakes his head revealing the obvious answer.

"I didn't think so." My mouth sinks down his shaft and he draws in a deep breath. His hand tangles into my hair and the other grips the steering wheel. He clearly hasn't received oral in awhile, I'd be surprised if he lasts longer than three minutes.

"Oh my fucking god" He rests his head against the headrest and his grip on my hair gets tighter as I work his shaft, my tongue playing with the underside of his dick where his head and shaft meet, my favorite part of any man's cock. "You're pretty fucking good at that, baby."

Humming in response I take his length deeper down my throat swallowing around him. I think that today I'll try not to use my hands, I'd like to make him finish strictly with my mouth. "Shit, babe let me kiss you."

Humming in response I continue to work my head up and down his dick. "I said let me fucking kiss you." Pulling my head up off of him he holds my chin in place as his lips aggressively meet mine. Moaning into him I part my lips allowing his tongue to explore the depths of my mouth as he pleases. His hand explores my body, fondling my breast and Tracing the dips of my curvy figure.

"You're a fucking slut aren't you?" Moaning at the sound of his husky voice I nod. "Finish a sluts job then." Pushing my head back down to his cock I open my mouth taking his member back down my throat. Groans and moans fall from our mouths as I sucked him, the anticipation of his sticky cum coating my throat excites me.

"Just like that, give me all of that pretty mouth." His cock twitches in my mouth and I start to slow down eliciting a frustrated groan from Chan as well as a slap on the ass. "Don't you tease me, slut."

Smiling slightly I pick up the pace finding my rhythm, it's not long before he explodes in my mouth gifting me with the taste of him. Swallowing every last drop I sit up and start preparing to make my escape when he grabs my wrist and ushers me over into his lap. Leaning back into the steering wheel I accidentally honk the car horn with my backside and we both chuckle after the surprise and panic subside. Adjusting his seat so that it's further away from the steering wheel and slightly leaned back I adjust myself so that I'm comfortable before crashing my lips to his. Grinding into him my skirt rides up revealing my bare ass and his hand wastes no time gripping a handful and landing a firm smack on either cheek eliciting a deep moan from me. Before I realize it his length slips inside of me filling me up and reaching every spot that I need him to.

"Fuck, oh my god." Moans uncontrollably spill as he thrusts up into me.

"What about you, huh? Are you going to think about the guy you met at the studio? How he seduced you just as effectively as you did him." Picking up his speed he finds a rhythm that is bound to make me cum early. " How he made you cum so quickly that you can't fathom what a night with him would be like." Just as those words leave his mouth my orgasm washes over me in a wave stronger than any man has ever caused before.

"Or how about the way he kept you coming over and over again." One of his hands snaked down to my pussy and started aggressively rubbing my currently sensitive clit. The other hand lifted my shirt to reveal my bare chest, lifting his knee a bit and pushing me forward. He sucks one of my nipples into his mouth as he readjusts his other hand to replace his length with two fingers, as his thumb finds and rubs my clit. Bouncing with the rhythm of his fingers I end up riding his digits as my second orgasm crashes into me.

"Chan" All I manage to moan out is his name, the only thing I can remember at this point is his name and maybe how to breathe but even that seems to be failing me at the moment. I climax for a third time and he releases my nipple from his mouth.

"You look so pretty while you ride my fingers, go ahead and come for me again, kitten." I can't help but to completely let loose at the sound of him as my final orgasm rips through my body. I become limp on top of him and he slowly removes his fingers from me and slips them into his mouth. "Just as sweet as I thought you'd be."

Littering kisses up my neck and cheek he lifts me up a bit to meet his gaze. "You better clean yourself up, I'd hate for your husband to start a fight with you and ruin your night." Smiling over at him I sit up and pull down my shirt. Then climb back over into the passenger seat and pull down my skirt. Chan fixes the driver's side chair and I wipe my mouth with my forearm, my formerly messy hair is still messy so that's not a problem at all. Suddenly Chan grabs the back of my neck, ushering my face towards his and our lips meet In a heated kiss. I let his lips linger and dance with mine for a while before pulling away.

"Thank you for seducing me." He smiles teasingly as I laugh.

"It was my pleasure." Bending down and grabbing my bag I open the passenger door.

"Where are you -"

"My husband picks me up from here at 12:10am every night." Smiling over at him I almost close the door completely before opening it again. He looks at me hopefully with those damn eyebrows raised and his small grin painted upon his lips, I felt a wave of heat wash over me and I couldnt help what I said next. "Y/n."

"Y/n, thank you." Smiling, I look down at my feet before closing the car door and turning on my heels heading back inside of the studio. Walking up to the counter I smile at Lali as she asks what I'd like.

"A large iced black tea with mint and cream, please."

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missglaskin · 2 years

Text

Yan!Targaryen Men (Jacaerys, Daemon Blackfyre, Maegor, Aegon II, Viserys III) with servant!Darling

Note- Originally there were meant to be more characters, but I couldn’t think of any other ideas for them and I didn’t want to risk being repetitive. Also I really hope this doesn’t get reported either

Tags: EXPLICIT/SMUT, Coercion, Power dynamics, Implied noncon, abuse of power, forced marriage/relationship, semi-delusions, forced feeding, mentions of vomiting

Jacaerys

At the table where you are pouring wine for one of the lords. You felt a pair of eyes watching. Looking to see it’s the prince. Almost in awe, you see his brows rise and eyes widen. But it’s cut short when the lord shouts at you for overspilling the wine. You mutter your apologies all the while scrubbing the mess you caused. Feeling further flustered when the prince comes to your defense.

He yearned for you. It was wrong, even dangerous and scandalous for the two of you. Still, you see him making his way through the crowd, through the halls searching for you. And when he’s finally face to face with you, there’s the awkwardness in not knowing what to say. It was almost endearing, in a way.

Still, no matter how many times you try to push him away, Jace persisted. And not being able to truly deny him, you found yourself indulging in some of his desires. Keeping him in your company in which you hoped remained nothing more than a friendship. But it grew ever more difficult in seeing how he gazes upon you and the glares those close to you receive.

Though there came a night right before the sunset where Jace brought you to the dragon pit. In what you assumed was to be an introduction to the dragon is followed by a hand guiding you on top of the said dragon. With the wind blowing in your face and the sunset view ahead, your nerves fade. Looking back, you see Jace's face inches from yours. He closes the distance, and you find yourself melting under his touch.

Subtlety was not one of Jace's strongest traits. At feasts, dinners, meetings, his eyes hardly left yours. He left lingering touches such as when you come to pour his wine or when you pass him by the halls. Times, there are kisses exchanged in dark corners, one where you must pull away before praying eyes find you both.

At his chambers, where only the night sky is your witness. Your bodies are tangled underneath the sheets. You whimper as his cock slowly fills you up. It being your first time made you feel as if he was splitting you open. Clutching him close and tight, as he buries his face into the crook of your neck. With every slow thrust, you adjust to his size. Moans slipping from your lips as the pleasure begins to numb your senses.

In one of those nights. Marry me. Was uttered to your lips. There was a glimpse of confusion, but it was quickly overshadowed by the overwhelming pleasure. With his cock disappearing into your cunt. The sounds of skin slapping echoing as you bounce on him. Jace’s mouth moves to your chest, tongue making contact with the hard nubs. And then you hear the same words uttered once more.

But as you stand in front of the septon. Your mind starts to race. There’s a look of panic in your eyes. Still, Jace ever so gently cups your cheek, saying his vows, even yours when the words cannot escape you. Holding hands with you, he walks you to his chambers or what he considers ‘ours’. And as the two of you consummate your wedding night, you only fear what his family would think.

Daemon Blackfyre

The first time he caught sight of you was when he was twelve. Participating in a squire’s tourney to which he won. Watching as the king bestows the steel sword on him. Only to have the crowd watch you as the just knighted Daemon places the crown of roses in your lap. In spite of being a bastard, Daemon's blood is still one of royalty. So imagine the shock when some commoner is crowned as the queen of love and beauty.

To make matters worse, you were a servant. Throughout your wanderings and tasks at the red keep, you rarely passed Daemon. But ever since the tourney, you try to conceal your surprise when seeing him stand in front of you. Simply nodding in greeting before rushing to leave his sight. Though over the years, you have grown accustomed to his presence.

It was known that he was possessive of you. His mother and him were the only ones you served under. You were safe and well-protected. It didn’t matter to Daemon if it was a commoner, a knight or even a lord that tried to harm or seduce you. You were his. In Daemon’s eyes, you have already been claimed. Even when his gestures seemed helpful and sincere, you knew there will come a day where he’ll expect a favor in return. One quite so intimate.

Daemon’s violet eyes often stare into yours. His gaze alone tells you of his interest, so piercing, as if he can see into your soul. It leaves you feeling so vulnerable. Still, you found yourself returning his gaze. His face etched with an amused smile in response. Struggling to keep your heart at bay as it pounds so mercilessly.

What starts as a hint of your intentions to one another becomes a self-fulfilling prophecy. Flusteredness is felt, but not so much of shock. Back pressed to the wall. At times, you envied his charmness, his way of luring you into his arms, into having your lips meet. And most of all, into luring you into his chambers. Like a sailor following the sirens into the deep sea, only to drown and never be seen again.

He saw it within his right to take your maidenhood. In claiming you that day, he came to claim your body and soul as well. In his chambers, the charmingness never left him. Those lips to which you feel trailing your skin. Whisper all sorts of confessions and praises. Further sinking you in his grasp.

Seeing you in the halls, a smirk curls on his face, his hand briefly roaming your body as he did, all to remind you of the nights you spent together. Daemon proves that the blood of the dragon courses through him in his passion and aggression. With his desire to have you anywhere he can. Grown addicted to the way his cock slides in and out of you, the way you clench around him, the taste of you on his tongue.

Daemon wanted to refuse his father’s arrangement to the Tyrosh. He desired you. Your place was on his side, as his wife. Daemon didn’t need the king’s promise for him to have a second wife. And when he was legitimized, fighting for his claim to the throne. Daemon declares that any man who speaks against you, makes a mention of your status and the children he hopes to share with you. They will face far worse than a tongue cut out.

Maegor

Keep your head down and do your duty. Was all you’re told when arriving at the castle and you did just that. The man you’re serving truly lived up to his reputation. Unleashing such a wave of violence rarely ever seen. As a matter of fact, the building you stand in saw no builders considering he killed every one of them. You were right to fear him, right to avoid him at all costs. But fate seemed to have other plans.

You hated the feeling of being watched. But it wasn’t as if you could do anything about it. You felt it when you would remove the sheets from the bed, when you’d start his bath, when you would pour him his wine. There was a time where you dared to look, met with a pair of violet eyes.

At first, you also served his wives. They paid no mind to your presence, as expected. But soon enough, you could feel their eyes watch your every move. There were all sorts of expressions on each of their faces. But it was Tyanna’s that filled you with fear. You didn’t know whether to feel relief when informed you are only to serve the king from now on.

Deep down, you knew that the king, Maegor, had anything but good intentions for you. That not only he formed an interest in you, but in that he desired you. And when Maegor is driven by his desires, it wasn’t good for anyone involved. What you wanted to know is when he will fulfill these said desires.

Day by day, your duties dwindled to the point where you had nothing to do. Only when you are given your own chambers, do you realize what is truly happening. Wide eyes staring at the man that invites himself in-Maegor. Your hair stood on end as he towers over you—not in just height, but in his intimidating presence. Taken aback when his hands carefully undo your dress, allowing it to drop and gather around your legs.

There was hardly any prepping. But even if it was given, there's no way you can fully adjust to the sheer size of him. His fat cock stretching your hole with each thrust. His thrusts are hard and deep.It renders your mind to go fully numb and vision hazy as you cry out. The blunt head of his cock bruises your cervix, and you can feel the pressure of his broad hand on your tummy bulge.

He never wastes his seed. Squeezing your legs around his waist so his cock can fill you to the brim. The angle allows him to pound your sweet spot with ease. The sound of his hips snapping against your skin echoes throughout the dimly lit chambers. And when he reaches his high, dumping his hot load against your cervix.

Maegor has shown again and again he has no care for what others think of him. He’s the dragon. His word is the law. The faith, the court, they can try but none will stop him from taking you as his wife. And when he finally presents an heir, there’s no care if his mother was a commoner. They had the blood of the dragon coursing through their veins. That’s all that matters.

Aegon II

Your first day already filled you with fear. As the rumors didn’t only reach your ears, but they were told to you. The prince being known to pinch or fondle any serving who strays within his reach. Already you felt his eyes on you, but dared to never look at him. Fearing that even a glance will spur him on. There was a relief in only seeing him during dinners and feasts. Until Dyana had to leave.

No other servant wanted the task of cleaning his chambers. It was only morning you had to see him. The rest of your duties were done in his absence. They assured you. Still, nothing eased your nerves. All it took was one moment alone with the prince. It wasn’t necessarily what he would do to you that scared you. It was the aftermath. There was nowhere else for you to go, no other place to call home.

True to their word, you only saw him in the mornings. Being as sneaky as possible and leaving safely every time. But in the end, you caught his attention. Normally, you would always clean the bath and leave just before his arrival, but on that particular day, the prince shows up a little early. The worst part of it all was your dress being tucked up to your knees to prevent getting wet. Heart hammering as soon as you saw his gaze on your bare legs. Your saving grace was the knight that entered his chambers and informed the prince he was needed.

For most of his life, Aegon has always gotten what he wanted, and he wanted you. And who could stop him? The knights who are meant to protect the innocent. The queen who was meant to care for the common alike. You had no titles, no lands, no castle. Your name had no value-you were of no value. So you didn’t fight the lips pressed roughly against yours. Didn’t resist when feeling the hands roam your body.

This was a means of survival. They are to send you away the next morning, and what will be of you? So you allowed yourself to give into the pleasure. To forget the shame of it all. Aegon went still in your arms when you pulled him close to you, almost wrapping him in an intimate hug. Your fingers caressing his cheeks or stroking his silver hair. Even daring to smile at him, all while letting a tear slip down your cheek.

To your relief, you weren’t sent away. But instead, your place was on his side. You did everything Aegon wanted. You kissed him where he wanted. You fucked him where he wanted. What once was your days spent running errands, is now waiting in his chambers for hours. Ending the night with your legs shaking, whines and moans shared between the two of you-having you spasming around his cock.

Rarely did you leave his chambers, but if you would. The jewelry that shined under the moonlight will catch the eyes of many. The dresses you adorned resembled the ones his sister wore, to replace the ‘filth’ -as according to him. But hardly did you wear them, the golden fabric on the floor as you lay bare in his bed.

One day, Aegon asked if you loved him. A simple question, yet one that causes so much hesitancy and fear. You told him you did. And when the day came where you dressed him in his ‘king’s attire’ right before his coronation. To ease his nerves, he had you caged against the wall, pressing your slit with the tip of his cock, before pushing past your folds. Swallowing his ‘fantasy’ as he spoke on how he would take you as his wife-make you his queen.

Viserys III

The second you stepped into your position, you were warned by the other servants of the man you will serve. To address him as you would do to a king. To treat him with the utmost respect and admiration. Anything less is an insult. Every word, every step, every task was done ever so carefully to avoid his wrath.

Unfortunately, you are not free from his acts of cruelty. As your behavior was believed to be deserving of such treatment. And what was your act of crime? Plopping a fruit in your mouth. You were unaware of his presence, and he was already done with the food, meant to be taken to the kitchen. Still, it did nothing to subdue his rage, to punish you for ‘stealing’ from him.

What you thought would leave you being scarred or worse sent to your death. Is instead experiencing something far more humiliating. Forced to eat every single thing on the table, tears streaming down your face as your stomach aches. Your pleadings fell to deaf ears and when you could no longer eat, the food was forced down your throat. Only for you to puke it all out. The voice of Viserys is heard as he demands you to clean up your mess.

The incident has been held over your head ever since. At every chance, you are reminded of what could have been your demise. You can see his sister’s pity, but she fears to utter a word. Then again, she had hardly been his target of wrath. That honor went to you. Becoming his plaything was what you believed to be a fate worse than death.

Late at night as you run his bath, Viserys asks, no, demands for you to join him. And he doesn't give you a chance to speak before you feel the water seeping into your dress. A pair of hands holding your waist with your hands on his shoulder to support yourself. You gasp when you felt it. Something firm between your inner thighs. Yet you do not muster the willpower to fight it.

With Viserys, you are constantly reminded of your status. How you’re beneath him. There’s the lingering threat that at any moment, he’ll be rid of you. That he has no need for you. Yet almost every other night is spent in his chambers.

Him pounding in and out of you mercilessly. Hips roughly pressing against yours. Watching your face contort to pleasure and the tears coat your eyes. The pad of his thumb presses against your lower lip when you bite it to hold on to the moans. Grunts and groans seeping out of his mouth on how your cunt belongs to him and only him.

There’s him also pulling you on top of him, having you ride him as your life depends on it. Lower back gripped as he guides your hips up and down. It’s when you come from your high does he whisper of your shared future. When he will one day claim the iron throne. You pretend to close your eyes. But in that moment there and then, you realize he does indeed have a need for you.

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chigirisprincess · 1 year

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Flowers Never Bend with Rainfall⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

— Wriothesley

⊹ Details. 18+ minors dni, fem! reader, mentions of reader wearing a corset, gown and earrings, arranged marriage, original characters; reader has an unnamed family and older sister, nobility and high society's conventions, allusions to gendered familial roles, sfw. ⊹ Run time. 1.3k ⊹ Note. I have had such brainworms for this man since seeing him for the first time. I had to write something but didn't want to get too ahead of myself since we know nothing of him yet sooo I decided to start a new series of drabbles that will follow this plotline, reader, and Wriothesley. You can find it under the tag # flowers never bend and it will eventually be posted to my ao3 as a cohesive story <3

Your sister beams as she gives your appearance another once over. It's the fifth time in the past ten minutes that she’s turned to you with scrutiny in her eyes, adjusting a strand of your hair or smoothing out the crisp neckline of your dress– you must be perfection. Today you’re meeting him, the man your parents sold you to when you were no more than six years old. He had been a boy then too and just as much of an unwilling participant in the whole affair as you had. Perhaps it was cruel to blame him for your misfortunes. At least the two of you had been given the courtesy of a meeting, a single chance to rectify the will of your parents before they made plans to force the two of you down the aisle.

The day after her eighteenth birthday, your older sister had been married. A gaggle of small children soon followed. They made quite the army of troublemakers but she continued to grow round with one every few years because they were just so cute when they were little. She fancied herself a matchmaker and believed that she knew everything there was to know when it came to matters of the heart. But, what did marriage have to do with the heart when it was nothing more than a political arrangement? Your father had made thousands of those in his lifetime and he’d do thousands more by the time by the time his earthly body was returned to the waves.

There was nothing special or romantic about standing in the middle of the lobby at the Hotel Debord being primped and preened over like a porcelain doll. The seafoam-coloured walls make the contents of your stomach curdle uncomfortably though your favourite gown as a child had once been spun off the very same shade. Today you wore pink taffeta topped off with a lace-trimmed neckline and a little white bow placed carefully at your décolletage. It as though your childhood bedroom threw up on your seamstress and out came this dress.

“Did you know that your fiancé is a Duke?” your sister whispers as she ushers you over to one of the plush chairs, “That mean’s he comes from a very wealthy family, mhm, and is a very well respected man.”

The whale-boned corset beneath your dress keeps your spine straight as you sit and still your sister makes a point of pressing your shoulders back before taking her own seat, “Does he have a name?” You ask, placing one delicately gloved hand over the other.

A myriad of people file in and out of the hobby with what appears to be a purpose. You can’t but watch with curious eyes and the childish hope of discerning him from the crowd before he’s able to spot you. Like a flower, you’d wilt beneath his gaze and learn nothing more than the facade people like you and he were taught to wear like a second skin. Instead, you’re met with swishing skirts that ooze refinement and galloping pups in gaudy costumes. There is little to be gained from people watching carbon copies that chased the latest trends as if that would appease their archon.

“Wriothesley,” Your sister states as if the answer should be obvious to you.

The name hardly strikes a chord of recognition within you, you may have heard it in passing years ago but no new memories surface as you search for an inkling of familiarity. It was futile, your days within the court were limited as you much preferred the solace of your family's countryside estate. The quiet was nice. With no nightmare-inducing machinations to tower over you. The servants were friendly too and even with the tendrils of gossip that filled their quarters, they never seemed to judge you too harshly for having the privilege to shirk societal expectations.

“Does he have a surname?” Focusing your eyes on the ornate glass chandeliers that swing with each gentle breeze pushed in through the ever-revolving doors, you quell your growing need for some tangible information into a dismissive interest, “Or shall I just be known as the lady duke?”

Your sister's gaze is sharp as is how quickly she turns her head to face you, “Come now, you know it is inappropriate to make such comments,” She smiles at a passing stranger, and they smile back, “He is a good man, that much I know.”

Despite the sunny disposition that is quick to replace her annoyed expression, you can feel your sister’s ire simmering within her gaze. Light splinters from the artfully crafted crystalline chunks and dances along the slick tiled ground. The sight of it makes you dizzy but you enjoy the head rush as you settle your focus onto the reflective floor. A gloved and idle hand comes up to twirl the dangly earrings that weigh heavy on your lobes, smoothing your thumb against the drop pearl.

“How can you be certain that he is a good man if you do not even know his family’s name?”

It’s difficult to stifle the giggle that rises to your lips when she glares at you. You found in that moment that it was good she had not been blessed with a cryo vision because it would pale in comparison to the chill that settled over the table.

“If you were so curious perhaps you should have asked father,” she gritted out, “I am just here to ensure that you do not embarrass yourself in front of Wriothesley.”

“How kind of you dear sister,” you grin the way she hates, showing her all of your teeth, “Surely I could not know how to talk to a man at my advanced age of twenty-two without your steadfast guidance.”

“It is a wonder why Mother and father chose you for the duke and not I,” your sister muttered beneath her breath, hoping you did not hear her.

Green was an ugly shade on your sister but you supposed it couldn’t be helped. It was human nature and adults were far more like children than they liked to believe, coveting toys that didn’t belong to them.

Though, her ego would balloon to be ten times the size of her body should you ever dare to admit that you wished your parents had chosen her for their political gain and not you. You weren’t well suited for the things you supposed this Wriothesley would expect of you. Most days you spent more time with your nose buried in long-forgotten tomes than you did in etiquette lessons. Those were important, your mother once said, a man of such status had much social responsibility and as his wife, so would you.

“What time did Father say we may expect his grace to grace us with his presence?”

If the two of you were at home, she might have snarled at you, “I do not find you amusing!”

A well-dressed man carrying a shiny silver platter approached the table. If he heard your bickering, he chose not to comment on it, “Your tea has arrived, ladies.”

“Sir, I fear you are mistaken” you stated, your voice growing timid as he began to unload the contents of the tray into your table, “We did not order any tea.”

“No, but he did.”

The “he” in question was an imposing man who hovered behind the waiter. Neither of you had noticed but your sister began to smile demure at him the moment she took notice of his presence. The first thing you noticed was the glinting silver handcuffs that hung off his belt like a warning and then the metal-clad fingerless gloves. The chains and chunks of alloy made the deep red tie he wore look silly and out of place but his keen, pale eyes made you shrink in your seat as they slid over your visage.

“May I present to you his grace, the Duke Wriothesley.”

Oh.

So this was the man your family intended for you to marry.

#flowers never bend #wriothesley x reader #genshin impact x reader #genshin x reader #wriothesley x you

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joelsmorality · 1 year

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Can’t Keep Going Like This

Pairing: Joel Miller x Fem!Reader. Summary: After another argument, you and Joel finally iron some things out. Warnings: Some angst, but it’s mostly fluff. Note: This was originally a scene I ended up scrapping from my longer fic, but I figured with some editing it could be a fun stand-alone. So, here it is. lol Tag list (My Joel fics in general. To be added just leave me a comment saying so!): @faceache111

The streets of Jackson were quiet at this time of night.

You could hear the odd distant voices or hum of a generator, but otherwise it just seemed that the only other sound was your footsteps. The string of lights above your head that lit up the otherwise dark street added to the peaceful feel of the place–it had been enough when you had first arrived to almost make you forget what the rest of the world outside was like. There were little reminders, moments where you knew things were very different from the world you had left over a decade ago, yet you felt safe. Inside the gates, that is.

All of those facts combined, however, didn’t leave you feeling all that content the current night. You wandered through the darkening town, hands in your pockets with your shoulders slumped. Exhaustion from the day weighed heavily on you, yet the embarrassment of what happened hours ago sat heavily on you.

Having arguments with Joel, even outright fights, wasn’t exactly uncommon. He was stubborn, closed-off, and even frustrating to deal with at points. Yet, it had felt like you had progressed beyond the hostilities a while ago, and there was…something. You didn’t know what. You had been quick to label it as a friendship a while ago, but there was a certain pull in you that wanted more than that. Sometimes it felt like that notion was returned, but neither of you wanted to actually push over that line.

Then there were nights like this. Anger, frustration. You wanted to believe that things were just said in the heat of the moment, but it was hard to tell sometimes.

Usually, things like that happened without the added eyes on you. That was what made the night different from others, and the reason that you had stormed off before Joel could have the last word and do the same. It was juvenile, giving into the childish need to shout and insult. Yet, the reality of the moment had been quick to sink in shortly after that line was crossed, and you gave into the urge to just get out of there. Fortunately, Joel let you leave without following out after you. Though, you imagined it probably took some restraint.

You were just…tired of this. The uncertainty, the pull and push of someone who didn’t know what he wanted. Yet…well, you knew it was unfair to put it all on Joel. You didn’t really know exactly what you wanted, either. There had been many nights where you had time to think about your relationship with him–to overthink and overlook things, too. If you were reading into things too much, or maybe you were missing a signal or something. You didn’t know.

Could just ask.

It really couldn’t be that simple, could it? You knew you hadn’t exactly been completely open about everything, to ask some hard and embarrassing questions. You had certainly asked a few hard questions throughout the time you had been with him–digging into his past, into yours. Yet, this was something you kept locked away behind your teeth. It was something to chew on, but you could never just spit the words out.

Maybe you just should.

With an exhale, you stopped as you knew you were presented with a choice. You could just head back to the place you were staying at, leaving the whole situation behind. Maybe you’d try distancing yourself–there were a lot of people in Jackson, a lot of things to do. It wouldn’t be hard to just foster some space from him, shift out a couple patrols and just…avoid.

Or, you could turn and head toward where you knew he and Ellie were staying. The last you had seen her, Ellie seemed interested in spending some time with some friends she was making and you knew she probably wouldn’t walk in on whatever conversation you’d have with Joel. At least, you would have to hope so. Still, it was an opportunity to just lay everything on the table, ask the questions you’ve been wanting to and just get a damn answer. Whatever it was, you would deal with it. It had to be better than just not knowing and not knowing how to proceed.

With another sigh, you shook your head lightly. The better choice was clear.

Gathering some courage, you turned and headed toward the house. You weren’t sure how he’d greet you when you showed up, but you were sick of things. There had been enough tension and butting heads, you figured you were owed a bit of an honest conversation that wasn’t close to a fully public argument. Still, you hadn’t been in a position like this in a long time–to have to put your heart out in front of someone and let them react to it in whatever way they needed to. It left you with a nervous twist in your gut, despite the determination. It was something that needed to be done, as much as you wished things like this could happen without you having to go about it like this.

The lights of the house were still on, which spurred you to approach his front door. Yet, you couldn’t help the hesitation when you lifted your hand to knock. With a quick exhale, you finally knocked a few times on the door and backed away, tucking your hands back into the pockets of your jacket.

In the moments after, a part of you born of anxiety and some sort of wounded pride, just wanted to bolt. Yet, you knew that was counterproductive and childish too. Upon hearing the dull thuds of him approaching the door, you knew the time for that had passed anyway.

Despite the anger that you both had left with, you were surprised to just see some mild surprise under the tightness of his expression once Joel had opened the door.

“Can I come in?” you asked around a small exhale, sounding more tired than you were expecting too.

“Yeah,” Joel replied shortly, stepping aside to let you slip by him before he shut the door behind you.

Jackson had a number of homes with old furniture in them–some sense of communal living, you supposed, though it seemed like Joel and Ellie had their own place unlike yourself. It wasn’t your first time inside the home, though never in such an awkward situation. Still, you moved around with some familiarity, trying to piece together what you wanted to say. You knew what you needed to say, just not exactly sure how to form the words.

So, it had your arms crossing, coming to a stop in the living room before you turned toward him again.

“Look…” you started around another small sigh, “I didn’t come here to continue to argue with you, but I shouldn’t have run off. That’s not how I handle conflicts, but…I just don’t understand what’s going on here. With us.”

“With us?” Joel asked, his expression tight, a little unreadable, but you could see the way his shoulders had slumped. It was a good sign, at least.

“Yeah, I…” you trailed off, dropping your arms to your sides as you let out a somewhat humorless huff, “I mean, you have to know that I’m interested in you after all this time. At least, I hope it won’t come as a surprise.”

Joel stared at you, taking you in for a few moments before he ran a hand over his mouth, nodding lightly. “It’s not.”

“I just…” you said, bowing your head for a few moments as you pressed your lips into a thin line to hold back the rush of emotion that sat in you. “I haven’t had a group in a long time. People I can trust–people I can genuinely say I care about and who…who care for me. Yet…I honestly don’t know what I’m going to get from you, Joel. Some days it feels like I really get to know you, that things are good and are progressing toward…something, and then you push me away so harshly and I’m just…left completely confused.”

Despite the situation, you could tell there was a bit of a weight lifted off of you at that moment. Finally, you said something about the trend in your relationship with him that you noticed. Still, you knew the conversation was far from over, you weren’t getting the icey dismissal that you had gotten earlier and you figured it was a chance to actually address this situation.

“Am I overthinking things?” you asked, “Seeing things that aren’t actually there? I just want an answer, even if it hurts me.”

“You’re not,” Joel replied simply after your questions lingered in the space between you both, “It’s me. I don’t know what I’m doin’. I’m not a good person, you know this, and I think you’d do a lot better with someone else. That’s why I shove you away when I catch myself thinking differently.”

“I can make my own choices, can’t I?” you asked, tilting your head.

“Yeah, it’s just…”

“I know what you mean,” you clarified, stepping a little closer to him, “I just haven’t really been thinking in the same way. Maybe in the beginning, when I didn’t really know you, but…being here with you and Ellie…I finally feel like maybe I can stay somewhere. With people I trust. I’ll–I’ll accept if you reject me, but being pulled back and forth like I have been is not good for me.”

“I wouldn’t have to keep pushing you away if I could actually reject you,” Joel said with almost a touch of humor in his tone, but you could tell it was a little bitter too. Some previous frustration, maybe? It’d make sense, considering how much you had been dealing with. “I thought you would get sick of me and leave, just make it easier. I guess this is the result I was waiting for, just…it’s a hell of a lot different than I was thinking.”

“I thought about it sometimes,” you admitted, “and I will if it continues. I accept that you can be a thorny asshole sometimes, but I can’t keep letting that happen.”

“Didn’t feel good doing that,” Joel said, “I’m sorry. For tonight, too.”

Throughout the last minute of your conversation, you noticed a shift in him. The familiar wall you had seen him put up time and time again was lowering, as you had seen it do from time to time. On uneventful patrols when moods were high, when you would sit in with him and Ellie when they’d pass a guitar back and forth. The side of him that Ellie poked you about when she’d catch the both of you one-on-one. You knew there was a lot of territory you both had to navigate about each other, but the idea that you wouldn’t have to deal with that being shut off from you again was enough to make you feel like you had made the right choice.

“You want to be with me?” you asked after a few moments, stepping closer to him and watching his expression carefully. While a part of you knew with what he admitted so far that feeling as nervous as you were was ridiculous, but you couldn’t help the way your heart was racing.

“If you’ll have me,” he replied with a small nod. You nodded, struggling to fight back the grin that appeared on your features at the relief that flooded into you.

Which was what had you accepting his hand cupping your cheek, his mouth pressing against yours.

It didn’t take you long to respond to the kiss, despite the small shock it gave you when it fully registered. It was firm at first, a message sent and received, but it shifted more into something natural after a few moments. You wrapped your arms around him as Joel pulled you in closer, nearly brushing your body against his. His beard lightly scratched against you as he deepened the kiss, but you didn’t particularly care as you moved a hand up into his hair.

You were taken a little off guard by how much a part of you had been craving this type of closeness with him. You were attracted to him, had wanted to impress him at first and then just wanted to be closer once you could consider him a friend. A part of you could understand his reluctance, you had played a similar game of tug-of-war with yourself about your developing feelings for him. So, to be in his arms currently like you were was something else. The relief was almost intoxicating, making you almost reluctant to pull back, even with a lightheadedness from the lack of air forced you to.

Finally, you parted from the kiss somewhat, but didn’t really separate. You found yourself resting your head against his shoulder as you tightened your arms around him in an embrace. Joel wrapped his arms around you in return, your hands tightening into the fabric of his shirt in return as if telling yourself that this really was happening.

“I forgive you,” you muttered into his shoulder, “I know it’s not easy for you.”

“I’m still sorry,” he said, voice low and right above your ear before you felt him press a kiss to the side of your head.

You shut your eyes, soaking in the moment for as long as you could. You knew Ellie would be back soon, and you didn’t know how she’d react to the sight before her. Yet, you also suspected that she might not be completely surprised either, but it was hard to say with her.

One thing you knew was that you finally felt like you could be at home with them, in Jackson, instead of being separate and alone for the first time in years.

#joel miller x reader #joel miller x you

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heloflor · 2 months

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So this was supposed to be part of my other fop post but it got way too long (both posts did tbh) and is a different topic than the other one. So yeah here’s a bunch of random thoughts about the show in general from what I’ve seen of it. For context I’ve only seen the first 4-5 episodes + “Battle of the Dimmsonian” + the Cosmo-Wanda-Peri scenes in “Lost in Fairy World” and “Operation: Birthday Takeback”.

SPOILERS for “Operation: Birthday Takeback” for the last three dashes (2.4k words below):

- Putting it in first since it’s still related to Peri but I’m pretty amused by the whole “Tumblr sexyman” situation. I mean, less than two weeks ago all canon pics we had of him were baby pics. It’s the same deal when I see people call him a father figure to Dev, I can’t help but be like “wdym father figure? He’s barely an adult! He’s too young!”

It’s like imagine you have a neighbor who have a baby when you’re 9-10, then they move out and 20 years later you meet their kid as an adult. You can clearly tell they’re an adult and treat them as such but also it’s a bit weird bc your last and only memories of them were of a baby. Idk, I see Peri’s character as an adult but also he’s still a bit of a kid, you know? I feel like I explain this better in the other post tbh.

- In retrospect it’s also very funny to see how, when people talk about the decline of fop, they point at the inclusion of the new characters, including Poof. Yet look where we are now! If you thought the baby was the problem, apologize to him, now! /j

But yeah more seriously, personally I never minded Poof. He was definitely a useless addition, like outside of the handful of episodes focused on him he mostly just stands there looking at the other characters, but he was also a cute baby, so I’ve always been fine with him being around. He’s a useless but inoffensive addition, and I think the decline of the show around that time had less to do with him and more to do with the writing as a whole.

- Last thing about Peri before moving on to the show in general, which tbh I could've put in the other post: I've seen people talk about the idea of Hazel and Dev switching fairies and I kind of agree with it.

Not only because Cosmo and Wanda have the experience needed to help a kid like Dev (though it wouldn't be all sunshine and rainbows) while Hazel's situation is easier for Peri, but also it's worth noting that Dev needs a parental figure, which Cosmo and Wanda can be, while Hazel misses her older brother, who Peri is around the same age of. Idk, I feel like this could work, or at least make things easier for everyone involved (but also especially for Dev).

- Something I originally wanted to put in the tags of the other post but fuck it: I’m really not a fan of them releasing the episodes so soon one after the other. With serialized shows, I’m always been more of a fan of having an episode a week you can chew on and theorize about, rather than being given everything at once. Also it takes a while for the cargo to get on the ships if you catch my drift.

I’d also complain about seeing all those plot-related episodes one after the other with none of the more casual stories in-between that give us more character moments, but honestly that’s on me for looking up spoilers.

- Going to the early show, I think the first episode is such a good introduction! I especially like the amount of focus on Cosmo and Wanda, it’s good to have them reintroduced given how flanderized they became in the og show. I’m especially happy with Cosmo! He arguably had it worse than Wanda in the og and it’s so good to see him shine this much in this first episode (also I love his human form having a bit of a gut)! On that note, they did a fantastic job having them around a lot while still giving Hazel enough time to be introduced properly and get us to care about her as the MC!

But yeah I really like this first episode, fantastic beginning to the show! The only issue I “really” have with it is the way Cosmo and Wanda go back to being godparents just because Hazel made a strong enough wish or something, it felt a bit arbitrary rather than them just telling her who they are.

And on that note, big fan of that one scene where they immediately notice her trying to run away and try to talk her out of it. I love the contrast between them starting off as disasters being barely capable of passing off as humans at the beginning of the episode, and them being perfectly in their element the second they start talking to Hazel about her running away in this scene. It’s such a good way to see how much experience they have with taking care of kids!

- I’m not going to go episode by episode but one thing that bothers me a lot in the second one is that rule of “kids should get whatever they wish for”. Doesn’t that...go against the whole concept of having rules in the first place???

They should’ve replaced it with something along the lines of “a kid should always get the fairy that fits them the best”, not only bc it would work perfectly well for the episode, but also from what I’ve heard Foop (now Irep) is coming back and I could 100% see him use that rule to his advantage given Peri and Dev were such a bad match (I’m guessing anti-fairies don’t actually follow Da Rules but maybe they could still use it as an excuse regardless since fairies do have to follow them or something?)

- Call we talk about the fact Hazel is clearly autistic? Like is this a canon thing in the show? Are there people out there talking about it? No because seriously:

The fidget toys (Cosmo and Wanda’s disguises), her special interest for rocks, her anxiety over making new friends which is reinforced as uncommon when that one girl she befriends comments on how easy and not scary it is to approach other people (also Hazel’s “what am I supposed to talk about with them? School lunches?” comment in the teachers friend episode), her liking for fries which could be seen as her being potentially picky (bit of a stretch tho), her comment about liking the DMV if only for the reaction she gets that makes her seem “different”, her struggles to come up with a wish on the fly with minimal/vague instructions (episode 2), her character arc throughout the show apparently having to do with her not wanting things to change (me too girl), her being considered mature for her age, the angry outbursts when things don’t go how she hoped, pretty sure there’s also a lot of stimming that I have yet to pick up on (see if any of them repeat often). Like, there’s no way ALL of that was a coincidence!

I’d also like to mention at the beginning of the Dino episode, when her dad is explaining things to her, he starts talking louder and louder in excitement until his wife tells him to quiet down. Makes me think her dad’s likely neurodivergent as well. Also this moment hurts my soul a bit, as someone who’s both been on the receiving end of it and done it to someone else, in both cases it sucks.: /

- Took me until like episode 4 to realize the town she lives in is named after the Dimmadomes, with the hat in it (the very first shot of the intro). Also you can see their infinite house in the background, both in that shot and the show in general, and I absolutely adore that they committed so hard to this joke! That giant ambiguously-shaped-like-a-hat skyscraper that we never see the top of is just *chief kiss*.

- On that note Dev’s introduction in the first episode made me laugh, if only for the references. I also find it kinda funny he has such a big speaking role considering he doesn’t do anything for the rest of the pilot and the next few episodes. Then again I guess it’s in character for him to make such a show of introducing himself.

- Still on general stuff, I’m a bit curious about how the timeline went in regards to Cosmo and Wanda retiring and going on vacation “right after” Timmy (iirc they don’t voice it like that in the show). Like I’m having a hard time believing they would just ditch their then-child son to go on vacation, and then come back when he’s an adult. So I ended up having a bunch of headcanons.

Basically, after leaving Timmy they do take what was supposed to be a short leave to think of their future since it feels strange to get a new kid after so long with the same one + I like the idea that Cosmo and Wanda’s marriage did suffer while living with Timmy and they want to work on it before getting a new kid (the whole thing about them feeling confined, made worse if the “stopping time for 50 years” wish is canon) + Poof/Peri is struggling with the reality of having to leave Timmy behind and is nervous about his parents having a new godkid because of it.

Eventually they decide to retire, got to marriage counseling, possibly get Poof/Peri into therapy, and raise their son until he’s an older teen/young adult, at which point they leave for their vacation. And while the vacation is 10 thousand years for them, it’s like, 5 years at max in their present. And in that meantime, Peri starts his godparents studies (or however it works), leaves the house and changes his name.

Btw Cosmo and Wanda would 100% invite him to the vacation, he’d just refuse in a mix between wanting to be away from his parents for once, wanting to maybe surprise them a bit with his work and/or just get started with work, and not knowing how long the vacation would be. He’d also probably tell them to just use this time as some new honeymoon to finish rebuilding their marriage (though by that point it must’ve gone back to being strong). Oh and Cosmo and Wanda would send Peri postcards every so often, which would also let him know how long they’ve been gone.

Once they come back from vacation, I’d imagine there’s like less than a month between them “moving to the human world” and meeting Hazel, hence why they didn’t reconnect with Peri. They didn’t really know how to contact him and were busy with the move, and afterwards they had a godkid to take care of so they couldn’t exactly go back to Fairyworld.

As for Peri, he hears through the gravepine that his parents are back, and would be happy until he realizes they’ve been gone for 10 thousand years, hence him freaking out about meeting them again (he doesn’t know how much they might’ve changed with how long it’s been). Also he can’t contact them bc he’d hear about them coming back due to them taking in Hazel, meaning they’re in the human world and he doesn’t know where. Also he might be intimidated to contact them, which doesn’t help his decision-making.

So yeah, that’s all for how I could imagine this whole vacation thing going and how it fits with them having a child.

- Since I’m talking about Cosmo and Wanda’s marriage, I’ve heard about the whole “they fixed their marriage” before watching the show and oh my god I can’t get over how fucking adorable those two are in this show!!! I fucking love them.

- And on that note I’m incredibly amused that this show had the balls to reference the mpreg. Twice. Especially since it doesn’t even specify the whole “that’s just how fairies work”! In the eyes of people who never watched the og show, “A New Wish” just casually dropped the fact that Cosmo’s a trans man (bc let’s be real, how else are you supposed to interpret those lines if you haven’t watched the og show?) or you get the vibe that the writers wanted to make him trans (+ Wanda by proxy since she’s Peri’s bio mom) but weren’t allowed so that’s how they got past the censors.

And I love this because you just know Hartman would be furious about it! With our current society more aware of trans people and how men can in fact get pregnant, I could definitely see him sweep the whole mpreg thing under the rug, hoping people would forget about his “”accidentally-progressive”” (and also very sexist 😒) episode, but nope! New show said Cosmo was pregnant and gave birth! And better yet it didn’t even elaborate further! It just goes “btw this guy has an uterus and was once pregnant, here’s his bio child if you need more proof” and then walks on like nothing happened, I love it!

- Going back to the episodes talk for the last three dashes, there’s that shot at the very end of “Operation: Birthday Takeback” that I really dislike. It’s the one when Dev lashes out on Peri, with him hovering over Peri who’s laying on the ground in fear.

Really not a big fan of this shot bc 1. It makes Dev look way too much like a villain, especially with the way Peri’s laying like a servant that gets beaten up, and 2. Peri, honey, you’re a grown ass man; why are you so scared of that 10 years old scarred kid that’s lashing out while in a very vulnerable mental state? What are you doing on the ground buddy? I’m not asking for him to fight back but at least stand up! Don’t act like that kid can actually hurt you! Btw I’m completely fine with Peri afterwards looking like a dejected puppy (after Dev makes his wish), it’s just that one shot with him on the ground that I dislike.

- Obviously I’m genuinely curious to see how things are going to go in the next episodes (which apparently air tonight?). Like obviously Dev is going to spiral but if you have a scene at school how will it go? How will Hazel feel about the whole thing? What about Peri? Is he going to be gone for a few episodes? Be a temporary third fairy to Hazel? Crash at Cosmo and Wanda’s for a while?

(Personally I’m hoping for the third option, it would be a good way to still give him appearances to show the main plot’s still going without giving him to much screentime, which could take away from Hazel. Also given how much he wants to appear independent, I don’t see him being a third fairy to her, though I think he’d be ok with staying at his parents for a bit, if only for emotional support (though tbh I doubt they’ll do that, most likely he’ll be doing his own thing off-screen for an episode or two). Also I want to see a “human” design for him)

OK so I wrote this yesterday before the Irep episode came out, so on one hand nevermind all that but on the other hand I’m letting it in bc I AM curious as to how things are going to evolve with our main cast, especially with Dev spiraling and pushing both his bestie and fairy away.

- Btw is nobody going to talk about how Vicky’s dress might be a reference to one of the “Oh Yeah” shorts?

- VERY LAST SECOND ADDITION, SPOILERS FOR IREP: So yesterday before I finished both this and the other post the new episodes dropped, with a few clips shared on Tumblr. And OH MY GOD IREP’S DESIGN!!! The fact that they kept him as a cube makes me so happy!!! I was HOPING at least ONE part of him would be a cube and they delivered!!! He looks like absolulte dogshit I love it!!! Bc yeah for some reason I remember Foop as a character you’re not supposed to take seriously at all? And as a result I really like how stupid Irep looks. A+ design right there! /gen

#fop #fop a new wish #fop a new wish spoilers #fop spoilers #fairly oddparents a new wish #Flor talks #other works #long post #really enjoying the show so far !

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moralesmilesanhourlibrary · 11 months

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sunflower

summary: you begin to recieve flowers from an anonymous source. originally posted: sept. 22, 2019 (wtf I was posting fics damn near every day)

You open your locker to pack up for the day and go home, and there they are.

Sunflowers.

Yesterday it was roses, last week it was daisies. It was a sweet gesture, until you found a bouquet of sunflowers on your desk with your name on the tag. This person was in your class, and knew where your desk was, and who YOU were. Curiosity peaked, you meet up at Miles and Ganke’s dorm to discuss.

“So now I have like, 3 bouquets of flowers and petals all over my locker and I really need to know who it is-”

“Whoa, whoa, slow down [Y/N],” Ganke interrupted. “Are you saying you have a secret admirer?” You nodded, frantically. You’d only met Miles and Ganke the previous week, but, for some reason, you felt you could tell them a whole lot.

“I need you to help narrow down who could be giving me all these damn plants, because I’m running out of space in my vase at home,” you frowned. Miles smiles to himself at the thought of you taking the flowers home and caring for them. “They’re obviously in my homeroom, since they know where my desk is at, right? Miles, who’s in our homeroom?”

Startled out of his thoughts, Miles finally speaks after having been silent this entire time.

“Uh, there’s me and you, Andre, Miranda, and… That’s all I know.”

Sighing in frustration, you plop down on Ganke’s bed next to where Miles sat.

Impishly elbowing your arm, Miles, asks, “Is there anyone you want it to be?” Not catching onto the joke, you actually answer. “Hmm. I hope whoever it is is like, really sweet and artistic. I like artsy types.” Miles feels a glimmer of hope at that. “You’re mad corny,” he laughs.

The next day, you find more sunflowers and daisies in the holes of your locker, but there was something else there, too.

Stuck to one of the bigger sunflowers was a baby-blue sticky note, your name written in a bubbly font and decorated with neon patterns. Cute.

Miles opened his locker next to yours.

“More flowers?” he asked. You smiled and showed him the sticky note. “Look, they drew this, too! Isn’t that cute?” Miles smirks a little, though you don’t know why.

—

It was a Friday, so you texted Miles that you were coming over to hang out. Before you even ring the doorbell, he opens the door to let you in, beaming.

“Hey [Y/N], pizza’s here already. Don’t just stand there, now!” After greeting his parents, you both head to Miles’ room with the box of pizza. Of course, his Bluetooth speaker was blasting Swae Lee. You still had the sticky note in-hand as you sat on his bed, taking a slice of pizza.

“You good, Gonzalo? You been mad quiet lately.” Snapping out of his gaze at the mention of his middle name, Miles replies, “I’m fine, I’m fine. No need to use my government name.” Looking up, you notice a pop of color on Miles’ desk. It was piled with sketchbooks containing elaborate designs that looked like they belonged on a mural.

“Those are nice,” you tell him, pointing at the pile of drawings. “Thanks, made em myself, you know.” Miles internally facepalms himself. They’re on your desk, of course she knows they’re yours!

You get up from the bed to get a closer look at Miles’ designs. The circular lettering and neon color palette look… familiar. Then you take the sticky note out of your back pocket. A sheepish grin creeps onto your face as everything starts to make sense.

“Miles, you been giving me all those flowers?” Smiling playfully, he gives you a big shrug that said, ‘I’ve been caught, so yeah.’ You suck your teeth in feigned annoyance and hit Miles with a pillow. You both descend into uproarious laughter as you continue hitting him. “I really hate you, bro!”

“What, I’m the artsy type!” Miles jokingly exclaims, earning him another smack with the pillow. The two of you flop back down on his bed, exhausted from all the laughing.

“Did you buy all those flowers yourself?” you finally ask. Miles replies, “Yeah, man! 20 bucks each,” and you snort a little.

“All that for a prank-?”

“It wasn’t a prank.” Miles’ tone is somber, now. He isn’t grinning anymore. You don’t understand.

“What does that mean,” you prod further. He turns his head to look you directly in the eye. “Well… I kinda like you. Just a little. So I got you flowers.” You continue staring at him, at which he says, “…sorry?” You sit up, and so does Miles.

“You’re so fucking stupid,” you tell him as you pull him into a suffocating hug. “Wanna go out sometime?”

Miles chokes out a muffled, “Yes!”

#miles morales x reader #miles morales x black!reader #category: og fic

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yunarim · 1 year

Text

╰┈➤ summary : you and your reliable partner grim are the most famous interdimensional travelers under the Official Isekai Association. you're used to traveling into psychological thrillers and horrors. however, this time something goes wrong, and you suddenly turn into the protagonist of… an otome game?!

— characters : jade leech, leona kingscholar | kalim al-asim, azul ashengrotto | lilia vanrouge, idia shroud

⌞tags⌝ : gn reader, fluff at times, occasional angst, typical manhwas tropes, mention of a typical isekai manhwa death by truck hit... yeah, you go from the first route to the last (from jade to idia), hence the parts are connected — w.c. : 4.6k+

⌞notes⌝ : i've been reading too much isekai mangas/manhwas lately and here we go lmao. also forgive me for not writing for so long, i've been experiencing a huge burnout ;; i originally intended to write for dorm leaders but then gave it a second thought and came up with another plan hhhhhh i hope i'll manage to finish other chapters on time but pls be patient with me, i'm preoccupied with too much work lately 😭😭

You sigh and stretch out your hand, looking at it while lying on the bed, and wonder, how in the dimension did you manage to land in an otome game realm. You heard your colleagues complaining how annoying those can be, not to mention many of you forgot about romantic relationships long long ago—when you probably got hit by a truck in your original world?—and to think you somehow appeared in a world which didn’t belong to your department.

Your specialization was horror and psychological thriller stories, and even if you possess no magic (which is strange, given after transmigrating for so many times, you don’t remember getting magic abilities at least for once, but whatever), you’ve got an excellent, strategic mastermind. And if something dangerous happens, you have your partner and friend, Grim.

“It’s been a while since we’ve isekaed into a high school setting,” you say to yourself, system windows appearing before your eyes.

“Main goal: TO GET A HAPPY ENDING WITH *name*!!”

Ah really…

You set a reminder and throw a quick glance at already fallen asleep Grim before going to sleep yourself. If you can’t escape the world until you complete it, then so be it.

“Event: TO BECOME A SCHOOL COUNCIL PRESIDENT: success!!”

One mention of a school student council you’ve encountered in many worlds (though possessing not really sweet memories of dealing with many psychological intrigues and schemes), and the local headmaster named Crowley happened to be fairly overjoyed and excited to proclaim you as a council’s president, much to everyone’s indifference chagrin.

You were quite surprised to realize that the school that large didn’t invent such a common structure. On the second note, it was easy for you to operate and deal with information provided through leading the council. Much to your chagrin this time, you needed to pick a route to escape this world.

It was an otome game. You couldn’t care less at first, assuming you and Grim landed in another horror, however a fantasy atmosphere lingering everywhere made you two slightly confused. And the conclusion was made right after you saw heart-shaped indicators above six people’s heads.

“Do you remember what our colleagues told us about otome games?..” You asked Grim, sitting in the auditorium that Crowley assigned as the Council’s room.

“Nah,” Grim yawned. “Not my field.”

“As if it’s mine,” you frowned. “What, not even MC’s words? She ended up transmigrating into a closed apartament and had only 11 days to get an ending…”

“Come to think of it, we have 11 days till the festival.”

You raised your head, turning to the voice’s source, and slightly parted your lips.

“Jade,” you said, standing up. “Good afternoon.”

Jade Leech, to be more precise. You’ve scanned through his profile when you first interacted with him two weeks ago when you ended up transmigrating here in Twisted Wonderland. As expected of a fantasy world, he wasn’t a normal human being, but belonged to merfolk. You don’t remember having much experience with them, and maybe picking him as your first route wasn’t exactly your best choice.

“Good luck on surviving the event,” Grim said, jumping off the chair he was sitting on, and headed to the exit.

“Ah,” Jade’s feigned surprise made you blink at him questionably. “How unfortunate, you’re supposed to help us with the preparations, Grim-san.”

You saw a system window popping up above your head as a reminder of not forgetting your main goal, and sighed.

“Not this kind of event he meant…” You mumbled, knowing exactly well that Jade heard you.

“How about we discuss the budget, Yuu-san?” Leech took a seat beside you, to which you nodded.

Appointed as a council’s treasurer, Jade actually managed his sources with an outstanding performance. Since you had no experience in entering otome realms, it was quite hard for you to predict what was going to happen next. Your fellow transmigrators you barely saw in the interdimensional space used to exchange their thoughts on their journeys before traveling to the next world, and somehow you, who witnessed a ton of horror stories, possessed psyche of a solidity, while otome novels and games travelers happened to be constantly overworked and heavily damaged in terms of their minds.

You never asked why. They’ve mentioned the necessity to go through an endless amount of routes and paths, to make people fall in love with them, and then leave them behind in their worlds. You also heard the system was erasing their memories, so they would live happily after experiencing love and joy of being loved, but the system never really cared about the travelers themselves.

The department you were assigned to provided you with a psychotherapists’ help if needed after coming back to the office, so you would heal after experiencing terrible things and emotional drainings, but your and Grim’s emotional state has never reached the point of damaged position.

Some of your colleagues even stated that you were emotionless and—

“Yuu-san?” you found Jade leaning closer to you, his face showing slight hints of a false worry made of politeness. “Is everything alright?”

“Yes, I am sorry. Let’s continue.”

“I’ll be honest with you,” Leech stood up and came to the bar counter of the Mostro Lounge you’ve been occupying for the council discussions regarding the upcoming festival.

“You don’t seem like the type to be honest with people,” you let the conclusion slip of your tongue before meeting his gaze you couldn’t decipher.

“Then would you like to consider this an observation? A remark of sorts.”

“Alright then.”

“Sometimes it’s quite peculiar how you’re so composed and calm for a magicless person who got here in a school of magic,” a majestic coffee aroma filled the room. “Not to mention we’re fairly… uncommon individuals here.”

“You seem quite normal to me,” you answer emotionlessly, closing your eyes. “But you can say my opinion of what ‘normal’ is may differ from others. Yours, too.”

“Then I would be really willing to know how exactly.”

His voice suddenly appeared really close to your ear, but you didn't even raise an eyebrow, accepting a coffee cup from his elegant hands and looked at him.

Normally you wouldn’t want to have people interfering in your business, but a heart-shaped vitreous icon with a pink liquid in it made you widen your eyes in surprise.

There was no liquid in it before.

Now that you think about it, yes, your colleagues said there were indicators showing your progress, and apparently you really made it further, somehow managing to get Jade interested in you more than he was.

“You’ve seemed to be spacing out a lot lately, Yuu-san.”

“Now that the festival is almost here, I guess I’m slightly nervous.”

“You don’t seem to be the type to get nervous so easily.”

You suddenly chuckle with a light grin on your face at his reversed pun and sip a coffee he brewed.

“It’s brilliant,” you compliment his work, staring straight at his mismatched eyes and seeing something in there. “May I ask you to brew this exclusively for me when the festival comes? In order to celebrate our successful and thoughtful work.”

“It would be my greatest pleasure.”

You had no idea about how romance works, but you did know you needed to get on Jade’s route as quickly as you could and come back to the office immediately. You wanted to get the detailed information about how you ended up transmigrating into an otome game, so now, sitting in the library and reading mycology books, you hoped to find something useful.

“Aha!” You exclaimed, summoning your transmigrator’s interface and taking a screenshot of a book page containing a mushroom’s drawing. “This is it!”

A mushroom which could be served as a component of a firework supplement, making it iridescent in rainbow colors right in the sky, which also was overflowing when put in soil. You found yourself smiling at the thought of Jade’s reaction, and headed to the mountain near the school.

Unfortunately, you’ve spent all the transmigrator currency you’ve earned during the previous isekai on preparations to the festival, thus you couldn’t afford any equipment for climbing. Well, even if something happens, you still have the system to save your progress, so you could reload and try again. Thinking about the demerits you could get for being not careful and damaging your body made you cringe, though.

You've reached the mountain, and a deep dark forest loomed before your eyes, a cold and moistened fog made you shiver in displeasure. How unfortunate that such a beautiful colorful mushroom grew in such an obscure place.

You made your way further, checking the map with the system tools, and took one more step to darkness. A small iridescent light on the ground made you rash towards it, and you grabbed the mushroom you were looking for.

“Here you are!” You smiled, grabbing more of them, but…

A sudden feeling of ground slipping under your feet made you scream in horror and turn off all the system signs, alerting you about the danger you’ve encountered.

Who knew there was a cliff?!

You tried to grab onto the branches of the occasionally falling trees to slow down your uncontrolled flight, but they were more likely to do more harm than good. You somehow felt someone’s gaze on you, but there was no time to think it thoroughly. You were ready to collapse on the damp ground, but a sudden prehensile grip prevented your fall, and you opened your eyes in a daze.

“Are you alright?!”

You could promise a genuine—this time—worry slid over Jade’s confused face, but he quickly tried to regain his composure. You took a look at his grip and wondered if he’s going to let you go, but at your gaze he instead tightened it, holding you even closer.

“What were you thinking, going to the forest unequipped…”

“Don’t worry,” you’ve tried reassuring him, but receiving only a frown. “I would have survived.”

“Falling from this height?” He asked, his voice raising slightly.

“”... I believe you’re not the type to worry about others,” you mumble.

“What made you think I was worried?” He chuckled, still not letting you go. “Would have been troublesome if you died on the school grounds.”

“No,” you answered with a suspicious calmness you’d better hide. “You’re worried. Your pupils tremble.”

“... Let this be at least in theory,” he sighed. “But what made you come here?”

“Oh,” you sigh and finally unclench your scratched fists and hand over only one mushroom you’ve managed to preserve. “Here. I wanted to give you this mushroom. It’s iridescent and can be used for— Huh?”

Jade chuckled, looking into the sky which suddenly shone pretty bright with glimmering stars, and sighed heavily, finally letting you go of his grip, but holding your shoulders nevertheless, obviously scared of you falling.

“So you did this for me.”

“Yes, I did, but what… Ah.”

You looked up at his head where the heart icon was, seeing the liquid feeling almost to the top, and gasped.

So he was genuinely worried.

“It seems you’ve realized something,” he said, fixing a strand of your hair and smiling rather wearily. “I’ve never thought you’re the type to risk your life for getting gifts, Yuu-san. Especially for me, given how actually twisted I am.”

You found yourself giggling softly at his remark.

“I’m the twisted type myself. I believe.”

When the festival came, you thought you wouldn't be able to see Jade due to how busy you two were.

He was busy with calculations, and also constantly disappeared in the kitchen due to the insufficient number of workers, but somehow everything went smoothly.

You were greeting the guests by showing them the area and were up all day long actually dreaming of laying down, while Grim helped with the special effects on stage spraying his blue flames along with the rest of the guys.

Finally, it was time for the fireworks show, and you, making sure everything was under control and the visitors were enjoying the show, went to the roof of the school, dreaming of relaxing on the bench alone.

Being in an otome was tiring you out more than you thought it would, and you laughed at how you presumed you would just allure the love interests and get back home.

You grew to genuinely like Jade maybe not as a love interest, but maybe even someone closer than a character of another world.

“Resting here all alone?”

A familiar voice was heard, but you didn’t dare to look, continuing keeping your gaze fixed on the night sky, knowing exactly well who came.

“Ashengrotto has finally freed you from the kitchen?”

“You could say so, even though Leona-san asked for an extra meat dish I’ve created yesterday…”

“Is that so…” You smiled as Jade sat right next to you, lying on the bench. “The fireworks show is going to start soon, right?”

“Not just soon,” he chuckled. “Right now.”

There were loud bangs just after a thin thread of light pierced the night sky and burst into a bouquet of multicolored lights that shimmered in rainbow colors right under the stars, and you released a smile from your lips, surprised at your sincere joy.

“It’s beautiful.”

Jade silently watched the show with you and then bent over your face, covering the view of a clear night sky when the show was over. An unfamiliar expression on his face made you blink in surprise.

“It is beautiful, indeed.”

“Somehow I feel you’re not talking about fireworks?..” You questioned, chuckling, and gasped the second after.

The heart icon was fully filled, a bright pink light radiating from it and covering Jade’s cheeks with a slight pink hue. Or wasn’t it an icon?..

“You know, Yuu-san,” Jade smiled. “You were right when you said I’m not the honest type, but right at this moment, let me tell you something.”

“I’m all ears.”

“Thank you for your beautiful gift,” he said. “I’ll treasure it. And also… you.”

You couldn’t bring yourself to say something, stretching your hand and touching his cheek, cold because of a night breeze and maybe just because he was always naturally like that, and dared to cover his eyes with your hand.

“Thank you for appearing in my life. I’ll treasure you too.”

And with that his soft chuckle dissolved in a bright light and system notifications, congratulating you with getting a happy ending.

Happy ending, starting again in your room with a piercing pain in your heart.

“Ah…” You said, seeing Grim sleep peacefully next to you. “So that is why they said otome games are hard to escape.”

Shit, you thought, waking up the next morning.

You came to the conclusion that it wasn’t really necessary for you to fall in love with the love interest (it was enough just to open up to him?), and weren’t sure if Jade really grew to like you.

But you definitely came to a realization that it was painful to see him in the hall, talking to his brother and noticing you, nodding in a greeting way with a familiar feigned politeness, a glimpse of warmth, which appeared in your previous walkthrough, was no longer lingering underneath his eyes.

You found yourself wanting to taste a coffee he brewed for you exclusively, but he was no longer here by your side, his profile image became gray, and a ‘COMPLETED’ line appeared in capital letters in the system interface.

Was that it? All the feelings both of you developed turned into a finished story without any chance for rereading it? Otome games were unfair. But transmigrating still was your main job you couldn’t decline, and even in thrillers and horrors you used to enter so often there were people who you genuinely liked and treasured.

Still, you knew that once the story ended, you got back into the office and traveled to another world, then another, and another, and… There was no point in developing feelings anymore.

You chuckled to yourself when Jade passed through you, and raised your head, meeting someone else’s intense gaze.

Leona Kingscholar. The system made a melodious sound, letting you know about your next ‘target’. You quickly checked his profile, appearing right before standing in front of you Leona, and wondered, what type of a character he would be.

Slightly older than his classmates, and he also belonged to royalty, how very interesting. You closed the system interface with a snap of fingers and greeted your next… target.

“Good morning. May I help you… Eh?”

Leona approached you, his face suddenly extremely close to yours, and sniffed your neck, then clavicles and stared at your eyes, allowing you to notice how beautifully the emeralds of his were shining.

“What a strange smell.”

“Excuse me, I took a shower in the morning.”

“Not that,” Leona sighed, a heart above his head being absolutely empty and transparent. “The smell, not of magic, but similar. Also like that fish guy.”

“Fish guy?..”

He was probably speaking about Jade, but how in the world did he manage to sniff that?! Your eyes widened in shock for a brief moment.

“If you’re talking about Ja… Leech, then maybe it’s because hu just was there.”

“Whatever,” Leona shrugged, sniffing you once more, to which you attempted to distant yourself. “There’s also a dirt smell. And also raining, alcohol, hospital… A blood? What the hell, herbivore?”

Now this wasn’t funny at all. The last world you’ve transmigrated into was centered around a story about doctors, crimes and, well, the usual horror stuff you had to deal with, and how did Leona manage to casually sniff it on you like that?

Naturally, you wanted to get rid of any suspicions and shrug it off, but you also needed to get him on your side and find a way to reach a happy ending with him. A slight fearful thought of collecting people’s hearts like some sort of a hobby slid through your mind, making you nauseous, but you swallowed the feeling and forced a cheeky smile.

“Care to figure it out?”

Leona looked at you with an unreadable emotion and made his way to the exit, leaving you all confused.

“It’s not my business, herbivore. But do something about this smell, it’s disgusting, Savanaclaw students are really sensitive to the smell this strong.”

“As if I can just wash it away…” You mumbled to yourself, following Leona’s distancing figure with your gaze and parting your lips in a surprise way when noticing a little amount of pink liquid in the heart above his head.

So you did pique his interest, after all.

The progress with Leona’s route was incredibly slow and strange. You took the sequence the system suggested automatically, providing you with calculations regarding the difficulty on each walkthrough, and at first you blinked questionably at Leona’s one, seeing only 40%, since now you’ve been feeling all 100%.

He wasn’t hard to find — the botanical garden was his second alma mater, and yet when his words he said to you the first day of his route lingered in your mind, ‘It’s not my business’ line repeating in your head like an annoying pop song, you almost thought that it really was not his problem at all, as if he totally didn’t care.

You almost convinced yourself, but small steps you took towards him also helped you in discovering concealed aspects of his character.

At first you visited the botanical garden just out of a habit you’ve managed to form in other isekais, and ended up finding Leona there without fail every time. At first you were silent, observing him and his unwavering composure—you thought of that as indifference—but not so long after you took the first attempt to start a casual conversation.

“Leona,” you once said, seeing him sleeping under the tree and knowing he heard you talking. “Do I still, uhm, reek?..”

“I sense the strong smell of that fish guy.”

How in the world did Jade’s lingering scent still remain on you?

“And also that bat.”

“Bat?” You asked, wondering who he meant.

“Lilia Vanrouge.”

You knitted your brows together at his reply. You saw Vanrouge only once, right before Leona came into the garden one day, and briefly talked to him. Lilia was also listed among your potential ‘love interests’, but a 100% difficulty level was confusing to you, and the one talk you had did really confirm that he’s going to be a tough character to deal with. To make him fall in love with?..

“I see… I wonder how it works for you beastmen, your sense of smell.”

“Like a second skin,” Leona opened one eye and glanced your way. “I don’t get how you humans live with such a short range of smell.”

“I think that’s only about you,” you suddenly said, meeting Leona’s gaze. “No one from Savanaclaw other than you mentioned what I smell like.”

A short pause stretched between you two, but somehow you didn’t find it unpleasant, more like relaxing and thoughtful. Kingscholar chuckled, tapping on the spot beside him with his tail and attracting your attention.

“Yes?”

“Come here.”

You did as he said, wondering what was that about, and ended up being held in his arms. He sniffed you once again, but with more care and politeness than he did the first time, while you couldn’t tear away your fixated gaze on his bright focused eyes.

“Those strange scents are still on you. What kind of life did you live before getting here, herbivore…”

“And you said it’s not your business, huh,” you grinned and gasped the second after he suddenly laid on your lap. “Hey!”

“It’s still not my business though.” He answered, closing his eyes and resting comfortably. “But don’t get near other Savanaclaws. It’s really a disgusting smell.”

“Which is why you’re on my lap, am I being correct?” You chuckled. “Still, I don’t think others have the audacity to come near me. Or such a strong sense of smell like you do. You’re impressive, Leona.”

For a moment you thought he stopped breathing, but then heard a bitter laugh coming from his lips.

“One day you’ll take your words back.”

Till today you really wondered what he meant by that, seeing no particular reason to actually question his skills. Even despite his poor attendance and self-deprecating lines, he really was an amazing, outstandingly clever person you really did want to get to know more.

And today an occasion came up, when you visited the botanical garden again, now it was more out of a habit, and found Leona with the first-year students you didn’t know, challenging him in chess.

“Good afternoon everyone,” you greeted them, hearing excited ‘hello’ from other students and receiving a light nod from Leona. “What are you doing?”

“Miserably failing to win Kingscholar-senpai in a chess match,” one of the students answered. “No one has succeeded yet…”

“Check and mate,” Leona announced, when the first year he played cried out of indignation.

“How are you so talented in chess, Kingscholar-senpai!!..”

“Hmph,” Leona chuckled, but you somehow knew somewhere underneath his ever-so-mighty persona he was genuinely happy to receive those compliments. “Right, herbivore. Come play with me while I’m in the mood.”

You tilted your head, thinking beforehand. You couldn’t remember the last time you played, but possessing a naturally inquisitive and quick-witted mind due to your job, you nodded, taking a seat in front of him.

The match was silent, and if at first you heard first years hitched breaths, during the second hour passing of the match, even those students left, leaving a silence lingering between you two.

“I really admire you, Leona,” you dared to break the silence, seeing Leona’s hand holding a chess piece stop for a second.

“Flattery will take you to nowhere,” he replied, performing an en passant of your pawn, to which you pouted. “Huh, you can be cute sometimes.”

“And you can be sweet, I see,” you flirted back. “But… I’m sorry. Checkmate, Leona.”

Two knights endgame, huh.

Leona was staring at the chess board for a fairly concerning amount of time before bursting into laughs.

“W-what’s wrong?..”

“Remember I said you’ll take your words back?” He raised his gaze to meet yours. “Take it now. Tell me I’m not impressive anymore now that you’ve outsmarted me.”

You raised an eyebrow at him, feeling annoyed.

“What are you saying.”

“I can’t believe it, huh,” he laughed again. “You, a magicless human, out of people… Hah! What a ridiculously clever herbivore you are. It pisses me off.”

“You know what? Shut up.”

You grabbed his shirt, seeing his absolutely unimpressed expression, and clenched your fists with even more force than you thought you would, and pressed your forehead to his, chess pieces scattering around the table.

“Even when you have no one to believe in your abilities, even you yourself doubt them…” You took a deep breath. “I myself will be that one person who will believe in you AND believe you.”

You heard a splash, realizing it was the liquid in the heart above his head filling half of it, and then a genuine laughter came from Leona’s chest.

“You’re insane, herbivore.”

You really were insane, indeed.

To the point you couldn’t even take a quick look at Leona in the past week due to him being anywhere but near you, which annoyed you for sure. You had a whole month planned for you two to spend together in case his route appeared too difficult to reach an ending, so many things to witness, but instead…

Instead you managed to meet Jade thrice or even more, then stumble upon Lilia ‘ku-fu-fu’-ing at you cheerfully and mysteriously, and all those were driving you crazy slowly. You wanted to have a chat with Jade who portrayed no such interest you used to witness in his route, much to your dismay, but you also wanted to finally find Leona and genuinely get to know him more.

“Oh, Yuu-san.”

You were resting at the school yard, students walking here and there, chatting and playing, and you saw Jade approaching you, nodding to him.

“Good afternoon.”

“Oya, isn’t it Yuu?”

… Jade and Lilia. And no signs of Leona or whatsoever. You blinked at them, trying to conceal your honest feelings, and listened to them talking.

“It’s rare to see you all alone,” Jade noticed.

“Indeed, you could be often seen in Leona’s company. Did you two have a quarrel?”

“We…” Despite how much you wanted to protest, you weren’t sure anymore.

“We have not.”

A sudden warmth spreading in your chest and a heart pounding faster than it was made you turn to Leona, who appeared behind your back, and you smiled at him.

“Herbivore,” he called you, shoving his nose into the crook of your neck and making you giggle. “One week of me being busy, and you already have such a strong scent of those two. How come?”

“Look who’s talking.”

“My my, do you have a problem with us?” Lilia obviously tried to tease Leona, but the last one suddenly fell silent.

“Leona?..”

“Yeah, I have one.”

His arms enveloping you made you yelp softly, and an unfamiliar burning on your cheeks made you bite your lips and stare at Leona’s cheeky expression.

“I liked it more when you had an aroma of garden’s flowers on you more. And also…”

A kiss he pressed on your lips was bright, passionate, also confusing to everyone else, and very much awaited by you.

“That way I don’t need to worry anymore. Care for another game of chess, herbivore?”

You smiled at him, wanting to reply instantly, but the heart icon above filled to its max, and splashing beats of bright light covered your watering eyes.

“Yes, let’s play one more time, Leona!..”

You…

You really were growing to hate otome games to your very heart.

#twst #twisted wonderland #twst x reader #jade x reader #leona x reader #kalim x reader #azul x reader #lilia x reader #idia x reader

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notfreetoday · 1 year

Text

MPW Ep 4 Subtitle Correction

Masterlist: EP 1 || EP 2 || EP 3

We have another change in director this episode, to Yasumura Emi, though the script is still being written by Funabiki Shinju (the director for Ep 3). This week's twitter space didn't have much info, so I won't be including it.

M: いや～瀬ケ崎さん強かったわ～ M: あの物腰で*マウンティングされて M: いっそ快感を覚えてしまった M: No but, Segasaki-san('s presence) was really strong M: The way he *asserted (his relationship with Yoh) like that M: (rather than being upset), I felt even more delighted! *This is a (rather unfortunate) loan word from English - "mount" or "mounting" 😅, in this case, pretty much means to "one-up" someone else, or to brag about something to another. If you do not wish to have a weird mental image in your head, please skip the next paragraph. This word appears to have morphed from the observation that monkeys, when trying to move up a rank in the chain of command, tend to jump on the back of another to assert their dominance (not scientist just translator also low-quality source don't keel me plz). - In other words, if I watch the Jp RAW MPW a full 8 hours before everyone else and spazz about it knowing full well no one else understands what was said then I'd totally be moun--- AHEM (sorry 😂)

What I mean to say is, in this episode, Segasaki all but screams "MINE" in the most thinly veiled, polite manner possible, so let's see how he does that. If you read nothing at all, the last scene with them cuddling has an important correction you should skip to. Same translation disclaimer applies, Ep 4, let's go~!

(I see a lot of people saying some of their thoughts/suspicions were confirmed in the tags of the previous posts, so feel free to chip in with what you think! MPW deserves more discussion!)

Sorry I am incapable of summarizing, the post is crazy long and I've hit the 30 image max. As such, not every scene will be screen capped and I won't be transcribing the original subs anymore...

Y: あ、いや、友達の漫画を手伝いに行ってきます (-masu form) Y: Ah, no. I am going to help a friend with their manga.

Yoh shifts up a speech level here, (he started the episode out speaking casually) using the -masu form to make an announcement -he's trying to emphasize his determination to go because he’s nervous about saying it.

S: はあ？どういうつもりで S: Huh? For what intention?

The "haa?" here has a more "excuse me?" feel, and the next line is interrogative - so all in all it has the same energy as: "Excuse me? What is going through your head?"

S: つぅか友達って誰だよ Y: よく通話してる…あの S: やっぱりあの女か S: Actually, when you say "friend", who do you mean? Y: The one who… I speak to a lot on the phone… S: So, it’s that woman after all huh?

S: だめ Y: え？なんで？(plain form) S: 俺が家にいんだから家にいろ (word contraction)* Y: でも約束したし (plain form) S: あの女には行けなくなったって言え* S: No. Y: Huh? Why? S: I'm staying at home so you stay at home* Y: But, I already made a promise S: Tell that woman that you can’t go any more** *This line, together with the starred line below, is extremely direct, (said in the same style as his not-proposal actually) and is clearly an order. **This line is literally "to that woman, say 'I am no longer able to make it'" (Though the speaker may not actually mean to use those exact words)

Segasaki has dropped a speech level here not so much by using "rude" forms but by being extremely blunt and direct. What he's saying implies he's being possessive of Yoh, but the way he says it also stresses his power in their relationship. But again, note that Yoh's replies are all in plain form - he hasn't shifted up a level in response, as he usually does when addressed so directly. In fact, the way he words his protest carries some indignation - using "し(shi)" at the end like this indicates that this "promise" is but one of the reasons he has for going - which is why Segasaki cuts him off. Yoh might sulk and pout about being ordered, he's still comfortably seated in his usual informal speech level, which means at this point he's still feeling secure about where he stands and definitely isn't intimidated.

S: お前さ*、何で自分がこの家にいるかわかってんの？ S: You*… do you even know why you’re in this house? *Here Segasaki uses the sentence-end particle "さ(sa)" after the word "you", which in this case has the same feel as "now look here". He also ends off his question with "の(no)", which can have many meanings, but here functions again as an assertive particle, implying that this is a rhetorical question, because he thinks Yoh should know the answer. Unfortunately, Yoh has the wrong answer 😅 (which Segasaki will realize and attempt to address in Ep 5)

Y: この人のやばさ*を一瞬でも忘れていた俺がバカだった Y: I was an idiot - to forget, even for a second, how insane* this person is *やばさ (yabasa) - this word comes from "yabai" and is a slang word that has evolved much like the words "crazy/insane" and "shit" have evolved in English - it can be used both positively and negatively to describe someone who's extreme, for eg "that guy is yabai (so cool!!)" vs "that guy is yabai (stay away)". Here, Yoh's referring to Segasaki as yabai for even thinking up this so called "slave contract" - which is what he assumes Segasaki is referring to.

Y: ごめん、いろいろあって Y: あ、いや、まあ、なんていうか、家にいろって言われ Y: あ、いや、なんでもない。とにかく本当にごめん Y: 今度なんかでお返しするから Y: Sorry, a lot happened Y: Ah, no, well, how do I say this... I was told "stay at home" Y: Ah, no, it's nothing. Anyway, I'm really sorry Y: I'll make it up to you next time, okay?

S: よくできました S: Well done. This is the same phrase we talked about in Ep 3, the stamp of approval. Again, Segasaki is emphasizing his role in relation to Yoh here.

Y: あの満足そうな後ろ姿 Y: 本当腹立つわ Y: That silhouette of his, so full of satisfaction as he leaves, Y: Really makes me irritated!* *Yoh ends off with the particle "わ (wa)", which mostly just emphasizes his emotion, but is a softer assertive particle than the ones Segasaki uses.

S: 夕飯、作ってくれてもいいんだぞ Y: はい Y: 俺はいつでも稼働する家事ロボットじゃねぇんだよ S: Dinner - it's fine for you to make it for me, you know Y: Yes Y: I'm not some housework robot that you can just activate at any time you know! The original subs made it sound like Segasaki was asking Yoh if he could make dinner, but that's not the case - he's literally telling Yoh to make it, and on top of that, he says it like he's doing Yoh a favour (by allowing him to make dinner) 🤣🤣 This time though, whether it's just cause Yoh's been caught by surprise or not, he answers properly with "Yes (Hai)".

Y: いっそロボットになってこの感情を無にしたい Y: (If it was going to be like this), I rather just become a robot, and turn these feelings into nothingness.

The focus of this line is mostly on Yoh preferring to become a robot in order to mute his feelings, but the sentence structure suggests that there is something to be inferred preceding this sentence, hence the bracketed bit. (It becomes clearer later on, especially in light of his monologue)

"Dayo-chan" is a pretty familiar nickname, something you'd expect a child to be called rather than an adult, unless it is a nickname between childhood friends. It implies a closeness/intimacy between the speaker/listener, hence the the look of horror on Yoh’s face (because he knows that is going to kick Segasaki into high gear) and the surprised disbelief (that someone would dare make a grab for Yoh) on Segasaki’s face. Kills me everytime 🤣

S: もしかして例の女か S: 家まで押し掛けるとはいい度胸してんな S: Don't tell me it's that woman from earlier? S: She's got some nerve, turning up at the house like this

Y: それはだめ　それだけは絶対だめ Y: No, not that, anything but that!

S: うれしいな　葉がいつもあなたの話をするので S: 一度お会いしてみたいと思っていたんです S: はじめまして、瀬ケ崎瑞貴といいます S: 葉がいつも　お世話になってます S: What a delight, Yoh speaks of you often so S: I've always thought it would be nice to be able to meet you. S: I'm Segasaki Mizuki, pleased to make your acquaintance. S: Thank you for always taking care of Yoh.

This is like, textbook formalities🤣 Practically every statement is a "standard" greeting and is very polite (hence the weirdly stiff english translation) except Segasaki says it in a way that makes it clear he speaks for Yoh, that Yoh is part of his in-group. (Legit, might as well plant a flag in the soil that says "Yoh is mine".) He sounds exactly like how parents sound when they meet their child's teachers, or how a spouse/older family member might sound when meeting their loved ones' co-workers. This is how it comes across: What a delight, Yoh speaks of you often so I've always thought it would be nice to be able to meet you - Sounds distinctly familial. Implies Segasaki is close enough to Yoh that Yoh shares his thoughts with him often. Also shows that Yoh tells Segasaki about Man-san, rather than the other way round. I'm Segasaki Mizuki, pleased to make your acquaintance. - standard, formal greeting Thank you for always taking care of Yoh. - standard greeting, literally "Yoh is always in your care" - You usually say this (for yourself) when you thank your teacher/senior/boss/important client. So, when you say this for someone else, you are claiming this person as your family, or someone in your in-group (a close friend, or at work, a junior).

S: すみません　今朝　葉が体調をくずしてしまって S: 家でゆっくり休んだ方がいいんじゃないかって S: 僕が言い聞かせたん*です S: ご迷惑をおかけしてしまってしまってすみませんでした S: I apologize, this morning, Yoh wasn't feeling well so S: I convinced* him (not to go) saying, S: "wouldn't it be better to stay at home and rest properly?" S: I sincerely apologize for the trouble this has caused you. * 言い聞かせる (translated as convinced here) this word is usually used when someone of higher standing tells/explains something to a person of a lower standing, and carries the nuance that they've managed to get the latter to accept/agree with what they say. It can also be translated as "told/persuaded/instructed/warned/admonished", and used in sentences like "I warned the kids not to run" or "The teacher told the students lying was wrong" - so that might give you a better idea of what Segasaki is implying here. I've used "convinced" here rather than "instruct" because Segasaki is, in general, speaking very tactfully to Man-san - but his meaning is still clear to anyone paying attention - Segasaki has a big enough role in Yoh's life that he not only can apologize on behalf of Yoh for not being able to fulfill the promise to Man-san, he also has a big enough say that Yoh will listen to his decisions.

M: いや、あんたがダヨの体調不良を詫びるんか M: むっちゃ身内面*するやん M: Wait, you are apologizing for Yoh being unwell (and unable to come help)? M: Isn't that a super intimate* (gesture)? *身内面する is literally "to show one's inner-circle face/side", ie the side of you that you show to your inner-circle/in-group ie your family. Hence this line reads more like "Wait, you're apologizing for Yoh?? Who are you, his family??"

Because of the emphasis on group identity in Japan, it's very common to apologize/take responsibility for the actions of another group-member, even if you had nothing to do with it. So here, Man-san has picked up on what Segasaki has been implying since the beginning - that Yoh is part of his in-group, and a very close one at that.

S: お茶目な方なんですね S: You've got such a sweet and funny personality, don't you? The word Segasaki uses here describes a person who tends to be naturally sweet and lovable, maybe a little silly but without any ulterior motive. It's a compliment in most situations - which is why Man-san gets all embarrassed - but can sometimes come across as slightly patronizing, like how calling someone "naive" can. Note that Segasaki is still being very polite here and effectively holding Man-san at arm's length, despite the seemingly friendly/open dialogue.

S: だから　そう言っていただけると　うれしいです S: So, to hear such nice words from you, makes me really glad.

S: ところで　可奈美さんはどこで　葉と　お知り合いに？ S: By the way, how did Kanami-san come to be friends with Yoh?

The whole dialogue where Segasaki responds to Man-san's fangirling basically sounds like how an idol would speak to their fans - it's very polite and uses deferential/humble verb forms to further indicate gratitude for the support, because Segasaki is answering Man-san in the context of his work. When he asks about Yoh, he switches back down to a normal speech level, but also uses her first name - Kanami-san, which whilst very charming, is totally NOT normal (with the sparkle effect and the wine, I can't help but get host club vibes from this lmao) because you only do that with people you are close to. Man-san is obviously flustered by this, and Yoh is understandably unhappy about the sudden familiarity Segasaki displays with Man-san (I personally think he's still trying to be disarmingly charming whilst he evaluates just how big a threat Man-san is🤣🤣)

S: ずいぶん飲んでると思ったら S: I thought he'd been drinking quite a bit

Again, this implies that Segasaki knows Yoh well enough to know his alcohol tolerance.

S: 寝るなら部屋いきな* S: If you're going to sleep, then go to the room alright? *いきな (ikina) - the "na" here is different from the sentence-final particle "na" we saw in Ep 3. This is short for "nasai", as in, "ikinasai", which is a polite but sharp way to say "please go (somewhere)". This sort of wording is most commonly used by parents towards young children when giving instructions like "please sit properly" or "please eat your food quietly". It's used between teachers/students, seniors/juniors etc, and sometimes amongst friends too. You absolutely should not use it with someone above you in the social hierarchy. The short version used here though, softens the tone a lot, and adds a very tender, homely feel to the sentence. Segasaki is literally coaxing Yoh to bed as a parent would a very young, sleepy but reluctant child.

M: 本当に恋人なんだなって感じです M: ようやく現実味が M: "(You two) are really a couple!" - that's the kind of feeling I get M: It's like it finally feels real

The way Segasaki literally puffs up with pride and hugs Yoh closer... (ಥ◡ಥ)

M: ダヨちゃんって彼氏の前だと　こんな甘えた*になるんですね M: なんかちょっと意外かも S: いやお酒様様ですね S: ふだんはそっけないですよ M: So Dayo-chan actually becomes so cute and affectionate* in front of his boyfriend M: I kind of didn't expect that, I think S: No, it's really all thanks to the sake S: Normally he's pretty indifferent *甘えた (amaeta) is the kansai dialect version of 甘える (amaeru), referring to the concept of amae.

Amae is a rather complex thing to explain in English and really deserves its own post. For simplicity's sake, what Man-san means here is that she's surprised that Yoh is actually able to express his desire to be treated affectionately and indulged in - something that requires a lot of trust in Segasaki and a willingness to be vulnerable in front of him.

M: おぉ、確かに。ダヨちゃん素直*じゃないからな M: あまのじゃく**っていうか　まあそういうとこあると　困っちゃいますよね M: Ohh, that's true. Cause Dayo-chan isn't able to be honest* with his feelings M: "Contrary"** is not really (the word to use) but... he does have a bit of that in him so.... (dealing with that) can be a bit of a handful don't you think? The way Man-san phrases her last line implies that she also has to deal with this side of Yoh, and by ending off with the particle "~ne", she is seeking Segasaki's agreement that they are both sort of in the same boat when it comes to that (she doesn't do this consciously though, which is why she freaks and apologizes later) *素直 (sunao - translated as honest here) is another term you'll often see when talking about feelings/relationships, and is also somewhat of a complex topic with many different possible translations, depending on context. It is closely related to amae, because in order to express your desire to be indulged or to receive affection, you first need to be able to admit to yourself that you want that.

**あまのじゃく (amanojaku - translated as contrary here) - this is a small demon from Japanese folklore, who was of an extremely contrary nature and would often mimic both humans and gods. It had the ability to see into one's heart and would then do the exact opposite of what one desired. Thus, this term is now used to describe people who intentionally go against the wishes of others, who are stubborn/unable to admit when they are wrong, or who twist themselves into a pickle/cannot be truthful about how they feel. It's not used in a complimentary way, which is why Man-san says Yoh's not quite like that, but there are some parts of him that do sort of fit the description.

S: やだな*　葉の素直になれないその不器用さが　余計にかわいいんじゃないですか S: ね？ S: That's not nice*... Yoh's inability to be truthful about his feelings - it's precisely that awkwardness that makes him even more adorable, isn't it? S: Wouldn't you say so? *Segasaki's first line "やだな (yada na - literally "this is unpleasant/I don't like that")" is not directed at Man-san, it's a form of soliloquy (which is common in Japanese), aka he's talking to himself here. We know this because it's informal and ends with the emphatic particle "~na". He then switches back to polite speech for the rest of his sentence, which is directed at Man-san. So, "that's not nice" is actually him remarking on the unpleasantness he feels after hearing Man-san describe Yoh as contrary, just as you might walk past a pile of rubbish on the street and remark, "well that's unsightly". Of course, the fact that he's actually saying this at a volume that Man-san can definitely hear and the way he sort of drawls it out, makes it clear that he definitely meant for her to know his disapproval behind the politeness of his following sentence (See what I mean by "thinly veiled politeness"?). On top of this, ending it off with a "ne?" (the same ending particle she used to seek his agreement) as he looks up right at her makes it clear - this whole sentence is a (mild) rebuke.

M: 分かったような口を利いてすんませんっした S: どうされました？ M: で��私そろそろおいとまします M: I'm incredibly sorry! I spoke as if I knew everything (when in fact I knew nothing) S: What's the matter? M: Then, it is about time for me to take my leave. In response, Man-san ratches up the formal speech in both these sentences, though (as befitting her character) she pronounces it in a rather comical way (she sounds and acts like a samurai would in the movies 🤣). Also, don't mistake Segasaki's "what's the matter" as true confusion - his indirect rebuke was met with a direct (albeit over the top) apology - so here he is helping Man-san to save face, or recover the face she lost (by sounding presumptuous and by apologizing), by not calling attention to the actual apology. It is enough that she has recognized his superiority over her when it comes to understanding Yoh. This is also why later, when Man-san voluntarily offers up the information that she has a husband (and thus is not a threat to Segasaki's claim over Yoh), that Segasaki gives sort of an embarrassed but happy smile as he says "I'm sorry". That's not just "I'm sorry I can't send you to the station" (which is basic manners) but also has a little "I'm sorry for the unnecessary posturing over Yoh".

S: なんださっきから　やだ　ばっか言って S: お前はイヤイヤ期*か S: What's gotten into you? All you've been saying since just now is "no" S: Are you in your "no phase"*? *イヤイヤ期 - yes, the term he uses here specifically refers to the "no phase" of toddlers in their terrible twos. This isn't condescending though - Yoh's repeated "やだ (yada - "no" or "I don't want it")" is distinctly childlike, but this behaviour is precisely a form of amae that we talked about earlier. Yoh is asking to be indulged here, and Segasaki is responding both in word and in physical comfort.

Y: もうやだ S: だから何が Y: 俺　万さんのことすきなのに S: は？てめぇ* Y: あんたなんか嫌いだ Y: へらへらしてんじゃねぇよ Y: 何　ちゃっかり横に座ってんだよ Y: 名前で呼ぶ必要はねぇだろう Y: ふざけんな Y: 俺のこと好きなくせに Y: I don't want (this) anymore! S: So again I ask, (don't want) what? Y: I... even whilst... liking Man-san S: Ha? You little...* Y: I hate the likes of you Y: Don't freaking sit there laughing so carelessly Y: What were you doing taking the chance to sit next to her like that Y: There was no damn need to call her by her first name, right? Y: The hell are you doing! Y: When the person you like is me. When You talks about liking Man-san, he ends off with "なのに (nanoni)" which is used to show contrast the preceeding/following topic and to express frustration - except he hasn't mentioned the preceeding topic, so it isn't immediately clear what he means until he starts complaining about Segasaki's behaviour. That's why Segasaki is caught by surprise and follows up with an angry "haa?" and an emphatic *てめぇ(temee) - A very very rude way to say "you" which he first used in Ep 2 when Yoh said he was going to leave. It's not until later in Yoh's monologue, that we learn that he's upset that he feels jealousy/bad feelings towards Man-san because he's supposed to like Man-san (as a friend).

S: お前　お前それやだったんか S: お前の方が*　そう思ってたんかよ S: あ　もう最っ高 S: You... so that was what you didn't want? S: So, (all this time) it was actually you instead, who's been thinking like that? S: Oh, this is the. best.

S: よしよし S: 取られちゃって　やだったな S: There, there S: You didn't want me to be stolen away, did you?

Monologue time: Y: こんなふうに感じること自体が嫌だったんだ万さん相手に　友達なのに女々しすぎるって幼稚だろう　ダメだろうって　分かってるのに気付いたら頭ん中　ぐちゃぐちゃでどうしようもなくなってたあんたのせいだこんなふうに囁いたり微笑んだり優しく触れたりするからいつもあんな偉そうにああだ　こうだ命令してくるくせに突然まるで恋人*みたいに勘違いするだろこんなのもしかして好きってこんなみっともない気持ちのことなのか Y: The fact that I was feeling this way was specifically what I didn't like. (Feeling this way) towards Man-san, even though she's my friend... It was too petty (of me). Even though I knew, that it was childish, that I shouldn't (feel that way), Before I knew it, everything in my head was all messed up. And then I couldn't do anything about it. It's all your fault, Because you do things like this, Whispering softly to me, Smiling at me, And touching me so gently. Always so arrogantly ordering me around, Saying do this do that, and yet, You suddenly (start treating me) like a lover* Of course, I'd get the wrong idea with all of that! Could it be that, "Liking someone", Really is a feeling as unseemly and disgraceful as this? *恋人 (koibito - lover) - Lover in English can sometimes imply a more sexual than romantic relationship, but in Japanese "koibito" usually refers to "boyfriend/girlfriend" and may not imply a sexual component at all.

S: お前から抱きつくとかできんだな S: ずっと酔ってりゃいいのに S: So you actually can initiate hugs and stuff huh? S: If only you could stay drunk forever...

And we're done!! Ep 4 marks the turning point where Yoh begins the journey towards accepting and acknowledging his feelings - the concept of "sunao". It also clearly shows the preferred way these two reinforce their relationship - through "amae". Remember how in Ep 3, Yoh talked about how he felt that an "unspoken understanding" of each other's feelings was important in a relationship? Well, this is it - Yoh saying "no" and "don't want", or leaving the room to be by himself - these are all examples of amae. He doesn't want to ask for affection directly, because he can't. So he does it through amae instead, and as we can see, Segasaki really enjoys indulging in Yoh's unspoken requests for affection and gains fulfillment from that.

#my personal weatherman #taikan yohou #体感予報 #MPW subtitle corrections #mytranslations #segasaki x yoh #amae is a very important aspect of building connection in japanese relationships #as is the concept of sunao #these aren't concepts with easy direct translations to english #but they feature very heavily in this relationship #if you felt a little weirded out because their relationship sometimes can feel somewhat parental in nature #it's because the interdependence that results from amae is fundamentally different from the independence that is prized in the west

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batmanlovesnirvana · 10 days

Text

— The name he buried

pairing : the darkling | aleksander morozova x sun summoner fem!OC

tags : some of my fave grishaverse accounts on here @stromuprisahat @aleksanderscult @is-today-tomorrow-in-nz @kasagia & @devoted-people-hater who asked to be added on the tags <3

words : + 2,6k

notes : sooo here’s a little snippet from my fic ‘Solar Børealis’ that I’ve been nervous to share (lol)... It’s one of the first scenes I wrote between Aleksander and Sunna, inspired by the iconic lines: “What should I call you? You must have a name. Everyone does.” and “Slaves do not have names.” (thanks to @black-rose-writings for the reblog and @yototothelalafell-deactivated20 for the original post!). Would love to hear what you all think, and if I managed to keep the Darkling true to canon. Hopefully he doesn’t feel too OOC!!! :) I apologize for any mistakes; English is not my first language.

THE FOREST lay in a veil of mist, hushed in a way that made every sound seem sacred.

The only break in the silence was the steady rhythm of hooves pressing into the damp earth, a soft pulse that echoed between the towering trees.

The air carried the scent of moss and rain, cool against their skin as they rode in a shared silence that stretched on, heavy yet unspoken.

Sunniva's eyes wandered toward him—the Darkling—General of the Grisha. His presence was unnerving in its quiet intensity, his expression unreadable, his figure almost blending with the deep shadows that clung to the forest floor.

Standing atop his black horse, he appeared as though he were a living part of the darkness itself, all sharp lines and mystery. His black cloak draped around him like the night sky, merging seamlessly with the world around him, making it impossible to discern where he ended and the shadows began.

It unnerved her—the way he seemed so ethereal, so impossibly perfect, as if sculpted from a dream she couldn't wake from. His beauty was unnaturally precise, a handsomeness that stirred something within her that she could neither name nor understand. Heat flooded her cheeks, and she quickly looked away, ashamed of the thoughts that fluttered unbidden to her mind.

Mammá would have scolded her, a disapproving frown creasing her brow. “Don’t stare at strangers, Nana,” she would say, her tone gentle yet firm. “It’s not proper for a Fjerdan lady.”

Yet, even when her eyes fell, they were drawn back to him, as if compelled by an invisible force. It was like trying to resist the pull of the moon over the tides—a futile effort, a gentle surrender.

Her curiosity gnawed at her, sharp and restless, refusing to be silenced by the quiet.

Finally, she spoke, her voice soft yet cutting through the stillness, "What should I call you ?" The question hung in the cool air, fragile yet persistent, one she'd longed to ask since their first meeting. "You must have a name. Everyone does."

The Darkling didn't look at her, his gaze fixed ahead as he guided his horse through the narrow trail. His silence lingered so long she wondered if he would answer at all.

"Slaves do not have names," he said at last, his voice low and cold, but there was a weight to his words—a bitter edge that struck something deeper.

Sunniva blinked, taken aback by the statement. "Slaves?" she echoed, her dark brows furrowing. "You're no slave."

"Not now, perhaps," he replied, his tone as smooth as ice, though she detected a flicker of something beneath it. "But I was born into a world that would have seen me bound, powerless, just like them." He glanced at her then, his eyes like storm clouds on the verge of breaking, dark and turbulent, yet gleaming with an intensity that sent a shiver down her spine. "I broke those chains."

She stared at him, her heart pounding harder. "And now you bind others in them?"

He laughed, a sound devoid of warmth. "Is that what you think, little saint? That I revel in control? In power over others?"

Sunniva stiffened, straightening her back as she shifted her position in the saddle. The way he uttered "little saint" made her feel small, insignificant. Instinctively, she brought her thumb to her lips, nervously biting the corner. But she wasn't about to retreat. "Well," she lowered her hand, as if suddenly remembering herself, "you rule through fear, don't you?" Her brows arched in challenge.

"Fear," he murmured, a faint smile curling at his lips, "is a tool. It maintains order, where kindness would invite only chaos."

"And what would you invite?" Sunniva countered, her pulse quickening. "What do you really want?"

The horses slowed, and the Darkling pulled his to a stop. He dismounted smoothly, his black cloak trailing behind him like a shadow. She hesitated, but followed, her boots sinking into the soft moss of the forest floor.

He stepped closer, his presence a looming shadow that consumed the silence between them. He towered over her, her head just reaching his broad shoulders, but she stood firm, crossing her arms in a silent attempt to show she wouldn’t be intimidated. His long fingers, adorned with silver rings, brushed the edge of her sleeve, the touch so light it almost felt unreal—yet it was enough to catch her breath.

His gaze, sharp and searching, roamed over her as the sunlight pierced through the leaves, turning her pale hair into threads of spun gold. His eyes lingered on the beauty mark beneath her eye, where her dark brows stood in striking contrast against her fair skin, and then settled on her eyes—deep green, like the heart of an untouched forest after the rain, harboring secrets she hadn't yet revealed.

She was a creature of contrasts—fragile and fierce, light and shadow intertwined. She looked like something otherworldly, a Saint made flesh.

And though he knew he should resist, the pull was irresistible—magnetic, a force beyond defiance. It ensnared him, hypnotic and inescapable.

Foolish boy, his mother’s voice echoed in his mind, but he silenced it. Her beauty—the gentle curve of her high cheekbones and the way the sunlight danced around her—made her seem untouchable. The lavender scent that clung to her was both intoxicating and haunting, lingering in his senses. Yet, there she stood before him, flesh and blood. Real.

"What do I want?" he murmured, his voice a low, dangerous whisper. His eyes drifted lower, tracing the scattered beauty marks along her neck before his hand rose to her chest, gently clasping the pendant that hung there. The sun-shaped charm caught the light, and his rough fingers moved over it with surprising tenderness, as though it held some profound significance.

"I want to change this world, Sunniva," he said, his tone tightening with fierce determination. "I want to tear it apart and rebuild it. I want to make Ravka safe for us—for the Grisha. To end its endless wars, to protect it from the chaos that constantly threatens to consume it. So no one ever has to suffer like we have."

She met his gaze, her heart hammering. "We?"

For a moment, something flickered in his grey eyes—something almost vulnerable, but just as quickly, it vanished. He stepped back, the distance between them sharp and sudden.

"I've lived too long to believe in naive dreams," he said quietly, his voice colder now, the warmth from moments before slipping away. "But you—you're still searching for hope in a world that has none."

Sunniva clenched her fists, holding herself back from moving closer. "Maybe hope is all some of us have left." Her Fjerdan accent, still softly woven through her voice, was like a distant melody—one that resonated with him, haunting and beautiful, as if it carried the weight of an ancient song.

The general looked at her for a long time, something unreadable passing over his features. Then, without another word, he turned back toward his horse, leaving her standing in the stillness of the forest, the tension between them thick enough to drown in.

Sunniva watched him mount again, her heart in her throat, pulse racing, but she couldn't leave the conversation unfinished. Not now.

She stepped forward, her voice more sure than she felt. "You didn't answer me! What should I call you? You have a name, don't you?"

The Darkling, still mounted, turned his head slightly. His eyes flicked back to her, the shadows around him seeming to deepen. "Names are for those who seek to be known."

"And you?" she challenged, her gaze steady. "You prefer to remain a mystery?"

A ghost of a smile played at the corners of his lips, but it didn't reach his eyes. "Perhaps you're not ready for the answer."

Sunniva's jaw tightened. She was tired of his evasiveness, of the way he danced around everything while making her feel like she was always one step behind. Stepping boldly closer, she crossed her arms and lifted her chin in defiance. "Try me," she challenged, then added, "or should I keep calling you Wrönche?"

For a long moment, he said nothing, simply watching her with that intense gaze of his, as though weighing her very soul. The silence stretched on, charged with the tension that had been building between them from the moment they'd first met.

Then, finally, he dismounted once more, the air between them crackling as he closed the space.

"I was born Aleksander," he said softly, the name slipping from his lips as if it were a secret long buried. His eyes locked onto hers, dark and unreadable. "But that name belongs to a boy who died long ago."

Sunniva's breath caught.

Aleksander.

It sounded so... human, so unlike the shadow he had become. She had expected something else, something distant, something cold. But this—this was a piece of him that felt real.

"Aleksander," she whispered, almost testing the name on her tongue. It felt intimate, strange. "Is that why you hide behind the Darkling? To bury that part of yourself?"

His expression hardened immediately, the softness vanishing in an instant. He stepped closer, his towering presence making the air feel thin. "Do not presume to know me," he said, his voice low and dangerous. "I am not someone you can save with a name."

Sunniva stood her ground, though her heart pounded against her ribs. "Maybe not. But I think you're someone who wants to be saved, whether you admit it or not."

The Darkling’s chuckle was low and dark. “Saved, she says,” he muttered, as if the very idea amused him. His gaze flickered over her, assessing. “What makes you think I need saving?”

Sunniva didn’t flinch. “Because no one chooses to live in shadow unless they’re trying to escape something.”

His smirk faded slightly, his jaw tensing. “You know nothing of what I’ve endured.”

“Maybe not,” she admitted, her voice soft but unyielding. “But I see the way you carry it—like a weight you refuse to set down.”

His eyes darkened, the forest seemed to dim with them. “You speak of things you don’t understand.”

“I understand more than you think.” She stepped forward, daring to close the distance between them. “You think power will fill the emptiness, that control will erase the pain. But it won’t. You can’t outrun it.”

His jaw clenched, and for a split second, she thought she saw something raw flicker across his face—anger, perhaps, or pain. But it was gone as quickly as it had appeared.

He leaned in, so close she could feel the chill radiating from him. "Hope is a weakness, Sunniva," he whispered, his voice like a dark wind curling around her. "It makes you soft, it blinds you to the reality of this world. You think you can change me? I've outlived hope."

"Maybe you have. But I haven't." Her throat tightened, but she refused to look away. "You're a pessimist—"

"No, realist." Aleksander's eyes bore into hers, the tension between them so thick it was suffocating. He was so close now, his breath brushing against her cheek, the scent of earth and something ancient lingering in the air. For a moment, she wasn't sure if he would push her away or pull her closer.

"Realist?" she scoffed, her voice trembling with defiance. "You've given up hope. That’s not realism, that’s surrender."

Aleksander's jaw tightened, his eyes darkening as he stepped closer, the air between them crackling. "Hope?" he echoed, his voice barely above a whisper. "Hope doesn’t win wars. Hope doesn’t keep our people safe. Power does."

She lifted her chin, refusing to back down. "And what about peace? What about all of this—" she gestured to the world around them— "Is this your idea of protection? Of safety?"

"I already told you Sunniva. I want to make Ravka safe for us. For Grisha," he said, his voice lowering, thick with frustration and something deeper, almost pleading. "I want to end Ravka’s endless wars, stop the bloodshed, and protect it—protect us—from those who would destroy us."

"And at what cost, Aleksander?" Sunniva's voice softened, the fight slowly draining from her. "How far are you willing to go?"

His gaze flickered with something unreadable, his face hardening into resolve. "As far as I have to."

The weight of his words hung between them, thick and unyielding, as if they had pushed a wall between them. Sunniva could feel the gravity of his conviction, the depth of his determination, and it chilled her to the bone. He wasn’t the type to back down—not when he believed so completely in what he was fighting for.

Then, just as quickly, he stepped back, the tension releasing like a snapped thread. Aleksander turned his face away, looking toward the trees, shadows playing across his sharp features. His voice, when it came again, was quieter, almost resigned. "You don't know what you're asking for."

"I'm not afraid of you," Sunniva said, though the words felt like a dare.

His dark eyes slid back to hers, his expression unreadable. "You should be."

Sunniva’s frustration boiled over, her voice trembling with barely controlled anger. “I don’t even know why I care,” she spat, her voice tight. "This isn’t my land. Not my country. Not my people." She took a step toward him, her hands shaking. "But your soldiers—they came through my village. They took my brother, took others… and what for? They destroyed everything. My family, my home, my life—shattered, because of your people."

Aleksander’s gaze hardened. “Your brother was drüskelle, Sunniva. A killer of Grisha. He hunted us—”

“You can justify my brother. Fine. He fought in your war. He made his choices.” She cut him off, her voice rising, raw. “But what about my sisters? My parents? They weren’t part of your war! They weren’t drüskelle. They weren’t hunters. They were just… they were just living their lives, Aleksander! And now they’re gone, all of them, because your men—your war—came to our doorstep and swallowed them whole!”

He opened his mouth, but her words were relentless, spilling out faster than he could respond.

“My parents didn’t even know what a Grisha was! My sisters? They were just children. They didn’t care about the war, they didn’t care about your power, or the politics that go with it. But you sent your soldiers, and now they're gone. I’ve lost everything, and you expect me to stand by your people? Your country ? To trust you?”

Aleksander’s eyes flickered with something unreadable before he regained his composure, his voice low and fierce. "I didn’t order their deaths, Sunniva. I ordered the capture of the drüskelle. Your brother was one of them. Do you understand that? They hunted my—our people. They hunted me.”

“And what about the rest?” she demanded, her voice cracking. “What about my sisters? My parents? You may not have ordered their deaths, but they died all the same. Your war—your quest—it stole them from me."

“And what about the Grisha who died before your family? Your village? The centuries of torture and persecution?” Aleksander’s voice was tight with fury, his jaw clenched so hard it seemed his teeth might shatter. He was seething, each word a flame, burning through the cold between them.

Sunniva stayed silent, unable to find an answer, her throat tightening around the emotions she could no longer voice.

He stepped closer, the barely contained rage in his eyes flickering with something else—something deeper. “I didn’t choose this war, Sunniva. The drüskelle choose it the moment they came for us. I am trying to build a world where no more innocents—Grisha or otherwise—have to live in fear. Where your family, your sisters, would still be safe.”

Sunniva let out a bitter, broken laugh, shaking her head. "Safe? You think you're building a world where people like my family would be safe? No. You're just replacing one kind of fear with another. You’re trying to control everything. Maybe you think it's for some greater good, but all you're doing is leaving more destruction in your wake.”

His gaze turned cold, resolute. “I’m doing what I must. For Ravka. For the Grisha. Whatever the cost is.”

She stared at him, tears burning in her eyes, her voice barely a whisper. “You’re destroying lives in the name of saving them.”

For a moment, something flickered in his expression—regret, or perhaps the weight of his own choices—but it was gone as quickly as it had appeared. His voice was steely again. “If I don't, who will? The Grisha have been hunted for centuries. You think peace will come without a price?”

He swung back onto his horse, the leather creaking beneath him, but the tension was unmistakable—his jaw clenched tightly as before. Running a hand through his thick, dark hair, he ruffled it absentmindedly, the cold distance between them quickly returning as he resumed the mantle of leader.

Sunniva's chest tightened, her heart racing in her throat. “But what if it’s too late for all of us?” She pressed on, “What do you plan to do?”

The silence felt suffocating, the questions lingering in the air pressing down on her as she wrestled with the enormity of their situation.

His gaze shifted to the horizon, where dark clouds gathered ominously, casting a shadow over the landscape. “What needs to be done,” he declared, his tone firm yet lacking warmth.

Frustration bubbled within Sunniva, and she huffed in annoyance, angrily brushing the tears from her cheeks.

When he turned to her, the coldness in his expression was as stark as ever, and in that moment, she recognized the depths of his burden—the weight of loss and horror etched into every line of his face.

But before she could organize her thoughts or find the right words, Aleksander’s sharp retort cut through the air like a blade. He glanced back at her, his face set in a cold, unyielding mask, making it clear that he had no intention of softening his stance.

"You think I don’t understand loss? I’ve watched my people slaughtered for centuries. You’ve lost, yes. But so have I. So have most of us. Don’t you dare lecture me on the cost of war."

Sunniva’s breath hitched, her voice cracking with fury and grief. "You think your loss gives you the right to take everything from everyone else? You think that justifies all of this? You think it makes you different from the ones you claim to be fighting?"

His jaw tightened, eyes narrowing. "I’m not like them. I’m saving my people, my country."

Her laugh was bitter, hollow. "At what cost, Aleksander? You’re not saving anyone. You’re just creating more graves."

His eyes flashed, but instead of responding, he turned his face toward the trees, his voice icy, a final warning. "Again Sunniva, you don’t know what you’re asking for. And you don’t understand the burden I carry."

She took a step back, her voice trembling with finality. “Maybe I don’t. But I won’t carry it with you.”

For a long moment, he said nothing, his back to her, his grip tightening on the reins. When he finally spoke, his voice was sharp and cold, cutting through the air like frost. “Then don’t.” He spurred his horse forward, his words hitting like a lash. “Spare us both the trouble.”

She flinched at the harshness in his tone, but he didn’t look back.

Sunniva stared after him, her heart heavy. She was angry at him. At herself. At everyone.

The weight of it all pressed against her chest, suffocating, relentless. Maybe he was right, and that was what hurt the most. Each breath felt like a battle against a truth she didn’t want to accept, a truth that gnawed at her insides and wouldn’t let go.

Neither uttered another word as they rode through the forest, the silence colder than Ravka's harshest winds.

Yet, Sunniva couldn’t shake the sense that the battle wasn’t over.

She had seen Aleksander—just for a fleeting moment—beneath the darkness, beneath the icy armor of power and fear.

And now, she couldn’t let him slip away.

I didn’t know how to end it … and like I said, this is just a snippet :) I’m probably going to change/cut things later

Børealis : references the Aurora Borealis (Northern Lights), a natural light display in the Earth’s sky, often seen in high-latitude regions.

Wrönche : Darkling (a term used by the Fjerdans/Drüskelle during the forest scene in the first episode)

#the darkling #aleksander morozova #the darkling x reader #aleksander morozova x reader #the darkling x OC #the grisha series #grishaverse #Grisha #pro darkling #darkling #general kirigan #sab #shadow and bone #shadow and bone trilogy #shadow and bone netflix

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