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desireangel · 2 months ago

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Dark Cherry [4] | Aemond Targaryen

Aemond Targaryen x Fem!Reader

Summary: after months of a marriage that hardly harbours the passion that you'd dreamed about, you stumble across the reason for your husband's indifference and decide enough is enough. Aemond will learn just exactly what he's been missing out on.

Word Count: 5.5k

Warnings: MDNI 18+!! canon divergence!!! I fucked the timeline and nigly bits bc this was an impulse fic ok soooo it was mostly unplanned, almost smut, angst, let the grovelling happen babyyy, unedited, mention of alys x aemond but not in a good way :((, infidelity, talk of sex, guilt, mentions of Aegon x reader, hmmm I ramble, little vulnerable Aemond, bad language, let me know if I've missed anything!

Author's note: y'all I was never done with that man like there's no easy out for him :llll. Anyways I wrote most of this instead of studying which I needed to do. Perhaps I'll have my hand at another idea I'm cooking before part 5 but I'm alsoooo unsure about how keen we are to keep this one going - like is it getting too much??? either way, I enjoy writing this. and idk how to shut up, clearly, because I love that internal mind talk shit. Drop your thoughts in my inbox or PM me because I love to yap!!! xoxo, kisses!!! <3

Masterlist

He was a fool. A spoiled, arrogant and entitled fool. You often thought about whether Aemond actually recognised the effect of his actions on anyone else. It was always ‘I did it for us’ or ‘I did it because I had to do it’.

So after your confrontation the day before, it had surprised you that Aemond had truly believed he was forgiven. Maybe it shouldn’t have. You had, after all, sat beside him and laughed with him. Shared a moment as if things were better. But it was nothing more than a lighthearted acknowledgement that whatever game was being played was entirely ridiculous yet you could feel how something had changed. There was a newfound intensity between the two of you and Aemond had clearly understood that he had made a mistake

But that wouldn't be enough for forgiveness. Things would never really be the same. You will never forget. The nameless woman had made a home in your unconscious mind and everything would remind you of the woman your husband had chosen to take to bed over you. She was beautiful, she was experienced and free of burden. Based on that alone a part of you could see why she could have been a better choice–a part of you that ached and pained ceaselessly.

And you weren’t sure you could carry on as if Aemond hadn’t thrown your entire world into the pits of ruin. Because that is exactly what he may as well have done. All you had was your marriage to him–a fact that was as painful as it was true. If it all fell apart because of him only you would suffer from it.

Your name, your family’s name. A Lady born to a house of remarkably lowly nobility with little more than your marriage to the prince. A charity case marriage to tell the realm’s people that the Crown was not so prejudiced as to be above uniting with the likes of your house. That the Lannisters and Baratheons were important but they were not everything. A fabrication only made necessary to cover up the fact that it was a lie–the Targaryens (and even the Hightowers as you had come to realise) really did believe they were of better blood.

A failure to fulfil your duty to the Targaryen crown as Prince Aemond’s wife would destroy your family name. And you would have no prospect of happiness after it. What else did you have aside from this?

Aemond would never understand that. Because not only was he a man but he was a prince. A privilege, a safety and a security he had inherited through birth.

Aside from the pressures of society, he had hurt you. Badly.

Despite your own confliction about it, you did have love for Aemond–how could you not? Love came from many things and while yours may have come from your dependance on his word, on the duty he performed to be your protector as he was to the Crown and its subjects, on his polite affections as limited as they were, it still found its way into your heart. Perhaps it was foolish to allow it entry into your existence when you had already known that there was no love to come from Aemond.

It didn’t change anything. Betrayed your trust, taken you for granted and destroyed the sanctity of a husband’s loyalty as if he were as dishonourable as any other Lord.

You would never say it out loud but it had broken your heart. And heartache is a consuming, suffocating and painful thing to feel. A constant lump in your throat, something always weighing your chest down, a disastrous, aching discomfort in your belly. Tears had stained your pillow at night and dried by the morning, the fabric of the linen acquiring the same unphased facade that you would wear as you plastered on a mask of ignorance so that you could continue to live through your day.

All because you had wanted him. Aemond, who was doomed to disappoint and destroy merely because that is all that princes do.

For him to have mistaken your truce–the end to the back and forth game that had been wreaking havoc in its wake-as forgiveness was infuriating. He had no idea.

Well, maybe he did. Now that he had seen you with another just as you had seen him. And you recognised your own experience in the moment he had realised what was happening.

Aemond’s call to breakfast made you want to laugh. But you had turned him down for afternoon tea just the day before only to be found swallowing his brother’s seed. You winced at the shamefulness of your thought, muttering a quick prayer for the sake of your piety whether it was genuine or not.

He was seated lazily in the chair he favoured, an array of food spread across the table. There was a book in his hand. The same one he had taken from you the last time you had shared your morning meal together. Aemond had a smirk playing on his lips.

You cleared your throat, curtsying before sitting down at the other end of the table to him and with as much distance between you as you could muster. “Good morrow, my Prince,”

“Formalities, I see,” He looked at you through his lashes. It was odd seeing him so relaxed, the tension that was always in his shoulders had been lost and there was a playful glint to his eye. You wanted to smack it out. “I believed we were past titles and distance for the sake of propriety, my sweet. As well as rigid greetings.”

All you responded with was a stare.

Dropping the book to his side, Aemond sighed and leaned forward, pouring tea into a cup. He stood, taking a couple steps forward to hand it to you. “We have fixed-”

“We have fixed nothing.”

“I am trying to turn a new leaf,” he commanded. You took the cup and saucer from his hand, the warm waft of vanilla and rose giving you a slight reprieve from the threat that rolled off his tongue. “If you do not recall, dear wife, I as well have every reason to resent you. The image of you sucking on my useless brother’s cock is not one I can easily bare. Yet I have chosen to let it be. I could have easily decided otherwise.”

“That would make you a hypocrite.” You glanced at him over the rim of your teacup.

“It does not matter much if I am a hypocrite, does it?” Aemond sat, leaning forward and resting his elbows on his knees. He wasn’t bothered with the food in front of him, focused solely on you. “I hardly see how that would change anything.”

You squirmed under the intensity of his stare, picking up a cherry from the bowl of fruits and rolling the stem between your fingers. “It matters to me. Certainly, it matters for your reputation among the smallfolk. Nobody cares for a selfish prince, my dear.”

Aemond hummed, smirking at the venom you spat at him. You noticed the coin that he rolled between his fingers, nimble and thoughtless as if it were like breathing. Not so much a nervous habit but a thoughtful one.

He couldn’t lie and say that he didn’t enjoy your confidence. It was refreshing. But there was a dip in his gut at the thought that there was no hope for the two of you. Aemond, ever logical, knew he had no one else to blame but himself with his lack of foresight and failure to see beyond the now and here.

Because Aemond had not even considered how things would go on should you not forgive him. He had assumed that you would if not merely on the basis that there was little lost from a relationship that hardly existed in the first place. You had love for him and he was so convinced that such a thing would be impossible that he didn’t consider that it would cause you heartache beyond slighted offence and jealousy.

A violet eye lingered on the cherry that remained between your fingers. Aemond was good at putting on an act. He thought for a moment that he would rather take lashes to his back than have you know that he had no idea how to love someone properly. A part of him was persuaded that he was incapable of being a good lover. The lashes seemed like a blissful gift compared to the self-loathing that simmered in his belly at the probability that he had ruined any chance your marriage had of recovery.

It crossed his mind that it was his ignorance towards you right from the beginning that had damned your relationship.

Either way, it did not help that you had turned to his brother for intimacy. Aemond felt his blood scorch whenever that invaded his mind. He wanted to crumble the walls of this fortress when he wondered if Aegon had enjoyed your womanhood. Jealousy did motivate him well, he realised, and Aemond had the murderous urge to feed Aegon to Vhagar.

Nonetheless, he feigned amusement. “It seems as if you care for one.”

You ate the cherry. It was sweet and rich. All you replied with was an upturn of your chin as you gracefully held a small embroidered towel to your lips.

“So I am not forgiven?” Aemond had to break the silence before it cut him open. “Are we not even?”

Narrowing your eyes at him, you held back a surprised laugh. “You never apologised. Not that it would make any difference.”

“That does not answer my question.”

“Of course you are not forgiven,” you sighed. The tea cup hit the table with a clang. Your disdain for his actions and his ignorance gave you an unfettered confidence around him which you weren’t accustomed to. It made it very difficult to control yourself. “And no, we are not even, my Prince. And since you have brought it to my attention, I am of half a mind to find Aegon and offer him a meal between my thighs. You see, I have often wondered how it would feel and I expect that our King would be happy to indulge my… curiosities.”

Aemond sneered, a silent one that was more visible in his intake of a breath, the curl of his lips and the hardening of his eye. Bullseye.

It took him less than a couple seconds to be on his knees in front of where you sat, a strong hand tightly gripping each side of your thighs over the thick fabrics of your dress. He had shoved the table aside, unphased as tea spilled and fruits and cheeses toppled to the floor. Something in the look of bewilderment on your face had Aemond ready to both grin at your clueless innocence and frown at your shock.

Aemond didn’t let himself dwell on the fact that you had given up on expecting such pleasures from him. He was your husband; nothing about what he was clearly intending on doing to you should surprise you. Cursing himself to perdition would not be enough for how he has failed you.

“I feel obliged to remind you that we had agreed,” he grazed his nose across your knees, looking up at you through his eyelashes, jaw clenched tight as he all but growled his words. “That there will be no more of this foolishness. Not from you and not from me.”

It was an onslaught of different things that had rendered you still and silent. The way Aemond looked at you like you were the only satiating force for his eternal hunger, the wordless mixture of desire and anger in how his fingers dug into the flesh of your thighs, the desperation in his voice, strained by the fear that you would. Or was it the overwhelming feeling that Aemond was finally taking some accountability and that maybe he recognised not what his actions were but the meaning that they carried?

For a moment Aemond just looked at you, conflicted and fragmented and unguarded. The sight of him like this reminded you of a vulnerable child. But it didn’t last long before the menacing, cautionary glint was back in his eye, his posture becoming rigid as shuffled the fabrics of your skirts.

A new kind of anxiety overcame you. Not like the insignificant nervousness you had felt that night when you had wandered into his chambers or used his leg to make yourself peak and not like the clueless apprehension with Aegon. It formed a ball in your chest and made it hard to breathe.

There was no chance he would ever admit it but you could see Aemond’s vulnerability and desperation within the hardened facade he had perfected. He wanted nothing more than to seem strong and powerful at all times, worthy of acclaim and reverence. But here he was, willing to stay on his knees and worship you forever, all under the pretence of rageful infatuation.

It was too hot. Even with the cool of the shadows cast by the dark net curtains that only let in enough daylight to see clearly and not enough to cause Aemond irritation from sensitivity in his eye, it was so warm you worried you would have to rip the sleeves off of your dress.

You were snapped out of your thoughts when Aemond let out a soft, dark groan, running his fingers across the expanse of your legs over your stockings, your skirts already bunched at your hips. Skin burning at his touch, you couldn’t help the way you whined and squeezed your thighs together, squirming under the intensity of his gaze.

His voice was heavy with the burden of lust and regret. “I will be better. In all the ways that I have failed you and more. Your forgiveness, I realise, is not as easily granted as I presumed but I will show you that I am worthy of it.”

There was a moment of weakness in your mind before you caught yourself. You didn’t quite believe him. It had clearly been too easy for him to give you empty promises and there was no reason why things would be different now.

It was odd. Seeing Aemond weak like this.

What would it mean if you let him continue? It was clearly different this time. You couldn’t put it into words exactly but there was a rawness, a blitz of different emotions that set things ablaze and made you want to both weep and mewl for him.

You couldn’t spare a thought about why it was different. Aemond was right there, a weaponised Prince on his knees for you, a lowly Lady with nothing more to offer him than yourself. Since when did you hold all this power over him?

That night in his bedchambers and last night when you had shared a laugh despite everything that had unfolded felt detached in a way. When you had allowed yourself release over his leg it was simply that. A way to ease the tension he had put in your body and a way to leave him wanting.

Aemond’s eye swam with a tenderness you had not seen from him. He continued to look up at you waiting to gauge your response. It was a slight nod of your head which had his hands tearing at the soft fabric of your stockings, his lips instantly meeting the skin of your knees before you had the chance to even gasp. All the while, he kept his eye on you as if his heart would cease to beat if he could not watch the way you reacted to him.

It became increasingly harder to breathe. There were so many thoughts, so many sensations that you struggled to put it all together. Your flushed with anticipation, your cunt throbbed at the wet plushness of his lips on your hot skin and your hips squirmed at what was to come.

Your mind, however, flashed with the image of Aemond, exactly as he was now, between another woman’s thighs. A woman who didn’t flinch at the unfamiliar touch, who didn’t jerk away at the foreign feeling of being pleasured. You wondered if he would be so angered at the prospect of another man’s mouth on her womanhood, if her skin felt softer or more rough on his lips and if he looked at her with the same heated need.

It made you feel sick.

Aemond let himself enjoy the way your thighs tensed, pulling your smallclothes off of you as much as carefully as he could under the restriction of your skirts. There was an urge to rip the entire dress off but he knew it would be a step too far. He couldn’t help the low sounds that left him, sounds he couldn’t recognise. The expanse of your thighs and the sight of your flushed, hot cunt in front of him made his mouth water with a hunger that would have shocked him had he not been so distracted by your scent.

Without complete vision, Aemond had learned to train his sense of touch, taste, smell and hearing to make up for the disadvantage he was stuck with. They were always slightly heightened compared to those who never needed the compensation of senses but in the cloud of desire and lust, he was sensitive.

You whined at the way his tongue glided over your skin, biting down hard but not hard enough to be painful on the flesh of your upper thigh so close to where you needed to feel him. But Aemond was always remarkably patient and he merely made way to your other leg, repeating his ministrations and licking you from your knee to where he bit you at your thigh.

The haze that had possessed you made you lose track of your thoughts so easily. Still, they fought their way to the forefront of your mind at every chance they could and you were reminded of her.

Aemond’s mind was overwhelmed by you. There was no power in the realm that could make him think of anything else, not with the way you were trembling under his feathered touch and making such beautiful sounds for him, and not when he desired for anyone else apart from you.

A heavy breath of shame and excitement tumbled out of you at how lewdly he dragged the tip of his nose across your thigh, pressing it into the flesh that sat above your slick, aching cunt and inhaling. You clenched around nothing, your clit twitching at the sound of Aemond’s unabashed groan.

He grasped at your hips and your legs, his fingers burying into your flesh and tugging as if there would never be enough of you in his hands. It would have driven you into a similarly desperate state had things been different.

The prince between your thighs was a sight to behold. Aemond’s skin was flushed pink, his eyepatch slightly out of place and his hair tousled from the way your legs clenched and unclenched against his head. He was almost drooling, mumbling about how good you smelled and how perfect and pretty your cunt was for him. His cock had never been so hard, constricted by the stiff leather of his training attires.

Aemond enjoyed being a tease but there was only so much he could handle himself. While he wanted you to crave for him the way he was craving you so unbearably, Aemond needed to taste you. He needed to make you feel the blinding pleasure he should have been giving you at every chance he had since the night you were married. He needed to show you the ways of unbridled human desire and to show you all the ways your body could come undone and fall apart only to feel completely whole and fulfilled.

There was no changing the past but Aemond would make up for how completely inattentive he had been. He would show you all the more fervently. When Aemond placed an open mouthed kiss just above your slit, letting a string of his spit glide off of his tongue onto your sensitive pussy, you shuddered.

All at once your mind was once again taken over by unsavoury thoughts. It had your eyes welling with tears, a familiar lump lodging in your throat, threatening to come out in a devastated sob. There was a ringing in your ears and you were back at Aemond’s door, peeking in only to see him giving that woman the same touch he was giving you right now. He had seemed so enthralled by her and the way she must have tasted. It was as if he’d been there before, indulging in her with so much passion it rivalled how eagerly touched you in this moment.

Did her smell fill his veins with fire as yours was? Did her scent alone make his cock as painfully hard as yours did? Did her cunt drip for him the way yours did? Was the hunger in his eye shining for her too?

It was terrifying to consider.

Aemond would spend hours here, he had decided. His duties for the day could be damned to the hells for all he cared. There was a rumbling in his chest for what he saw in front of him, inviting him to indulge and filling his mind with senseless ardour. Aemond let himself enjoy just the scent of you, his eye fluttering shut and his nose gently resting above your folds as he breathed you in, caressing your thighs softly with his hands. As if he were starved for years, Aemond salivated and with no patience left within him, he brought his lips downwards to meet the precious cunt he had been dreaming of.

With a whimper that you couldn’t hold back, you jerked away from him. Aemond pulled away in surprise, his gaze full of confusion and lust and insecurity. “Wait, my love—“

You had slipped free of his grasp, a strangled cry escaping no matter how hard you tried to keep it in. There was one tear that slipped free, followed by countless more and you couldn’t look at him anymore, couldn’t bear to see that he was hurt before scrambling away from him.

She was stuck in your mind. The memory of Aemond’s little trysts with her replaying behind your eyes no matter how hard you tried to shut it out. It was clear that there was nothing you could do to get ahold of yourself because everytime you looked at him, so enthralled in you and your sex, she was there.

Laughing at you in the back of your mind, as if she had taken residence in a permanent place in your head, enjoying the state of despair and madness she and Aemond had led you to.

But she couldn’t be in your head. Not really. Not in the way it felt she was.

You barely glanced back at Aemond through your tears, struggling to even your breathing and calm the rapid beating of your heart. He hadn’t moved much; just simply stayed there frowning at the space that you had once occupied on the chair.

There was nothing he could do to change things. Aemond knew that as well as you did. But there was a pain in your heart at the way he looked so defeated, so guilty that it almost seemed like he would melt into a puddle of remorse. A far stretch from the usual stoic warrior that you had known him as.

“My prince, I–” you swallowed, your voice catching when he looked up at you with a wide eye and furrowed eyebrows. For a moment you remembered that he had no right - but he was trying, was he not? “I cannot continue with this knowing that you had touched her like this. It angers me and it upsets me and it pains me to think of it but ‘tis beyond my control.”

He stayed silent, observing the way you hid yourself from him and struggled to meet his gaze. There was a sullen look to you, one you had not entered with and it stuck needles in his flesh to think that he had been the cause of it. Aemond’s entire body felt hot and he was itching to tear off his leathers. He wished the gods would strike him down as he was for hurting you so.

You had turned away, disappearing from his quarters swiftly. You would never forget the image of how you had left him there–it was both satisfying and devastating.

Aemond, still on his knees for the ghost of you, his expression tortured and his shoulders tensed. It was a pathetic sight, should anyone stumble upon it, but you considered it beautiful. Beautiful in a lethal, catastrophic manner. Not unlike himself; a weaponised source of destruction who had a tendency to bring torment upon those he loved.

The rest of your day had been spent alone in your chambers. You hadn’t cried so much over any of it until now. The tears and sobs that you had held inside of yourself for weeks had forced themselves out, along with the emotions you had pushed down until you could no longer.

Aemond had a certain control while you were sitting in that seat, skirts bunched to your stomach and quivering for him to have his way. Regardless, the power was still yours and you knew that it was Aemond who was wrapped tightly around your finger at that moment. He would have listened to anything you had said–done anything you had told him to do.

Perhaps you had become too stubborn in your anger to have let yourself feel anything else. A retributive anger; one that sprouted from the lack of love that existed in your marriage and reached a climax at Aemond’s brazen adultery. And it only grew stronger in whatever back and forth Aemond had encouraged by dangling his whore in front of your face.

Whatever it was, you were feeling so much more now than you had before.

Or perhaps it was because you could see that Aemond was remorseful. He would never yet admit it but you knew from the way he had behaved since you had visited him in his bed. It was no act of redemption and definitely no apology but it was impossible to ignore the change in him. You had never seen Aemond the way you had seen him this morning.

Vulnerable, gentle, tormented.

A knock on your door had you sniffling and wiping away any tear stains that may have lingered on your cheeks. You had stopped crying for some time but the need to wallow and lament had stayed. When you called out to ask, the guard at your door notified you of the Dowager Queen’s presence.

Oh, seven hells.

There was really no chance you could refuse her so you merely let her in and called a servant to bring some refreshments. Queen Alicent sat herself down but remained tense, carefully watching you as you took a place beside her.

“Have you been crying?” Her concern was comforting. “I believe I know why.”

You straightened, not meeting the eye of the woman who reached a tender hand to your knee. Hiding behind a forced smile, you let out a breathy laugh. “I am certain the entirety of the Red Keep knows, Your Grace.”

“It has been known for some time,” Alicent was gentle, her cautionary gaze telling you that she was apprehensive about bringing her son’s misadventures up. You held your breath. “Since the first time he had summoned that Alys woman-”

“Alys? Is that her name?”

“You do not know?” There was a tense silence. Alicent couldn’t meet your gaze, pity swimming across her features. Aemond was her son and there were many things that she had let her sons get away with but her heart pained at the broken quiver in your voice.

Alicent had noticed the change in Aemond since the night that you had found him with Alys. The second time. He had never paid much attention to you aside from what appearances required yet Alicent knew her son far more than he would be willing to accept. She had known that there was something in his heart for you, no matter how small and no matter how it dwindled until set alight.

Aemond had done the wrong thing. She had no doubts about that. Alicent would have words with him once she figured out what to say to him. But he was her son and there were certain misdoings that she knew she had to defend them through. To protect his marriage, his image and his happiness. The Queen Dowager cleared her throat and reached for your hand, eyebrows furrowing at the way you stared down at your lap, the anguish you felt in your heart written clearly across your face.

“I understand that you are hurting, my dear. Although my husband remained faithful to me until his death and I cannot quite imagine the pain in your heart–I see how you have love for my son, even if you nor him have known it, I do understand,” Alicent took a breath, closing her eyes. “This is the way of men. And princes–”

“Please, Your Grace, I mean this with utmost respect for you but I do not wish to hear your excuses,” you whispered. There was a prickly, breathless worry that had settled in your gut. What did you not know? Was this Alys someone who mattered? “But I would like to know what you are withholding from me about this woman. I believe I deserve that at the very least.”

Alicent stared at you for a moment, examining you. She could drive her son further into the ground with what she was about to say. “Aemond had a paramour–at least it was rumoured, he never spoke of such things with me. Alys Rivers, a wetnurse and servant woman from Harrenhal.”

“A paramour?”

“It was before you were married,” Alicent was quick to clarify. “I had assumed that Aemond wanted nothing more to do with her when she left–at his order, I believe. Some say she was a witch. Perhaps she enchanted him.”

You couldn’t look at her. She was more than just a whore? Had he lied to you right from the beginning? Bile rose up in your throat. There was a thrum in your ears, the sound of your own heartbeat and you feared that you would be sick from the drop in your gut.

“Did he love her? Could he still?”

Alicent sucked in a breath. “I do not know, my child.”

All you could do was nod pathetically. Alicent was a woman of great strength and dedication; you had once wished to be much like her one day. But as you sat beside her now, you wished she had been a liar and a cheat and a meddling gossip. That you could find a way to fault her words but you could tell it caused her great difficulty to speak of Aemond’s actions honestly.

Ever poised and elegant, Alicent only leaned forward to you, her posture straight as a needle and her touch soft as linen. “I did not mean to upset you further. I only meant to speak with you about returning to Courtly activities, with the other Ladies and Helaena has been asking for you. And the Ladies speak–”

“They speak terribly of me,” you scoffed, allowing a humourless laugh. “I understand, Your Grace. I will return to spending my days in company other than my own.”

Alicent hated to pry but she felt that she must, now that she had dealt her cards against Aemond’s fate. “Perhaps you should speak with Aemond. He cares for you deeply. It would be a shame for your union to fall apart over such misunderstandings.”

If not for formality, you would have rolled your eyes. Again, you simply nodded, your mind reeling back to the woman that Alicent had given a name to. You would ask Aemond about her. It would be the less damning option rather than turning to Aegon once more but the idea of speaking to Aemond about a woman he may once have loved still made you want to crawl underneath the sheets of your bed and disappear.

You thought of the woman who you had seen through the crack in the door and wished you had taken extra care in looking at her. There was little you could recall other than the darkness and length of her hair, the paleness of her skin and the perfection in her curves as she pleasured Aemond and as he did the same for her.

As if she was familiar with all the things that made him weak. All the things that made Aemond weak. How she had touched him like she was an expert in his body. And you thought of Aemond, bare and comfortable with her. Aemond with his sapphire glimmering under the lamplight instead of an eye, a rawness and trust that you had never seen of him until that night.

He trusted her.

Alys Rivers.

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Tagging: @padfooteyes @thedyingwriter @mamawiggers1980 @queenofshinigamis @ewanmitchellfanatic @nurtargaryen

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postmoe · 3 months ago

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In the Next Moment:

Yandere/Alpha Gojo Satoru x Omega Reader

I can't even tell you how long ago I started this. I had no idea how to end it and I took away and added a bunch of things haha. Here is your alpha Gojo Satoru, here to save the day and take you for himself!

omegas are lesser creatures, familial abuse, self-deprecation, like your father in this is literal scum

What kind of God deals a life like this? Where status is given the moment you’re born. Where you can be cast away at birth and shoved into a home just for having the wrong scent. It used to be that families would wait until puberty before they knew what breed their child would be. Now? Now they have the technology to make accurate guesses. Not one hundred percent, but, accurate enough.

In your case, call it lucky or not, your family didn’t send you away to a home. Omega’s aren’t completely useless, and can fetch quite a high penny on the market. Every day you were reminded of your failures as their daughter, that being bred by them should have produced an alpha.

“This is all your fault,” your mother would say to your father, “Your cousin is an omega, it runs in your bloodline!”

“How was I supposed to know?! No one ever spoke of them I had no idea until we did the test!” He would shout back.

It’s a common argument you heard growing up. One that would seep into the marrow of your bones and claw its way into your dreams. Your fault. Your fault. Your fault. Even though they argued with each other, at the end of the day it came out to you being wrong. You were a curse.

Eventually, your mother left. Being an alpha with you in the home, it was irredeemable. She had not bonded with an omega like her DNA screamed, your father a Beta and those relationships were never to last if an Omega came into the picture. Just an example of the homewrecker in your genes.

He would drink and smoke on the couch all day and night. “We had such a happy family, such high hopes for you…” Another swig of the bottle in his hand, “It’s your job to take care of us now. Your mother did everything. Go make some money and bring it back home.”

Quivering, afraid to even speak in front of him, you had to ask, “B-But what if people find out I’m a- AH!”

You cower as the bottle smashes against the brick wall next to your head, glass and liquor breaking around while your father stands and screams, “You stupid bitch! Go get blockers, fuck! How hard is it to come up with things on your own? You’re so fucking pathetic, stupid fucking omega,” he continues to grumble as he storms past you, “Clean up this fucking mess.”

Of course, you’ve thought about running away, thought about life outside of your home. The realism of it is not pretty, though. You’ve seen how omegas are treated on the streets if they get caught, they’re not allowed in the city because their scent can be such a disturbance. You have to be really taken care of to live amongst others. If you weren’t so rare then it wouldn’t be an issue, but unfortunately omegas can’t be shared around to every alpha.

Getting blockers is probably the hardest job. Most doctors don’t want to sell them to you unless you have a good reason for being an omega, ie; rich spouse, breeding bitch, selling, etc. Anything on the black market is a gamble between being really good or really shit. Eventually, another omega you came across in passing had recommended a ‘hole in the wall’ doctor. They hide down an alleyway in the slums of the city but are open to helping omegas. When you went there it had ignited your fear and you started releasing poor, omega pheromones. Many, hungry looks your way were cast, though thankfully you made it out in one piece.

Now you were left to try and survive in the wild.

“Yo!” Your head shoots up from the stall oven, seeing a familiar head of white hair and blindfolded head.

Honestly, you were shocked, once people found out the ‘lovely’ attendant at the crepe stall was an omega, they generally never returned. “Ah,” you try not to gape at him, “You’re back. You didn’t come with your, um, students?”

It’s been a little over a year now that you’ve manned the crepe stall in a deserted park. You think that’s why your boss put you here, because not many people came by so business wasn’t that great; it also gave him a good excuse to berate you when you didn’t meet income quota. Earlier this week you were met with a unique set of customers, one of them being this man and then two younger boys and a girl to whom he introduced as his students – very proud of them. In that same interaction, whilst the students were enjoying each other’s crepes and you were making his, he had suddenly leaned in and inhaled a few times, sniffing you and grinning cheekily, “You’re an omega, aren’t ya?” It shocked you because you shouldn’t be smelling like anything right now, the sugary crepes usually enough to hide and scent that seems to waft from you. Now, he had returned alone, acting as if you were buddies, “My dear students are in a fierce battle! I have made some time to see my favourite crepe omega.”

His words were too loud, you had to look around in fear that maybe he was trying to let others know, trying to get you boycott. However, no one was there. Was he trying to bait you? Maybe you should just go along with it, “Did you really like them that much?”

He perked up, arms open in a welcoming stance, “Of course! The food, the chef, both are a delicious snack~.”

Flirting?! Definitely a joke.

Your shocked expression must’ve spoke volumes as he laughed at you, wiping a faux tear from his blindfolded eyes, “Don’t be so unsure of yourself. Surely a treat like you gets hit on all the time.”

“Are you hearing yourself,” you blurt out without thinking. How could he be so casual about this if he weren’t planning something sinister. All the memories of manipulation and abuse from strangers in your life come flooding back, your body subconsciously recoiling in on itself in defence. Your voice is meeker now, “Please, if you’re going to do something just get over with it.”

The man’s footsteps sound calm as he strides towards you, his hand reaching forward. You cringe in on yourself, awaiting a slap or a hit, only for your body to be taken over by surprise when he speaks, his index finger pointing towards the flat stove-surface of the kiosk, “Your crepe is burning.”

“Oh no!” You squeal, quickly going to flip it off the surface and onto a serviette. Tears start to collect in your eyes as you think of all the different ways you’ll be punished, “Shit shit shit. He’s going to know! He always knows and I can’t hide it, I’m screwed-“

Silence engulfs you as you watch, stunned, at the man who picks up the hot and charred crepe, worms out his tongue and opens his mouth, before scoffing it down in a single gulp. He pulls out a few bills and sets them on the kiosk counter, “Whew! In hindsight I should have put cream or something on it. Definitely not as good as the first one I had.” Honestly… What was his deal? He didn’t question your shocked expression, only smiling and reaching out his finger to wipe at a stray tear, using the kiosk to lean over and reach you, “Name’s Satoru. Or, well, Gojo is my last name and tends to be what others go by. For you, cutie, I’d rather be addressed by something more to heart. So, you free after this? I know a great restaurant near here.”

Your mouth opens and closes, gaping like a dehydrated fish. You didn’t need to look down to see his arms begin to sizzle on the pan, the sound and smell enough to alert you both. Ven so, you informed him with ghostly words, “Your arm is cooking.”

“Not gonna move it ‘til you say yes!”

… You couldn’t believe what your day has come to, “Okay.”

The restaurant he had decided to take you to was something way out of your budget, and just as you were about to voice your concerns for it, he quickly put his finger to your lips and spoke, “Shh, I know what you’re going to say and don’t worry. I’ve got us covered.”

Neither of you were particularly dressed for this place, he wearing a black uniform with the neck of it covering his chin, and you in your small, ripped (not by design) shorts and oversized t-shirt. Even with this, the waiter at the front smiled widely at Satoru, “Gojo-sama! What a pleasant surprise. Table for two?”

You were thankful that the waiter didn’t acknowledge you. No greeting yet no glare or scowl either. Satoru flicked his fingers into guns and pointed at him, “You betch’ya! One of those cosy, independent booths, please.”

“Of course, right this way.” The waiter lead you through the open area of the restaurant, many patrons idly enjoying their dinner with their loved ones by quiet candlelight, whilst the ones you walked slightly too close to were able to smell you and tell just what breed you were, some even trying to complain to their designated waiter. You just hung your head in shame until you got to the booth, following Satoru’s lead until you heard a door being slid shut.

Quickly, you turned to face him, seeing that he had shut you both in a secluded area with a table, the walls made of a deep coloured screen that didn’t quite go to the ceiling, yet provided all the privacy one could need in a place like this. “Don’t worry,” he says, walking around to pull out a chair for you, “The owner and I get along real well. I’ve helped them out a few times.”

He slides the seat in as you sit, and you still can’t get over the fact that he hasn’t done anything bad to you yet. This man has singlehandedly given you the most kindness you have received in your entire life. Perhaps he wants to break your heart in the end, at least you might get a free meal out of it. “I see… Are you a chef? Is that why your hair is up like that and you didn’t flinch when you got burnt?” You knew some chefs were godly in the kitchen and a little stove sizzle wouldn’t quit them.

Satoru laughed, bringing his hands up to act as a resting spot for his chin, “Nooo~ Not a chef, and my hair just sits this way with the blindfold.”

Which brings you on to your next question, “Why do you wear a blindfold? How can you navigate like that?”

His cheeky grin only widens, his hands now moving to sit flat on the table so he can lean forward and whisper, “Would you believe I have… Special powers?”

This made you quirk your eyebrow, now you were unintentionally leaning in as well, “Huh? Behind your blindfold?”

Satoru chuckled, leaning back again in his chair as he nonchalantly waves the discussion away in the air, “Ah, I don’t think you can handle this conversation just yet. Oh! I know, how about this,” he holds his hand up, five fingers pointing towards the sky. Using his other hand, brings down his thumb so he was only showing four fingers, “Four more dates and I’ll reveal my eyes to you.”

Another flustered expression overcame you. You hadn’t even finished this date – this is a date?! – and yet he was already planning more. Subconsciously, you tilt your head away from him, shoulders coming inwards as you mutter, “I don’t have anything to offer you, Satoru.”

“I just,” he falters, and for the first time he sounds a little unsure of how to say something. Easily, his motions fluid and controlled, like he knows exactly what he wants to do, he reaches for your upper arms and pulls them forward, sliding down the length of your arms until he can comfortably hold your hands, “I just need you to be there. That’s all I want.”

You swallow thickly, thinking it over. It wouldn’t hurt to see how tonight turned out, and even if you said no, he knows where you work. You suppose you can see where this takes you, until it falls flat like it should for an omega.

That night, you managed to tip toe back into your home, your father snoring on the couch. It was a miracle you weren’t berated, at least you had thought so until the morning.

Cooking breakfast for him, he had decided now was prime time to slam his fist into the archway of the room, making you flinch as he roared, “You stupid bitch, don’t think I didn’t notice you not home last night. Where the fuck were you?”

What to say… Could you lie? You’d have to lie, he would accuse you of trying to do something shady if you said you had a date. No omega would get a date, especially you, and so that would mean you were planning something bad. Or maybe it was your catastrophising thoughts that made you see it this way, a defence mechanism, if you will. “I was working late,” you tell him, quietly, “My boss is trying to extend the crepe business into later hours for couples on dates.”

To this, your father scoffs, planting his body at the table as he awaits his meal, “No couple would want an omega to serve them, you might try to make off with their mate.”

You really did try to hold your tongue, but maybe Satoru’s easy-going behaviour had mellowed you out a bit, “I just thought you might want the extra money.” It wasn’t a smart-ass comment, but no matter what you’d say he would take it as one.

This morning, he seemed to have had a bad hangover, as he could only growl out, “What was that, you runt? Know your place.”

Oh, how you desired to spit in his food. You gazed longingly at the bacon and eggs you were making, such a simple meal. Last night you had come home to see new pizza boxes laid around. Honestly, you felt a sort of betterment from that. You had dined like royalty, and he was stuck here eating shit from a sole. If only for last night, you were better than him.

…

“A curse?” You questioned, your wide eyes looking over your teacup. It was an authentic, British set, Satoru had taken you out to a little garden café on the other side of the city. It was amongst some of the historic temples around, the trees making you seem far away from the city and the food a kind of exquisite you had never been privy of knowing.

He grinned at you, the skin at the corner of his eyes crinkling from behind his dark glasses, “That’s right! Kind of like a ghost or a monster. They feast on collective, negative energy and such, I don’t want to bore you with the details.”

You tried to keep an open mind, “And you… Hunt them?”

“Yeah! See, now you’re getting it,” he grins, excitedly.

With a smile, you set your cup down and ask, “Are you an author, Satoru?”

He waved his hand dramatically in the air, “Oh, you flatterer, you. I’m not that creative, it’s just my job.”

As much as you wanted to believe him, you couldn’t help the creeping feeling that he was lying to you. Like, this was your third ‘date’ together and he still had yet to bully you or do something horrible. This wouldn’t be too far of a stretch to make you scared and freak out. Maybe he wants to laugh at the weak, little omega and her fear smell. Is that why you were in a crowded café?

“Hey, hey,” he reaches over, holding your hands in his, “I can sense you’re troubled but not for the reason I’d think. You still don’t trust me, do you, (Y/n)?”

Your mouth opens and closes, unsure how to word your thoughts. You were caught in a predicament you didn’t want to be in. Of course you still didn’t trust him, you couldn’t trust him after everything you’ve been through. Would he take such offense to that?

Satoru seems to take your shock as his answer, smiling sincerely at you, “I don’t blame you, it’s okay. That’s why we’re doing these dates! Don’t worry, I’ll protect you from now on.”

Flaming heat erupts on your cheeks, the feeling of his thumbs caressing your skin feeling like an iron, “How can you just say that? You don’t know me and I’m-“ you stop suddenly, looking around you to notice the faces of disgust, you really didn’t need to finish that sentence. Your blockers had grown thin, so now you were cutting them in half to try and spread it out since your doctor was on holiday. Unfortunately, they didn’t prevent the smell of your pheromones enough, it was painfully obvious everywhere you went.

“Ah, my darling omega, you truly are sweet,” he inhales, smiling contentedly, “Once you realise the world is your playground, nothing else matters. I could kill everyone here and take you away, and as long as no one can stop me – and trust me, they can’t -, anything is possible, and your dreams really can come true.”

You didn’t know what to say to that, his words always bordering on genuine and humour. Even with the knowledge of Satoru’s like to play, the undeniable dark truth of a true alpha manages to waft in the air.

Like a switch, he grins widely, all teeth and charisma, “That’s not saying I will, but it’s such a nice feeling, don’t you think?”

It’s quiet as his words sink in. You think about your life so far, how you couldn’t even get away with greeting someone without a knife to your throat and spitting words of how an omega doesn’t get to speak without their alpha allowing them to do so. As much as you’d like to punch them in the gut, you don’t think you’d really want to kill them, everyone growing under their own circumstance. Instead of getting into political debates, you think you don’t want anymore stares and judgement for today, deciding that even if Satoru is okay to talk to, you’re still uncomfortable, “I suppose so, it must be nice having such strength, and being able to see… Curses.”

The rest of the date was enjoyable, and he even answered some of your questions about the creatures he hunts. Apparently, omegas are prime suspects, easy to feast upon and no one questions when they go crazy, the second lot of victims being alphas that had an omega as a child. You’re honestly surprised you and your father haven’t been attacked yet if that’s the case.

Satoru drives you home and it’s relatively quiet in the car, the thrumming of the almost noiseless engine enough to fill the silence. You go back to what Satoru says during your date, and now you’re memorising the smells he emitted during your conversation. Before, it was hard to really tell since you were stressing, and the restaurant was full of blooming alphas and betas. However, now it was lingering through the car. He had spoken so easily about death and killing, like it was second nature to him next to breathing. Some curses were sentient, able to talk and think, and then there was the comment about killing everyone else in the restaurant, who were definitely not curses. He was happy, proud even, to have that kind of strength and show it off to you. Tonka bean and vetiver… Perhaps even an orange blossom. It was nice, even if the reason behind it was a little morbid, and you couldn’t help but close your eyes and indulge.

The scent got stronger, and suddenly you were startled by a low chuckle, your eyes flashing open to see you were leaning towards him. Satoru had slowed down in front of your house and turned the car off, his cheeks a flush in the dim light, “Having you relax around me like that feels so nice. I can’t tell you enough how happy you’ve just made me.”

You open your mouth immediately to say sorry, only to close it after a moment’s thought. He doesn’t smell like he’s trying to bully you or mad that you thought you could get so close to him without repercussions. How much longer can you hold out from someone who is being so kind to you?

“You don’t have to reply to that,” he tells you, saving you from thinking of an acceptable response. Satoru gets out first, hurrying to your side while you unbuckle yourself to let you out. You smile at him and let him take your hand, holding you close as he closes the door and pushes you against the car. A small gasp is pushed from you, surprised at his boldness. You’re lucky that this neighbourhood was relatively quiet, no one being awake at this hour to see you with anyone. “I really want to kiss you,” he says, face inching closer to you, “You have no idea how hard it was for me to hold back in the car.”

Your eyes shift in nervousness, hands coming to press to Satoru’s chest, “W-wait, s’too soon-“

“It’s fine,” he cuts, not letting you get another word out, smashing his lips to yours in a frenzied kiss. Your eyes dilate, his scent and taste making your heart jump with a certain anxiety – excitement – you’re letting your shoulders relax and clenching the front of his shirt as he takes the lead. Maybe… Maybe this isn’t so bad… His leg finds its way between the both of yours and gently grinds down, a small moan slipping from your mouth at the electric feeling. Next, he starts to slowly introduce his tongue to your mouth, the wet muscle a new sensation to you.

Suddenly, you’re hit with an overwhelming pain, your gut tightening and your eyes watering as you double over into his chest. Your body is hot, panting, you lean into him and can hardly hear anything. Satoru is speaking, saying something, ‘sorry’ and ‘test’ are two words you think you understand but you can’t focus on sounds. What does help you, though, is the gentle caress his hand brings to your head. He holds you tight, safe, his pheromones echoing security and comfort through your mind. You mumble into his clothes once you feel you’re able to talk again, “Wh-what was that? That hurt so much…”

Satoru hums, both hands coming to your face which he cradles and regards you with loving eyes, “Have you ever been in heat, (Y/n)?”

You sniffle, shaking your head, “No, I’ve taken suppressants since the day they found out what I was. It made puberty really difficult…”

Satoru’s lips curl into a frown, “I imagine it would. It seems your body jumped into overdrive, the stimulation from kissing alone too much for you.”

Your arms curled around yourself for some comfort, “My suppressants, they’re running low so I’ve been halving them to spread them out but they’re just making me feel sick.”

“When did you start halving them?” He asks, eyes now wide with worry.

“Uhm, I think about a few days ago? But I can’t get a hold of my doctor and it’s hard to find anyone that will willingly prescribe suppressants.” Your head falls into his chest, a feeling of defeat washing over you.

Satoru pets your head, quiet in thought before he says, “Why not just stop taking them?”

You have to laugh at that, tilting your head to look up at him, “You’re joking, right? Please tell me you’re joking.”

“I’m not,” he closes his eyes, burying his nose in your neck and holding you close, “You’ve got me now, I’ll look after you. Fuck, you smell so good.”

“Satoru-“ Your wrists are caught in his as he stares you down.

Or, at least that is what he appears to be doing. You’re stuck in his grasp as you wait for him to make his statement, which he does once your lips smacks shut, “You don’t need to hide who you are anymore. Just think about it, ‘kay?”

To get him off your back you give an exhale of defeat, rolling your eyes to the side and complying, “Fine. I’ll think about it. Cool?”

His charming grin is almost enough to even fool you into thinking it was okay to relinquish your omega self to him, “Cool.”

Things were not cool. Not long after getting inside, your father had waited to pounce once the car Satoru drove was out of sight. Your vision had waned with the punch he threw at you, your body colliding with the hallway wall. “Disgusting!” He had spat, literally, his saliva landing on your cheek and barely missing your eye. His foot was next to make contact, kicking you hard enough in the stomach that you threw up a little of your dinner, “You reek of a fucking omega! I see you whoring yourself out, slut. Tryna hide the money from me, eh?”

Another kick had you crying out, this one on your bicep and knocking you back to the ground. You wailed as he bent down and held your hair in a tight and painful grasp, “I’m not! I swear, I have no money!”

He ignored you, his breath badly stained with alcohol, however, you were certain even without the influence he wouldn’t hold back, “Tryna seduce me? Hm? Your own father? You fucking wretch. If you don’t stop that smell right now I swear to whatever fucking God is out there…”

You were bawling now, you could only assume your hormones were worse, your own senses dull to the smell of you. It hurt internally as well, your omega working overdrive as you try in vain to calm down so you didn’t have to endure the full impact of emitting such helpless hormones. It may not have worked the way you wanted it to, but, your father seemed to calm down with a sneer.

He threw your head to the floor and began walking away, “If you don’t get back on those fucking meds by tomorrow then I will kill you. I promise you that.”

You didn’t dare reply to that, thankful that he decided to walk away while you were still breathing tonight.

How fitting the weather is today, the clouds a dark grey and the skies pouring with rain. You had one umbrella with a hole between two of the spines but it was better than nothing. This morning you left the house with a bag packed and a small suitcase, only the essentials.

You were on a bus ride to the other side of town to see your doctor. If they weren’t going to pick up the phone then you’d have to arrive suddenly. If he didn’t have the suppressors then you weren’t going to go home, in fact, you weren’t entirely sure if you were going to go back anyway. Perhaps a life on the street was better than this. A woman’s shelter wouldn’t take you in for the fact that you were an omega, and an omega shelter had an 80% chance of being a front for something worse than illegal.

The bus stops where you need to be, the passengers loudly exclaiming that they’re happy you’re finally leaving. It doesn’t hurt so much today, you just have one thing on your mind.

‘Why not just kill yourself?’

You stop at the thought, in the middle of opening your umbrella, standing in the rain. It was a thought, right? Ending it was always a nice joke but holy shit that voice sounded like it was right by your ear and… genuine. You weren’t exactly scared, a little shocked, sure but, maybe you should bring that up with your doctor, too.

However, as you got closer and closer to the clinic, you began to think they weren’t open. Though there was the receptionist’s and the doctor’s cars outside, the curtains were drawn, the lights were off and the sign, once you got close enough to read, was saying ‘Closed’.

Your hand reaches to your heart as you feel it thumping hard in anxiety, your pheromones beginning to linger around you as a thick, steady aura. Thank goodness this place was off the city boarder, not many people around to subject you to bullying and hatred. You look back to the cars again, both of them parked neatly in the small lot. Even if it’s closed, you need to push past your nervousness and gently demand your medication. If you didn’t… Well, he knows just as well as you do.

You knock on the glass with a firm hit, calling out for good measure, “Dr. Kodoka, it’s me, (Y/n).”

Silence.

You knock again, if they don’t want to be disturbed then the earlier they open up to you the better. “Dr. Kodoka, please, I really need to talk to you. It’s an emergency,” you plead, hoping he could tell by the sound of your voice how desperate you were.

Your gut drops as more silence is your only response. You probably should have tried this first, grabbing the long handle of the door and trying to open it. No surprise, it’s locked. Perhaps there’s a back entrance? Oh, you feel so seedy scrounging around a doctor’s office.

Past the skip bins there’s a narrow entrance just wide enough for one person between the building and a wired fence. You’re not sure why the wired fence is even here, it’s not attached to anything and only separates a portion of the office from an open wheat field. Luck smiles upon you as you try this door, the entrance clicking open and allowing you to step into the darkness.

One deep breath before you call out has you positively gagging at the disgusting scent that assaults you nose and mouth. It’s unavoidable, the little bit of vomit that works its way up your throat is involuntarily spat out onto the linoleum floor. What. The. Fuck.

This has to be the worst experience you’ve ever been through, the tears in your eyes falling freely as you persevere through the smell. You know you need to call the police, you know something like this isn’t normal. However, if you do, and they find out you’re an omega here to purchase suppressants then there’s a good chance you’ll both be dead. It’s happened before, police getting trigger happy or beating up omegas and any allies. Of course, society doesn’t care. More filth off the streets.

There’s a sound towards the entrance, something being knocked over, as well as some sort of ‘sludging’ noise. Could it be one of them trying to get to the door? Someone must be alive! You quietly move towards the entrance, past the main office, the break room, and peak through the broken door of the reception. It’s horrendous.

All the gore has been maintained in this area. Limbs, a spine, half a head that has been poorly cut from the top of their skull through their chin- and that’s only the background. In the middle of it all, this giant, wrinkly, slug-like creature appears to be waking up. It has an amass of arms and hands over it’s back and sides, and one twitching on the tip of its tail. The stalks that would be its eyes slowly raise, turning in all directions as if looking around.

You fall against the door, your entire being freezing up in a shock mode. The thud of your body hitting the floor alerts it to you, and you notice now that instead of eyes, it was wearing the distraught faces of the doctor and receptionist. The receptionist still had one of her eyes hanging from their socket, whilst the doctor was completely eyeless, with only a couple of teeth and the tip of his tongue drooping from the gaping mouth.

It hones in on your position and starts charging at an alarming pace, the only thing you can do is scream your throat raw as your end nears. It’s too horrifying, too real to be a dream you can escape. The creature splits its mouth with human-like teeth in mismatched rows and thrashing hands over its body and you can’t look away from your demise.

You don’t blink, and because you don’t blink it’s hard to believe anything happened.

As fast as light itself, a man appears and slashes the slug in half, horizontally through its open mouth with a light so white there’s a tint of blue to it. The guttural scream it lets out is so closely related to a human’s that you are only filled with more fear. The man, who turns to give you a cocky wink and that you can now see is Satoru Gojo, makes a crude display of holding his index and middle finger in front of his face and slowly licking his digits with the flat of his tongue; before slicing the creature up into smaller pieces until it bursts into sprays of blood and nothingness.

Your hearing was skewed, you barely recognise his footsteps as he walks towards you and bends down to hold his hand out. You tell your mind to grab it, to accept his kindness after saving you but you’re caught in your own sense of dread and confusion as not a speck of blood is seen on Satoru or his white hair, or his devilish smile, or that black coat with the collar sticking around his neck.

Satoru’s smile softens and he’s sure you can’t hear him when speaks to you, “Ah, I see we’ll have to cut our deal short. That’s okay, we’re only one date off anyway.” He reaches for your hands, placing them both in one of his and stroking the backs with his thumb. He then slowly removes his blindfold and tilts your chin with his free hand to force you to meet his silvery gaze, “(Y/n), sweetheart, look at me. Everything is okay now.”

His eyes are so blue… White… Silver… They’re like crystals or diamonds or two pools of galaxies – they’re out of this world. His lashes are gorgeous too, and for some reason you feel a ping of jealousy amongst all this chaos because how can a man be so beautiful just by taking off his blindfold. Like a character taking off their glasses to reveal they were beautiful all along. Wait, what are these thoughts? In this horrible situation you suddenly feel like giggling.

Satoru chuckles, keeping your focus solely on him as he lifts you in his arms to carry you out. People in suits run past you but neither of you pay them no mind as he keeps talking, “What silly thoughts are going through that omega mind of yours?” You laugh incredulously, feeling your body fall heavier in his arms he adjusts you, “There it is, there’s that adrenaline leaving you. I gotcha, sweetheart.”

You’re sat on the back of an ambulance with a blanket around your shoulders and a bottle of water wedged between your legs. A few feet away is Satoru, talking to someone so casually you wouldn’t think he just killed a monster with his own hands; literally. You watch as he dismisses the person and walks back over to you with a smile, his blindfold back on and his hands coming from his pockets to bring you into a side embrace, “How are you feeling? That was quite an experience, huh?”

Trauma makes people react differently to things, so if this was his job then it makes sense he wouldn’t be so distressed. “I smell of decay,” you sigh, though you weren’t covered in filth you definitely had some stains. Even without the mess, the stale air in the clinic was enough to cling to you. You squeeze the blanket tighter around you, “How could something like this happen? They were generous people. Kind; caring.”

Satoru seemed to think for a moment, as if deciding what the best thing to say right now would be. Whether it was helpful or not, he opted for the truth, placing one of his large hands below your neck for comfort, “They were helping omegas, and regardless of their personality, a lot of stigma comes from there. Constant stress to keep a secret, harsh words from the few friends and family that know, it all adds up and creates the perfect scent for a curse to trail.”

“I remember you saying you that they are attracted to negative energy. So, rather than feeding off the energy itself they eat the humans?” You ask, though you already know the answer to that. You just can’t wrap your head around how this is even possible. You recall his eyes, how pretty they are beneath the blindfold, “Is that why your eyes are so striking, because you have the power to fight them?”

A laugh bubbles from his chest, his hand squeezing your back, “Sort of. Not everyone is like me, though. In fact, no one is like me.” He steps back, arms open wide and head tilted towards the sky, “I’m the most powerful sorcerer to exist! Killing that creature used nothing but a flick of my wrist.” When he looks back to you there is a strange, powerful feeling that emanates from him, even some of the detectives around you seem to tense, “Nothing can touch me. In turn, nothing will ever touch you.”

What he says should be something kind, words of protection and safety. However, as his gaze burns through the blindfold and into your own, you feel like your breath has been whisked away and your body is being pulled to the ground, trapping you in place for him. It only lets up when your phone begins to ring, and to get out of this awkward feeling of a situation you answer it, “Hello, this is (Y/n).”

The voice on the other side of the phone makes you almost vomit, your father sounding almost melancholic, “(Y/n)… I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have shouted like that. Come home.”

You’re at a loss for words. He wants you home? No, that’s a lie, you can’t understand what is going on with him. Something tickles your ear and you jump to see Satoru leaning close so he can listen to your conversation. He smiles at you and nods, whispering, “Say yes.”

Satoru saved you and promised to protect you. He wouldn’t be telling you to agree if you were going to get hurt, you’d like to believe. So, swallowing your hesitation you reply, “O-Okay, dad. I’ll come home.”

He breathes a huge sigh of relief, “Thank god, thank you, (Y/n). Thank you so much.”

You hang up and look to Satoru with worry, “Do you think he’s going to kill me?”

“Nah, I won’t let him,” Satoru says, confidently. You think you can trust him, especially since you watched him take down a strong monster, your angry alpha of a father would be no match for him. He sees you’re still worried, his thumb rubbing the back of your hand and his smile doing its best to calm you, “Let’s finish up here.”

By the time you two are at your house the sun was low in the sky. Satoru had parked down the street this time, the two of you walking slowly down footpath to avoid suspicion. You were already on edge, however, when Satoru told you he wanted you to go in alone, you froze up completely.

He just stood there, allowing you to process what he said. You started by shaking your head, grabbing onto his hand, “No. No, please, you said-“

“-I said I’d protect you and I will. I’m going to go around the back, you just walk up like everything is hunky-dory, ‘kay?”

With a squeeze of your shoulder, he skips around, his carefree attitude not exactly lifting your anxiety. One thing is for certain, though, and that’s that you’ve seen him kill the other curse before. You know he can do it. You trust him. Alpha status aside, if you have any friend in this world then it’s Satoru Gojo.

You take your time going up to the front door, hand trembling as you reach for the knob. It’s unlocked, the door creaking open ominously. You get a cold rush through your body, the inside at freezing temperatures. It’s unnatural, making you step back in shock and shivering in what you could only describe as unease.

But it’s okay, because Satoru is here. He said he would protect you and the prospect has you feeling your cheeks flush. He’s like… your alpha.

The inside is quiet, save for the humming of electricity coming from the fridge. You walk slowly in and look around, spying your father in lounge room on his recliner, hands intertwined as he leans forward. You don’t shut the door, feeling just a tad easier with the escape route.

It isn’t until you’re standing before him that a whistling of wind causes the door to slam shut on its own, the locks clicking in place unnaturally. Your confused look in that direction has him huffing a laugh. Your father doesn’t give you the courtesy of eye contact, “You know that on the day you were born, your mother and I were at our happiest?”

It’s an odd way to start a conversation, and though you were certain this was a trap of some kind, you don’t know what else to do except respond meekly, “I didn’t know that no.”

A humourless laugh accompanies the way he sits up, shoulders slumped, and eyes dazed behind you, “No, of course you don’t. We only told you once when you were just a newborn. Once you got your status in life, well… It was too shameful to ever bring up again. We were completely embarrassed we every felt that way about an omega.”

He’s not just staring off into nothing, you notice the way his eyes look specifically behind you. Is it Satoru, did he come inside? You turn your head, only to go rigid and fall back in fear. Not another one… Not another curse.

It was too tall for the ceiling, curving over like a hook with its head twisted to be partially upright. Tiny mouths were strewn over its face and down its neck, human teeth in all sorts of odd places like the lips and cheeks of the creature. The main mouth was skewed to the side and grinning openly down at you, and the eyes that are sunken, almost giving a hollow effect, were as dark as a black hole; though you knew instantly that it had its gaze locked on you. Four lanky arms reach from its shoulders, the body a crooked mass of black and its fingers twitching in all the wrong directions with painful cracks of possible bone.

The worst part that solidified its presence was when it spoke, his voice raspy and words barely tangible, “Dau…ght…er… Path..et..ic ome…gck.a. Delectabblle—dinn….eerrr.”

You jumped at the firm hands on your shoulders, keeping you in place as the curse limped forwards. Your father spoke in a neutral tone, “It appeared not long after your mother left. At first, I didn’t know what to make of it, who to contact or what to do. Eventually, I started nurturing it. It grew with every argument we had, relished in my anger and pain. I let it feed off me and now it wants more. Now it wants you. You’ll do this, right? It’s the only good thing you’re for, after all. It’ll save me, your family.”

Tears streamed down your face, head shaking as you shifted back. Even with the bit of adrenaline you were able to muster, you were no match for your father, forced to endure the visual of this creature’s fingers itching to get a hold of your flesh. You could only sob, no words coming out, not even to call for Satoru.

Thankfully, you didn’t have to. Your saviour appears once more, and as though the curse is nothing but a guy on the street, he places his hand on its back and gives a low whistle, “Low blow, dad. And here I was excited to finally meet my father-in-law.”

There’s a pressure now in the air, one that has you curling in on yourself, and causing the curse’s open smile to turn into a low hanging frown. Its head spins on its neck, trying to get a look at the man that has it. Your father is more concerned about the words Satoru spoke, though, the tips of his fingers digging painfully into your skin, “’Father-in-law’? You whore. I knew you were out selling yourself. Looks like even to the end, you’re nothing but an embarrassment. That’s all going to change, though. Now you and your boy toy can die together.”

Satoru laughs, and before you can even blink, he appears behind your father and grabs his wrist, easily shattering the bones and causing him to let go of you. You shift to the side, away from both him and the curse as he screams. Satoru tuts at him, waggling his finger nonchalantly in the air, “Parents should protect their children, not sacrifice them. Honestly…” His voice lowers into something almost sad, though you’re wondering if Gojo Satoru was actually privy to that emotion in the first place or if he was just a really good actor, “People like you disgust me.”

A bright light that radiates such an intense heat envelops the lounge room. Your arm comes up to cover your face, eyes squinting, all you can hear are the pained cries of your father and the garbled curse. It sends fear coursing through your body, even if Satoru is on your side, just what sort of power does he control? The carnage you expect to see once your eyes adjust isn’t anywhere. The light is gone, everyone else in the room is gone, thin burn marks are left where your father and the curse once was.

You jump at the hand on your shoulder, your saviour appearing once again out of nowhere. He smirks, acting a little flustered, “Sorry, are your eyes okay? I just wanted to show off a little bit.”

Again, he’s able to treat this like it’s any other menial task. You ask him, voice quiet, “Where are they?”

He tilts his head at you, a little pouty that your first concern was them and not the praise you should be heaping on your hero. He squeezes your shoulder, comfortingly, “What do you mean? They’re gone, does it really matter where?”

It takes a few goes on shaky legs, but, you’re able to stand and face him, “I’m just a little concerned what even happened. Watching you fight the other one, I couldn’t wrap my head around it, and now this- … Are they…?”

“Dead? Yes.”

You exhale at his blatant response. Is this something you should blame yourself for, the killing of your father and that… thing? Or is that just your life-long need to put any negative responsibility on you for merely being born an omega.

Satoru wraps his arm around you and leads you out of the lounge room to help your overclocked mind, "Here’s what would have happened if I didn’t do that: The curse would eat you, devour your father, and then go on a rampage hunting primarily other poor omegas. It’s happened before, baby. Besides,” he cups your face in his hands, making you look up at him, “He was a horrible man. No loss. Can you really say you loved him?”

The only love you had for your father was before your scent kicked in. After that, he was worse than a stranger to you. You fiddle with your fingers, abashedly looking away, “What happens now?”

“Now,” he excitedly jostles you, the smile on his face huge, “You come with me!”

Your eyebrows furrow, his goofy attitude somehow lessening the severity of the situation for you, “I can’t just do that.”

“Sure you can! Where else are you gonna go?” He questions, awaiting an answer he knows you won’t be able to think of. He takes your hands in his and gets down on one knee, “(Y/n), I know it hasn’t been very long, but when I say I’ve finally found the love of my life-“

Cheeks burning, you push away from him, trying to cover up his teasing laugh with your hands to your ears, “Stop! Stop stop stop stop stop. Fine, I’ll come along with you.” You don’t think you can ever get used to being flirted with, especially in the unique ways that Satoru comes up with.

He gives you a gentle push, “Go grab some valuables, baby. We’ll leave once you’re ready.”

Satoru watches as you move up the stairs, grumbling about the sudden use of ‘baby’ he’s started getting attached to. Hah, how he really does love you. His hand comes to the straining of his cock in his pants, palming the ache that’s been prevalent for a while now. Not long now, he can’t way to absolutely ruin you. An omega that’s never had a proper heat, and he gets to be your first toy, just as much as you are his. His luck truly is divine, if anyone deserves it, it’s definitely him.

#yandere gojo satoru x reader #yandere jjk #jjk #jujutsu kaisen x reader #gojo satoru x reader #abo #yandere satoru x reader #alpha x omega #yandere gojo x reader #yandere x reader #yandere alpha x omega #alpha satoru gojo #jjk x reader

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redroomreflections · 1 month ago

Text

Just Once More

Natasha Romanoff xFem!Reader

Missed Connections Universe - you can read here.

Summary: Princess Natasha of Russia, is to be wed to Prince Amir of Senoria, the only problem is his younger sister catches her eye.

This installment: Natasha is lonely while Prince Amir is away.

Warnings: Cunnilingus, fingering, nipple play, virginity loss

Note: Another contribution to society. It was in my drafts and I left it here to rot like all my other drafts. Then I picked it up because I was inspired by kinktober.

w/c: 6.3k

The heavy silk sheets felt more like a cage than a comfort. Natasha turned onto her side for what felt like the hundredth time that night, her restless body unable to find peace. Her eyes remained wide open, staring at the ceiling, while her mind raced with thoughts she couldn’t quiet.

The palace was silent. Too silent.

She could hear the ticking of the clock on the wall, each second pulling her further from any chance of sleep. The bed, grand and soft, offered no relief from the gnawing ache in her chest. The emptiness beside her, Amir’s absence, was supposed to be a reprieve. But all it did was remind her of how far apart they had grown—how hollow everything between them had become. She supposed they had a good marriage so far. They barely bickered, hung out often, and had a lot of fun together. He simply didn't feel like a husband. She didn't love him. Not in the romantic sense at least.

She exhaled sharply, frustration building as she twisted the sheets around her fingers. She thought she’d be better at this by now—this life of royalty, this performance. But the truth lingered just below the surface: no title, no crown could cover the fact that she couldn’t give him what he needed. What they expected.

An heir.

The word itself made her feel sick.

Natasha's jaw tightened as she turned over again, her back now facing the wide, empty room. The weight of it all pressed down on her, a constant, heavy reminder of her failure. It wasn't just Amir. It was the whispers in the halls, the subtle looks from the court, and the cold distance that had grown between her and the man she had promised to stand beside.

She couldn’t do it anymore. Not tonight. In the darkness, Natasha pushed the covers off her, the chill of the night air hitting her bare skin. She moved with quiet determination, slipping out of bed and reaching for the robe draped over a nearby chair. As she tied it around her waist, her heart pounded—not from fear, but from the desperate need for something real, something she hadn’t felt in far too long.

Her feet moved before she could think to stop them, carrying her toward the door. She didn’t need to think. She knew where she was going. Natasha glanced down the hall, ensuring it was empty before slipping out of her room. The palace was asleep, its inhabitants tucked away in their rooms, none the wiser to her midnight escape.

The sound of her bare feet against the cold marble floor echoed softly as she made her way to your bed chambers. It was quiet on the trek from her sleeping quarters.

Your room was closer to the guest wing than hers. A benefit of being a royal sibling, she thought, as opposed to the consort of one. The palace had never felt quite like home to her, and her husband never like a husband.

But you? You were something else entirely.

Natasha was used to the feeling of loneliness, but somehow it had intensified over the past six months, growing heavier as time went on. In the midst of it, you were the bright spot in her otherwise monotonous life.

Your friendship came as a surprise. Natasha had always been the odd one out, an outsider, someone to observe rather than befriend. She found that you were the total opposite of your brother. While he was all business and formal, you were warmth and at ease. Where Amir’s touch was distant, and calculated, yours was always genuine, whether a brush of fingers in passing or a comforting hand on her arm when she needed it most. It wasn’t supposed to mean anything—it couldn’t. But the line between what was and what wasn’t had blurred long ago, and tonight, it had all become too much to ignore.

Natasha slowed her steps as she neared your door, her heart pounding louder than the soft footfalls on the marble behind her. She pressed her hand to the cool wood, hesitating for a brief moment. What was she doing? She wasn’t supposed to be here, not like this, and certainly not while Amir was away. But the ache in her chest, the unbearable weight of everything she couldn’t say, pushed her forward.

You were the only one who made her feel like herself again, the only one who didn’t look at her and see a crown, or a title, or a failure. She'd kept her promise not to tell your secret. You had intentionally kept your distance because of it. Though she couldn't figure out why. Her hand came to the door in rapid succession. One. Two. Three.

There was no turning back now.

She listened intently, her head cocked slightly as she tried to make out any signs of movement from inside. A faint rustling sound caught her attention, and she took it as an invitation to push open the door.

"Y/n?" She asked softly.

"Who is it?" Your voice sounded, a bit confused. "Natasha? Is that you?"

"Yes. May I enter?"

"Of course."

You had been in bed when she'd knocked, your feet propped up against the pillows as you read a book. You sat up in bed, the delicate fabric of your nightgown shifting as you moved. It was a simple slip dress, made of soft, lightweight material that clung loosely to your form, falling just below your knees. The top was sleeveless, dipping low between your breasts, the neckline accented with a fine lace trim.

You placed your book down, sliding off the edge of the bed and walking towards the door.

"Is everything alright?" You asked. "It's a little late."

"I know," Natasha sighed. "I just..."

You opened the door wider, a soft smile gracing your lips as you stepped aside.

"Come in."

Natasha looked around. It's the first time she's been in your bedroom. Natasha hesitated for a moment, her eyes scanning the space before stepping inside. The room was cozy, far more inviting than her chambers. A soft glow emanated from the single lantern on your nightstand, casting warm shadows across the walls. The scent of lavender lingered in the air, likely from the small bundle of dried flowers near the window. It was a different than the cold, impersonal decor of her room, which always felt more like a gilded cage than a sanctuary.

She lingered by the door, her fingers brushing the smooth wood as she took it all in. Everything about the space felt more... you. The personal touches, the lived-in comfort, the warmth—it made her realize how lonely she felt in the stark emptiness of her quarters.

“This is... nice,” Natasha said, her voice quiet, almost as if she didn’t want to disturb the peace of the room.

You closed the door behind her, the soft click cutting through the silence. “It’s nothing special, really,” you shrugged. “Just a place to sleep.”

Natasha's eyes flickered to the bed, where you’d just been lounging, the impression of your body still visible in the rumpled sheets. For a moment, she was tempted to tell you why she was there—how the weight of her title, her inability to provide an heir, and the growing distance between her and Amir were suffocating her. But the words lodged themselves in her throat, heavy with the burden of expectation.

"Ah, missing my brother aren't you?" You guessed.

"Yes," she nodded, not bothering to hide the lie.

"That's why you're here?"

"Yes."

"Oh." You looked away for a moment, clearing your throat before meeting her gaze. There was a brief silence as the weight of your words hung in the air. Natasha could see the flicker of disappointment in your eyes, though you tried to mask it with a soft smile. It made her chest tighten, a pang of guilt twisting in her stomach. She hadn’t come here to talk about Amir, but how could she explain that without unraveling everything?

You gestured towards the bed, inviting her to sit. Natasha perched on the edge of the mattress, the soft comforter a stark contrast to the stiff, unwelcoming sheets in her room. She ran her fingers over the fabric, letting herself get lost in the simple act of touch.

You walked over to the nightstand, the floor cold against your bare feet. You turned back to Natasha, a playful glint in your eye. “Would you like to play a game?” You opened your nightstand drawer and pulled out a well-worn deck of playing cards, the corners slightly frayed from use.

“I thought you might be missing my brother,” you teased, fanning the cards out in your hand. “But maybe you just need someone to play with.”

Natasha’s lips curved into a faint smile, the weight of her worries momentarily lifted by the simple gesture. “What do you have in mind?”

You grinned, shuffling the cards with a practiced hand. “How about a classic game of Rummy? Or we could play a round of Blackjack—unless you’re feeling lucky.”

“Blackjack sounds good,” she replied, her eyes sparkling with a hint of mischief.

As you both settled onto the edge of the bed, the tension in the air faded, replaced by a comfortable camaraderie. You dealt the cards, the quiet shuffle and snap of the deck punctuating the stillness of the night.

You slid the deck over, and she took it. She dealt out the rest of the cards, taking a moment to glance at her hand.

"So, how's life as Princess Consort of Senoria soon to be future Queen," You asked.

Natasha frowned slightly, her fingers tapping idly on the cards in her hand. "It's been good."

"Just good?" You arched an eyebrow.

Natasha shrugged, the question weighing on her mind. It was the first time she'd been asked that question, and it wasn't one she had an answer to. "I think things are going well."

"You mean my brother hasn't been showing you a good time?"

Natasha shook her head. "No. No, no. We've just been busy. There's a lot of things going on and we've had our projects."

You smirked. "Well, if you ever want a better tour, I'd be more than happy to oblige."

"When you're not avoiding me?" Natasha blurted.

You stopped, surprised at the sudden candor. You hadn't expected her to be so direct, especially not about that. You paused, a guilty expression washing over your features.

"I wasn't..." You shook your head. "I have my own life to live."

"And yet, here you are," she pointed out.

"In my bedroom yes," You nodded. "It's usually where I am at this hour."

Natasha pursed her lips. She didn't believe you, and from the way you averted your gaze, neither did you. You hadn't seen each other outside of public events since the wedding. You liked it that way. Less room for confusion.

"Something's bothering you," You guessed as you played your hand.

"How would you know?" She shot back, her eyes narrowing slightly.

"Well, I haven't seen you in months, so..."

Natasha's gaze fell, her hand hovering over the cards. She didn't know if she could trust you. You tilted your head, studying her expression closely. “You know, if you wanted to talk about it…” You began, trailing off as Natasha shifted uncomfortably.

“I’m fine,” she insisted, but the tightness around her eyes betrayed her.

“Are you?” You pressed gently, your curiosity piqued. “It’s been six months, and I can’t help but notice how you light up around others, but you seem… different around Amir.”

Natasha sighed, her gaze dropping to the cards in her hand. “It’s just… there’s a lot of pressure,” she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper. “Everyone expects me to provide an heir, and it feels like every day that passes just adds to that weight.”

You nodded, absorbing her words. “That’s a heavy burden to carry,” you said softly. “Have you talked to Amir about how you feel?”

“He’s… focused on his duties,” She answered a hint of sadness in her tone. “I don’t want to add to his stress. He has so much to manage already.”

“But you matter too, Natasha,” You urged, your brow furrowing. “You’re more than just a title. You deserve to be happy, to feel supported.”

A flicker of vulnerability crossed her face. “I don’t know if he sees me that way,” she admitted, her voice trembling slightly. “Sometimes I wonder if he even notices I’m struggling.”

You squeezed her hand gently, determined to show her that she was not alone. “He should,” you said firmly. “You’re not just a consort; you’re a partner. He needs to know how you’re feeling.”

Natasha met your gaze, a mixture of gratitude and uncertainty in her eyes. “You make it sound so easy,” she replied, a small smile breaking through her sadness. “But it’s not.”

“Maybe not easy,” You agreed. "I know my brother." There was a pause.

"Can I ask you a question?" Natasha asked. She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear nervously.

"Shoot." You said as you reached over for a sip of water.

"How much do you know about sex?"

You choked on the sip of water, trying to cover up the cough. "Not a lot."

"You seem very informed," Natasha countered.

"I've read a few books." You set down your goblet. "Listened to stories as you have done. I think you'd know more than me. Seeing as you've done it and all."

"Not willingly." She muttered and your eyes widened. "I don't mean he's hurt me. I just...it's not exciting. I used to hear the handmaidens talk back in the palace at home. They would describe it with such passion and emotion."

"And you're not getting that?" You cringed. Hearing of your brother and Natasha in bed was the last thing you needed.

"I don't even think we're having sex," she admitted. "He's good to me. He's gentle. I feel things but..."

You let out a groan. "God, you are my sister now and I never needed to hear this."

"I'm sorry," She frowned. "I have no one to speak of this with."

"Why not your mother? Surely she can help."

"My mother?" She blanched. "No. Absolutely not. She's more old-fashioned. She thinks I should fulfill my duties and that's it. What if things we are doing currently is what prevents us from having an heir? What if I'm not doing something right?"

You shifted a bit. "I don't know if I'm the person to ask about this."

"Please," she begged. "You're the only one I can trust."

"Alright, alright." You sighed. "Look, you just need to focus on the act and not what happens after."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, enjoy yourself. Do what feels good, not what Amir wants."

"He's my husband," Natasha blinked.

"Exactly."

"So, I should do what makes me happy?"

"Exactly," You repeated. "Do something for yourself. I think he would enjoy it." You would need to wash your brain after this conversation.

Natasha bit her bottom lip, considering the idea. Maybe you were right. Maybe she did need to take control of the situation, rather than let Amir lead. Maybe if she tried something different, she would feel more connected to him.

She took a deep breath. "Is that what you do?"

"What?"

"Do you do what feels good for yourself?"

You stared at her for a moment. "That's not appropriate."

"Why?"

"Because I'm not married," You countered. "It's different."

"How?"

"It's just not the same," You shook your head.

"But..." Natasha paused. "Are you not satisfied either?"

You blinked. "Natasha, it's not about satisfaction."

"So, you are?"

"This is not the conversation I was expecting to have with you," You mumbled, your cheeks heating up. Natasha deflated. It seems she would be getting nowhere. Not that it was any of her business.

"I'm sorry," She muttered.

"It's alright."

"No, it's not."

"Hey," You took her hand. "If you're not happy then do something about it."

"What if I'm not supposed to be happy?"

"Then make the most of what you have." You offered her a kind smile. "There's more to life than just a marriage, Nat."

She returned the smile, grateful for your friendship. Maybe things weren't so hopeless after all. Maybe she could find a way to make things work with Amir. And maybe, just maybe, she could be happy.

"I don't want to go back to my room," Natasha said. "It's lonely."

"Do you want to stay here?"

"Really?" Her eyes lit up, a look of excitement flashing across her features.

"Of course," You nodded. "I mean, I'd feel bad kicking you out."

"Thank you," She smiled. "I'll be gone in the morning. You won't even know I was here."

"Oh, I'll know," You chuckled.

"Well, then maybe we'll have breakfast together," She suggested. "Would that be alright?"

"I would love that," You grinned. "But I need to get some sleep. I have a busy day tomorrow." You returned the deck of cards to your nightstand. You reach over to turn off the lantern.

Natasha's expression fell, a slight pout forming on her lips. She stood, turning away from you, to take off her robe and drape it over a nearby chair. As Natasha moved away to remove her robe, you felt an unexpected flutter of nerves in your stomach. It was one thing to share a space with her while playing cards, the tension between you eased by laughter and light conversation. But now, as the soft fabric slipped from her shoulders and hung over the chair, the atmosphere shifted.

You swallowed hard, trying to focus on anything other than the way her silhouette contrasted against the dim light. The way she carried herself was both confident and delicate, a combination that left you feeling unsteady.

Your heart raced as you considered the implications of her staying the night. It was thrilling, yet terrifying. The very idea sent a rush of warmth through you, mixed with the fear of crossing an unspoken boundary. What if she misread your kindness? What if this moment changed everything between you?

“I—uh, I’ll just,” you stammered, trying to regain your composure. You busied yourself straightening the covers on the bed, your hands fidgeting nervously as you avoided looking directly at her. “I’ll get you some blankets.” You said, inadvertently referring to the way her nipples hardened at the slightest bit of cool air.

“Hey,” Natasha said softly, her voice cutting through your internal disorder. She folded her arms over her chest. You finally met her gaze, and the warmth in her eyes made your heart skip. “You don’t have to worry about that. I’m fine.”

Her reassurance did little to calm your nerves. You could feel the weight of the silence stretching between you, thick with unsaid words and unacknowledged feelings. “It’s just… I want you to be comfortable,” you managed, trying to maintain a casual tone while your heart raced.

“Trust me, I am,” she said, took a step closer on her side of the bed, she smiled.

You took a breath. She was right. It was just a friendly gesture. There was nothing more to it. You were just being polite. You forced a smile and climbed into the bed, slipping beneath the sheets. Natasha hesitated a moment, then joined you.

She rested her head on the pillow, lying on her back. You matched her position. She could barely make out your features in the dim light.

"So, you are to marry Hosi of Wakanda?" She asked.

"I guess so," You sighed.

"I'm sure he will treat you well."

"Do you know him?"

"Only by reputation."

"Which is?"

"He's a good man."

"That might be the problem," You muttered. "He's a man."

Natasha's brow furrowed slightly, catching the hint of your reluctance. “What do you mean?”

You shrugged, trying to brush off the weight of your thoughts, but the truth lingered in the air between you. “It’s just… I’m not really into men, you know? Hosi might be a good man, but he’s still a man.”

A flicker of understanding crossed Natasha’s face, and she leaned back against the bed, her expression softening. “I see.”

“It’s complicated,” you continued, your voice dropping to a whisper as if saying it out loud might somehow make it more real. “I’ve known for a long time that I’m attracted to women, but it doesn’t matter. In this world, it’s expected that I marry a man. That I produce heirs. That I fulfill my duty.”

“Doesn’t sound like a life you want for yourself,” Natasha observed gently.

You looked away, the flickering candlelight casting shadows on the walls. “It’s not. But what choice do I have? I can’t just defy my family. I can’t risk their wrath. And besides,” you sighed, forcing a laugh that didn’t quite reach your eyes, “who would want me? A woman who loves women? That’s not exactly what the kingdom needs.”

Natasha regarded you with a seriousness that made your heart race. “You deserve to be happy, regardless of what anyone else thinks. You shouldn’t have to sacrifice your desires for the sake of duty.”

Her words hung in the air, heavy and profound, as you wrestled with the truth in them. You wanted to believe it, to embrace the idea that your happiness mattered. But the constraints of your reality weighed heavily on you, and fear clawed at your throat.

"If you could marry anyone and be anywhere what would your wife be like?"

"She'd be someone who understands me."

"Who's that?"

"I don't know." You answered honestly. "She'd be kind. She'd be fierce."

"And?"

"Smart, strong." You sighed. "It doesn't matter."

"It does matter," She assured you. "It matters to you."

"I don't have the luxury of choosing." You sighed. "I just wish I'd taken the chance to lie with Akira before this marriage."

"Akira?"

"The woman from the ball in your kingdom. The handmaiden," You reminded her.

"Did you have feelings for her?"

"No," You admitted. It wasn’t entirely the truth. She didn’t need to hear it. "I didn't. It was just physical."

"Ah," Natasha nodded. "How do you imagine it would be with a woman?"

"You ask a lot of questions, Princess," You teased.

"Well, you're my friend. I want to know what makes you happy," She answered earnestly.

"I suppose it would be tender," You pondered. "Caring, passionate."

"And how would you imagine the act itself?"

You paused. The question had thrown you. You had never spoken of sex, or pleasure, in such detail with anyone before. And now, here you were, lying in bed with your brother's wife, discussing intimacy.

"I'm not sure," You replied carefully, uncertain how to respond.

"You've never pleasured yourself?"

"Of course, I have," You laughed, hoping to dispel the sudden tension. "That's the question you've been trying to get me to answer all night."

"How do you touch yourself?"

"Are you sure you want to know the answer?" You quirked an eyebrow. "You're a married woman now, remember?"

Natasha blushed. "It's not a sin to be curious."

You rolled onto your side, propping yourself up on one elbow, facing her. "Well, when I'm alone and there's no one to interrupt, I start by undressing. I let my hands wander over my body, feeling the warmth of my skin."

"And then?"

"I imagine what it would feel like if it was someone else touching me." You continued, your voice dropping to a low whisper. "I close my eyes and pretend that it's a lover's hands on my skin, caressing me, bringing me pleasure."

Natasha's eyes flickered with something you couldn't quite place.

"Do you think of a specific person?" She asked.

"Sometimes."

"Who is it, usually?"

"It's not always the same person," You answered, evading her question.

"So, it's not the same person each time?"

"No," You replied, your breath catching as Natasha's hand brushed against yours.

"So, it changes."

"Yes." You closed your eyes. Her hands rest on your, encircling your wrist. Your skin is hypersensitive to her touch as she strokes your inner wrist. "You are my brother's wife."

"And that bothers you."

"It shouldn't."

"But it does."

"Can we not do this?"

"Do what?"

"This," You gestured between the two of you. "Don't do something you are going to regret. "

"Do you think I'm not going to regret this?"

"Regret what, exactly?"

"You and me, lying in this bed together, talking about these things."

"I'm unsure," You furrowed your brow.

"What do you want, Y/N?"

"I shouldn't have brought you here."

"But you did. Why?"

"You said you were lonely," You answered. "I didn't want you to feel that way."

"I appreciate the sentiment," She replied.

"I didn't want you to sleep alone, and I didn't want to wake my servant."

"That's not an answer."

"What do you want from me?" You questioned. "What are we doing?"

"We're just talking."

"About sex."

"About pleasure."

"You're my sister-in-law."

"That doesn't mean we can't talk about it."

"We can't go down this path," You sighed. "I can't."

"Why not?"

"Because," You struggled to find the words. Before you could silence the thoughts racing through your mind, Natasha leaned forward and kissed you. It wasn't passionate or life-changing. It was a simple pressing of lips. It ignited a fire deep within your belly. You could taste the remnants of wine on her lips.

She pulled away, a hint of nervousness in her eyes. "Is that not okay?"

"You're my brother's wife," You repeated, almost as if reminding yourself.

"It doesn't have to mean anything," Natasha whispered, her lips mere inches from yours.

"This is dangerous," You warned, your resolve crumbling.

"Only if we let it be," She murmured, closing the distance between you once again. This time, the kiss was deeper, more intense. Her lips were soft and warm, sending shivers of pleasure through you.

As the kiss deepened, the air between you crackled with tension and desire. You could feel the heat rising in your body, the need for more consuming you. You let out a moan as Natasha's tongue danced with yours. Her hands were on your skin, exploring, caressing, bringing you closer to her.

You broke the kiss, gasping for air, your heart racing. You knew that if you kept going, there would be no turning back. But the look in Natasha's eyes was enough to convince you that you didn't want to turn back.

"Natasha, are you sure about this?" You whispered your voice husky with need.

"I want this," She answered, her eyes dark with lust. "Do you?"

"Yes," You breathed, losing yourself in the moment.

You surrendered to her, giving in to the passion that had been simmering beneath the surface. You gripped the fabric of her dress as you kissed her. Your tongues danced, sending waves of pleasure through your body. Natasha's hands were everywhere, touching, caressing, teasing.

The heat between you was intoxicating. You could feel her body pressed against yours, the heat of her skin searing into yours. You wanted more. You needed more.

You pulled her dress off and tossed it aside. You couldn't get enough of her. Her skin was soft and warm, and the feeling of her body against yours was exhilarating.

Natasha's hands explored your body, tracing the contours of your curves. Her touch was electric, sending jolts of pleasure through you. You moaned as her fingers trailed over your breasts, teasing the sensitive flesh. She swirled her thumb over your nipple, toying with it through the fabric.

"Has anyone ever touched you like this before?" She asked. Her question was met with a quiet whimper. She leaned forward and caught the hardening bud between her lips. You gasped as she suckled it, sending bolts of pleasure through you.

"Never," You breathed, the word coming out as a moan. Of course, you'd come close to this but you never allowed anyone to touch you so intimately. There had been quick fumbling and the ghost of fingers along your body but nothing like this. Natasha's mouth was talented, so wet and warm. It took everything you had not to come from the stimulation.

"You're sensitive," She hummed, moving her attention to the other side. "It feels good, doesn't it?"

"Yes," You moaned as you rested a hand on the back of her head. "Don't stop."

"I won't," She promised.

You let yourself sink into the sensation, the feeling of her lips on your skin, her tongue swirling around your nipple, her hands caressing your body. You knew it was wrong to be here with her like this. You'd hate yourself in the morning. But right now, all you could focus on was the pleasure, the exquisite feeling of her touch.

Natasha kissed a path down your body, her tongue tracing a trail along your skin.

"Take this off," You muttered to her as you pushed at her shift. You needed some form of control in this situation. If you let her take charge, there would be no stopping this.

Natasha obliged and tossed the garment aside. She resumed her exploration of your body, her lips trailing lower and lower. She tugged at yours too, pushing it over your head.

She returned to her position at your chest. She nipped at the sensitive skin of your stomach. You shuddered and arched into her, craving more contact. Her hands skimmed up the length of your thighs, pushing them apart. She settled herself between your legs, her breath hot against your skin.

You watched her with bated breath as she moved her mouth to the apex of your thighs.

"Fuck," You swore as her tongue traced a path along your inner thigh.

"Does that feel good?" She asked, a smirk tugging at her lips.

"Yes," You breathed. "Don't stop."

Natasha chuckled softly, the vibrations sending waves of pleasure through you. She resumed her exploration, her lips moving closer and closer to your core. She'd never done this before. Neither had you. You'd had lovers but they'd never gotten this far. It had always been hurried, awkward encounters that had left you wanting. But Natasha... Natasha knew exactly what she was doing.

She kissed your mound. Your legs trembled, and you fought to keep them open. You wanted to give her access to everything. Her tongue traced a line along the seam of your pussy, teasing and tasting. You whimpered, unable to hold back. Natasha seemed to like the taste of you as she licked again.

"I thought you didn't know about this," You muttered as a curse formed on the tip of your tongue. "Where did you learn?"

"I've read a few books too," She answered, her voice thick with desire.

"And books taught you how to do this?"

"I like to learn new things," She smirked before flicking her tongue against your clit.

Your body tensed, and you gasped, the sensation so intense.

"Natasha, fuck."

She hummed in response, the vibrations driving you wild.

You reached out and buried your fingers in her hair, needing something to ground you.

"Who knew the princess knew such colorful words," She teased as she pressed her lips to the sensitive bud.

"Shut up and keep going," You growled, pulling her back to you.

Natasha chuckled but complied, her tongue exploring the length of your sex. She teased and tasted, bringing you closer and closer to the edge. You could feel the pleasure building inside you, the tension coiling in your core.

She lapped at your clit, drawing the sensitive bud into her mouth. You moaned, the sound reverberating off the walls. She looked up, her green eyes meeting yours, and you felt the coil in your belly tighten.

"I want to make you feel good," She whispered, her voice husky with desire. "I want to watch you fall apart."

"Keep doing what you're doing," You breathed.

Natasha smiled and dipped her tongue into your folds, fucking you with her tongue.

You cried out, the pleasure almost too much to bear.

"Natasha, I'm going to-"

She didn't let you finish. She slid a finger inside you, curling it, stroking that perfect spot. The slight pain of being penetrated for the first time caught you off guard. You tightened your legs around her head, and Natasha groaned against you. The sensation drove you over the edge, and you came hard, crying out as the pleasure washed over you.

Natasha rode out the waves of your orgasm, her tongue lapping at your juices.

You fell back against the pillows, panting, the aftershocks rippling through your body.

"That was... incredible," You gasped, the words barely audible.

Natasha chuckled and crawled up beside you, her fingers still slick with your arousal.

"I hope that was okay," Natasha said shyly.

"That was... better than okay," You sighed, the pleasure still lingering. You quite enjoyed the ache between your thighs.

"So, that was your first time?"

"It was," You confirmed. "And you? You've never done this before?"

"No," She shook her head. "You were the first woman I've been with."

"So, how did you know what to do?"

"I told you," She replied, a smirk on her face. "I like to read."

"Books don't teach you how to do that," You insisted, shaking your head.

"I'm naturally gifted then," She shrugged.

"You're insufferable," You rolled your eyes, despite the smile tugging at your lips.

"I'm not the one who's insufferable," She grinned, leaning in for a kiss. You could taste yourself on her lips. It was erotic and intoxicating. You wrapped an arm around her waist, pulling her closer.

"I want to pleasure you too," You whispered against her lips. "Of the two of us, you're the one who hasn't had an orgasm before."

"Is that what it's called? What just happened to you at the end?" Natasha asked.

"That was an orgasm," You nodded.

"That's a strange name for it," She chuckled.

"Well, that's what it's called," You shrugged. "What would you call it?"

"I'm not sure," She said thoughtfully. "Something nicer than an orgasm."

"An 'orgasm' is a perfectly fine word," You laughed.

"It's not," She shook her head.

"What books have you been reading?" You asked, arching an eyebrow.

"Oh, the usual," She shrugged, feigning innocence. "Poetry. The Bible."

"You've been reading erotic poetry," You laughed.

"Perhaps," She winked.

"Then it's only fair that I should return the favor," You replied, leaning in for another kiss.

"I'd like that," She murmured.

You rolled her onto her back, taking the opportunity to explore her body.

Her skin was soft and warm, and she squirmed beneath your touch.

You trailed your fingers over her breasts, teasing her nipples. She gasped, arching into your touch.

"Do you like that?" You whispered.

"Yes," She breathed, her voice thick with desire.

You bent your head, capturing a nipple between your lips. You sucked gently, swirling your tongue around the hardened bud. Natasha moaned, her fingers clutching the sheets beneath her.

"Fuck," She swore, her voice cracking.

"Good girl," You smirked, the praise escaping your lips before you could stop it. Your fingers trailed a path down her body. She was soft to the touch, her body trembling under yours.

"Y/N, please," She begged, the desire in her voice evident.

"I've got you," You soothed, your hand moving between her thighs. You felt around the soft curls of her pussy,

"Fuck," Natasha gasped as your fingers brushed against her folds. You dipped a finger inside, finding her soaked with desire.

"I'm going to make you feel so good," You whispered, your voice full of promise.

"Please," She breathed.

You slid a finger inside her, and she moaned, the sound sending a shiver of pleasure through you.

"That's a good girl," You cooed, her pussy clenching around your finger.

"It feels good," She whimpered, her hips bucking.

"I know, sweet girl," You soothed.

You added a second finger, curling them, stroking that perfect spot. Natasha cried out, the sound echoing off the walls. You could tell she was close, her body trembling beneath yours. You kissed her quickly, swallowing her moans, hoping that one of the guards wouldn't come to investigate.

"I want you to come for me," You whispered, the words coming out as a command.

Natasha cried out, her orgasm hitting her hard. You rode out the waves, continuing to stroke her, drawing out her pleasure.

"Good girl," You praised, pulling her into a deep kiss.

"That was amazing," She gasped, the words barely audible. "Are you sure this was your first time doing that?"

"It was my first time doing it to someone else," You reminded her. "Though I'm sure you wouldn't like to hear about me and Akira."

"No," Natasha shook her head.

"Well, now we're even," You smiled.

"Thank you," She murmured, snuggling closer to you.

"I didn't do it for thanks," You replied, stroking her hair.

"Can we do it again?" She asked.

"Natasha," You began. You didn't want to disappoint her. She was still your brother's wife.

"Please, just once more," She begged, her eyes pleading.

"Just once more," You relented, unable to deny her.

"Good," She smiled, capturing your lips in a kiss.

"And after that?" You asked, breaking the kiss.

"We'll see where the night takes us," She replied, her eyes full of mischief.

You surrendered to her, losing yourself in the pleasure and the sin.

#natasha romanoff #black reader #natasha x reader #black widow x reader #black widow x female reader #natasha romanov #natasha x you #natasha romanoff smut #minors dni

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tojisun · 3 months ago

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cw: smut (mxm-centric at first); mentioned pegging; poly!!; i fucked up the canon but it is what it is; this is just smthn short and super rambly :(( // divider by @/plutism

poolverine fucking in the odyssey, but they (mostly wade) keep taunting each other by name-dropping you because before this, before anything, you are the only unifying connection they both have—you are a friendly coworker of wade’s, and you are the only one with enough patience to listen to logan’s drunken musings.

you are the only thing they want to come home to. wherever home that would be.

(wade wants to protect you; logan wants a reality where he makes things right. somewhere along the way, this mission found its centre piece and it’s always you.)

it starts with wade. he’d been quiet for all the three seconds that he’s gobbling up all of logan’s cock, before he tips his head up with a manic giggle. it would have exposed the column of his neck if it wasn’t for his mask, and logan’s gums itch with the need to bury his teeth on wade’s skin; he wants ro dig them enough that they’d tear through, and leave a long-lasting mark to get him and wade by.

he twitches, muscles rippling as he prepares to pull him close, but then wade rasps out, “peanut wouldn’t believe ‘er eyes if she’d been here.”

it punches the air out from logan’s lungs and he snarls, blood jumping at the reminder of his failure because it is, otherwise you would be here by his side right now.

“shut yer mouth.”

wade hums, unperturbed, and raises his hips just enough to drag logan’s cock out, before fucking back down on it. it makes logan hiss, pleasure blinding him, and wade moans in tandem.

logan enjoys only a handful of blissful moments—wade is warm and perfect on top of him—until wade begins to babble mindlessly again.

“but she’d—ah!—love to hear this,” wade trills, sounding so giddy. “she’d be so excited—hn!—to know we’re gettin’ along!”

“she won’t know,” logan snaps, threatening. “because you won’t tell.”

(tthey both know that the anger and the growling are just a front because logan has been so unbelievably gentle with wade ever since their last duel. his touch is ever so conscious now as he holds onto wade’s waist, and he rubs soothing nothings on whatever patch of skin he can reach with his thumbs.

wade is—

wade is the one good thing in logan’s life right now; the closest one he can hold and protect because you’re somewhere he can’t reach. wade is the reminder that there is something worth fighting for, worth living for, and so he holds him like the gift he is.

he lo—

he cares for wade, which is why being soft to him comes easy.)

wade lets out another manic giggle, and presses close to nuzzle the muzzle of his mask on logan’s chin.

“but don’t you want to me to show her how you fucked me? maybe we can even recreate it before you fuck her because this—” wade clenches around logan’s cock, “will ruin her pussy. let me prepare her for you, huh?”

logan doesn’t reply—he doesn’t think he can, not with wade’s words swirling in his mind. the thought of wade teaching you how to please logan; of wade fucking you wet and loose for logan; of wade breaking you in for logan has him moaning, his own restraint snapping as his pleasure bloats.

he fucks up, matching wade’s bounces, and wade trills a breathy laugh, the sound of it curling into a drawn-out moan.

“oh, so you liked ‘at, huh?” wade purrs. “‘cause i did too.”

logan leans back to his seat, his cock twitching underneath his pants in interest because this? this is better than he’d imagined. he knows it’s better than what wade was expecting too, if the whimpered groans of his pleasure were to be used as points of reference.

“you ready for me, baby?” you croon as you rut the length of your strap against wade’s cock—the size differences comical, especially as it has wade stuttering in apprehension.

“uh,” wade says, blinking at you owlishly. “yeah?”

you hum, endeared. “good boy.”

logan watches, his throat parched, as you begin to fuck wade. it is hot, truly, but guess he’d have to break you in himself, huh bubsy?

#deadpool and wolverine #deadpool x wolverine #logan x wade #wolverine x reader #deadpool x reader #wolverine smut #deadpool smut #suns #IDK BUT THE WRITING JUICES ARE JUST SO MUCH FOR THESE TWO IM SORRY

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undiscovered-horizon · 1 year ago

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[Old love never rusts. Shanks has to face that truth when he meets again the husband of the girl he almost had.]

Shanks's version | Enjoying my work? You can leave me a tip on Ko-Fi | Have a request?

Shanks knows he has no right to ask this question. Not when he's the one that up and left in the middle of the night, without even a word of warning that could soothe your aching heart. Nevertheless, he can't help but indulge his yearning:

"How is she?"

Mihawk raises his eyebrows barely noticeably. He seems surprised that after Shanks's disappearing act and a decade of dead silence, he's still interested in you, even if motivated by pure courtesy. But before Mihawk answers the question, he notices something strange in the red-haired captain's eyes, a sensation he's rarely seen in them before - sadness.

Interesting, how some things never quite change.

"Well," Mihawk answers laconically. Instead of indulging Shanks's lovesick longing, he wishes the man would finally accept his utter failure and move on. You're married to Dracule and this isn't going to change anytime soon. If ever.

"Wells tend to be cold and musty," Shanks jokes but his tone is far from lighthearted. In fact, his voice sounds strained like he's holding back tears. "I hope she fared better with you."

The Red-Hair pirates laugh at their captain's joke but quickly turn quiet again. Something about the tense confrontation makes their good humour virtually nonexistent. Especially when Mihawk gives them a curt, cold glare. He doesn't find his past rivalry with Shank to be funny in any way.

"She has everything she could ask for," he says with a sense of finality to his words. Mihawk feels himself growing irritated.

"Good, good..." Shanks nods, lost in thought for a moment. He clenches his hand, giving away the unpleasant tension inside his chest. The captain has promised himself to let go of you. Alas, here we are. "Is she happy?" he suddenly asks.

Mihawk furrows his thick eyebrows in an angry frown. It's almost insulting for Shanks to have any doubts regarding your well-being under the Warlord's care. "What sort of question is this?"

"A 'yes or no' sort."

"Then yes," he drones his words.

Shanks forces a wide, playful smile. There's agony hiding in his eyes and as though Mihawk is a blind man, he's trying to play it cool and appear unaffected. The truth is, the red-haired man is holding on by a thread.

"I bet she talks about me all the time," Shanks says in faux amusement. His voice almost doesn't shake. "We both know I've always been her favourite."

"And you'd lose." Mihawk begins to feel an insidious satisfaction from the distress of the other man. "In fact, I doubt she thinks about you at all."

"You keep telling yourself that, hawk-eyes."

"This misguided flattery is much unwarranted," Mihawk warns him. "No one bets on losing dogs."

But she would, Shanks thinks to himself. She always did.

Short fingernails leave bruising marks on the inside of Shanks's palm as he's clenching his fist. Once again he's reminded that when it mattered, he was a coward and fled from the overwhelming, crippling love he feels for you. Only know there's no hope, there's no ifs - you belong to another man.

Afternoon sunlight reflects off of Mihawk's gold ring. Shanks glares at it for a moment too long to pass off his intense stare as circumstantial. He can almost hear the mocking laughter of the universe as the consequence of the amalgamation of his bad choices is merely two meters away from him. There is nothing he wouldn't give up to turn back the time and make sure that things go differently, that he never became afraid of being too deep in love.

But time, like the seas, has no master.

_____

I was so torn about this one, I couldn't decide until the very end, so if you want to read a version where the scenario is flipped and Shanks is the 'lucky guy', just hit me up.

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senascoop · 2 months ago

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DREAMSCAPE ☁︎ M.LIST !

WELCOME to the DREAMSCAPE MINI ENHYPEN series— a collection of seven unique fanfics that blur the lines between fantasy, crime, comedy, and romance. Each story dives deep into intricate plots, so if you were hoping for simple FLUFF or SMUT, you might want to look elsewhere. But if you're here for thrilling twists, complex characters, and captivating worlds, you've come to the right place! BUCKLE UP; it's going to be a wild ride!

WORD COUNT MIGHT RANGE FROM 10K—30K,

MINORS, please steer clear of the SMUT fanfics. However, don't worry—you’re more than welcome to dive into the fluff stories! They’re just as captivating and enjoyable, offering all the heartwarming moments without the mature content. Enjoy responsibly!

IF YOU’RE INTERESTED IN ANY OF THESE FICS, PLEASE LET ME KNOW WHICH ONE YOU'D LIKE TO BE TAGGED IN!

JUST REPLY WITH THE PREFERENCE, AND I’LL MAKE SURE TO KEEP YOU UPDATED. THANKS!

﹙ 🕊️ ﹚ ぃ ──── SHE HAS LOST EVERY CASE, HOW COULD SHE WIN MINE?

EXCUSE ME !

READ HERE

SUSPECT ! HEESEUNG × LAWYER ! AFAB READER

MATURE THEMES, LAW BASED & SMUT !

Heeseung is unexpectedly thrust into the center of a murder investigation, accused of killing an old school friend. The truth, however, runs deeper than it appears, leaving everyone questioning whether he's truly the suspect. Enter you, his defense lawyer, notorious for losing every case you take on. Against all odds, you're handed Heeseung's case, and let’s just say…it’s a recipe for disaster for both of you. As you dig deeper, unraveling layers of deception, you’ll have to confront your own doubts and insecurities. Will you be able to prove Heeseung's innocence, or will this case be another tally in your string of failures?

﹙ 🧊 ﹚ ぃ ──── DID I REALLY DESERVE TO BE CAUGHT UP WITH SUCH A TROUBLE?

OOPS, WRONG ERA !

READ HERE

TIME TRAVELLER ! JAY × STUDENT ! AFAB READER

20TH CENTURY AU, SLIGHTLY FUTURISTIC & FLUFF !

Jay was the epitome of a perfect student—charming, intelligent, and utterly dedicated. The only catch? He was a time traveler from the future, marooned in the 20th century and trying to blend in as a normal teenager. When you discovered his secret, you seized the opportunity. You blackmailed him into becoming your personal homework and assignment writer, using his advanced knowledge to help you ace your classes. Jay’s attempts to navigate high school life while fulfilling his unexpected new role provided endless amusement and challenges for both of you.

﹙ ☁️ ﹚ ぃ ──── WHY WOULD YOU SHOW UP WHEN I MOVED ON?

WINDS CHANGE ☁︎

READ HERE

EX ! JAKE × EX ! AFAB READER

ANGST & SMUT !

It's been five years since you and Jake called it quits, each going your separate ways. Life seemed fine—until the dreaded wedding invitation arrives from an old friend. Reluctantly, you decide to attend, only to find Jake, your ex, waiting there like a storm on the horizon, ready to turn your calm into chaos. With unresolved feelings and past memories looming, the wedding becomes a battlefield of witty exchanges, accidental encounters, and a slow unraveling of what truly ended between you two. Are the winds of change blowing in favor of a second chance, or will they only serve to remind you why you broke up in the first place?

﹙ 🍁 ﹚ ぃ ──── I KNOW IT'S MY FAULT, BUT I WANNA MAKE IT BETTER!

GET WELL SOON シ︎

READ HERE

RACER ! SUNGHOON × ORPHAN ! AFAB READER

MENTIONS OF CRIME & ACCIDENT, OVERALL FLUFF & CRACK !

You’ve always considered yourself a good person—kind, forgiving, and patient. But Sunghoon tested every bit of that. One reckless, drunken drive was all it took for him to flip your life upside down, leaving you temporarily confined to a wheelchair. The inconvenience was more than just physical; it was a wound to your pride and independence. Sunghoon, however, refused to walk away from his mistake. Guilt-ridden and determined to make amends, he became a constant presence in your life—covering your medical bills, offering you emotional support, and sticking around even when you wished he wouldn’t.

﹙ 🦄 ﹚ ぃ ──── CAN'T YOU TAKE CARE OF YOURSELF BY YOURSELF?

LIKE PINK !

READ HERE

GUARDIAN ANGEL ! SUNOO × CLUMSY ! AFAB READER

FANTASY & PURE FLUFF !

You’ve always believed you were cursed with the "unlucky girl syndrome." From tripping on flat surfaces to losing your keys every other day, it seemed like misfortune followed you everywhere. But was it really a curse, or just bad luck? You never quite figured it out. When a guardian angel was sent from above, you hoped your luck would finally turn around. Instead, you got Sunoo��a messy, clumsy, and utterly unhelpful angel who seemed more like a walking disaster than a divine helper. All you could think of was asking God for a refund, because with Sunoo around, your life was about to get a lot more chaotic… and maybe a little brighter, too.

﹙ 🔥 ﹚ ぃ ──── I KNOW A TRICK TOO!

SIZZLES OF HIM ᯾

READ HERE

CLASSMATE ! JUNGWON × AFAB ! READER

FANTASY ELEMENTS, MAGICAL AU & SMUT !

There was always something about your quiet, mysterious classmate Jungwon that piqued your curiosity. You couldn't quite put your finger on it—until the day you accidentally peeked into his room and saw him hovering mid-air, surrounded by sparks of electricity. It all made sense then; he wasn't just your average student. Little did he know, you were hiding a secret of your own—one that mirrored his in more ways than one. Two forces of nature, each with powers as different as night and day, destined to collide. As they say, opposites attract, but in your case, they might just ignite.

﹙ 🍫 ﹚ ぃ ──── THIS MIGHT SOUND CRAZY BUT TRUST ME IT'S TRUE!

TIED UP IN YOU !

READ HERE

PHONE GUY ! NIKI × STUDENT ! AFAB READER

CRACK (?), PURE FLUFF !

Niki was a good guy, no doubt about it. The only problem? He was your phone. How, exactly, did your phone transform into this strikingly handsome guy? It was baffling, frustrating, and, honestly, a bit overwhelming. Here you were, trying to navigate a world where your device had somehow become a charming, infuriatingly attractive human being. And to make matters worse, he was as stubborn and endearing as any person you'd ever met.

﹙ 🍒 ﹚ ぃ ──── THANK YOU FOR READING!

Sena’s note: I’m not sure when I'll finish these seven fics, but I hope it’s soon. I’m unsure if anyone will be interested, but this was a preview of what’s coming.

main masterlist.

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raven-at-the-writing-desk · 6 months ago

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may 2024 twst manga updates~

***This includes spoilers for the Episode of Savanaclaw, Episode of Octavinelle, and the 4koma!***

AAHHHHHHHHHHHHHH LILIA SILVER AND SEBEK LOOK SO GOOD HERE 🤡 I love how Silver and Sebek are constantly shown flanking Lilia, it really enhances the bodyguard/knight vibes! Every time Lilia appears, he always looks like he's having so much fun. Lil' guy is living it up in every panel! Especially when he appears upside down to spook Ruggie.

efbiuSIUBDBYypvfW9wpWD THIS SHOT IS SO GOOD??????? ?I'M LIVING FOR CATER MAKING SILVER AND SEBEK LOOK LIGHTLY UNCOMFORTABLE AS HE HANGS ON THEM.............. .... . . . . ....... .. .... .. . . . . .. ..

Ruggie's despair is delicious 🤤 He's thinking about all the events that led up to this point and about how that will now all go to waste. Now that I think about it and I have the visual right in front of me... That's the same thing Leona felt every time he got knocked down for his efforts. The parallels, man...

Well, fellas... Looks like it's probably Overblot Leona time next chapter. A detail I love here is that, from Leona's perspective, all the faces of his dorm members are sorta blotted out... which is interesting seeing as how it was stated that Mrs. Rosehearts' face was intentionally blotted since she is considered the source of Riddle's trauma + the light novel tells us that Leona fears seeing hope and desperation for a better future in others because it might motivate him to try again, thus prompting another failure or rejection... 😭

Palace servants: Young master Leona's magical power is so strong, it's scary!! Leona: Damn, they don't understand me! They judge me before they even get to know me. If I were the older brother, they wouldn't be saying this stuff. Also Leona: [see image above]

MALEWIFE MODE RUGGIE????? 😭 What a contrast to the Ruggie in the Episode of Savanaclaw who is really going through it…

Love the detail of Yuuta and Grim helping out with chores in the background! It shows that they’re trying to pull their weight while they stay over.

Babe, wake up... New Yuuta and Leona reaction images just dropped from the Episode of Octainvelle... (I am Yuuta whenever new TWST content drops and my non-Twstie friends are Leona whenever they're listening to me blab nonstop about the updates--)

Yuuta once again proves to be my favorite of the current Yuu iterations 🫶 He’s just so sweet and hopeful!

We actually get to see the class photo!! Although the resolution here is very grainy. I'm really hoping that we get to see a close-up after Azul's OB!! I'm dying to see what he looked like as a kid!

fbhlavfuoeqy8vevif;fa fai THIS CHAPTER REALLY MADE ME LIKE ACE?????? ??? ? ?? ? It's probably because he gives the same flawless liar (even though the acting is sooo overexaggerated) energy as Jade in book 4. There's a really fun scene where he's distracting the Atlantica Museum guards and really hamming it up. He looks so cute while he's being (fake) upset yet so enthusiastic!!

This was my favorite part!! Ace excitedly talks about how he's always been interested in merfolk since he was little (lie) and how he saved up all his money to come to this museum (also a lie)... THEN BRO HAS THE AUDACITY TO POSE LIKE THIS AND TALK ABOUT WANTING TO BE A PART OF THAT WORLD????? ?? ???? ? ?? ? ?? ARIEL WHO>?????? ?? ??? ?? ? ?I o NLY KNOW TRAPPOLA NOW

One of the 4koma this month is about Octavinelle going on a camping trip! Azul wants to study the stars for money-making ideas/inspiration.

When talking about auroras, they're reminded of the Diasomnia students and think about making an aurora-colored drink to sell to them. The Octatrio also star-gaze and talk about aliens + selling octopus to them. They discuss the idea of filling a space suit with water and fish to they can walk in space too.

The other 4koma is about Trey brushing the mouths of his mandrake (as they have no teeth but dirt). He insists that everyone should have a clean oral cavity.

You can even tell which mandrake is Trey’s because it has a bunch of toothbrushes stuck in its pot 🪥

Jamil was planning on using his own mandrake to make an ancient remedy for relieving toothache. Trey is uh… interested… and attempts to test out the healing toothpaste for himself (Jamil of course stops him).

Trey… you’re the most NORMAL one, why are you like this OTL

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coco-loco-nut · 7 months ago

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I Hate It Here

Pairing: Max x Sister Reader

Summary: Max takes a stand for his sister

TW: jos verstappen, mentioned abuse, depression, mentions of death, mentions of an affair

requests open masterlist ttpd masterlist

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With Max gone, you were the one subject to the wrath of Jos Verstappen, especially when you stopped karting after a couple years. So while your brother was off winning grand prix after grand prix, you were continually reminded that you aren’t good enough, that you were the dud of a child.

“Maxie, tell me a story,” you call your older brother in tears one night, you don’t blame him for the fact that you are a failure. You love your older brother more than anything.

With a heavy sigh, Max dives into a made up story, like he was a poet trapped inside the body of a race car driver, except he is an awful storyteller. He does but doesn’t want to know the BS your lame excuse for a father told you.

Max is your best, and only friend, your consolation prize for surviving this far. You stopped really leaving home years ago, only leaving to go to the grocery store. Even to your job, you were just another remote employee.

Max only ever wants the best for his sister, you haven’t seen Victoria since you were so young that you don’t really even know if she actually exists, so he is all you have. Victoria doesn’t really remember you either, seeing as how you were the child of an affair. Max always tries to bring you to races as a lucky charm, but your response is always the same ‘i don’t believe in good luck, maybe next time’. It’s like you are scared to leave home, safer in the comfort of the walls you’ve only ever known.

You pull out your headphones and listen to music, tuning out the world. You hate it here, you hate your father, but you only know of one way to escape. You close your eyes and go to the little paradise in your mind. You read about something similar when you were a kid from a book Max you. It sits on your nightstand, the spine worn and frayed from years of use.

That’s similar to how Max finds you when he arrives a couple weeks later. By now he is used to finding you in that state, you spend most of your free time in your own mind.

“Y/n? Where do you go? In your mind,” Max asks, laying beside you in your bed.

“A little garden, you need a key to get in though,” you say, a little dazed.

“And how would one get a key?” He asks further, trying to keep you engaged.

“There is only one, mine,” you reply, moving to grab your headphones again. Max quickly, but gently takes them.

“Charles was asking about you. He wanted to know how you were, since he hasn’t seen you since I joined F3,” Max continues, you just look at him, an oddity in your dark room.

“Charles?” You ask and Max nods.

“My friend, you thought he had a silly accent, and thought he was cute,” Max elaborates, searching your face to see a look of recognition. You just shrug.

“We used to play games, travel back in time to different decades. You loved the 1800s,” Max says, not ready to give up.

“I was a debutante,” you whisper causing Max to smile brightly. You just shake your head, you read once that nostalgia is a minds trick. “I bet I hated it, it is always freezing in the palace,” you say, unknowingly giving Max a glimpse into the secret escapes in your mind. In your fantasies you travel everywhere even to space. Secretly you love it, but you are more than content to stay at home, even if you hate it here.

“Come to the FIA Prize Giving with me, pretend it’s one of your fantasies,” Max says, you nod your head, already away in another world where only the gentle survive.

“Max? Am I going to die?” You ask out of the blue, well out of the blue for Max. He doesn’t know how to respond before you turn back into yourself. He stands up, watching you for a minute. You stayed out of your depression a minute longer than usual, a small win for him.

“Leave your poor sister alone,” Jos says, Max just glares at him. Jos is the man who made you like this and Max will never forgive himself for it.

“Y/n is coming with me to Monaco, for good. Since you don’t care about her, I will take care of her,” Max says, prepared to stand his ground.

“Whatever, if you want to tolerate her worthlessness, that’s up to you,” Jos waves his hand, one less failure in his home.

“Don’t call her that,” Max grits his teeth. He was going to wait a couple days, but perhaps it’s necessary to expedite it here.

“Yeah, yeah, she’s your problem now,” Jos walks away. Max returns to your bedroom, getting a suitcase from your closet. Only the essentials for now, the rest can be picked up tomorrow. He packs up as much as he can in an hour before somehow convincing you to go with him to his hotel. You just stare out the window of the car as he drives, clearly uncomfortable. Max gives you the bedroom and takes the pull out couch. He immediately dials Charles.

“Max? What happened?” Charles can hear the exhaustion in Max’s voice.

“I’m bringing Y/n back to Monaco with me, she’s basically being left to rot by Jos. She’s lonely and bitter, but swears she’s fine. Y/n gets lost in her mind on purpose, there’s this fantasy land that she saves the good parts -her romanticism- in her mind. I’m losing her,” Max chokes back a sob.

“Max, what do you mean, losing her?” Charles asks, more alert.

“She doesn’t eat, she’s depressed beyond imagination, doesn’t leave the house, spends the time she isn’t working remotely in her mind. This house, our father, makes her feel worthless. If I didn’t come tonight, she might’ve died. Charles, she asked me if she was going to die,” Max has your image ingrained in his memory, a little too thin and pale.

“I just texted Maman, she will come over and visit her for a little every day, make sure she eats,” Charles says, holding back his own tears. He remembers you fondly as the little girl with pig tails, always excited to spend time with her big brother.

You struggle with the move to Monaco, one you didn’t get a say in it, likely because you spend most of the year in your mind. You have come to grow more comfortable with the woman who visits you and uses food from your brother’s fridge to feed you.

“Y/n? Feel like talking today?” she gently asks, setting the food in front of you, like she does every day. You look up, and Pascale nearly cries, seeing you start to breaks through. Your blue eyes pierce hers.

“Tell me something awful, like you are a poet trapped in the body of a finance guy,”

#f1 imagines #f1 imagine #max verstappen #max verstappen imagine #max verstappen imagines #max verstappen x reader #charles leclerc

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pascaloverx · 7 days ago

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HAUNTED

Summary: You awaken from a two-year coma to find that Detective Lois has been eagerly awaiting your recovery, believing you might have witnessed something crucial to catching a serial killer. What you didn’t expect is to learn that she suspects your doctor of being the murderer—and even more shockingly, it appears that you are married to him. Now, you must uncover your lost memories and find out who Charlie Mayhew truly is to you.

Author's Note: Yes, I'm writing another fanfic featuring Nicholas Alexander Chavez’s character from Grotesquerie. The characters belong to the universe created by Ryan Murphy in the series Grotesquerie (2024). This fanfic will include violence, strong language, and adult content. It will portray the character Charlie Mayhew as a doctor. I hope you enjoy the fanfic, but there's nothing certain about its future.

PREVIEW

ONE

The tension in your hospital room is palpable, Detective Lois and Dr. Mayhew locking eyes as if each were ready to strike. You’re bewildered, unsure of whom or what to believe. But one thing is clear: Dr. Mayhew is your husband. He appears to be the quickest path to recovering your memory—even though Lois seems convinced he’s the reason you’re in this condition.

“Detective Tryon, as eager as you are to drag a statement out of my wife, she’ll be of no use to your scheme of blaming me for your incompetence,” Dr. Mayhew says, running a hand through his hair with a clear hint of tension. “She remembers nothing, and your persistence will only confuse her further.” He sighs heavily, while Lois watches him with a mocking smile, as if her patience has completely worn thin.

“Your performance is so convincing. You must have taken acting lessons at some point in your life,” she says, stepping toward him with a threatening air. “I can’t allow you to harm this woman before she has the chance to tell the world who you really are.”

“Enough!” you exclaim, frustrated by their bickering. Both turn to you, their expressions shifting to something like concern. “Detective Tryon, I appreciate your efforts to keep me safe. But if this man truly is my husband, that must mean something,” you say, almost on instinct. Perhaps you’re being foolish, even hasty. But there has to be something to this. Taking a risk is all you have left—now that you don’t even belong to yourself.

"Are you really willing to risk your life to be near this man, Y/N?" Detective Tryon holds your arm, her grip nearly desperate, as though trying to pull you away from Dr. Mayhew. The force of it makes you uncomfortable, and you wince, letting out a low sound of pain.

“Release my wife, Detective,” Dr. Mayhew snaps, his tone finally sharpened, his calm composure cracking. “I remind you that if we report your misconduct to your superiors, your entire baseless case will fall apart.” He steps between you and Lois, his hands slipping into his lab coat pockets, the stance a clear challenge.

"What would truly please you, right?" Lois challenges, staring straight into Dr. Mayhew's eyes. You watch them silently, still feeling the ache in your arm where Lois had grabbed you.

"Would you like to know what would actually please me?" Dr. Mayhew whispers, moving closer to Lois. "I’d be pleased to have my wife with me again, without the interference of a lunatic so obsessed with her own failures that she needs to ruin my life just to sleep at night. Careful, Lois. You’re becoming obsessed with me." You're uncertain of his intentions, but the authoritative tone in his voice and the way he carries himself is undeniably alluring.

Lois narrows her eyes, her expression darkening as Dr. Mayhew moves closer, his tone laced with mockery and barely concealed venom. “Is that so, Dr. Mayhew? Obsession, you call it?” she scoffs, a bitter smile playing on her lips. “Let’s not confuse dedication to justice with obsession. But perhaps you’re simply too accustomed to manipulating the truth to recognize it when you see it.”

You watch the exchange, torn between skepticism and an undeniable draw toward him. Despite the sharp edge in his words, the way Dr. Mayhew stands his ground, unyielding and unafraid, stirs something within you. Even as his gaze shifts to meet yours, there’s an intensity there that unsettles yet captivates you—a magnetic pull that defies reason.

“Why not focus on your own affairs, Detective,” he murmurs, his eyes still on you, a slight smirk playing at the corner of his mouth, “and let my wife and I… reconnect. Unless, of course, you’ve truly no other purpose in your life than meddling in mine.”

Your confidence is remarkable, Charlie," Lois remarks. "Mrs. Mayhew, if you need me for any reason, here’s my number. I’ll also be visiting again soon to see if there’s been any progress in your memory recovery." She hands you a card with her contact information, then smirks mockingly at Dr. Mayhew. "And don’t worry, Charlie, I’ll let Megan know you’ll be unavailable." With that, she finally exits your hospital room.

Charlie stares at you, irritation burning in his gaze. "Do you believe her?" Dr. Mayhew demands, advancing toward you with sudden intensity. You feel as if the air is being drawn from your lungs with his nearness, his gaze piercing. "Honestly, I don’t know whom to believe," you murmur, leaning back against the hospital bed behind you, your eyes locked onto his.

"Fine!" he exclaims, voice laced with indignation. He turns to leave, but then hesitates, his hand lingering on the door frame as if torn between staying and leaving. After a tense pause, he steps back inside, his tone shifting from anger to something raw and vulnerable.

"Y/N… if you can’t trust me, then at least remember what we once were. Remember the promises we made." His voice drops to a murmur, almost pleading. "I’m not the monster she’s painting me to be." The intensity in his words sends a shiver down your spine, leaving you more conflicted than ever as he finally, reluctantly, exits the room. What makes it all worse is that neither of them is truly thinking about you. Neither one noticed that you’ve only just discovered your own name, that you're lost and confused. They don’t see that you don’t want to be manipulated—you want to be understood.

“You are like him…” you murmur, recognizing that you’re no longer in your hospital room. Everything around you is intensely white—the walls, the bed you're seated on, every corner spotless and untouched. A cross hangs on the wall behind the priest, casting a shadow that flickers slightly, as if from candlelight. The room feels steeped in something sacred, almost otherworldly, like a faint echo of a memory stirring within you. The priest looks at you with a serene expression, though there’s an unmistakable weight behind his gaze. As he steps closer, the almost sacred atmosphere around you amplifies the tension. You try to process the overwhelming resemblance to Dr. Mayhew—even the contours of his face are identical, but the priest’s shorter, more traditional hairstyle highlights the difference. Your mind wavers between doubt and recognition, as if your subconscious is trying to unveil something long forgotten.

“You keep searching for answers outside yourself, yet everything you need lies within,” he murmurs, his deep voice echoing through the room like a quiet revelation.

“Father, I don’t know. I don’t know what to do, what to feel,” you whisper, your voice breaking as you meet his gaze. Tears slip down your cheeks, and a quiet, aching desperation fills the space between you. The priest, unmoved yet tender, holds your gaze.

“Faith moves mountains, and as long as it resides within you, you will be safe,” he murmurs, his voice a gentle command that resonates deeply. “Find your faith, and you will know what—and whom—to believe.”

Despite the haziness, a strange comfort wraps around your heart, soft yet unexplainable. His words, laced with a familiar warmth, guide you into a calm acceptance, though the reason remains unknown. Then, leaning closer, he whispers in your ear, “Now, kneel and seek forgiveness.” Almost instinctively, you find yourself on your knees before him, grasping the folds of his robe at his knees, your head bowed as though in reverence.

“Father, forgive me,” you whisper, your head bowed. His fingers lift your chin gently, compelling you to meet his gaze. “How can I grant you absolution, when your hands are stained with blood, my sweet sinner?” he murmurs, lowering his face near yours, his breath warm against your ear, sending a chill down your spine.

You’re shocked, frozen beneath his intense gaze, but unable to break away. As you glance down, horror floods your senses—you see your hands smeared with blood. Stumbling backward, you gasp, eyes wide in disbelief. The priest rises from the bed, stepping slowly toward you with an unwavering gaze, a faint trail of blood marking his face. You’re overwhelmed with fear, a scream building in your throat until it finally erupts, piercing the silence. And then—just like that—you awaken from your haunting dream, heart racing, as the unsettling remnants of the nightmare fade into the dim light of your hospital room.

Dr. Mayhew, startled awake in the chair beside your bed, immediately reaches for you. “Hey, Y/N, are you alright?” he asks, his voice filled with concern as he stands and wraps you in a firm embrace. His arms encircle you with a warmth that feels protective, grounding you in the present moment, as if he’s trying to shield you from whatever haunted you.

“I… I had a nightmare,” you whisper once you catch your breath, the tension beginning to ease as you lean into his hold. And everything feels like déjà vu. Just like before, you wake from a nightmare involving the priest, and once again, Dr. Mayhew is by your side. You can't help but wonder if there’s a connection between his presence and the terrifying, bloody dreams that haunt you each night.

“Don’t worry, darling,” Dr. Mayhew murmurs softly, his hand tracing gentle circles on your back, his touch soothing. The warmth of his embrace gives you an unexpected feeling of lightness, as though he’s holding you together amidst the lingering fragments of your nightmare.

“Can we leave this place?” you ask, your voice trembling as you try to stifle the tears that have flowed since you woke. He holds you a little closer, and you feel a subtle tension in his grip, as if considering your question carefully.

“We will, soon,” he assures, his tone steady, though a flicker of something unreadable passes over his face. “For now, rest. I’ll be here.”

"Stay here; I need you to answer me—while looking into my eyes," you insist, tugging at Dr. Mayhew's clothes, almost dislodging his tie. Though he’d intended to return to the hospital chair, he remains by your side, his gaze steady yet guarded.

“Will you even believe my answer?” he asks softly, his voice carrying a hint of doubt, as though unsure anything he says would hold weight with you. His eyes search yours, wary yet attentive, as if weighing what he’s willing to reveal.

"You'll have to take the risk and believe that I will," you say softly, though you're unsure if you can truly trust anything he says. Dr. Mayhew's hand reaches gently to touch your face, but you instinctively pull back, murmuring, "I’m sorry."

“Ask me whatever you wish, Y/N,” he says, his voice tinged with impatience, perhaps confused by your conflicting actions—clinging to him, pulling him closer, yet retreating from his touch. You, too, are struggling to understand what you’re feeling, torn between wanting him near and pushing him away.

“Do you love me?” you ask, your gaze unwavering, trying to find answers in the depths of his eyes. His stare holds yours, as if the question should be irrelevant, as if he has already shown you everything you need to know. His expression softens, but the weight of his response carries something more.

"I’m your husband, Y/N," he replies, his voice steady, but there's an intensity in his eyes, a depth of meaning that you can’t ignore. "Doesn't that answer everything?" His words hang in the air, thick with unspoken emotion, and for a moment, you wonder if the truth lies somewhere in the space between his claims and the confusion that churns in your heart.

"Answer me, Dr. Mayhew, do you love me?" you ask, using a more assertive tone, making it clear that you are not satisfied with his previous answer. He smiles, as if he can't believe it. "I love you, Mrs. Mayhew. I would die for you if necessary," he responds confidently. His eyes are fixed on you, as if waiting for something.

"Then even if the truth disappoints me. Even if you think it's going to hurt me, I need you to be honest. About these murders, about Megan, about everything." You speak firmly, staring into his eyes.

Dr. Mayhew's expression hardens as you mention the two things he surely wishes you would forget. For a moment, he looks at the hospital room wall without saying anything. "Honesty is a double-edged sword. As you inflict it on someone, someone can inflict it on you," his gaze darkens, his demeanor heavy, almost demonic. "If honesty is what you want; honesty is all you'll get."

He stands up, lifting his face to yours, now standing directly in front of you. "You think the truth will set you free, but sometimes it only binds you to something far worse," Dr. Mayhew says, so close to your face it feels as though he's about to kiss you. His words are heavy, yet his gaze is devilishly captivating. For a moment, you sense that he's savoring the expression of fear in your eyes. "Then let the truth bind us both, if that's what we deserve," you reply, challenging him, even though a part of you trembles with fear.

He straightens his coat, his hand running through his hair with a sharp, almost angry gesture, as though attempting to pull himself together. "Rest, Y/N. The truth will find its way to you, sooner or later. But I can promise you this: I am, and will always be, honest with the woman I love—even if she doubts me." With those words, Dr. Mayhew places a soft, lingering kiss on your forehead, a gesture of tenderness. Then, without another word, he exits your hospital room, leaving you in a heavy silence.

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nayziiz · 6 months ago

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It's Rough | LN4

Pairing: Lando Norris x reader (she/her)

Author's note: I'm trying something a little bit different with shorter form fics, so please send through any requests or feedback. These one shots will likely not have a second part unless it really speaks to me to continue with it. Thank you!

Masterlist

Lando watched with a mix of amusement and frustration as she attempted to grasp the basics of golf. Despite her proficiency in various other activities like water sports, skiing, and driving, golf seemed to elude her completely. He had hoped that her natural athleticism and coordination would translate well onto the golf course, but it appeared that golf was a different beast altogether.

Her swings were awkward and uncoordinated, sending the ball veering off in unpredictable directions. Lando patiently offered guidance, demonstrating proper technique and providing words of encouragement, but it seemed as though golf just didn't click for her.

Despite her struggles, she approached each swing with determination, refusing to let her initial failures dampen her spirits. With each missed shot, she laughed off her mistakes and eagerly lined up for another attempt, determined to conquer the elusive sport.

Lando had known from the moment she insisted on tagging along to the golf course that her declaration of merely watching and cheering was likely wishful thinking. Despite her assurances, he could practically see the curiosity and determination dancing behind her eyes, ready to pounce at any opportunity to join in on the action.

Yet, he couldn't bring himself to deny her the chance to be a part of the day. He understood that her company would bring a different energy to the outing, even if it meant potentially disrupting the boys' dynamic on the course. Besides, the thought of her sulking at home while he enjoyed a day with his friends was far less appealing than dealing with the inevitable consequences of her joining in on the golfing shenanigans.

So, with a resigned sigh and a knowing smile, Lando agreed to let her come along, silently preparing himself for the whirlwind of chaos that often accompanied her presence. Deep down, he knew that her insistence on joining them stemmed from a desire to spend time with him, even if it meant enduring a sport she clearly had no interest in.

As they arrived at the golf course, Lando braced himself for whatever antics she had in store.

As Lando focused on his swing, he couldn't help but be distracted by her restlessness. He noticed her initially staying put behind the steering wheel of the golf cart, as promised, but her impatience soon got the better of her. With a hint of amusement, he watched as she hopped out of the cart and began to circle it, her movements fluid and graceful.

Caught off guard by the sight of her, Lando found himself momentarily forgetting about the game at hand. His gaze followed her as she moved around the cart, her skirt swaying gently with each step, revealing glimpses of her smooth, tanned skin. He couldn't deny the allure she exuded, even in such a mundane setting as a golf course.

Despite his best efforts to maintain his focus on the game, her presence proved to be a delightful distraction. He couldn't help but admire her beauty and the effortless confidence with which she carried herself, even in a sport she had no interest in.

As she circled the cart, a playful smile danced on her lips, and Lando felt a surge of affection for her. Despite her initial reluctance to join them on the course, he couldn't deny that her presence added an undeniable charm to their day. And as he watched her, he silently thanked whatever force had convinced her to come along, knowing that moments like these were what made their time together truly special.

“Hey, come on. Focus, man,” Carlos moaned quietly, making sure no one else could hear him.

Carlos's whispered admonition brought Lando back to reality, reminding him of the game at hand. He chuckled softly at Carlos's remark, acknowledging the truth in his friend's words.

“Yeah, yeah, I know,” Lando replied, shaking his head slightly. “But can you blame me? She's something else.”

Carlos rolled his eyes playfully, understanding Lando's sentiment all too well. Lando made a concerted effort to refocus his attention on the game. Despite the temptation to steal glances at her, he knew that winning the game required his full concentration. With a renewed sense of determination, he squared his shoulders and prepared to take his next shot, determined to put aside any distractions and give it his all. As the game continued, Lando found himself occasionally sneaking glances in her direction, unable to resist the magnetic pull she seemed to have on him.

As the afternoon progressed and the rounds of golf continued, she found herself drawn into the conversation among the boys. Standing in between them, she listened intently to their banter and jokes, occasionally chiming in with her own witty remarks.

Before she knew it, a few of the boys had handed her their clubs, entrusting her with the task of holding them as they prepared for their shots. At first, she accepted the clubs with a bemused smile, unsure of what to do with them. But as the afternoon wore on, she found herself inadvertently assuming the role of their caddy, carrying their clubs from hole to hole with ease.

Despite her initial reluctance to participate in the game, she quickly embraced her new role with enthusiasm, eagerly offering advice and encouragement to the boys as they navigated the course. With each swing of the club, she cheered them on, her enthusiasm infectious as they worked together as a team to conquer the challenges of the course.

“How about you give it a try?” Alex's encouragement rang out across the green, much to Lando's dismay.

He watched with a mixture of apprehension and amusement as she smirked and accepted the club from Alex's outstretched hand. With a playful glint in her eye, she positioned herself on the grass, mimicking the stance Lando had patiently demonstrated to her numerous times before.

“Come on, you've got this,” Alex cheered, egging her on as she prepared to take her shot. Lando couldn't help but sigh, his expression a mixture of resignation and nervousness.

“Please, do not embarrass me,” Lando pleaded half-jokingly, knowing full well that her unpredictable nature often led to unexpected outcomes.

Her playful gasp of mock hurt elicited chuckles from the boys, but she quickly shifted her focus back to the task at hand. With a determined expression, she squared her shoulders and prepared to take her shot, eager to redeem her reputation.

But as she swung the club, it was immediately evident that this attempt wouldn't be as successful as she intended. With a wild and uncoordinated motion, she missed the ball entirely, the club swishing through the air with a whooshing sound. A chorus of groans and laughter erupted from the boys, their amusement mingled with sympathy for her failed attempt.

Lando, unable to bear the sight of her struggling any longer, groaned in pain as he moved to take the club away from her.

“Hang on. You all got time to warm up, how about you let me give it another shot?” she insisted.

Her insistence caught the attention of the group, prompting them to pause and exchange curious glances. Lando, his expression a mixture of defeat and resignation, reluctantly stepped away, giving her the space she needed to make another attempt.

With a determined gleam in her eye, she positioned herself once again, her grip on the club steady as she took a deep breath to steady her nerves. Ignoring the teasing remarks and sceptical looks from the boys, she focused all her attention on the ball before her, blocking out any distractions.

And then, with a swift and controlled motion, she swung the club, the sound of impact resonating through the air as the club connected with the ball. For a moment, time seemed to stand still as they watched in disbelief, their eyes glued to the ball as it soared through the air with precision and grace.

Their disbelief turned to astonishment as the ball arced gracefully over the green, heading straight for the hole with unerring accuracy. Cheers erupted from the group as they watched in awe, unable to believe their eyes as the ball came to rest just inches from the hole.

“Wow, that was great!” Alex exclaimed with a huge smile plastered on his face.

“Must be luck. Try again,” Max insisted, challenging her more than Lando would have liked.

“Fine,” she shrugged.

Encouraged by Alex's praise and challenged by Max's insistence, she couldn't resist the opportunity to prove herself once more. With a confident smile, she accepted the dare, her competitive spirit reignited as she prepared to take another shot.

Positioning herself with precision, she focused intently on the ball before her, blocking out any distractions as she visualised her next move. With a deep breath, she swung the club with determination, her movements fluid and controlled.

This time, luck seemed to be on her side once again as the ball sailed through the air, following a perfect trajectory towards the hole. The group watched in anticipation, holding their breath as the ball approached its target.

And then, with a satisfying thud, the ball landed on the green, rolling steadily towards the hole before coming to a stop just inches away. Cheers erupted from the group as they celebrated her impressive shot, their disbelief mingled with admiration at her uncanny skill.

“Please tell Lily she's a wonderful instructor,” she remarked to Alex, her tone laced with a hint of mischief as she acknowledged the guidance she had received. Alex chuckled in response, a knowing gleam in his eye as he nodded in agreement.

After her impressive display on the green, she couldn't resist a moment of playful triumph. With a smug smile directed at Lando, she returned to the golf cart, her steps light with the weight of her accomplishment. Lando, still reeling from the unexpected turn of events, watched her with a mixture of disbelief and begrudging admiration.

As she settled back into her seat on the golf cart, she couldn't resist shooting Lando a smug grin, revelling in the satisfaction of having proven him wrong. Despite his initial scepticism, she had managed to exceed his expectations, leaving him shaking his head in disbelief.

Lando, for his part, could only shake his head in response, still struggling to come to terms with the fact that she had just hit the ball perfectly not once, but twice in a row. It was a feat that seemed almost too improbable to believe, yet there she was, the evidence of her success undeniable.

As they continued their game, Lando couldn't shake the feeling of astonishment that lingered in the air. Despite his doubts, she had managed to defy expectations and leave her mark on the golf course in more ways than one.

As they made their way towards Lando's McLaren, he couldn't help but be curious about her sudden improvement on the golf course. With a lighthearted tone, he broached the topic, unable to resist a teasing remark.

“So, Lily's been helping you, huh?” he asked, a playful smirk playing on his lips as he glanced in her direction. She chuckled in response, the memory of her recent success still fresh in her mind.

“Maybe a little,” she admitted with a wink, her tone tinged with amusement. Lando raised an eyebrow in mock surprise, feigning disbelief at her confession.

“I see how it is,” he teased, a hint of mock indignation in his voice. “Getting private lessons behind my back?”

She laughed at his exaggerated reaction, shaking her head in amusement.

“Nothing like that,” she reassured him, her smile warm and genuine. “Surprisingly enough, it just took a bit of patience to teach me.”

“Are you saying I have no patience?” he countered, his tone tinged with offence as he feigned hurt.

“None whatsoever,” she replied with a grin, her amusement evident in her voice as she teased him gently.

Despite his protests, she knew that his patience had been tested more than once during their golfing adventure. she couldn't help but notice a hint of disappointment in Lando's expression. His competitive nature was undeniable, and the idea of her newfound golfing skills seemed to sting his pride just a little.

“How much does it hurt knowing your girlfriend can now golf?” she teased, her tone teasing yet affectionate as she gently prodded at his ego.

Lando's response was a playful groan, his lips curling into a rueful smile as he shook his head in mock resignation. Deep down, she knew that he was secretly proud of her achievement, even if it meant enduring a few jokes at his expense.

“It doesn't hurt, but it sucks that you're better at it than me now,” he admitted, his tone a mixture of resignation and playful competitiveness. With a soft chuckle, she gently pressed him against the car, her body close to his as she looked up at him with a knowing smile.

“Baby, when will you learn?” she teased, her voice low and seductive as she leaned in closer. “I'm good at a lot of things.”

As she spoke, she subtly shifted her leg between his, a teasing reminder of her many talents and abilities. Lando couldn't help but laugh at her playful confidence, his own competitive spirit momentarily forgotten in the warmth of her presence.

“I know. So, when we get home, you can put your mouth to good use,” he argued, his voice low and teasing as he leaned in to kiss her.

She couldn't help but chuckle at his boldness, her laughter mingling with the warmth of his lips against hers.

“Disgusting,” she screeched in mock indignation, her hand playfully slapping his chest as she pushed him away with feigned reluctance.

Despite her protestations, there was a playful gleam in her eye, a hint of anticipation as she met his gaze with a knowing smile.

“But, with pleasure,” she added with a wink, her tone teasing yet affectionate as she leaned in to return his kiss.

As their lips met once more, they shared a moment of quiet intimacy, their playful banter giving way to the warmth of their affection for one another. And as they finally pulled away, their laughter echoed through the air, a reminder of the love and joy that filled their lives together.

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sunsburns · 7 months ago

Text

kiss of life (iii.)

pairing: luke castellan x aphrodite!daughter reader

masterlist

summary: you have never doubted aphrodite when it comes to soulmates, she's the goddess of love, she knows what she's doing and you're getting pretty sick of people telling you she's made a mistake with your soulmate, specifically. you refuse to believe that she could be wrong, but luke castellan is making it really hard for you to have hope.

—or: you and luke are off on your quest you're totally not having second thoughts about choosing him, he's your soulmate after all... right?

word count: 3.2k

warnings: filler chapter (sorry gang), reader's pov, reader is lowkey unreliable and is hiding something, pre-tlt, luke's character is kinda inconsistent but whatever, angsty fight with luke and reader, low-key happy ending

a/n: everyone might've moved on but i'm still here 😔… gang i think i’m coming back to my active era (no one cheered) anyways there’s so much i wanna write for this series so enjoy this little filler!

You'd always been a fan of bad ideas, but choosing Luke Castellan as your companion for the duration of your quest had to be your worst one yet. You felt a pang of doubt, questioning your choice, especially after witnessing the outcome of his quest—a failure that seemed impossible to shake off from the whispers of other campers. A failure your siblings wouldn't let you forget.

"I was there when he came back. I know what happened," you muttered, frustration creeping into your voice as you stuffed clothes into your bag.

Your siblings meant the world to you. You cherished the bond you shared—the familial camaraderie that bound your cabin together. As the eldest, you revelled in guiding and nurturing them, relishing the role of guardian and friend within your cabin's close-knit circle. Yet, like any family, they can sometimes be suffocatingly overbearing.

Alexis, your brother, ever ready to smack a reality check, had been the first to warn you against choosing Luke Castellan, and now he spearheaded a group of your siblings, all urging you to reconsider with reason.

"But that's just it. You don't know. Not really. None of us do." Alexis told you, reclining against the shared vanity in your cabin. The absence of the younger kids, off with Chiron for a lesson on constellations, offered you some peace of mind, sparing them from witnessing the escalating intervention.

As Silena sifted through the clothes strewn across your bed, her soft humming filled the room, a stark contrast to the weighty silence that hung over the conversation. "No one but Chiron and Mr. D knows what happened on that quest. He refuses to talk about it." she mused.

"There's not a lot of glory in that." Alexis shrugged, a smirk playing at the corners of his lips.

"He's been so weird and different since he returned," Silena added, "I remember he used to smile. It was such an attractive smile. And he used to talk... He barely ever talks anymore."

Alexis snorted, "That's called depression, Silena."

"It's just so sad." She frowned and sat on your bed, her gaze distant, "Pretty people don't deserve to be depressed."

"Amen to that."

You couldn't help but roll your eyes at their melodramatic exchange, a fleeting smile tugging at the corners of your lips as you focused on folding another pair of pants.

"He still talks." You said.

"But it's not the same," Alexis countered, his expression grave. Deep down, you knew he was right.

"And the way he's treated you," Silena scoffed, "constantly icing you out..."

"Avoiding you for months..." Alexis added, stepping closer to you with a solemn expression. "Refusing to even talk to you."

When he tried to put his hand on your shoulder, you couldn't help but shrug it off, not wanting his sympathy.

Their reminders, well-intentioned though they may be, served only to deepen the wound already festering within you. Like a knife twisted in your back, the memories of Luke's avoidance and unanswered questions pierced your thoughts with relentless precision. You vividly recalled the disappointment etched across his face in the infirmary, a silent testament to his dismay upon discovering your role in his fate. The weight of his unspoken words hung heavily in the air, a haunting reminder of the rift that had formed between you before it even started.

Your siblings were very careful with their next words: "Do you think that maybe... just this once... Aphrodite got it wrong?"

With a heavy heart, you stormed out of the cabin, your mind reeling with conflicting emotions. You swore up and down to Alexis and Silena that you were fine, that you only needed air. The need for clarity drove you to seek solace in the quiet embrace of nature, the gentle flicker of a breeze offering a touch of comfort amidst the turmoil raging within.

Throughout your life, your unwavering loyalty to your mother, Aphrodite, and the Gods has been a source of solace and guidance. You found comfort in the subtle manifestations of them, from the celestial dance of stars to the gentle caress of sunlight filtering through the trees. Even in the casual interactions of everyday life, you sought traces of your mother's hand guiding your path.

As you gazed into the dancing flames, the remnants of fruit smouldering in their fiery embrace in a tin can, you found yourself caught between hope and despair during your offering for your mother. Silena's words echoed in your mind, a harsh truth you were reluctant to confront. Maybe you didn't have a soulmate. Maybe it was a mistake. Maybe you're unlovable.

Yet, amidst the cloud of doubt, a flicker of defiance ignited within you. The mere thought that Aphrodite could be mistaken in matters of love seemed impossible to you. You had witnessed firsthand the intricate tapestry of fate woven by her hand, guiding souls to their destined counterparts with unfailing precision.

The yearning for that connection, that soul-deep bond, burned within you like a beacon in the darkness of uncertainty. It was a desire as old as time itself, the longing to find solace and belonging in the embrace of another.

As the flames dwindled to embers, their dying glow casting flickering shadows upon the ground, your prayers went unanswered.

The weight of your impending quest pressed upon you like a heavy cloak. Questions tumbled over one another in a relentless cascade, each one a dagger aimed at the heart of your resolve. Where would you need to go? Would you need to defend yourself? Would monsters come after you? Should you choose someone else? Could it be that Luke was nothing to you but a mistaken thread tethered into your life?

Your shoes stepped over twigs and dry leaves on the ground until you stepped out of the forest. Passing by the armoury, you forced a smile upon your lips. You forced yourself to be excited for your first quest rather than dread it. It was a rare privilege bestowed upon a child of Aphrodite, you should honour it.

As you approached the heart of camp again, the familiar clang of sword meeting dummy rumbled through the night air. The rhythmic sound, though commonplace in the realm of demigod training, carried an ominous weight under the cover of darkness. You would have assumed that all campers were asleep.

Luke Castellan, a boy who had become synonymous with the darker days since his return from his quest, stood amidst the training grounds, his silhouette illuminated by the pale moonlight. The sight of him, bathed in the ghostly shine, was haunting. With each precise strike of his sword, a muted testament to the rage that plagued his restless spirit, he seemed to exude an aura of both determination and despair.

No wonder you were so exhausted.

You dared not meet his gaze, instead keeping your head bowed as you navigated the familiar path through the training grounds. Every fibre of your being screamed for you to move faster, yet the pull of his presence was undeniable. Despite your best efforts to remain unseen, Luke's voice cut through the night, calling out your name with a sense of urgency that sent a shiver down your spine.

Shit.

With a sinking heart, you felt his hand land on your shoulder, stopping your escape. You couldn't avoid him now. Turning to face him, you were met with a sight that mirrored the restlessness within your own soul. His features, etched with lines of weariness and frustration, betrayed the weight of the burdens he carried.

You were distracted by the way he was looking at you. Brows furrowed, his lips turned and pulled into that permanent frown that had you wondering if he had ever smiled since he came back. Yet, despite the weight of his solemn expression, there was a flicker of something in his eyes – a glint of warmth, of familiarity, that almost stirred a faint glimmer of hope within you.

Almost.

"You're making a mistake." He insisted. "You need to choose someone else for your quest."

You tried not to seem too disappointed. "I can't pick anyone else." You protested, and he raised his brows at you, doubtful. "The Oracle told me to choose you."

"She told you to-?" A scoff escaped him, "The Oracle doesn't tell you who to choose. She doesn't say anything about who you should bring-"

"Luke-"

"The Oracle tells you what your quest is, then a weird riddle about something that will happen on your quest that will put you on edge the entire time."

Luke had stepped closer to you as he spoke as if his words would've sunk into your head clearer if you could hear them better. He spoke to you a lot that way, hoping you'd cling to every word he had to say; good and bad. Mostly bad.

The Oracle's cryptic words lingered in your mind. She had not revealed much about your quest, offering no subtle hints or insights into Eros' whereabouts to make your life easier. Instead, her assurance that success hinged on bringing Luke Castellan along had left you grappling with uncertainty. "He has all the answers you seek," she had urged, her words echoing with a weight that you struggled to comprehend.

"It has to be you."

"What else did she say?"

You hesitated. "That's it," you replied, your words falling short.

"That's it?" He didn't believe you.

"Just a few hints of where Eros might be, I guess." The lie slipped from your lips effortlessly.

He caught it quickly but never urged you to admit it. Luke remained silent, his expression unreadable as he mulled over your words.

You sort of wished he fought you over it.

You wished he'd do anything with you. At least try to.

"If you don't want to come with me, that's fine," you conceded, "I'm leaving tomorrow morning, with or without you."

"Really? You'll just leave?"

The bitterness in his tone was unmistakable. Yet, despite the resentment that coloured his words, there was a flicker of something in his eyes – a glimmer of regret, perhaps, or maybe resignation. It only annoyed you further.

Luke Castellan was possibly the most confusing person you've ever met. He didn't want to join you on your quest, but you couldn't leave without him either? What's his fucking deal?

He intrigued and frustrated you, like some curse had been placed upon you, and you wanted to understand every part of him while he wanted nothing to do with you. Perhaps Aphrodite was being cruel when she chose him as your soulmate, but you weren't any better when you put him in the position of joining you on your quest.

"I don't know you." You admitted the words hanging heavy in the air between you. "You've made a really good effort to make sure that I don't know anything about you. I did my part. I picked you. If you don't want to come, that's... fine."

It pained you to say it. You did not want to go alone, but you weren't going to force someone to accompany you who clearly didn't want to be there. However, the uncertainty of what lay beyond the safety of the camp walls loomed large in your mind. You haven't left the protection of the camp in years, you weren't sure of what was out there other than the stories the summer campers would tell you, of their close calls and near misses.

Luke Castellan was the perfect example of what leaving camp does to someone.

Despite the weight of your decision, you held your head high as you turned on your heels. You doubted Luke had anything more to say; he was a man of few words, after all.

You left him there, just as he left you by the docks for months. And then you lied to yourself, clung to the belief that your mother, Aphrodite, would safeguard your journey and that your brother, Eros, awaited your rescue.

And so, the next morning, after bidding your tearful goodbyes to your siblings and friends and earning a proud pat on the back from Chiron, you swallowed your pride and left.

The Oracle's words were etched into the very fabric of your being, a relentless mantra that monopolized your thoughts as you trudged toward the top of the hill and left the safety of campgrounds. Each step forward was a testament to your determination, each footfall a declaration of your unwavering commitment to the quest ahead.

As you climbed, you couldn't help but imagine the faces of campers upon your return. You pictured the awe in their eyes, the pride in their voices, and most of all, the look on Luke's face when he realized the extent of your lone success, his disbelief mingling with a begrudging respect.

"Hey-"

The sound of your name startled you out of your thoughts. You were trudging through the grass when you spotted a body sitting under a pine tree, shaded from the sun by its leaves.

Luke looked up at you, frowning, "Took you long enough."

His dishevelled dark curls fell over his eyes, a stark contrast against the vibrant greenery surrounding him. With a resigned sigh, he rose to his feet, his movements fluid yet tinged with an air of impatience Luke picked up a bag by his side, tossing it over his shoulder. It wasn't until he emerged from the tree's shade that you noticed the subtle changes in his attire. Gone was the signature orange camp shirt, replaced instead by a more subdued navy tee that hugged his frame. His old cargo pants remained the same, but different nonetheless.

Eyeing his bag, you could spot smaller daggers strapped to the sides, prepared for anything. It took you a few seconds to process why he was there. You squint at the sun as he steps out from under the tree. "You came."

He huffed, "Obviously."

You let out a breathless chuckle, maybe one of relief since honestly, despite everything you'd been trying to convince yourself of, you were terrified to leave on your own.

"Why?" you asked, your voice betraying a hint of uncertainty as you adjusted the straps of your own bag. The question hung in the air, unanswered. Of course. You almost rolled your eyes as Luke began to descend the other side of the hill. With a fleeting glance over his shoulder, he wordlessly beckoned you to join him by tilting his head to the side impatiently.

You grinned then, wide and bright. "I know I said I didn't care if you came or not, but I'm glad you're here."

He showed no sign of acknowledgment of your sentiment, his gaze fixed ahead as he continued to walk once you joined his side.

As the minutes stretched on in silence, broken only by the rhythmic crunch of leaves underfoot, you found yourself lost in thought. It was only when the distant hum of passing cars reached your ears, their blurred forms darting through the forest's fringe, that you were jolted back to the present.

Drawing to a halt near the forest's edge, you felt the weight of uncertainty settle upon you. With a hesitant pause, you turned to face Luke, the question that had been gnawing at your mind poised on the tip of your tongue.

"Why'd you stop?" He asked.

"I just..." Your voice wavered, uncertainty lacing your words as you struggled to articulate your thoughts. You worried that if you said the wrong thing he'd leave you stranded right there and return to camp while the two of you were still walking distance from it. It annoyed you a little; how much you had to walk on eggshells with him.

You couldn't help but wonder how different things might have been if you hadn't chosen him. You were being stupid when you picked him, you decided. You already regret it. Maybe Luke was right, the Oracle was just trying to get into your head.

"What made you change your mind? About coming on the quest?" you finally managed to voice, your eyes meeting his in search of answers.

He looked at you, brown eyes flitting over your expression, before licking his lips and simply stating: "If you break an arm, so do I."

That had been the closest Luke Castellan had ever been to admitting he had a soulmate.

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hopefulidiocy · 8 days ago

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Perfect

Prince!Aemond x Pregnant!Reader

Warnings: fluff, angst, HARD LABOUR, BLOOD, SLIGHT SLIGHT SMUT IF YOU SQUINT

A/N this is filler whilst I’m away

The baby pulled on your back as you waddled through the Gardens of the Red Keep, listening to the birds swimming through the air with their happy tunes; which was a complete contrast to how you were feeling. You knew your ultimate goal was to give your husband a baby, you knew that you had only married each other for the financial gain to give at least one male heir that can be in the line for the throne. Your family owned most of the North, all being Lords and Ladies and owning the biggest castles and palaces. Something King Viserys couldn’t let go. You had wondered, often, why you were the chosen one and not your sister, who was Aemond’s exact age. You were two years younger than him.

Your pregnant belly served as a reminder of who you were to the Keep, Queen Alicent came in every evening after supper to check on you but not to see how you were, to see how her grandchild was. She would constantly refer to the baby as a he and it would further enforce a worry that was so overwhelming you were often worried that your own baby might die before you get to meet them. If this baby wasn’t a boy, she didn’t know what she would do, she would be a failure and Aemond would probably take on another wife; but it won’t be his own decision, it’ll be his mothers. In the last three years you had been married, you broke all rules and fell in love. Aemond treated you like a precious jewel despite being cold hearted and strong headed, he would demand respect for you when you were unable to demand it for yourself. He was the one who stuck up for you when his mother had a doctor check that you could bear children as it was expected to be pregnant within a year of marriage. But you and Aemond made the secret decision to wait to try for a child, your sex had been as protected as it could be and it was still just as amazing. Sometimes, though, you wondered whether Aemond would be unhappy at the birth of a daughter. You hoped he wouldn’t be but you already had a happy marriage unlike most of the world; it would be tedious to hope for a man that would be happy at the birth of a girl. Somewhere inside of you, you harboured that childish wish, hidden and deep.

“Princess Y/N.” Helaena was by one of the stone arches, leaning against it with a spider in her hands. She didn’t look up when you approached her. “He’s unhappy.”

“Who is?” Helaena had always been a little weird, always playing with her insects and you hated to admit that you kept a distance because she always seemed to be staring. However, as you were around, you both warmed to each other to a nice conversation in the Keep hallways.

“My spider.” She pouted, opening her palm to big, spindly, black thing that made you shiver and step back. “Got a broken leg.” She pointed to one of the front legs which was wonky and stopped him from walking normally across her palms.

“Ah, I’m sorry.” You didn’t know what else to say until a small, sudden dull ache shot across your body. It wasn’t pain enough for you to groan or shout, just a quick wince and a palm on your stomach was enough. You stroked it up and down, feeling your stretched skin and the hardness of your baby curled up. Suddenly, Helaena reached out and placed her milky hand on your belly, a smile stretching across her lips. “What is it?”

“You’re going to be so happy.” She whispered, almost to herself, she removed her hand and disappeared down the hallway without a goodbye. Your back began to pulse, it usually did this if you walked around too much, the baby was almost ready so it wasn’t a surprise that your body began to shatter away after a ten minute walk.

Two guards posted outside of your chambers highlighted that Aemond was behind them, your heart still pitched whenever you were around him and you wished that blissful feeling would never end. The guards nodded at your arrival, opening the doors and revealing your grand, dark oak decorated chambers with high ceilings that depict your House and the Targaryen House. That familiar smell of polished leather wafted from the open balcony doors, the white silk rippling in the breeze. You waddled towards the doors, seeing the back of your husband leaning his hands on the iron fence.

“Aemond?” You questioned, walking out but before you got to his side he turned around. Without a word, he smiled, wrapping his arms around your waist and even though hugging these days was much harder; he always made it work.

“Y/N.” He breathed, kissing your cheek and his arms still clasped around your waist. You looked up at your beautiful husband with one eye, your hands softly resting on his forearms. “Are you okay? You’re looking flushed.” He hand cupped your cheek, stroking it softly before planting a soft kiss on your forehead.

“I should really stop going on these walks, Aemond. They’re causing havoc with my back.” You rubbed at your lower spine which was twisting in pain. He hummed in response, his eye looking over you in worry. “What’s that look for?” You questioned.

“I want a doctor to see you.” He said, removing his arms and placing his wide palms on your stomach; a feeling you absolutely loved.

“No, I don’t want a doctor. It’ll be the same one your mother had. I’m happy with my midwives, they’ll take good care of me, Aemond. I promise. You need to stop worrying.” You cupped his face, stepping on your tiptoes and kissing his soft lips.

“Baby, I know you don’t like him but do this for me? Just to keep my mind rested?” He questioned, playing with your hair net that kept your long hair in check. You groaned, leaning your forehead against his chest.

“Fine but make him bring a tonic for my back, okay?” You shifted back and walked towards your four postered bed, climbing on it on all fours before you melted into the soft pillows and silk sheets; your back instantly mended.

You must’ve slept for around forty minutes because a dull pain thundered in your back, you whined as your eyes pulled open to see Aemond and the doctor just arriving. The doctor was a stout, round little man with a face like a smacked ass most of the time and probably thinking that he didn’t want to be anywhere near a pregnant woman and was best at mending wounds on the battleground; you thought the same.

“Help her up for me.” He demanded, Aemond wrapped an arm around her waist and pulled her gently to a sitting up position but you were too busy groaning with the twisting pain in your back. “Legs spread.” He clicked his fingers at you, as he opened his toolbox of very scary and sharp items that made your legs shudder.

“Is he going to use them on me?” You asked Aemond, who was now sat by your side, he shook his head but his face was lined with worry. The doctor struck his hand between your legs, making you hiss, the pain suddenly there than in your back. He grunted to himself as his fingers roamed around, you twisted around to fight the embarrassment of this moment in front of your husband.

“Damn you, Doctor. What is it?” Aemond basically shouted, shocking you.

“It’s time.” He said nonchalantly, shrugging and packing up his toolbox. “Get your servants to fetch the midwives.”

“I’ll have your fucking head for that attitude! This is my fucking wife, who you have just said, is in labour! She’s giving birth weeks before she has to! And you just say ‘it’s time’!?” Aemond was towering over the doctor now, as you wept into the back of your hand. This can’t be happening. This can’t be happening. You hadn’t prepared for the actual birth yet and you certainly hadn’t taken the tonics made for a healthy birth, you hadn’t offered anything to the gods because you simply weren’t to give birth yet. You would’ve done all of this next week, it was next week’s plan and then the week after would be your birth.

“Aemond!” You shouted, he came right to your side. “Please, please just get my midwives.” He was gone in an instant.

You were flat on your back within twenty minutes, your dress completely vanished and you left in your underclothes as your legs spread, your feet dangling in the air as two midwives hold them aloft, your forehead drenched in your salty sweat and cold water as Alicent kept soaking your head in some cold water tonic. Your stomach groaned, your organs shifted as you screamed; your spine splitting vertebrae by vertebrae just to make you suffer for longer. The head midwife was between your legs, checking your dilation but at this point, you had no idea what was going on. Your lower back sawed in half and the feeling went trembling through your legs, hitting at every nerve as fat tears began to soak your cheeks.

“There is no movement.” One midwife whispered to the Queen, you looked to your left to watch the conversation with blurry eyes, your face growing hot and the sweat perking up on the crown of your head. Alicent looked tense for a simple moment before turning to you, with a soft smile on her lips.

“What’s happening?” You whispered, your voice raw as she shushed you like mother, stroking your hairline as she wet your head once again. Little did you know, the midwives were readying to have the doctor cut you open with one of his sharp knives. Alicent kept stroking your head as the pain awoke inside of you, your uterus feeling split open by the muscle contractions.

Outside in the hallway, Aemond waited with King Viserys and his brothers; picking at the tips of his nails as he leaned nervously on the wall. The sounds of your screams echoed throughout the hallway, creating a cold film across Aemond’s skin as his mind couldn’t rest from not being in that room and by your side. He should be the one to wet your head and hold your hand, he was the father after all. But this was how it was done.

“Are you excited to fuck her again?” Aegon smirked, his short brother was opposite him with his disgusting piglike face. Viserys audibly scoffed and rolled his eyes but didn’t say anything. He never said anything when the boys would say some horrible shit to each other. Aemond looked at his brother with disgust.

“Shut up, Aegon.” He wouldn’t lose his temper, not today of all days. He would beat the shit out of him at the next military training day. He would show him, again, that he was the stronger brother.

“She’ll be fat though. You alright with fucking a fat woman?” In a flash, Aegon was up against the wall with Aemond’s forearm hard across his next, pushing harder and harder.

“Don’t ever talk about my wife again. Never again should she come out of your mouth unless you don’t want your tongue. I can rip your tongue out with my bare hands.” Aemond hissed, spitting in his face before a familiar sound screeched through the hallways.

Back in the room, you were squirming with pain and your poor back was now completely snapped from the lightning that kept shooting through your body. You knew that the baby wasn’t moving, you were crying with fear of delivering a dead baby, of failing the one thing your body was made to do. Your back arched towards the ceiling as your nerves ignited and your hands growing numb from the pain that bounced off every bone in your body. You felt yourself begin to slip away, your eyelids heavy and your jaw slacking to one side and before the darkness enveloped you, you screamed out one word.

“Aemond!”

Instantly, Aemond was in the room, his chest heaving up and down as he scanned the room. His heart stopping at a halt when he saw the blood, the clots, the sweat that surrounded your legs; your calves and feet completely coated in deep red blood that was already dried by the time Aemond had made it into the room. Then his eyes travelled from your feet, up to your knees that were spread either side of your body to your rounded belly that hadn’t deflated yet and you. Tears sprang to his eyes as he saw your eyes closed shut, your mouth open like you had just been screaming but now frozen in time. His mother clutched at the wet rag, watching you with grief stricken eyes. The midwives had stopped doing their work and now stood around to look at you with tears streaming down their faces. Aemond’s boots clicked as he made his way to your side, your face serene and peaceful, he kneeled by you and stroked your hair out of your face.

“Aemond.” Alicent placed her elegant hand on her son’s shoulder but he shrugged it off without taking his eye off his beautiful wife, the one woman he loved with his entire being. He shifted his gaze to your chest and saw that it was still moving up and down.

“She’s still breathing.” He said, with little urgency because he suspected they knew this. Alicent looked towards the midwives to answer.

“We must persevere to save your child.” One of them said, Aemond scoffed.

“I want you to save my wife as well.” He demanded with a soft tone, trying not to lose his temper.

“It is either one or the other, my son. Both will not survive.” Alicent said softly, whispering towards the end as if to sound upset. Aemond couldn’t handle this for much longer.

“MY fucking wife!” He shouted, jumping to his feet and marching towards the midwives. “My wife, the only woman I have ever loved and you are letting her die! She’s young, she’s beautiful and you are leaving her to die in fucking pain.” They winced at his anger as he marched back to his mother. “And if it was my mother who gave the orders to murder my wife then I want her fucking gone. Out of my sight and away from her.” He spat at her feet before turning to you, your eyelids fluttering as he was instantly on his knees, he ignored the sniffles behind him as Alicent silently exited the room.

Your eyes opened slowly, peeling your eyelids from each other and you saw, behind the blurry curtain of your eyesight, your husband with his hand stroking your cheek so softly it was like he wasn’t doing anything. His face had tear streaks and his lips shuddered a little as he watched you open your eyes. For a moment, there was no pain. Only him. And you kept your eyes on him as he brought his lips to your nose, pressing on the tip gently.

“Aemond.” You croaked, reaching out for his hand in slow motion. He met you in the middle, bringing your fingers to his lips.

“Hello, baby.” He whispered. “You fell asleep for a few minutes but now it’s time to have the baby and I am here, I will stay by your side forever and you will never have to scream for me or cry for me ever again. I promise.” Tears rolled down your face as he softly kissed your lips. “Are you ready for this, my love?” You nodded, unable to speak because that twisting pain came back and you tried to haul yourself up with the one arm that was free but the midwives kept you down. The head midwife checked between your legs and nodded at Aemond.

“Keep breathing for us, Princess. You’re almost there.” You breathed in through your nose and exhaled through your mouth, your body relaxing with every exhale as if you’re letting go of all the pain and suffering you had gone through. Between your legs, you felt a stretch unlike anything else and a sharp pain that tore through your body and made you cry out in pain. “Lift up her torso for me.” She commanded, two midwives came at either side but Aemond stopped them.

“This is my child. Let me be a part of it.” He climbed onto the bed behind you, shifting his legs so you were settled between them before pulling up your body so gently it was like you were floating and now you were hitched up against his chest, your legs being held by the midwives that were going to lift you up. “Push for me, baby.” He whispered, holding you and you felt the strength to push down against your pelvis, feeling a slight movement as you breathed in and on the breath out, you pushed down; grinding your teeth until you were groaning. “Come on, baby.” He squeezed your forearm and you pushed again, until you felt something the size of a ball exit your body and for the last time, you pushed until a new cry splintered the room. The midwife pulled the crying baby from you and held it up to determine the sex. Her face dropped.

“A beautiful, healthy, baby girl.” You would be lying if you said you were ecstatic at the reveal, but you weren’t too disappointed either. You worried more about Aemond’s reaction so you looked up to find him crying, his eye patch lifted onto his shoulder as he squeezed his real eye and sapphire eye with his index finger and thumb.

“Bring her to me.” You said, your body now in a dull ache. Wrapped in silk cloth and cleaned and beautifully pink, your baby laid in your arms, her little fingers clutching on her blanket as you looked down at her. Your breath was taken from you when her eyes opened and reached for her mother, a sob emitted from your throat as the realisation that this perfect baby was yours to love and nurture. She was yours to admire. She was all yours.

“Gods, she is perfect.” Aemond whispered, bring his hand to the top of her head. He held her head gently, his thumb stroking the tiny strands of hair that she came out with. He reached down and kissed her forehead, kissing your cheek as he made his way back up to sitting. “Well done, my love. Well done.” He placed butterfly kisses on your neck and both of you relished in this silence as you both looked upon the most precious jewel you made. A little tiny human that shared both of you, she had no idea about the world she was born in. But that was okay. Because her mother and father would protect her until she didn’t need it anymore.

The church filled with people up and down the Red Keep as the baptism waited to take place. Behind a curtain, you stood draped in a most magnificent white gown and white headdress with your wonderful husband at your side, dressed in white as well. It had been four weeks since the birth of your daughter and four weeks in confinement as your body mended after the trauma of the birth, you still ached down below but you had to make an appearance at your daughters baptism. This would be the first time anyone other than your husband and child had seen you, so you wanted to make an impression with this massive gown.

“Congratulations.” King Viserys croaked from behind, he came limping in on his wooden walking stick with his Queen by his side. He had been ill straight after the birth and was kept hidden away until he got better. “I have seen my beautiful granddaughter and isn’t she just marvellous? I’ve always favoured girls.” He smiled before looping around you to get in the official formation. It would go the High Septon in front, then King and Queen with the baby and then you and Aemond behind. To be blessed properly, the baby had to be in the arms of either monarch. Before the doors opened, Aemond took your hand.

“How are you feeling?” He questioned, you looked up at your handsome husband.

“A bit sore, but I’m okay. You?” He brought your hand to his lips and kissed them.

“I’m always fine, my darling. Always fine if you are.” He kissed again, before pinching your cheeks. “You look beautiful.” You blushed like a teenage girl, your heart beating as you breathed in. He reached down and kissed your cheek.

“I’m actually nervous for this. No one has seen me in forever.” You said, wringing your hands.

“Cut yourself a break. You just gave birth and you look fucking beautiful.” A thought passed his mind, it showed in his eyes and he leaned down to whisper. “You’re so beautiful, I would fuck you right here, right now. Harder than I’ve ever done before.” He smirked, whisper kissing your neck. “If you weren’t still in pain, of course. So once you’re better, wait for what I’ll do to you.” You inhaled as he straightened up, as if he hadn’t just said all that in a room full of people.

A few moments beat by and a cute gurgle caused both of you to turn around and see your bundle of joy in the arms of her nanny, Aemond smiled instantly and took her from the nanny. You watched as your husband cradled your daughter, bouncing her gently in his arms as he stalked towards you, his eyes stuck on his stunning daughter.

“I’ll never get over her beauty.” He said to you, you met him in the middle and stroked the top of her head with your fingers. Her features were becoming more shaped like yours, her little hands still grasped at her lace outfit and white silk blanket that was the same cut as yours. You leaned down and kissed her button nose. Aemond never looked away from her and you wished you could freeze this moment of Aemond and your baby; him looking at her with great love and admiration and her looking up at him with saucer eyes full of wonder and curiosity.

“You’re so good with her.” You whispered, nestling your index finger in her tiny fist. She squeezed hard on it and you smiled like she had recognised you were her mother.

“Thank you.” Aemond looked up suddenly, tears welling in his eye.

“What for?” You cocked your head to the side.

“For giving me our daughter, Hope and for showing me that love wins every time. Thank you for being the most perfect jewel of a woman in the entire world. Thank you for giving me a beautiful family.” Both of you were crying, silently as the tears stream down your cheeks and you rested your head on his chest, looking at your daughter with pride blooming in your chest. Stroking her tiny hands and watching as she dozes deep into a sleep. You and your perfect family. Safe. Loved. Prideful. Grateful. And most importantly, happy.

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