#if he had just wanted something physical he should have said so to begin with

[cuntwrap--supreme]

The fucking audacity of this man to tell me he's never cared about me, then ignore me when I say that it was unfair to lie to me when I've clearly been in love with him for years, only to come back almost 2 months later asking me how work is. I can't do this shit. I'm too stressed as is. Too few spoons for my own day to day.

[nezuscribe]

𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐚𝐫𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭

pairing: gojo x fem!reader

summary: gojo satoru was the most notorious man across the land. he was the strongest soldier the north had ever produced, the most brilliant of minds, and somebody who slept his way through the noble ranks. his parents set him up in a marriage agreement with you, hoping that a tie with a ring would help save his image. you know gojo never wanted this, and you try to act as if that was normal. but soon, without you or even him realizing it, he comes to the conclusion that while he never wanted this marriage - he's beginning to want you.

warnings: 18+ mdni: arranged marriage, angst, slight no comfort, gojo is emotionally constipated for a bit, heavy making out, eating out (fem! receiving), fingering, (naoya)

word count: 19.7k (sorry)

note: inspired by this drabble. i'm so happy this behemoth of a fic is done!! art credit: _3aem

jjk masterlist + series masterlist

Gojo Satoru was the most powerful man alive. 

Not only physically, though some people chalked him up to being half god, but his name held even more control. The Gojo family of the North was as old as the gods themselves, and they’ve been making sure it’s been kept that way. They owned so much land that you would walk to the ends of the earth and circle back around and it would probably still be theirs. They had armies of unfathomable sizes under their command, so much riches that they could probably buy an entire nation and still have plenty to spend. 

His presence was just as large as his name created him to be. Any ball he went to, all eyes would fall on him. On the battlefield, men feared to see the flash of white hair, knowing that his strength was unbridled. 

And his physical beauty? Most people assumed he was blessed by the gods himself. Gojo had a certain look that just made your knees weak, your heart palpitate, and your cheeks heated up. The handful of times you’ve seen him from afar you’ve been able to understand why all the girls (and some of the guys) yearned for his attention. His eyes were a piercing blue as if somebody had held a mirror to the sky when creating them. His hair had grown whiter with the years, as white as the snow that sunk deep into the grounds of the north. Gojo had the build of a soldier, and he towered over most people. His bulky build was intimidating, but you heard some girls whisper behind their hands about how he must look underneath all those ceremonial garments. 

The lord of the North was power itself. 

Which would make you, by martial association, the North's most powerful lady.

And for somebody who grew up with the same respect as a stable boy, it was all too much too soon. 

And yes, while on paper you still had your father's last name and legacy tied to it, you weren’t really a daughter to your parents. Your mother, though you had to call her by her name whenever you weren’t in public, seeing how she wasn’t really your mother, made sure it was kept that way. Your other three half-sisters should have been in your spot, either one of them more true to the family name than you. But seeing how they’re already married, you were the final resort. 

Gojo Satoru, though you’ve seen him countless times (something common because of how close in ranks your families were), had only acknowledged you a couple of times. You didn’t care much, never did, because that's what you were used to. After all, it was a common fact that you were what they nicknamed “the bastard daughter” of the West.

But it didn’t seem to matter much to his parents, as they offered their son up to you in a marriage arrangement. 

And who were you to turn that down? 

They, his parents, assured you that their son was looking forward to this union. He was the one to offer it, they said, which you were skeptical of but weren’t stupid enough to question. You knew how much Gojo Satoru was tarnishing their reputation with his promiscuous ways, but as long as he was okay with this arrangement you couldn’t find any part of you that would disagree with it. 

After all, you knew that this marriage wasn’t out of love, fascination, or even a mutual understanding, but because of the strength your own family (more so your father) held, and how you were the only feasible option for a bride. 

So, after weeks of rocking back and forth on agreements, paperwork, dress rehearsals, and grueling dancing lessons (and still no sight of the man himself), you found yourself standing at the end of the aisle, your arm linked around your fathers as a large smile plasters itself on your face. 

Ever since you were young you had convinced yourself that the only man who would want to taint his name enough to marry you would have to be either a troll or an ogre, so that fact that your future spouse was human was better than anything you could have asked for. 

And you’re not daft. As your heart hammered loudly against the limited space of your chest, waiting for your cue to start walking, you reminded yourself that this was just a mutual agreement. It’s hard for people at your level to marry for love, but even then, you can’t help but hope that you can make a decent friendship out of this. 

You glanced at your father next to you, catching his eyes as he nodded once, staring ahead of him into the small crowd of just your two families, and patted your arm. 

You still remember the music playing, the instruments harmonizing together as you took a tentative step forward, feeling warm under the eyes of people you didn’t know, but you kept reminding yourself that this was the best thing that could’ve happened to you. Either you died as an old maid in the little room you had near the kitchens at your old home or got married to some warlord who wanted an entire village as family. 

The orchids that surrounded the venue still infiltrate your nose as you think about it, the way the silk of your dress felt against your skin that had been scrubbed raw earlier that morning. 

And there you saw him, standing at the end of the aisle. At that moment you realized how much of a mistake this was,

Because the man that stood there, the man who you were about to marry, seemed like he’d rather be dead than be your husband. 

—

You blink out of your trance, sitting up straighter in your seat as you mindlessly stop tearing up pieces of your bread, rubbing your fingers together to get rid of the remnants of flour. 

The dining hall was huge, far bigger than the one back home. Though you rarely ate there, you could still remember it, and it definitely wasn’t as big as this. Yet, despite its size, you felt like you were a little grain of rice in its vastness. 

The Gojo estate itself was humongous. His parents resided in a smaller house near the ocean now that you’ve moved in, but you would bet that the word humble they used to describe it was anything but humbling. You’ve been here for weeks and yet you feel like you’ve only discovered half of what this place has to offer.

There were guards at every corner, but at this point, you’re convinced they're just for decoration. If your husband is as decorated a warrior as they say he is, he could protect this entire estate with no help necessary. 

You stare at your plate, at the array of food prepared just for you, different sorts of cured meats, loaves of bread, cheeses, fruits, and juices from all over, and still, you feel no hunger. 

Months ago you’d be ecstatic to see how much your life has changed. You get new clothes that fit you, food whenever you desire, people at your beck and call. Your room is no longer that cramped space you’d been given to hide you away from the rest of your family, but twice the size of your father's old bedroom. You wake up earlier and sleep later, do whatever you want, but none of it feels deserved.

The only thing you can bring yourself to think about is how the last time you saw your husband was the night of the wedding. The look on his face when you made your empty vows to one another, his faint lingering kiss on your cheek. You can blink your eyes and still see the way he left, his jaw clenched as he ignored the calls from his parents. How, even here, rumors seemed to follow you. 

Safe to say, you spent your meals alone. 

Not only that, but your rooms were entirely separate as well. You were told that you had to consummate the night of your marriage, but from what you’ve heard, your husband sleeps in an entirely different wing of the estate, with walls and corridors between the two of you. 

You tried taking your mind off of things, pretending as if this was normal. 

Most days you’d walk around, trying to familiarize yourself with the layout of the grounds. You’d walk the gardens a couple times each week, try to memorize the way back to different places, and stay in the library the other half of the time. 

A part of you was happy to at least be away from that miserable home, but it felt like swapping one prison for a slightly better one. Your maids were kind, of course, but you didn’t know anybody here. They treat you like a lady of noble ranking, as expected from being the wife of the Lord in the North, but you’d rather be given an apron and start working around instead of this mind-numbing boredom of just sitting around. 

You stare at your plate, chewing on a grape slowly. 

Looking up you see the sun filtering in through the large windows, illuminating the long table that sits like an empty grave. Clicking your tongue you pick up another grape, slumping in your seat as you look up. 

This is just the way things will be.

—

“Alina?”

You call out from your vanity, staring at your maid as she’s picking out different earrings for you to pick from for dinner. 

It’s a couple of days later, and still no word from Gojo. But that doesn’t mean that you haven’t stopped for a single second to not think about your supposed husband. 

You try not to care, pretend that you’re lucky that he’s not bothering you or going out of his way to remind you of this unfortunate situation, but above anything you just feel alone. 

The maid looks up, a curl falling from her tight bun as she smiles at you in the mirror. 

“Yes, my lady?” She stands up straighter, flattening out the wrinkles from her apron tied around her waist as she begins walking towards you with the jewelry. 

“Is this…is this normal?” You crane your neck around to look at the different pairs she’s holding up, nudging your head to the red ones that shine bright, and watch as she sets them down on your desk, resting her hand on your hip as she stares at you quizzically. 

“What do you mean?” She asks as you begin taking your earrings off, putting the new ones on yourself. In the beginning, she protested, saying that a woman of your caliber shouldn’t have to do such measly tasks. But the more you protested, she eventually gave up. 

“Do husbands and wives usually sleep separately?” you say, feeling your chest contract in embarrassment at the stupidness of your question. 

You watch as she swallows thickly, avoiding eye contact as she sets on fixing some parts of your hair. 

Staring patiently through the vanity mirror as you watch her work, Alina wets her lips, her eyes downcast as if not wanting to answer. 

“Was there somebody else he preferred to marry?” You decide to ask, twisting that knife that you knew was lodged in her side, one that was stopping her from talking, and watch as her eyes widen slightly in shock. 

“If you don’t answer I’m just going to keep asking more uncomfortable questions,” you warn and Alina snorts softly, shoving your shoulder a little bit as you crack a smile. 

She moves around, picking up a necklace, and begins clasping it behind your neck. 

“I…I don’t know. He’s always been pretty secretive and,” she looks at you briefly, “Selective. I don’t mean to speak ill of my lord but it would be stupid not to acknowledge his old ways. But we never heard of a specific girl.”

Alina places a gentle hand on your shoulder, a sad smile on her face. 

“You’re lucky my lady,” she says, her voice hushed, “Most wives don’t have the freedom to say their husbands don’t care what they do. Had you married that Zenin, you’d be pregnant by now.”

You shudder out a breath, nodding once more. 

“I’ll see you after dinner, my lady,” she says, moving out of the way as you stare quietly at the floor before leaving silently. 

—-

Tonight for dinner the cooks made you a wide array of different dishes, all from the Northern shore. There are different types of fish, each cooked in various ways. It looks delectable, a feast fit for a king. 

You feel awful, though, seeing that you can’t eat any of it. 

The last time you had fish your face swelled up and couldn’t breathe properly, so that family physician told you to steer away from it. But you’re here now, and it somehow slipped your mind to ever mention this little fact to them, so you’re awkwardly poking around some of the vegetables under the fish, looking for something to eat. 

You pile some potatoes and carrots on your plate, scraping off any bits of fish on them as you hold this wasn’t your last meal. 

The only sound that fills the room is your fork and knife sometimes hitting the porcelain plate, and you look up every now and then as you chew, looking at the paintings on the wall. 

You’re so focused on a portrait of an old man that you don’t even notice the figure standing at the entrance of the dining hall, not until you hear a muted curse. 

You look up instantly, your fork and knife dropping to the plate as you stare at the man in front of you, eyes wide at the sight of your husband. 

He stands there, blinking slowly as you stare back. 

You could swear time has never moved so slowly before. 

You can hear him mutter a quiet shit under his breath, not knowing if he should make this worse by turning around and leaving or if he should join you. 

He’s wearing a simple tunic, his face a little flushed, hairline beaded with sweat. Did he just come out of training? He must often do that, you decide, seeing how he must’ve felt comfortable enough walking in here without any clothing of import. 

His eyes seem to track your little movements; the way your chest rises and falls in a slow movement, the way your fingers have frozen in mid-air, lips slightly parting. Your eyes dart around the room, everybody seeming to have tensed up.

You open your mouth to say something, anything, but you’ve never been so moved to silence. It seemed as if years of learned vocabulary slipped your mind within an instant, and no matter how hard you tried, nothing was coming back.

Gojo looks behind his shoulder, at the large double doors he entered through, deep in thought. This would be the first time the two of you had seen each other in weeks, and his tirade of avoiding you has come to an end. It looks like an entire battle is being fought in his mind, and you don’t know what to do.

Suddenly, you watch as he shakes his head, deciding to give in and join you for dinner. 

The seconds go by like hours as he walks up to the seat at the other end of the table, staring at his seat for a brief second before he pushes it out and sits there. 

You don’t know what to do. 

Servants and maids quickly swarm the room, setting up his plate, cutlery, food, and drinks. It was all so hectic and rushed, but you were glad that it offered some sort of noise in the drowning silence.

A part of you wants to say something about the fish but you know this isn’t the right time. 

In the flurry of movements you allow yourself to discretely look at him a little better, seeing how the last time you saw him was so brief and hurried. 

The man radiates a different sort of aura you’ve never experienced before. While your father was one of the most powerful men in the West, Gojo was the strongest throughout the majority of the North and East. His frame took up the entire chair, his muscular shoulders and arms visible even through the loose fabric that was draped over him. You feel a little disappointed, knowing that if you were a different girl you’d probably be able to enjoy all of this. 

You try to make yourself seem indifferent, moving some of the vegetables in your plate around, but secretly just trying to shovel them down as fast as humanly possible to get out of this thick atmosphere. 

One of the men who was setting up some of the plates in front of Gojo takes notice of this, a smile overtaking his face as you briefly look up from your plate, startled to see the man walking closer to you.

“My lady, I’m so happy to see you enjoying our Northern delicacy!” He claps his hands together as you stare at him with wide eyes, your mouth still full of potatoes as you try chewing faster to get it all down before he gets closer to you. 

His eyes wrinkle around the edges, his graying mustache trimmed ever so carefully, and you can tell he’s trying to loosen up the tension, but you stare in abject horror as he stands at your foot of the table. 

“Would you like some more?” He motions to the fish that lay untouched in front of you, and you glance over to Gojo, hoping that maybe he is focused on his meal, only for your heart to sink at the fact that he is staring at you. 

“...y-yes,” you croak out, wiping some of the carrot remnants from the corners of your lips as you give him a wobbly smile, “It’s alright, I can serve myself,” you exclaim, trying to thwart him off as he quickly waves this aside, shaking his head as he grabs the tray, beginning to portion some hefty pieces of fish onto your plate.

You don’t have the heart to tell this jolly man that this amount of fish would kill you within an instant, or even that he was wasting this all on you, so you just sit there, giving him a tight-lipped smile as you try not to breathe it in too much. 

“Is that enough, my lady?” He asks, setting the tray down as you look at your plate now full of different sorts of sea creatures you swallow slowly, looking back up at him as you give a wobbly smile. 

“This is great,” you muster up and watch as an even larger smile takes over his face, and you feel awful for it, “Thank you so much,” you tell him, watching as he bows lowly, excusing himself as he, and the other servants, leave the room,

Leaving you and Gojo alone. 

You’re grateful that he’s already dug into his meal, not looking at a struggling you that’s moving the fish around with your fork as you try to find the last bits of vegetables you had saved up for yourself. 

The smell itself is enough to make your stomach turn, and you wince, reaching for your cup of wine to wash some of the nausea down.

“You have very good wine,” you say suddenly, against your will, and have an out-of-body experience as you realize what you just did. 

Gojo looks up from his plate, a little startled as he looks at you and the goblet in your hand, his white brows furrowed. 

He nods once, not saying anything, and you feel the strange need to continue, somehow enjoying the feeling of stabbing yourself in the foot.

“Our wine back home tasted like cow piss,” your eyes widened at your slip of crass language, “Er - not piss, um, urine…?” You wince even more, feeling as if a ghost with awful intentions had taken control over your body, “Not that I’ve had cow piss - urine!” You correct yourself, “But I imagine that if I had…that, um, it would taste like o-our wine back home...”

He’s staring at you, unblinking, and you smile awkwardly, raising the cup to him as a sort of cheers gesture. 

You count twenty seconds of silence in your head as you set the cup down, playing with your fork as you glance back up at him. Gojo looks as if he is regretting his decision to stay, his fingers tapping on his knife in a hurried sort of way. 

“I don’t really like wine,” you continue, feeling like the only thing that could stop you now was if somebody were to bludgeon you to death, “I like juice more. Oh, well, but I guess…wine is juice…?” you mutter to yourself, contradicting your own words mid-sentence, “Back home we had this mulberry juice and it tasted nice. Kind of like your wine,” he’s not even looking at you and so your words die, quieting down as you sink back into your seat, hoping it could eat you entirely. 

“Do you like wine?” You ask, tilting your head to the side, smiling faintly, awkwardly, “Or juice? Or… mulberries…?” 

He shakes his head, still not staring at you. 

“Did you have a good-”

“I prefer eating in silence.” Gojo finally said, raising his head slightly as he stared directly at you, watching as your mouth clamped shut. 

Your smile grows small, eyes falling to the table to hide the embarrassment in them. You give him a brief nod, mumbling a quiet apology under your breath as you begin moving some pieces of carrot around on your plate. 

You can hear the clinking of his utensils against his plate, wishing you could somehow fit an entire fish down your esophagus to escape this moment. 

You give it a couple of seconds, counting the groves in the wood of the table, and rise, stomach empty, heart churning as you finally excuse yourself. 

It only takes you minutes to find your room, quicker than last night, and allow yourself to sink against your bed, rubbing your skin raw of the rouge Alina had applied an hour earlier. 

—-

You don’t tell anybody of the awful encounter with the man that’s legally your husband, but you’re sure that those there to observe have already begun talking about it. You try to pretend nothing happened, but Alina could pick up on your closed-off demeanor that night, her hands gentler than usual when helping you take off your garments, her eyes filled with concern. 

“How was dinner, my lady?” She asked, staring at you as you waved off her worries, mustering up a lame excuse of a smile as you took off your silk shrug, avoiding any sort of eye contact as you slipped into your nightly garments. 

“It was good,” your words are void of emotion, “I had fish.” 

The following days are empty of any sight of your husband, but you’ve grown to find that normal. It doesn’t help that you can’t stop thinking about how idiotic you acted, your big mouth never knowing when to stop, tossing and turning in your bed at your excuse of an interaction. 

You continue with your old routine of walking around the estate, sometimes trying to track down Alina and your other maids, seeing if maybe they had some free time to spend with you. You know there’s a town nearby, the girls often talk about how they go there sometimes at night, but you’re too afraid of going out alone, not used to that sort of thing. 

Sometimes you sit out near the fields with a book, twisting the ring that’s searing into your finger, mindlessly taking in the words on the page. Other days you walk around the gardens, picking out some flowers for the vase in your room. On the days when you’re feeling really adventurous, you’d go near the east wing, where you’ve heard Gojo’s room is, and look at what sort of things lie there. But most times you chicken out, going back near your side just as quickly as you went.

You never see him at dinner again, knowing he wasn’t about to put himself through that torture again, so you go back to eating in silence, sometimes pretending that the chairs were full of people and that you were in one of those balls you longed to go to as a kid.

They seem to keep bringing fish out for you, and it’s in so many days deep that you’re in this sort of limbo where you can’t tell them you’re deathly allergic to it without feeling awful for all the work they’ve put in just to realize it’s gone to waste, so those nights, tonight, for example, you try finding as many vegetables as you can. 

The roasted asparagus and beets are lovely, but there was only so much of it. And you find yourself getting a little bit sick of it too, your stomach-churning as you try to chug as much water as you can to get rid of the dirt after-taste that the beets have.

You thank the cooks and the servants as you leave for the night, your stomach still relatively empty as you get to your room, telling Alina to leave early for the night as you get ready for bed by yourself, wanting to be with yourself just for a little bit. 

You lay on your bed, staring emptily at the ceiling, one hand on your stomach as if gurgling, still hungry for more. You try to sleep, trying to pretend like you were at your old home, those nights when this would be normal, but it’s no use. You’ve been too spoiled at the Gojo estate, and no matter how much you try to ignore the pang of hunger, it continues to bite you back. 

So you find yourself twisting off of the warm comfort of your bed, sitting in silence as you contemplate what you’re about to do, but give in, lighting a candle as you slide into some slippers, leaving your room as you try to find your way down to the kitchens. 

Thankfully, it’s well into the night when everybody is asleep, so this embarrassing walk of shame is only seen by the guards on duty. You walk down the testing staircase, careful to look around the corners for anybody there, but you’re alone. 

You make your way to the kitchens, not hard to find seeing that they’re near the dining hall, and you peep your head inside, a sigh of relief escaping your lips to find that it’s completely deserted. 

At your old home, your room was behind the kitchens. You grew up in a small room, nearly the size of a broom cupboard, but you made do with what you had. One benefit of this situation was that you were raised by the smell of different sorts of food, by people who specialized in the art of cooking. You knew how to make meals that nobody else in your family could even imagine, which you’re grateful for right now as you fumble around the kitchen, trying to find where they put different ingredients. 

You rummage through the cupboards, finding some eggs, bread, cheeses, and seasonings. You’re able to find the pots and pans a few feet away and start assembling everything for a little omelet.  

In your hurry of trying to be quiet and careful, you somehow manage to miss the large shadow figure that’s standing near the doorway, observing you. 

You crack the eggs into a bowl, beating them together with a fork you found, too tired to look for an actual whisk, turning around to throw the eggshells away when a cry of surprise escapes your lips. 

“Oh!” Your heart nearly falls right out of your ribcage, your hands flying to your chest as you find yourself staring at him, cheeks heating the way they seem to do whenever you’re looking at your husband. 

His blue eyes are tracking you, watching what you do, brows furrowed slightly as the two of you can’t do anything but stare at each other. 

“I…” You can’t find anything to say, looking at him and then behind your shoulder, to the things you have found, and swallow thickly, wetting your lips as you straighten your back up, suddenly aware of just how flimsy and bedroom-worthy your outfit is.

You can only stare at the ways his arms are crossed over his chest, biceps bulging, and lips pressed into a thin line. It seems like he wasn’t planning on seeing you here, yet another moment in which he’s probably going to regret somehow finding you in such a large estate.

“I’m making an omelet,” you finally say, your words falling like a whisper from your lips as you point to the eggshells now discarded in the trash, “I tried to be quiet…” you shake your head, eyes dropping from his heavy gaze for a second as you glance back up at him, lips upturned in an apologetic smile, “...sorry.” 

Gojo doesn’t say much, you’ve noticed that, but now you’re wondering if he has some sort of impediment that stops him from speaking to specific people. 

His chest rises briefly as he inhales, his white hair a little tussled as if he were sleeping. It doesn’t make sense why he’d be awoken, though. The kitchens are a far walk from the east wing…?

“I wasn’t asleep,” he finally says as if reading your mind, his voice deep as you feel it rattle your bones.

You nod once, not knowing what to do with the information. 

“Well…um,” you fidget with your fingers, “good, that’s good.” You nod once, as if that was all you were going to say, and look at the slight wrinkles in his clothes, crossing your arms over your chest, feeling naked with the way you’re not wearing any undergarments under your little nightly dress. 

“I’ll call for a cook,” Gojo murmurs, looking you up and down one final time as he turns to leave, seemingly done with this conversation. 

You sputter, shaking your head as you watch him turn to look at you through a confused stare. 

“No! Sorry…no, no need,” you say quickly, taking one step forward as if to stop him, “Please, it’s alright. I can cook myself,” you motion once more to your eggs and little station, noting the way he’s looking at you strangely, and so you feel the need to continue talking, perhaps one of your worst flaws.

Gojo looks at you finally, his fingers tapping on his arm. 

You notice that he’s not wearing his wedding ring, your chest filling with a strange feeling as you try to hide your ring-clad finger. “Do you not like their cooking?” He asks, and it takes a second for you to blink out of your stupor, a weird sensation in your throat as you shake your head slowly, trying to pull your eyes away from his hand. 

“I do,” you assure him, the words falling thickly from your lips, a lump in your chest, “I just feel bad waking them up right now,” you shrug as if you weren’t feeling any of these strange emotions, “And as I said, I can cook…so…” 

He nods, seemingly not believing you, not picking up on the storm that happening inside your head at the fact that he’s not wearing his wedding ring. You have to remind yourself that this isn’t an actual marriage, the ring was only for show. 

“Did you not eat dinner?” He continues, pressing, and your eyes widen slightly. 

You’ve always been terrible at lying, never able to do so. Even when your father's wife continued to drill you on who ate the candies from a party when you were younger, showing her your chocolate-stained fingers that you had hidden behind your back, not even a minute into the interrogation. 

“I did,” you say slowly, rubbing up and down your arms to warm them up from the chill breeze that seems to have picked up from the open windows, “The beets and asparagus were very nice,” you agree, not knowing what else to say without blowing this weird secret you’ve been holding onto. 

His brow raised slightly, lips pursing slightly. 

“And the fish?” 

You swallow once again, fidgeting with the fabric of your slip, your hands, your ring, and you don’t notice the way his eyes fall to the gold on your finger, darting back to your face when he notices you staring at him. 

“I…” you feel your face heating up beyond human measures, laughing awkwardly as you tug at your necklace chain, wishing that you hadn’t made that stupid decision to leave your comfortable bed, should’ve listened to your gut instead of your stomach, cursing your past self for being so rash, “I, um, I can’t…eat…fish.” 

Gojo’s stoic face, so sure and confident, seems to falter for a brief second.

His arms tighten over his chest. 

“...what?” He eventually asks after a couple of seconds of mind-bending silence, his head tipping in utter confusion as you sway from side to side on your feet, chewing your lips raw as you wish the ground could open up and never spit you back out. 

“The fish always looks great, don’t get me wrong,” you say quickly as if that’s going to do anything, “But I can’t eat fish. Otherwise I’ll swell right up and um, die…probably,” you wince at how bad you are at talking to people, your husband especially.

He lets out a little puff of air that sounds like a shocked scoff, eyes falling to the floor as he shakes his head, not understanding what you are saying. 

“But they’ve been cooking fish almost…four times a week?” 

You nod, smiling awkwardly, looking at the painting of a fish on the wall as you look back at him. 

“They have,” you affirm, leaning against a counter as he stays frozen in his spot at the door. 

“And you…you can’t have fish?” Gojo questions incredulously. 

“I’ll swell right up,” you repeat with a little smile that he doesn’t mirror, clearly not a man of humor, and you drop your hands to your side, “...kind of like a pufferfish.” You add quietly, looking at the ground as you say it. 

He coughs, his hand covering his mouth as you glance up at him, only to see him trying to hide the shocked laugh that had escaped him.

“Why didn’t you tell them?” He finally continues, and you hate the way all your hard work of just saying quiet isn’t working and is in fact, coming back to bite you in the ass. 

You shrug once more, shoving a grain of rice that was on the floor with the tip of your shoe.

“The first time it happened I figured I’d just tell them next time, but then that man kept on giving me more fish so I felt bad and I just never said anything.” 

Gojo stares at you, his eyes squinting together as if he were figuring out an enigma, a war strategy that even his best generals couldn’t get a grasp of. 

You look away, feeling like a fire was being lit under your skin. 

“Alright,” you say, clapping your hands together as your stomach grumbles once again, reminding you that it is still in desperate need of food, “I’ll be done soon. And I’ll clean up,” you promise, but you doubt he even cares as you begin to inch away from him. 

You watch as a strand of hair falls into his face, watch as he goes to move, never breaking his eye contact with you, until he looks behind you at the eggs and bread, and then to the window behind you, the moon as bright as ever.

He nods a final time, looking over you a final time before he exits. 

You make sure he’s far gone, letting out a heavy breath as you hold yourself up by the table, eyes wide at the fact that you had spoken more than two words to the man who seemed to despise your entire existence. 

You go back to your eggs, whisking them in silence as your mind reels. 

—

Gojo is there, for dinner, the following night. 

You enter the dining room to see him at the end of the table, already eating, and glances up briefly when he sees you walk in. 

Trying to hide the shock on your face you quickly look away, finding the way to your side of the table as you look around to see what they’ve given you tonight. A sigh of fleeting relief escapes your lips at the lack of fish, glad you’ll be going to sleep full of food tonight. 

You serve yourself, piling roasted meats and potatoes onto your plate as you fill your cup with water, not trusting wine after the last time you had it in his presence, and pretend that everything is normal as you pick up your knife and fork. 

His words rang in your mind from the last time, the fact that he ate in silence, so you forced yourself to clam up, knowing that it was probably from the best and save you from any more mortification. 

Your eyes fleet up now and then, grateful that he’s never looking up when you do, and give yourself some time to really take him in. Maybe in another universe where everything was normal, this could’ve just been another regular thing, and you try pretending that it is.

He’s probably only here because of a timing issue, you tell yourself, maybe this was the only time in the middle of training, state affairs, or other things that he was able to have dinner tonight. Yes, yes, that has to be it. 

You look back down at your plate, chewing as quietly as possible, missing the way he lifted his head to look up at you. 

—

Dinner with Gojo becomes a strange weekly occurrence.

The two of you eat in silence a couple of times a week, and every time it happens you’re so sure it’s going to be the last. 

On one of the nights you find yourself accompanied by the man you decide that the silence is more choking than whatever it is you find yourself saying. 

“Have you been notified about this…gathering in a couple of weeks?” 

This gathering was something you were told about that morning by Alina. One of the smaller families allied to the North, the Tokoshi’s, had invited you and your husband to join. 

“Yes,” Gojo says, and you’re a little surprised that he didn’t just give you a faint nod, “It shouldn’t be too big.” 

He cuts off a piece of his lamb, dipping it in some of the gravy as he glances up at you. 

You try to hide your excitement, not only from the fact that he’s spoken to you but also from the fact that this was an actual ball you would be able to go to. You knew that marrying him meant attending more of these sorts of events, but seeing how this was your first one, it was hard to not act a little giddy. 

“You have a lovely library,” you speak after carefully chewing through some of your food, your pointer finger resting on your fork as your legs crossed. 

Gojo glances up at you, those mesmerizing blue eyes finding yours from across the long table. 

“At my old home,” you pause briefly, wondering how he feels when you refer to his estate as your other home, “I wasn’t allowed to go into our library unless my tutors asked to have some of our sessions there. So I just wanted to say thank you for letting me - um, go there,” your words quiet down at the end, looking at the roasted pig in front of you momentarily as you wonder what you were even trying to get. 

He takes a sip of his wine. 

“The grounds are as much mine as they are yours,” he says, but his words sound rehearsed as if he were told to say this. 

“Even the east wing?” 

You regretted it the moment you asked it. 

Shit. 

Gojo opens his mouth and then shuts it. You chew on the inside of your cheek, waiting for him to speak, to say something, anything, but it reverts to that same silence that floods your senses and makes you aware of every other sound in the room.

Your burst of what you attempted at comedy seemed to keep coming back instantly in your face, a form of punishment for somebody who never knew how to make uncomfortable situations better.

Suddenly, all of your appetite is lost. Stupid, stupid, stupid, you can only chide yourself, the food in front of you, no matter how good it looked, felt like it would taste like ash on your tongue. You kept feeding this burning fire that was your marriage, expecting your hay-like words to act like water.

There’s a thick tension in the room, and you look around, blinking slowly as you fidget with your fingers. 

You try to go back to eating. 

You were wrong,

That initial silence was better. 

—-

That night you found yourself back in the kitchens. 

You’re wiping at your cheeks, hoping that the therapeutic motions of baking can help alleviate some of your many turmoils. 

When you were younger, you were used to silence. People normally avoided you, and those who didn’t weren’t ever your age. The cooks at your old estate were kind, but they were usually too busy to entertain a little girl. You would usually help the maids out with their washing and folding, rather doing something than nothing. You would listen in on their gossip and stories, always happy to be included. 

You assumed that it would be the same here. 

But the maids assured you that a lady of such high rank shouldn’t be meddling in such lowly tasks, and the cooks here were cooking for such a larger number of people that you knew you couldn’t bother them the way you used to. 

So you find yourself with a lot to say but nobody to say it to. The jokes and ideas that pop into your head fall flat because the old ladies who helped clean the bedsheets and used to laugh hearing them are no longer here. In those moments you’re with Alina or your other maids are sparse, and so you sometimes imagine that if you speak more when Gojo is around, he might warm up to you. 

You also had to remind yourself that your track record with men wasn’t the best either. Those fleeting crushes on some of the other boys who you’d see at balls always ended with them scurrying away from you as if you were the plague. The only other marriage offer you’d gotten was from a man who had struggled with finding a woman who could keep up with his awful ways. So the fact that Gojo Satoru, the most well-known man in the realm, didn’t want much to do with you wasn’t shocking. 

And Alina was right. A lot of wives aren’t as lucky to say their husbands don’t care, but you wondered how it would’ve been if he did. You exclaimed to her a couple of nights ago that you should’ve just married Naoya, but deep inside you knew that’s not what you wanted. A part of you knew ever since you agreed to this arrangement that you wouldn’t be getting an actual husband out of it. 

You sniffle, your eyes blurry. You don’t like crying in front of people, and so you allow yourself to do so in the pale moonlight of the kitchen, the only sound other than your ragged breathing being the repeated sound of flour falling softly in your mixing bowl. 

Baking was something that nobody ever could judge you about. You were good at it, and you knew you could do it with no error. Your cakes and pastries always turned out well, save for the minor problems you ran into as a kid, but you sometimes act like you’re baking for a group of people, about to take it out to see a sea of smiling faces who are happy to see you and your deserts.

“I thought you only cooked when they served fish for dinner.” 

A voice, one that’s seared into your memory, says from behind you. 

It takes everything in you not to jump from surprise, and it takes even more willpower not to turn around. 

You quickly wipe at your cheeks, breathing in to make sure your voice won’t come out in bits and pieces. You keep your back to your husband, continuing to sift your flour in the bowl, a continual motion like waves hitting against the dock.

“I’m baking,” you specify, cringing at the way you sound like you’re fighting a nasty cold. 

Gojo doesn’t say anything for a beat and does nothing to move. You’re glad he doesn’t, too scared that if he saw your puffy eyes or your tear-stained cheeks he’d begin to think that you have no backbone at all. It felt almost pathetic to have the world's strongest warrior see you recover from crying alone. 

He hums in the back of his throat at your words, and you wonder what he looks like right now. 

“I doubt these walls have seen a lady of such high rank before,” he comments, and you look up briefly from the mountain of white building up in the bowl, “They must whisper to themselves once you leave.” 

You let out a little puff of air, something resembling a soulless laugh. 

“Everyone whispers to themselves after I leave,” you say, reaching for a whisk, “I’ve heard more whispers than my own name.” 

He doesn’t say anything for a moment, and you hope he doesn’t notice the way you quickly try to wipe at the corners of your eyes.

“You come down here a lot,” it’s posed as a question, but Gojo says it like a statement. He must have eyes everywhere, reporting to him what you’re doing. You wouldn’t be shocked, but you just nod, chewing on the inside of your cheek as you begin to whisk your dry ingredients together. 

“I hope it’s okay,” you throw in a pinch of salt as you mix, “I like the kitchen.” 

He let out a little breath as if he was about to chuckle, but then he got confused. You decide to spare him the endless questions that must be going on in his head, wondering why somebody in your position would prefer the kitchens rather than anywhere else. 

“My bedroom used to be behind a kitchen. I’d have to go through the pantry just to reach it,” you turn briefly to grab your bowl with the wet ingredients, pouring it slowly into your flour and sugar mixture, mixing it in slowly and carefully. 

“My father’s wife wanted me out of sight. That estate had never used one of its actual bedrooms to sleep the daughter of a whore,” you can hear him inhale sharply, “I woke up to the sounds of people shouting for different ingredients, to pots and pans clanging against each other. I learned how to cook and bake when I was young, and I usually helped them cook the food my family would eat for dinner.” 

When your batter is all mixed through you go to find the pan you have buttered and dusted with sugar, pouring it in as you wipe off the side of the bowl that had some remnants of batter dripping from it.

“They never asked me to, but I liked it. I liked feeling useful,” you peek over to your side, seeing him leaning against the wall adjacent to you, silent as a mouse. 

You walk over to the other side of the kitchen with your pan, careful with the lid to the brick oven, heated with the fire you had lit an hour ago, and slide your cake pan into it, closing it shut as you stand up straight. 

Finally, you look over at him. 

His eyes rake over your face, lingering on the circles underneath your eyes, the redness that stained the whites of them. He’s clad in the simple tunic and breeches he had worn to dinner hours ago, his large shoulders leaning on the wall as his arms lay crossed over his chest. 

“I won’t go to the east wing,” you say in a whisper, your voice quiet but heavy as it falls from your lips as a promise, trying to muster up a smile but it comes out wobbly, “I was just trying to make you laugh.” 

His lips looked pinker than usual as if he had been chewing on them, something you often did when you were deep in thought. His white hair had been messily pushed back as if his fingers had been combing through them continuously. 

“These grounds are yours,” Gojo says, his words thick from his throat. His exhale and inhale mirror the way you breathe, your two chests rising as though living with the same lungs.

You shrug, a melancholy look on your face as you shake your head. 

“Maybe if I was your wife,” your words are said without any malice, “But I’m just another person who sleeps here.” 

Gojo tilts his head slightly as if your statement had somehow wrenched itself into his mind, weighing it down. Even in the limited light, you could see the way he looked at you, an unreadable expression on his face.

“I’m sorry about all of this. I know I took away your chance to marry somebody you actually wanted, but my father told me you were okay with the arrangement. I wouldn’t have agreed to it otherwise,” you twist your wedding ring around your finger mindlessly, a little habit you’ve grown over the weeks here, “I never wanted to be selfish, and I truthfully never wanted a husband. I just wanted a friend.”

—

Ever since that night, you eat your meals in your room. 

Alina protested, saying it’s not right to eat alone, but you told her not to think about it, saying how you liked the silence. 

You mustered up the courage to ask some of the coachmen to take you to the nearby town, starting by looking around at the little shops, keeping a hood over your head in case somebody saw a new stranger.

Sometimes you’d go inside the shops, finding little trinkets that you thought your maids might like, or ornaments that might help fill up the empty spots around your room. You’ve never been able to decorate before with how small your old room was, so you decided to take advantage of its space.

When you’re walking around you sometimes see Gojo, either in the training yard or walking around with one of his advisors. There have been moments when the two of you catch each other's stares from across the room, but you’re always the first to look away, making sure you’re going in a different direction than him. 

You knew that you’d have to talk to him eventually, especially with the gathering that was coming up at the Tokoshi manor, but each night you pretended it was another day away, instead of one day closer. 

Your maids came bustling in and out of your room more often than usual with preparations for the night that was closing in, shoving you into different dresses, not satisfied until they found the right one.

Alina noticed your shift in demeanor, never picking and prodding at it, but silently observing. You could tell she knew something was wrong, but you didn’t know how to put exactly what you were feeling in words. 

It didn’t help that the closer you got to the night of the event Gojo seemed to be everywhere you were. The gardens, the library, the field, the stables. He probably just had business to attend to, but it didn’t help that whenever he saw you it looked like he wanted to say something. It also didn’t help that you’d scurry away when you saw him open his mouth. 

The weeks turned into days, the days into a day, and that day into hours and you found yourself perched uncomfortably on a chair as three different women attended to your face, hair, and accessories. 

You watch them work silently, taking in all the jewelry and makeup that you’ve been looking forward to wearing. It’s nothing too drastic, but that 

girl who longed to wear pretty things inside of you is gleaming right now. 

“…Lord Gojo requested for her to wear another pair of earrings,” one of your maids says, looking at the earrings Alina had picked out for you. 

Your ears perk up at the mention of his name, watching Alina as she perks an eyebrow up. 

“When did he request that?” 

The older lady looks at you in the mirror and then at Alina. 

“A couple of nights ago,” she shows Alina another pair, a sapphire one that seems to gleam brightly, “he dropped them off when she was…away…” the maid trails off, noticing the fact that you were eavesdropping.

Your eyes dart away as if that would help, but she quickly changes the topic, and you huff in annoyance as Alina sends you a knowing look.  

“Your husband is a strange man,” Alina mutters in your ear as you giggle quietly, rolling your eyes as she playfully shoves your shoulder. 

You don’t say anything in retaliation, and sit back as you put in your new earrings, grateful that they still complimented the color of your dress, and try to pretend you are going down for dinner rather than a gathering with people you didn’t know. 

You’ve been learning this entire week how to properly hold a spoon and fork, and how to cut your food appropriately. You’ve been taking dancing lessons, discovered how to properly greet people, and even learned how to gracefully enter and exit a horse-drawn carriage. All things you should’ve probably learned earlier, but were never able to. 

Alina helps you out of the chair when they are all done, giving you a second to look into the mirror. The dress they had wrangled you into was beautiful, your hair done in the way you liked. You thanked them all, expressing your endless gratitude for their hard work. 

You take a deep breath as you exit the room and go out into the hall, leading yourself down the stairs and through multiple corridors, trying to calm down your palpitating heart. 

It takes a few minutes but you find yourself at the front of the manor, standing alone and looking around, trying to see if you were at the wrong place. But in the distance, you can see the coachmen and the carriage, the door shut, still waiting for you. 

You take a tentative step forward, nearing the entranceway that leads outside, but feel a soft touch hovering above your elbow. 

It’s strange how he usually finds you before you find him, but as somebody who’s trained to know and find things before others do, you suppose it makes sense. You glance to your side, already expecting to see those cerulean eyes as you look up. 

Gojo looks good, somehow better than usual. 

He’s clad in dark blue garments, intricate with Northern design, and your eyes look up and down his entire body. His usual muscular build seems to be outlined by the stretch of his overcoat, the way the fabric is sitting snugly over his chest. 

He seems to be doing the same, though. You can feel his gaze drop to your dress, to the way your lips are a little redder than usual, your hair done in a way that suits your face. His eyes linger on your ears, and there’s a small, barely noticeable tug to the corners of his lips. 

“Ready?” Gojo asks, the first time he’s spoken in a couple of weeks, and you hum. 

He takes his hand away from your elbow as he rests it on the small of your back, and you feel heat travel from his fingertips through the fabric, through your corset, your undergarments, and straight to your skin. 

They bring the carriage out a little closer, a coachman opening the door for you. You brace yourself, heaving your dress upwards as you go to grasp the rail on the side.

But Gojo moves swiftly, offering you his glove-clad hand as you look over at him in surprise, taking it after a moment of hesitation, and haul yourself inside. 

It’s far bigger than the one you usually take to town, and you settle for a corner on the left-hand side near the window. The walls of the carriage are lined with this sort of fabric that feels like it’s lighter than a cloud, colored the traditional blue of the Gojo family. You’d guess it could fit at least an entire family comfortably, so you’re not too worried about the underskirt of your dress taking up too much space.

You watch Gojo follow you in. He looks around, having to duck his head (and a lot of his back) as he sits in front of you, pushing the strands of hair that had fallen into his face.

The two of you sit in awkward silence, your gaze settled on the door that they shut after Gojo entered, and your eyes quickly fall to your hands resting in your lap, neatly folded.

The carriage starts a little bit later, the wheels humming to life as the coachmen yip at the horses to start. The sudden rocking movement that you’ve become familiar with sways you side to side, and suddenly you're totally aware of the fact that you’re alone in a limited space with the man you’ve been avoiding for the better half of two weeks. 

You can feel his stare boring into the side of your head, can hear the way his breathing is coming out strangely as if he wanted to talk, but kept stopping himself off before he could say a word. 

“Did you like the earrings?” Gojo finally asks, and you glance up, eyes narrowing for a second in confusion as realization suddenly comes rushing in. 

“Hm? O-oh, yes!” You quickly stutter out, your hands flying to your ears as if you forgot they were there, “Yes, thank you. They were beautiful. They kind of looked like the inside of a belly button,” you say.

Your husband blinks, brows furrowed slightly as you think about what you had just said, eyes wide in shock.  

“Er…well, gods, no, not bellybuttons,” your head falls to your hands as you shake your head profusely, “Sorry, they don’t look like belly buttons-” 

But you stop when you hear a small laugh from him, quiet as he looks away for a second, a tiny slightly visible grin on his face as he looks back at you. 

“Did you know that sometimes,” his eyes are a little upturned as if he fighting back an actual smile, “I make a bet with myself about what you’re going to say?” 

You smile slightly, your head cocking to the side. 

“Have you ever won?” 

Gojo chuckles, and your eyes suddenly fall to his hand, at the way he’s fidgeting with his ring, his wedding ring, the same way you seem to do whenever you’re thinking about everything and anything all at once. 

“Not once.” 

You grin, and though you still feel this heavy weight of unspoken things resting in the middle of you two, you decide not to acknowledge it at the moment. Things unsaid, unheard, weaved through the air, tying you and him together like a tapestry. 

You fidget with your skirt, looking out the window at the moving scenery. 

Gojo breathes deeply through his nose, his pointed finger tapping on his thigh. 

“I’ve been meaning to talk to you,” he finally says, and your eyes dart away from the trees and the sky to look over at him. 

His bottom lip is caught underneath his teeth, his blue eyes shining with a different hue. He takes up a lot of room with just his size alone, but it looks like he’s trying to make himself seem less intimidating, less of a warrior, and more of a…person.

You don’t say anything, opting to stay quiet to see what it is that he is trying to formulate into words. 

“That night,” Gojo twists his ring back and forth with his thumb, “I…” It’s weird to see somebody so sure of themself struggle to speak, and your brows crease in the middle, not knowing what it was he was trying to get at. 

“I wanted to tell you that you too had a right to a good husband. Somebody who didn't rush you into a marriage because of his own mistakes…somebody you wanted.”

Where is he going with this?

You suddenly feel your throat dry up, swallowing thickly as Gojo looks out the window momentarily before looking back at you. 

“My parents never told me who I’d be marrying,” Gojo explains, his voice hoarse, “I figured out the day of the wedding,” he twisted his wedding ring, looking at the way it shined, “And I wanted to hate you,” 

His words punch you square in the gut, but you can only bring yourself to keep on looking at him.

“I wanted to hate you so much because it would be easier to act like this wasn’t my fault if I could…but,” he sighs, his chest rising and falling, “I don’t think it’s possible to hate you.” 

Your lip trembles slgihtly, a sheen over your eyes. What is he doing?

“I’ve been raised in a way most people our age aren’t. My parents wanted me to be the strongest so was put into training since I was four, and I think this entire time I’ve been trying to approach you like a…military strategy. You were this map in my head that no matter how I approached it nothing made sense. But that night, in the kitchen, everything finally did.” 

Your eyes flitter downwards so that he couldn’t see the waver in them

“You didn’t deserve how you were treated in your old life, nor this new one,” his hand covers his chest, and you feel lightheaded, “And I promise to you I’ll do everything in my power to make this one better. If you don’t want me as a husband, than as a friend.

“I’d like to be your friend, if you’d allow me,” he whispers thickly, his voice heavy. He fidgets with his fingers, moving them together and back out again, and you notice how he does this a lot whenever you’re near.

Your heart is beating so quickly that you feel like it's going to stop, and your mind is working so hectically that you don’t know what to think. This is the same man who looked at you as if you had torn down the moon and stars when he saw you the first time, the man who never seemed to be that interested in what it is you had to say. The very same person who would’ve rather married a broomstick than you. 

…right? 

And yet he’s here, asking to be your friend. Something that nobody has ever asked before, something that people wouldn’t ever dare to murmur out loud to you. He had no beneficial gain from doing this, no ally that he would please if he offered to be your friend.

Your heart twists because why does he look like he cares about what you say? His eyes are creased slightly around the edges, his lips pressed together as if he were preparing for whatever outcome it was to what you said.

Nobody has ever told you those things, the things that made years of pain and hurt strummed into one beat that your heart never wanted to drum to. This man, your husband, Gojo, was supposed to be another cog in that old machine, one that hummed and spurred like it was about to eat you alive. 

But the more you look at him, the more you let your unspoken words speak in silence for you, you realise that he isn’t lying.

You open your mouth to speak but are cut off when the carriage comes to a sudden halt. 

The two of you look at each other and then to the door, watching as it opens up, greeted to the sight of a large manor with multiple people walking in hand in hand. You swallow your bile, not knowing what to say, deciding to flee instead of face him like you should’ve. 

—

The gathering itself was far more boring than you imagined it to be. 

You and Gojo had the mutual understanding to act more…well, like a couple, than you actually were. You didn’t comment on the way his arm circled around your waist a couple of minutes into making your rounds talking with people or the endearing way he referred to you as my wife. 

You’re glad that he doesn’t do anything to talk about what he had told you in the carriage whenever the two of you were alone, acting like nothing was wrong and everything was normal as he inquired about your day. 

You told him brief things, still trying to shove his words out of your mind, but it was no use. I’d like to be your friend, your mind kept repeating, and you were too scared of brining it up in case he had changed his mind in between those minutes of quiet.

People you had never seen before congratulated you on your new marriage, their brows raised in that excited way as they motioned to your stomach, hinting at a special little someone who might be joining your lives soon. 

“Soon!” You said with a curt laugh, glancing momentarily at Gojo only to see him already looking at you, a light blush dusting his cheeks.

He made sure not to stay with people who were strangers to you for too long, not wanting to bore you to death, and allowed you to take in more of the well-lit and vastly decorated manor. 

Though its size was incomparable to the Gojo estate, it was still massive. The Tokoshi family had been a family with the Gojo one for centuries, so there was no question that the riches they had amassed over the years by being trading partners with them had culminated in this. 

Gojo told you earlier in the carriage, before everything else, how the young Tokoshi couple were good people. They liked to throw parties a couple of times a year, inviting only a select few. He liked them far more than a lot of the other people he had been forced to grow up with over the years. 

You look at the dining hall, at the corridors with openings that allow you to look outside without the glare of glass. His arm never left your body, holding you close to him as he let you walk around, your mouth hanging open slightly as you craned your neck to look at everything. Candles were lit everywhere, the bouquets of different assortments of flowers decorating the stone flower holders carved into the walls. 

You mentioned to him in the privacy of the carriage, that you hadn’t ever been able to experience a party of this sort of caliber before. You could see how he wanted to ask more questions, but you could see the answers already formulating his head as to why.

“We probably look like one of those couples where the wife’s dying and the husband takes her out to see the stars one last time,” you whisper to him, still looking around in a stunned sort of way at the beauty of it all. 

Gojo’s head ducks down a bit, trying to hide the chuckle that had broken out and made its way onto his face. He coughs into his fist as if that was the issue, but you look over at him to see the humor in his eyes. 

“Did you lose your bet again?” You ask, glancing at him from the corner of your eyes as he looks like he’s fighting the grin that’s threatening to take over. 

“I’m always losing that bet,” he tells you.

Though he doesn’t do anything to bring up his conversation, you can see it in the way he looks at you, as if he’s still teetering on an edge, wanting to know what you were thinking in that frazzled mind of yours. 

You decide to push past it.

“Can I get in on it?” You ask, turning slightly so that you face him, very aware of the fact that his hand hasn’t moved from its spot on your waist.

You try not to think about it, reminding yourself that it’s just for show, but you can’t stop the feeling of heat that travels wherever it is he seems to touch you. His hand is larger than an average one, his fingers moving mindlessly up and down on your corseted stomach. 

“Do you need the extra coin?” His voice is carrying a strange tone…is he teasing you? 

But again, you try not to think about it, it’s all for show, (you also try not to think too much of the fact that you’re pretty separated from everybody else).

“No, I just need coin,” you explain, fixing one of the medallions on his chest that had been slightly slanted, “I have nearly nothing left.” 

Gojo moves barely away from you, his eyes searching yours as if to find the joke. 

“Have you run through my family gold already?” His voice is still toying, but now it’s filled with a little confusion. 

“No, of course not,” you snort, rolling your eyes as you tilt your chin up to look at him better, “I haven’t touched any of your gold. I just ran through mine.” 

His brows quirks upward, mouth parting slightly. 

“You’ve emptied the gold your family sent up?” 

It’s your turn to be confused. 

“What gold?” You ask, moving away from him, his hand falling to his side, and you suddenly miss his warmth. 

You remember your father talking about how the Gojo family had rejected your initial dowry, saying something along the lines of outlandish practices, but aside from that, you weren’t told about any other sort of money that was supposed to be sent with you. 

He pinches the bridges of his nose, sighing deeply. 

“The gold that they sent with you? It wasn’t supposed to be a lot but it was supposed to suffice for the journey here.” 

You blink owlishly at him. 

“What gold have you run through?” He specifies, plastering on a fake smile when he catches the eyes of somebody behind you, but then focuses his stare back to you. 

“Well…” you shrug, “My gold.” 

Gojo looks like he’s about to make a new bet, one that’s with every time you’ve almost given him an aneurysm trying to figure out your strange riddles and rhymes that are supposed to be actual words. 

“I used to make some gold at my old home,” you explain, keeping your voice low in case somebody was somewhere that you hadn’t seen, but realizing that Gojo was lost, you continued, “The stable boy gave me some of his salary if I took care of the horses and cleaned the stables. Sometimes he’d give me extra if I could haul in the large bags of hay.” 

He scoffs, shaking his head slightly. 

“Why?” That seems to be a question he’s been asking lately. 

You shrug again, feeling his hand circle back around your waist as some people come near you, 

“I needed new clothes and my shoes had holes in them. My father’s wife didn’t let him give me much, so I tried to fill in the gaps.”

You smile at one of the couples that are coming near you, going back into your other persona as you begin chatting with them. Gojo pulls you in tighter to his side, staying silent. You don’t notice the way he hasn’t stopped staring at you, nor the way his heart seems to have churned so painfully in his chest. 

—

The night progresses and you find yourself inside the dining hall, being shown to your seats by one of the maids, finding your name next to Gojo’s on a name card. 

The two of you sit down, watching the people the file in, the sound of laughter filling the room, the clinking of china against each other filling in the rest of the silence. You take it all in with a smile, looking every and at everyone.

“I hope I’m not embarrassing you,” you whisper as you lean closer to Gojo, an apologetic smile on your face as you sit further into your seat, “This is all just so new to me.” 

You don’t see the ways his eyes soften, his hand inching closer to yours as he shakes his head. 

“You’re not embarrassing me,” he murmurs back, leaning his head closer to yours, wanting his words only to be heard by you, “I’m glad you’re enjoying this.” The smile that makes its way onto your face could power the universe, and Gojo feels like the wind had been knocked from his lungs, far worse than in training when somebody's foot slams into his chest. 

“I am!” Your enthusiastic and hurried words are hushed, but he can still hear the way you’re trying to hide your joy. The small talk is horrific,” he laughs a little bit, “but still I love it.” 

He opens his mouth to speak but is cut off by the sound of a knife hitting glass. 

“Everyone! Give me your time, just for a moment!” Miyo Tokoshi, whom you spoke to briefly, stands up, his chair behind him.

All eyes in the room fall on him, people still smiling, their teeth glimmering in the light. 

“I cannot express my joy to be in a room with you all tonight,” he says, looking around the room, making sure he saw everyone for a split second. “And my wife and I couldn’t be more ecstatic to host the first gathering of the season!”

You look at the woman sitting next to him, Lana, who you had also met momentarily, is gleaming at him, her face full of genuine adoration. She, along with everybody else, claps, laughing joyfully. 

You wonder if this is what a real husband and wife should look like, and you look briefly over to Gojo, your mind reeling with the charade the two of you have been playing this entire night. 

“And we couldn’t be happier to welcome the first couple of the year,” he exclaims, pointing his glass over to you and Gojo, saying your name and then your husbands as he claps his hand softly against his wrist, “May every moment you spend together be better than the last. We wish the two of nothing but a lifetime of happiness and prosperity. 

Gojo raised his glass to him, his hand grasping yours as he lifted it to his lips, planting a kiss on the back of it. 

You feel like you’ve stopped breathing with the linger of his lips on your skin, the last time that happened on the night of your wedding, and watching him grasp it even tighter when he sets it back down, weaving his fingers through yours. 

Stop, you chide, raising your glass as well, a shaky smile on your face, it’s just an act.

He winks at the two of you, nodding once more as he focuses his stare somewhere down the table, obstructed by where you are sitting.

“And to the future couple! Naoya and Freya!” 

Gojo turned his head immediately to look at you, watching the color drain from your face, and before you knew it, the man, Naoya, was standing up, a hand over his chest in faux gratitude as he thanked the host. 

You could never mistake that hair, the feline look in his eyes as he scanned across the room, a slimy smile on his face. You watch as it grows even wider when he finally catches his prey when he finally sees you, and you feel nauseous, like you’re about to throw up all those little crackers they had given you earlier that evening. 

The hand holding yours squeezes, knowing he can’t say anything right now, and you swallow thickly, eyes darting over to his as you feel your head about to sway. 

Naoya’s here. The man you turned down for Gojo. 

The rest of Tokoshi’s speech is muted to you. It feels like your head is being held underwater, and you feel sweat dotting your forehead, your chest, and your palms. You can feel Gojo’s eyes on the side of your head and can tell he’s trying to tell you something silently. 

The clinking of glass brings you out of your haze, looking up mindlessly as you haphazardly clink yours against Gojo’s, rubbing a hand down your face as if that would help. 

You're grateful for the flurry of movements and noises, everybody talking to somebody, the people beginning to serve themselves the wide array of food places in front of them. 

Gojo squeezes your hand one more time, and you finally look over at him, trying to muster up a smile but with how queasy you feel and the way your head spinning, it probably looks like you’re about to be sick all over him. 

“I’ll be okay,” you say through clenched teeth. 

Gojo nods, his thumb rubbing up and down your hand in a soothing way. It’s just for show. 

“I’m sorry my palms are sweating,” you laugh mirthlessly, and he squeezes it again, you’re sure he’s only doing this because of the extra attention of the two of you ever since they realized you and Naoya were in the same room, “you don’t have to keep holding it.” 

“Do you want me to let go?” He asks, and you stop poking around at the turnips on your plate. 

No. 

“N-no,” you croak out, desperate for his touch that’s grounding you, “No, please.” 

Gojo nods, his thumb not stopping its comforting motion of moving up and down. 

“Don’t worry,” he mutters, leaning closer to you as you duck your head so that your ears are near his lips, “My hands get sweaty too.” 

You laugh quietly and it sounds like wind chimes. You look at Gojo and watch as his lips tug upwards into a soft smile, one you had never seen before, and one you thought you never would. 

—

You tried to hide away the rest of the party, but Gojo didn’t seem to mind. 

When it was time to leave you accepted the gracious hug of the hosting couple, promising them that you’d come back for a more private dinner, and let Gojo lead you out into the courtyard where all the carriages were held. 

You slept the entire ride home, not wanting to mess anything up by taking, and you’re happy that Gojo didn’t bother you. You felt groggy when you returned to the estate, grateful for Gojo’s steady hand as he helped you out of the carriage. The two of you looked like you wanted to say something, but couldn’t, so you bid each other good night and went your separate ways.

Separate except for one brief moment. 

You were walking away and up the stairs when you suddenly stopped, remembering what it was that you wanted to tell him. You call out his name, watching as he turns, white brows slightly furrowed. 

“I…” you start but realize you didn’t exactly have a plan for what you wanted to say. He gives you his patience, not looking annoyed or frustrated when you try to think of the right words to string together. 

“I…I would like to be your friend too,” you finally say, and watch as a smile forms on his face, his pink lips tugging upwards in a way that made his eyes shine, the way your earrings did in the candlelight. 

He rakes his hand through his snow-white locks, pushing them away from his face. 

“I’ll see you at breakfast then,” Gojo says, and you dip your head down in a small smile. 

You give him a small wave, disappearing as you round the corner.

And since then, you found him joining you not only for breakfast or the sparse dinners but for any meal he possibly could. 

Gojo talked more, about anything and everything, and you did the same. 

You realized that he was actually an open person the closer you got to him, seeing that he too was capable of laughing and making jokes, his teasing eyes growing more frequent the closer your chairs got to the dinner table until you eventually just sat side-by-side, growing tired of shouting at each other across its length. 

On the days he wasn’t busy with strategizing or talking to other lords, he’d walk around the estate with you, telling you stories from his childhood, the times he’d run amock around the halls. Other times the two of you would go into town, looking at the different stores together. 

You could tell he was trying, could see it in the way he glanced at you from time to time to make sure that you were doing well. 

He’d accompany you to the library if you asked him to, and you’d go down sometimes to the training yard just to see him. Gojo would never tell you how much he tried to show off when you were there and knew he never had to. You could see the way he tried to appear even stronger when fighting with one of the other men, the poor soldier coming out with bruises and cuts all over his body.

Over many weeks, you find yourself looking forward to spending time with him, and a part of your cracked self begins mending itself again. 

It felt like after years of searching for somebody, somebody found you. 

On one of the nights when his sparring had gone on for far longer than it usually does, you decided to head down to the training yard after your night bath, tugging on a large robe over yourself as you walked the familiar stone steps down to where you knew he was. 

You could hear them before you saw them, a cacophony of fists hitting skin, groans, shouts from one another. There was a little perch from where you could watch what was happening below, and you usually hid yourself in a corner so that they wouldn’t see you. 

You’d rest on a pillar, arms crossed over your shoulder as you looked at the men below. Gojo was always easy to find, the flurry of white hair a tall-tale sign of where he was. You had watched him before, but you never got tired of it. You found it almost inhuman the way his movements seemed to flow like water, the way his hits were precise and direct. 

Gojo truly was the best warrior the North had ever seen, and sometimes you forget that you’re married to a man who brought down entire armies with just his bare fists. 

You watch as he jests with one of his friends, his chest rising a little bit at an irregular pace, slightly out of breath, but happy to be there. He turns to one of the guys behind him to say something, but his eyes immediately track upwards to the figure trying to stay hidden, you and a wide smile break out on his face. 

He waves at you, and it gets the attention of the other men there. They all turn to see where you are, their boyish grins and calls making you roll your eyes at their antics, your face heating up slightly as you wave back at them. 

Gojo says something to the person next to him, and you hear the man shout at the other ones to wrap it up for the night. Some of them wave goodbye to you as they begin exiting, going back to their common rooms. 

You make a move to lean slightly over the railing, your arms crossed over the wood as you peer down at the ground where Gojo remained alone, finding him to already be looking up at you. 

“Care to come down?” He juts his chin at the staircase to your left, the one that leads down to the courtyard, and you nod, disappearing behind the stone pillars as you take the steps leading downwards. 

You’ve been here a couple of times, as per your own request. You wanted to see what they did during training, what the training yard actually looked like from the ground. You lift the ends of your dress up slightly as you near the bottom, rounding the corner to see Gojo standing in the middle. 

He’s waiting for you, his eyes tracking your movements as you come near to him. 

His nose twitches slightly, his eyes squinting as he lifts his head in the air, suddenly picking up the scent of something unusual. 

“What’s that smell?” Gojo asks as you come to him, his eyes looking over your body as if it were emitting from you. 

You scoff, appalled, and then suddenly remember that Alina had applied some lavender oil to you after your bath. 

“If it’s a good smell then me,” you cross your arms over your chest, nose wrinkling in disgust as you take in his smell of sweat and grime, “If bad then you.”

Gojo snorts, coming closer to you as he continues sniffing, exaggerating the sound. You step away from him slightly, the smell of sweat overpowering, and he takes notice of this. 

“What?” He inquires, annoyed that you are moving away from him, and he takes a step closer. 

“What do you mean what?” You tease, moving again as he tries to smell the air, “You smell like an army of unshowered men. I just took a bath.” 

Gojo seems offended at this, trying to move back closer to you but you side-step him, apparently serious about this. 

“You really won’t let me come near you?” He sounds like you’ve kicked him down, his cheeks stained pink from earlier, and you laugh slightly, shaking your head. 

“I really won’t,” you affirm, shoving the back of your wrist to him to show him that what he was smelling was in fact you, “See? Lavender oil.” 

Gojo just seems to be getting more annoyed the more you try to evade him, his blue eyes swirling with an idea as you look at him in worry. 

“No, the smell is coming from somewhere else.” He argues, changing his footing so that he stands right in front of you and you let out a shocked laugh, not expecting this as you take a step back. 

You don’t know where else he can smell the lavender oil. Alina dotted it to your wrists and your neck, but surely can’t differentiate the difference in location…right? 

“Come here,” he almost whines, “I’m not going to rub off my smell onto you.” 

You laugh again out loud, picking up the skirt of your dress as you try to outrun him slightly. 

“You will!” You insist, motioning to the sheen of sweat on his body, “You reek of sweat. I swear it’s just lavender oil!” 

He groans, his eyes rolling to the back of his head at this inconvenience. 

“You’re killing me right now,” Gojo dramatically grabs his chest, “You won’t let me smell this strange aroma and it’s killing me,” his face breaking into a little pout as you laugh even louder, shocked at how petulant he was being. Your laughing seemed to spur him on even more, running towards you as you ran backward, hoping you didn’t trip on the fabric of your dress. 

“You have a plethora of bottles of lavender oil in your own room,” you argue, “this isn’t something innovative that you’ve never smelled before.” 

Gojo shakes his head, and your heart flutters at the way his smile is so playful and teasing, the way some of his hair falls into his face in that messy way when he’s usually training and not caring about his appearance. 

“It’ll only take a second,” he reasons and you shake your head no, your eyes both shining with playful laughter. 

The courtyards lead out into the large fields of the Gojo estate, and you look behind yourself at the opening. It’s night, there’s nobody around. Nobody would judge you for running away from your sweaty husband. 

You look back at him, see the gleam in his eyes, and know that he’s not going to back down. 

He can see the thoughts forming in your head, can assume them before they’re even created, and so he’s straight on your heels as you sprint away from him, a large smile on your face as you squeal out loud. 

“Please!” You shout over your shoulder, running down the little hill as the moon lights the way for you, “I just took a bath! Leave me alone!” 

You can hear the grass rustling beneath your feet, your screams of laughter contagious as you try to outrun the fastest person ever, and try not to slow yourself down by looking over your shoulder to see where he is. 

But after a couple of seconds of running you realize that the only footsteps you hear are your own, and you pause momentarily to look behind you and are surprised to see that he’s not there. 

Did he not come after you? 

You look around the field, the large blades of grass looking like waves that move with the wind, and whip your head around every time you hear a twig snap. 

You're a little bit further away from the manor itself, and the only thing you can see besides its large stone walls are the torches lit outside. You can make out the guards who are standing outside, but no sign of Gojo. 

You try to catch your breath, confused as to where he could’ve gone when a force stronger than a horse running at full speed slams into your side. 

The scream you let out echoes around the field, and you brace yourself for the harsh impact of hitting the ground. With your eyes squeezed shut you wait for the flash of pain, but peek them open to see Gojo framing your head with one of his hands, his body shielding you from the impact as he lays on top of you. 

“How…?” You scream, your chest moving up and down with your fit of giggles, trying to push him off of you, “You’re a beast!” You cry out, moving your head to the side as he laughs along with you, his chest rumbling with the movement. 

You shove his face away with the palm of your hands, shoving your wrist into his nose as if that would satiate him. 

“I took a bath you behemoth!” You whine, thinking about the dirt and mud that must be staining your skin and dress right now, “Are you so void of any good fragrance in your life that you must hunt me down for it?” 

Gojo tsks, shaking his head as he swats your wrist aside. 

He’s also slightly out of breath, most likely because he ran across and entire field from another entranceway that you weren’t aware of to catch you off guard, and you’re suddenly very aware of just how close to two of you are together. 

His hand is still cradling your head, the other one holding your hips. Truthfully he doesn’t even smell bad, which is frustrating that it’s just another one of his many talents. 

He judges your jaw up with his nose, and you helplessly comply, your heart hammering wildly as he leans in closer to the skin of your neck, taking in a whiff as he looks back up to you, his eyes gleaming. 

Gojo’s hand on your hip moves up slightly to hold your waist, not hard, but to stop you from squirming around. 

“It smells different here,” he nudges your neck with his nose again, and your breathing hitches, “Smells sweeter.” 

You swallow thickly, blinking slowly as you crane your neck slightly upwards to give him more room. It’s like your body is moving on its own, and you’re not to sure how you know what to do, but you just do. 

“That’s not possible,” you try to argue, trying your best to keep your voice from wavering, “You just lack the nose for good oils.” 

Gojo laughs lowly, shaking his head at your antics as he braces his knees on either side of your thighs, caging you in. 

“I have a very keen sense of smell,” he boasts and you snort, looking away as he pinches your hip to which you yelp.

His hand moves away from your head and to your shoulder, to where your nightgown had slightly slipped off and runs a thumb down a patch of your skin where it was slightly raised, a faint scar on your collarbone. 

“Where’d you get this?” His voice is slightly hushed, and you look down from your chin to where he is talking about. 

 “Hm?” You look around, see that he’s pointing to the tiniest little scar, and chuckle slightly, “Oh, that?” Your eyes squint as you try to remember, “I tried to climb up a tree once when I was little and fell.” Gojo huffs out a little laugh, his eyes still focused on your skin as you chew on the inside of your cheek.

“It probably looks far worse compared to anything you have,” you say sarcastically, “The family physician kept saying I wasn’t going to make it through the night.” 

He scoffs, rolling his eyes at your antics as he raises himself, moving away from you as he sits back down on the grass. You miss his warmth, the way his heat radiated onto you like a furnace. 

“I don’t know how you keep surviving between your inability to consume fish and your near-death occurrences,” Gojo’s voice holds a teasing tone and you smile, moving up so that you’re facing him. 

You rest your weight back on your hands, kicking your legs out in front of you as your skirt flows around the grass. A while ago you would’ve felt improper sitting like this in front of anyone, but you don’t seem to care all that much when it’s Gojo. 

“I showed you my battle would,” you say, putting one leg on top of the other, “What’s your worst one?” You ask, tilting your head to the side in questioning. 

Gojo purses his lip, thinking. 

You imagine that he’d tell you or probably motion to where it was, but a second later you watch, shocked, as he tugs his tunic upwards, your face heating as he rises it slightly so that you can see a part of his stomach. 

You hate how utterly built he is. 

His skin is pulled taught over the smooth stomach of his abs, his chest huge with pure muscle, his arms, bulging through the sleeves. It’s something you thought you’d get used to, something you told yourself to stop ogling at, but never could.

But you shift your focus to a large scar that runs across his chest, from the bottom of his hip under his arm. It still looks relatively new, and the scar itself still pink. You could see the way it was jagged, not one smooth line, and gods, fuck, why do you want to touch it?

“Well,” you try to think of something witty to say, seeing the way he’s looking at you as if waiting for it, “Clearly not as bad as mine, but it comes in as a close second.” 

He throws his head back as he laughs, his muscles contracting as he does so. You feel flushed, not able to look away from the scar, knowing that you were merely compensating for not knowing what to say. 

“I know,” he says eventually with a shrug, looking down as he surveys the scar, “It’s not as bad as it could’ve been.” 

You pout slightly, thinking. 

“Does it hurt?” 

He looks up at you, at the way you can’t take your eyes away from it, and shakes his head. 

“Not anymore,” he sits up a little straighter, closer to you as you watch him move, “Sometimes I can feel it sting, but it’s barely noticeable.” 

You beg to differ. 

The two of you don’t say anything and a part of you has decided that silence is bad for you. Because before you can really think about what you’re doing, you push yourself upwards, leaning in closer to him as you try to get a better look at it. 

He doesn’t say anything, but if only you could see the way he could barely use his lungs to breath right now you’d make some sly remark about how the best warrior of the North was growing shy from just a look. 

But suddenly you’re not looking anymore as you shuffle in a little closer, your fingers reaching upwards to touch the skin. 

You can hear the wind move around you, the grass rustiling as your fingers run across the scar. His abs flex at the coldness of your hand, but he doesn’t tell you to stop. You’re studying it intently, wondering what sort of weapon could’ve caused this. 

Gojo’s size dwarfs over yours, but you don’t seem to mind. Your lips as slightly pursed as you take it in. 

“Did you fight a bear?” You finally ask, peeking up to look at him. 

You’re startled by the way the flush on his cheeks has grown even more red, or the way you can’t see the blues in his eyes anymore. Has he always looked like that?

Gojo shakes his head, taking in a shaky breath, looking at the top of your head as you go back to looking at the scar. 

“Nearly,” he tries to joke, but his voice is weak, laced with need, “But I doubt a bear would even want to be compared to the man who gave me the scar.” 

You look up, your brow quirked in curiosity. 

“Who?” You ask, shocked at how quiet your voice came out. 

Gojo smiles, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. His tongue clicks against his teeth, his hand rising up to grab yours, pulling it away from his chest. He can’t bear to have you touching him like that anymore, not trusting himself to restrain the pure desire that bubbling inside his veins. 

“Naoya,” he says hushed, watching as your lips part and eyes widen. 

There’s a beat of silence, a moment when you think you can hear your heart beating in the same rhythm his is. 

Your hand curls into itself, shock taking over your features as your eyes drop to his scar and then back up to him. You find yourself wanting to say everything and anything, but can’t somehow find the words that you’re looking for. Gojo beats you to it, thankfully. 

“I’ve been having this recurring dream ever since I fought him of that same moment over and over again when he cut me open. But it’s changed, recently,” He sits up straighter, so close to you that your chests are almost touching, “And I keep seeing him marrying you, what would’ve happened if you had said yes.”

“And gods, fuck,” he ducks his head down, raking an agitated hand through his hair, making it even more messy, “I…” He chokes on his breath, looking back at you, and suddenly you see the glossiness in his eyes, the way that tears brim his waterline. 

And suddenly you see the Gojo Satoru, the Lord in the North, the most powerful man alive, cry. 

“I keep reprimanding Naoya in my head about how awful he is, about how I’d kill nearly every person alive if he ever touched you, b-but I was just as awful. I think about the first time I saw you, about the first weeks you were here. I think about how you must’ve felt, how alone you were. Every day…” he wipes messily at his cheeks, his lips wobbling, “Every day I wake up and think of you. I think about your face, your smile, your eyes, your lips, the way your nose scrunches, that line between your brows when you're confused, and every night I go to sleep hoping that this was all an awful dream and I haven’t ruined your life, but then I wake up, and it starts all over again.” 

“I know I’m a selfish man,” Gojo says with a wet chuckle, his cheeks wet with tears, “I know I shouldn’t, but I want you to myself, I want you forever. I want to be your friend, I want to be the person you sleep next to, the person you go to when you want to talk about your little stories. I want to hear your jokes and I want to see you laugh. I want to hold your hand, I want to put that ring on your finger every morning, and I want to propose to you each night.”

He shakes his head, swallowing his cries down, the moon lighting the tear tracks that start from his eyes and end at his chin. 

“But I know you don’t want that. You told me that you wanted a friend, but…” he shrugged, his smile sad, aching, longing, “I think along the way of being your friend I realized I wanted to be your husband too.” 

“I understand if you want to leave. I’ll tell my parents the truth, they’ll understand. I have a house ready for you near the sea, one away from your family, where you can start over.” 

The wind rustles the hills, and you look at the field, watch the way it moves in tandem with the life around it. 

You can feel the tears forming in your eyes, and know that even if you blink them away it’ll do nothing to actually hide them. There’s a burning feeling in your chest, one that you’ve never felt before, one that rings with Gojo’s words. 

You run your fingers through the grass, looking up at him with a certain fire in your eyes.

“What if I don’t want that?”

He blinks slowly. 

“I,” Gojo sniffs, nodding profusely, hoping you don’t see the way he crumbles, “I understand, I promise I do. The house is a couple days-” 

“No,” you cut him off firmly, wiping your palms furisuly across your cheeks, to rid them of the pesky tears, shaking your head, “What if I don’t want that?” You move up to him, reaching your hand down his tunic, your fingers moving against is chest as you dig out the gold chain that’s wrapped around his neck. 

The one that holds his ring, the one he told you about one night that keeps it safe whenever he’s training. 

“What if I want this?” Your voice is cracking, and you tug the chain tighter.

“What if I want all those things? What if I want you to love me?” The ring shines in the moonlight, mirroring her pair thats wrapped around your finger, “I want to be your friend,” you stress, your brows strewn together as tears overflow from your waterline, “And I want to know what things you like. I want to walk with you all around the earth and walk back home again. I want to sleep next to you. I want to make you laugh, and I want you to make me smile. I want you to be my husband so that I can be your wife,” you cry out, your chest heaving up and down as he wraps his arms around your back, pulling you into his lap as he tries to quickly wipe your tears away. 

“I want you too, Satoru,” you whisper, broken with your wet sniffles, a wet laugh escaping your lips when you see him crack at the way you said his name with so much care, your thumbs gliding across his cheeks. 

You slide closer into him, your legs splitting across his huge thighs as he hugs you tenderly to him, his head resting on your chest so that he can hear your heartbeat, make sure that this wasn’t just another dream.

“I don’t deserve you,” he murmurs against your bosom, looking up at you with glistening eyes. 

“Then fight for me,” you whisper, your hands on either side of his face, “Give me all those things. Give me more,” you smile when his arms wrap around your waist a little tighter, his hands holding you up, “And I’ll do the same.” 

He nods, holding your hand that was still holding onto his ring to his chest, one hand moving to your back, and in the mess of tears and broken laughs the two of you seem to move together, meeting each other in the middle as your lips find each other in the dark shadows of night. 

You gasp when his lips capture yours, and he moves towards the sound, wanting to hold it, keep it forever. 

Gojo moves slowly, knowing that this is your first time, and cups your jaw, helping you move along with him as you lips slot and lock against each other. It’s messy and with no order, your chin staining with sweat as you moan against him, feeling delirious without the touch of him. 

You know this isn’t the easiest position for him, but he doesn’t seem to mind. He groans against you, his eyes squeezing shut, trying to memorize your taste in case the world ended tomorrow and this was his last meal. 

“Is this-” You cut him off when you swoop in again, his laughter cut short by your needienss, the way you paw at his chest, your hands winding up to his hair as you tug harshly on the soft strands. 

He moans at this, at the way you grind mindlessly on his thigh, your need for each other bleeding out into the open. 

“I love you,” he murmurs against you, kissing down your chin and then back up to you, his tongue swiping against your lips, savroing your whine, “I love you so much,” he says to everybody, hoping even those on mountains oceans away could hear, “I love you, my wife,” and you giggle, eyes bright when you hear those words. 

“Say it again,” you ask, your nails drawing little shapes on his nape, and you see him break into a smile. 

“My wife,” he repeats with a peck to your cheek, “My beautiful wife,” he kisses the tip of your nose, smiling at the way it scrunhed up slightly, just the way he adored, “My wife,” he kisses your jaw, “My wife,” your giggling nonstop and he hopes to bottle up the sound and hear it on his deathbed.

His hands travel back down to your hips, adusjsting you slightly so that you wouldn’t feelt he embarrassing hardening of his dick just from kissing you, and moves his lips down to your neck, hearing the way there’s a hitch in your laughter. 

“Why’d you stop?” he nudges his nose at that spot pf your neck that still smells like lavender, his favroite scent in the world, “Hm?” Gojo hums against that spot, licking a wet stripe up it, sucking at the skin, feeling the way you arch into his chest. 

“Y-your reeking s-scent infiltrated my nose,” you murmur, biting on your lip as he pinches your waist. 

“Yeah?” Gojo continued to tease you, sliding the sleeve of your dress down, giving you more access to the skin of your collarbone, “Want me to stop?” 

“No!” You cry, totally against your better judgement, moaning when he sucks another mark into the skin, biting it, and then presses a soft kiss to it as an apology, “Please, please, don’t stop.” 

He chuckles darkly, shifting you around so that you are lying back down on the ground, his body framing yours as he continues tugging down your dress, going slow in case you ever wanted him to stop. 

His fingers are quick at untying the string that holds you bodice together, unravelingit all until it falls off and he’s greeted to the sight of your heaving chest, the way your naked breasts rise and fall. 

Gojo blinks for a moment, forgetting how to move. 

“W-what?” You ask, a little self-conscience as he continues to stare at your chest, “Do they look wonky?” You move your hands to cover up but a deep gutteral growl escapes his lips, pinning your hands back. 

“Beautiful,” he bites out, moving his head down, pressing a wet kiss in between the valley of your breasts, “You look like a fuckin’ statue,” he says, “You’re s-so beautiful.” Gojo repeats, and you can’t protest with the way he praises you, nor the way his lips hover over a nipple, finally leaning in fully as he sucks on it. 

“F-fuck!” You cry out at the sensation, your fingers lost in his hair as you keep him there, back arching off the ground, “That, that feels…good,” you can’t speak, not with the way his tongue slides across your nipple, pressing little kisses around you areola. 

His other hand goes to your other one, making sure she’s not feeling lonely, his thumb flicking over your sensitive nipples as you whine even louder. 

Gojo switches and you feel your breath shudder in an embarrassing whimper, your eeys squeezing shut when he bites at you, wanting to mark you up for those wretched gods to see and feel humanly jealous over. 

“So soft,” he murmurs against your skin, almost in awe, “feels like silk.” 

You would’ve had a witty joke about this, you know you did, but you can’t fathom to think about anything other than the way his lips feel on your tits, the way he seems like he’d die had he not been here sooner. 

But he then raises his head, and you whine in protest. Gojo almost break at the way you’re looking up at him, the way yor lips tremble from sheer desire. 

“Want more?” He presses, his hands, warmer than the fire that’s burning in your belly, trailing down, down to where your dress was slightly parting, “Here?” 

“Y-yes, fuck,” you moan, parting your legs to make room for him, not knowing what this feeling was but knowing that he was the only one who could soothe it, “Need it so bad Sa-satoru,” 

His eyes roll back, swallowing his primal groan at the way you plead for him, and nods, pressing a kiss against your stomach before his hitches the fabric upwards, sliding down your body so that his face is closer to that heat. 

You know you should feel more shame, but you feel like you’re going to die if your husband doesn’t do something soon. 

Gojo’s hand travels up your calf, trailing up your thigh, and suddenly stops. 

You go to beg, plead, for him, but cut yourself off when his lips find your inner thighs, pressign wet and messy kisses to them, getting dangerously close to where you felt like you were leaking. 

“You’re divine,” he whispers against your skin, hands wrapping around your thighs as he pulls them apart, “Fuckin’ divine.” 

His lips suddenly find there, you glistening cunt, and you mewl out for him. 

“Satoru,” your chest is heaving like you can’t find any air, “T-there, please, there,” and fuck the way you’re begging him is so sweet that he can’t find it in himself to tease you. 

His fingers seperate your wet lips, groaning when he sees just how much you’re dripping, and licks a tentative stripe upwards, your surprised gasp at how good it felt going straight to his cock.

Gojo carefully slides a finger through your tight walls, feeling the way you tighten around that, and lets his lips travel to your clit, pressing small kisses to it before he begins to suck. You clench around him, and your toes curl at the way he begins to pump it in and out, your essence soaking his skin. 

“So wet sweetheart,” he groans swapping his finger for his thumb at your clit, his tongue diving into your walls as he nearly cums from your saccharine taste alone, “S-shit, fuck, you taste like fucking heaven.” 

Your thighs tighten arund his head, but he craves the feeling, his tongue eating you out at such a fast pace that you begin to wonder if you need this more or him. 

“O-oh gods,” your grips his head tightly, can’t find the sympathy in yourself to feel bad, “‘Toru, oh, oh my, don’t stop! 

That coil in your stomach grows more taunt with each second. 

He alternates, adding in another thick finger, feeling the way you try to stretch for him. He glides in and out of you with ease, but he wonders what you’d look like on his thick cock, how you’d preen as he split you open with his girth. 

“Sweet,” he moans against you, his voice vibrating against your pulsing walls, “You’re so fuckin’ sweet.” 

You nod at something, whatever he just said, not fulling understanding anything around you as he continue to stimulate your clit, sucking on it, his teeth gliding across it with a little bite, and you moan out even louder. 

“I…” you can’t think, can’t breathe, “F-fcuk, ‘Toru, something, something’s happening,” you don’t know what this feeling is, this electric, all-consuming feeling that’s zapping through your body, making it numb yet aware of everything at the same time. 

“I know, I know,” Gojo praised you, one of his hands holding your stomach down, the added pressure making you whine, “You’re doing so good for me, you’re there, come on come for me,” his hand travels up your body, finding yours as he weaves your fingers together. 

“Shit, shit,” you mewl, “I’m coming, fuck, c-coming!” You cry out, your back arching off of the ground as your legs grow slack around his shoulders, your walls pulsing around him as that string tightens for the final time and then finally breaks. 

You can see white as your eyes rolls back into your head, squeezing his hand as tightly as you can, your yes dotting with tears. Your climax was all consuming, making you gush around his fingers and tongue, seeming to be never-ending, your body shaking in his hold. 

Gojo presses one final kiss to your cunt, licking off your release from his fingers, groaning at the taste, and lets you catch your breath. 

When you’re finally able to crack your eyes open, you peek them over to Gojo, seeing the way he tilts his head back, your cum still glistening on his chin and cheek, and whine out in embarrassment. 

“What?” He asks, eyes teasing when you go to hide your face in your hands. 

“I can’t,” your words are muffled, “I can’t believe I just…” 

Gojo kisses your forehead, wiping some of the tears from your eyes away as he kisses your brow bone. 

“How do you feel?” He asks, his eyes scanning over your body, glistening with sweat, and you take in a gulp of air. 

“Good,” you say finally with a soft smile, “Really good.” 

You look from his little grin, one that you peck at, your thumb rubbing up and down his jaw, and then look down, to the obvious bulge that’s hiding behind his training trousers. 

You’ve never seen a cock before but fuck he’s massive.

“What…” you trail off, sitting up slightly, and he helps balance you, “What about you?” you paw at his stomach, right before it leads down, and he lets out a shuddered whine. 

“As much as I-” he bites his tongue, feeling like he’s going to cum if you continue to look at him like that, “As much as I want to…not here,” he looks around at the field, shaking his head as a definite no, “Not here.” 

You go to protest, but he stops you, biting your fingers gently as you yelp, shoving his head away with little force as he chuckles. 

You let him wrap your dress around you again, tying some of the knots so that it doesn’t open up when you’re standing, and let the silence wash over the two of you calm your beating down heart down.

He plays with the ring around your finger, and you watch as the ring around his neck moves with his little breaths. 

“I want to sleep in your bed,” you say, and his blue eyes find yours. 

“You’re crazy if you don’t think I’m letting you sleep anywhere else,” he says in a shocked sort of way and you laugh, looking over to the side for a brief moment, and then look back at him. 

“Do you really love me?” 

Your words as whispered, but it feels like the wind picked them up and scattered them all around the field, around the river, the ancient stones, and right into Gojo’s heart. 

“I really love you,” he whispers back, kissing your eyelids, in between your brows, your forehead, the back of your hand, and murmurs the words, “my wife,” to nobody and to everybody at the same time. 

You smile, pulling him down by that necklace of his so that you can plant a soft kiss against his lips.  

[backinmyphase]

Are we still friends? - G. S.

Synopsis: There were many times your friendship with Satoru was hanging on a tight string. You had always worked through it. But this time was different. Even if you loved Satoru... - It would be hard to forgive.

wc. 11.2k (I'm sorry :'))

Content warnings: Satoru is a bit of an ass, leaving someone alone in an unsafe environment, SFW, mention of alcohol, Angst, Angst MUCH Angst, comfort to the end, year long pining, Satoru is an idiot and I mean an IDIOT

A/n: Happy birthday Satoru Gojo, my dumb idiot <333 (I'm sorry for any spelling mistakes or grammar errors. I also want to thank everyone who said they wanted a whole part of this drabble, I'm happy for every comment)

Fall 2005

"Why are you avoiding me?"

You finally got him alone, without all his new friends surrounding him and making you feel small. Right here behind the sport gym of this old place you had to call your school. Finally you had a moment alone, to talk to him, after days of silence between you. Finally you could get this weird tension out of the way that had infested itself since the beginning of the school year.

After all it was just Satoru, right?

Just Satoru, who rolled his eyes, while turning his head away. "I'm not."

"Stop lying, you are." You followed his gaze, trying to read his expression. But there was no need for that, since he snapped his head back to you after you spoke, looking at you with that terrible expression which hid nothing.

"Oh my god, just because I am not running after you every day, does it mean I'm avoiding you!" He groaned, a hand in his hair making it messy.

"Jeez, you are so clingy."

You stared at him. Blinked to see if you just imagined that. Blinked again. Nothing changed. "Excuse me?"

He didn't say anything now, which only made your anger grow. "I'm trying to make sense out of your childish actions, Satoru! You are the one who just stopped talking to me, leaving me alone in English, even though we have a project together. And now don't tell me that's not avoidance!"

You were breathing heavily, while glaring at him but he only scoffed with a smile on his face, a smile you didn't know.

"Oh please, if you need help and attention that bad run after your little boyfriend!"

"What?" your voice rose a whole octave. "What are you talking about?"

"You know, Rayo or Ruya, whatever." he waved with his hand, pronouncing every letter of the name with almost disgust.

"Ryu? He is my partner for a physics project, for God's sake!" While shaking your head out of shock, you couldn't help but huff. Of all people, Satoru should know.

"Please." He chuckled with such a cold tone. You have never heard such a tone fron him. "Everyone knows you two are hooking up."

"What?" everything seemed to stop. Slowly you searched his gaze, but Satoru looked away.

"Who says that?"

You have never seen him acting that way. So detached. Why didn't he even look at you? Where was the Satoru who watched sad romance movies with you? Where was the honest Satoru?

Where was your best friend? Where was the Satoru you... Knew?

"Satoru, who is talking about me?"

He kept his head low, but you could still see a small glint of guilt in his eyes.

"Is it your friends?"

Something inside you was panicking at his lack of answer. At the lack of denial. What was also said about you? What did he gossip with them about?

"About what are they talking?"

You could see him gulp. But he still didn't say anything. Why wasn't he saying anything? If he let them talk about you, he at least had to tell you what it was about. Especially since he knew.

You had talked with him about your fear of high school and the way people gossiped and the rumors which ruined the reputation one had to uphold.

You had talked with him about trying to keep your head low.

"Satoru, what are they saying about me?" You couldn't help it, your voice rose.

And then he just started moving. Just walking slowly away. Didn't even look at you before. He could talk with these people about you but couldn't look into your face?

"Satoru if you just walk away now, I swear I will never talk to you again."

He stopped in his tracks.

"Satoru -"

"God, can you shut up?"

It was an ugly scream. But not as ugly as the expression he gave you as he finally looked at you. That was a look of disgust. And with an awfully calm voice he added;

"You are so noisy."

You blinked at him. One time. Two times.

That was not your best friend. That was a boy who was hiding whatever distain he had towards you for years. Years you thought he was the only person who understood you.

People change. People fall out.

"Forget it, Gojo."

·········⋆༺𓆩❀𓆪༻⋆·········

Fall 2009

"You are avoiding Satoru."

It's like being pushed into cold water in warm clothes.

The stirring of the kettle is the only sound in the kitchen, helping to keep the awkwardness away. Shoko sat at the kitchen table with a glass of juice, her look remaining on your back, as you made yourself tea.

"I'm not."

Only after the kettle rang you allowed yourself to move again. Carefully, you took the kettle, pouring yourself the hot water into your cup with the teabag.

"You are." She took a sip.

You watched as the water changed its color to light brown.

"He is worried, you know?" you heard the shaking of her head. "Can't stop pestering me."

You couldn't help but scoff as you turned around to her, hot teacup in your hands. You placed it down gently and took a seat opposite of her. "Of course he is."

She was staring at you with that stare you knew. The stare which was contemplating what to do and what to say. You stirred your tea with a small spoon and placed the used teabag on a small tissue. The tea was still way too hot. But you still took a sip.

It burned.

"What did he do?"

You looked at her face. Her eyes were gentle and for the first time since a while she wasn't just Satoru's good friend, she was your roommate. Your friend.

You couldn't help but smile. Even if it didn't reach your eyes.

"What did he tell you?"

And that's when you saw it. Her eyes twitching, glancing at her phone on the side of the table. Just that small glance was enough. You knew. Knew, he had made her start talking to you. Knew, he wanted her to push you to answer. Knew, of course, he sent his friends to ask you, instead of just leaving you alone.

"Just that you are mad at him for no reason again. His words not mine."

Satoru Gojo was such an asshole.

·········⋆༺𓆩❀𓆪༻⋆·········

"Sooooo... she didn't tell you anything?"

Satoru would be lying if he said he didn't wait the whole day to meet up with his friends. He had waited in the cafe for roughly an hour now, even though it wasn't the discussed time. But he just couldn't keep waiting. Waiting to get any possible news, any updates of what you could have said. Especially from Shoko.

But she just rolled her eyes at him.

"No Satoru, you should probably know what you did. If she is that mad at you, it's probably something big."

He shook his head, trying to think of anything he did that could've pissed you of. He glanced down at his hot chocolate - his third since he got here - and wondered why you just wouldn't tell him what he did.

After all, communication is key in a friendship, right?

Suguru shook his head at him. "Since when is she avoiding you?"

"Since 9 days." There was no need for math, Satoru had counted down the days since you wouldn't even glance at him, when he tried to talk to you. How you just walked past him in your own apartment, when he met up with Shoko and Geto. How you locked yourself in your room.

"I don't get why she is acting so childish now." he mumbled to himself.

No nod, no wave, no glance. It was crazy. It was dumb. It was just like five years ago when he was the one who shut you out of his life.

The loud sound of Suguru sipping his tea snapped him out of his thoughts. Suguru placed his teacup down on the table and tilted his head.

"Didn't you go out together nine days ago? That Friday?" 

There was a beat of silence in the room. Only the sound of the coffee machine in the background and the new customers ordering. Satoru blinked at his friends. One time. Two times.

"We did?"

Geto and Shoko shared a look. "Oh Satoru..."

·········⋆༺𓆩❀𓆪༻⋆·········

You couldn't help but groan when you woke up. Your body seemed so heavy as you stood up, like every morning. Well every one since that one.

You glanced around your room, feeling horrible as you saw the dirty dishes you used yesterday. But you just didn't want to eat anywhere else anymore. You didn't continue talking with Shoko yesterday, for all means you started to avoid her too.

You knew, to all your friends you seemed unreasonable. You didn't go out, didn't leave your room and of course ignored Satoru. You worked on your psychology major online, the professors also accepting your work. Overall you tried to avoid any contact with your friends.

Because you just had realized; all of them were also Satoru's friends.

And who of them would put you before him? Before the golden boy Satoru Gojo? The boy who you had held so dearly to your heart.

Too dearly.

Your phone went off, making you sit up. It was already 8 am. You had to go to work or else your boss would be mad.

With one push you got out of bed, making yourself ready. Your phone lit up again. The last days you had started to ignore it. But still you took it everywhere you went.

You tiptoed your way into the kitchen, hoping to avoid running into Shoko. And you sighed relieved, - lucky you - she seemed to still be asleep. No used glasses or dishes. Just you and your kettle.

A coffee machine was too expensive so tea had to hold up.

While the kettle was working, you made yourself a slice of bread, with butter and cheese. Tea and bread, the breakfast of the winners. You took your first sip out of your teacup, sighing at the hot feeling, which warmed you. It was starting to get really cold, you needed the warmth.

It was mornings like these, which made you like fall.

The walk to your workplace was beautiful, the trees all in different colors, painting a picture worth of drawing. But unfortunately you were no artist. You were just a college student working as a part time barista. So you had to hurry up, to please your manager.

The woman wasn't happy with you, since you took the last couple days off. You knew it was hard in this environment, since it sorely relied on the broke students nearby, which were as employees really unreliable. Or at least that was what she was always complaining about.

But you needed the break, or you would have come to work with tear streaks on your cheeks.

You opened the door to the small coffee shop, met by the annoyed look of your manager. She stood at the counter with her arms crossed, her face only lighting up by a small bit as she saw you.

"There you are! Hurry up, we open in 10 minutes. So change into uniform!" she went into the backrooms, her voice echoing in the room. "Hurry, I said!"

You couldn't help but sigh, as you retreated into the small changing room.

There was something so heavy, when you started dressing in the apron. An uncomfortable feeling, a feeling telling you you are sick and should head home. But you had to pay to have a home.

You made your way back to the counter, leaning on it, while hoping there wouldn't be as many customers as usual.

You turned around to look at the menu and you were surprised, there were a couple of new additions on it. Macchiato and Flat white, which you have never made before. You hoped it could just be made by the expensive coffee machine next to the menu.

There were also new teas added to the menu. Lemon and Mint were new kinds, but personally you wouldn't drink them.

A ring behind you startled you. Great. You glanced at the clock next to the big menu. 9:05. Insane people.

You kept your look on the coffee machine, searching for the buttons you will have to use, trying to calm yourself that it was only one person. Even if their steps to the counter were very determined, surely they were just a normal person, wanting a normal coffee? Not a big order, you had to triple take to get right, surely?

You turned around. "Good morning, how can I -"

You stopped as you saw the white hair.

There he stood, leaning forward on the counter, white hair standing a bit up and those ocean eyes staring up at you.

" - help you."

That's why you needed a break. Because he knew where you worked. And you knew he would show up, distracting you, making you furious with just his smug face.

"You haven't answered my texts."

While squinting your eyes, you said again with a firmer voice; "How can I help you?"

He frowned, taking his arms off the counter while standing up straight again. But as he studied your expression, he seemed to get what you wanted to get across. He sighed.

"A hot chocolate please."

You nodded, while pretending to type things into the Cash register to keep your eyes down. Avoiding his piercing look.

"Here or take out?"

"Here. I will sit over there." he pointed at the small table, which was probably the nearest to the counter, making your inner self groan, which was hoping he would just get his drink and leave. But no, this was Satoru and of course he had to pester you even here.

"Alright, take a seat, your drink will be there in a second."

You waited for him to go to his table, but he didn't. No, he just stood there before you, like he was waiting for something.

You went over to the machine and started working it, but he still just stared at you. Making no effort to sit down. Even the sound of the machine pouring milk into the cup didn't fill the awkward silence.

"Is there something else you need?"

You could hear him clearing his throat. "You weren't here the last days."

And you were? Well good, you took the last days off. You took the finished cup of hot sweet delicious browness and placed it on the counter in front of him, while still not looking at him. "No, I wasn't. Is that all?"

He continued to stare at you. You were watching his hands, which were slowly engulfing the hot cup, while he still looked at you. You waited for him to finally go to his seat. He didn't. "Why won't you tell me what I did?"

"Is that all?" you raised your voice, leaning a bit back and turning your head a bit so you could glance at the back rooms. "If so, please let me work in peace."

"It was that Friday night, right?" he was whispering. "What did I do? What did we do?"

You froze. There was something so surreal of him asking what he did wrong. Like that was a reasonable question. Like you were mad for a small forgettable reason, something one could just forget about.

Like someone one could just forget about.

"Is there an issue here?" the head of your manager popped out of the backrooms, staring at the two of you. Well, at least someone listened to what you were saying.

"Not at all." you looked up and smiled at Satoru. "The young man here was just about to sit down at his table."

"Right?"

His face hardened at your words. But with a lot of self control, he also formed a smile, while starting to move. "Yeah, was just having a lovely chat with the barista about the new menu."

Your boss nodded and went back into the back rooms while Satoru finally sat down at the table. Your rapid heart beat, which you hadn't even noticed slowed down by the larger distance between you and him than just the small counter.

But there was still the tension between you, since no one else was in the shop, just you, him and your annoyed boss.

And his gaze was locked onto you while he drank his hot chocolate. Why was it so hard to avoid his piercing eyes? They were like magnets you really wouldn't want to be hung up on because just one look and a panic inside you rose, making you want to lock yourself up in the bathroom. And even though he had his laptop set up before him, he didn't spare it a glance.

Why did Gojo Satoru have such a presence?

You glanced at the clock. 9:36.

Would he stay here for the next 6 hours of your work? No, that would only one insane person do. Right? You dropped your gaze on the cashier register. Why couldn't you just be left alone?

God you needed a break.

A ring of the door made you look up again and you saw a soaked Utahime coming through the door, cursing at her broken Umbrella. Huh, you didn't even notice it had started to rain outside. Even though now, the sound of the water falling against the windows seemed so loud.

"Of course it starts, when I try to get to work..." Utahime muttered while placing her umbrella near the entrance. But her face lit up when she saw you.

"Oh, thank god you are back, it was hell without you! I had to deal with -" But as she looked at you her gaze dropped to Satoru, who was now really interested in his laptop.

"Oh. You are also here Gojo." Her face changed into a frown, while she walked close to the counter. She looked at you with a grimace. "What a surprise."

Satoru just huffed, but kept his gaze on his laptop. "Always a pleasant one, Utahime."

"Utahime?" The voice of your boss was coming from the back rooms, now louder than before, in the tone which meant trouble. "Get here immediately!"

Utahime looked at you and rolled her eyes, making a couple of gestures to illude to throwing up. But her voice was still kept professional. "Coming!"

"Someone is in trouble..." Satoru was grinning to himself while he typed something into his program. Utahime just scoffed while she went to the back rooms door.

"Well, I am not the only one, am I Gojo?"

Oh god, he didn't like that, you could see it in his falling grin. And while Utahime disappeared into the back rooms, you hoped he wouldn't open his mouth. But of course your hopes were for nothing.

He stood up and went to the counter with his now empty cup. Placing it with a bit of force on the counter. "Okay, I get it you know. I fucked up."

"But you could at least give me a chance to talk it out."

Just one look at his oh so deep eyes, made you avert your eyes to his cup. His words making you feel alone, exposed and so so uncomfortable. "Do you want to order more?"

He groaned and his hands found their way into his hair. "Please, drop it and just talk to me! You are making such a big deal -"

"Are you even listening to yourself?" your voice was much quieter now, barely a whisper. "You are already belittling me even though you don't know what my problem is. You already assume it's something small and stupid."

You looked up at his dumbfounded face. He blinked at you. You couldn't help but shake your head in disbelief. "This whole time you are talking about making things right and that you need to talk to me, but not once have you thought about giving me space this last week!"

You pointed at the small room around the two of you. "I mean you are even now here, at my workplace!"

His voice was filled with uncertainty now. "Yeah, because you wouldn't talk to me or Shoko -"

"Which should be sign enough to leave me alone, Satoru. How would you say it?" A small scoff left your lips. "I think 'Stop, being so clingy?'"

A silence filled the room. The quiet talking of Utahime and your manager could be heard, but the words to unclear to understand. Satoru held his head low now, almost averting your gaze.

"But-" your voice was shaking and you wanted to hit yourself for it. "If you want so desperately to know what I am mad about, I guess I can freshen up your memory."

Still silent. You guessed you should keep going. "Last Friday, we went to that club, you wanted to show me, you remember?"

"The one where you ditched me for all these other people?"

You looked down at the cashier register and hoped hoped you could hide the vulnerability in your voice. The room was completely silent. The only sound the falling raindrops against the window.

Until he laughed.

The sound of the little chuckles made something inside of you turn, you felt like throwing up. You looked up at him to see a relieved face. A. relieved. One.

"What are you laughing about." it was hard to speak while your teeth were pressed together with more force you had ever used.

Satoru stopped but the little smile remained. Your hand was itching at that smile.

"Sorry, sorry." he cleared his throat. "But I mean we can spend more time together, if you want that? I mean you still mean much more to me than thes-"

"Satoru." you raised your hand signaling him to stop speaking. "Why do you think I was avoiding you?"

"I - I don't really get...?" he was stopping mid his sentence, now looking confused. "You know it's okay if you were jealous, I never meant to make you -"

"JEALOUS?" You gripped the counter so hard, your fingers were turning white. "You think my problem is jealousy?"

He shut his mouth, blinking so clueless like again. It was exhausting.

"No, Satoru, my problem is not that I was jealous you spend time with other people." you gritted out, while typing in his hot chocolate, to distract your hand before you were hitting him. "My problem is that you abandoned me. Alone in a club, I didn't know."

"You left me drunk and clueless alone at a club with no one I knew. Miles away from my apartment. Left me to ask strangers where my ride was, while they pitied me, because the great Gojo Satoru had already left."

You dared to look up into his eyes, hoping he could finally see your mental state. Finally getting why you were so petty. Making such a big deal.

"That's why I am mad."

His look turned wide and blank. You couldn't keep looking at it and broke the eye contact. He didn't move, just stood there before you. But you could see his hands gripping the cup, he was holding.

Just as you saw him open his mouth again, Utahime came back, now with her uniform on. She had a blank smile on her face and a sharp glare on Satoru. "Do you want to order? I can take yours."

He gaped a bit at that but his face quickly turned stoic. "No, thank you. I was just about to pay and leave."

You nodded took the cup he was just holding on. It was warm. "That will be $4.30."

With a bit of force he pressed a $5 dollar bill on the counter and turned to his seat. While grabbing his things, you could see his eyes focusing on the floor. And you knew there was no reason, but you felt bad. Something about this felt like it was your fault. Like you were overreacting. Even though it was just how you felt.

The door shut softly behind him. He disappeared just as fast as he had appeared.

"Thank you." You whispered to Utahime, and she smiled at you gently.

Truth be told, you wouldn't call her a close friend. You just knew her through Shoko, since she was your roommate and Utahime was a couple of times over. Thus you knew her still over Satoru.

But she did help you get this job and was always a pleasant coworker.

"No problem. You want to share it over a cup of coffee?" she winked at you while leaning on the counter.

"Are you working over there?" the voice of your boss echoed through the room. "Get to work!"

Utahime rolled her eyes. She spoke now in a careful whisper. "I guess after work?"

Well, it wouldn't hurt to have a person who wasn't so close with Satoru, would it?

"I would like that."

·········⋆༺𓆩❀𓆪༻⋆·········

Spring 1995

"Come on sweetie, say hello to Satoru."

You held onto the leg of your mother as you stared at this strange boy. There was something ominous about his eyes and his white hair. You had never seen someone like him before. And he had that intimidating look...

"Hi."

Your mother placed a hand on top of your head, laughing a bit as you tightened your grip on her. "Good job. Now go play with him, while we make the cake ready, okay?"

You looked up to her and nodded. She smiled back and gave you a small nod, signaling you to let her leg go. With a heavy heart you let her go into the kitchen with the other woman, who she called Mrs. Gojo.

You looked back at the boy, who was still staring at you with those intimidating eyes. Why did your mother bring you with her again? She said something along the lines, it would be important to fit into the new neighborhood and greet them properly. But right now?

You just stood there awkwardly, trying to understand this strange boy.

He would probably never speak to you, you just hoped the time would pass as quickly as possible. You wanted to eat the cake Mrs. Gojo made as a welcoming gift...

He opened his mouth and closed it again. His eyes now focused onto the ground before he started to speak;

"Do you like Digimon??"

He looked at you with big eyes, which suddenly didn't seem intimidating at all. He fidgeted with his hands, while tilting his head.

"I guess... But I don't know much about it."

His eyes lit up and he smiled so excitedly. "That's not a problem! I can show you!"

And just like that he took your hands, pulling you with him into his room. The room was big, much bigger than your own. There were a couple of posters, of what you guessed were some mons, you didn't know.

He let go off your hand to pull out a big box. And when he opened it, there were a couple of cards inside, which you had never seen before.

"What are these?"

"I will tell you, just sit down." he let himself fall down next to the box, now going through the cards. He took a couple of them out and looked at them each individually.

You carefully sat down, while watching him. His big blue eyes had an excited glint in them and his white hair was shining under the light.

Satoru Gojo was a strange neighbor...

·········⋆༺𓆩❀𓆪༻⋆·········

Fall 2009

"And he just left you alone at this club?" Utahime frowned, while placing her cup of coffee down. "And he forgot about it?"

You shrugged, glancing outside the window. It had stopped to rain in the afternoon. You were free now, since your and Utahime's shift had ended and you were glad Satoru didn't come back.

"I guess he did."

She shook her head and scoffed. "And now he comes to your doorstep-"

"Well actually, it is not mine but the coffee shops-"

"-asking why you are ignoring him? The nerve!"

A loud sip later she continued; "Gojo has to be humbled, my god!"

You couldn't help but smile at her antics. It was kinda sweet how she got so worked up over your business. You were glad she wasn't just on his side. You watched her sip again and sighed. "If it wasn't for that guy who drove me home, who would guess what could've happened?"

She huffed.

"If I'm being honest I would reflect upon the whole friendship. It just shows how self absorbed he is."

You sipped on your bitter coffee.

"Yeah, well he is still Satoru."

·········⋆༺𓆩❀𓆪༻⋆·········

Summer 2003

"Wait for me outside later, okay?"

You smiled as you read the note Satoru had left on your windowsill. There was just such a feeling of excitement every time you read one of his notes, it made your heart race and your face hot.

That was normal right?

"Mum!" you ran into the living room, hoping to catch her before she went to get groceries. "Did you get me the kimono for the festival??"

She way already ready to leave as she sighed at your question. "Yes, sweetie I did. And I also told you that yesterday."

"Can you help me lat-"

"Yes, I will help you get it on, now shoo." she laughed and pointed towards the kitchen. "Young madam, you can worry about the firework after you did the dishes!"

You gasped as you remembered the mountain of dirty dishes you had to clean before the evening and started rushing towards the kitchen. "Already on it Mum!"

You heard her laugh as the door shut behind her leaving you alone. You let the water run into the sink, while organizing the dishes. You took a sponge and started cleaning the plates, which never seemed to end.

Oh, how excited you were for later! It was your first real festival here and Satoru had promised to show you around. And there would be fireworks, now; in summer! Your first own kimono, and your first time visiting a festival you would spend with a friend.

You placed the finished plates next to the sink, taking a towel to dry them. After you finished them, you sat down before the TV and watched what was on.

You didn't even notice how fast the time passed, til you heard the door click from the keys from your mother. You looked at the clock to see it was already 18:30 and shrieked.

"Mum, mum, can you help me now!! Pleaseee?" You jumped out of your seat on the couch and sprinted towards her, looking at her with the eyes you put on when you begged for something.

"Yeah, you can go into my room while I organize the groceries, okay? The kimono is in the closet." she took of her jacket while smiling at you exhausted.

"Okay!" and just like that you turned around and ran into the small room of your mother.

Her closet was always something magical, if it were the high heel or the jewelry you tried to put on while she was away. Your heart was beating fast as you opened it slowly. As you saw it you gasped.

The kimono dress was so pretty. Almost to pretty. You gently took it between your fingers, gasping at the soft fabric. You liked it. You really did. But...

Was it maybe to pretty for you? To fancy?

"Alright, sweetheart." your mother clapped one time as she stepped in, a soft smile on her face. "Let's make you ready, okay?"

"Yeah.." you took a look in the mirror on the cupboard of your mother and tried to imagine, just imagine, what Satoru would say if you were completely overdressed. You tried to shake it off, trying to get as excited as before, but you just couldn't. The excitement gave a bit of space away for the growing doubt and fear.

Maybe you should play sick...

"Alright, firstly try to put the under dress on and i will help you with putting the kimono dress over and so on." she chuckled and took the kimono out of your hands, eyeing it. She placed it onto her bed gently and went up to the door again. "I will go outside while you change. Just call me when you need help."

"Okay."

You sighed as she closed door, eying the under dress you had picked out. But even though you didn't feel comfortable anymore and the ball of doubt in your stomach was eating you up, you still took of the other clothes and slipped into the under dress.

You didn't like how it fit you anymore. Your stomach hurt. Why did it suddenly hurt?

"Everything alright, sweetie?" the voice of your mother was filled with a slight tone of concern.

"Yeah, you can come in." you glanced at the pretty kimono dress on the bed and feared how it would look on you.

"Okaaay-" she stepped back in and smiled as she saw you. "Perfect! Then let me put the kimono dress on."

She helped you into the kimono dress, watched as the ends of the dress fell onto the ground. Focused, she took the ends and checked something before she tightened it.

"What are you doing, mum?"

"Hace to check if it is above your ankles. It shouldn't touch the ground while tightened." she stood up and patted your dress a bit down. "It's supposed to be a bit big up here."

Her concentrated face was a sight to see, while she adjusted how the dress was sitting. She took a step back and gently placed the obi on the rope which was tightening the kimono. After it was sitting she took a step back again and whistled. "Such a pretty lady!"

The dress was comfortable, even if you felt a bit out of place in it.

"Soooo-" your mother turned you to the mirror, making you sit down on the bed. "Now your hair."

·········⋆༺𓆩❀𓆪༻⋆·········

Fall 2009

You threw your bag onto the wardrobe as soon as you stepped into your apartment, groaning from exhaustion.

"Someone's grumpy." a playful laugh rang softly. Shoko poked her head out of the kitchen watching you take your jacket and shoes off.

"You could've warned me that he will visit my workplace, you know?" you grumbled while pushing softly past her to get into kitchen. She huffed with a small smile on her face.

"I would've, if you talked to me."

"God, I need a hot tea..." you shook your head while turning on the kettle. "It's raining cats and dogs outside. And of course it only started again, after I left the shop."

Shoko chuckled a bit, now making her way over to the fridge. "I wanted to make noodles today, do you want to eat with me?"

The kettle rang again, making a smile steal its way onto your face. "If you have enough for two?" You poured yourself a cup of tea, the water changing its color to light red.

Today you chose fruit tea.

"Yeah, don't worry." she opened the fridge and took her orange juice out of it. "Just missed eating and talking with you."

You took a sip out of your tea and sighed at the heavenly warmth flooding you shortly after.

"You're not going to talk about Satoru, are you?" you turned around to her, to see her sigh as she closed the fridge.

"Only if you want to." She took a glass and poured herself orange juice into it. "But I don't need to. I mean, if I'm being honest, it wasn't the nicest thing of me to pressure you to into talking about it."

She sipped a bit, smiling a reminiscing smile. "Was just worried about you and him, since he was constantly texting and venting to me about his worries."

"Oh."

You sat down at the table, cup of tea in your hand and just warmed yourself. Shoko sat down at the opposite side, tilting her head a bit. "Utahime texted me a couple minutes ago. Asked if you made it home safely."

You couldn't help but smile at that. "Greet her from me and you can reassure her that I made it."

Shoko nodded and started typing on her phone. A couple of seconds later she began to smile at her phone and looked up at you. "Hey, Utahime and I wanted to meet up here tomorrow to watch some movies. You wanna join?"

"Yeah, sure." you watched as she typed a new message and hit send.

"Great!" Shoko rested her head on her left hand, while she held her phone in the other. "Oh, and I can give you her number if you want to? She told me that you had a lovely conversation."

You laughed a bit before pulling your phone out. "I would love to have her number." And just after a couple of minutes you had Utahime's contact and a meet up tomorrow.

"Alright." Shoko put her phone away and stood up, making her way over to the stove. "Enough with that, the noodles don't make themselves!"

You watched as she cooked, a comfortable silence making it's way into the room. Something inside you had changed after you had spoken with Utahime. Something inside you was happy. Happy you weren't alone in your frustration and anger towards Satoru. That your feelings were valid.

·········⋆༺𓆩❀𓆪༻⋆·········

Summer 2003

You waited a long time.

You stood alone before the entrance of the festival, waiting for Satoru just like he had asked you to. People were going by, most of them older than you. Some of them stopped to ask you if you were okay, only leaving if you reassured them you were alright.

You felt anxious like never before. Satoru was late.

"Hey, are you okay?" a boy probably in your age stopped by, just like the people before him.

"Yeah, I'm just waiting." you smiled at him, trying to convince him, but he frowned.

"For what?"

"My friend." you muttered, trying to keep your calm. You didn't want to think about what your long wait could mean.

"But I have seen you standing here an hour ago, are you sure your friend is still coming? If they aren't and you keep waiting, you will miss the fun." the boy pouted.

You watched the next people going by, a couple walking by while holding hands. You heard some whispers about the fireworks and you couldn't help it, tears were starting to build up.

You knew it was dumb. But today you had wanted to say it. You had wanted to say it to him during the fireworks. You had wanted that, but he seemed to have forgotten you were waiting for him...

"I've to go, my parents are calling for me." the boy looked behind him, before he turned to you again. "Try to enjoy your stay here, okay?"

Then he just ran away.

Just like that you were standing there alone again. You felt so stupid for getting dressed up, to care so much about this. Why did you care so much?

And even though you didn't feel like it, you followed the boys advice and walked into the festival.

The stands looked fun and they had cool prices. You saw an older guy win a plushy for his friend, shoetly after placing a small kiss on his cheek. You looked away shortly, feeling like a creep for watching them.

And even though it all looked fun, it didn't feel like it when you were walking here alone.

"Hey, do you want a candy apple?" A woman called out behind a stand, smiling at you.

"Oh, no thank you, I don't have that much money." you apologized but she shook her head, waving fo you to get closer. So you did slip through the people in your way to the stand.

"Don't worry, it's on the house." she winked as she gave you one candy apple.

With a bit of hesitation you took it from her. But you weren't hungry, so you just kept it in your hand while continuing to walk.

And after a long walk you finally reached the watch place of the fireworks. It was under a hill, there were already many people, sitting and talking with each other. And after you saw that you couldn't keep the tears in.

You cried hot tears, because you felt so stupid.

While sitting down on a bench on top of the hill, you gripped your candy apple. The ugly sobbing just didn't stop, didn't matter how much you tried to stiffle it. Oh god, why couldn't you stop-

"Hey." His voice startled you. But even though it was loud because of the people you knew it was Satoru who spoke from behind you.

"Please don't cry." he walked up next to you, sitting down next to you onto the bench. But you couldn't look at him. Not when you still had tears in your eyes.

"You are late." your voice was hoarse, god it was so embarrassing.

He was silent for a couple of seconds. Then he spoke;

"I know, I'm sorry. I wanted to get you flowers but-" he stopped and turned to another direction. "The flower shop was closed and I didn't know. So I - Well, I -"

You blinked at him, the last tears flowing down. And then he turned to you and you saw them. Daisies. He hold onto just a few of them. They weren't fresh, most of them already hanging their heads.

But that somehow made them even prettier.

"I wanted to bring you Daisies." he muttered and looked down at them.

You couldn't help but softly laugh, the sobbing dying out. Your cheeks were drying, and your candy apple didn't seem like your last holding point anymore.

"Thank you, Satoru." you whispered with still a hoarse voice. "But why Daisies?"

That's when a loud bang made you look up into the sky. The first firework was raining upon the sky, the red lights illuminated the sky, painting a beautiful picture.

"They make me think of you."

You turned to Satoru and for the first time tonight looked him in the eyes. His beautiful eyes. The fireworks somehow made them even more gorgeous.

"I'm sorry I came late, I really am." he glanced at the candy apple in your hands. "You probably enjoyed the evening more without me."

Another bang made you look up again. The new firework was a yellow one, looking like it was raining gold from the sky.

"Do you want it?" you held the sweet apple in front of him. "I don't really want it."

He blinked at you, his face going from guilt to embarrassment. "You can't do that!" He muttered. "You can't just give me your candy apple."

A purple firework lit up the sky again. You tilted your head as you looked at him. "Why is that? You like sweets."

He wanted to say something, but only seconds after, he did take your candy apple. He handed you the Daisies, which were changing color through the lights. Just like his hair.

He hesitated, but bit into the candy apple, while holding it with one hand. It looked a bit clumsy but also endearing.

You felt tired but something inside you was so happy. Yeah, he was late. So what? He still cared about you. And that was what counted in the end.

You could feel him glance at you as you looked into the sky watching the different colors exploding and painting the dark night. And then you felt it.

His hand engulfing yours.

"You look pretty in that kimono."

·········⋆༺𓆩❀𓆪༻⋆·········

Fall 2009

"Satoru, stop drowning yourself in the shower, I have to shower too!"

Satoru groaned at the voice of his roommate and friend. The cold water was so relaxing, like it was washing a bit of his uneasiness away.

Of the girl he made out with that Friday.

"Chill, I'm almost finished." he called out while going through his wet hair again, while the water rained down.

God, the weekend was awful. You just hadn't left his head, he couldn't believe that he did what you accused him of doing. He didn't remember that Friday precisely. He had probably drank too much. There was only one thing he surely remembered.

There was this guy who had flirted with you while you were working in the coffee shop that Friday. God, the way he looked at you made him want to-

The rest of that day was vague. He remembered that girl that was clinging to him. She wasn't really his type but he was drunk so he had let her kiss him. But he didn't know what else he did. But to just forget you? That didn't sound like himself.

"Satoru!" Suguru called out again.

"I'm coming!" Satoru turned of the shower with a huff. He took his things and dressed himself in sweatpants and a hoodie.

"Someone has to make sure you don't do something stupid." Suguru muttered as Satoru stepped out of the bathroom.

"Well, it's not you, you do equally stupid things." he grinned at his best friend and stepped to the side, to make space for him. "The shower is yours."

"Yeah, yeah, Satoru."

Suguru disappeared into the bathroom, lifting a heavy weight of Satoru's shoulders. He didn't want to keep worry his friend. Yeah, he felt shitty but he didn't have to make it everyone's problem. Oh well, he tried not to.

His room was dirty. He hadn't left it the last three days, only to shower and to get food and water. He had watched every comforting movie, but even those weren't helping, since he just remembered they were always comforting because he had watched them with you. Whose reactions can he watch when he is sitting alone in his room?

Normally Satoru would call himself as a rather put well together person. But when it came to you, he acted irrational, dumb, stupid, overall he was just not thinking. With you the emotions were always stronger, didn't matter if good or bad. And he knew that wasn't healthy.

But he didn't know how to change it.

He didn't want to have bad things between the two of you. He wanted to make it right, to make you look at him again. But he also didn't want to push your boundaries anymore. Even though it was itching in his fingers to get up and go to your work to apologize.

But that wouldn't work, he knew that. So he had to apologize differently.

Ring!

His phone buzzed and for a slight second he hoped it was you. But it wasn't. It was that privat unknown number that kept calling him, even though he ignored it.

And he knew he shouldn't, but his energy was low, so he just answered. "Hello? Who is there?"

There was a bit of rustling on the other side and a gasp could be heard. "Satoru, I gave you my number, didn't I?" It was a female voice he couldn't quite decipher. "Didn't you safe it?"

"I'm sorry, -" he felt a bit uneasy at the tone of the voice. "But who are you?"

There was a second gasp. "You wound me Satoru! After we had such a lovely evening..." Her voice went a bit lower. "Oh, wait... Did you forget me?"

Her giggling after that made him confused. "Anyway, I'm Haoka, silly!"

"Well, I don't know you, so please stop calling me." He was already on the button to end the call as she called out; "Wait! You really don't remember? We were together that Friday, in the 'Crying Angel', that club."

Oh god, he wanted to face-palm himself. Why did he give anyone there his number?

"We shared some glasses of wine and some of the fun stuff the bartender brought..."

Slowly some memories came back. Pictures of him sitting in that uncomfortable couch, but feeling so at peace...

"And then you pulled me onto your lap and kissed me-"

He remembered vaguely how he felt something big and warm against his chest as he had zoned out. He knew he had made out with some girl beforehand, but that he gave her his number...

"Haoka, was it? I'm sorry but I was literally drunk out of my mind, would you stop harassing me?" He heard her be quiet for once. "Thank you."

"Wai-" he stopped the call and sighed.

Well, he had to apologize to you somehow.

·········⋆༺𓆩❀𓆪༻⋆·········

A week later

"L/n!" you flinched as you heard your manager call out to you from the door of the coffee shop. You sighed to yourself while walking to your workplace. It was 8.30am foe God's sake. Couldn't you just walk to work in peace without being told to hurry?

"I'm coming!" you called out, and walked a bit faster. A couple of seconds later you were on the doorstep of the little shop.

"New flowers came for you." your manager shook her head while pointing to the counter. "That's nice and all, but if you can, tell the one who is sending them, that they should send them to your address and not to ours, okay? I'm not always here to get them for you."

There on the counter they were. Fresh, healthy daisies, waiting for you.

"Yeah, sorry." you muttered and disappeared into the changing room. Behind the closed door you wanted to sink into the floor. And you wanted to die from embarrassment, because there was also a bit of giddiness in side your stomach.

Dumb.

After you changed you walked behind the counter, the white flowers were shining up to you. And of course there was a small note attached, just like with the rest. The last days, there was written:

I'm sorry. I know I was an ass.

Is there something I can do? I don't want us to fall apart.

Can we talk?

They were always small notes and you wished you didn't, but you did keep them with you. The last nights you always read them again and wondered if you should call him. Taking your phone and staring at it for half an hour. But in the end you always chickened out.

The coffee shop door opened and Utahime came in, yawning. "Good morning."

"Good morning." you smiled at her as she came up to you. "Slept well?"

She scoffed while taking of her bag from her shoulder and placing it behind the counter next to you. "Don't even start."

She was already turning to go to the changing room, when she stopped in her tracks. Her look hanging on the new flowers in the small vase. She rolled her eyes and scoffed again. "He's still sending them?"

"Yeah." you kept your gaze on the white flowers.

"You know, I don't want to influence you too much. You know I was never a fan of Satoru." Utahime was whispering now, her voice gentle. "But don't let him pressure you with these gifts, okay? If you want to talk to him, do it, but don't forget what he did just because of some pretty flowers."

There was something big in your throat. You tried to swallow it, you really did, but it just didn't succeed. So you spoke with a hoarse voice; "Okay, I won't."

She smiled softly before she turned and went into the changing room.

You knew there was a new note. But you were so scared to look at it. Because even though he wasn't here, it was still a confrontation with Satoru. And you were scared of talking to him right now, because you knew how sentimental you can get when it came to Satoru.

You didn't want to keep thinking about him. Especially at work when you were alone with your thoughts and the coffee. But with these flowers beside you it was impossibile to think of anything or anyone else.

You wanted to know. Wanted to know how he responded to your lack of response.

Carefully, you separated the note from the flower it was attached to. The flower was the only one whose head was slightly hanging. The paper felt like fire in your hands. You heard Utahime's steps towards the counter and you knew she had seen what was in your hands. But she didn't act like she saw, she just turned to the door waiting for a costumer to come in. So you opened it.

You couldn't help it. You've got to know.

Are we still friends? - G. S.

Your eyes were starting to burn, your vision blurring before your eyes. You couldn't, you shouldn't but you did. You started to tear up.

"Hey, you okay?" You heard Utahime's soft whisper next to you. You wanted to answer, you really did, but your mouth didn't let you.

Utahime started to move again as she heard you sob one more time and went into the back rooms. You didn't hear it loud and clearly but you could decipher the words she spoke to your manager.

"L/n isn't feeling well. She-" The door shut completely behind her and you didn't hear more.

You tried to catch your breath, however it seemed impossible. Slowly you took a breath in, a breath out. In. Out.

It was 9 am. You were at work. Everything was okay.

"Hey." You didn't notice Utahime was next to you again, missing her steps towards you. "I spoke to her, you can go."

"What?" you looked up at her in surprise.

She sighed. "I hate to say it, but it won't get better if you don't talk it out with him. You don't have to do it today, but you are obviously not in the right state to sit here next to these flowers for hours, or are you?"

You slightly shook your head head. She smiled softly. "Then get going."

For a second you just blankly stared at her. But then it hit you. You could leave. Should leave. And today you would do it. You would talk to him and speak your whole mind. Yeah, you would tell him how you felt after the last confusing years, where he treated you like the sun one second and like shit the next. Not tomorrow. Today.

"Thank you." you hurried to the changing room, poking your head out before closing it. "Thank you!"

You heard her laugh, while you hastly changed. The apron was off in seconds, you had to stop and take a breath, before you opened the door again.

You hurried to take your bag and as you arrived back at the counter, your gaze fell onto the flowers on the counter. It was dumb. But you took them out of the vase and held them dearly to your heart.

"Get well soon." Utahime winked at you as you stood at the door. You gulped, but smiled back.

"I'll try.

-------> At home

The door was shut fastly behind you, you hurried to the kitchen to get the flowers a small cup as a vase. There was a small blue one, which was also not too small, so you took it. Filled it with water, as your eyes fell onto a note on the fridge.

Will be away for the whole day, medicine exam is eating me up - Shoko

Oh. Shoko was with her study group. Medicine was a hard major. But to be honest right now you didn't really think much about it. The only thing in your mind was the phone in your bag.

You placed the little cup-vase onto the kitchen table. The daisies were smiling at you, just like they were six years ago.

You wanted to smile back but it didn't feel like the time for that.

Your hand took your phone out of your bag. You watched as you fiddled with it. Wondering if maybe you should do it tomorrow, since you were pretty exhausted-

No. Today.

Your fingers were shaking as you typed his number. Hesitating before the dialing button. But in the end you did press it.

Your anxiety rose by thousands as you heard the dialing tone. And by the third time it rang you wanted to hang up, until -

"Hello?"

His voice was a bit hesitant and quiet. You were shaking, wondering why you called him, without thinking what words precisely to say, why did you just call him without any plan-

"Stop sending flowers to my workplace." your voice was slightly shaking, just like your hands. "My manager can't keep picking them up."

"Oh." it was very quiet on the other side. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to cause you trouble with them."

A silence made it's way into the call. You heard him breath and you were sure he heard your anxious breathing too. God, this whole idea was a mess.

"Hey." he spoke again. "Do you want to talk about it? Are you ready to talk about it?"

...

"Yeah, I'm ready." your voice was a whisper.

The second silence followed, this one even a bit more tense.

"Can I come over, or is that to much?"

Your breath hitched, suddenly this seemed so real. You were stupid for it but you did miss him. You wanted to see him.

"It's okay." you muttered and heard a relieved sigh from him.

"Good, because I am almost there."

And just like that he hung up. Leaving you standing dumbfounded in your kitchen, the realization slowly settling. Wait, he meant immediately? You didn't think he would be already on his way, you still didn't know what to say!

God, you needed a tea.

Today was a green tea day. You worked your kettle, trying to keep your cool. But it was near impossible. How could you remain calm, when Satoru was coming over? Satoru, who was usual never wanting to have a serious talk?

Ring

You looked at your kettle, only to realize it had been the doorbell. Okay. It was time.

You opened the door of your apartment, to see a soaked Satoru standing before you, breathing heavy.

"Sorry for the rush, I didn't want to intimidate you." he muttered while his eyes were locked onto the ground. "I just had to see you in person."

"It's alright." Well, he still intimidated you, but in the end you wanted to see him in person too. At least you think you did, when you look at his wet, but still gorgeous hair. At his blue ocean like eyes. It was just Satoru.

You let him into your apartment, hurrying to your kettle, who was now ringing too. You heard him shut the door, as you poured yourself a cup of tea, watching as the water turned green.

His steps echoed through the apartment, until he stood there, in the doorframe of the kitchen. His eyes now locked onto you as you glanced at him. You took your tea cup and sat down at the table. Gesturing with your hand that he should sit down too. He did.

You saw him gulp, but he kept quiet. You took a long sip.

"So?"

His eyes widened a bit. Then he cleared his throat. "I wanted to apologize to you. Like, really apologize. I know I messed up."

You could see his hands fidgeting but he still kept his eyes on you.

"I don't remember what I was thinking. And I mean that literally, I drank so much that I didn't remember even going to this club." he shook his head. "Not that that excuses anything. My first mistake was drinking carelessly. And I'm so-"

"Why did you?" you stopped him. He tilted his head a bit as you looked at him. "You treated me horrible that evening. You left me alone at the entrance of that club, drank your brain away and then disappeared. Why did you leave me alone at the entrance, why did you drink so much?"

His body tensed up and you knew you struck a nerve.

"And you know that's not the first time." you muttered. "It's like three years ago, when you suddenly made that shift to treat me horrible and then dropped me as a friend."

Silence made itself into the room.

"And then you come back to apologize and want everything to go back as it were, but it doesn't." you whispered. "I can pretend that it does, but it doesn't. Because I just don't feel appreciated as a person. For you I'm always-" Your voice broke a bit.

"For you I'm always just the safe backup. Because I always forgive you and you know it."

"That's not true." Satoru tried to grab your hands on the table, but you pulled them away. Any form of contact right now would kill you.

"Then what is it, Satoru? It feels like you never told me."

His eyes faced the table, now looking like he was sick. His posture was stiff as he fidgeted more with his fingers.

"I'm an idiot, you know?" he was mumbling. "A coward and a selfish idiot."

"What are you talking about?" you gripped onto your warm teacup. He looked at your hands, a nervous chuckle escaping him.

"It's just -" he stopped. While looking at you he shook his head and abruptly stood up. Speaking with his hands on his face, his voice a bit muffled but still understandable. "I want you to know that everything I will say is not me trying to justify my behavior, okay? I just - I own you an honest explanation."

You looked at him, as he seemed to hide himself behind his hands. You were scared. Scared of what he will say. But you knew you also wanted and needed to know. "Alright, then tell me Satoru."

It's silent again, the only thing you heard was the sound of a neighbor's key falling outside of the Appartement. Satoru was messing with his hair, while he avoided to look at you. You could see the gear wheels in his head working, trying to make out what to say. He took a sharpy breath.

"Every time I notice that we are growing more together or become closer, it's just so, -" he shook his head. "It's so scary. Because I notice how I start to feel and act and I -, well I get cold feet and try to push you away. Because I know, that it's stupid for me to feel how I feel, and I don't want to lose our friendship and-"

"Wait, wait, wait." you raised your hand. "You're pushing me away because you don't want to lose our friendship?"

He groaned. "It's stupid I know and in the last years I have become better, but it's just-, god, every time I see someone flirting with you and you look so happy, my emotions become so big and I get angry with everything."

"Satoru what do you mean? Why would you - I don't understand." now it was your turn to hide your head behind your hands.

"That Friday, before we went to that club together. I have seen you with that guy, who bought you a drink at your workplace. And you laughed so much, I just felt so shitty because I realized-" his voice is shaking. "I realized that I still have feelings for you."

The world seemed to stop spinning. You raised your head in slow motion and looked at him. His blue eyes were locked on you, showing vulnerability. You couldn't help but just stare at him.

"And I got scared!" his voice got a bit louder as he started pacing down the kitchen. "Because I have been in the friend zone my entire life and I thought I could live with that. But everything was so much, I saw red and just wanted to hide. I wanted to snap out of that feeling so I left you standing at the entrance."

He stopped pacing, his back now turned to you. "It's the same every time. I want to keep our friendship, but push you so far away that we become strangers."

"You really are an idiot."

You didn't notice until you spoke, that you were crying. Ugly sobbing filled the room, you felt like suffocating. "Not once did you ask yourself how I felt. You just wanted to keep yourself safe, didn't you?"

You could see his back tensing. You shook your head. "You made me feel like I was the friend you only kept in touch with, because our parents know each other. You made me feel so dumb for wanting to spend time with you. That's not how you treat someone you have feelings for!

You could have just told me."

He scoffed, now turning around. "Would we be still be friends if I did? "

"No."

You looked at the green tea in your cup. "We would be more."

You could hear his breath hitch. And in seconds he was standing in front of the table again. You felt his gaze on you. "What do you mean?"

You laughed while tears were streaming down your cheeks. "Satoru it was so obvious for everyone else. Why do you think I have forgiven you every time, no matter what you did?

I have feelings for you."

The silence came back. And with a silent sigh he sat down before you again, hwad in his hands again. "Why did you never tell me?"

"Why did you never tell me? Because I was scared of ruining our friendship. And you always seemed to have zero feelings for me that we're not platonic." you sobbed again, making him flinch. You saw his hand twitch, but this time he didn't move it.

"Please, don't cry." he was whispering with such care in his voice you wanted to cry harder. "Not over my stupidity."

A small try of a laugh escaped you. "I'm always crying over your stupidity, Satoru." you shook your head. "But also mine. I could have confessed too, but I didn't because I was scared. I'm sorry."

He moved a bit closer, his chair now as near as possible. "Don't apologize -"

"But I am sorry. Because now I don't know how to feel and..." you stopped, trying to catch your breath. "I want to forgive you, but I'm just so scared and -"

That's when Satoru stood up again. You watched through your blurry vision how he made his way to you, going around the table. There he stood looking at you with something so big, something so mighty in his eyes.

Carefully his hands made it's way next to your face, drying your tears and caressing your face.

"I know that I will do everything to deserve your forgiveness. No pushing away, no riddles."

He wiped your hair out of the way and placed a soft kiss onto your forehead.

"But I don't think I want to be friends anymore."

Deleted scene:

"I thought I should stop sending them." Satoru had his signature grin on his face, while looking at the daisies on the table. "But you do like them!"

"I didn't say you should stop sending them, I said you should stop sending them to my workplace." you kept your gaze on the white flowers in front of you, even though you felt him staring at you. "And I didn't want you to think that you could buy my forgiveness."

"Oh, I never thought that! I just wanted to you to know that I thought of you." his close body raised a hand to take on of the daisies. "You remember that day at the festival?"

"Of course I do." you snorted. "I thought you were stupid for bringing daisies and claiming that they remind you of me, when they are white flowers."

He gasped dramatically. "Stupid? That was my heart laid out in front of you!"

You couldn't help but laugh at his playful 'hurt' face. "Then why do they remind you of me?"

"You were always new beginning."

Taglist:

@lady-of-blossoms @mistygrovesarchive @hauntedcatnerd3 @ginginha

@watermelonslut @genxnarumi @lun4rchive @dekusdante

@eclecticmentalitypersona @ackermendick @luciiferslover @hyunsuks-beanie

@ri-sa20 @mew4-ever18 @cgmajor @gojojjknanami

@haikyuusimpsblog @starlightglimmersworld @sadmonke

@sheep-infog @ssetsuka

[angelsheartts]

✩‧₊˚ I HOPE NOBODY CATCH US !! .

(but i kinda hope they catch us, anyway)

#pairing : lucifer, adam, alastor, vox x gn reader

#cw: suggestive content, +18 mdni, cuss words lmao, getting caught in suggestive situations ig?? tentacles on alastors part my bad, vox likes to get caught.

#notes: guys please feel free to ask requests, i’m getting out of ideas and i don't know what you all wanna read on my blog help.

PART ll

˖ ˚ ༘✶ LUCIFER .

you both were having a pretty steamy make-out session in your hotel room at the hazbin hotel, clearly not the best idea since everyone was still at the hotel, and HELL does lucifer gets loud.

"ah-, my love, " he whines loudly, pressing his forked tongue deep inside you. feeling him humping against your bedsheets as you wrap your legs around his neck, you knew he was close. "lucifer, you make me feel so gooood~" you moaned, grabbing his horns as you felt like your orgasm was soon to come.

well, nobody warned you how SENSITIVE this man was when someone touched his horns; his wings literally popped out in a second. "fuck, fuck, i’m so close (name); can i cum, honey ? please i-"

a door opened, making lucifer wrap his wings around you both. "(name), i heard some noises. is everything alri-" well, this was akward. "IMSOSORRYISHOULDHAVEKNOCKED" she said, embarrased, closing the door, leaving you and lucifer with a flushed red since you both literally got caught, by HIS daughter WHILE having an orgasm.

after that 'accident' charlie started knocking every time she entered your dorm, and apologised to you many times.

˖ ˚ ༘✶ ADAM .

adam can be very tiring sometimes when keeping his hands to himself, he would literally fuck you anywhere so everyone could see who makes you feel so fucking good if you would just let him, but of course you wouldn’t allow something like that.

except for today, you and adam had a meeting with the other angels so you wouldn’t have guessed that your husband had already been planning on how to convince you to do not-so-holy-things to skip the meeting.

until, you started noticing how touchy he was getting with you, at the beginning it was a playfully kiss on your neck then a slap in you ass and somehow you ended up giving him a blowjob.

"you’re so hot when you shut the fuck up" he said, smirking while gripping your hair tightly to make you go deeper. "fucking bitch, sucking it while having you on your knees, as you fucking should 'cause im the original dick, babe!" letting him talk to you like that reeallyy turned him on, just the thought of you being so obedient to him makes him want to cum.

"what the fuck" a voice made you both turn, noticing a lute with a very disgusted look in her face cursing at you both for being so reckless.

sadly this wasn’t the first time lute walked in on you both, so she just left LMAO.

˖ ˚ ༘✶ ALASTOR .

alastor tries to have the least amount of physical contact during such activities, so it wasn’t a rare occasion for you to finger yourself, while listening to his voice telling you what to do.

you didn’t really know if it was because you were bored, or you were just horny, but you had the urge to have some intimacy with alastor. he didn’t mind because it had been a long time since you both had some intimacy.

"you have been such a good partner, my dear” he praised, smirking widely like he always did. "I think it would only be fair if i give you something in return."

well, that was 15 minutes ago, and now here you were feeling his tentacles thrusting into you so roughly. alastor would only chuckle at your expressions while ocassionaly telling you to touch yourself as he wanted. seeing you trying to get some release made his bulge twitch inside his pants.

well, at least it made it twitch until someone interrupted you both, making your partner disappear the tentacles who were just inside you a few seconds ago.

angel dust was the one who accidentaly walked in on you both, and alastor told him if he ever talked or made jokes about what happened he would transmite his screams on his radio broadcoast. angel dust still teases you though.

˖ ˚ ༘✶ VOX .

vox actually wants you both to get caught, like he really has no shame at all. he loves fucking you if it means that you both might get caught in the act.

sadly, you can’t even recall how you ended up with him having you bend over his desk right before a meeting with the VEES.

surely, you both could have stopped if you wanted, but why would you even consider that when he’s literally vibrating just in the right spot, making you fuzzy from the overstimulation.

"fuck, yeah" your boyfriend's voice is shaky as he keeps thrusting in you, seeing how his cum rolls down your thighs, makes him increase his pace. "you really want us to get caught, don’t you, babe? squeezing me around as if i would even think about fucking pulling it out" he says chuckling with a slight glitch on his voice. "ah- vox, it’s too much i-" vox slapped your ass, making you yelp from pleasure as you were feeling so overwhelmed.

both of you being so close to your orgasm, didn’t noticed when velvette and valentino entered the room until velvette shouted at you both for fucking like animals, and not waiting until being in a more private place, alongside her was just a valentino smirking, while being dragged by velvette. valentino would have been glad to accept the offer if you would have invited him though.

[honey-pages]

Learn your Lesson - Viktor x Reader

Description -

After an intense lecture, Viktor invites you to his study where he ensures you learn your lesson.

2.7k words

F/M. 18+. Smut. NSFW. Sex. Teacher/Student. Riding.

@kskajjwiqqj

Viktor was nothing like the other professors that you had met. He was younger, known by his first name, and was quite clearly very attractive. You had been invited along to a skills class with the rest of your department and any interested outliers. Viktor was the reason you attended. You aspired to impress him, to become his student. There were always rumours circulating, however with Viktor, the only thing you had heard was how impenetrably private he was.

His back was to you as he wrote on the board in chalk. It was strange seeing someone in the position he was at such a comparable age to yourself. You did not even want to consider how old professor Heimerdinger was. The way he looked standing there authoritatively in his everyday suit was immaculate. It was taking your attention away from his teaching.

“The principles of Hextech's functions are fundamentally rooted in our understanding of magic's interactions with our reality. The volatile nature of unrefined hex crystals stems from this. Magic in and of itself cannot be quantified with precision, only comparatively by constants. “

He was presenting half to himself as the majority of the room looked out of their depth. He stopped asking call and response questions a while ago as he had no responses. Now he was picking on people.

“So, why is it an impossibility for magic to be married to our understanding of, say, gravity? “

No one makes to answer the question. You wait for a few seconds as he looks quite disheartened. He sweeps over the room. Silence. He locks eyes with you. The questions weren’t essentially that difficult, they were just to register attention. Most of the things he asked were things he had previously mentioned or things that were graspable by taking the things he had taught and applying its logic.

You put forward an answer, “It is impossible to apply something which lacks numerical quantification to a concept as characterised by numbers as gravity. You'd end up with too many unknowns. The best you could manage is to average those constants, which is not precise enough when working with hextech “

“Close! It is certainly a challenge, although not impossible, to determine properties of a gravity field under magical influence, in precisely the manner you have described. However, more fundamentally, the issue lies in the fact that the gravitational constant is a dimensional property defined by distance and mass, while any magical constant lacks such constraints. But very very good thoughts Miss (Y/N).”

He knew your name. As he responded to you, he did a double take, watching you. You caught him scanning your whole person, losing his train of thought for a second. He smirks before catching the thought he had just lost. It was quite noticeable, the effect you had just had over him, and you were almost certain that it wasn’t just because you were the only one answering questions. Maybe the times you had thought he was being personable were something more?

He was finishing up his teaching, but still whenever he referenced something you had put forward or said something particularly related to your thoughts, he looked at you.

“We've discussed today a number of approaches to applying magical principles in our limited understanding of physical laws. The crux of what makes this application an impossibility is as follows: A dimensionless constant cannot define a dimensional property. “

He addresses you, “With all the answers you have given, Miss (Y/N), I perhaps should invite you to speak with me privately afterwards.”

As he calls over to you, you realise the invitation he has just extended to you may not be one of a regular professor. Students are beginning to pack up and filter out of the hall, noise levels rise. Your seat on the first row, closest to Viktor, enables you to be one of the first out of your seat. Your courage feels disembodied and far from you now as you face him without the defence of the group setting.

“I’d like that. When are you free?” You ask, smiling and holding his gaze. It feels more difficult at close distance to deal with his focus, like the sun being beamed through a magnifying glass.

“Come to my study.” He suggests.

He collects his jacket from the back of the chair, folding up papers and books from the lectern and placing them into his bag. He holds back a little longer, waiting for the last of the students to have left the theatre. The room feels much smaller now you are alone together.

“I am serious about your potential, Miss (Y/N). I think with some support you could do great things.”

You flatter, “If I had a teacher such as yourself Viktor, I would already be doing great things.”

“You look beautiful today.”

You fluster, it was unexpected. You stumble.

“Flattery doesn’t work on either of us.”

“I’m serious Viktor, take me on as your student.”

He pauses.

“What was my final point in today’s lecture Miss (Y/N).”

Your mind was blank. Not strictly due to a lack of memory, focus or attention as you can guarantee to certainty that your attention was on Viktor, but due to how completely attracted you are to him. As time passes, his gaze becomes more confident. He knows he has you where he wants you.

“A dimensionless constant cannot define a dimensional property.” He reiterates. “It is no issue that you have forgotten. I have identified exactly where to begin tonight’s lesson.”

You walk with Viktor through the corridors and leading passages to his study. It is an interesting place in an interesting building. It is decorated beautifully, with full bookcases and large empty boards scrawled with workings. It is a small place that looks well used and lived in, as though it were an external reflection of his internal musings.

“Make yourself at home.” He insists.

You place down your belongings in one corner, neatly out of the way of any space Viktor might need. He sits down in a chair in the corner opposite to the one you stand in, and ushers you to sit in the respective seat. Although you are diagonally placed, the smallness of the room almost presses the caps of your knees together. It is cosy and feels like a special place to be invited to.

“I do not usually invite people here, even if they are prospective students.”

You smile, not knowing quite what to reply to show gratitude, humility and not betray the all-consuming attraction you have towards him. Ever since he said you looked beautiful, any hextech knowledge you may have unlocked had been jumbled and rearranged to make some sexual collage.

“I meant it” He states.

“What?”

“You look beautiful today”

You try to play it off cooly how much that compliment meant to you. “I thought we had agreed not to flatter.”

“I wanted to be clear. I didn’t just say it because I wanted to compliment you. I said it because I meant it (Y/N).”

You freeze up again. Your pulse began to be audible through your ears and your blood ran hot.

“You look flustered.” He recognises, sitting forward.

He reaches out a hand to touch your knee. He looks concerned. He doubts the appropriateness of his actions for a second before reassessing. You are both adults, he has no direct power over you, you are both consenting to being here. Then why did this feel so strange. It felt dream like to him. He had fantasised about you for so long, had stalked your progress in your studies. He had seen potential in you from the moment you were accepted through intake, in fact he made the decision.

You sit up too at his touch. In doing so, you shifted in your chair, your legs widened slightly. Due to the change in position, his hand now sits significantly higher up your thigh. A happy accident. Viktor understands why you are so nervous. He is also aware as to the position he now has you in. In his office, in his chair, with his hand on your thigh.

He tries to make you more comfortable, “Let’s take this back to hextech. Ah yes, perfect, what was the last thing I mentioned in today’s lecture?”

You stared absolutely blankly. Every time you had begun to think real words, Viktor had knocked you back ten steps. Now you were at square one again. You tried to recall the words, but they were fuzzy and blurry and so far out of your reach.

“Viktor, I’m sorry, I can’t remember.” You plead.

“Come on, Miss (Y/N), with your answers earlier we both know what you are capable of.”

“My brain feels foggy. I think I am misremembering.”

“An educated guess is the first big step.”

Throughout the conversation, the intensity of eye contact and body language meant that neither of you had realised that Viktor’s hand now held dangerously highly on your upper thigh. He looked down at his hand on you. It had not felt like he had moved it that far up. You realised that you had gradually been spreading your legs further apart. Gravitating towards one another. Everything leading to one eventual outcome. This was all the confirmation that was needed.

“Come here” He asks, smoothly.

You hesitate, blushing.

He pats his lap, sinking back into his chair. “A good student does what they are told.”

You hesitated not only due to feeling intimidated, but that you were not wearing any underwear. To make it more noticeable to him, you were also wearing a skirt. Of all the days to be sitting on Viktor’s lap, today had to be the one. You climb up onto his lap, sitting side saddle, keeping your knees together.

“So rigid. Where was this posture when you were just spreading your legs?”

“It’s not that Viktor, its- “Your voice trails off.

His hands find themselves around your waist and hips, feeling and calculating, building and rendering what you must look like underneath. His touch is comforting, his hands are hot and hungry. You want to give yourself to him, allow yourself to be devoured.

“I’m not wearing underwear.”

Viktor’s hands stop moving momentarily.

“Is there a reason you came to my lecture without them?”

You don’t answer. You shift more comfortably into his lap, directly onto his crotch. He is satisfied without an answer. He decides that if the outcome of your studies today was to catch him, he was very much in your reach. As you shift in your seat, his hips jolt forward, grinding up into you. It is uncontrollable for him.

“Open them for me Miss (Y/N).” He continues

Viktor guides your hips to move you to straddle him, shifting your legs apart. He watches your movements, eyes focused on you. He raises his hand to his mouth, placing in two fingers, coating them with saliva, before pressing them to you. He slides them over your clit and then down to your entrance. You are already slick with wetness, mainly from the anticipation and mental chess he was playing with you.

“So wet for me already.” His voice is silk. “What a prepared student you are.”

You uncontrollably push forward against his fingers, increasing the pressure against yourself. You moan out accidentally.

“Beautiful” He watches, “And if I place them here, then what noise will you make”

He flicks his fingers over your clit, hovering them over your entrance.

“Please.”

“What was the last thing I said in today lecture Miss (Y/N).”

Your chances of remembering were zero even though he had repeated himself. You really had no excuse for not remembering but it was so impossibly difficult now. You rut against the tips, desperate.

“Viktor, I’ve forgotten again.”

“Such a shame, you seemed so attentive. You will learn and progress, you just need encouragement.”

He unbuttons and unzips his trousers, angling upwards to pull them under his hips and down his thighs to his knees. As his underwear comes away, he springs free. He is exactly as you expected. Seeing him explicitly feels like a sin in itself. With both hands on your hips, he shuffles you forwards to be directly positioned above his waist.

“Information recall is important Miss (Y/N).’ He states. “Repeat after me.”

“Yes.”

He spells the words out slowly. “A dimensionless constant cannot define a dimensional property.”

The words are alien to you, meaningless now. You try to remember, there are two long ‘D’ words, two alliterative ‘C’s. The second he says it, it’s gone from your head again.

“Your turn”

“A dimensionless… cannot contain... dimension” You know it is incorrect even as you say it.

He grins, watching you unfold under the pressure. He begins to stroke himself slowly. You may as well be dripping on him. He lifts your shirt and unbuttons your bra.

“I can do it” You insist.

He removes the shirt and bra, exposing you before him.

“Dimensionless constants contain… no, define…”

He is quickening his pace, pleasuring himself with speed to the vision of you in front of him, stumbling over words he has fed you. So desperate to impress him.

“Viktor, please can you say it again.”

“A dimensionless constant cannot define a dimensional property” He moans and signs as he speaks. Punctuating the words as they fall out of his mouth. He aligns you with him as he prepares for your repetition.

You reply quickly while it is fresh in your brain, “A dimensionless constant cannot define a dimensional property”

He slams quickly upwards and inside of you, stretching you around him. You scream out his name. He doesn’t stop moving, furiously thrusting and thrusting and thrusting. He gets deeper as you sink down on him.

“Again, Miss (Y/N)”

“A dimensionless constant cannot define a dimensional property”

There is no slowing Viktor down and you hold onto the chair for balance. He has both hands gripping either thigh and his face is warped in concentration and pleasure. His fingers are gripping firmly and roughly.

“I am going to fill you Miss (Y/N).” He commands, “So deeply that you will feel me inside of you until your next lecture.”

“Please Viktor- “

You are filling the study with swearing and ecstatic cries. It isn’t soundproof, Viktor knows that well enough in hearing conversations outside of his door. He wonders how they will react to him holding you down on his cock as he finishes, the sounds you will make. Whether people will hear his name, will recognise you as the prospective student who seduced him and got fucked consequently.

He has slowed his pace slightly, using his hand to rub your clit. You feel yourself building, unravelling. He feels you internally tense around him, gripping his cock and pulsating around it. You will finish imminently.

“I’m going to- “you pant. “Your fingers will- “

“Do it, (Y/N).” He is near his end too, “For me. Show me how badly you want it. Give me no choice but to undo you.”

He speeds up his fingers, forcing you through a powerful orgasm.

“Viktor- “You scream out.

You are shaking, quivering but he doesn’t stop. He removes his hand and buries it into your hair, tilting your head back, pulling you downwards as he pushes upwards.

“Take it” He demands, “My perfect student. Look at you - a whore.”

With these words, he firmly grabs you and holds you still, as deeply as you can manage. He feels himself twitch and spasm, coating your insides with his thick load. He begins to thrust a few more times to feel the wet slapping noise that he has reduced you to. He is at a loss of breath, a loss of words.

You collapse onto his chest, folding into his arms. It feels good being held there as your heart rates begin to settle themselves. There is something pure and honest about the way you both interlock after such an extreme session. He smooths your hair back, kissing you across the face, planting thoughtful kisses on your forehead. He sinks deeply into the chair, as you sink deeply into him. Together you fall into a tired, lazy nap.

Tag List - @gubkkki, @veru-boom

[favefandomimagines]

Daylight (r.c)

Summary: it takes Rafe some time to realize what he has

AN: this is very one tree hill code with JJ being very Lucas Scott esque lol and this was PURELY self indulgent, no one asked for this

Y/N Routledge sat on the edge of her bed, feeling like she could throw up at any second. The little plastic stick in her trembling hand bore the answer she had been dreading and hoping wasn’t true. The bold letters stared back at her like they were mocking her.

Pregnant.

Her mind raced. It felt as though the world had tilted off its axis. She couldn't breathe, couldn't think straight. What now? Who could she possibly confide in about this? How could she even begin to explain? The answer wasn’t simple, not when the father was Rafe Cameron.

For a year, their relationship—or whatever it was—had been a secret. Late-night meetings, whispered words in the dark, stolen moments when no one was looking. There had never been an official label on it. Rafe had made sure of that. “Labels complicate things,” he’d said, and Y/N, hopelessly drawn to him despite every red flag, had agreed.

But now? Things were complicated anyway.

The sound of approaching footsteps snapped her out of her spiraling thoughts. The door swung open, and there stood her brother, John B, looking confused and concerned.

“Hey, you okay?” he asked, leaning against the frame. “You’ve been in here for a while.”

Y/N’s heart stopped. She shoved the pregnancy test behind her back, but she wasn’t fast enough.

“What’s that?” His eyes narrowed, the easy-going brotherly demeanor replaced with something sharper.

“Nothing,” she blurted out, but John B wasn’t buying it.

He took a step closer. “Y/N, what’s going on?”

The lump in her throat grew too large to ignore, and before she knew it, the words came tumbling out. “I’m pregnant,” she whispered.

For a moment, John B just stared at her, his expression unreadable. Then, with a long exhale, he sat down beside her.

“Okay,” he said carefully. “I’m not gonna ask who the father is. That’s your business. But whoever it is, he deserves to know.”

Y/N looked down at the floor, her chest tightening. “I don’t even know how to tell him,” she admitted. “What if he doesn’t want this?”

John B reached over, placing both hands on her shoulders. “Then you don’t need him. You’ve got me. And the rest of the Pogues. We’ll figure it out. This kid's gonna have a pretty cool life, Y/N. I promise.”

Y/N nodded her head. “I’m so scared, JB.” She whispered. John B nodded his own head before he pulled his sister in for a tight hug.

“I know you are. But you’re gonna be okay. I’m here.” He told her gently.

||

Later that evening, Y/N stood nervously outside Tannyhill. Her palms were clammy, her stomach a mess of nerves. She had rehearsed what she wanted to say a thousand times, but now that she was here, the words felt like they dried up in her throat.

When Rafe opened the door, his blue eyes scanned her face, immediately sensing something was wrong.

“What’s going on?” he asked, stepping aside to let her in.

Y/N fidgeted with the hem of her hoodie, the weight of the moment pressing down on her. “I need to tell you something.”

Rafe’s brow furrowed. “Okay…”

“I’m pregnant,” she blurted out, her voice shaking.

For a moment, he just stared at her, his face unreadable. Then, as the realization sank in, his expression darkened.

“Pregnant?” he repeated, his tone laced with disbelief. “You’re serious?”

“Yes, Rafe. I’m serious.” Y/N replied.

He ran a hand over his buzzed his hair, pacing the room. “I… I can’t do this right now,” he said, his voice rising. “I’m trying to get my dad’s business back on track, and now you’re telling me you’re pregnant?”

Y/N felt the sting of his words like a physical blow. “I didn’t plan for this, Rafe! But it’s happening.”

He turned to face her, his eyes cold. “Maybe you should just do it alone. I’m not raising a kid with a Pogue.”

That cut deeper than anything else he’d said. Tears burned in her eyes as she stared at him, her heart breaking. “Really? That’s how you feel?” She asked, her voice unsteady. “Yeah, that’s how I feel. Did you really expect we were going to play big happy family?” He snapped.

Y/N let out a teary scoff before her impulsive thoughts took over. She stepped closer to Rafe, the palm of her hand connecting with his cheek, the sound of the slap echoing throughout the foyer. Without another word, Y/N turned and walked out the door.

||

One year later, and Y/N had given birth to a beautiful and healthy baby girl. It wasn’t an easy feat, but Y/N had John B and Sarah. Taking their roles as aunt and uncle way too seriously.

Now, Y/N cradled her one-year-old daughter, Isla, as the Pogues gathered on the beach. The little girl was the spitting image of her father—Rafe’s blonde hair, his piercing blue eyes. It was a constant reminder of the man who had walked away.

But Y/N wasn’t alone. John B, Sarah, JJ, Kiara, Cleo, and Pope had rallied around her, becoming Isla’s extended family. JJ, in particular, had taken to the role of honorary uncle with enthusiasm, and Isla adored him.

As JJ held Isla over the waves, her tiny giggles filled the air, and Y/N couldn’t help but smile.

“Look at you, kiddo,” JJ said, spinning her gently. “You’re a natural beach bum.”

From the corner of her eye, Y/N noticed a familiar figure further down the shore. Rafe was there, flanked by Topper and Kelce, his gaze locked on her. Then, his eyes then shifted to JJ and Isla.

He’d have to be an idiot to deny that that one year old was his. Y/N had kept the baby and now he was feeling an influx of emotions. Anger, regret, jealousy. Jealous that another man was raising his child, jealous that another man was in his place.

Y/N froze, unsure of what to do. JJ walked back to Y/N, handing Isla to her with a smile. Y/N couldn’t help but smile down at her daughter. But then she remembered who was watching them. When she whispered something to JJ, he turned and saw Rafe, his expression immediately hardening.

JJ said something else to her and Y/N walked back towards the rest of the Pogues. Rafe and JJ were now walking towards each other, JJ not messing around when it comes to Isla and Y/N.

“You need to leave her alone,” JJ said, his voice low and dangerous. “That’s my daughter,” Rafe snapped. “I have a right to know her.”

JJ scoffed. “You don’t get to decide that. Y/N does and you left her. You told her you weren’t raising a kid with a Pogue. You don’t deserve a second of her time.”

Rafe’s jaw clenched. “Just because you’re playing house with my girl and my kid doesn’t mean you can tell me what to do.” JJ laughed bitterly. “I’m not with Y/N. I’m just picking up the slack from the coward who abandoned them.”

Rafe stood there, seething with anger and regret, as JJ's words lingered in the air. But before he could say anything more, Topper yelled his name.

||

Later that night, Rafe pulled up to the old Maybank property that was now the Pogues sanctuary. He hadn’t prepared a single thing to say to Y/N. He knew there was a very high possibility that she would slam the door in his face.

What he said to her that night was harsh. He knew that and he knew he couldn’t take it back. He knocked on the door and waited for someone to answer the door. Rafe could hear the laughter and the music playing from the other side.

John B was the one to pull the door open, Isla in his arms. Rafe’s breath caught in his throat upon the sight of the little girl. “What are you doing here?” John B asked. “I’m uh, c-can I talk to Y/N?” He stammered.

Y/N’s brother looked at the man with furrowed brows, not used to seeing him in such an insecure, uncertain state. John B hated Rafe for what he did to Y/N, but Isla deserves a father. No matter how that happens.

“Y/N!” John B called. He turned away and walked back down the hall and soon Y/N appeared in the doorway.

“Can we talk?” Rafe asked. Y/N was hesitant; their last conversation did not go well obviously. “Um, sure. We can talk down at the store.” She answered.

The two walked silently down the dock to the bait shop where Y/N knew no one would be eavesdropping on them.

“Rafe, before you say anything, I didn’t want this to be how you found out. I didn’t want it to come to this,” she said quietly, her voice trembling but steady. “But you can’t just expect me to pretend like you didn’t hurt me. You didn’t want this baby. You walked away. You made your choice.”

Rafe flinched, her words cutting deep. He opened his mouth to argue, but something stopped him. The way she held Isla, the way Isla smiled at her mother, the warmth between them—it hit him all at once. What he had lost, what he could have had, and how foolish he’d been to let pride and fear dictate his actions.

“I—” He paused, swallowing hard. “I screwed up. I was scared, and I didn’t know how to handle it. I didn’t know how to be the kind of man you needed.”

Y/N’s eyes softened, but she didn’t look away. “You had a choice, Rafe. We both did. You made yours. I made mine.”

He took a step forward, his gaze falling to the water, as if he were gathering the courage to say what needed to be said. “I was wrong. And I know it. I’ve been trying to fix everything else, but I didn’t even try with you… with Isla. I was too damn proud. Too scared. But I don’t want to be that man anymore. I want to be a part of her life. I want to be a part of your life.”

Y/N blinked, the warmth in her chest slowly spreading, though the ache of everything that had happened still lingered. “It’s not going to be easy. We can’t just pick up where we left off.”

“I don’t want to,” he said softly. “I want to start fresh. As a father. As someone you can count on.”

A long silence passed between them, the weight of the past still hanging in the air. Then, slowly, Y/N nodded. “Okay. But you need to prove it. You need to show me you’re in this. All in. For her. For me.”

Rafe’s heart pounded, but he could see the flicker of hope in her eyes. Hope he thought he’d lost. “I will. I swear I will.”

||

The sun was shining brightly over the beach house, casting a golden glow over the yard where Isla’s second birthday party was in full swing.

The Pogues, along with Rafe, were scattered across the yard, setting up and getting ready to celebrate the little girl who had brought so much joy into their lives.

John B and Pope were hanging colorful decorations from the trees and the porch, adding the final touches to a vibrant banner that read, “Happy Birthday, Isla!”

Sarah and Kie were carefully bringing out a pile of birthday gifts, wrapping paper and bows sparkling in the sunlight.

Meanwhile, Isla was darting around the yard, laughing as JJ ran after her, pretending to be a superhero.

JJ scooped her up in his arms, making jet engine noises as he spun her around, keeping her distracted so she wouldn’t see the presents waiting inside.

Rafe stood off to the side, leaning against the window frame of the house, his gaze fixed on the scene unfolding before him. His heart swelled as he watched Isla giggle, her little feet kicking in the air as JJ swung her around like a plane.

Her laugh was like music to his ears, a reminder of how much he’d missed and how far he’d come since that day on the beach.

Y/N, who had just finished setting the cake down on the table, noticed Rafe standing there, his eyes soft and full of affection. She smiled to herself and walked over to him, sliding her arm around his bicep as she leaned her head on his shoulder.

“What’s got you all smiley?” she asked softly, her voice gentle but teasing.

Rafe looked down at her, a look of gratitude and tenderness crossing his features. “You,” he said simply. “Isla. You letting me back into your life and into hers.”

Y/N’s heart melted, and she lifted her chin to look up at him, a small smile tugging at her lips. Without a word, she leaned in and kissed him softly, the kind of kiss that spoke of everything they’d been through and everything they’d built together.

As they pulled apart, John B appeared at the doorway with a grin. “Alright, JJ, it’s time for cake and presents!”

JJ, who had been in the middle of a game of "airplane" with Isla, immediately scooped her up again, making exaggerated flying noises as he carried her inside. Isla squealed with laughter, her little arms flailing in the air as JJ pretended she was a plane about to take off.

As they entered the living room, JJ passed Isla off to Rafe with a grin. “Special delivery!”

Rafe smiled and crouched down to gently set Isla in her chair. He pressed a soft kiss on the top of her head, a tender moment of fatherly affection. Isla beamed up at him, her tiny hands reaching up to grab his face, a look of adoration in her eyes.

Y/N stood beside them, watching with a heart full of love as Rafe straightened up and looked at her with a smile. This moment was everything they’d fought for—a family, together, stronger than ever.

As Isla sat at the table, her little hands covered in frosting as she tried to grab a slice of cake, Rafe took a seat next to her, helping her scoop up a piece. Y/N joined them, wrapping an arm around Rafe’s shoulder as she placed a kiss on Isla’s cheek.

The room was filled with the sounds of laughter, chatter, and joy as everyone gathered around, ready to celebrate Isla’s special day. It was simple, but perfect. They were a family now, not just by blood, but by choice. And in this moment, surrounded by love and happiness, they all knew they’d found something rare and precious.

John B raised his glass, a grin on his face as he toasted, “To my niece Isla, the brightest light in all of our lives.”

Everyone joined in, lifting their glasses in unison, as Isla clapped her little hands, excited by the attention.

“Cheers!” Rafe said, glancing over at Y/N with a smile that said it all.

Y/N smiled back, squeezing his hand. “Cheers.”

As the cake was passed around, Isla sat contentedly on Rafe’s lap, covered in frosting and giggling with pure joy. And in that moment, as they all looked on at the little girl they had all come to love, Rafe and Y/N knew this was exactly where they were meant to be—together, as a family.

[b1tchyboyxd]

˚₊‧꒰ა Male wife reader x Husband ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

★ This is going to be short, I'm lazy lolzz ★ There may be several grammatical errors or things like that, I wrote this shit at 4 in the morning during a moment of epiphany, Anywayzzzz, I hope you like it

Tw: none.

Your husband had been away all day, working hard to provide for you. As the evening drew near, you stood in the kitchen, preparing a homemade meal for him, knowing how much he appreciated your cooking. Just as you were about to finish, you heard the front door open and the sound of your husband walking inside.

You continued to put the finishing touches on the dish, your heart fluttering at the thought of seeing your husband's face light up when he tastes your cooking. As he entered the kitchen, you heard him let out a weary exhale, hinting at the long, exhausting day he'd had.

You heard your husband approach behind you, and soon felt his strong, comforting arms wrap around your waist as he rested his chin on your shoulder. His body pressed against your back, as if seeking solace in your warmth and presence.

He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, inhaling the aroma of the food you'd been preparing. A soft smile formed on his lips as he spoke, his voice tinged with exhaustion.

"Mmm... that smells amazing." he murmured, his grip on you tightening slightly.

You turned your head to glance at him, smiling at the sight of his weary expression.

"Long day, love?" you asked gently, reaching up to run your fingers through his hair.

He nodded, mumbling a quiet "yeah" before burying his face in the crook of your neck.

The feeling of his breath so close to your skin sent a shiver down your spine, and you couldn't help but let out a soft chuckle.

"I made your favorite. It should be ready in a few minutes." you said, continuing to play with his hair.

He hummed in contentment, nuzzling into your neck even further.

"Thank you... you know I look forward to your cooking all day." he murmured, his hands beginning to wander over your body, as if seeking physical reassurance that you were real and right there in his arms.

You blushed at his words and the way his hands were now caressing your body, his touches conveying a mix of possessiveness and need.

"You don't have to thank me, I enjoy doing this for you." you replied, your cheeks growing warmer as he traced the outline of your curves with his fingertips.

He pressed a soft kiss to your shoulder, his lips lingering against your skin for a few moments before he spoke again.

"You're too good to me. I really don't know what I did to deserve you..." he whispered, his voice filled with a mixture of gratitude and something deeper, something almost possessive.

You could hear the hint of possessiveness in his voice, and it sent a thrill through your veins. You turned in his arms, facing him fully as you reached up to cup his face in your hands.

"I could say the same, love." you said, your eyes meeting his in a tender gaze.

"Now go rest a little before the food is ready." You say.

Your husband hesitated for a moment, his grip on you tightening just slightly.

"But... I don't want to let go of you..." he protested, his voice soft but tinged with a hint of stubbornness.

You chuckled softly, gently caressing his cheek with your thumb.

"It'll only be a few minutes, love. Go sit down and relax, okay? You look exhausted..." you urged, your voice gentle but firm.

Your husband let out a sigh, his resistance crumbling as he relented to your request. He released his hold on you, reluctantly stepping back.

"Fine... I'll be in the living room," he mumbled, his eyes still fixed on you, as if afraid to look away.

You smiled at his hesitation, knowing that he would begrudgingly listen to you.

"I'll let you know when dinner is ready," you reassured him, knowing that as much as he wanted to stay glued to your side, he did need some time to unwind.

He nodded, his expression a mix of reluctance and resignation.

"Alright... I'll be waiting..." he replied, his gaze lingering on you for a few more seconds before he finally turned and headed for the living room.

With your husband temporarily taken care of, you finished up the last touches on the dish, feeling a pleasant sensation in your chest knowing that he would enjoy the meal. Once everything was ready, you carefully carried the food to the dining table and called out to your husband.

"Love, dinner's ready!" you called out, your voice ringing through the house. Moments later, you heard the sound of approaching footsteps and your husband emerged from the living room, his face still showing traces of weariness but his eyes lighting up at the sight of the food laid out on the table.

He took a seat at the table, his gaze fixed on the meal in front of him.

"Looks delicious, as always," he complimented, a small smile appearing on his lips. You took a seat opposite him, feeling a sense of satisfaction seeing the look in his eyes, knowing that you had managed to bring a little bit of joy to his weary soul.

He wasted no time in serving himself a portion, his stomach growling loudly, a reminder of how hungry he was. He took a bite and let out a satisfied sigh, his eyes closing as he savored the taste.

"Mmm... it's so good. You always know what I need, don't you?" he murmured, his eyes meeting yours once more.

Butterflies fluttered in your stomach at his words, and you blushed a little under his gaze.

"It's just some simple cooking," you replied, downplaying your skills. "But I'm glad you enjoy it." you added, a smile tugging at the corners of your lips.

He shook his head slightly, swallowing his mouthful before speaking.

"It's not just the food, though. It's the fact that it's made by you. That makes it special. Everything you do seems perfect to me." he said, his voice laced with adoration. You felt a warmth spread through your chest at his words, his praise causing your heart to flutter.

You found yourself at a loss for words for a moment, not having expected such a sweet compliment. You could see the sincerity in his eyes, the genuine affection he held for you.

"You're... too much, you know that?" you managed to say, your voice a little shaky from the rush of emotions coursing through you.

He chuckled softly, a mischievous glint in his eyes.

"What, for appreciating my wonderful Husband ? I think it's pretty justified." he replied, his tone cheeky yet affectionate. He reached across the table and took your hand in his, his thumb gently caressing your knuckles.

Your heart skipped a beat at his touch, his warm fingers sending tingles up your arm. You looked at him, feeling a mixture of shyness and affection.

"I can never get used to you showering me with such compliments..." you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper.

He chuckled softly again, his grip on your hand firm but gentle.

"I know, but I mean every word." he said, his eyes never leaving yours. He moved his free hand to cradle your face, his touch almost reverent as he stroked your cheek with his thumb.

You couldn't help but lean into his touch, your eyes fluttering closed momentarily. A soft smile played on your lips, the feelings of love and adoration he stirred within you almost overwhelming.

"You're such a sap," you said, teasing him gently as your eyes opened to meet his gaze again.

He smirked at your comment, unbothered by the light jab.

"Guilty as charged." he replied, his expression playful. He continued to hold your hand in his grasp, his thumb still tracing lazy circles on your knuckles. "But can you blame me when I have the most perfect Husband in the world ?" he said, his voice filled with affection.

Your cheeks heated up at his words, your heart racing in your chest. "You're unbelievable," you mumbled, a mix of amusement and flusteredness in your voice.

"I'm far from perfect, you know that." you added, your eyes lowering as you tried to brush off his compliments.

He shook his head firmly, his gaze unwavering.

"Don't even start with that. To me, you are perfect. And nothing you say will change my mind." he stated, his voice leaving no room for argument. He reached over and lifted your chin with his fingers, making you meet his intense gaze once more.

You found yourself lost in his eyes, his intense stare making your heart skip a beat. The sincerity and determination in his voice left no doubt in your mind that he truly believed what he said.

"You... you're impossible," you whispered, your voice almost trembling. Despite your words, you couldn't deny the way your heart fluttered at his unwavering devotion.

He smiled softly, his touch still gentle but possessively holding your chin in place.

"Maybe, but I wouldn't have it any other way." he replied, his eyes flickering with something deeper, something almost primal. He sat back in his chair, but his grip on your hand didn't loosen, his fingers intertwined with yours.

You swallowed, feeling a mix of anticipation and nervousness under his intense gaze. You knew that look in his eyes, that hint of possessiveness that came out when he was particularly worked up.

"Are you finished eating?" you asked quietly, your voice slightly hoarse from the emotions swirling within you.

He nodded, his eyes not leaving yours.

"Yeah, I am." he replied, his voice low and slightly raspy. He didn't loosen his grip on your hand, his fingers now lightly tracing patterns on your skin. "I'm not done with you just yet, though." he added, a hint of darkened hunger in his tone.

A shiver ran down your spine at his words, your heart rate quickening. You knew that look, that tone of voice. It meant he had something else in mind, something that didn't involve food or rest. You tried to keep your composure, even though your body was already reacting to his touch and the implication behind his words.

"What do you have in mind, then?" you asked, attempting to keep your voice steady.

His gaze darkened, his eyes never leaving yours as he spoke.

"Oh, I have a few ideas in mind..." he murmured, his voice dropping an octave. He stood up from his chair without warning, making his way around the table towards you. He pulled you up from your chair as well, his hands on your hips as he pulled you flush against him, his body pressing against yours tightly.

You let out a small gasp as he pulled you close, your body molding perfectly against his. The heat emanating from him was almost scorching, and you could feel the hardness in his trousers pressing against you, a reminder of his desire. Your heart raced in your chest, your breath coming in short gasps as you looked up into his eyes, seeing the mixture of need and possessiveness burning within them. His hands on your hips gripped you firmly, as if he was trying to anchor you in place, as if he could never get enough of you.

He pressed you against him even tighter, his hands moving from your hips to your face, holding you in place. His eyes roamed over your features, as if committing every detail to memory. "I've waited all day for this, you know." he said, his voice low and rough. "For having you all to myself." His lips moved closer to yours, his breath ghosting over your skin as he spoke. His body was tense, coiled with need and desire.

"You drive me crazy, you know that?" he added, his voice filled with both adoration and a hint of desperation.

───────────── ⊹ ⊱ ☆ ⊰ ⊹ ────────────

Creativity is gone so that's it lol

───────────── ⊹ ⊱ ☆ ⊰ ⊹ ────────────

Bye~

[actiniumwrites]

patches

synopsis: even though you’re both self-proclaimed enemies, they can’t bear to see you hurt. or in which, you show up at your enemies door all bloodied and bruised and they’re forced to take care of you

characters: xiao, gaming, alhaitham, and arlecchino x gn!reader (separately)

warnings: angst to fluff, hurt/comfort, injuries, crying, enemies to lovers, some of them are kinda mean, extremely mild misunderstandings, probably swearing idk

notes: i’m in a massive enemies to lovers kick right now omg you guys don’t understand. this was also inspired by arlecchino’s voiceline from a heavy hit or something where she says, “wanted my full attention, did you?” she’s so fine i’m sobbing 😖

Xiao:

It was a relatively quiet night before you showed up at Xiao’s room at the Wangshu Inn. For the first time in a while, he had felt a semblance of peace. That was until the indistinguishable scent of blood forced itself in his nose and a weak knock sounded at his door.

Xiao opens it immediately. He doesn’t care to know who it is, but rather what they want with him at nearly three in the morning. No one ever bothers Xiao this late. Not unless it was serious.

“What do you—“ he starts harshly but stops mid sentence when he recognizes your face. You’re doused in blood, your clothes all ripped up. And god, you look so weak it almost makes him feel bad for you. “Get inside,” he grabs your arm harshly, but still manages to avoid all your injuries.

You start to speak, but your mouth is full of blood too. He can barely understand what you’re saying aside from a bunch of nonsensical, I’m sorries. And if your injuries weren’t enough to show it, the fact that you’re apologizing to him at all tells him something is seriously wrong. Most of the time you talk to him it’s a bunch of insults thrown back and forth, some even result in physical fighting. Neither of you have been able to get along for centuries, yet here you are getting patched up in his house.

Xiao remains mostly silent as he sets you on the counter and pulls out his medical supplies. First he cleans up all the excess blood with a cloth before tossing it aside and moving to work on the actual injury itself. You can’t help but watch him, feeling nothing but shame as you do. You couldn’t help it. There was no one else you could think to go to.

“You are unbelievably weak and irresponsible. It’s idiotic to think you could ever handle anything in this world, not even a few monsters,” he grumbles between stitches, “Pathetic.”

You just stare at him as tears well up in your eyes. You aren’t one to cry. In fact, you can’t even remember the last time something so bad happened that you did. But sitting here, terrified of the monsters that had you within an inch of your life combined with Xiao’s cold words made you completely shatter inside and out.

Quietly, you sob into your other half-cleaned arm, “I know. You don’t have to say it.” You begin to get up right after, mumbling about it being a mistake coming here but he pushes your knee back down before you can fully stand up.

Xiao looks up surprised from where he sits as he does, his hands drop the thread and needle against the counter. Without word, he stands up and furrows his brows. “I should not have said what I said,” he practically whispers, a twinge of embarrassment hitting him too. A darker look shades his gentle amber irises as he stares into yours, “I don’t entirely dislike you. As stupid as your actions may have been, seeing you injured makes me…upset.”

“They weren’t normal monsters,” you breathe out between the remaining sobs that still involuntarily leave your mouth. You know you don’t owe him an explanation, but you figured you could at least make it known you weren’t taken out by some random hilichurls. “I was down in the Chasm. Those…things weren’t anything like I’ve ever seen before. I didn’t even have time to react.”

Xiao nods and places the last bandage on your face, “You shouldn’t go down there by yourself. It’s too dangerous. The last time I was there I hardly escaped.”

“What do you mean?” you raise a brow, your interest suddenly peaked. Xiao wipes the remaining tears off of your face in silence before turning to walk away.

“Call for me next time and I’ll be there.”

Gaming:

Gaming and you had gotten off on the wrong foot when you first met each other years ago. As children, you always felt like he stole your spotlight and he never seemed to care. And as you got older, it never seemed to go away. You constantly bickered and loathed having to see each other whenever one another’s name was brought up.

Yet whenever you got hurt, he was always the first person you went to. Although normally, it was for small things like paper cuts and bruised elbows. Not for your face having a cut so deep you could barely see and an arm twisted out of place like today.

“Fuck,” you mutter as you bang on his door, hoping it was the right one. There was too much blood in your eyes. Every door in the village looks the same right now, and even if it is the right one, you aren’t sure he’s even home. “Please be home,” you pace back and forth. Gaming stopped asking questions years ago when it first started.

You were forced to go with him after a group of bandits had found and beat you up, taking nearly everything you had in your bag. Gaming had found you while on delivery, and like the sweet guy he is, he stopped and helped you even though you could both barely stand each other. He didn’t want to see you dead either.

You weren’t often hurt, but it became somewhat of a cycle whenever you were. You were a nice person, well liked by most, but you also enjoyed stirring up trouble and it often landed you in some pretty hot water countless times. You knew Gaming wouldn’t say anything to anyone or turn you away like other people would. And above all, you like the kinder side of him whenever he patched you up, which he was good at too.

“Gaming!” your fist pounds on the door again. It’s almost nightfall and a few villagers have begun staring. You almost go to knock again, but your body begins to give out. You mumble a few more curse words before the door opens and you fall forward, directly onto the very person you were looking for.

“Ow ow ow, oh my god my arm!”

“Sorry! Is that blood?! What happened to you?”

“I don’t know! Ask the guys who thought my joke wasn’t funny.”

Gaming picks you up off the floor in a state of panic and rushes you to the bathroom. Luckily for you both, his dad isn’t home to see all of this.

Gaming begins to wipe the blood off your face and examine the cut that runs all the way from your forehead to your cheek, narrowly missing your eye. “This is bad,” he says and begins rummaging through his drawers for medical supplies.

You scoff, “Yeah, you think?”

“You didn’t have to come here, you know. You should’ve gone to a doctor,” he bites back nicely. Sometimes you wish he would just be a little meaner to you. It was easier to hate him that way.

You quiet down and let him take care of your face, “I’m sorry. You’re the only one who I can actually trust to take care of me.”

Gaming hides a small smile while avoiding eye contact with you. Not that you could even see, but just in case. He’d never admit it, but he actually really enjoys when you go to him for help. He’s never resented you like you’ve resented him, but he never bothered to change it either. Somehow he hoped bandaging you up would make you change your mind about him.

“It’s alright,” he says softly, pouring disinfectant onto a small cloth and wiping the cut gently. You wince and he places a hand on your upper arm to silently comfort you, “If you want some good news, you don’t need stitches on your face.”

You breathe out a sigh of relief, having always hated needles, “Thank god.”

“But you will have to see a doctor for your arm. There’s no way for me to fix that on my own,” he says bashfully, “I can maybe…take you if you’d like?”

You peer up at him, shocked at the question. Perhaps this could be a new start between the two of you, and you’re not so against it.

“Yeah, I’d like that.”

Alhaitham:

It’s pouring outside when Alhaitham hears banging on his front door. At first, he ignores it thinking it was just Kaveh forgetting his keys again and he doesn’t care enough to let him in. But the banging persists and then comes the faint sound of pained sobs.

He slams his book shut and groans as he gets up and trudges angrily to the door. He swings it open only to be met with the sight of you clutching your waist, barely keeping yourself standing as the rain envelopes you.

“Please,” you whisper weakly.

Alhaitham scoffs, “Really? I’m not a doctor, go somewhere else.” He begins to shut the door, and he almost does so successfully before you collapse on the floor, blood beginning to mix with the puddle outside his door. And there’s a lot of it.

The next thing you know, you’re in your least favorite scholar’s arms as he carries you to his room. He sets you on a chair and you take the time to take in what his room looks like. It isn’t much different than you expected, yet you never thought you’d see it.

“Don’t move. I don’t want you making any more of a mess than you already have,” he sneers, walking off to the bathroom connected to his room to grab out a small bag of medical supplies. When he returns you’re blankly staring ahead of you, barely conscious as tears start running down your face. It’s like you don’t even know you’re crying. Alhaitham stares at you for a moment in utter disbelief before snapping in your face, “Take your shirt off.”

“Huh?” you snap out of your daze, confusedly wiping your tears as you do so. A few sniffles leave your nose as you do so.

“Do you want help or not?” he snaps again, losing his patience with you. He’s beginning to seriously regret not leaving you on his doorstep. You quickly follow his instructions, taking off your shirt to reveal a huge cut stemming from one side of your stomach to the other.

Alhaitham’s eyes slightly widen in shock, and he almost can’t pull them away. For a brief moment, you even catch them soften but it’s fleeting and doesn’t give you enough time to register that maybe the stoic scribe really does care for you, even just a little bit.

You both sit in complete silence as he begins working. You catch his eyes every so often, but he quickly looks back down at the injury before either of you can speak on it.

“Who was it?” Alhaitham grumbles as he finishes wrapping it up, his arms wrapped around your waist. The feeling of his hands distracts you from the question.

“What?”

“The people that did this. Who was it?” he repeats it, more anger this time around. You shake your head and look off to the side.

“I don’t know. It was too dark to get a good look at them,” you try to explain, but Alhaitham doesn’t have any of it. You’re not sure why, but he doesn’t seem like the normal him. The guy that normally finds any and every chance to torment you.

He gets up and grabs the bag, noting something down on a nearby piece of paper and shoving it in the left pocket of his pants before angrily walking out the door of his bedroom, “I’ll be back.”

“Wait! Don’t go,” Your hand reaches out and grabs his. You pull back suddenly, not realizing how impulsive your decision was until it was too late. You go to mumble a sorry, but before you can, you find your hand back in his.

You stare at him in shock, but he just squeezes your shaking hand. “Stay here,” he says somehow both coldly and warmly at once, pulling the blankets back and gesturing to his bed, “I’ll be back in an hour.”

“Where are you going?”

“To deal with the people that hurt you.”

Arlecchino:

You wince as the door swings open aggressively, not expecting Arlecchino to open the door before you could even think to knock.

“What are you doing here?” she asks, squinting her eyes so as to scale you up and down. For a moment, they linger over your bloodstained clothes and the already bruising cuts that litter your body. You don’t notice the way they widen in shock for a moment, too distracted by the adrenaline wearing off.

You still manage to crack an arrogant smile and sarcastically mutter, “Couldn’t think of anyone worth patching me up but you.”

Without waiting for a response, you push past her figure and let yourself inside already knowing where the infirmary is. Although, you don’t make it two steps before your legs give out and your body tumbles toward the hardwood floors.

The clicking of heels stops from just beside you before a strong hand grips your arm and aggressively pulls you up, “Don’t dirty my floors. The children worked hard to clean those today.”

“Yeah? Well they can clean them again tomorrow,” you grumble and weakly attempt to push her hand off of your body. Arlecchino doesn’t budge, however. She instead drags you all the way to the infirmary and sets you down on one of the beds.

“Wow these are surprisingly comfortable. Didn’t know you had it in you to be so accommodating to all the children you like to hold hostage,” you tease to keep yourself from focusing on the pain. She ignores you and instead places a firm hand on your uninjured chest and slams your back against the bed.

Immediately, she begins working on all the little cuts and gently wipes all the blood away, saving your bigger injuries to be dealt with in a moment. For now, she didn’t mind if you suffered for a little longer.

“So,” Arlecchino starts after a few minutes of silence, finally deeming it worthy to have a real conversation with you, “was this your way of getting my full attention? If you wanted me to notice you, you should have just said something.”

“What? No! I got attacked, I wasn’t trying to ‘get your attention’ or whatever.”

“You don’t sound so sure.”

“I really wasn’t,” you cross your arms and turn your head away from her, “I was scared, you know? I didn’t know who else to go to. Make fun of me all you want, but it’s the truth.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

She doesn’t say anything more after the conversation takes its turn. You’re glad she doesn’t, not wanting to engage in the horrible embarrassment you already felt from having to show up here anyway. She was the last person you’d want to have see your weakness, yet here you are covered in the House of the Hearth’s bandages.

When Arlecchino is done with stitching up your leg, she moves to your face and gently brushes away the blood. And cut by cut, she heals each one and leaves you feeling brand new again. You stare up at her for a brief moment, unable to look anywhere else when the red X’s in her eyes are so focused on you.

“So who did it?” She asks suddenly, her tone a little more caring than before. It almost shocks you, but then again, deep down you knew she cared more than she let on. No matter how much either of you didn’t get along, you always had her back. Even if she didn’t know it. You always liked the think that she had yours too.

You sigh and scribble down a few names on a nearby clipboard left by the bed, “That’s only a few of them…the ones I was able to get talking before everything happened. I’m sure you’ll have no problem finding their leader though.”

Her eyes scan over the paper before she glances back at you and nods. She begins to walk away but stops at the doorway and calls out over her shoulder, “I’ll be back in the morning. My room is on the second floor, last door at the end of the hall. I expect to find you resting there when I return.”

[flowerandblood]

The Price of Pride (5/?)

[ canon • Aemond x Royce • female ]

[ warnings: the angst, sexual tension, targcest stuff, imprisonment, abuse of power, manipulation, mention of murder ]

[ description: Prince Aemond finds a solution to the disproportion in the number of dragons between Dragonstone and King's Landing: he decides to find dragon blood and, like his half-sister, train dragon riders. He takes as his target the daughter of Daemon Targaryen and Rhea Royce, whom he abducts and imprisons in the Red Keep. Slow burn, darkish, insolent, arrogant Aemond. I have combined several requests here: (dragon blood female & prisoner female). ]

* English is not my first language. Please, do not repost. Enjoy! *

Next chapters: Masterlist

_____

I will treat you like my little sister.

He had no idea what had crossed his mind to say something so pathetic and absurd – he thought at that moment that he had to find a way to make her choose him, not Daemon, at the time of the trial.

Since her father had abandoned her, he would let her stay by his side, since her father had denied her her inheritance, he would let her be part of it, since her father did not want her to be part of his family, he would let her become it in his eyes.

Until they win the war.

He didn't know what he would do with her afterwards, once they had defeated his sister – she might begin to demand more, putting pressure on him, threatening that she had a dragon she could always take away from them.

He thought, trying to quell the inner feeling of guilt, that he might have to kill her.

Now, however, she had to love what he could give her.

What he could be for her.

He was sure that he had her in his grasp, that she craved him both spiritually and physically, that she would become a docile shadow of herself just to satisfy him.

She, however, once again acted as if nothing had happened.

Neither the way he had shamelessly touched her nor what he had said to her allowed the wall she had built between herself and him to collapse – worse, he had the feeling that for some reason she had closed herself in even deeper.

Walking with him through the valleys, she remained silent, not even bestowing a single glance on him, thoughtful and focused on her task.

She walked a few steps behind him – she did not seek his proximity, she did not try to start a conversation, she did not do what the ladies of the court did, hoping to fall to the fate of the prince's wife.

This made him feel uneasy and uncomfortable – he had the feeling that he had made a fool of himself and she had seen through his plan.

He wondered if this was all a good idea, or if maybe he should pull out his dagger and just kill her, instead finding someone else in her place, someone who would be easier to manipulate.

And then they heard it.

A screech in the skies.

They both fell to the ground as a large, dark dragon flew over their heads, landing in a valley not far away, burning several sheep beforehand that had tried to flee from it in terror.

They started to run in that direction, clambering down the stones, stopping only when the dragon's head turned towards them, concerned.

He looked at her and swallowed hard, watching with some kind of admiration as she moved towards the creature, several times her own size, without any hesitation.

A male dragon the size of Meleys, he thought with satisfaction.

He could fight and make a difference, protecting him and Vhagar.

The dragon roared squeakily, opening his maw, tense, ready to breathe fire, her hand extended forward.

"Daor!" She called out.

The dragon hesitated, the red flame in his maw extinguished, but he continued to hiss, shifting on his paws closer and closer to her, as if considering whether to devour her.

"Lykirī!" She said and, to his surprise, crouched down on the ground, still keeping her hand stretched forward.

The dragon stopped in his half-step, as bewildered as he was.

What the fuck was she doing?

She was supposed to get on its back, not sit down.

However, the dragon seemed intrigued. He closed his maw and leaned forward as if to sniff her – she sat with her legs crossed, placing her hands on her thighs, simply looking at him.

"Lykirī." She repeated, and the dragon croaked, however in a different way than before. He walked sideways around her and circled her figure, making a strange high-pitched sounds, and she watched him the whole time, a wide smile on her lips.

"What are you doing?" He asked loudly, feeling his heart pounding like mad in his chest.

He hadn't burned her yet.

A good sign.

"He can't feel I'm a threat to him. When I sit I'm smaller and I don't move. He needs to get to know me." She said lightly, extending her hand towards the dragon as if she was just trying to tame the dog – the dragon extended its muzzle towards her slightly, but did not touch her, instead gushing warm steam from his nostrils at her.

She laughed.

Gods, they didn't have time for this.

"Try to mount him." He commanded, seeing with excitement that this beautiful beast with spikes on its back seemed to accept her.

He will return to King's Landing with two dragons.

He will win this fucking war.

His cousin gave him a stern look from above her furrowed brows and shook her head as if she thought he was a fool.

"That's what gets people like you killed. Lack of patience." She said with an anger from which he felt himself boil inside. He moved at her suddenly, furious, making the dragon step back and hiss, and she rose from her place.

"– FUCKING MOUNT HIM, I SAID –" He shouted and froze as the dragon's maw aimed at him opened, the pillar of fire in his throat testifying to what he wanted to do.

"– DAOR – DAOR, SHEEPSTEALER –" She called out desperately, standing between them, extending her hand in front of her. "– Rȳbas! –"

The dragon stepped back at once and squealed, howling like a child being rebuked by its mother, writhing from side to side with its eyes fixed on him.

"– YOU SCARED HIM! –"

"– he is a dragon – how the fuck could I scare him? –" He asked in a voice trembling with rage thinking that she was talking some sort of tendentious feminine nonsense.

"– he was trying to protect me – he senses your lies, your hypocrisy – he knows you are deceiving me, he knows what you want – what you will do with me when it's all over –" She exclaimed to him with tears in her eyes.

He didn't know why he had lost his voice completely, looking at her with big eyes, feeling that he was quivering all over, his throat and guts clenched as if she had punched him in the stomach with her fist.

She sat down again and he stepped back, doing the same, simply watching as the dragon lay down opposite her and crawled closer, without touching her nonetheless.

For a few hours, he watched with a blank stare as she lay next to this dark beast with her arm outstretched, while the dragon rolled around her and squawked like it was a puppy.

He was trying to protect me.

He knows you are deceiving me.

What you will do with me when it's all over.

He swallowed hard, looking away.

He was doing all of this for his family.

He didn't want to kill her – he only feared she would become a threat.

A problem.

And with those, he didn't know what to do.

The easiest way was for them to just disappear.

He shuddered when he heard her footsteps, the dragon behind her squealed, but stayed where he was.

"What are you doing?" He asked, rising with her, escorting her away with his eye as she walked past him without a word.

"That's enough for today." She said, and he felt his jaw clench in rage and regret.

Now she was going to give him orders?

"You are to mount him."

"I will." She threw over her shoulder.

He clenched his eyes, shaking his head and cursed under his breath, following her to Vhagar's lair.

They didn't have time for this.

He watched with indifferent eyes as she, a woman, did what had been a man's task and vocation for centuries – with a sharply pointed stick she threw into the water she hunted for fish while he ate what he took with him.

When she returned, welted and pink with exertion, he watched as, with the knife he had used to cut bread, she cut off the heads of the fish and began to scrape the scales from them.

She rubbed some herbs into them that she had probably found along the way, and then impaled each one on a stick, which she rested on top of two others over the hearth so as not to burn them.

Curls of her dark hair that were not braided clung to her sweaty red cheeks, her lashes even longer in the flames of the fire, her irises infinitely black but not empty, filled with something he did not understand.

They were silent – all around them only the sizzle each time she added wood to the hearth and turned the stick of fish to roast them properly on all sides.

When she thought they were ready, she took out two wooden bowls and slid them into it.

He swallowed hard as she handed him one of them without a word, herself placing the other between her crossed legs, tearing pieces of meat from the bones with her fingers.

"I didn't poison them." She said softly, putting the bite into her mouth, swallowing it at last without even giving him a single glance.

As much as he wanted to think of it that way, her attitude wasn't aggressive or defiant – on the contrary, he had the feeling that something inside her had faded.

He lowered his gaze, shamefully grabbing a piece of fish and, like her, tore off a piece of meat, putting it in his mouth. It was tasty; the herbs she had rubbed into it added a pleasant, salty flavour, the meat was crispy and melted in his mouth.

For some reason he felt tears under his eyelids.

He was furious with himself for being so pathetic.

Even though he knew she was freezing, she lay alone on the other side, covering herself with one of the blankets as soon as she finished her meal.

Some part of himself kept telling him that he had a right to do this, that he had a right to think of her this way, to use her as his brother-king had used him.

However, another whispered that he was disgusting, that if his mother knew what he planned to do she would look at him with disappointment and pain from which his heart would break.

He couldn't be both the caring, sensitive son and the cold, shrewd prince who would protect them from falling.

Like his mother, brother and sister, he simply wanted to live and hold in his hands what was rightfully his.

He looked at her, her figure curled up from the cold, her small hands clenched into fists, and felt ashamed.

I will treat you like my little sister.

I will care for you, and your place will always be by my side.

He felt embarrassment because some part of him wanted this.

To have his little sister, a copy of his mother, who at the same time would not be his mother, but someone only his, his destiny, his relief, his solace, warm, gentle hands, soft, plump breasts between which he could cuddle his face and hide if only for a moment, the scent and warmth he so longed for but could never ask for.

Not out loud.

His body lay down behind her on its own, embraced her on its own, hugging her to his chest, wrapping the second blanket around them, his fingers tightening on their own around her shoulders, his face sinking on its own into the crook of her fragrant neck.

He closed his eyes and felt her gasp as his manhood pulsed hard, pushing against her buttocks, his hands ran over her wrist up to her fingers, entwining them together.

He felt a squeeze in his throat, felt painful tears under his eyelids, felt his eyebrows arch in the pathetic despair that was his realisation that he was alone because he had so decided, over and over again humiliating himself by chasing a simple tender embrace.

He heard her draw in a loud breath as his erection swelled all over, pulsing and twitching even harder, her fingers tightening on his as if she was afraid of what he wanted to do.

"Sleep." He whispered in a trembling voice, feeling a single tear run down the side of his face to the ground, his thumb stroking the soft skin of her hand.

I'm sorry, he thought, but no words left his throat.

I'm sorry, but I can't do it any other way.

The next day they waited by one of the herds, watching the shepherds and their flock from above, hoping, surely to their despair, that Sheepstealer would arrive, encouraged by the vision of a feast.

"DRAGON!!!!!" Shouted one of them, pointing a finger upwards – they both looked to the side and saw a shadow pass over them like an arrow – the men managed to dodge to the side and run away, however, several sheep were burned on the spot.

They both ran downhill, but this time he let her go ahead, surprisingly sure of what she wanted to do.

He decided, albeit reluctantly, that he would try to be patient and give her another day.

To his surprise, the dragon seemed overjoyed by her presence – he cackled high and swished his tail, then moved the carcass of one of the sheep towards her with his head, apparently wanting to share his meal with her.

She laughed, shaking her head, sitting down on the ground again.

"Daor. Daor." She said, but Sheepstealer didn't seem to understand what she meant after all, as he threw the leftover burnt bones and meat into her lap, looking at her expectantly.

She swallowed hard, tore a piece of meat off the bone and put it in her mouth, looking straight into the beast's eyes.

The dragon, as soon as she did so, fell to the ground and stared at her as if it was observing something beautiful. When she reached out her hand to him he put his muzzle out and let her touch him.

He closed his eyes and sighed, feeling relieved.

Feeling pride.

His cousin shifted to the dragon on her knees, and he watched with interest as she came to his side, placing her hand on his back – he felt his heart beat quickly when the dragon made no movement, the sound it made from its throat gentle, as if encouraging her to do it.

As soon as she had managed to get on his back, Sheepstealer rose, spread his wings and soared into the sky.

He gasped in disbelief, hearing her squeal and laugh, seeing her circling around them, wondering if she would burn him now for everything he had done to her.

She could have done that.

He was defenceless.

But after a short ride she commanded him to land in the same place, and as soon as she slid to the ground she fell to her knees.

She was panting heavily, staring at the clouds as if she was thanking the gods in her mind that she had survived this.

"I did it." She said, picking herself up from the ground and walked towards him, her face flooded with tears of happiness and disbelief. "Gods, I did it."

She stood in front of him, looking at him with her big doe eyes, for some reason looking more beautiful than ever, all welted and glistening with sweat, her lips swollen with emotion, her dark lashes with tear drops shining like stars.

"Take me home." She breathed out, and he felt a squeeze in his heart at her words, a pain, as if she had stuck a needle in his chest.

Take me home.

She didn't move away when he approached her, when his hand sank into her soft hair at the back of her head, when his forehead pressed against hers, his gaze fixed on her dark eyes.

She stroked his wrist and closed her eyelids as if she wanted to remember this moment – he did the same, concentrating on her scent, the pleasant cool breeze on his heated cheeks, the closeness that wasn't stolen or taken by force.

He stepped back and nodded, her hand stroking his arm as his thumb ran over the line of her jaw.

His little sister.

Only what he'd experienced when he'd tamed Vhagar could compare to the feeling of pride that filled his chest when he'd returned to King's Landing with not one dragon, but two.

He knew that the sight of them, together, gliding through the skies had spread throughout the keep even before they reached it on horseback from Vhagar's lair.

As soon as they crossed the fortress walls, one of the guards announced to him that the King had called a meeting of the Small Council, at which he and their cousin were to appear to report on how their mission had performed.

He stepped into the chamber confidently, upright, with his chin held high, feeling the weight of what he had done, what he had achieved on his shoulders, knowing that he had perhaps determined the fate of the war while his brother sat idly in the Red Keep.

He sat down in his chair and stretched comfortably in his seat, placing one of his hands on the table top, looking the King straight in the eye.

Aegon smiled and nodded.

"I have heard of your success, brother. Bravo. Our cousin has returned victoriously on the back of a dragon." He said, and he smirked, feeling satisfaction rather than blood flow through his veins.

"Indeed. Sheepstealer is the size of Meleys. He's still untamed and unfamiliar with warfare, but it's a matter of practice." He replied calmly, glancing at his mother out of the corner of his eye, hoping to see pride and warmth in her gaze, just what he needed.

She, however, looked at him with fear, her lips slightly parted, her eyebrows arched in worry.

He felt a tightening in his throat, his hand clenched into a fist.

Why?

Why didn't he deserve at least one gentle look from her?

"We will hold a feast in your honour, brother. And, of course, our courage-filled cousin." The King said, and he pressed his lips together, thinking that his brother was a complete imbecile.

"You will organise a feast when our subjects are starving?" He hissed with anger and frustration, not understanding how he could come up with such ideas and spout them with such ease, without thinking, without analysing the situation, whether it was appropriate.

Aegon grunted loudly, clearly displeased with his harsh response.

"It will be a small feast. You will have another reason to celebrate. Your betrothed, Lady Floris Baratheon, concerned that her beloved prince has set out on a solitary expedition with an unmarried woman has written a letter to our mother demanding an explanation. I thought it best if you, in your own person, explained your reasons to her. She is heading for King's Landing."

He stared at him dully feeling that he had suddenly gone deaf, his heart in his throat.

She is heading for King's Landing.

"NO, VHAGAR! NO!" he heard himself shout, the figure of his nephew and his dragon disappearing into Vhagar's maw with Luke's loud, childish cry.

He could only watch as the remains of their bodies fell from the sky.

"Fear not, brother." His brother continued, snapping him out of his reverie. "You have done your part – now the Crown will take care of our cousin and her dragon, and you will devote yourself to softening the heart of your beloved."

What?

"She's not ready yet." He muttered, feeling his heart begin to pound like mad in his chest.

He wanted to take her away from him.

"Did you fuck her?"

He froze, as did the rest of those present at the table, their mother shaking her head, horrified and heartbroken.

"Aegon."

"They spent three nights alone in the cold. I need to know if anything happened to my cousin during that time that she might be afraid to speak of of her own accord. We all know what my brother is capable of when he acts in a rage." He said lightly, throwing him a bored, cold look that made him feel like vomiting.

"I didn't touch her." He hissed, leaning over the table.

"There are rumours among Lord Lannister's servants that contradict your words." He said in a raised voice, making his eye open wide in horror.

"What rumours?" He scoffed through clenched teeth.

Fucking fool.

I'll personally cut out his tongue, he thought.

"I will not quote them out of respect for my cousin and you, my brother." He said, and he burst into a low, cold laugh, feeling his whole body quiver.

"So they are mere slanders. Gossip. You judge me by your measure." He hummed in a voice drenched with sweet poison, grinning broadly.

"The Maester can see who is right. Does he not, cousin?" Aegon asked her, and he glanced over his shoulder, seeing her eyes open wide in horror, her hands clasped in front of her, her shoulders raised slightly in a defensive posture.

Gods, what if she had lied to him?

If she was not a maiden?

"No, Aegon. I do not permit you or anyone in this room to humiliate her in such a manner." Queen Alicent protested.

"No." She spoke up suddenly, and all those gathered looked at her. "I have nothing to hide. The Maester can examine me."

He circled the chamber in fury, angry and bitter, glancing again and again towards the bed with the curtains covering each side, feeling both anger and remorse that she had to go through this.

It was her fault.

They were humiliating her because of him.

She had wanted it herself, fucking whore.

He himself had let her understand that he wanted to watch.

He wanted to watch, hoping it would end very differently.

That he would be the one to do this to her.

His brother, his mother and his lords were all looking at him, as if they had already prejudged the fact that he was guilty, that he had done this, that he was even worse than everyone had predicted.

He felt like crouching down, hiding his face in his hands and bursting out crying, mumbling that he hadn't done it.

He wanted to, but he didn't.

He shuddered as the Maester stepped out from behind the curtains, her sad, red face flashing before him for a moment, her gaze lowered in regret.

"She is a maiden, My King. I have no doubt." He said, and he swallowed hard and closed his eyes, feeling a wonderful relief full of satisfaction.

Praise be to the gods.

He left, not looking at the bewildered faces of his mother and brother, not wanting to hear their explanations or apologies, the false words that it meant nothing.

Only when the door of his quarters closed behind him, when he sat down alone in his chair did he lean forward, resting his elbows on his knees, hide his face in his hands and burst into tears.

His brother pretending to greet him like a hero, pretending to appreciate what he had done at the same time humiliated him, taking away his credit, his pride and her.

His little sister.

[xan-izme]

Double life 11 (ATSV x Reader x Batfam)

Summary: You can't do this alone

Part 10, Part 12

You felt stressed. The anomalies were popping up in Gotham and in New York at the same time. Of course, Aaron and Miles are there to handle things. But you no longer want their help. You don't want them to have that responsibility anymore. None of the burden.

And with Bruce. He hasn't talked to you. You haven't seen him in a few days. You felt like you have messed up everything. That he now hated you because of what you said.

But in truth. Bruce was just sulking behind closed doors. He's raised 4 boys so far, and he likes to think he's done a great job. Well, not a great job but an okay job. But with you, he feels like he's failing with every move he makes. He knows what you said is true.

He has the papers to prove you are his daughter. But he's missed 16 years of your life. Your uncles were more like fathers to you than he will ever be. And it hurts him. More than he would expect. And what hurts the most is that was the true you. Not the act you have been putting on for a few months. What he saw was a child struggling to morn her mother.

He would know.

But it must have been harder on you. Because you only had her. And now she's gone. And now you're stuck with him.

It was another night of kicking anomalies through portals. Preventing some minor crimes and avoiding Batman.

You sighed as you sat on top of the Wayne Mannor roof. The sun should be setting soon. You used to watch the sun set back in New York before beginning your day as spider woman.

You sighed as you pull out your phone.

Jason was looking for you. He needed to speak to you about, well everything. If he was to keep your little secret. Then he needed to know what the hell was going on. What's with the portal he saw you kick that one villain in, what was in the suitcase. Why are you being so secretive. It's suspicious, and he can't trust you fully. And he needs to trust you a little bit for this to work.

Jason enters your room, but you were nowhere to be seen. He assumed you were out with Damian.

If your gone. . .

Jason smirked to himself as he got the idea to snoop around. He walked around. He was Immediately at your bookshelf. He sighed in disappointment when he only sees education books. Books about physics and geology. Technology.

"No one is this into school." He pauses for a moment before correcting himself. "Tim. Tim is."

He grumbles as he tries to see anything else he can find. He circles around to a different side of your bed. He gasped as he finds a secret stash of books.

All fantasy fiction and history books Manga too. Harry Potter, Hunger games, Art of war, Game of thrones, The Odyssey, The lightning theft- the whole damn Percey Jason series. Heros, Gods and monsters of Greek Mythology- Wow! you're really into Greek mythology.

He hums in amusement and put things back. He Looked up to your desk and picks up a little picture of you and your cousin. He takes note of how you reacted when he mentioned Miles knowing about you being Spider woman. Probably the angriest he's seen you.

Your protective.

He sets the picture down and walks into your bathroom. Nothing out of the ordinary. A lot of hair products. He opens the mirror cabinet. Painkillers. Tylenol, ibuprofen. First aid which was, empty.

He pauses for a moment. Something doesn't look right. He closes the mirror cabinet. Then opens it again. He repeats the process before finally taking a look at both sides of the mirror. He knows this manner inside and out. practically memorized the blueprints. Both old and new.

He decides to try and pry the mirror cabinet open from the wall. And there, a secret stash within the wall. He grabs the small duffle bag. He opens it up to see your suit. and a Polaroid picture of a woman. Your mother he assumes.

He lets out a small sigh and puts it back and closed the mirror cabinet tightly. He decided it was time he goes back to looking for you. Yours still in the manor he knows that much. He saw your shoes and window open. He searched the manor but could not find you. He stepped outside to see if you were at the barn.

But when he looks up. He sees a glimpse of a head. Someone was on the roof.

Jason hurries back into the manor and makes his way onto the roof.

You stare at the video playing on your phone. Sniffling a little.

"Mom, stop. I mean it!" You laughed as you try to back away to a wall

"Nope. not happening!" Your mother pointed the water gun at you and started shooting

"AH! Mama!" You tried to run but tripped and fell on your face.

"Pfft-" Your mothers laugh could be heard along with yours

You continued to solemnly watch the old video. Not noticing Jason a little far behind from you. Listening and watching you. You looked so sad it was unconfortable.

But he felt, a little guilty. Just a little bit. Because if he thinks about it you have been through a lot. Jason took a few steps closer and cleared his throat to signal his presence.

You jolt at the noise and glance back and see Jason. You quickly look away and wipe your tears.

"What do you want."

Jason stood there awkwardly before taking a seat next to you. You stare at him with your tired eyes. Jason sighed as he looked back at you. "Look, kid. I know I'm a jerk. I'll be lying if I said I didn't mean to. But can you blame me? You're not telling me anything."

You stay silent before looking away. Contemplating weather, you should tell Jason the truth.

"You can't do this alone kid. Trust me, it won't work if you do this alone."

You let Jason's words sink in. Slowly realizing. He was right. You were scared, and truly didn't want to go through this alone. And this was Jason, so it should be okay, right?

"Do you believe in the multiverse?" You finally spoke up. Your words made Jason look at you a little confused.

"The multiverse, like different universes. Timelines and stuff."

You nod. "Yeah, something like that. . . it's real. The multiverse is real. And, in every universe, there is a Spider Woman or Spider man to protect and keep balance. This universe is mine to protect. Those bad guys you see me throwing through portals. Those are anomalies."

Jason listened in closely. Half of him believes you, the other half not really. But he's all ears.

"Anomalies from different universes, brought by portals that were ripped due to mankind tempering with forces that were beyond our understanding."

You talked about everything. About the society. About Alchemex. And the whole cannon situation. A fate every spider hero had to succumb to.

It felt nice to let everything out now, like some wight was lifted off.

Jason believed you. Well, he kind of does. He only believes you because, well it's you. And he doesn't see the use of you lying about something as crazy as multiverses.

But the fact that you were hiding all of that and you were planning to carry the burden alone when still in the process of mourning the loss of your mother. It concerned him a bit.

He could tell Bruce. This could be a family effort. You're a vigilante, so are they. The whole bat family can help. But you have already expressed that you can't let anyone else know about the multiverse thing you have going on.

For safety reasons you claim.

---___---___---___---___---___---___---___---___---___---___---___---

A/n: sorry, this is a little short, but I do want to warn everyone that I will be a little late with the next few chapters because they will be longer and might be traumatizing. so, yeah. Thank you for reading

@huening-ly. @mariadvorak, @superherosdystopiafreak, @chelluv, @houseissofine, @esposadomd, @greyeyedmockingbird, @1-800-daisy, @c0c0-puffsxxx, @arthurswife, @h0rr0r-10ver-69, @josiepapen, @natashanice165, @amber-content, @mahbeanz, @azurewisteria, @seraph101, @skepvids, @lara20aral, @iwasveronica, @jackrabbitem

[darylbae]

Daryl and breath play <3

Imagine him choking you out from behind as he roughly fucks up into you after you fucked up yet *another* resource run; drool running down your chin as you babble incoherently as his thick cock splits you open so wonderfully!

there ain't no god here — daryl dixon🩰

in which you mess up on a run, and daryl has had enough

note: SMUT WARNING! do not consume this content if you are under the age of 18, i am not liable for you reading past this point.

warnings: rough sex, dirty talk, bad writing.

You and Daryl have never had a nice relationship. From the moment the pair of you met, you'd been at each other's throats. Always arguing, always antagonizing each other, but there was something sizzling between the two of you. Which neither of you had noticed. Maggie said it first. When you'd all turned up to the farm, she'd asked you if the two of you were a thing, to which you laughed in her face. "As if I'd let Daryl put his hands on me," you exclaimed. "Dream on, girl," he'd call out as he passed the two of you outside. When the farm had been lost and you'd all found the prison, the two of you were incessant on arguing. It was just a constant cat fight between the two of you. Glenn had even made a comment about it feeling 'weirdly sexual'. Rick had learned to keep you apart, for the sake and sanity of the group. He was surprised you'd made it this far without physically fighting or fucking. The long winter on the road, hunting in the woods, finally finding Alexandria, you two just never clicked. It had even become a game of sorts, to inconvenience the other one, to push them just that little bit off the edge. The two of you were so caught up in this game of riling up the other, that people within the community were beginning to assume there was a spark between you. And Daryl heard none of it, until Spencer had approached him once. "Hey," he spoke awkwardly, too afraid to look at the archer who was aggressively buffing his crossbow with a cloth. "What." Daryl grumbled, not even bothering to look up from his weapon. He could tell by the lanky figure it was Spencer. "I, uh," Spencer was rambling, unable to get to his point, "I wanted to know if anything was going on between you and Y/N." "Why do you care?" "I was gonna ask her out, well, I was gonna ask her over for dinner. There's not much in the way of dating anymore." Spencer faltered, looking anywhere except at Daryl. "But I didn't know if there was actually a thing between you two, so I thought I should ask instead of listening to rumors." Daryl finally stopped fussing his crossbow. "Why would I care? Do what you want with 'er." Just as Spencer had retreated down the porch steps, Daryl had immediately regret what he'd said. But why? You frustrated him to his core, you got under his skin, you knew just how to make him tick. And he hated it, at least he thought he did. All he used to worry about were walkers. Now, they'd been pushed to the back burner of his mind. He's been so swept up in this little back and forth with you, that he'd forgotten how terrible the world was for a moment. Did he really care about the thought of you spending time with another guy?

Daryl had watched in dismay as you spent less time winding him up, and more time walking the streets with Spencer. It was almost as if you were riling him up by walking past the porch he'd sit on. It was jealousy, and almost a sick possession to want you all to himself. You, unbeknownst to Daryl, had no interest in Spencer. You spoke to him and spent time with him purely as a friend and to make connections within the community. So when you'd been sent on a run with Daryl, it felt nice to not have to play a part anymore. To just be around someone you were yourself with. Of course you cared about Daryl enough to not see him get killed, but the two of you have always been at each other's throats. That was kind of your thing. "We taking a car?" You asked Rick, folding your arms as you stood beside Michonne. It was supposed to be the four of you, but Deanna wanted to see Michonne and Rick. "My bike." Daryl retorted. "I suppose it makes it easier to throw myself off," you reasoned, scowling at Daryl, and you could see Michonne chuckle into her hand. "Please," Daryl bit back, striding towards his bike, "gives me a break from you." You had your arms around Daryl, holding on tightly as you sped down a long, narrow road. The wind whipped your hair into your face, and every time you felt inclined to swipe it away, Daryl made sure both of your hands were around him. He'd gripped your hand and forced it back onto his waist as you tried to smooth your hair down. When you'd gotten to a small town outside of the area, Daryl dismounted and helped you off the bike. It was the least he could do. You did your usual sweep of each store, and taking the stock you needed, occasionally being annoying and getting a series of grunts in return. "Didn't ya ever learn to shut up?" He spat, waving you off as he entered another aisle. You rolled your eyes, shoving stuff into the backpack you'd brought along. "Didn't you ever learn to treat women nicely?" You had aggravated him the entire run. Instead of moving things out the way so both of you could pass, you'd just climb over it and let Daryl deal with it himself. Instead of listening to him, you'd go off and do exactly what you wanted to. Daryl felt like a babysitter. "Surprised Spencer puts up with ya." Daryl mumbled, shining a flashlight into a dark back room, only to find dead walkers and upturned furniture. "Excuse me?" "Ya heard me, girl." "Spencer doesn't have to put up with anything." You remarked, folding your arms. "So it's just me then? Ya annoy me and not ya own damn boyfriend!" Daryl's voice grew louder, the two of you so caught up in arguing that you'd almost forgotten the dead were out to get you. "Spencer's not my boyfriend!" Oh, Daryl thought. His heart lifted for a moment, until he'd seen a walker come out of the room behind you. Without hesitation, he shot an arrow through it's skull, and watched as you caught your breath. "Get in 'ere." Daryl demanded, grabbing your hand and leading you into a vacant bathroom. "Always messin' up the damn thing." "What?" You answered, voice small and still shaking with fear. You'd never come that close to death before. A walkers hands had grabbed your shoulders, it's teeth mere inches away from you. "Why don't ya listen to me, huh?" He whisper-yelled, his grip still firm on your hand. "Always runnin' off and doin' what ya want. Ya need manners, girl." "I need manners? When have you ever said a nice word to me? When have you ever thought about me in any positive way?" Daryl paused, was it the time for this?

"Every fuckin' day. Every mornin', every night. Every damn time I see ya, I can't not think about ya." Daryl admitted, frustration still laced in his voice. "All ya do is drive me insane." Both of you were breathing heavily, tension still clouding the air in this very small bathroom. You were almost chest to chest with the little space available in here. Daryl was thinking with the recently unlocked part of his brain that just contained you. Every glance he'd ever sent your way, every time he'd seen you stretch and show the hem of your underwear, every time he'd look down at you and see those innocent eyes staring back up at him. There was nothing that felt as right as this. His lips were on yours, and you'd moved against his like you'd done it regularly. Hell, you thought about it at times. When you were lonely in your cell, in your room in Alexandria, the hatred went hand in hand with passion, and you were so overfilled with lust that it had all blurred into one. Every bitter word the two of you threw at each other, it fueled the fire that you were both burning in now. He'd gripped at the clothes he wanted gone, and you'd silently obey him. His calloused hands swiped over your neck, and it had awoken a side of you that was powered off when the world ended. "Oh, you like that, huh?" He asked, his voice no longer containing it's usual gruffness. It was whiny, almost poking fun at how you were putty in his hands. You just sighed in response, giving up any self control you had. It was all his now, to do with it as he pleased. "Gotta teach ya a lesson, girl," he breathed into your ear, hands on your shoulders and spinning you round the other way. You hadn't realized the mirror facing you, your tinged cheeks and sleepy eyes clouded over with lust.

Daryl's lips grazed the curve of your neck, daring to place a kiss on your soft, pure skin. He wanted to toy with you, like you did with him every day. Sauntering around, giving looks you'd only give to him, leaving him to deal with his hard-on in the middle of the night. "Ya gonna listen to me now, hm." You could feel his hands gliding closer to the inside of your thigh, heat burning between your legs. You didn't just want it, you needed it. You arched your back into him, rubbing against whatever you could. Needed the friction, the look in your eyes almost primal. Daryl smirked at you in the mirror, holding your gaze as he spat on his hand. Your fingers squeezed the counter as he slid into you, the two of you completely in sync as you moaned out for each other. The feeling purely nostalgic. "God," you cried, your eyebrows knitted together and your lip quivering. "There ain't no God here, girl, just me." One of his hands gripped your thigh as rammed into you, jerking your hip bones into the counter. If you weren't so wrapped up in Daryl, it would ache. But you couldn't stop, not even to readjust, you needed Daryl to carry you to your high. His other hand snaked up your body, sensually rubbing at your breasts, of which he'd caught glimpses of for years. Finally seeing them felt... satisfying. All the times you'd fiddle with your shirt, exposing them just barely, and Daryl would have to be a gentleman and look away. His hand finally reached your neck and he'd gripped both sides with his fingers and thumb. He'd peered at you through the mirror, catching the whites of your eyes as you rolled them back. Seeing how delighted you looked, it made him feel good. He knew just how to make you tick. "Ya gonna do as I say from now on," he breathed, squeezing tighter on your throat, "you're all mine, girl." "Yeah," you croaked, Daryl's grip on your throat and him inside of you rendered you unable to speak, you were just allowing him to do whatever he wanted. "All yours." He'd suddenly stopped and you whimpered at the loss of contact. Daryl had turned you around again, hooking his arms under your ass and lifting you onto the counter. "Wanna see that pretty face." He'd entered you again, filling you up and you were back to seeing stars as he pumped into you. His grunts and moans were close to sending you over the edge. His hand found your throat again, squeezing on the familiar spot and Daryl's eyes flickered to your breasts as the bounced with every thrust. They were entrancing. He was close to finishing, but he wanted to savor this moment. He wanted this, you, over and over again. He could see the drool escaping your lips and running down your chin, some dropping onto your breasts. He almost finished at the sight of it all. "Let go for me, girl." He moaned, bringing you closer to him for the final few thrusts. "Come on. Good girl." Your body took over, sending you over the edge and quivering on him. Daryl held your body tight, careful not to let you go. His rhythm had gotten sloppier, he couldn't hold it, just knowing this was all with you, all for you, he let go himself and caught your gaze as he did so. There was nothing he'd change about this, the tiny bathroom, the argument beforehand, the relationship the two of you had before. It all led to this, and he'd do it again. Exactly the same.

[immortalbumblebee]

Chapter 19: Heart of Gold

Figured the Vander fandom could use a lil' treat right about now, so here's my gift to all of you! Fingers crossed for Act 3 tomorrow!

(Also yes, two updates in a single week. Points to me!)

THIS IS SMUT! 18+! MINORS DNI PLEASE FOR THE LOVE OF GOD

Masterlist

“You hungry at all? Think we’ve got some leftovers I can warm up for y’.” He asks once you step through the threshold, shutting the door behind you. The apartment feels eerily empty without the others, despite the mountains of stuff that litter the floor space and every perceivable surface. But the homey warmth is welcomed after your bitterly cold walk home. You feel your cheeks begin to warm, sense coming back into them. You’ve hidden your hands in the large sleeves of Vander’s jacket, but still curl your fingers as warm blood begins to flow back into them.

You shake your head. “Maybe some water, if you don’t mind? And find where we put the bandages?” You ask. You’ll have to put fresh plasters on your injuries after your shower. 

“Of course!” Vander nods, and once the door lock clicks, he turns back to face you. He stands there for a moment, hands in his pockets and shuffling his weight from foot to foot, and looking down at you without saying anything. The air felt thick, charged, like something still hung between you, unresolved. So much so that it took you a solid moment to even realize you were doing much the same, just stupidly looking up at him. You found yourself wanting to say something, to bridge the space, but the words felt too small, too fragile. So, you just stood there. Time stretched, thick with everything that had been said, and everything that hadn’t. All that was left was the weight of your shared space, now too big for the both of you. The seconds slipped by, silent and heavy, until you weren’t sure if it was you or the room that was holding its breath. 

Finally, it’s Vander that speaks first, pulling the world back into motion. “You’re sure you’re alright?” It should be a simple question, but it feels like a lifeline thrown across a gap.

You shift, unknowingly taking a small step towards him, and the tension in your chest that you hadn’t even realized was there begins to lessen. You feel his gaze on you soften, but your own gaze is still absent-mindedly locked on his feet.

“I’m fine now,” you breathe out. Your voice barely more than a whisper. “Promise.” There was a long pause after that—no rush to fill the silence with anything else. But then he takes a step towards you, closing the physical space, and a gentle knuckle moves your chin up to meet his gaze. Something in his eyes—something raw, desperate—mesmerizes you and you suddenly can’t move your eyes away, locked in on the storming gray. 

Wordlessly, he extends his hand. You have to shove the sleeve of his jacket up your arm in order to meet his touch with your own, the large calloused hand easily enveloping yours. His thumb brushed over my knuckles once, twice, each touch like a promise, soft but knowing. Still silent, he lifts your hand to his lips. The warmth of his breath ghosts over your wrist before he pressed a soft kiss to the plaster, the touch lingering, gentle, reverent. Then, with gentle fingers, he opens your hand to press it against the warmth of his cheek. Despite your best attempts to keep your hands warm outside, the warmth of his cheek burns at the winter-bitten skin of your fingers, and his stubble brushes against the meat of your palm. 

His eyes closed, just for a moment, and in the stillness, there was something…but you couldn’t put a name to the feeling that filled that entryway to your shared apartment. Meditation? Thoughtfulness? A prayer? An apology? Whatever it was, you stayed, refusing to pull away but fighting the urge to bury yourself in his chest and stay there for an eternity. Thankfully, you don’t have to fight the urge for too long as he eventually does lower your hand, giving it one last, soft, reassuring squeeze before lowering it back to your side.

“I’ll get that water for you, Love.” He says with a smile, snapping you out of your daze. You couldn’t read the expression on his face. Somewhere between sad and thankful. “Go and wash up.” 

“Right.” You nod. Showering! Showering is good! In all your romantic kissy-faces to each other, you’d almost forgotten the reason you had been itching to return home so quickly. You quickly peel off his jacket, handing it back to him before bending down to unlace your boots. As you do, you’re quickly reminded of the coolness of your apartment as it hits your very exposed flesh all at once. Gods, you needed to get out of these fighting clothes. Would it be too dramatic to say you wanted to burn them? Maybe. But the thought still crossed your mind. 

The steam that wrapped around you was almost like a blanket, the warmth of the water a slow, soothing balm against your aching bones. The hot spray cascading from the top of your head, and pouring down your neck and over the skin of your back. Lazily, you’d lifted an arm and watched as the water washed away the dirt and grime from the past few hours, leaving behind murky trails as the droplets rolled down your skin. 

You shouldn’t be taking too long in the shower, you knew this. The boilers for your apartment building were old, and tended not to hold much hot water. But the minute you felt the heat seep into your muscles, you were hypnotized. Closing your eyes, you turned and let the water flow down your hair and into your face, the sound of rushing water drowning out any and all noise from the world outside. It hurts a little when the water hits your nose, shocking you out of your peace and making you step back away from the stream. 

Right, you think to yourself, your injuries. Had to work around those…

You look down at your damaged wrists, the raw, angry skin still tender from the rough treatment, and a small annoyance flickers in your chest. How are you supposed to wash your hair when you can’t even get soap in the wounds? Your fingers hover near the shampoo bottle, but your mind veers off, lost in a different memory. The shackles. You can almost feel the cold, unforgiving metal around your wrists again, the way they had bitten into your skin, rubbing it raw with every movement, tethering you in a way that was both physical and psychological. The sensation of being bound, unable to escape, floods your thoughts, and the anxiety tightens in your chest.

You breathe deeply, pushing the memories away as best you can. Your gaze shifts to the temperature dial of the shower, and your fingers flex, tentative, before flicking your wrist just so. The heat of the water rises, just a touch more, and as it hits your skin, it’s like a switch flips. The tension in your hands begins to ease, the deep ache in your muscles loosening, like a rusted hinge moving for the first time in ages after being oiled.

There’s a knock at the door that snaps you out of your thoughts, and you call out an invitation to come in. 

“Just wanted to check in,” Vander calls, “makin’ sure everything’s alright.”

You respond quickly, without even thinking. “Yup, I’m all good!” But another look at the shampoo bottle reminds you of your predicament. “...actually…could I ask a favour?” An uncomfortable feeling rises in your chest, the dread of having to depend on someone else for something so simple as washing your hair. 

The door clicks as Vander steps inside. “Of course, whatever you need.”

“I-” you exhale a sigh of annoyance, “I think I need help washing my hair. My wrists…”

You don’t need to say any more before Vander starts stripping himself of his clothes, the sound of rustling fabric and his belt hitting the tile floor. The rushing water is almost enough to drown out the self-deprecating thoughts that trickle into your mind, and the sound of your heartbeat skipping in your ears as he climbs in behind you. 

He doesn’t say anything at first, but you feel his hands on your body. His fingers swiping over the various discoloured bruises that now decorate your skin, some from Sevika, some from the Enforcers.  You can feel the weight of their gaze, full of care, but also something else—concern, maybe even guilt. “I promise, I’m fine.” You say as you turn around to face him, and his eyes immediately shift to your nose. You didn’t realize he was so close to you, your chests basically pressed to one another once you’ve turned to face him. “You and I both know I’ve been through worse.”  His eyebrows lift a little and he nods, muttering “fair enough,” as he detaches his hands and bends down to the shampoo he knows is yours. 

“I’m sorry to ask so much of you.” You blurt as he pours out the bottled liquid. But he just gives you a knowing look.

“It’s you, Doll,” he smiles, and you realize it’s the first genuine smile you’ve seen from him all night. “You could never ask too much of me.”

Your heart skips all over again.

As he begins working the shampoo into your hair, you find yourself leaning into the feel of his fingers. They’re a little awkward, clearly not used to doing this for someone else, but his touch feels heavenly as they rub into your scalp. Your eyes shut, but your hands latch onto his hips to help keep you steady. It doesn’t take him long to work the solution into your short-cut hair, and he ever so gently tilts your head back into the shower’s stream to wash it away.

“That cut to your nose’ll scar nicely.” He remarks as his hands keep busy in your strands.

“Like it?” You tentatively open one of your eyes and smirk. “At least my muzzle’s not quite as mashed as yours.”

He chuckles lowly. “We’re still young, Minnie. Give it a few more years, and we’ll see who’s talking. Besides,” he tips your head back up, but his hands stay entangled in your hair, “even with all the broken cartilage in the world, and every scar imaginable, you’re still gorgeous compared to my ugly mug.”

A heat rises through your chest that has absolutely nothing to do with the steaming shower, and suddenly, your retort about how much you hate that stupid nickname has vanished from your mind. Instead, you force a roll of your eyes and gently swat at his side with a scoff. 

“Oh fuck off, so not true.” 

“I think it is.” He smiles, his eyes locked on yours as a small smile pulls at his lips. “Besides, can’t blame a man for trying to flatter his girl.” 

Your eyebrows fly up into your hairline. “‘Yours’, huh?”

He hums in confirmation, his thumb brushing at the base of your skull. The touch sends a shiver down your spine, and your breath catches in your throat. He smirks as he confirms, “mine.” There’s no questioning tone or uncertainty, it’s matter-of-fact. Before you even have time to think of a proper response, he’s bending down to retrieve the soap. 

He rathers the bar in his hands, his eyes flickering back and forth up to yours, searching yours, as if asking for permission. The tension in the air is palpable, the space between you thick with hesitation. You nod, just once, barely, but it’s enough. He moves with practiced care, gently moving one sudsy hand to your shoulder. You can feel the bubbles wiping away the remnants of the grime and sweat, but you don’t move your eyes away from Vander. His, on the other hand, scans over every inch of you as he continues to move his hand over your skin. The moment his hands reach for your wrists, you flinch, instinctively pulling back, but he stops—just for a beat, letting you adjust, giving you a moment. His touch is careful, soft as he moves away from the tender wounds.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers, his voice thick with something you can’t quite place. “I should have done something to stop them, to help you.”

You don’t say anything at first, letting him continue to work the soap into your torso. You can feel his hands pause for just a moment around your chest, almost out of habit, before continuing to slide over your sides. Then you lift your hands to his shoulders, stilling him. You search his expression, guilt coming up to the surface and written all over his furrowed brow. You’re looking for something, anything to indicate the right thing to say to him. But then you're moving to your tip-toes, and your hands are sliding around him, pulling his lips down to meet yours. 

Your lips are gentle. There’s no heat, no rush, to the kiss but he melts into it all the same. There’s a small, echoed, ‘thump’ as the soap falls to the floor of the shower and his hands encircle your waist. He’s gentle, careful, but pressed you into him. Not unsure or uncertain, just careful of the way your body moves with his touch.

Eventually, you pull away, but he refuses to let you go, and keeps the closeness between you even tighter as he gently presses his forehead to yours. You can feel his breath fanning over your face, and his strong grip keeping you firmly in place. The hot water from the shower streams down your back, and the combined heat from the steam and the shared warmth of his body radiating into both of you. When you do eventually separate, it’s only thanks to a firm hand on his chest that he lets you pull away.

“I think I can handle it from here.” You smile a little to yourself. “I’m 90% sure we’re about to run out of hot water, and I’d really rather that not happen while I’m in here. Is it okay if I meet you out there?”

There’s something like a low growl deep in his chest, and he pulls you in one more time, this time to press a gentle, tender kiss to your wet hair. One of your hands finds its way to his chest, the pads of your fingers tracing over the lines of his muscles appreciatively for a moment longer than strictly necessary before he takes a step back. 

“Take all the time you need, Love.” He smiles, squeezing your hand one final time before stepping out. You let him take your hand with him, until the very last moment before he disappears behind the curtain. 

As you predicted, it takes next to no time at all for you to finish washing up. You quickly dry off and dress in a much comfier set of clothes, but you’re still toweling off your hair as you step out of the bathroom and into the apartment at large. As you could have guessed, Vander’s sitting there, patiently, on the couch with a first aid kit on standby.

“You didn’t have to actually wait for me.” You explain. “And you really don’t have to help patch me back up.” 

“Oh, please,” Vander scoffs and waves you off, “you’ve patched me up plenty, it’s only right if I return the favour every once in a while.”

You can’t help but roll your eyes, but take the spot next to him nonetheless, smiling as he grabs the antiseptic from the kit. His movements are calm, but a little unsure. Usually it’s him getting patched up, not the other way around. You watch him, the quiet comfort of their presence filling the space between you.

He focuses on your wrists first, his hands gentle as they begin cleaning and dressing your wounds. There’s no rush in the way he works, no sense of urgency, just the steady rhythm of their touch. The coolness of the ointment soothes your skin, and for a moment, you forget the discomfort, focusing instead on the simple act of being cared for. His fingers graze your arm as they adjust the bandage, warm and reassuring.

The silence between you isn’t heavy anymore. It’s easy, companionable, a shared moment of quiet that feels more like a pause than anything else. You lean back into the cushions, finally able to relax, the weight of the day starting to lift, if only for a little while. And in that space, with them beside you, you feel happily reassured, content even.

“You don’t have to apologize, you know.” You break the silence. His hands pause over the bandages for a moment, indicating he heard you, but his gaze doesn’t lift to meet yours. “You did help me. I’m assuming it wasn’t Silco’s idea to get my mom and Niya involved.”

He shrugs, wrapping the second bandage around your other wrist. “It was Silco who said that if we were seen anywhere topside, we’d get thrown in jail with you.” For such a large man, it was surprising when his voice was this small.

“He was probably right.” You nod, and lift your already-bandaged hand to cup his cheek. “But you still found a way to help me. What matters right now is that I’m safe, here with you, and everyone down here’s okay.”

He leans into your touch for a moment, shutting his eyes. He seems to be thinking to himself for a moment, then sighs, nods, and turns his attention back to bandaging you up. You drop your hand. 

“Suppose you’re right.” He mumbles, practically a whisper, and he looks up to give you a thankful smile. One you’re more than happy to return.

“When am I not?” 

To this, he can’t help but chuckle, and he gives you a knowing look, one that makes the air feel lighter, more peaceful. There’s something about his presence, the way he handles you with care, that feels grounding, even comforting. As he finishes with your wrist, he finally turns his attention to your nose. This one’s easy, shorter work, as he simply dabs on the last of the antiseptic and sticks a plaster to the bridge of your nose, just under your eye line. 

As he finishes tending to you, his hands remain steady, not moving away, not yet. He looks up at you, eyes soft, searching for a sign—anything that might let him know you're ready for him to pull away. But you don’t want him to. Instead, you happily let him move closer to you, his body pressing against yours as he captures your lips in a tender, passionate kiss. His arms wrap around you, pulling you in tightly as his mouth moves over yours, a mix of tenderness and hunger in his touch. Time seems to slow down as his mouth moves over yours, the kiss slow and languid, as if he wants to savor every moment. His hands gently caress your face, fingers tracing the outline of your jaw as he kisses you tenderly.

He takes his time, exploring your mouth with a gentle but firm tongue, mapping out every contour. He moves from your lips to your ears, his breath hot on your skin as he whispers sweet nothings, pressing wet, open-mouthed kisses along the length of your neck that make your toes curl. Your hands snake around to the back of his head, your fingers gripping into his hair and successfully drawing out a moan from him. This makes you smirk, but you’re surprised when he quickly pulls his face away from you.

“When do you have to be at work?” He asks, voice husky but concern written on his face.

You shake your head. “I don’t, I booked today off in case the fight went sideways. You?”

His concern melts away into a gleeful smile, his arms enveloping your torso as he lifts you up with absolutely no effort, sitting back to lean against the arm of the couch and pulling you into his lap, your thighs straddling his. “Not until tonight.”

Gods bless!

You dip your face back to meet his lips again, letting a moan ring out at the contact. The kiss is slow and somewhat tentative at first, and it’s clear he wants to be gentle with you. But more and more as your kiss continues to deepen, he quickly becomes more confident until he inevitably dips his head back down to the crook of your neck. But he still moves slowly, taking his time to taste and touch, his mouth finding the sensitive spots on your neck, the hollow of your collarbone, and the slope of your shoulder. His mouth sears a path of pleasure as his hands continue to wander over your body, exploring every dip and curve. His stubble scratches you in the most delectable way. 

He worships you with his touch, as if he wants to memorize every inch of you, to commit the feel of your skin to his memory. It feels like every touch of his lips is your own personal heaven, your hand dropping to his shoulder and gripping, your chest heaving as your breath becomes more and more laboured. Damn this man, damn him and his memory of every little nerve ending in your body. 

As his hands move under the fabric of your shirt, you give him a silent nod of approval, letting him slide the material up and off your torso and not carrying where into the depths of your home he throws it. He pulls away, just for a moment, as his hands slide up and cup your breasts, his eyes scanning over every inch of you. “Best fuckin’ tits either side of the bridge, I swear to the Gods…” This makes you giggle a little, which only makes his smile grow even wider. 

“Shut up and kiss me again, idiot.” You laugh, using your magic to pull him in by the metal studs in his vest. He’s only too happy to follow orders, crashing his lips to yours once again.

Your hands run up his chest, helping him out of his vest and he thankfully takes the hint, pulling his shirt over his head. You take the moment to shimmy out of the pajama shorts you’d only just gotten dressed into as he begins to fiddle with his belt. It only takes a second for you to flick your finger, and the belt unloops itself and goes flying towards the bedroom. He gives you a knowing look.

“What?” You shrug as he resumes discarding his pants. “What’s the point of having these damn powers if I can’t use them, hm?”

“Lil’ trouble maker.” He tsk’s but very shortly pulls you right back to his lap.

His strong, muscular chest pressed up against your own, the feeling of skin against skin sending a wave of heat through both of you. He kisses you with a fervor and intensity that takes your breath away, his hands holding you tightly against him, as if he's scared to let you go. You feel as desired and wanted as you've ever been, every touch and kiss from him making you weak in the knees and stealing all rational thought from your mind. In all your years, you’ve never once felt quite as desired as you do with Vander. Similarly, it takes only a mere touch from him to make your knees weak and your mind go empty. Simply put, it’s just…him. And he’s the only one you want. 

The thought, and the pure intimacy of it all, is enough to make your hips begin to grind down on their own accord. You can feel how he’s pressing into you, how hard and perfectly shaped he is against your body. His hand finds your hip, steadying you and catching your gaze in a questioning look.

“Sure you’re up for this tonight, Love?” He asks, thumb rubbing softly against your pelvis bone. But all you’ve got to do is smile and dip down to capture his lips as you tilt your hips and scoot closer, for him to let out a full-body shiver and grab your hips with both hands, and thrust fully into you. You moan out a slew of curses as your body writhes against his, everything else ceasing to exist as he fills you. Getting lost in his embrace, his face finds your neck again and begins to pepper kisses across the skin. You feel the desperate need for friction, a primal urge taking control, but you're already so sensitive and overwhelmed from the initial stretch that you know you need time to adjust. He groans, a deep, guttural thing, when you finally take all of him, and the sound drives through you, making your core tighten in response. Your own self-restraint crumbles, and your hips move on their own accord, silently pleading for him to finally give in and begin the movement you both crave. Thankfully, he seems unable to resist, his own hips moving to match your rhythm until you hit the pace you need, causing pleasure to crash into you.

His strength is absolutely an asset, his hands helping to guide your hips up and down as you begin to slowly ride him. Your mind was already practically spinning, moans and curses tumbling from your lips as he dragged in and out of your warmth. Your hands find his shoulders (fuck, he has nice shoulders), a desperate attempt to ground yourself and bite back the urge to dig your fingernails into his skin.

“So-fuck–” you whine, almost pathetically, “so fucking full.”

The sound sends a shockwave through Vander, all but ramming himself deeper into you in a way that feels like it breaks your brain. But you both feel it, the desperate hunger for more. 

“That’s right. You take me so well, don’t you, Love?” He moans into your skin, pulling away from your neck to take in the sight of you on his lap. Somehow, seeing his eyes, seeing the way he looks at you; like water to a man parched, like your the greatest treasure you could hope to find. Mesmerized by the pleasure on your face and the way your tits bounce as you move against him. It feels wonderfully perfect, and all you can do is moan and nod, each time your hips snap down, sending a fresh wave of ecstasy through your body.

He’s relentless, his hips grinding against yours like he owns you, and there’s a sense of ownership in his actions, as if he’s claiming you as his own. He lets out a growl against your ear, and the sound of it sends a shiver down your spine. He’s wild and intense, and the pleasure he’s giving you is so much more than you ever thought possible. You cling to him, your fingers digging into his back as you hold on for dear life, overwhelmed by the intensity of the sensations.

At this point, any semblance of gentleness is long gone, replaced with the primarily urge, the exquisite electrical feeling that buzzes through both of you. You’re riding him with every intention of chasing both of your releases, every thrust down having him gripping your hips harder and harder to the point where you’re half-aware of the bruises you’re sure to have after. He dips back to the crook of your shoulder one last time, licking up the length of your neck with the flat of his tongue before suddenly, the piercing feeling of his teeth against your shoulder shocks through you. You shriek in the mix of pain in pleasure, letting your head roll back to allow him more access. 

“Mine.” He growls into your ear. “Understood?” 

“Fuck-yes!” You cry, feeling the coil in your lower stomach begin to tighten. “Yours. All of me, all that I am, yours.”

Fuck it. Right now, right here. All you needed was him. 

He’s driving you crazy with a pleasure more intense than you could have imagined, his body moving against yours with a raw, primal force. With each deep, hard thrust, you feel him claiming you, leaving you completely at his mercy, and the sense of submission only adds to the pleasure coursing through you. It’s as if he knows your body better than you do, and he’s able to draw out every ounce of pleasure from you. Knowing you’re both on the brink, he reaches out, grabbing one of your hands and pressing a kiss to your palm, then your bandaged wrist, then your arm, then where he just marked his teeth into your skin, all the way back to claim your lips. It’s maddening and intoxicating all at once, it’s perfect, and you find yourself being flown over the edge.

“That’s-” he lets out his own string of curses as you tighten around him, “that’s it, that’s it! So fucking good!”

Your mind is so fried from your orgasm that you barely register him all but throwing you onto the couch, didn’t even register the feel of the fabric on your back. But you most definitely felt him suddenly thrusting back into you, hooking one of your legs over your shoulder to allow him full and complete access to you. He’s more than happy to press kisses to the inside of your thigh, which mixed with the fully lewd sounds of his quickened pace, is enough to get you fully sex drunk and delirious as he continues to plow into you. 

“Gods, you look so-” he bites your thigh, and the same shriek escape your throat, combined with your drunken moans and whines, and it’s enough to make him groan deeply into the flesh he’s biting. “Fuck, I’m gonna-”

“Please!” You whine, voice cracking as your hands balling into fists as your mind struggles to comprehend the amount of pleasure flowing through you right now. “I need it, need to feel it! Vander, please!” That’s more than enough to ruin him, Vander dropping your leg so he could crash down and kiss you as he buried himself deep into you with one final thrust. You felt him groan against your lips and claw at your hips as he emptied himself into you, his chest rising and falling with each panted breath. 

You remain wrapped up in each other's embrace as several minutes pass, your lips moving against one another’s in a satisfied and languid kiss until he finally pulls away to catch his breath. He gasps for air, his warm breath fanning across your collarbone and sending a shiver through you.

Eventually, he can finally speak again, and he releases a deep, satisfied moan, “Fuuuuuck, that was good.” He manages to lift himself up slightly, gazing down at you with eyes filled with an adoring love, as they reach for your hand, their fingers brushing over your knuckles with a tenderness that makes your heart warm. You smile back at him, feeling giddy and blissful. “You alright, Love?”

Taking a deep, calming breath yourself as your consciousness slowly returns to you, you slide your hands up around his neck. “Oh Gods, yeah.” You laugh, and the smile he cracks is so wide, you’re sure he’s going to hurt himself. His head bends down, peppering your face full of kisses until you’re giggling and pushing him away. “...We should probably maybe move off the couch, though…and maybe grab our clothes before the guys get back.”

He whines a little, but concedes. “Right, yeah, hang on…”

Bless him, he carefully maneuvers you into your room, masterfully managing to stay completely in you until you’re laying on your bed. Then, with one final kiss, you feel him pull out before wandering back to the living room to collect all your things as you begin to clean yourself. It takes mere moments, but it feels like ages until he’s back in the room with you, tucking the both of you into your blankets as you begin to seep into the cozy warmth of your shared bodies. 

For a while, you just sit there, the two of you wrapped in warmth and quiet. Every now and then, he gently adjusts the blanket around you, their touch always light, always careful, like he’s trying to wrap you in comfort from every direction. You laugh softly when he tries to adjust your pillow for the third time, but it’s a light, easy sound, one that feels like things are returning to normal again.

You lean into him, your head resting on his shoulder, and he presses a soft kiss to the top of your head. The room feels full of little moments like this—touches that reassure, smiles that say everything without needing to be said. You’re not sure how long you stay like that, but time feels slower, softer, in the best way. The world outside seems distant, like you’re tucked away in this small bubble of calm, where everything feels safe and cared for.

It’s simple, it’s quiet, but in that space, it’s everything.

[back2bluesidex]

Slide - The Vacation - MYG

Pairing: Producer!Yoongi X Lyricist!Reader 

Theme: Angst, smut, unplanned pregnancy. Fwb to ?

Word count: 1.6k

Summary: 

"I can see the pain in your eyes I don't wanna say that I'm God, but I'll take you to heaven if you die" 

Alternatively, 

Yoongi finally finds an answer to all of his questions.

Listened to Slide by Chase Atlantics

Warnings: Angst, angst and angst

Minors do not interact!!

Series Masterlist | Masterlist | Patreon (for early access)

Taglist requests are closed for now

A/N: This chapter has both readers and Yoongi's pov.

Read the next chapter

“I want to try being with you. If you’d let me.” Yoongi had said, just less than an hour ago, standing at your dining place. 

If you have ever thought you would be squealing like a schoolgirl when he mistakenly professes his love for you - then you had been wrong. Because those words of his - rang hollow. 

Those words of his had no promise, no meaning, only a tone of experiment - or maybe less than that. 

Your tears have dried up. You have cried much more in the span of a year than you ever had in these twenty eight years of life. 

So you don’t cry. 

Even when you stare at your bathroom mirror, without the sign of another life springing into you - you don’t cry. 

Even when the metallic smell of your own blood-soaked sheets dances around your senses - you don’t cry. 

Even when Yoongi’s voice saying he doesn’t know what he feels for you rings loudly in your head - you don’t cry. 

The woman who is standing at the place of your reflection is you - but emptier. 

Now, truly, you have nothing left in yourself. 

The baby is gone, Yoongi is gone, you - yourself - are gone. 

When Yoongi broke and scattered the broken pieces all over your sanity, you picked those up, put them up in a stack. 

Now that you are at the same place, who is going to do that for you? 

No one? 

Yourself. 

So you decide, you need a vacation. 

Attachment and Expectations are two human behaviors that you have always dreaded. 

You have purposefully stayed away from everyone, whoever you thought would get you attached. And you have always expected the least positive outcome whenever it comes to human connections. 

At the beginning, Yoongi was no exception. 

You admired him but never stepped past the professional boundaries in fear of getting attached, until he broke the norms. 

Even when you realized you fell in love, you expected nothing more than the warmth of his body. But your resolve weakened whenever he looked at you for a little longer than necessary, whenever he shared tales about Holly, whenever he treated you to a meal. 

Now that you are determined to heal yourself - you realize this is the root of the problem. 

You are attached to Yoongi and you have expected Yoongi to have a similar feeling towards you. 

Wrong. So wrong. 

You need to break free. 

So, you try to save what’s left of your sanity and avoid looking at Yoongi as he and Namjoon sit right across from you in the same meeting room where everything went south a month and half ago. 

Your feet bounce under the table, your breath shortens under Namjoon’s scrutinizing eyes. 

“Y/N, tell us what’s wrong? Why suddenly - I mean, I am not saying no your application but you have hardly ever been to such a long holiday? And if I am being honest, then you look quite unwell. Is there something we should know?” Namjoon is concerned, you know that. You are even grateful but you have no energy to answer him, no energy to lie anymore. 

You have no will to spend another minute inside the same room as Yoongi - because no matter what - you love him and you want him to wrap his hands around you and let you cry in his embrace. 

You want him to mourn with you. 

You want him to mourn for you. 

“I was pregnant. I lost the baby two nights ago. I am neither mentally nor physically fit to work for now. Besides, I don’t have any important projects going on.” you reply flatly. 

Saying these words out loud, makes things even more real. 

Pain crawls back inside your heart and fills your eyes to the brim. 

Namjoon has gone quiet. 

Yoongi has always been silent. 

“O-oh.. I- I didn’t know. I’m sorry. It must be tough, Y/N. Please take care of yourself.” Namjoon fumbles with words, a rare sight. 

Funny how your misery has rendered the smart ones dumb. 

He approves your leave in his laptop as you raise your feet to leave. 

“Are you going alone?” His voice interrupts your action. 

Yoongi doesn’t look at you, he stares blankly at the table. 

“Yes.” you reply.

“Stay safe.” he adds. 

And you want nothing more than to scream at him, to tell him that he fucked you up. But in reality you know he is troubled too - that it’s your fault as much as it's his.  

“Sure.” you mutter, as you quietly slip out of the room. 

Two nights ago when you left the bathroom the first thing you did was to look for your phone. When you found it laying idly by your laptop on your desk, you dialed Hoseok’s number for the second time that evening. 

You were incredibly sorry to him. 

He was but a stranger to you and had no responsibility of attending to your troubles but still he showed up when you called him sitting on your bloody bed and came rushing to you despite being busy. 

This time too, he received your call right after two rings. 

“I need a vacation, Hoseok. Do you.. Do you know any wellness retreats that might help me?” you asked.

“That’s a really good thought, Y/N. I will send you a few links, check those out, okay?” he replied. 

And that’s how you ended up packing your bags for a month-long retreat in Thailand. 

Yoongi didn’t come back home that night. 

He went straight to a snack bar and drank seven bottles of distilled Soju all alone. 

However, he didn’t black out this time. He knew there would be no calling you if he passed out on the floor, covered in vomit and mud. 

He knew there would be no kindness from your side - he doesn’t deserve it - he never had. 

While he drank the only thing he could recall is that you were carrying his baby. That you were on the very first step of being a mother and him a father. 

Weird how, if these same words would have come out Gyuri’s mouth, he would have freaked out so bad. 

But it’s you. And whenever he thought of you, he could picture a quiet life. A condo in an upscale neighborhood, floor to ceiling windows where he could enjoy mellow sunlight sitting on the couch with you. 

Where he could cook for you in the kitchen and then serve you food piping hot or maybe feed you upon blowing a little. 

Those thoughts had always shaken him to the core, made him question his feelings towards you but at the end of the day, he always left himself with no answer. 

On the next morning when he woke up with the worst hangover ever, he decided to do what you have asked him to. 

He decided to give himself time and question himself regularly, repeatedly, that what is it that he feels for you? 

And while doing so, he decided to stay away from you - give you time to find your footing and mourn for the loss. 

He decides to mourn too. 

However, he got completely ruined like a damp wall with several cracks when he read your leave application. 

You had applied for a month-long holiday. 

A month without you? Without seeing you for a glance? Without hearing from you, even a word? Without having to watch you pressing the button on the seventh floor on the elevator, without your quiet sitting figure in the meetings, without your habit of writing lyrics on pen and paper rather than using your ipad? 

Can he… can he survive? 

“Y/N..” he finds himself following you after you leave the meeting room. 

You don’t startle, nor do you turn back. You stand in the middle of the corridor and wait for him to finish his sentence. 

“When are you leaving?” he asks from where his feet are stuck on the floor. 

“Tomorrow morning.” you reply briefly. 

“Incheon?” 

“Gimpo” 

“Can I come? To see you off?” 

“You don’t need to.”

“I want to. I want to see you off. I want to know… to know what I- what I feel for you.” 

He confesses to your back. 

You, probably, sigh. 

“Okay.” you say before walking off. 

When he reaches the airport as per the timing you have sent him - he sees you sitting a little far away from the check in counter. 

“Hey.” he approaches you. 

You look up at him with tired, blank eyes. Your eyes want to make him cry. 

“Hi. I was only waiting for you. I gotta go check in.” your voice is just as blank. 

He nods. 

“Bye.” you try to walk away from him. 

But he stops you with a hand on your wrist. 

“I will.. I will be here when you come back.” he whispers, only for you to hear. 

You nod. 

And then something crashes inside Yoongi, the dam of his eyes breaks and tears start falling unbound. He pulls you closer to his body, envelops you in a hug. 

You stay still but he doesn’t mind. 

He relishes your warmth, your smell, your feel for as long as he can. 

When he lets go, his lips find yours. 

He kisses you softly, with everything he has in himself. 

You don’t kiss him back but he doesn’t mind. 

For you, he will wait. 

Because right then, while you part your way from him, Yoongi finds an answer to all his questions. 

Yoongi realizes… He is in love with you.

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[mxtxfanatic]

What finally pushes Wei Wuxian into a qi deviation isn’t the fact that Jiang Cheng showed up to hate-crime him and Lan Wangji, but the fact that Wei Wuxian showed up with the best of intentions—informing his dead guardians of his intentions to marry—just to be goaded into attacking their son in front of their tablets, the highest form of disrespect he could’ve performed in front of them. That Jiang Cheng could drag him down to such a level as to engage in something so disrespectful when Wei Wuxian showed up specifically to pay his respects is why it should not surprise anyone that Wei Wuxian’s last thoughts on Lotus Pier is that he wants to leave and never return:

It was only proper to show respect for the deceased. After all, they were at an ancestral hall.

...

Jiang Cheng was exactly who Wei WuXian had wanted to avoid; the last person he wanted to be seen by. Now that Jiang Cheng had found him, he knew he probably couldn’t escape fast enough without having harsh words flung his way. Wei WuXian didn’t want to start any unnecessary conflict, so he said, “I didn’t bring HanGuang-Jun anywhere that contained the Lotus Pier’s secrets. I’m just here to offer a few incense sticks to Uncle Jiang and Madam Yu. We are just leaving.”

—Chapt. 87: Core (Part 9), boat-full-of-lotus-pods

He turned to Jiang Cheng and said, “Jiang Cheng, listen to yourself. Do you even hear what you’re saying? Don’t forget who you are. You’re the leader of a sect. To insult a fellow cultivator from one of the Four Great Sects in front of Uncle Jiang and everyone’s memorial tablets. Where are your manners?”

...

All three of them had weapons out in front of the ancestral hall now. Jiang Cheng’s eyes were bloodshot as he snarled, “Fine! If you want a fight, then let’s fight! You think I’m afraid of you two?!” But just a few strikes later, Wei WuXian remembered, startled, that they stood before the ancestral hall of the Yunmeng Jiang Sect. He had only just knelt and prayed in front of Uncle Jiang and Madam Yu for their protection a few moments ago. And now he was attacking their son with Lan WangJi right under their nose! As if a bucket of cold water had just been dumped over him, suddenly, spots appeared in front of Wei WuXian’s eyes and his vision darkened.

...

Wei WuXian did not answer him. Instead, he said, “Lan Zhan...... Let’s go.” Immediately. And never come back.

—Chapt. 88: Core (Part 10), boat-full-of-lotus-pods

Tellingly enough, Jiang Cheng does not hold the same sense of shame in the fact that he instigated a physical fight in the resting place of his ancestors nor that his intentions weren't to maintain decorum when he followed wangxian into the ancestral hall to begin with. In fact, he is fueled by rage to the point of irrationality before he even steps foot into the ancestral hall, so much so that he cannot even accept wangxian disengaging from the fight and attempting to leave on their own:

All the signs pointed to the same conclusion—there was now something more between Wei WuXian and Lan WangJi. Unable to make himself turn away or step forward to speak to them, Jiang Cheng had concealed himself and followed after them, reinterpreting their every exchange and gesture through a coloured lens. Feelings of disbelief, strangeness, and slight, mild disgust had momentarily been enough to overcome Jiang Cheng’s hatred. It was only when Wei WuXian had brought Lan WangJi into the ancestral hall that Jiang Cheng’s anger reawakened. The repressed, overwhelming rage consumed his rationality and manners.

...

Lan WangJi harbored no more desire to continue the fight with Jiang Cheng. Wordlessly, he pulled Wei WuXian onto his back and turned to leave. Jiang Cheng was plagued by alarm and suspicion. He was alarmed by the terrifying sight of blood suddenly oozing out of Wei WuXian’s qiqiao. Yet he was suspicious of whether the man was faking it for an excuse to run away. After all, it was a prank that Wei WuXian had pulled quite often in the past. At the sight of the two men leaving, Jiang Cheng called, “Stop!”

—Chapt. 88: Core (Part 10), boat-full-of-lotus-pods

[himasgod]

Kinich x Reader II

Where you have regained your confidence and are healing, and you dare to ask Kinich for physical contact.

(Warning! This is the second part of something I wrote previously, a kinich x r4ped!reader. You should read the previous part to give it some more emotional charge! I repeat the same thing, if you have been a victim of this type of ab4se, you are very brave. You are not alone, and there are many things watching your back, supporting you, many laws, entities, people, users, etcetera… soon you will get your life back and it will only be a distant scar that you will live with, I promise <3)

Natlan’s dim moonlight filtered through the dense jungle canopy, casting faint silver glints over the hut. It had been weeks since that night, since Kinich had learned the truth. Since then, he had kept his distance, his usual gestures of affection replaced by careful words and a respectful space that pained you as much as it made you feel grateful.

He had remained by your side. Despite your fears that he wouldn’t want to deal with the weight of your grief, Kinich stayed. His stubbornness, that same quality that used to tease you before, now felt like a lifeline.

That night, as the fire in the campfire crackled softly, you found him sitting outside, carving something on a piece of wood. The scene was so familiar and reassuring that for a moment you forgot the knot in you chest.

“What are you doing?” he asked, breaking the silence.

He looked up, his expression softening at the sight of you.

“A necklace,” he replied, turning the piece of wood in his hand to show you. It was small and still shapeless, but it looked like a flower.

“It’s nice. Who is it for?”

Kinich smirked, a smile filled with that quiet confidence that was so characteristic of him.

“Who do you think it is for?”

Your felt your heart race. There were moments like this, fleeting but significant, where she wondered if she deserved the patience and devotion he gave you without reservation. Still, you decided to sit beside him, leaving a small space between them.

“Thank you, Kinich,” you murmured after a while.

He set the necklace aside and turned to you, resting an arm on his knee as he looked at you seriously.

“You don’t have to thank me for anything. I…” Kinich paused, searching for the right words. “I just want you to be okay.”

The honesty in his voice made your throat tighten. You nodded, but couldn’t look at him directly. Instead, you let your fingers brush over the half-made necklace.

“I want to try,” you whispered suddenly.

“Try what?”

You looked up, meeting those intense eyes that seemed to see right through you, but never judging.

“Trust again. With you.”

Kinich didn’t say anything at first. His hand, calloused but firm, moved slowly toward yours, stopping just short of touching.

“Can I?” he asked, and you nodded with a slight tremor.

The touch was gentle, barely a brush, but it was enough to send a wave of emotions through you. Anxiety, fear… but also warmth.

Because it was Kinich.

“Tell me if you want me to stop,” he said, his voice low and calm.

You leaned a little closer to him, letting your head rest against his shoulder. Your breathing intertwined with his as silence filled the space between them. Kinich didn't move, he didn't rush you.

After a while, his fingers began to explore, tracing soft lines on the fabric of your arm. It was an innocent gesture, but one charged with intimacy. Heat rose to your cheeks, and you closed your eyes, allowing yourself to enjoy the moment after all.

"I don't want to scare you," he said in a whisper.

"You don't, my love"

For the first time in a long time, fear didn't dominate your senses.

Kinich was a constant, an anchor in the midst of the storm. As his fingers slowly traced the outline of your wrist, you felt something inside you begin to heal.

It was Kinich. And you had begun to slowly heal your wounds from that afternoon. You needed to normalize your life again, to do the activities you liked again, to spend quality time…

And there was nothing you both wanted more at that moment, when you arrived home, than to get back in touch.

You didn't remember Kinich like that. It seemed like after he heard what happened, he didn't dare touch you again, as if you were a ghost. However, every time he was with you, it seemed like there was an invisible band-aid on your heart, a thread that sutured your wounded heart.

You felt clean again. You felt good.

Kinich gently grabbed his flower-shaped necklace that you had hanging around your neck, and gently pulled, his eyes searching yours with some anxiety, as if he wanted to confirm that everything was really okay. When you realized that you would need to take the initiative this time because Kinich didn't dare touch you again out of respect, you brought your hand to his cheek and joined your lips with his.

You missed that feeling, and Kinich had an invisible lump form in his chest, while yours was disappearing in his company.

After a few minutes of tongues dancing with each other and your hand on his cheek slowly caressing, Kinich separated from your lips. His lips were reddish, and he placed his nose in the hollow between your shoulder and your neck.

Patience was not one of Kinich's virtues, as his hands began to make their way to the edges of the fabrics that covered you.

"Are you okay? Tell me, please, if you need me to stop at any time, whatever, tell me."

However, your cheeks were already red when Kinich caressed the skin of your bare back under your shirt with his calloused palm, and your eyes looked firmly into his.

With him, you felt safe.

"I wish… that you continue. Please, Kinich…"

No more words were necessary for silence to invade you, accompanied by the sound of your tongues fighting against each other again, somewhat louder, as Kinich made you sit on his lap and you shyly ran your hands over his torso. Meanwhile, his hands softly touched your back, going up to the clasp of your bra as he whispered lost in your lips,

"Are you okay, love?"

But you probably couldn't be better.

Here is my masterlist, in case you are interested in any more of my work or want to send me a request <3

[marvel-snape-writes]

I humbly submit a request for: heavy breeding kink Severus.

Cursed into Temptation is so well written, and the way you captured him as desperate and repressed with a need for dramatic release would just fit so well.

I hope this inspires you, but if you aren't comfortable writing it then that's all good too. ^-^

I hope you are having a nice day/evening :)

Claiming What’s Yours

Severus Snape x original female character

7.1k words+

18+ smutty Snape of the breed-kink kind 🤭

Thank you to whoever requested this! I hope I’ve done it some justice and I’m especially nervous since this is the first breed-kink fic I have ever written in my life 🫣🤣🫶

For the longest time, Severus Snape didn't believe he should allow himself to feel the amount of pleasure he had experienced over the last few weeks. Falling for the new professor only a few months back was something he never expected, but the way they had gotten to know each other over most recent weeks was something he expected even less. He would be the first person to admit how nervous he felt at the beginning, how hesitant he was to give himself over to the way she made him feel, but in this short amount of time he also couldn't deny she had brought the side out in him that he had repressed for all these years. He had gone from feeling nothing for anyone to absolute infatuated obsession for her, and she was more than happy to oblige; emotionally, physically, sexually.

Desire was not a feeling Severus was particularly familiar with prior to meeting her, though he would be lying if he said it wasn't 99% of what he felt now. The constant urge and need to be near her, touch her, claim her as his own literally any chance he could get. She helped him discover more about himself than he knew before he met her. There was a time when he couldn't even entertain the idea of being alone with a woman in that regard, but now he was having a hard time thinking of anything but. He wanted her, needed her, so much so that he now found himself constantly consumed by the idea of forever being inside her. She audibly loved the way he throbbed each time his entire length slid all the way inside her with absolute ease, and he loved the feeling of her squeezing around him when she just couldn't take the pounding of his hips anymore.

It wasn't that he hadn't enjoyed the intimacy at the beginning, but the last few weeks had been unlike anything he could have imagined. It all started when they had got so lost in one another one night that they hadn't even thought about using any protection. They had attended a Hogwarts ball and been kept apart for the majority of the night, occupied by different people wanting their separate attention, but they couldn't help devouring each other with their eyes each time their gaze met across the room. The door to his chamber was barely even shut after them stumbling through it before they were desperately tearing clothes off one another’s backs. Grunts and heavy breathing radiated off the walls, hands flying all over each other, and they didn't even make it to the bedroom. The kitchen table, the counter top, and the wall were just a handful of surfaces they found themselves pressed against or bent over, held to each one by the pinning of desperate hips. Fingers frantically skimmed over skin whilst teeth clattered together from the urgency of their kisses; the desire in their bellies aflame like never before. In all the excitement and whirlwind of their craved release, it had completely slipped their minds to use any form of contraception. Before they even had time to think, Severus was plummeting his hips directly into hers completely, without any barrier of protection, without even a safety-netting spell put in place, without a care in the world for the consequence. The fire that ripped through him as he reached his climax was unlike anything he had ever felt before. It was clear that she reciprocated the feeling, but it was only after the panting between them both had calmed down that they had realised why; there hadn't been a single barrier between them, not a single thing put in place to prevent a pregnancy.

It was the constant chase of that pure release that started it first; the knowing that they could only feel like that if they were to risk conceiving again. Then it was that; the risk. They both knew and had admitted previously that they did not wish to have a child, but the danger of this drove their passions even more wild. However, it wasn't long after that, that Severus’ appetite for lust changed; the knowing that she was allowing, even begging at times, for him to release his sticky climax inside her in full knowing of the consequences both good and bad — good being that they could feel every pulse and clench of pleasure they caused one another, and even the once bad being that they may end up with child was now growing less and less of a burden — was driving him insane. To know she trusted him enough to have her this way made him feral. To have at one another like two animals in heat made him feel god-like, and to be this close to her with no barriers between them was becoming even more of a want, even more than a need, it was becoming an obsession. Every time he saw her, his mind was immediately riddled with how they could sneak away to their closest option; a classroom, a potions closet, anywhere to just have their way with one another, and as the days went by, they acted upon these urges like they were ticking off some sort of sex location check list — each place more obscene than the last. Their eyes would meet across a corridor, a hall, or a classroom, and they would both know exactly what the other was thinking; when and where could they do it again?

Today was no different; his need for her was so strong that last night’s rough tumble in the sheets were almost a distant memory. They had crossed paths in the corridor earlier, Severus reached out his arm and purposefully brushed their fingers together, earning a faint smirk as she looked over her shoulder at him. His eyes fell upon a closed potions cupboard door and allowed his mind to drift to what they once got up to in there before and how he would do anything to have that right now. Even brief moments shared like these, especially when not knowing he would be seeing her again, sometimes left him wondering whether he should just lock himself away in his chamber, a potions closet, or even a staff toilet cubicle and get himself off so he could go about his day without the constant craving for release on his mind. However, nine times out of ten he would be won over by the knowing that to save it all for her would satisfy his desires much more; he went with the theory that he more he pumped into her, the more likely she would be to have his child, and to create something now as a result of their burning passion and want for one another would fulfil him more than he could ever begin to explain.

Severus spotted his chance for a brief few moments in between classes and immediately took the opportunity of approaching one of the older students, “Go and tell Professor Lillywhite that Professor Snape wishes to see her.”

The student obliged, as many would, afraid of the snide remarks they would get if they did otherwise, unless they were one of his beloved Slytherin students, of course. Severus walked back into his Potions Classroom and closed the door behind him, exhaling quietly as he began to put away the items that had been left out from the lesson before and muttering to himself about how lazy some of the students were at tidying up after themselves.

“You wanted to see me, Professor?” A spine-tinglingly familiar voice broke the silence as his door opened.

“Will you ever stop addressing me like so?” Severus turned around with a brow arched.

“I thought you said that whilst we were at work, we should address each other as—” She felt herself blushing as Severus came closer, wrapping his arms around her from behind.

“Ah, but there is a momentary pause between classes at present,” He dipped his head to whisper into her ear and kissed it lightly, “Is there not?”

“Fifteen minutes?” She half giggled, placing her hands now over his large ones that were settled upon her stomach.

“Do you doubt me, Miss Eleanor?” He spoke against her neck this time and tauntingly dragged his lips down the side of it, and she could feel the unshaven scruff that was beginning to grow upon his face; they both were far too fond of fooling around in the bathroom in most recent days that he was scarcely remembering to even shave.

“N…Not at all, Severus…” She spoke in a slightly uneasy tone as a result of his lips now latched upon her neck.

“Do not doubt yourself to put me in a state where I am always ready to have my way with you, regardless of the place or timing,” He gently suckled on the crook of her neck for a few moments, one of Eleanor’s hands reaching up to tangle in his hair with a soft gasp before he spoke again, “And, most importantly, do not doubt my ability of planting my child, ourchild inside you even within those mere fifteen minutes.” His hands absentmindedly rubbed back and forth over her stomach.

“Mmm… fifteen minutes, you say?” She smirked, tilting her head up to catch his eye as she played with his hair, “I would say that its more now like… twelve.”

The fire within Severus’ eyes lit immediately from her words, already feeling the arousing challenge in the pit of his stomach. Eleanor watched as the desire flickered in his eyes, instinctively turning herself around and wrapping her arms around his neck as he leaned down to urgently press their lips together. Severus’ hands moved immediately to her dress and began to rise it above her hips as he backed her into the utility cupboard of his classroom, their kisses becoming rougher with each step they took. Eleanor’s hands slipped from his neck to his chest and then the front of his pants, smirking as her fingertips found the bump in the material. Severus instinctively pushed his hips forward and whimpered against her lips, reaching down for one of her thighs and raising it so she could hook her leg around his waist.

“Mmm… already?” She grinned when her hand cupped his clothed erection, gently squeezing him.

“Will you ever lose the tone of surprise?” He responded, pinning her against the wall by his hips and trapping her hand between them in the process and letting out a soft groan from the added pressure of her hand against his crotch.

Eleanor smirked against his lips and made quick work of unfastening his pants, pulling the crotch open and continuing to kiss him as their breathing became more and more heavy. Every move was made with pure desperation and urgency; him hitching her dress up, her popping open every button on his trousers, him lifting her leg a little further up, her fumbling with his underwear whilst he attempted to reach for hers.

“No underwear?” He asked as his fingertips slid past the hem of her dress, “Good girl.”

“I know how you like it…” Her arms snaked around his neck, “—Sir.”

Severus inhaled shakily from the tone of her voice and he reached between them, guiding himself with one hand and claiming her lips desperately as he thrust himself inside her. Eleanor squealed but knew she must be quieter than if they were in his chamber. Her leg squeezed around him and one arm raised above her head and against the shelf above as Severus wasted no time in pounding's hips upward, grunting heavily with each movement but continuing to kiss her feverishly.

“I should stand at the door as each person enters the castle and cast the muffliato charm upon them so we can have our way with one another at full volume.” He smirked against her lips, moaning in between breaths.

Eleanor could barely respond with words, so just let out a flirtatious giggle instead. She grasped onto one of the shelves overhead to try and keep herself upright whilst taking the urgency of Severus’ hips. The kiss broke briefly as she tilted her head back against the wall, but it didn't take long for Severus’ lips to find her collarbone, then her neck, kissing all the way up to her jaw before hungrily kissing her lips again with a merciless thrust that lifted her even further up the wall.

“You kiss me as if you didn't just have me for your breakfast,” Eleanor whispered against his lips with a grin, her arms now back around his neck again.

“You know that was just a taste…” He whispered back, gently tugging at her bottom lip between her teeth.

“Of…?” Eleanor taunted him, tangling her fingers in his hair.

“What’s to come,” Severus inhaled sharply, readjusting himself so he could move his hips with more ease whilst breathing against her lips and emphasising each word with a powerful thrust, “And, fuck, do I need- to- cum!”

Eleanor moaned softly and squeezed her leg around him, lightly pulling at his hair as his hips relentlessly pounded upwards. Severus’ hand trembled against her thigh as he continued to hold it lifted at his hip, his lips now moving to her neck and harshly sucking at the skin to try and muffle the sounds attempting to escape his mouth. Their bodies shook against one another with desperate want for him to explode inside her and one of Eleanor’s hands even slipped to his bottom to urge him not to stop. Her other hand reached back up to grasp onto one of the shelves above them, knocking a few glasses into each other as her fingertips turned white from how hard her grip was.

“Professor Snape?” A voice called after a few knocks at the classroom door, “Professor Snape, Sir?!” The voice grew louder.

“H—Huh?” Severus forced his eyes open, his hips still moving.

“I have those papers you asked for!” The voice said through the door, “The ones you requested to be placed on your desk before your next class!?”

“Severus!?” Eleanor’s eyes widened, hanging onto him with her arms around his neck again.

“Oh, for fu—” Severus grunted; he had hoped for the person to have given up, however, panic struck both of them when he heard his classroom door open, “Shit- fuck- ugh!” He grumbled in frustration, unsure of if his heart or his cock was throbbing harder.

He placed her foot back on the floor and exhaled deeply, trying to tuck himself away and disguise his pulsing problem the best he could as he fastened his trousers back up. His breathing remained heavy as he watched Eleanor try and push her skirt back down so it covered her properly.

“Stay. Here.” He spoke quietly but firmly, looking her up and down before turning to walk out of his potions closet.

“Ah, Professor Sna—” The young, training Professor tried to speak before Severus cut him off completely;

“My classroom, I speak first,” He snapped, trying to cover up his flustered expression, “I, for one, cannot believe that you think you have the right to burst into my classroom without awaiting my invitation.” He pointed his index finger at him.

“But, Professor, you told me- asked me, even, to come to your classroom with the papers-!” The young Professor tried to explain himself, but Snape had passed the point of any explanation.

“Perhaps I did ask for you to return those papers to me before the start of my lesson, but what I do not recall is inviting you into my classroom without my permission!” Severus’ voice raised.

“But, Professor, I knock—”

“’But Professor’ nothing!” Severus was practically shouting at this point, his cock aching as it was forced to soften in his trousers, “You barge into my room, you disrupt me, and now you throw excuses at me?”

“I—I am sorry,” The young Professor spoke in a shy tone.

“Get out.” Severus turned away from him, exhaling deeply.

“Professor?” The young man blinked hard.

“Out!” Severus spun around on his heels, pointing at the door.

Without another word, the young Professor turned and walked out of his classroom, shutting the door behind him. Severus exhaled deeply and gritted his teeth in annoyance, pinching the bridge of his nose between his index finger and thumb and brushing his palm over the front of his pants as he glanced down to ensure the obvious bump was gone.

“You can come out now.” He cleared his throat, standing with his hands on his hips as he glanced around the room.

“That was a bit ruthless, Severus…” Eleanor spoke almost shyly as she walked out of the potions cupboard, still adjusting her dress.

“You know I don't like being interrupted.” Severus spoke flatly, turning to face her.

“I know,” She glanced at the door before leaning up to peck his lips, “It was hot.”

“Don’t…” He whispered against her lips, feeling her kiss go straight to his cock.

“Not enough time now?” She teased, looking up at him as she pulled back.

“As much as I think you are more than capable of making me cum within seconds, I think—” He began until Eleanor placed her index finger over his lips.

“Usual place after hours?” She spoke in a seductively suggestive tone, raising her eyebrows.

“Fuck, yes, please.” Severus spoke against her finger, nodding quickly, “If I can last that long.”

“Oh, you better,” She gave him more of a stern look, though a smirk crept upon her face as she walked to the door and she turned around to flash it to him, “I will know, Severus.”

Severus took a shaky breath and walked back behind his desk, gripping onto it tightly as he leaned against it, wanting nothing more than to have Eleanor upon it; legs parted and him between them, pounding away to his hearts content as she begged him to fill her up with his warm, sticky release.

‘No,’ He told himself, shaking his head as he knew the students would be arriving any second, ‘No time for thoughts like that. Just a few more hours and there will finally be no interruption. You can do this.’

The following hours felt like days and Severus was having to try his hardest to not make any mistakes throughout the lessons that filled them. How close he was to exploding inside her just moments before they were interrupted was painful, and it only made him long to be that close to her even more than usual. He wasted no time in heading in the agreed direction once the usual time was upon him, praying for the emptiness of the usual place.

He could feel his skin prickling with heat from the want of her, the need to fill her, as he walked briskly down the torch-lit corridors and then hurried up the steps in the way one would if they were being chased by a boggart. The Astronomy Tower after hours was one of their favoured locations, providing complete undercover silence until the area was filled with echoes of their own pleasure as Eleanor pleaded with him not to stop and Severus panted with desperation of reaching his climax inside her. The view of the stars from the top of the tower were a beauty to behold in their own right, but the stars they saw when their eyes squeezed shut and came apart as a result of their pounding hips were even more impressive. The sheer height of the tower made them feel like they ruled over the whole grounds when stood in their own heat after their desires had been met, like no one else mattered and no one could touch them; like no one in this world or any other had ever shared the closeness that they have when intimate with one another like this; no barriers, no preventions, just the two of them and the possibility of what could be created because of it.

He made his way to the top of The Astronomy Tower, and then he saw her. The whole beauty of the night sky encapsulated within her silhouette. As he approached closer, his eyes feasted upon the dress she was wearing — certainly not the same as earlier in the day. It emphasised everything he loved about her body.

“You must stop forcing me to make such horrible decisions, my pet…” He whispered huskily into her ear from behind.

“I’m sorry?” Eleanor grinned, enjoying the feeling of his arms now snaking around her from behind as her hands remained held onto the railings in front of her.

“Wearing things like this…” He pressed a singular kiss behind her ear, making her shiver, “I can’t decide if I want to fuck you with it on or just completely tear it off.”

“Mmm…” She bit her lip, tilting her head to the side to allow his pathway of kisses down her neck, “My apologies, sir.”

“Keep addressing me like that and this could all be over in a flash.” Severus half joked against the crook of her neck, kissing the skin delicately.

Eleanor giggled and turned her head, pressing her lips to his immediately. Severus’ arms tightened around her as he kissed her back and their eyes fell shut, each of them sighing softly against one another’s lips. Eleanor reached one arm behind her and into his hair, deepening the kiss as she tangled it between her fingers.

“I’ve been craving this…” Severus spoke against her lips, pinning her to the railings with his hips, “Goddamn the power you hold over me, Eleanor,” He inhaled sharply, “To fill you with my baby.”

“Our baby.” Eleanor squeezed her free hand over his against her stomach.

“I must have you,” He breathed heavily in between kisses, stressing his need by brushing his hardened, clothed cock against her bottom, “Now.”

Eleanor’s hand trembled over his slightly, kissing him hungrily, “Take what is yours, Severus.”

“Are you ready for me?” His voice was low, one of his hands now making its way up her inner thigh.

“I—I’m never not ready for you, sir…” She breathed against his lips, feeling her thighs tingle slightly as his hand reached the very top.

The kiss broke with a soft gasp from Eleanor once Severus’ hand made it between her legs. Quickly finding that she was still wearing no underwear, his fingers wasted no time in starting to explore. Eleanor’s mouth fell open with a breathy moan and she hung her head forward, one hand against the railing and another in his hair, each grip growing tighter every time he taunted a finger inside her.

“Mm… so good for me.” Severus growled lowly, using his free hand to reach between them and unfasten his trousers desperately, “Bend over the railing for me, sweetheart.”

Eleanor did exactly as she was told without even a moment of hesitation, both hands now holding onto the railings in aroused anticipation. Severus removed his hand from between her legs and used it to hoist her dress up a little more so he could line himself up with her properly. Within seconds he had thrust himself inside her just like the many times before with such ease. Both of their mouths fell open to let out a breathy moan simultaneously, the closeness of how they had almost lost themselves in Severus’ potion’s closet still in the forefront of their minds.

“Mm, don't hold back, baby…” Eleanor exhaled, pushing back against him.

Severus sucked on each of his coated fingers but remained silent as he leaned over her a little more, pressing his lips to her ear and murmuring into it, “I wasn't planning on it.”

Before Eleanor had a chance to even think about a response, moans were leaving her lips instead from the heavy thuds of Severus’ hips slamming up into hers, his breath still hot against the back of her neck from his grunts. He moved his hands to place them over hers on the railings and squeezed them gently, his teeth now grazing against the skin on the side of her neck. Eleanor whimpered softly as her eyes rolled back in pleasure, feeling her body trembling beneath him already.

“I must apologise,” He panted against her neck, kissing her with each harsh thrust.

“A—Apologise?” Eleanor’s voice shook, feeling the familiar warmth from before in the pit of her stomach as he angled his movements just right.

“This may all be over faster than—” He inhaled sharply through clenched teeth, “N-Normal…” His cock gave an almighty throb, “And for that, I am sorry.”

It was true, the teasing beforehand, the situation they found themselves in, in the potions closet, the way they had to stop just before they got to the most crucial part, all this pent up release was making Severus’ trained self-control a distant memory.

“That…” Eleanor turned around, kissing him hard on the lips, “Is absolutely fine.” She grinned, moaning into the kiss as his relentless hips continued.

“You must feel it with me,” He spoke shakily against her lips, removing one of his hands from hers and instead placing it back between her legs, massaging his fingers against her exactly how he knew she liked it, “Cum for me, my sweet,” He swallowed hard, squeezing his eyes shut as his body began to tense up in pleasure, “Cum with me.”

“Mmhh-mm, Severus!” She gasped against his lips as he moved his fingers with more pressure and bucked his hips against her, his hair growing sweaty as he also tried to maintain the kiss.

“Fuck, I need to cum,” He panted desperately against her lips.

“Put your baby inside me Severus,” She moaned, kissing him again, “Please.”

“A-Agh, El—” Were the only words he managed to strangle out of his tight throat, now burying his face in the crook of her neck as his release began to shoot inside her in desperate, sticky strings of bliss.

“Y—Yes, Sev!” Eleanor whimpered in delight, the mixture of his hips, fingers, and warmth filling her also brought her to her simultaneous climax.

Severus continued to drive his hips forward like some desperate animal and made sure his fingers continued to move in rhythm for Eleanor’s pleasure, too. Both of them drew heavy breaths in between moans and Eleanor’s hands trembled against the railing, biting her lip when she felt Severus’ lips tickle up the side of her neck.

After a few long moments, Severus took a brief step back and fastened his pants back up, meeting Eleanor’s eyes with a slightly red face once he looked back up.

“That was nothing to be sorry for.” She giggled, pushing her dress back down over her hips.

“Blame how you look in that dress.” Severus’ lips curled up into a half smile, half smirk.

“How so?” She tilted her head playfully.

“I didn't even want to get it off you before you made me..” He cleared his throat to try and insinuate what he meant.

“What I would like to know, Severus,” She stepped forward and leaned up onto her tiptoes, wrapping her arms around his neck, “Is how you can try to fuck me in your potions closet, actually fuck me over the railings on the Astronomy Tower, but can't bring yourself to say, what, ‘hard’? ‘Cum’?” She giggled, pecking his lips, “Before I made you… what?”

“Enough,” Severus spoke against her lips, trying not to rise to her playful taunting, “Come to bed.”

Eleanor didn't take any convincing at all, but continued to tease him on the journey to his chamber. The backs of their hands brushed against one another and their fingers briefly intertwined absentmindedly, their beating hearts still not at complete rest from their previous activity. The door closed behind them and Severus turned to kiss her lips as he locked it, sighing softly.

“Hi…” Eleanor kissed him back, placing her hands against his chest, “Have you thought about that word yet?”

“You should know better than to tease me.” Severus squinted his eyes playfully, stepping further into the room.

“Or…” She walked two fingers up his chest, “What?”

Severus raised one of his hands and took hold of her wrist, pulling her hand away from him and playfully rolling his eyes, “You don't want to know.”

“What if I do?” Eleanor narrowed her eyes playfully, shaking her arm away from his gentle grip and watching as he walked into the kitchen to make himself a drink.

“Mother of my child, must you taunt me so?” He mumbled and shook his head with his back turned to her, “Would you like a drink?” He looked over his shoulder.

“What did you just say?” Eleanor’s lips parted slightly.

“I asked if you would like a drink.” Severus shrugged, warming his hands around his own cup as he turned around to face her.

“No, you know that's not what I meant,” Eleanor tilted her head.

Severus arched a brow, trying to play dumb.

“Before that.” She raised her eyebrows.

“Mother of my child?” Severus said nonchalantly, sipping at his cup, “Do you not like me addressing you like so?”

“Oh, no, I do,” Eleanor felt a little flutter in her chest, “But I'm yet to see a baby.”

“No…?” Severus looked at her inquisitively.

Eleanor pressed her lips together and brushed her hands back and forth over the flatness of her stomach.

“I hope you aren't suggesting I am not capable…” Severus’ tone lowered, a scowl threatening on his face.

“All I am saying is that nothing has happened… yet.” She shrugged.

“I do not think it would be wise to continue this conversation.” Severus placed the cup down on the kitchen counter and walked closer to her.

“Why, are you suggesting that you are capable, Professor?” Eleanor bit her lip, her eyes tracing up his body until they met his.

“That and more, Miss Eleanor,” He dipped his head so their lips were only millimetres apart and she could feel his warm breath against them as he repeated, “That and more.”

“Prove it.” She spoke equally close to his lips, “Why do you think I wear this tight dress you like so much? Imagine it all stretched out because of what you did to me…”

Severus parted his lips to speak but all that came out was a soft whimper, growing increasingly turned on by her words. He didn't care if he was about to be the first one who caved, he leaned in and urgently pressed his lips to hers, nudging his whole body against her from the force of it.

“This dress, hm?” She kissed him back forcefully.

“It’s not the dress,” Severus panted against her lips, “Its the person wearing it.”

Eleanor let out a breathy giggle when she felt his arousal prodding against her stomach, snaking her arms around his neck, “Mm, already?”

“This baby isn't going to make itself.” Severus snarled against her lips and tugged at her dress, their lips smacking back together even harder this time.

“Take me to bed.” She whispered lowly against his lips, gently pushing him in the direction of his bedroom.

“With,” He swiftly lifted her up into his arms bridal style, “Pleasure.”

Thankfully he didn't trip on his way since neither of them let up on the kisses, her eyes closed completely and his only briefly open. The smell alone from his bedroom always brought back hundreds of memories for her; their first time, their last time, all the times in between, whether it was soft and gentle for hours on end or desperate and rough, this was the place above all others that they preferred.

His large four post bed was covered in silky black sheets and two pillows for each of them — she loved how he always personalised her comfort. Even to the way he delicately laid her down upon the sheets as if she were made of glass. Eleanor’s arms remained around his neck and she pulled him down with her, her hands now tangling in his hair. Severus placed both his hands at either sides of his head and lowered himself over her, their tongues now touching with each urgent kiss.

“Off,” He grunted, now pulling at her dress again, “I’ve had you in this dress, now I must have you out of this dress.”

“Be my guest.” Eleanor grinned and pushed him off her gently so she could stand again and guided his hands to the zip on her dress.

She could feel his hands trembling in anticipation as he found the zip but gasped when she felt how urgently he pulled it down, peeling it off her skin. Eleanor made quick work of the buttons of his own clothing and each of them discarded their clothing on the floor until they were stood completely in the nude. She could already feel the warmth of his arousal radiating against her, curious fingers exploring each other’s bare bodies as they made their way under his bed sheets despite caressing each other god-knows how many times before.

“On your back, darling,” He whispered against her lips, kissing them lightly now as they laid on their sides to face each other, “I want to look at you while I am breeding you.”

“Yes, Professor.” Eleanor obeyed, rolling onto her back and gazing up at him.

“What are you… to me?” He asked, looking down at her as he leaned over her.

“Your lover?” She asked after a kiss.

He then kissed her again and then spoke, “And?”

“Your mistress?”

“And?”

“The mother of your child?”

His kiss was harder this time, his body now completely on top of hers, “And?”

“Yours?” She rested her hands against his lower back, “All yours.”

“Yes,” He inhaled sharply as he pushed himself inside her, kissing her again, “Good girl.”

Eleanor lifted her legs to hook around him and allow him to slot himself between her with even more ease, moaning against his lips at the feeling of him filling her up again. Severus’ eyes immediately closed and he wasted no time in starting to move his hips, though kissing her with more meaning than desperation this time. Eleanor helped guide his hips as her hands remained at the bottom of his back, tilting her head to the side to allow his lips to latch onto her neck.

Barely even minutes in, and she could already feel his cock pulsing each time he thrust in and out of her, making her whimper out his name as her eyes rolled back in pleasure. His lips latched onto her neck and he sucked on her skin as if a vampire to his prey. Eleanor dug her nails into his skin and arched her back as his thrusts picked up a merciless pace, breathing heavily against her neck as she moaned out his name several times. The chanting of his name only made him strive to be even more rough with her, the headboard now sounding around the room as it slammed against the wall.

“Fuck, Severus…” She gasped in pleasure, spreading one of her legs out completely to help ease the ever-growing pounding of his hips, “D-Don’t you dare stop…”

“To stop would not be to breed you, my pet…” Severus spoke huskily into the crook of her neck and flicked his tongue against her sensitive skin before raising his head to look down at her beneath him.

Eleanor lost her breath as she gazed up at his animal-like form through her heavy eyes. She loved for him to claim her like this; make her his in his bed. Sure, sneaking around in potions closets and empty classrooms had a certain thrill to it, but nothing compared to how he had his way with her behind definite closed doors. His caresses would be so possessive, yet so gentle. Their kisses would grow more passionate than ever, barely even coming up for breath until they were blue in the face. He would always want to be above her — to assert his dominance and intimate protection whilst looking in her eyes.

“H—Harder…” Her words were barely audible, the air in her lungs being pumped out by his hips.

“Sweetheart, I plan on making you forget your own fucking name,” He leaned down to press a harsh kiss to her lips, almost as if in punishment for even questioning his performance, “When you can no longer walk,” He paused from speaking briefly as his hips bucked up against hers, “And only then,” She swore she felt his cock break through into her stomach, “Will I be satisfied that I have fucked you hard enough.”

“Fu…” Her attempt of words trailed off into silence as she felt Severus’ hands move down to her thighs and part them as far as they would go.

“Would that be okay, princess?” He spoke lowly, gazing down at her with her thighs spread wide in his grip.

“I— I beg you not to stop, Severus!” She whimpered, “Please!”

“What do you want me to do instead?” He narrowed his eyes, his expression screaming how aware he was of the power he held over her — power she willingly allowed him to have.

“Claim me, make me yours,” She rambled, throbbing with want from his now still hips, “Fill me,” She inhaled sharply and quickly, watching as the fire in his eyes grew even more, “Use me as a place to release it all, Severus…” Her hands trembled, leaning up on her elbows, “The one way you know you can me me truly yours.”

“And how might that be, hm?” He tilted his head, unsure how much longer he could hold himself back now.

Eleanor reached up and brought him down into a rough kiss, growling against his lips, “Breed. Me.”

Severus felt as if he could lose himself from that command alone, and, quite frankly, struggled not to. Instead, he kissed her back, but only once, before raising himself up a little further again with her thighs still in his grip and starting to plunge his hips up into hers as hard as he possibly could without breaking through the wall to next door. Eleanor threw her head back in pleasure, her mouth wide open in order to allow countless moans flow out. Severus hung his head forward, his now sweaty hair falling over his face and swishing back and forth in time with his thrusts. He grunted each time his length shoved all the way inside her, his hands growing clammy against her thighs as they remained in his grip. The pleasure surging through him made him feel god-like, knowing how Eleanor gave herself over to him like this with no barriers between them, the utmost wordless way of giving herself to him by begging him to put a child inside her and ultimately binding them together forevermore.

“Oh, fuck, Eleanor,” He pressed his lips together firmly, feeling his hands beginning to slip, “You are going to be the fucking death of me.”

“Not before you become the father of my child.” Eleanor replied breathily with her head still hung back in pleasure.

“You want that?” Severus panted, never tiring from hearing him tell her.

“What gave it away?” Eleanor spoke as she raised her head again, catching his eye line.

Severus felt the heat in his stomach begin to rise and he suddenly dipped his head again, their teeth clattering as their lips crashed back together. His hands fell back to her sides again and her legs naturally wrapped themselves back around his body, keeping him as close as possible but still allowing the full thrust of his hips.

“Severus, I have one question…” Eleanor spoke against his lips, pulling his bottom lip out slightly.

“W—What, now!?” Severus narrowed his eyebrows, unable to stop the slamming of his hips as if they were now moving of their own accord.

“Why is it that you insist on black bedding when you know you’re going to cum so much that it's going to spill out of me and onto them?” She spoke seductively, smirking against his lips as one hand slid into his hair and the other slid down the back with her nails.

“Mmmh… Jesus fucking Christ…” Severus whimpered, feeling the pleasure starting to overcome him as a result of her words, “I’ll just have to make sure I fuck you deep enough so that it all remains inside you.”

With that, he pushed himself even harder than he thought he could go, and within seconds he knew he was about to explode. He continued to drive his hips forward in rhythm with Eleanor’s moans, his own growing more and more high pitched and breathless as his orgasm continued to climb up his body like wildfire.

“Sev—!”

“E—Eleanor!”

The feeling of Severus’ climax shooting inside her with each deep thrust was more than enough to tip Eleanor over the edge. Their kisses were completely clumsy, their tongues touching sloppily as their hips continued to move agains each other to desperately ride out their joint pleasure. Severus felt like fireworks were exploding throughout his body as strings of release continued to pour inside her, Eleanor now squeezing her legs around him even tighter to keep him as close to her as possible.

“Severus, baby, mm!” Eleanor whimpered, her hand shaking in his clammy hair as she did her best to keep their faces in line with one another.

“O—Oh, fuck, that feels so good…” Severus panted hard against her lips, still feeling the need to keep his hips moving despite practically emptying what felt like his entire bodyweight inside her, “So good…”

“That’s it,” She grinned, kissing him again as both of her arms wrapped themselves around him.

Severus’ hips very gradually came to a stop and he let out a shaky breath against her lips, smiling softly as the kiss broke. Their eyes met and the once lit animal-like desire in his were now replaced with genuine admiration and love.

“That was unlike anything I have ever experienced,” Severus exhaled slowly, the both of them still struggling to catch their breath, “You are everything.”

“You do such a good job of claiming what’s yours, Severus.” Eleanor spoke as he leaned down to kiss her.

“Mine,” He spoke against her lips, “Mine,” He spoke against her neck, “Mine,” He spoke against her collarbone, “Mine, mine” He spoke against each of her breasts, lowering himself, “Mine,” He kissed each of her thighs as his head disappeared under the sheets, and Eleanor lifted them up slightly so she could watch him this time as his lips brushed against her stomach, gazing up into her eyes, “Mine.”

---

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