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waywardxrhea · 4 months ago

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loml - a Spencer Reid one shot

pairing: Spencer Reid x former BAU!fem!reader (no use of y/n)

word count: ~15k (this one's a beast whoops)

You left behind the BAU years ago and have been working as the captain of the police force in small town Montana when a string of murder-suicides catch your attention and you start looking into them. The BAU is called in and you become overwhelmed by feelings surrounding your ex-boyfriend Spencer Reid as you attempt to investigate this case and clear the air between the two of you.

content: canon-level violence, blood, swearing, anxiety, idiots in love

now playing: loml by taylor swift

not my gif, dividers by @firefly-graphics, and once again shoutout to my bestie @westernbitch for helping to come up with case details for this one!

A sharp knock broke the silence of your office and you looked up to see one of your reporting officers at the door with a look on her face that told you something terrible happened. “What's going on, Kate?” you asked, placing the file you were holding down onto the desk to give her your full attention.

She sat down in the chair across from you and taking a shaky breath, she whispered, “There’s been another murder-suicide… It was Natasha and Hayden…”

“Oh my God I’m so sorry, is there anything I can do for you or your family right now?” you asked, getting up and making your way around the desk to give the younger officer a hug.

Kate’s sister and her boyfriend had taken off nearly two months ago for their freshman year at UCLA and weren’t due back until Thanksgiving. Maybe the pair didn’t agree on their majors like they originally decided or got spooked by the big life changes and decided that this was the best course of action. He did have a history of prior juvenile battery charges… Nonetheless it just wasn’t sitting right with you… Not after two other murder-suicides within the last four months. So after sending Kate home to be with her parents and remaining sibling, you went to investigate the crime scene.

When you got back and had some time to do some thinking, you called one of your detectives into the office. “You wanted to see me?” came his voice as he stepped into the office a few minutes later.

You stopped your fast-paced writing of theories to offer a polite smile as he sat down across from you after closing the office door. “I wanna see if you can connect the same dots that I am, Josh.”

“Okay, shoot,” he says, leaning forward with an eager smile. Josh had joined your squad a few months ago as a rookie detective and he was always ready to look into anything that came across your desk.

“Six months ago the Fenways went away to mourn his cousin’s death in Florida. Then before anyone even knew they were back home, they both turn up dead in what was ruled a murder-suicide,” you started, tapping your pen along the paper sitting on the desk in front of you. “Then the Greenwoods turned up in the same situation a couple months later after going away on an Alaskan cruise.”

“Maybe that was the breaking point for both men. Everyone knew their marriages were on the rocks for months before that happened,” Josh said in a contemplative voice as he leaned back into his chair. “Losing a relative and driving all the way down to Florida and back could have caused some tension that made him snap. Same with being stuck on a boat for a few weeks. I heard they weren’t allowed to dock and were stranded on board for a week or so because of a conservationist protest. That would make anyone’s temper short.”

“That’s what I thought too,” you agreed. “However, Natasha Quinn and Hayden Welkins just turned up dead in another apparent murder-suicide.”

“No way!” Josh said, his eyes widening in shock at the news. He ran a hand over his chin and asked, “Is Kate okay?”

“She’s at home mourning with her family. She’ll be off for the next few days but I’m taking her off of this investigation,” you replied.

“Investigation? Why is it a-?” he said, but then paused in the middle of his sentence. “Wait, you think there’s someone behind this, don’t you?”

“That I do,” you affirmed with a nod. “One was a tragedy, two could be a coincidence, but three? I think someone’s behind this. It could be someone manipulating them into killing.” You looked at the pictures of the dead bodies in the file you began creating and sighed. You scrunched your eyebrows together and shook your head as you said, “There’s so far been no signs of physical torture on the victims. They were all found days post-mortem in wooded areas off of trails though, so their bodies were worse for wear so we can’t exactly rule it out. Even then, psychological torture is a viable option.”

“So maybe the trips away weren’t even real… Maybe whoever is doing this created fake letters to send to all of the victims to make everyone in town aware that they would be gone so suspicion wasn’t raised…” Josh said as dots began to connect in his mind. “And as much as I hate to say this, Natasha and Hayden may have been a crime of opportunity. They could have been driving home exhausted when something happened and they were grabbed.”

A proud smile made its way onto your face at his theory and you nodded, telling him, “Exactly what I was thinking. Whoever this unsub is is getting sloppy and we’re going to get to the bottom of it.”

“W-wait, us? You want me on this?”

“As a rookie detective you just deduced what I did as a former FBI agent with the Behavioral Analysis Unit. You’ve got what it takes, Josh. So yes, I’m asking you to help me out with this case,” you said with an encouraging nod. “This is a small town and people talk, so let’s get out there and see what anyone knows.”

“Yes ma’am!” he said, jumping up from his chair and turning toward the door with a spring in his step.

“And Josh?”

“Yes ma’am?”

“This case is on a need to know basis so it stays between us unless I tell you someone else is allowed to know about it. Got it?”

“Got it!” he said while giving you a two-finger salute and a sideways smile.

“So be subtle!” you shouted with a laugh as he exited the office and set out to begin his investigation while you conducted yours.

A few weeks later you were making some headway in the investigation on the murder-suicide case. One crisp November morning when you and Josh were talking with someone over coffee about what they knew of the Greenwoods and their supposed vacation, you heard a scream outside of the diner. With your eyebrows scrunching together, you looked outside only to see a man holding a woman in a chokehold with a gun pointed to her head.

Rushing out of the diner, you made your way to the area near the fountain where he was at and held up your empty hands to show that you meant no harm. When you got closer you finally recognized the man and woman standing in front of you. They were a married couple that had moved to the town a couple of years ago after vacationing in the area. From the outside they were a happy couple, but you had heard around the rumor mill that she had cheated on him on occasion when she was drunk.

“Hey,” you began in a soft voice, one you would use if you were approaching a skittish animal so you didn’t spook it off. “Hunter, can you please put the gun down? We can talk okay? Just let Hanna go and we can talk things out.”

“No!” he shouted, pointing the gun in your direction to fend you off. “She deserves this! He told me so!”

“What did she do to deserve this, Hunter?” you asked softly as you creeped closer slowly. All the while, the emaciated woman just stood there catatonically in his hold. There was no hint of light in her eyes and if you didn’t see her breathing you would have guessed she was already dead. “Who told you this?”

“All you women are the same! He told me that all you do is lie! All you do is take advantage of us and then leave when it’s convenient for you!” he shouted, voice strained and eyes with a wild look in them. It was a look you had seen too many times during your time in the BAU, but before you could take further action to try and talk the man down, the first shot already rang out followed in quick succession by the second.

A whirlwind of emotions filled your body in response to the event and they paralyzed you as you stared at the pair of bodies on the ground in front of you. Shock, disbelief, horror, confusion. A roaring sound filled your ears as your mind flashed to the day you decided to leave the BAU, but your thoughts were torn away from that time when you felt hands on your shoulders gently shaking you back to reality. “Captain. Captain! Are you all right?” came Josh’s voice through the cotton feeling in your ears.

“I need to call Emily…” you whispered in reply, the back of your hand going to wipe away some of the blood that had spattered onto your face and was starting to slowly drip down. It hurt your pride to call in your former team and you have always dreaded the day you needed to, but you knew that you were in over your head trying to solve this on your own anymore…

“Okay, will everyone gather around? We’ve got a case,” Emily Prentiss announced to her team as she strode into the bullpen of the offices of the Behavioral Analysis Unit.

“What’ve we got this time?” Tara Lewis asked as she looked up from the paperwork she was finishing up at her desk.

“It appears to be a string of manipulated murder-suicides up in Montana. I have it on good authority that the latest victim was implying that someone convinced him that his wife deserved to die and then he took his own life shortly after hers,” Emily informed the team as they gathered in the area. “The other acts were not witnessed but I’m sure if we did a deep dive into their personal lives we would find evidence that the other male victims believed the same of their partners. This is the fourth murder-suicide in the town in five months and the unsub seems to be getting more brazen with his acts so we’re wheels up in thirty.”

“Fourth in five months? Why did the locals wait so long to contact someone?” Luke Alvez asked, the corners of his mouth turning down into a frown at the thought of someone letting this go on for so long.

“Because the captain is a former one of ours,” she replied, shooting Luke a look that said to not reprimand the actions of the officer. “She was working the case herself and was beginning to make headway when the unsub set the latest two out to commit the act in the middle of downtown. Happened right in front of her. This case is escalating and it’ll take more than one set of trained eyes on it to catch this guy.”

“A former one of our own? Who is she talking about?” JJ asked quietly to no one in particular.

“Oh I know exactly who she’s talking about…” Penelope Garcia said quietly with a glance in the direction of Spencer Reid who seemed none the wiser about who their unit chief was talking about.

JJ followed Garcia’s glance and quietly gasped as she asked, “You don’t mean-?”

“Yes I do mean!” Penelope said conspiratorially as she leaned in closer to the blonde. “When she left, Spencer never contacted her because he was so broken up over Maeve’s death that by the time he was finally in a headspace to process the breakup and her leaving the team it was far too late to try and make amends so he just never did! He doesn’t know where she went and she cut off all contact with the team except for me and it’s been a secret that I have hated keeping for so long because I know we all loved her so very much!” Penelope took a deep breath and let it out as she slouched back in her chair as if keeping that in all these years was a heavy weight that had finally been taken off of her shoulders. “You can’t tell him though!”

“Why not? He deserves to know that he’s going to be walking into his ex-girlfriend's police station!” JJ whispered back.

“If you had a nasty breakup with someone would you want to know you were heading to meet with them and have to stew in that anxiety and uncertainty for hours on the plane ride there?” Penelope asked, a stern look in her eye as she once more straightened up in her chair. “That big brain of his would work overtime trying to figure out what to say so that you would make zero headway on the case!”

“Fine…” JJ relented. A small smirk graced her lips as she added, “I’ll keep you in the loop with how awkward he gets.”

“You better!” Penelope said. An air of seriousness washed over her for a moment as she added, “I know this case may dredge up a lot of old memories for Spencer so can you just keep an eye on him?”

“Of course,” JJ replied. Penelope smiled in return before heading off to her office with a file of information to look into on the victims.

Time went by paradoxically during the wait for the BAU to show up at your station. It went slowly because you dreaded the looks on everyone’s faces upon seeing you after nearly four years with no contact. As you showered the blood off of yourself in the staff locker room, your mind once more flashed back to the day you decided to leave the BAU.

It had been months of feeling distant from Spencer as he got closer and closer with the geneticist you pushed him to go to in order to get to the bottom of the headaches that had been plaguing him on and off for some time. Maeve Donovan. May she rest in peace, but she was the reason your relationship with Spencer fell apart… As their talks got deeper and he opened up to her more, you felt like you were sloughed away from Spencer’s life, brushed off so he could take calls with her and discuss what for the most part never even sounded like his could-be battle with schizophrenia like his mother…

You remembered the day he had wrapped a book to give her when they decided to first meet. You couldn’t even remember the name of the book, but the returning feeling of heartbreak made a quiet sob escape your mouth as you scrubbed the shampoo into your hair harshly. The dam finally broke as you remembered the day that you and the whole team took time off of the clock to help Spencer out with getting to the bottom of who was stalking Maeve and making her fear for her life. Tears flowed freely from your eyes and dripped down into the soapy water swirling into the drain as you pictured Spencer sobbing over Maeve’s body as she too was killed in a murder-suicide. Hearing him whisper the words that you hadn’t heard in weeks of “I love you,” to her as he cried was what sealed the deal because in your heart you knew Spencer didn’t love you anymore.

It took a few more days to make the final decision but in a whirlwind of anxiety you had made many phone calls back home to your parents and they encouraged you to take some time away from the BAU to come home to Montana and figure things out. So you put your notice with Hotch in and quietly broke things off to a catatonic Spencer who was so bereft following Maeve’s death that he didn’t even react to the breakup.

Once back home you spent a few months piecing yourself together before moving for a job offer you felt like you couldn’t refuse and since then had been promoted to Captain after a year. It wasn’t ever what you planned for your career, but life has a funny way of guiding you in the direction you’re meant to go.

Turning to face the shower stream once again, you scrubbed your face with your face wash one more time to ensure you got all of the blood off before turning off the shower and beginning to dry yourself. You wiped away the steam from the mirror in front of you and looked at your reflection, squeezing your eyes shut as you pictured the blood on your face again. When you looked back up at yourself again, it was obvious that you had been crying so you made quick work of getting dried off and into a fresh set of clothes that Josh brought from your house before heading to your office to try and freshen up with the meager set of makeup you had in there.

You were surprised to see your entire makeup collection on the desk and as you sat down to begin working the makeup on, Josh popped his head into your office, saying, “Hey Cap! Lindsey went with me to get your stuff and we grabbed all of that for you. Said something about seeing your ex-”

“I told you not to tell her that!” came the voice of another one of your officers as she made her appearance in the doorframe. She shot you an apologetic look and said, “I’m sorry I knew I shouldn’t have said anything, it’s just that-”

“It’s okay, don’t worry about it,” you said before forcing a cheery smile on your face at the pair in front of you. “Thank you two for getting the clothes and makeup from my place, I appreciate it.” You resumed your makeup with slightly shaking hands as you asked, “Now can you go make sure the work area is in the order I requested? Whiteboards and markers ready, corkboard cleared of the meme wars, desks available, coffee brewing with plenty of sugar because I know we were almost out earlier this morning.”

“Yes ma’am,” they chorused before taking off to get the space ready for the team’s arrival which would be… in less than an hour.

The hour flew by as you went over the case file once again and you jumped as you heard a knock on your door that pulled you out of your concentration. Looking up, you couldn’t help the smile that made its way onto your face as you said with quiet enthusiasm, “Emily! It’s been a while. How have you been?”

“I’ve been well. As you know I got promoted to Unit Chief after Hotch left. I see you’ve been getting some promotions too,” she said warmly as you stood up and offered your arms out for a hug which she accepted. “Garcia?” she asked simply and you knew she was asking how you had kept up with things in your absence, so you nodded. When you pulled away, she glanced at the notes on your desk and asked, “Are you ready for the brief with the team?”

The question made your heart jump in its cage. “Who all is left from my days on the team? What new faces can I expect?” you asked, trying to tiptoe around the elephant in the room.

“Spencer’s here if that’s what you’re getting at,” she replied softly as she reached down and gave your arm a reassuring squeeze.

“Damn profilers,” you said jokingly before taking a deep breath and gathering up your files to take to the main area of the station to meet with the team.

Your heart hammered in your chest so hard you could practically feel it jumping up in your throat as you approached the meeting area. You busied yourself with your papers as you and Emily made your way over, sweat beginning to dampen your hands the closer you got. You practically stopped breathing when your eyes looked up and met Spencer’s. He looked as handsome as ever, maybe even more, and all at once you felt everything rushing back, waves of emotions threatening to engulf you as you struggled to breathe under his gaze.

Spencer looked like a deer in headlights when he spotted you and you couldn’t help but wonder what he was thinking at that moment. The look on his face suggested that no one told him that the case was being manned by you and while it made you happy that Penelope kept her word, you weren’t sure if the look of shock he was sporting was a good or bad thing…

You were ripped away from your anxious thoughts and Spencer’s eyes as a cheer in a distinctive accent broke through the chatter of the office. Your name was called enthusiastically and you turned in the direction of the sound to see David Rossi sporting a wide grin as he held his arms out to embrace you. “How’ve you been kiddo?” David asked as he embraced you quickly before holding you at arms length to survey your features that had no doubt matured since he last saw you.

“The last 24 hours or the last four years?” you asked with a quiet laugh. “I’ve been making it though. Can’t complain.”

“That’s good to hear,” he said before turning you toward the rest of the team and telling you, “That’s Tara Lewis and Luke Alvez, they’ve joined the team since your departure. I’m sure you’ll love them!”

You offered the two of them a smile before suddenly you were being pulled into a hug by JJ and when she pulled away you couldn’t help but wonder how the hell you were supposed to greet Spencer. You were always a hugger, everyone knew it, and you actually shocked the office when Spencer let you hug him just a few days after you joined the BAU. But that time felt like a distant memory and your eyes turned to the ground instead of looking back at the man who used to bring you so much comfort but at the same time, more than ever you wanted so desperately to be in his arms…

Thankfully you didn’t have to make a decision on the matter because Emily’s voice cut through the quiet roaring in your ears as she said, “Yes, yes we all missed her, but we can get back to the reunion later. Right now we’ve got an unsub to track down.” She called your name before asking, “What do we know?”

You cleared your throat and went into work mode, telling the team, “So far we have eight victims.” You began placing pictures of the scenes on the table as you listed off their names, “First was Nora and Henry Fenway who we as a town thought went off to Florida after Henry got the news that his cousin passed away. Big Catholic family who wanted to perform a lot of traditional stuff for the funeral. They were found over a month later by some tourists hiking through the trails on the outskirts of town.

“Next was Theresa and Harry Greenwood who were set to embark on an Alaskan cruise and got stuck in the water due to some conservationist protest. The protest story checks out, but when we called the cruise line a week or so ago, there was never a record of the couple on board, so we think that the cruise package they were boasting about winning was a ruse to make sure that the rest of us knew they were expected to be away for a while. They were found dead near a river off of a popular hiking trail.

“Third was the sister of one of my officers. Natasha Quinn and her boyfriend Hayden Welkins were thought to be off at UCLA for college but were found dead in an abandoned cabin that has been a known squatting location. Kate told us that there wasn’t too much contact from her sister during the time, but they all put it off to her being busy with school.”

You took a deep breath and tried to push the memory of the latest shooting out of your mind, but you could tell that your voice was distant as you detailed the latest pairing. “And just this morning it was Hanna and Hunter Newberry. He came out into the middle of downtown with Hanna in a chokehold and shot both her and himself but not before saying that ‘he’ told him that she deserved it.”

“Do we know anything about who ‘he’ might be?” JJ asked.

“No idea,” you replied. “Josh and I have been doing some digging to see who started the rumors about the protest with the cruise, but it became a dead end when the first person who heard it said they just heard someone on the phone talking about it but they didn’t remember when it was or where they were.”

“You said that Kate’s sister didn’t have frequent contact. Does that mean she still texted occasionally?” Luke asked.

“Kate and her family were getting occasional check-ins from Natasha, yes,” you confirmed. “Kate told me that the texts were pretty short for the most part though and that they didn’t really seem like her usual style of texting. She put it off to being busy between classes and trying to get into sororities though.”

“I’ll have Penelope look into that,” Emily commented, taking down another note on the notepad she had in her hand.

Your heart skipped a beat once more as Spencer’s voice cut through the air as he said, “All of the men’s names start with an H. I wonder if it could be the first initial of the unsub and he’s expressing himself through these killings. Maybe this is some twisted fantasy of his and he’s acting it out.”

“So you’re saying he might have an endgame?” David asked thoughtfully.

“Yes, and I don’t think he’s going to stop until he gets her,” Spencer confirmed as he pondered over the photographs you left on the table before stepping away.

“Then let’s get to work,” Emily said. She called your name to get your attention and informed you, “Tara and I will interview you about what you saw this morning. Spencer get started on the geographical profile. David head to the medical examiner’s office to see if there’s anything you can find on the bodies. Luke go see if you can get CCTV footage from the businesses around the crime scene. JJ start working with Josh to interview the other witness from this morning to see if she knows where the couple came from. I’ll patch Penelope in so she can get started on a list of men whose names start with an H that live in the area.”

“So can you walk me through exactly what happened this morning?” Tara asked you as you sat across from her and Emily in an interrogation room half an hour later. There was a part of you that for some reason felt like you were in trouble, but you understood the reason behind it. It was the easiest way to record the conversation and keep distractions from factoring into your memories of your encounter.

“Josh and I were speaking with a cousin of the Greenways to see if they could give us some insight into how their marriage was when I heard a scream outside of the diner,” you replied quietly, eyes focused on the metal table between the three of you as you tried to remember everything. “When I got out, there was a bystander. She was the one that screamed and Josh took her away to make sure she didn’t get hurt.” You began picking at the sleeve of your sweatshirt as you continued, “I didn’t recognize the couple at first, they both looked worse for wear. Hunter is usually clean shaven but he had a wild beard that clearly hadn’t been taken care of and Hanna looked like her hair hadn’t been brushed in days… He had this wild look in his eyes and she just…she looked practically dead already.”

“How do you mean?” Tara asked curiously.

“Well…there was no light in her eyes. Her cheeks were sunken in and she wasn’t even fighting. She just stood there,” you replied. “Even when Hunter was shouting and waving the gun there was no reaction whatsoever.”

“And what was Hunter shouting?” Emily asked.

You paused for a moment and thought before replying, “He said, ‘She deserves this! He told me so!’ and then when I asked what he meant and who told him that he said something like, all women are the same and that he was told all we do is lie and take advantage of men and then leave when it’s convenient for us. And then…” you let out a sharp breath and closed your eyes as you remembered what happened next, “then he shot her and then himself.” You dabbed a tear away from the corner of your eye before adding, “I was so close to him when it happened… I… I just froze. Their blood was all over me and I just…” you didn’t even know how to finish your sentence as you let out a shaky breath, trying to hold your tears back and keep your hands occupied by messing with the hem of your sweatshirt.

“It’s been a long time since you’ve been so close to something like that,” Emily offered quietly.

“Exactly…” you whispered. “It reminded me why I left the BAU. When my anxiety and depression got so bad and I just couldn’t take it anymore… The job, life, everything was just too much. It broke me.”

“And that’s completely understandable,” Tara said empathetically, giving you a warm smile. There were a few moments of silence that were filled with her taking notes before she offered, “If you need a minute alone we can cover for you until you’re ready to go back out there.”

“Thank you,” you replied with a nod, leaning your head down onto your arms and feeling the cool metal of the table on your cheek to try and ground yourself before you slipped off into another breakdown.

Meanwhile outside of the interrogation room, Spencer stood there with his heart breaking. He was so lost in his own thoughts that he didn’t even hear JJ approach until she asked, “What are you doing? I thought you were supposed to work on the geographical profile.”

Spencer startled a bit before sighing and telling her, “I don’t know… I guess I just needed to know where her headspace was on everything.” He ran a hand through his messy hair and mumbled, “I really messed up with her, didn’t I? She said that this reminded her of when she left and that life was making her anxious before she even decided to go… That was because of me.”

JJ sighed and gave him a quick pat on the back as she replied, “Yeah, there’s no denying that you messed up big time…” She felt Spencer tense before she finished with, “But maybe you can at least ask for forgiveness. Take her to dinner and try to make amends.” Spencer nodded and threw you another glance before turning away and going to work on the geographical profile.

When you emerged from the interrogation room, the team was either out on their assigned tasks or grabbing lunch, so you decided to get some quiet time with your files in your office while you tried to get some food down. You were pushing salad greens around in your tupperware when your phone began to ring and you picked it up with a, “Hello?”

“My sweet, sweet friend, oh how I missed your voice!” came Penelope’s cheerful voice through the speaker as her way of greeting you.

“I’m sorry I don’t call Penny, I just… I was afraid of-” You cut yourself off and scoffed before finishing with, “Forget it, it’s dumb. You probably called about the case and I’m getting off track. What can I help you with?”

“No, no, tell me!” Penelope protested. “It is lunchtime there and no one is calling for anything so this has officially turned into a ‘tell Penelope all of your woes’ time!”

You laughed quietly before asking, “And there’s no getting out of it?”

“Unless there is literally another death while we’re on the phone then no,” she replied chipperly.

Letting out a deep sigh, you decided that this wasn’t a battle you were going to win, so you told her, “I never called because I was afraid I would just open up old wounds. The thought of if we were on the phone and Spencer came in…it terrified me.” And suddenly, without even thinking about what you were saying, you blurted out, “And now here we are with him in the breakroom of my precinct drinking coffee that I made sure we had enough sugar for because I have never been able to fall out of love with Spencer Reid!” You covered your mouth to attempt to prevent the words from coming out but it was entirely too late for that. The truth was out there and Penelope had heard every word of it.

“Oh honey…” she said in a quiet voice.

You knew she didn’t mean it in a condescending way, but the building tightness in your chest after she said it was making it hard to breathe. You filled your lungs as much as they would allow before whispering, “I-I shouldn’t have said that.”

“No, no, no! Don’t feel bad about your feelings!” she protested from her side of the line.

“I-it’s just…” You took a slightly deeper breath before you began rambling again, telling her, “I’ve tried over and over and over again to find someone out here but it just never works. There was even this one guy back in April that was so sweet! Penelope, he picked me wildflowers while out on his guided hiking tours and arranged them into the most beautiful bouquets! He ordered me edible arrangements and had them sent to my office! He bought me coffee every morning in the diner when I was there picking up breakfast before coming into work! Hell, on our one and only date we had a candlelit picnic and he bought my favorite wine! That shit’s expensive! But I just couldn’t commit to him knowing that someone else still has my heart…and I don’t think there’s a way to get it back.”

By the end of your rant, your tears were falling once more and you dabbed them away with a tissue or two as Penelope sighed and said, “I wish I could give you a hug right now… I had no idea you were still feeling that way.”

You scoffed quietly before asking, “Why would you? I should hate Spencer for what happened. He fell in love with someone else while still dating me and didn’t even flinch when I broke up with him because he was so torn up about her death. But…” You shook your head and finished quietly, “He’s the love of my life and it hurts so damn bad knowing that I’m not his.”

Before Penelope could offer anything else, there was a knock at your door and you looked up to see it cracking open to reveal Spencer’s handsome face with that awkward-as-ever smile crossing his lips. “Spencer, hey,” you whispered, your breath being knocked out of your lungs at his sudden appearance as you hoped that he didn’t hear anything you just said.

“I think that’s my queue to go…” Penelope said quietly and in quick succession you heard the tell-tale sound of the call ending.

“Hey, can I talk to you?” Spencer asked timidly as he opened the door a bit more to fully reveal himself.

“O-of course,” you replied, hoping that it wasn’t too obvious that you had been crying. “Everything going okay out there? You holding up okay after…everything?”

“I’m doing fine, yes,” He said with a quick nod. “I got the geographical profile down, but it’s in a weird pattern that I’m still trying to make sense of. All of the locations are in a strange arc sort of line without a centralized location that indicates a familiar area that the unsub is comfortable in. The first three sites were more so out in hiking areas in the woods so I thought it could be an avid hiker, but the latest one was so out in the open that it makes me wonder why the unsub chose that location. He isn’t escalating because there was still time for him to psychologically torment the victims before sending them out to commit the act so I’m trying to determine if maybe this was an outlier or if it’s a part of his endgame to have used that specific spot for that couple…”

Your heart fluttered in your chest upon hearing him rant on about the profile he had created and you hoped he didn’t notice that your eyes were practically heart-shaped as you listened to his soothing voice ramble on about the case. He cleared his throat and shifted his weight from foot to foot before adding, “But uh…that’s not what I came to talk to you about.” He shoved his hands into his pockets and said quietly, “I was actually coming in here to ask if I could take you to dinner tonight. There’s a lot I feel like needs to be cleared up between us after…everything that happened. I know it may be wrong to ask for your forgiveness after so long but-”

“Yes,” you replied instantly, unable to fight the smile working its way onto your lips at the offer.

“Y-yes?” he asked with an undeniable sparkle in his eyes as he too gave into his emotions and let his smile light up the room.

You nodded and were about to say something more when Emily popped her head into the office after giving a short knock on the door, informing you both, “Garcia got us a list of possible suspects, let’s get to work.”

“Yes ma’am,” you and Spencer replied in unison, and you had to fight back the giddy giggle that threatened to bubble out of your mouth at the statement in stereo.

That evening you took a quick trip to your house to freshen up before meeting Spencer. Even though you knew it wasn’t a date situation, you still took the time to make your hair look nice and put on a dose of perfume that you remembered Spencer liking. When you pulled into the parking lot of the cafe you and Spencer agreed to meet at and stepped out into the chilly November air, you pulled your coat close as you started toward the door.

Before you could reach out to grab the handle though, another hand reached out and pulled it for you. Expecting to see Spencer holding the door open for you, your heart gave a stutter in your chest as suddenly the reality of the situation hit you. You would likely be discussing what happened back in Virginia, and that would mean talking about Maeve and the reason your relationship ended and that scared you. Sure, you had attempted to process everything yourself, but facing it head on would be an entirely different experience in which you would have to hear what made him fall out of love with you…

Your anxiety spiked for a completely different reason though when you looked up because when you did, your eyes met the very man you turned down because you still weren’t over Spencer. “Hartley, hey. Thanks,” you said quietly as you slipped through the door and into the warm building.

“Looking for some company?” he asked as he walked in behind you and began attempting to help you take off your coat.

Before you could respond, the hostess greeted you by name and asked how many were in your party. “There’ll be two, Rose,” you told her with a smile and she began reaching down to grab a couple of menus from behind the counter. While you were telling her this, you pulled away a comfortable distance from Hartley and began taking off your coat and gloves on your own. “I’m meeting someone actually,” you told him simply, tucking the gloves into a pocket and hanging the coat on the rack by the door.

“Oh, okay,” he said slowly. “Are they late? I can get you an appetizer and drink while you wait,” he offered and you noticed his eyes moving around the restaurant in search of your intended partner.

As he said this, the small bell above the door chimed and your eyes gravitated that way to see who was entering. Raising a hand in a wave, you greeted Spencer with a smile as he joined you at the hostess counter. He quickly took off his coat and racked it before running a hand through his messy hair and saying, “Sorry I’m a few minutes late, I was wrapping up something with Prentiss at the station!”

“It’s no problem, Spence. Rose was just about to take me to the table,” you assured him as you nodded your head toward the kind woman.

“Great,” he said as the pair of you began following Rose to the table in the back corner she knew you preferred to dine at.

“I guess I’ll see you around,” you said quietly to Hartley who was escorted to his usual spot at the bar by another hostess.

“Who was that?” Spencer asked curiously after the two of you placed your drink orders.

“Something that I assume will be addressed when we talk,” you admitted, feeling heat begin to crawl up your neck. Spencer nodded stiffly and remained silent in response to the comment, the tension only breaking when Rose came back with the drinks and said she would give Spencer a few minutes with the menu.

“So what’s good to eat here?” Spencer asked timidly after a few more moments of silence as his eyes quickly scanned the menu.

You let out a quiet sigh of relief at the fact that he wasn’t diving into the serious talk you needed to have and relaxed a little in your seat as you began raving over the menu items that you preferred and which ones you thought should be avoided. “And we have to get dessert, the pie here is to die for!” you gushed as you pointed out the dessert menu on the back.

“Let me guess, the coconut cream is your go to?” Spencer asked, a small smile lining his lips.

“Always,” you affirmed, a smile breaking out on your lips. “Remember that time when I-?” you tried to start, but couldn't even get through half of the sentence before dissolving into a fit of giggles.

“When you were bringing a pie to the office and you tripped as you were putting it on the counter and tried to play it off as a pie eating contest with Morgan?” Spencer asked with a laugh and a sparkle in his eye at the memory.

“Yes!” you said, more laughter spilling out of you as you remembered Derek’s reaction. “I still can’t believe he actually went along with it!”

So that was how the two of you spent the next little while - reminiscing on the better times you two had at the BAU before your abrupt departure. That was, until Spencer’s eyes drifted slightly left over your shoulder as he asked once more, “Who did you say that guy was from earlier? He’s been glaring daggers this way the whole time we’ve been here…”

You sighed and nodded. It was time to face the music. So you took a deep breath and told him, “That’s Hartley. He flirted with me for months before I finally agreed to a date with him, but… Things just didn’t work out between us. Ever since then, he’s tried to get with me again, but I always turn him down.”

“Why’s that?” Spencer asked, his posture straightening the slightest bit at your words which you tried not to overanalyze as you instinctively studied his body language.

“I… It felt disingenuous to be with someone when my heart was still back in Virginia with you…” you admitted quietly as you pushed around some of the food on your plate to distract yourself and to avoid looking into Spencer’s eyes. When he didn’t say anything in response, your heart rate kicked up and you felt your palms start to sweat as you began rambling. “And I know that may sound crazy because it’s been so long but I just never got any sort of closure with you after everything that happened so I never really closed that part of my life away and so those feelings just…never left… I know you fell out of love with me, but it just isn’t that easy on my part…”

You wiped away a stray tear that escaped during your ranting and were about to open your mouth to apologize when Spencer whispered your name in a broken voice as he reached across the table to request your hand to hold. When you tentatively gave it to him, Spencer’s large hand wrapped around yours as he said in a quiet voice, “I know that saying this now doesn’t make up for all these years of silence, but I really am so sorry for what happened.” He cleared his throat and told you, “When you found Maeve for me and I started speaking with her about my headaches I finally felt seen. I thought I loved her because she was able to help me get through something that had been plaguing me for years. I was so excited to finally understand what was happening with me that I didn’t even realize that I had started to put you on the backburner. By the time I did, Maeve was dead and you had left and I didn’t know what to do so I just never reached out…”

“Oh… I-I’m sorry I-” you started to say after a few moments.

“No!” he exclaimed a little louder than he probably intended because you could see a tint of red creep onto his cheeks and he slouched into himself to try and make himself smaller. He squeezed your hand before saying in a quieter voice, “Please don’t blame yourself for anything that happened. Looking back I know that you were trying to be there for me, but I got hyper focused on what Maeve was doing for me that I started to prioritize you less and that wasn’t fair to you.”

You cleared your tightening throat and told him, “Everyone makes mistakes, Spence.”

“But not everyone’s mistakes make them lose the love of their life like mine did,” he told you, a serious tone in his voice as he held your eye contact unwaveringly. “I messed up and I know I don’t deserve it but I would like to try and make amends so I can eventually earn your forgiveness.”

“I think you’re already on your way there, Doctor,” you told him, a shy smile on your lips as your eyes darted toward your intertwined hands.

“So explain to me again what the ME’s findings tell us?” you asked as you flipped through a file the next evening.

“The brains of all the victims had densities and lesions in certain portions that have to deal with the capacity to have rational thoughts and feel emotions properly. We think that this happened because they were exposed to emotional and psychological torture for an extended period of time which is how the unsub manipulated them into performing a murder-suicide,” Spencer informed you quickly.

David ran a hand over his chin before asking, “So then what did the unsub have on all of these people that made them so easy to manipulate into snapping?”

“Well we know that he said that all women are the same and just use men, so-” you started to say but were interrupted by JJ coming up with her phone on speaker and Penelope’s enthusiastic voice coming through the speakers.

“All of the women in these couples were wanting an out from their relationship in one way or another!” Penelope informed the group. “There were some cases of cheating or wanting a divorce or breakup or just getting out of an abusive partnership. Poor Natasha was being abused by Hayden and just wanted out…”

There were a few moments of silence before Spencer suggested, “If all of these women were trying to leave their relationships in some way then maybe that was the unsub’s stressor.”

“Maybe he was cheated on or recently divorced then,” Luke offered.

“Right,” Emily agreed. “Garcia, can you start looking into recently divorced men in the area and cross match that with your list of men whose names start with H?” Emily asked.

“I am on it!” the blonde replied as you all heard her fingers typing away on her keyboard. After a few moments she said, “There are a handful of recent divorcees in the area. A Harold Fenton, Herschel Brunswick, and Hester Lincoln.”

“Right, so then we start with those men and see if they have anything to do with these cases,” Emily informed the group. “It’s getting late and I doubt anyone is going to be awake at this hour for questioning, so we start in the morning and I’ll assign teams for the interrogations then. Be smart people, it isn’t going to be enough to just get an alibi for the time of the killings. We need to know where he was roughly when the couples were abducted and if he’s got other properties or a room in his house where he could have done the torturing.”

Before there could be any more discussion on the matter, Josh came into the precinct with a shocked looking woman on his arm. JJ and Tara rushed over to retrieve the woman from him and you asked quietly, “What happened?”

“She said she was out for an evening walk when she came across two recently shot bodies. Jessica Stevenson and Hendrix Jordan. Both shot in the head presumably with a pistol that was found beside his body,” Josh replied grimly. “While EMS was looking over her to make sure she wasn’t hurt, I asked around and turns out a neighbor had heard them fighting pretty loudly before she stormed out. He followed pretty soon after, but the neighbor said they didn’t see him with a gun.”

“Did you take any pictures of the scene?” you asked, your mind beginning to run a million miles an hour to try and work a way in front of this lunatic.

“Yeah,” Josh said as he pulled out his phone and pulled up the picture.

The team gathered around the phone and each studied the photo before David asked, “Is anyone else seeing what I’m seeing?”

“Yeah, the placement of that gun isn’t consistent with someone who just shot himself,” Luke said, his eyebrows coming together in confusion as he studied the picture. “And I’m sure once we get the ME report, it’ll show that the gun wasn’t flush with his head either.”

“So you’re suggesting that this one was a double murder?” JJ asked.

“We don’t know for sure, so let’s not get lost in the weeds, people,” Emily told her team. “The unsub is escalating. He didn’t even take time to torture this couple. This may mean that he was triggered recently and felt the need to kill. We need to get to him before he gets to another couple.”

By the next afternoon the unsub had already struck again.

You and Spencer had just gotten back from speaking with Herschel Brunswick at the cafe when you were informed of the killings. Kaitlyn Grant and Harley Dixon, a young couple who the whole town loved, but knew he was drifting away because he was so committed to his job just outside of town and would spend long hours there.

“Damnit!” you shouted in frustration, your fists clenching as you could feel your blood begin to boil when it started to feel like rage was consuming your entire being.

You brought your hands to your face in an attempt to cover up the anger but they were coaxed down and held gently by Spencer’s as he mumbled in his soothing voice, “Hey, we’re gonna figure this out.”

Ignoring Spencer’s words, you whispered, “This is my fault…” With the rage taking over once more, you snapped, “This town trusts me and the sheriff to keep them safe, but in the last five months twelve people have died! Twelve!” Your tears began to fall and you practically collapsed into Spencer’s arms as you whispered, “I can’t do anything right…”

Instinctively, Spencer caught you and started running a hand up and down your back to try and comfort you. Forgetting he was in front of the whole team and your officers, Spencer kissed the top of your head before trying to calm you down. When your breathing had finally slowed and your tears subsided enough for you to feel comfortable showing your face again, you untangled yourself from Spencer’s arms and gave him a quiet ‘thank you’ before turning to face the team and your officers who had all migrated toward the other side of the room in order to give you and Spencer space.

You were about to try and make a speech toward the team to attempt to motivate not just them but yourself too when Tara came up and placed a hand on your forearm, giving you a warm smile. “I think you need a break,” she told you gently. “This case is getting to you and I think you need to clear your mind for a little while.”

“But-” you tried to protest, but were stopped by Spencer.

“Significant stress has been shown to measurably affect neuronal properties and cognitive functioning of the hippocampus. It’s also been found to impair memory function and the ability to recall information of which could be crucial in a case like this. Did you know that in some theories about the effects of stress on the body, the individual actually loses the ability to function in the presence of excessive stress which leads to exhaustion and potentially death?”

“Okay, not what she needed to hear at this moment, but I agree with Reid that it may be best for you to go home and take a breather for a while. Details in this case are really important and I know that you want to nail this one,” Tara told you and began walking you to your office to grab your things and help you to your vehicle while assuring you that the team had it under control.

Back in the precinct, Emily cleared her throat and announced, “Okay everyone! We know from forensics that the gun was in fact not up against Jordan’s head when he was killed and that it was actually from a distance away so we can confirm that he was killed and did not commit suicide. I bet we’ll get the same result from today’s victims. This unsub is working overtime to get our attention so we need to give it to him.”

Spencer nodded and added, “Brunswick wasn’t our guy because we were with him all morning. What did we find out about the other men Garcia identified as recently divorced?”

“Fenton is clean too, we just got back a few minutes before you two,” Luke informed him.

Tara nodded in agreement. “Lincoln too. He isn’t our guy.”

“So what are we missing?” David asked.

“I don’t think we’re missing something. Maybe we’re just thinking too narrowly,” Spencer offered as he turned to look at the new report Josh had filed on the new crime scene.

“Well then let’s widen our thinking. We can’t let this guy kill anyone else,” Emily said finally before assigning groups to tasks.

After finding out that of course there weren’t any trail cameras in the area of the latest scene, Spencer was once more going over files in search of something he must have somehow missed. “Why don’t you go over the geographical profile again now that we have more victims?” Emily suggested.

So he did, taking stray pins from the cork board and placing them in the places of the latest two crimes. What was revealed in front of his eyes was the shape of a heart. “Son of a bitch…” he whispered, looking over to Emily with wide eyes. “He’s plotted out where he wants all of these people to die in order to make a heart on a map, so it could stand to be assumed that-”

“His real target lives in the middle of that heart,” Emily finished with a grim look on her face.

“That’s a large area to cover that doesn’t seem like it’s heavily populated, we’ll need a few teams to fan out and search the area,” Spencer said, grabbing a pair of keys from the rented SUVs they had been using to get around town.

“Right.” Emily looked around and started giving orders to those who were back at the station, “Luke, go with Spencer in the first SUV. Josh you’re with JJ and David in the second. Tara and I will go with Lindsey in a patrol car. We have a lot of ground to cover so let’s get moving!”

Spencer calculated the coordinates to the exact center of the heart and began driving that way with Luke in the passenger seat. On the way there, Luke broke the silence of the vehicle by asking with a smirk, “So what was going on with you and the captain earlier?”

“Old habits die hard I guess. We used to date back when she worked at the BAU,” Spencer told him. “There were a lot of cases where she needed some mental help afterward and that’s how we ended up together. She found my facts and statistics comforting because at least there was some form of guarantee to her safety.”

“That’s cute, I didn’t know-” Luke began to say but stopped short when at the same time he and Spencer noticed the vehicle in the driveway of the house they were approaching. “Reid-” Before Luke could finish his sentence though, Spencer had thrown the SUV in park and was getting out with his gun pulled from his holster. “Reid, think rationally here! Just because her house is the one you think may be in the middle doesn’t mean-”

With his gun drawn in one hand and his phone in the other, Spencer dialed Penelope as he and Luke made their way up the winding driveway, keeping to the tree line and in the shadows of the fading sunlight. “How may I be of assistance Doctor? I-” Penelope started chipperly.

“Did she ever talk to you about her relationships since leaving?” Spencer asked quickly.

“She? Who do you-?” she tried, but was quickly interrupted by Spencer blurting out your name to hurry her along. “Oh! Just one she told me about the other day! She said that back in April this guy tried to get with her but they just went on one date.”

“Hartley…” Spencer muttered under his breath. “Garcia, try to find anything on a man named Hartley in the area, that’s the last man she dated. Call Emily with whatever you find and send her to my location.”

“Got it!” she said before ending the call.

“Reid, what's going on?” Luke asked urgently.

“The first couple was abducted back in late April, after she rejected a man named Hartley. He was at the restaurant we went to the night before last and was glaring daggers at me the whole time. I don’t think that it’s a coincidence that those two couples were killed so close together after that night…” Spencer told Luke quietly as they approached the house.

Spencer just about reached for the doorknob of the house before Luke snatched his arm away and sharply whispered, “Don’t! You’re smarter than that! What’s gotten into you man?”

“It took me two days to figure out that she was the target of the unsub when it should have taken me two minutes after dinner that night! If she gets killed then that’s on my shoulders since she rejected him because of me!” Spencer whisper-shouted at him.

“Then we need to do this right and take him down quickly and quietly. We can’t just go in guns blazing,” Luke said before releasing the grip he had on Spencer’s arm. He listened for a moment and motioned toward the back of the house, telling Spencer, “I hear two voices coming from that direction of the house. Let’s start there.”

When they got to the back of the house, your voice and a male’s voice could be heard from inside having a conversation about dinner and flowers. Luke’s eyebrows furrowed in confusion and he whispered to Spencer, “It doesn’t sound like she’s in danger…”

Spencer peered around the corner and risked a glance into a window, noticing how your eyes flicked in his direction before taking the conversation into the next room, making sure the man who was with you followed. So Spencer motioned for Luke to follow behind him and he noticed that this room was near a backdoor that the pair of them could use to get into the house if needed.

That time came when, straining his ears to hear, Spencer heard you say, “Do you like literature? I think my favorite line is from Macbeth. Act one, scene five, lines 64-65.”

And with that, Spencer kicked in the door to the house and pointed his gun toward Hartley as he announced, “FBI, don’t move!”

Luke came in shortly after Spencer, also with his gun raised as Hartley grabbed you around the waist and held the gun loosely near your head as he let out an almost maniacal laugh. When he took in the two men across the room from him, he shook his head and said, “How fitting that it’s you who came to her rescue? You two really had a connection the other night at the cafe and it made me realize that it was you this whole time! You’re the asshole who made her turn me down! You’re the reason my heart got shattered into a million pieces! It isn’t fair that someone can break a heart so easily! So she doesn’t deserve to live and neither do I because I destroyed all those families lives by killing their sons and daughters, mothers and fathers!”

“You don’t have to do this!” Luke warned the man sternly as he trained his gun on the man’s head.

Spencer noticed Hartley’s loose grip on your waist and said your name to get your attention. Hartley warned him to shut up, but Spencer ignored him and instead locked his eyes with your terrified ones. A small reminiscent smile made its way onto his lips as he asked softly, “Remember what you told me your favorite movie was when we went on our first date?” You thought for a moment and then nodded almost frantically as Spencer said, “I want you to do the opposite of that for me, okay? Now!”

And just as he planned, you dropped to your knees, allowing Spencer to get a clean shot on Hartley that took him down in an instant. The second that he went down, Spencer holstered his gun and ran to your side, sitting himself on the ground and against the wall as he pulled you into his chest to comfort you. While he did this, Luke kicked the gun away from Hartley’s hand and checked his pulse before quietly nodding to Spencer.

“He’s gone, he can’t hurt anyone anymore,” Spencer whispered into your hair before kissing your head and letting you burrow into his embrace as you cried. “Breathe with me sweetheart, I’ve got you,” Spencer mumbled as he tried to calm you down, running a soothing hand up and down your back at the same pace as he wanted you to breathe.

Minutes passed as Spencer attempted to calm you down and he was mildly successful, enough to get you out of the dining area and onto the back of the ambulance that arrived with the rest of the team. As Spencer hesitantly left your side in order to go locate any anxiety medications you may have in your medicine cabinet, Luke followed him and asked, “Dude, how did you know she was in danger?”

As Spencer pulled out a bottle and read the label, he told Luke, “Act one, scene five, lines 64-65 of Macbeth says ‘Look like the innocent flower, but be the serpent under't.’ That was her way of saying that what looked like an innocent conversation between partners was actually a dangerous situation.” A huff of a laugh left his lips before he added, “She studied Shakespeare for fun in college and would analyze his work with me when we were together. Don’t try and get into a debate with that woman about Shakespeare, you’ll lose every time.”

“Wow… You two must have been a force when you were both at the BAU,” Luke mumbled, seemingly in awe of how easily the pair of you were able to communicate without giving anything away.

“Hotch thought that we could somehow read each other’s minds sometimes,” Spencer confirmed with a quiet laugh as he pulled the right bottle from the shelf.

“So what was the movie?” Luke asked curiously as he followed Spencer through the house once more, weaving through the BAU team members and your officers who were investigating the scene.

“Up,” he replied. “I told her to do the opposite so she went down.” Luke chuckled in response before being whisked away by Emily to recount his version of what happened while Spencer went back to the ambulance to give you your anxiolytic to help you calm down.

The next morning came after a sleepless night pacing a motel room that the sheriff had booked for you so your house could be processed and cleaned up after the events of Hartley’s takedown. When you drove up to the station there was a decent sized crowd near the door, presumably to get a sneak peek as to what happened at your house the night before. A light knock on your window made you jump and clutch at your heart as you looked over your left shoulder to see Spencer there with a small smile on his face.

“Want some company to head inside?” he asked as he offered you a hand to help you out of the vehicle.

“Stay close?” you asked quietly, afraid that perhaps the people in that crowd had already figured out that you were in fact the target of Hartley’s killing spree and were there because they wanted you gone…

“Of course,” Spencer replied as he hooked your arm in his and the two of you made your way through the crowd and to the front door, ignoring all of the questions being thrown your way.

When you got inside, you almost breathed a sigh of relief before you were approached by Tara and Emily who told you once more that they would need you in the interrogation room, but this time for an actual questioning. At the request your body stiffened as you realized that you would have to relive the situation again and without missing a beat, Spencer said, “As long as I can be in there with her.”

“Spence, you know that-” Emily started but was interrupted by Tara.

“Let him,” she told Emily with a shake of her head. “As long as Reid doesn’t say anything to her it won’t matter if he’s in there or not, but if she needs his presence for comfort we at least should allow that.”

“Thank you,” you whispered, your muscles relaxing the slightest bit as you and Spencer began following the pair to the interrogation room.

Once inside the cold space, you pulled your cardigan close and made sure that Spencer’s hand was held in yours before you nodded to signal that you were okay to begin. “So can you tell me what happened yesterday from your point of view?” Emily asked.

“I left the station to clear my head after being informed that another couple had been found dead. I grabbed a few groceries and headed to my home where inside I found Hartley Rivers standing in the kitchen of my previously locked house,” you told her quietly, your voice wobbly as you spoke.

“Did he do or say anything when you got there?” Tara asked.

“He was…oddly calm at first. Asked what I got from the store and said that I should make the two of us a meal. Said that it was the least I could do for him after all the work he’d been doing lately,” you replied.

“Did he elaborate on that statement?” Emily asked.

“Not at first,” you said, “but I got him talking and he confessed to staging all of the murder-suicides in the last few months. He…he said…he said…” you trailed off as your breathing began to pick up and your leg began to bounce anxiously.

“Take your time,” Tara said.

“He said it was my fault…” you whispered. “He said that if I just didn’t reject him then all of those people would be alive…” The grip Spencer had on your hand tightened the slightest bit and it brought your turbulent thoughts to that feeling alone and you used it to ground yourself back to reality before clearing your throat and adding, “He told me that I was the loss of his life and that I didn’t deserve to live for what I did and neither did he. But he thought that if he got my attention in a way that wasn’t romantic gestures it would get the point across better…”

“So you're saying that he confessed to orchestrating the killings?” Emily asked.

You nodded. “Yes. He didn’t tell me where, but…”

“Then what happened?” Tara asked gently when you didn't elaborate more.

“I…I saw Spencer sneaking around outside so I brought the conversation to a room near an outside door and informed him that I was in danger by referencing a line from Macbeth,” you said, which earned a small smile from Emily. “When Luke and Spencer got in, Hartley grabbed me and held me at gunpoint. From there things get fuzzy because I was so scared. All I remember is Spencer asking me something so I took a knee and heard a gunshot and Hartley let go of me. I thought I got shot until I felt Spencer pull me into his lap and then my anxiety got the better of me…”

“Thank you, you did well,” Tara informed you, standing up and coming around the table to give you a squeeze on the shoulder.

“We’ll get all of that into the right hands and then we’ll have to be on our way soon,” Emily said hesitantly as she made her way to the door.

“I’d like to stay behind for another day or two. I’ll use vacation days,” Spencer told her immediately. “I can book myself a flight back to Virginia and do my paperwork on the way.” Emily opened her mouth for a moment and then closed it, simply nodding in response before making her way out of the room with Tara behind her.

“You didn’t have to do that, Spence…” you whispered.

“No, but I wanted to. I need to make sure you’re okay at least through the hardest part of this,” he informed you as he helped you stand up on your unsteady legs to leave the room.

“Thank you,” you told him graciously, turning into him and throwing your arms around his frame in a tight embrace.

“Of course,” he told you, the smile evident in his voice.

After a few moments, you took a deep breath and said, “I need to make an announcement, would you mind staying with me for it?”

“I don’t mind,” he replied, following you out into the main office area where the BAU team and your officers were milling around filing away papers.

You cleared your throat and said just loud enough to be heard over the noise, “I have an announcement I’d like to make.” When all eyes were on you, you took a deep breath and said, “I would like to thank everyone for their work on this case, both my locals and the BAU team. You all worked long and hard hours to close this case and I am very appreciative of that. Unfortunately before we could solve it, twelve people died in this town at the hands of Hartley Rivers under my watch. So with that being said I’m announcing that I will be stepping down from my position as Captain of the police division here. I made a promise to serve and protect the people of this town and after the events of this case I feel like I failed at that because I couldn’t solve it sooner and because I was the reason Hartley felt the need to do what he did. It’s been an honor to serve this town while I did, but it wouldn’t be right to continue on from here. Thank you.”

There was a stunned silence that filled the room and you quickly ducked your head and started toward your office after making eye contact with the sheriff who gave you a nod and a sad smile in response. When you got there, you grabbed a box and began slowly placing your belongings inside when you heard footsteps enter the room. “So you’re really going?” Josh asked quietly, his sadness evident in his voice.

You nodded, which earned a sigh from Lindsey and her saying, “Man this sucks…”

“I know but… I feel like I failed this town. And once word gets out about what happened, I would be driven out of the position and the town anyway and I��d rather end it on my terms.”

The two agreed and began helping you pack up your belongings while reminiscing on some of the better days in this office. Once you seemed to run out of things to talk about, Josh asked with a smirk evident in his voice, “So��you and agent Reid huh?”

“Doctor Reid,” you informed him sternly with a quiet laugh escaping your lips. “He didn’t earn three PhDs for nothing.”

“So you’re into the smart ones,” Lindsey said teasingly as she landed an elbow into your ribs lightly.

“I suppose so,” you said as you looked up and saw Spencer himself in the doorway. The four of you made quick work of packing up your office and before you knew it, you were being escorted out to your vehicle with Spencer’s protective arm around you as you made your way through the crowd of people who still thankfully didn’t know the truth behind everything yet.

When you and Spencer got to your house, he helped you unload the boxes of your office items and then sat beside you on the couch after you put on a quiet instrumental record to keep there from being a deafening silence in the room. You couldn’t help your mind from wandering back to the events of not only yesterday, but of the last five months. As you did, a roaring filled your ears that was interrupted by Spencer’s voice as he asked, “Hey, what’s on your mind?”

“Too much,” you replied quietly.

“Wanna talk about it?”

“Not really, but…” You sighed and in defeat relented, saying, “I guess it’s best if I do.”

“It is. And I’m right here with you,” he told you as he tentatively scooched closer on the couch and put his arm around you. Your muscles relaxed as he did this and the flood gates opened once more as you burrowed into Spencer’s side.

“I just feel like such a screw up… Twelve people with lives and families and dreams for the future are all dead because of me…” you whispered, trying to muffle the sob that escaped at the end of your statement.

Spencer ran his hand up and down your arm for a moment before quietly asking, “If it were anyone else in your position what would you tell them?”

“What?” you asked after a few seconds, pulling away for a moment to look up at Spencer with furrowed eyebrows.

“As the victim advocate specialist that you are, what would you say to someone else in your position?” Spencer asked and you began to see his point. “Say it was Lindsey in the center of this instead of you? You wouldn’t tell her that those people died because of her would you?”

“No…” you whispered, sagging back into his embrace with a sigh. You were quiet for a moment before replying thoughtfully, “I would tell them that they can’t control other people’s actions and feelings. That they couldn’t have known that something so simple as rejecting someone could cause such disaster. That they shouldn’t have to live in fear of this happening again so they’ll go out and live their life and not seclude themselves. That even though in the heat of the moment if the families of the victims find out the reason behind the crime that it still isn’t their fault no matter what nasty things are said to them. I would remind them that they’re a victim in this too and they deserve treatment and counseling services just like the other victims’ families…”

Spencer leaned down and kissed the crown of your head before mumbling, “Exactly. So what is making you feel like you don’t deserve to hear those things too?”

“Because I was supposed to protect all of those people and I couldn’t do my job. They shouldn’t have died in the first place. Pair that with the fact that Hartley was doing this because of me and…it makes me feel like I don’t deserve to be handled gently after everything that happened,” you told him sadly.

“I think that just proves that you should be given more grace than anyone in this situation,” Spencer says.

“I just don’t feel like I’m deserving to be cared for after everything…”

“Well I guess I’m just going to have to prove your anxiety wrong,” Spencer said and you could hear the smile in his voice as he pulled you impossibly closer in what seemed like an attempt to bring all of your broken pieces back together.

Later that day after finally getting through all of your emotions about your now totally uprooted life and watching your comfort movie with Spencer, you started to feel a bit lighter. So as you made dinner for the two of you, you sang quietly to the music coming from your record player as Spencer helped where he could with the meal. While you were standing at the stovetop stirring the food, he came up behind you and gently wrapped his arms around your waist and swayed to the music playing. “I missed this…” he admitted quietly, his voice and body relaxed.

“Me too,” you replied, a small smile on your face and tears prickling the backs of your eyes.

You were afraid to ask Spencer what happened next after he left back to Virginia and you went…where? You still hadn’t decided what you wanted to do for work after you just resigned and where would that land you in the country? You weren’t sure how well- “Hey,” he said, squeezing you slightly to bring you back to reality. “You’re getting lost again.”

“I know, I’m sorry,” you replied, going back to stirring the nearly complete stir fry. “I just have a lot on my mind still is all…”

“Like what?” he asked, stopping his swaying to focus on your conversation.

“What do I do for work now? There’s no way I’ll get a job in any of the surrounding counties and I’m afraid of even getting into that position again because that is so much responsibility I don’t feel ready to handle again after what happened here…”

“Have you thought about coming back to the FBI?” Spencer asked. “I know that the BAU was a cause for a lot of stress on you, so maybe you could see if there are any victim advocate positions available in other departments? Or maybe go back to your SVU department?”

“I have enough in the bank to take a month or so off from work to sort things out mentally but… I think once I figure myself out again, being an advocate again would be rewarding and now that I have a unique perspective on things…” Maybe it was time to move back to Virginia…

“I think you would do great,” Spencer replied, releasing you from his arms before reaching for the plates you had been warming to place the food on. You still had a faraway look in your eyes, even you could tell, so you weren’t surprised when he asked, “What else is on your mind?”

You didn’t reply as you plated the food and made your way to the table, trying to figure out the best way to discuss the topic at hand. You couldn’t figure out a graceful way to ask, so you let out a heavy sigh as you gestured between yourself and Spencer and asked quietly, “Spence… What is this? What is going on between us right now? The hugs, the kisses, the comforting touches. Is it just because of the case? Is it because you feel bad for me?” Guilt at the last bit began to crawl its way up your spine and you felt your throat closing up slightly as you said, barely above a whisper, “I’m sorry I’m just scared right now…”

“Hey, it’s okay,” he assured you, reaching over and grabbing your hand gently and rubbing comforting circles onto it with his thumb. Clearing his throat, Spencer admitted, “At first it was habitual. It felt like an instinct to comfort you because that’s what I did all those years, but…but then I realized that I didn’t just want to provide you with physical comfort. I wanted to protect you. I wanted to hold you until all of your fears and doubts went away. I just…I want you back.” At those last words, your eyes darted up to meet Spencer’s hopeful ones. A smile fell onto his face as he finished, “Please. I want you back in my life and if that can’t be as your boyfriend right now I understand that, but I just want to be in your life somehow. It took me a while to realize that I never stopped loving you and it took me seeing you to realize that if I want you back I need to fight for it and prove to you that taking me back won’t be a mistake.”

“Taking you back would never be a mistake,” you mumbled, a smile making its way onto your face as you scooted closer to Spencer on the dining table’s bench.

“I’m glad to hear that,” Spencer whispered as his hand ghosted its way up your arm, landing on your cheek to hold you for a moment before asking, “May I kiss you?”

“Of course,” you replied with a slight nod before your lips were enveloped into the most tender kiss Spencer had ever given you. A feeling of warmth ran up your spine as you relaxed into the kiss, your hands wandering up to hook around the back of Spencer’s neck to pull him closer.

All too soon, the kiss was over and Spencer pulled away to rest his forehead on yours before telling you, “I love you. And I never want to lose you again.”

“You won’t,” you promised before leaning back in for another kiss, the stir fry going forgotten on the table as you lost yourself in Spencer’s love and affection.

thank you for getting this far, I appreciate you for reading! Don't forget to like and comment! <3

#spencer reid x reader #spencer reid angst #spencer reid #criminal minds oneshot #criminal minds #spencer reid x you #bau team

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lowkeyremi · 9 months ago

Text

Haikyuu men as fathers pt. 5

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4

Ft. Ushijima, Kita, Kyotani and Asahi

Note: The age range of the kids will differ for each character but it’s from babies up til like 17 or 18. Bringing this series back for someone who requested Kita :3 @warriordemigosworld

content: Indication of pregnancy, relationships, marriage, certain styles of parenting, etc

Ushijima Wakatoshi

When you arrive home you're met with the sight of both your husband and your baby girl knocked out on the couch. Her little head is resting upon his chest, her small hand curled up in a fist too.

You can see the drool on his shirt from her little lips. She's just so tiny and he's so big. Whenever you'd post them on your social media the first thing people comment on is the size difference. They always talk about how soft and gentle he is with his baby girl for such a big man.

Wakatoshi seems to notice your staring because his olive eyes open looking around for a second before they meet yours.

"Looks like you two had a good time." A smirk graces your lips. He chuckles quietly, rubbing her back when she starts to stir awake.

"She wanted to play animals so I dressed up as a tiger for her. She insisted that she should paint my face to make me look the part." Oh. So that's why his face is orange with smears of black on it.

"I'm guessing she was a baby tiger?" Your little girl's face was also colored in orange and black face paint.

"Precisely." Wakatoshi watches as you pull out your phone and snap a few pics.

"I'm sure Grandma and Papa would want to see what you two were up to today." He nods, a small smile gracing his face.

Wakatoshi is the kind of parent to let his child experience little moments that make them happy

He doesn't limit their imagination as his mother tried too when he was younger because of his left-handedness

GENTLE GIANTTTTTTT

He doesn't enjoy singing but he will hum his baby to sleep

When his baby was little he would always have her sleep on his chest which is why she's so used to it (i love his chest....)

all in all ushi is such a good dad

Kita Shinsuke

You were watching as Shinsuke and your little boy were out in the rice fields. There were two cold glasses of water waiting for them when they came back.

They had matching hats and overalls; the whole thing. Shinsuke insisted his six year old should be interested in little boy stuff like playing and discovering the world, but your little boy wanted to help his daddy out in the fields.

So of course, Shinsuke would show him how to do basic things around the rice fields. He made his son a mini bag of rice to carry since the normal bags are way too heavy for a six year old.

Little giggles escape your lips watching the two of them haul the bags of rice toward his truck.

"Are you helping daddy out?" You ask recording him.

"Yep! I'm almost as strong as daddy is!" To prove his point he flexes his little muscles.

"Oh wow!! You are super strong." Shinsuke chuckles too. He's sweating up a storm, wiping his forehead every few minutes.

"Do my two favorite boys want to come take a water break?" Your husband is grateful for your observation skills, he could use some water.

Your son looks to his father waiting to see what he says. The little boy admires his father with his life.

"Yeah let's get some water, bud." Shinsuke scoops up his son causing the little boy much joy.

Kita is very stern with his kids, he likes order (which is why they have so much respect for him)

Almost never breaks the rules like if there's not supposed to be any sweets before bed he'll listen to the rules even if his kids beg and beg

He teaches them to be honest hard working children (just like how he was when he used to help his grandma clean)

There are fun days too, he'll take them to amusement parks and such.. only for good behavior though

lmaoo I think he looks a little scary to other kids, so when he's chaperoning at field trips and stuff none of the kids (even the most mischievous ones) dare to act up

he's always taking his kiddos to onigiri miya because they always talk about how much they "love their uncle samu's food!!"

if they show any interest in volleyball he takes them to see the red falcons (aran) or the black jackals (atsumu) they always think it's the coolest thing ever

Kyotani Kentaro

The screaming match going on downstairs didn't concern you in the slightest.

Your husband and your daughters do this at least once a day, which is why you're still laying in bed minding your own business.

"IF YOU DON'T DO YOUR PROJECT YOU'LL FAIL!" Kentaro yelled at his ten year old daughter. She was; in your opinion a carbon copy of her father.

"I DON'T WANT TO!!! IT'S BORING-UHHHHHH." She drags out the last syllable, causing a giggle to leave your lips.

"WELL LET'S GO SEE WHAT YOUR MOM HAS TO SAY ABOUT IT." You pretend to sleep as the three of them stomp up the stairs to see what you have to say.

"[name], your child won't-" when he notices that you're "sleeping" he shushes his children and walks them out of the room.

You hear a mumbled, "Will you do it if I help you?"

The older daughter of yours agrees with her father's suggestion. The younger one has no clue what's going on but she wants to be included too. So, she also hums in agreement.

He communicates his love through snarky comments and eye rolls

Doesn't find them annoying, just could use a break sometimes

He thought being a dad would be a piece of cake.. imagine his surprise when he changes his first poopy diaper

Scary dog privileges still apply; no one dares to look at his kids wrong, much less try to hurt them

He girls think it's funny that he's "bald"

Will NEVER admit it but he is a girl dad

Azumane Asahi

"I think I'm gonna be sick, babe, what if we don't find him?" Asahi asks tugging in your shirt sleeve. This isn't your best parenting moment; your little boy is lost somewhere inside this huge Costco. Your son who's eight insisted he'd go grocery shopping with you even though he was probably gonna complain after ten minutes about his legs hurting.

Of course your husband wanted to tag along. He enjoys family bonding and he saw this grocery trip as an opportunity to execute it. The two of you had gotten so caught up in conversation that you didn't even realize your son went missing for maybe four or five minutes? You hope it was only that long.

"Ren! Where are you honey?!" You yell out, not too loud so it's not fairly obvious of your failure as a parent but loud enough that he could hear you and follow the sound of your voice.

To make matters worse he has his nintendo switch that his eyes are probably glued to.

"Oh baby, what.. what if someone takes him?" Asahi's voice sounds horrified. Little seeds of insecurity make their way into your brain, but you must keep strong because your husband is absolutely losing his shit.

"Management on aisle twenty-seven, we have a child climbing the racks." You two give each other a knowing look. That sounds 100% like something your son would do.

"You stay here with the basket, I'll go get him." Asahi says leaving no room for argument when he runs off to get his child.

Within a few minutes he returns with Ren. Asahi's confused by the way you giggle, but you find it cute how his man bun was undone, most likely from running fast.

"Man, I haven't ran that fast since high scho-"

"Dad you need to work out more!!" Naive little Ren says, causing his father to sigh loudly with a cheeky smile.

"And you," you say pointing to the little boy in question, "need to stay where mom and dad can see you. Are we clear?"

He nods in a respectful manner.

"Now let's finish shopping.. as a family."

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s3thwrit3sstuff · 1 year ago

Text

❝ WHY AM I IN LOVE ALONE? (WHY AM I HURTING ALONE?) ❞

Gojo Satoru x male!reader | angst with comfort | unrequited love, ex-cheater!Gojo, arranged marriage | wc: 8.5 k | not proofread

warnings: character death (Geto Suguru), mentions of infidelity, r! has self-esteem issues, r! has some dark thoughts about su!c!de, mentions of parent death, abuse from parents (r! is from an influential sorcerer clan, his family kinda sucks), talks of virginity

masterlist; part 1; part 2; part 3; alternate ending; playlist; au's and what if's

authors note: there are some time skips here and there, hopefully, it isn’t too confusing! I really appreciate all the comments on the first part of this and I hope this satisfies you guys!

The flame of the candle casts the room in an evershifting blue. Pulsing and moving, pushing and pulling as the shadows undulated. It resembles the way sunlight dances on the waves of the ocean, piercing through the waters to reach as far down as it could.

It reminded you of —

Of summer.

The candle flickers, sparks of orange briefly flying, just as your father walks through the door of cement. It takes five men to push but they do so without complaint. Your eyes squint to protect themselves from the fluorescent lighting of the hallway and the flame burns upwards in the offence.

The men hastily pull the door closed. Your ears itch from the grinding noise of stone and your skin warms from the candle but you say nothing.

Your father kneels across from you. Unbothered by the still-furious flame.

The candle is the only barrier between you. It sits on top of cylindrical stone; the melted wax nearly covers the top, some dripping down the sides but you’ve never seen this candle shrinking or the flame dimming.

The room you’re in is one of great importance to your family. It was taller than it was wide. Dark as sin without this cursed flame. The (L/N) family nearly fell into ruins some century ago, a member of your clan decided to turn this room into a place where no secrets would be safe, so you’d have no enemies.

After he had done this, your clan flourished.

It served its purpose. No lies could be told in this room.

“Is Gojo Satoru in love with you?”

The flame calms from its fury. As if listening.

“Yes.”

Sparks of orange fly, shooting from the wick and pathetically fizzing out. His eyes darken, swallowing that gorgeous blue like a black hole.

“So your mother speaks truthfully.”

He had hoped it was just mindless gossip — misplaced anger from his own infidelity. Your father was never one to admit your mother was right.

“Geto Suguru.”

His name makes you turn your eyes down to your lap. Your father’s frown deepens. Further settling into permanent lines of displeasure on his ageing face.

“My son, born of the (L/N) clan, promised to marry Gojo Satoru. A six-eye user, soon-to-be head of the Gojo clan. My son who had centuries of ancestors fought to put him in this position of power with a strong family name, riches and opportunities beyond belief.”

“Bested by a boy whose parents aren’t even curse users.”

That haunting blue burns steadily.

“This is your duty, as son of the (L/N) clan.”

“Father, how could I compete with Geto Suguru — “

Your father reaches through the flames and grabs your face. The skin of his arm reddens as the flame roars at the disrespect. It licks at your eyebrow, your eyes, your cheeks. It burns. Though not like a regular flame would. It doesn't eat away at your flesh and render the fat past that — the flame hisses, digs under your flesh, and sets your nerves ablaze.

The pain is white hot and you swear you burst a vein in an attempt to grit your teeth together. It's like you're burning from the inside out, your skull heating up and glowing from where your skin is stretched thinnest.

You've been through this time and time again but the pain never dulls. It pries your lips open and a strangled wail is ripped from your throat.

Your face is held so tightly your cheekbones feel as though one more gram of pressure would shatter it. His face splits through the fire as he scowls down at you.

“I will not let the decision of a 15-year-old boy destroy what I’ve tried so hard to build. This is bigger than you ever will be. Your marriage to Gojo Satoru will make our clan more powerful than ever.”

You weep as you nod your head while nails dig into the flesh of your thighs. He lets you go, pushing your face away from his hand as if he was tossing trash away. You back away, hands shakily hovering above where your skin feels as though it's sizzling. Like you always do, you lean on the wall and the cool wall is like heaven.

The flame calms just as your heart does, at times it is as though it pulses with the beating in your chest.

In those minutes, your father stays stoic.

“Love is worthless in matters of power. The things I ask you to do will strengthen our clan, and strengthen our abilities. Put your selfishness aside, boy. This is a debt you owe to your flesh and blood.”

“...Yes, father.”

“Why do people stay with someone like that?” Megumi scoffs from behind the couch. He’s dressed in his pajamas, hair still damp from the shower he took. Meanwhile, you were sitting watching the television, dressed for bed yourself.

“I think it's sweet,” you say. The series was truly ridiculous and overly dramatized. Some cheesy and soapy drama that plays at night when lonely adults need someone else’s problems to obsess over.

“He stays with her even with all her flaws.” Megumi’s face says more than he ever could. You laugh, beckoning him over to settle next to you.

This is the usual. Gojo is always busy with missions here and there. Sometimes even needing to get onto a plane - he could be gone for days at a time. Leaving you, Tsumiki and Megumi.

Well, just you and Megumi now.

He doesn’t react as you squeeze him a little closer, just tucking his legs comfortably to lean on you.

“Okay, but that doesn’t negate the fact that she’s hurt him. I mean, it’s honorable but — isn’t he tired? I mean, she slept with his dad. Twice!”

You chuckle, grabbing the towel he had slung over his shoulders to help him dry his hair.

“You were paying attention! I thought you hated this show,” Megumi rolls his eyes. “How can I not pay attention? It’s so stupid I can’t look away.”

“Please. Just admit you like watching shitty tv shows,” you tease.

“I really don’t,” he denies. Megumi shrinks a bit despite his words and you chuckle. The dialogue from the TV continues and Megumi relishes the ambience.

The way you gently dry his hair. The dumb characters talk about who slept with whom and what impossible surgeries they wanna do. The lingering scent of the takeout dinner you indulged in with him today. Your shampoo and body soap and the smell of the detergent you use help him sleep easier at night.

“Is it the same for you?”

He feels your fingers pause. Not frightfully, more confused. He continues as your movement does.

“You’re like this doctor. You stay even if he hurts you.”

“What are you talking about? Gojo’s never hurt me,” your tone was perplexed.

“I’m not blind," Megumi mumbles. You pull your hands away from Megumi, his towel now on your lap as you wait for him to turn around. He does.

Then a commercial plays, something about a new aquarium that’s just opened; it casts the living room in blue and your heart gets caught in your throat.

‘ It’s not the same, ‘ you tell yourself, ‘ I’m not my father. ‘

“Whatever gave you that impression?”

“You rarely call him by his name. You stay up when he’s here but turn in early when he’s not. You go to clan meetings alone but he brings you around everywhere when he’s here. Dates, gifts, compliments.”

Megumi shrinks under your gaze but meets your eyes unwaveringly.

“Every time you look like you’re about to smile at his jokes you just...pause and remind yourself about something...is it Geto?”

Megumi inhales sharply at the expression on your face. The commercial had come and gone and the next that plays is a stream of constant colour; chaotic and disarrayed. The red-orange and yellow make you look like a curse.

But then your eyes soften and his grip on his knees loosens.

“I — I saw a picture.“

There are pictures of Geto in the house. Gojo said he would be fine without it but you found it ridiculous how much hurt he thinks he’s saving you from. You were already brought to your knees and metaphorically beaten down by the man you love and the man he loved; your best friends.

A picture of the four of you in high school wasn’t going to make you less or more pained.

Megumi’s asked about Geto before. But not like this; not like he knows something he shouldn’t. Geto wasn’t a forbidden topic.

But.

Your children deserved better than that. They should believe that love is important and that their fathers are there for them through whatever it is. That Satoru and (Y/N) were not going to just disappear and leave them to fend for themselves.

“On his flipphone.”

Of course.

Of course he kept that useless piece of crap.

Of fucking course.

“The wallpaper was of them. They seemed closer than friends. Did Gojo hurt you because of Geto?”

“Despite his flaws, he’s still my husband, Megumi.”

That doesn’t satisfy your son. His brows twitch and he gets that defiant look in his eyes that makes your stomach twist into knots. The ghost of that man, Megumi’s biological father, always sweeps through your brain every time he gets so stubborn.

You don’t hate Megumi because of it. Gods know how much you wish you weren’t a (L/N) — you wouldn’t have chosen your parents. Your mother, absolutely. Your father could go rot in hell with his new wife.

“But you’re unhappy.”

“I’m not — ”

The trailer of a movie plays; it casts the room in orange for a brief few seconds.

“You are. You’re lying. I’m not a little kid anymore, I’d be fine if you...if you divorced Gojo, I don’t mind if you move out. If you’d let me, I’d stay over. A kid from my school has divorced parents, he seems fine. He said it made his parents happier.”

“Megumi — “

“I can take it. You don’t have to stay together for Tsumiki and me anymore. You’ve raised us well.”

Not well enough if he’s pleading for you to leave Gojo.

“You’re just a boy. You don’t know what you’re saying. I think the TV show is really starting to get to you,” you jest. Megumi’s never been one for jokes though. Especially not ones as dumb as yours. Your awkward grin falls and you sigh.

“It wasn’t because of Geto. Suguru and Satoru...”

Megumi’s ears prick. He could count on his hands the number of times you’ve uttered Gojo’s name. Each time, it’s said with such bitter longing. The rotten essence of first love and cruel summers dripped from every syllable. This time, however, there’s a softness to it, an emotion Megumi would later know as yearning.

“They were the strongest and they were inseparable. With Suguru, Satoru could just be. With Satoru, Suguru felt worthy.”

“I was,” you sucked in a breath. “I was...there. Yes, it hurt me but I love Satoru, Megumi.”

How could you not?

Those heavenly eyes and boyish grin. His lips seem painted by the angels and his hair spun from those impossible-to-reach clouds and the purest of light. Satoru was beyond beautiful.

He was funny, brash, and annoyingly persistent. His very existence was irritating to some; he was good at everything. His hands were like Midas, everything he touched turned into gold.

Nonetheless, he was human. You would know better than most. When Suguru left Satoru looked like a facade of a young god. That’s what Suguru did to him that you never could. Suguru made him human.

So you didn’t blame Satoru for falling in love. You couldn’t even blame Suguru for falling in love.

You were an obligation chosen out of his own comfort. (Y/N), his precious friend whom he’d marry once the two of you were 17 years old.

You were duty and honor. You were a reminder of his godhood. He was untouchable and ethereal; even so, he wanted nothing more than to fall into the arms of the one person who could make him unravel his soul. He held Suguru more preciously as you aged until he couldn’t anymore.

“I love him.”

“But you’re sad. He makes you...sad.”

It pained you to see Megumi try to understand. He was your son. This talk of a loveless marriage and divorce, him saying he would be fine with the aftermath as if he would have to carry responsibility for it.

He was just a boy. He was your boy and he’s trying to protect you when it should be the other way around.

So you shake your head and reach forward to cup his cheek in your palm.

“I still love him, Megumi. Sometimes, that’s enough.”

Megumi wants to tell you it isn’t.

If love was enough, his mother would be alive and his shitty father would have stayed to be a father to Tsumiki and him.

If love was enough, Tsumiki wouldn’t be in a coma.

But he says nothing and just shrugs. He murmurs a half-assed agreement and then stands from the couch. He goes to bed that night, wishing nothing more than to see the world from your eyes. You were his father. More than his own was.

Gojo was a busy guy so he warmed up to you first. Despite how tough it was for you to navigate being a teenager yourself as you raised him and his sister.

He just wanted to make you happy. Because clearly, you were incapable of doing it.

Megumi found it hard to sleep that night.

“Awh, asleep already?” Gojo frowned as he peeked into Megumi’s room. He was supposed to arrive the next morning but he missed his family. So he took an earlier flight.

A creak made him look your way and his eyes widened.

“Don’t bother him, Gojo.”

“(Y/N)…” his footsteps sound tentative as he walks towards you.

“Don’t look at me like that, I was just watching a sad movie is all. Megumi stayed up late, so don’t wake him. He’s got school tomorrow.”

Gojo doesn’t believe you. The way he’s gazing at you is as if you were the most pathetic curse to have ever graced the earth. Had he ever looked at Suguru that way before his betrayal?

Gods, even the thought of him has your brain pulsing. Those lost summers and cozy winters were yours too but of course, for Satoru, it must’ve been different.

To you, they were everything because your friends were there. More importantly, Gojo was there.

To him, his Suguru, they were all they needed.

You wipe away some of the tears, sniffling and turning away from Gojo. “You came home early. I didn’t cook dinner tonight, but I can heat-up some leftovers,” Gojo follows you to the dining area. He wants to ask if you are okay, even if he already knows the answer.

‘ Is it Suguru? ‘

It’s on the tip of his tongue. It’s been 9 years since his betrayal, your mother's funeral, your father's wedding. Between Tsumiki and Megumi, and the missions there was never a chance to have that conversation.

But what if it wasn’t? You were more than that. You existed beyond the shadow that Suguru cast — in Gojo’s eyes anyway.

The microwave dings and it casts the kitchen in a warm yellow glow. “How was the mission?” He watches you make a plate, standing near the kitchen island with his arms by his side. “It went great. The uh, the plane ride there was sorta bumpy though.”

“Yeah? You got scared or sumthin’?” He takes his bandages off, eyes twinkling with something you can’t quite place.

‘ He’s making jokes, talking casually, ‘ Satoru thinks. His palms feel a bit clammy. “Hah, as if. Even if the plane was fallin’ I’d definitely get out of there,” he boasts with that careless smile.

You offer a chuckle, turning just as your smile fades into a polite purse of your lips. The plate is placed in front of him and he’s not hungry but he sits anyway.

Huh.

So this is what having an intimate dinner is supposed to feel like? It creeps in that you’ve never been on a date outside of this marriage. He had never wooed you before Geto. It was all casual and friendly. Even if it was just the two of you, your guardians would keep watch to ensure that nothing got too passionate.

Where were they when Gojo snuck into Geto’s room? Night after night, week after week...

He had never touched you like that. Every time he tried, you found yourself pushing him away. Not out of bashfulness or lack of attraction. You just can’t help but wonder if he’ll replace you with Geto in his mind and your heart breaks every time.

9 years of marriage and still, your bed was cold as ice.

At times you would feel panic, wondering if Gojo is with another body to fill that void that you can’t fill but then it ebbs away.

Because they weren’t Geto either. So they were just as meaningless as you.

You grimace.

To think you’d blush and swoon at the idea of your marriage. Enamoured at the fact Gojo chose you. Now here you are. A resentful friend, a horrid husband, and a failing father.

If it weren’t for Tsumiki and Megumi you would’ve been hanging from the ceiling or perhaps you’d “let your guard down” during a mission. Maybe even in front of your husband. Your train of thought is cut short as your mother’s face appears. Stiffening your lip, you turn your gaze to the table to collect yourself.

Gojo watches you shifting around and reaches a foot forward to bump into yours. He smiles at the way you get wide-eyed, frozen for a second.

“How was your day, my beloved?”

“I went to Jujutsu High to oversee Megumi’s transfer,” his brows lift.

“Already?”

“Just to make things easier, Gojo. So it isn’t so last minute. He practised summoning his Divine Dogs today too.”

You’re wringing your hands together, folding and unfolding your fingers all while glancing at the table. It reminds him of the day he found out you had feelings for him.

You were sat across from him just like you are now. The both of you were 15 and hungry, so you offered to pay for lunch. Suguru and Shoko had gone off to grab condiments and he saw it; that look of adoration in your eyes.

You were handsome and kind. A true friend to him, Suguru and Shoko. Then an idea popped into his head, an idea he’d never proceeded with if he had known the repercussions.

If he wed you, he’d still be able to be close to Suguru.

He was selfish. Suguru told him that it was cruel, you were their friend and this would hurt you.

“Satoru that’s cool-blooded. He’s had a crush on you for a year now, you shouldn’t,” Suguru murmurs.

“It’s just a crush, he’ll probably divorce me or something. Then, I’ll marry you, Suguru.” He interlaced his fingers with Suguru. Naked shoulder pressed to naked shoulder. His 16th had just passed, he’d have to marry you after his 17th birthday but it’s alright. He told himself you would get the message and he’d have Suguru. Duties fulfilled and promises honored.

“What?” Suguru’s eyes were so wide it was almost hilarious. Satoru turned on his side, outlining the traces his lips left on Suguru’s skin.

“Will you marry me, Suguru?”

Satoru’s guilt wraps around his heart with its sorrowful roots. He wonders if you think you’re ugly, or unworthy. His fondness for you wants nothing more than to hold you. You were his friend after all, before all of this; the missions the four of you would go on together were the highlights of his life.

He didn’t mean to hurt you.

The food tastes like ash in his mouth but he swallows it down.

“We should go out tomorrow.”

You blink at him, contemplating. He can see the tearstains on your skin, the wetness on your philtrum that you’ve tried to wipe away and the way your lashes are clumped together.

“Anywhere you wanna go, after we drop ‘Gumi off we’ll be off to the races. We could go shopping or —”

“I want to go on a mission with you.”

That catches him completely off guard. You offer a grin, and the slightest flash of teeth has Satoru nodding before you even get to say another word.

He owes you this. You deserve happiness.

“Of course, anything you want.”

Gojo should’ve stopped there. Said nothing else.

“I love you, (Y/N).”

All at once, he sees your eyes turn hollow and your smile tightens.

You don’t believe him.

“...Thank you, Gojo.”

Ever since, that’s the only way you responded to his “I love you’s”.

Thanking him for trying to convince you and himself that it was true.

Megumi’s never seen your father before. He looks so out of place at home. His hulking form and intimidating face were so rough like unpolished stone. He should be elsewhere, not eavesdropping like he is now but he can’t help himself.

Gojo had to tend to business and you couldn’t turn away your father. You knew what he was here to talk about anyway and after last night's screaming match with your husband, you were as tightly wound as a coiled snake.

“How is your wife, father?”

“She is healthy.”

A vein bulges from the side of your head, rage pumping through it as your jaw clenches. His gaze scrutinizes you in such an obvious way it makes you want nothing more than to exorcise him.

“Gojo Satoru killed Geto Suguru. Is this true?”

How could it not be true? You thought bitterly. My guilt, Gojo’s crying, my outburst — all proof of his death.

He scoffs, a pleased quirk on the corner of his lips.

“I suppose you’ve done well then, my son. You didn’t even have to do any bloody work.”

“You know nothing, father. Geto Suguru’s death was a tragedy, don’t you dare turn it into a victory,” you seethe.

“He was a troublemaker. A waste of breath — a weakling. He deserved all that he got, don’t tell me you’re sympathizing with a murderer?”

“He was my friend!” Megumi flinched as you yelled.

“If you hadn’t pushed me and Satoru to marry, all this pain would have been avoided. We would still be friends, I could grieve for him without bitterness in my heart!”

You have no more tears to give. Instead, your anger burned like an inferno, burning you from the inside as you glared at your father.

“You’ve ruined me just like you ruined my mother. Where is duty? Honour? All of that is just trampled by your greed! You are dishonorable! Disgusting! Selfish!”

“You dare speak to me that way?” He lifts his hand and Megumi's palms hover close to stop him. The doors slide open. Satoru stands there. Even with his blindfold on, his gaze is heavy.

He calls your father's name. He doesn’t hide his disrespect. No titles were shared. No acknowledgment of his relation to you. He was beyond mad.

“It’s best if you leave, old man.”

Your father lowers his hand and you realize your nails are digging into your palm as blood seeps through your fingers.

“This younger generation truly knows no respect. Does it pain both of you to be together? Is my son so ugly, Satoru?” He laughs derisively. “Put a pillow over his face as you take him then! Gods knows I did the same with his mother.”

You open your mouth and yell, an ugly yell that's so full of anguish and anger; no words or vulgarity. A scream that makes Gojo’s throat hurt hearing it. Your father looks at you in disgust, shaking his head as he turns his back to you.

“Pathetic.”

You lunge at him and Gojo stops you, gathering you into his arms as you try to reach for your father.

“I’ll kill you!”

“Beloved, that’s enough —”

“You monster! I’ll burn you alive!”

“(Y/N)! He’s gone! That’s enough!”

Gojo doesn’t know why but he lets his infinity down. He lets you dig your fingers in his shoulder, and scratch the back of his hands as he tries to gather your wrist and grunts as your head bumps into his.

“I’ll kill him! Let me kill him!”

He grabs your wrists and pushes them against your chest. You’re pinned to the wall and the more you struggle the more he presses on your chest. It forces you to take deep breaths, and for your brain to catch up with your body.

“He should be the one that’s dead! Not my mother! Not Suguru! Him! Why isn’t he fucking dead!?”

Satoru can’t help but think of those final moments with Suguru.

How ragged his breathing was as he leaned against the wall.

“At least curse me a little at the very end.”

Suguru’s smile makes Satoru feel like a teenager again. He reaches forward and Suguru noses into his palm. Satoru’s breath comes out in a shudder. There he is, the man he loves more than anything, dying.

Suguru hums as Satoru leans over to hug him. Using the bit of strength he has left his head slots where it belong; in the junction of Satoru’s neck and shoulder. He remembers how ticklish he was there and manages a chuckle as Satoru flinches as his hair did just that.

He has so many things to say.

But he feels that wedding band and he’s glad that Satoru won’t be alone.

“You went on a date with (Y/N) at the crepe restaurant, I could sense your curse energy.” His daughters had wanted to go there after and Suguru remembered how bittersweet it was to sit where the two of you had sat. He had imagined himself as you and he’s struck with the want to see you and Ieiri and —

“I should have married you.”

Suguru’s eyes water. “Satoru —”

“All I do is hurt him. You were right, Suguru. I was cruel. If I married you, we would all be happy. Your daughters and my children, they’d be siblings. (Y/N) would have found someone who would never be as cruel as I am. We would still be friends. I should’ve married you. I should’ve married you.”

Suguru was selfish too. He resented you for having Gojo. It pained him to think about how lucky you were — he wished you misfortune.

What kind of friend does that?

You’d met his parents. Spent birthdays together, and went through lessons and missions together. How could he resent you and love Satoru and Shoko so dearly?

“I chose my path, Satoru. But in another life...in another life, we’re all happy.”

Satoru feels Suguru’s lips press to his jaw.

“You can make it right, Satoru. You love him, you’ll know what to do. Just don’t be so crass, yeah?”

Your yelling doesn’t cease. He’s half a mind to yell along with you because there’s truth in your words.

Why is it that everyone that mattered wasn’t here? Because they’d hold you and tell you were alright. Your mother would’ve done everything she could to ease your pain. Suguru would be here to do the same for both of you. What would they say if they were here?

What could they do to help you?

Help him?

Satoru lets you push him away. Megumi wonders if he should walk in now. He’d never seen you like this. He takes one step forward and Satoru speaks.

“I want a divorce.”

A pin could drop and Megumi was sure it would sound like an explosion. Your chest heaving slows as Satoru watches you straighten your posture.

“Do you live to embarrass me, Satoru?” You can feel his infinity go back up.

“Or is it me that embarrassed you? Should I allow my father to mock Suguru’s death? What am I meant to have done? What could I do to satisfy you, husband?”

“This marriage is hurting us.”

Your bark of laughter makes Satoru’s heart clench.

“A marriage YOU could’ve prevented. Did you forget that? You’ve had all the time to stop it. In those 3 years, you fucked Suguru and confessed your love to him. What exactly did you intend for my life?” You cross your arms, trying so hard to keep everything contained but your mouth can’t stop itself.

“Because I could have been fine. Maybe my father would have cast me aside but at least I would have moved on. Instead, you wormed yourself into my heart and infected me from the inside out.”

“Your mother just passed. I didn’t want to cause you more pain by canceling our wedding —”

Your palm doesn’t strike him but that isn’t with lack of trying. He can see the way your hands shake as you attempt to nullify his infinity. The trails of blood that drip down from your nails piercing through your palm from earlier. Your eyes were as dark as night as you stared at him with a blank expression.

“You are dishonorable, Gojo Satoru. You are selfish, and you deserve nothing you have. Not me, not Megumi, not Tsumiki, not Ieiri and you sure as hell didn’t deserve Suguru.”

He snaps at you. Slapping your hand away as he points a finger in your face.

“You don’t get to scream at me when I tried to make this marriage work! For 10 years all I’ve ever done was love you!”

“All you’ve ever done is bury Suguru by using me, Satoru!”

“Oh, that’s bullshit!” Megumi is frozen in place. He had never seen you fight before. Had never ever seen Gojo yell or lose his cool. He feels his heart hammering against his chest and clasps his hands together.

“Every time I touch you, you pull away! Every time I kiss you, you flinch — Fuck! Do I repulse you?”

“You don’t get to be pissed about not being able to fuck me, Satoru.”

He takes off his blindfold and those cerulean eyes shine with fury.

“Of course I fucking do! You want to be the martyr so fucking badly and you did it, (Y/N)! You’re the martyr!”

You don’t let him poke his finger into your chest but despite your smacks, he touches you anyway. He grasps your wrist and his grip is so tight you can tell it’ll bruise.

That horrifying blue sears your skin.

“I may be selfish but you’re fucking vindictive, (Y/N). You tell yourself that you’re nothing and somehow it comes true. Living, stewing, in a dead man’s shadow just so you can feel good about not returning my efforts!”

Just a few nights ago he was sweet. Telling you that he loves you and he wanted you. You never believed him and here was your proof, the labor of your hurt and pain stands before you with righteous ire.

“So I’m done! I’m done.” You shake your head. He scoffs, letting you go as if he was tossing trash away.

“(Y/N) — ”

“We’ll divorce next year. Next year on this day, I’ll allow you to divorce me. But not now. Not today. Call me a vindictive, vengeful, stubborn asshole. But what I’ll not allow you to do is humiliate me all over again.”

Satoru wants to say something, but the whine of an animal stops him.

When you find Megumi clutching the neck of his Divine Dog your anger disappears in an instant. He isn’t crying though it’s obvious he’s simply holding it back. The dog's part as you reach to cup his face, whispering his name as he attempts to steel his expression.

“...I’m so sorry, Megumi. I’m so sorry you had to hear that.”

“It’s whatever,” he shrugs. Satoru sighs, combing his fingers through his hair as he crouches next to you.

“No, it’s not. You shouldn’t have to listen to that," Satoru sighs. “I’m old enough — “

You stop him by pulling him into a hug. He’s stunned, his face would have been comical in any other situation so Satoru smiles.

“You’re just a boy. Don’t act so tough so soon,” Satoru reminds him.

The few things Satoru and you could relate to was how your children would never have to face the theft of their youth as long as you were alive. You squeeze him tighter and he returns it, burying his face into your shoulder.

Despite being pissed at Satoru, he says nothing as he feels him stroke his head.

The dogs whine again and nuzzle Satoru and you, licking Megumi’s ears and cheek to dissipate this acrid scent of fear and anxiety.

“Can I stay over with you sometimes?” You know what he actually wants to ask you.

‘ When you leave am I still allowed to need you? ‘

His shoulders sag in relief as you nod.

“You don’t even have to ask, Megumi. You know I love you, right? I’ll always love you, my beautiful son.”

“Couldn’t have gotten a place with better Wi-Fi?”

Shoko glares minutely as you pluck her cigarette out of her mouth. You put it in yours and she gags at the indirect kiss which makes you roll your eyes.

“Just because you’re single doesn’t mean I’m interested, (Y/N),” you scoff and shove her shoulder. She stiffens on purpose but sways a bit. It makes you laugh.

The house you bought was a cute duplex penthouse. Something small for yourself and for Megumi when he slept over. Shoko was the only person to have seen it so far — other than Megumi of course.

Your divorce was months away but it was far too awkward to sleep on the same bed as Satoru after that fight. This was for the best; baby steps until you’re officially separated.

“Hm, even if I was interested in women you’re not exactly my type.” She lights up another cigarette and leans on the railings of your balcony. Man, hate Satoru all you want but he sure was generous with his money. The view was stunning. It must have cost a fortune.

“So. You’re single now.”

You cringe and shrink down, limply holding the cigarette as you brace your chin on your arm.

“For the first time in 13 years...”

“27 is a perfectly good age to fuck around. Not too old to scare anyone of a respectable age off but not too young to make people feel like a creep.”

“You’ve such a way with words, Shoko,” you mutter dryly.

“I’m just saying, sex is a great way to get your mind off of things.”

“Says who?” She laughs, turning to you with a cocked brow.

“Satoru may be the golden child of the sorcerer world but he’s not a sex god. His dick isn’t that good, alright? There’s someone out there that’ll make you feel like a virgin again,” her laughter dies out as she takes note of your bashful eyes.

“...No.”

“What?”

Shoko's brows furrow. It’s the most expressive she’s ever been.

“10 years and not once?”

You hide your face further into your arms.

“(Y/N)!”

“Okay! We never had sex, alright? I — I don’t know if he ever went to get his dick wet from somewhere or someone else. But me and him never fucked. I’m an adult virgin! Sue me!”

“Not even a handjob?”

You groan, smushing the cigarette into the ashtray before going back inside. She follows, belatedly smushing her cigarette when you remind her with a look.

“Ok — Okay, but do you want to be a virgin? It’s perfectly reasonable if you do. I’ll respect your choices. But, why didn’t you...?”

“Shoko, every time he touched me...I felt like the ugliest person on this goddamn planet. We tried,” you sighed. “He tried a few times. Never pushy, never forcing but no matter what fucking angle he approached it from. I just couldn’t.”

Shoko slides her arm over your shoulder and you pliantly turn to return the hug. Her shirt, unsurprisingly, reeks of cigarettes but it brings a semblance of comfort. For a moment you’re washed over with nostalgia though for once, it comes with no pain.

“Well, you’re good-looking and you should definitely take half of Satoru’s money in the divorce. You’re good with kids too, a definite catch,” she presses a kiss on your forehead and you accept it with a loose grin.

“You deserve someone and if you don’t want anyone that’s fine too. Just promise to invite me out sometimes,” her eyebags suddenly seemed darker and so you give her another hug.

“I love you, Shoko.”

“I know. Unfortunately, I do too.”

“You love me,” you tease as your fingers wiggle and she pushes your face away ruthlessly.

“Heavy emphasis on the unfortunately — tickle me and I won’t heal you.”

She lets you escape her grasps, flabbergasted at her statement.

Satoru twists the ring, the light that it catches shimmering bashfully at his attentiveness. His husband had moved out, Megumi decided to sleep over after a whole day of helping him settle in and Satoru didn’t know how to feel about it. His hand feels naked and uncomfortable. The air that breezes lightly on the bare skin make gooseflesh ripple. The ring is enclosed by his fingers and he props his face on the fist, peering at the papers of this mission and that. The writing all look like giberrish, floating aimlessly in his brain as he thinks of (Y/N).

Had he truly never felt Satoru’s affections? It might have not been the love he deserved but to call it nothing was egregious. Or was he being selfish again?

Satoru pinches his nose bridge. His throat longs for the burn of alcohol which surprises him. He wasn’t much of a drinker — he wasn’t a happy drunk.

The ring grew warm in his hold and Satoru squeezed it. It always had the funniest way of doing that. It was as if it was alive, like a cursed object made to punish Satoru. Whenever his eyes wander or his mind reminisces of passionate nights, it burns and he resents himself for it. 10 years of involuntary celibacy was not something he thought of when he was younger. He liked sex. He doesn’t know if it was because it was good or because it was with Suguru. Regardless, Satoru enjoyed it.

He thought that if you got over that hurdle in your relationship, the two of you could fall into sync. He knows he cares about you and he knows you love him.

The house was so quiet. Satoru wants nothing more than to hear your soft breathing, Megumi’s sleepy mumbles and Tsumiki’s shifting around in bed.

He was supposed to be the strongest so why couldn’t he keep his family together?

Suguru told him that in another life they were all happy. But Satoru can’t help but ask himself why not in this life?

His hand unfurls and he slips the ring back in place.

(Y/N) Gojo is a Grade 1 sorcerer with extraordinary skill and wit in battle. His face was crafted by angels with feather-light touches, ones that thumbed the furrows of his brow with a sense of melancholy and kissed his eyelids with love; Satoru did not deserve you. He didn’t deserve to wake up with you by his side, caught by how beautiful you were when your guard was down.

Satoru suddenly wonders what made him unable to fall. It wasn’t your personality, nor your voice. You were funny, intelligent, headstrong, resilient, and everything most men fantasized about. Was it him? Even with all his attempts, his sweet gestures and words, did you see through it?

Did you see him?

What was it that you saw?

A tall child craving for his favorite person to come back?

…Was it a pathetic sight, (Y/N)?

Did you heart bleed for him?

Satoru stands, slipping the mission papers back into their files.

His guilt is a willow tree you had planted within him, tended by his own hands and watered with your tears. It’s beautiful and lonely, surrounded by flowers that climb and choke its branches as it hopes for someone to understand it.

You had. You understood the isolation he felt being on top and you supported him and got stronger to reach him. You saw right through him and he remained blind to you.

Shoko's name flashed across the screen of his phone. Satoru picks it up mindlessly, sitting on the end of your — his bed.

“You better give him half of your belongings in the divorce,” she says. He hears the burn of the cigarette as she inhales.

“Suguru was my friend. Just as much as he was (Y/N)’s.”

Satoru’s brow twitched. “Excuse me?”

“Suguru. I was there, believe it or not, and so was (Y/N). Suguru was our friend, our brother, our Suguru. We grieve him every day. Even before he was dead, we grieved him. I don’t fault you for being a shitty husband because of your grief, (Y/N) wasn’t the best husband either.”

“Don’t pretend to understand — “

“Get out of your head and stop mourning alone. All those years. When have you ever come to see me, Satoru? I was hurting too. ”

She exhales, flicking the ashes away as Satoru covers his wet eyes.

"I fucked up, Shoko." That was an understatement of the decade. She glances at the night sky, watching the buildings breeze past.

"I fucked up."

“Itadori Yuuji?” You squint your eyes at the papers, ignoring the warmth that Satoru emits from your side. You were at a clan meeting. One that Satoru decided to join so, you had no choice but to listen to him.

“Sukuna’s vessel,” he tilts his head, scratching the back of his neck from the uncomfortable button-up you forced him into. If he wanted to annoy you, you’d gladly return the favor. It was a few sizes too tight and the tie you put around his neck choked him but, he acted as cool as a cucumber.

“The boy Megumi found?” He nods and you read his papers with more fervor.

“You fought Sukuna?” He smiles cheerfully, grinning from ear to ear as he spins in place.

“I won,” he cheers. It takes all your self-restraint not to throttle him. “That was reckless,” you hissed out, ignoring the servants eyeing the both of you as they set down the trays of tea and finger foods.

“I’m the strongest. I would’ve won anyways,” he peers over your shoulder to read through the report again.

“Why are you showing me this? The higher-ups already called for his execution.” He places his chin on your shoulder. Your breath hitched yet, neither of you commented on it.

“I told them I’d kill them if they executed Itadori Yuuji,” he faces you as you turn to glare at him. Your lips were centimeters apart. Satoru takes note of your racing heart.

“Are you insane?”

“He’s just a boy doing what he could to save our son. Itadori shouldn’t have to be killed for doing the right thing.”

He lets you push his head away, slipping the papers back into the document sleeve and sliding it over to him.

“He will be executed once he eats all his fingers, he is a lamb sent to slaughter.”

At times like this, you think of Suguru and wonder if he was telling some truth about the world you lived in. Kids dying in droves because of curses that would never exist if non-sorcerers didn’t exist. But really, this was no one's fault but Sukuna. The old bastard couldn’t just die instead, he prolongs his existence like a roach.

"Megumi blames himself for that,” your heart squeezes at the thought. “They get along great, such rambunctious students. You would love them, you could spend more time with ‘Gumi.”

“Satoru, I’m not going to be a teacher. I’ve no patience for it,” he looks befuddled at your words. “You’ve been my husband for 10 years, so that’s a lie.”

The reminder of your marriage earns him a stink eye that he just giggles at. The official papers were to be served in a few more months. Until then, you were still together in the public eye.

“Just...think about it, (Y/N). I know you’ve been busy with missions and these boring meetings but I also know you miss Megumi and he missed you too.”

Gods, he’s playing that card. Why does he always need to play that card? He knows you give in every time.

“How have those missions been? You’ve been traveling a lot,” he puts Itadori’s file away and gives you his full attention. “Exhausting but it is fun to sightsee and make new friends,” you reach for the cup of tea.

“...Ya popped your cherry yet?”

The tea sprays onto the table and you cough violently as you save yourself from the near-death experience. A servant gasps and rushes to clean the mess, another asking if you’re alright and if the tea was too bitter or hot.

“You’re — You are — “ he grins as you cough and pats your back. “You are so gross, Satoru!”

He cackles at your flustered expression.

The servants leave eventually and you stew as you sit across from Satoru, back turned to him to stare out at the courtyard. Your silhouette makes his smile widen. He props his chin in his palm, taking in the sight of you.

“I wouldn’t mind if you had. I was just asking, as a friend.” He’s glad your shoulders don’t stiffen. The only reply he earns is your middle finger.

“Whaaat? I just wanted to know if it was good.”

“Is this how you’re going to convince me to be a teacher? By asking vulgar questions?”

“Not my intention but if I can kill two birds with one stone then why not?” You groan as you hang your head, hoping the ground will swallow you whole. Satoru hums a tune as he awaits your answers.

“Fine! Fine. I’ll be a teacher.”

“You’ve earned one mark! For a full mark, answer the other question!”

You’re tempted to throw the whole tea set to his face but can’t help the smile that crawls on your face at his animated movements. So you turn to face him, shaking your head as you sigh.

“No, I haven’t. Does that satisfy you?” Satoru’s slack jaw makes you want to punch him.

“Nearly four months of traveling and missions and meeting other people. Not one got into your pants?” You huff and cross your arms.

“So you’ve let someone into your pants, husband?” Satoru gasps. “How dare you? I’ve been a dutiful teacher and my students will attest to this!”

He then placed his elbows on the table, looking like a schoolgirl about to gossip.

“You should tell me all about your type, I’ll be more than happy to help you,” he draws hearts in the air with his finger.

Your type? You wanted to scold him and maybe even degrade him for acting like a perverted cuckold but this question catches you off guard.

You found Satoru attractive. Then again, who didn’t? But what was your type? You place your chin between your thumb and finger. Satoru waits patiently.

“I don’t know, I mean, I know I like men but...huh...”

You scratch the back of your neck.

“I guess I never really thought about it.”

Satoru exhales, endeared by the worry on your face. He was a shitty husband but Satoru was a good friend. You had put your life on pause for his. It was only fair that he helped you. He may not be able to fully piece together your heart but he’ll do what he can until you can smile again.

Those months away helped, there’s no doubt about it, but he knows you miss home and you needed to put down new roots in soil that wasn’t infested and toxic.

He knows you’ll probably take years to forgive him. He’s willing to wait, so he can have his friend back.

“We can start simple. Which one of our friends would you sleep with?” Your shrug makes him list some names. Then the sight of your eyes widening as he says Nanami Kento makes him gasp.

“Nanami!? Our underclassmen!?”

As Satoru guffaws and goes on about how boring Nanami was your mind ponders on this tightening of your chest.

Were you too lenient with Satoru? After all he has done?

You weren't without sin or fault. You understand that much but this feels so different. Familiar, actually, there's no expectation in Satoru's affections.

It was casual and it made you feel lighter than you have in a long time.

Should you be angrier? As a boy, his friendly attitude felt like a slap across the face. Now, it just feels right. Has your heart finally stopped beating for Satoru? All it took was 10 years of a shitty marriage?

It was rare for sorcerers to live as long as you have. A sense of panic grips you. For a moment, the thought of time wasted flashes. Then, those sweet memories of Tsumiki and Megumi seep in. Memories of Shoko, Satoru, Suguru and you laughing boisterously at something stupid while eating at the school field.

Your eye creases as your cheeks lift. Satoru is still rambling about Nanami and the only thing that makes him stop is a sound from his fondest memory.

You're laughing. Clutching at your stomach and tear-pricked eyes kinda laugh. His huff of disbelief transitions into a chuckle.

Oh, you forgot how good it felt to laugh this hard. It felt so nice to have him as a friend again. So fucking nice.

"His cheekbones are something to behold, I know, but did you forget his old hairdo?"

Satoru can see the warmth seep back into your skin, your eyes are glowing again as you cover your face; those heavenly shades of (E/C) peek through your fingers. The ring glimmers, and for a moment Satoru's chest doesn't feel heavy.

"You can do better, husband," he says. Your teeth are in full view. No longer hidden by a grimace or frown or a tight-lipped grin. There was still a long way to go but Satoru was willing to go the distance. For his beloved friend who deserves it all.

He can't wait to tell Megumi you are back for good this time. He can't wait to see you interact with his students. He knew you'd get along with them, they'd love you. Gods know they need a break from him at times.

"You're so fuckin' dumb, 'Toru," you exclaim. He agrees with a hum and for the first time in a long time, you feel like yourself again.

"Made you laugh though," he dodges the pillow you'd been kneeling on with glee.

#s3thwrit3sstuff #reader insert #male reader #gay reader #male reader insert #male!reader #satoru gojo angst #satosugu #satoru gojo x yn #satoru gojo x you #satoru gojo x male reader #satoru gojo x reader #gojo satoru #gojo satoru x male reader #gojo satoru x reader #gojo satoru x you

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osamucide · 4 months ago

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⊹ LOOKIN’ FOR THE ONE THAT WANTS TO MAKE MY NAME A TATTY!

cw: multifandom (bsd+jjk), suggestive, name tattoos!!! all around questionable? feral and whipped and lovesick and possessive and stupid stupid hot men

reid: down bad for this concept and these mfers anyways stream aggy by coco and clair clair

⊹ ⊹ ⊹

Who would get your name tattooed on them?

This SCREAMS GOJO. He’s so shameless—he’d get your name tattooed on his asscheek if you asked. He’d let you do it. He’d let it be Comic Sans for the meme. Not because he doesn’t take you seriously—quite the opposite, actually! His six eyes know he won’t ever regret this—he loves you so much and there’s hardly anything in the world he wouldn’t do to put a smile on your face even if it’s dumb. But really, tell him to be for real—suggest along his bicep in a pretty script font and consider it done <3

SUKUNA’S probably going to do this under one condition—he gets to mark you as his too, and this does not necessarily mean you also get a tattoo. But let’s say you do! I think he wants yours between your tits on your sternum running vertical, and he’ll probably get his in the exact same place—exact same font, exact same color. . .there, or down his spine, or if he’s feeling especially soft the day of the appointment, across his Achilles tendon, for obvious reasons—don’t make him say it.

If this screams anyone else on this list, it’s TOJI. He won’t even hesitate; he’s not exactly the most responsible guy around, but you like him, and he thinks you’re perfect—why the hell shouldn’t he have your name wrapped around his upper arm like a cuff, especially if it means your eyes light up and you flash him that gorgeous smile? Just don’t be too surprised when you find his baby mother’s name haphazardly covered up/half removed somewhere else on him.

I can see NANAMI doing this a few years into marriage, maybe, but doing it nonetheless. Look at him—he’s the dictionary definition of a keeper, and this is hardly any different to him than never taking off his wedding ring (and believe me, once you’ve got him on lock I mean he never takes it off). Matching ones would be especially alluring to him—you’re his one and only, and he hardly gives a thin and subtle sans-serif tattoo of your name on his upper thigh a second thought. What’s more is he’s enamored with kissing the spot where you get his name <3

This may or may not be me pushing my tattooed CHUUYA agenda but whatever. I think he’d be SO down for this. He’d probably make a little date out of it—drive you to the nicest tattoo shop in Yokohama under the guise of wanting to pay for whatever piece you want on yourself—tattoo or piercing—and sit patiently while you get it done, and then ‘decide last-minute’ that he’ll get one too, what the hell, and tell you not to look until it’s finished. Some elegant, masculine script font behind his ear that’s visible when he pulls his hair back <3

TACHIHARA is so grounded in what he loves. I’m 100% willing to bet he has a tattoo for his brother. Your name, too, tattooed on the outside of his shoulder, is like a badge of honor to him—everything he does, he does with you in mind. His only regret is how every uniform he wears covers it; he truly would’ve gotten it on his neck just above his shirt collar or on the back of his hand if it wouldn’t make him so easily identifiable. I can see him liking a traditional calligraphy font—only the prettiest for the love of his life <3

Funny how the man who knows nothing he desires can be permanent gets your name tatted on him. I think the prospect of having your name in his skin forever is just so hot, so romantic to DAZAI—there’s poetry in it however your relationship ends up unfolding. He knows he’s in love with you. In some way or another, no matter how he might end up driving you away, regardless of if you end up hating him for the monster he really is, even if you end up dying hand in hand like he hopes for, you’ll always own a piece of his heart and it’s evident in the pretty serif font he got buzzed across his hipbone <3

I include NIKOLAI in every one of my unhinged headcanons but I just can’t see him being anything less than ENTHUSIASTIC TO BOOT in a relationship. He is all in! You put up with his crazy, you drive away his sadness, you hold him so sweetly—the way you love him truly makes him feel on top of the world. And in true Nikolai fashion, I think he has your name in a font of your choice tatted right over his heart. Kiss it, bite it, trace it, lick it—he loves letting you know he’s all yours <3

#with love—reid #gojo x reader #sukuna x reader #toji x reader #nanami x reader #chuuya x reader #tachihara x reader #dazai x reader #nikolai x reader #bsd x reader #bungou stray dogs x reader #bsd headcanons #bungou stray dogs headcanons #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk headcanons #jujutsu kaisen headcanons

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archangeldyke-all · 6 months ago

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fake dating sevika? obviously leading to real marriage cuz duh 🙄

how have i not done this trope yet? i love it

men and minors dni

you and sevika are friendly. you wouldn't go as far as saying you're friends, but you get along pretty well with your neighbor. that is-- when you see her. she's usually at work but from time to time, you both end up on the fire escape that connects your back windows at the same time, the two of you smoking together after a long day.

on occasion, she shares a cigar with you. you always share your weed with her-- giggling at the way her eyes get heavy and pink as she smokes. you've even shared a few late-night dinners-- just a bag of pretzels and a six pack of ale, but it's still nice.

despite the nice few nice nights you've shared, that's as far as your tentative acquaintanceship has ever gone. which is why you're a little surprised to find sevika at your front door as you get ready to head out to the markets.

"sevika?" you ask. she blinks in surprise, dropping her hand that she'd been ready to knock with.

"uh. hi." she grunts. she's not looking at you, her head is ducked and she's scrubbing the back of her neck. you're a little worried for her.

"you okay?" you ask. sevika sighs a long, gusty sigh, then looks up at you with a wince.

"i need a favor." she grumbles. you raise an eyebrow, curious. sevika groans again, and you giggle.

"come in." you invite her into your apartment, nodding her toward your couch as you grab a beer from the fridge for her. she takes it, nodding at you in thanks. you clink your glasses together, both of you taking a few sips as you settle on the sofa beside her. "so?" you ask. sevika huffs again.

"you know i work for silco, right?" she asks. you snort and nod.

"yes, i'm aware." you bite back the urge to tack on 'so is everyone else in zaun.'

"well..." she trails off, staring at the floor, before shaking her head and rolling her eyes. "basically, we gotta go up to piltover for a fancy-fuck dinner, but they won't let silco bring anyone from his crew besides me. so..." she sighs.

"so what?"

"the whole reason we're going to the fucking dinner in the first place is to get a good look at what the topsiders are cooking up as their own shimmer variants. we can't distract the pilties, and gather intel with just the two of us." she looks up at you, waiting for you to respond like she's somehow revealed the favor she needs.

"...okay?" you ask.

sevika groans, then slumps against your couch. "i need a date." she huffs. you raise an eyebrow.

"i'm pretty sure the girls from babette's--"

"no!" she squeals. you chuckle a little. "these people-- they can sniff out a sump-rat from a mile away. they're already nervous about letting silco bring me along. i need to bring someone..." she pauses and chugs the remainder of her beer, swallows a burp, then speaks again. "you're, like. sweet, y'know?" she whispers. you blink. "you're easy to talk to. you could charm the pants off anyone: zaun gangster like me or piltover elites."

warmth bubbles up in your stomach at her words, a soft smile pulling at your lips. "you think so?" you ask. sevika groans and rolls her eyes.

"fuck off. just: will you be my fake date to this dumbass dinner or not?" she asks. you grin.

"well, what do i get outta it?" you tease. of course you're going to say yes, especially after all the soft things sevika just said to you.

sevika scoffs a bit, smiling back at you. "topsider food for a night?" she bribes. "good wine?"

you snort, then reach your hand out between the two of you for sevika to take. she does, and you're surprised at how warm and firm her grip is. "deal." you agree.

the entire trip up to piltover, sevika's scowling and huffing, bitching to silco any chance she can get about the fact that he's dragging her up top. you find it endlessly amusing.

but the moment you enter the mansion, sevika's attitude does a complete 180. it's impressive to see. her pleasant smile, while fake, is just as pretty as all the quick smirks she's shot you on the balcony as you pass a joint back and forth.

she also starts touching you. at first, it's tentative; a gentle hand on the waist or small of your back; but as you relax into her touch and start touching her back, her touches become mindless.

as you sip on drinks and laugh politely at the rich-people humor you can't understand for the life of you, sevika slings her arm around your shoulders, pulling you toward her chest.

when you're two drinks in, she presses a kiss to the crown of your head. she turns her head to whisper against your ear, "regretting your decision yet?"

you have to bite back the shaky moan you want to let out at the feeling of her breath on your neck.

you end up drinking more than you probably should. sevika's always been attractive to you, but you've never acted on it. you're neighbors, sevika's pre-occupied with work and her girls, you don't want to make things weird. but it's hard to ignore how handsome she looks in her suit when she's staring at you with a strangely convincing admiring-gaze, her mech thumb gently sweeping across the back of your hand.

the wine loosens you up, all your jitters and nerves about being surrounded by wealth melting away with each sip of your glass. the guests find you endlessly entertaining once you start talking: your radical undercity politics softened by the docile way you're leaning against sevika and your slurred words.

you get into a few debates. silco seems impressed with your knowledge of zaun's history, his good eyebrow ticking up with interest as you berate a man who suggested piltoverian taxes shouldn't be funding any zaunite public systems.

you charm a few of the wives, complimenting the appetizers and asking for the recipes, helping clear empty dishes and glasses to the kitchen.

you even make friends with the violinist that's been hired to play music for the night, complimenting her music taste and requesting a few songs that make her grin. "nobody asks for that one, but it's so fun to play, it's my favorite!"

sevika has to keep hiding her cocky smile behind her hand as she watches you work.

dinner is delicious. you're wiggling in your seat with excitement as you tear into the fresh food: a rare delight for you. beside you, sevika keeps laughing as she watches you eat. "you're an animal." she giggles.

"you gonna need anymore dates up here in the future?" you ask around a mouthful of food, hiding your full mouth with your hand. sevika grins.

"we'll see what happens." she chuckles.

by the end of the night, sevika has to help keep you steady as you sway on your feet, laughing and jogging down the streets of piltover while sevika and silco trail behind you.

"i quite like her." you overhear silco mumble at some point. then,

"yeah, me too." sevika replies.

she doesn't kiss you goodnight. you're almost disappointed, until you remember that this wasn't a real date. you stand in your doorway awkwardly, shimmying out of the suit jacket she'd slung over your shoulders on the walk home and handing it back to her, trying to find something to say.

"uh. this was really fun." you whisper. sevika smiles.

"it was. i knew you'd be a good fake girlfriend."

you giggle a bit, something strange flopping over in your stomach at the reminder that tonight was fake. "you're not so bad yourself, you know." you whisper. sevika blinks at you with big eyes, but doesn't say anything. "anyways. was i a good distraction?" you ask. she grins.

"oh, yeah. you had those pilties wrapped around your finger-- i was gone for thirty fuckin' minutes and they didn't even bat an eye." she says, giggling. you smile.

"i'm glad i could help." you laugh. "if you ever need another fake date..."

"you'll be my first choice." sevika promises.

you gulp. this is the point of the night where you turn around and go into your apartment, watch through the peephole as sevika goes in hers, then go to bed. but... you linger.

sevika lingers too.

you decide to just go for it. you're drunk off good wine, full off good food, and... she looks so fucking pretty that the choice isn't all that hard to make. "or, you know. i'd say yes to a real date too."

it's quiet for a horrifying moment, sevika's eyes widening as they study your face, like she's trying to figure out if you're joking. you're about to laugh it off-- already planning on breaking your lease early so you can move out of this building before you ever have to see her again-- when sevika grins.

"a real date with me wouldn't be as classy as tonight was." sevika says. you bite your lip.

"that's okay. tonight was fun, but it was... a lot." you mumble. sevika giggles, a sweet sound, and your stomach flip-flops.

"how does take-out from jericho's at my place sound?" she asks.

it's your turn to grin. "fuckin' amazing." you say. sevika laughs.

"tomorrow?"

"sure. or, we could go now?" you suggest. "jericho's is open all ni--"

you're cut off by sevika's lips. she crowds you to your front door, pressing her chest against yours. you hum into her mouth, and she hums back.

eventually, she pulls away for air. "i've been wanting to do that forever." she gasps.

you giggle, and pull her back in for another kiss. "me too." you mumble before your lips meet.

taglist!

@fyeahnix @sapphicsgirl @half-of-a-gay @thesevi0lentdelights @sexysapphicshopowner @shimtarofstupidity @chuucanchuucan @badbye666 @femme-historian @lia-winther @gr0ssz0mbi3 @ellsss @sevikaspillowprincess @leomatsuzaki @emiliabby @sevikasbeloved @hellorai @vikasub @glass-apothecary @m0numents @macaroni676 @vixel352 @artinvain

#sevika #sevika imagine #sevika arcane #sevika x reader #sevika x you #soft sevika

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targaryenrealnessdarling · 1 year ago

Text

The Green Prince | Bluebeard!Aemond x Wife!Reader

-Based on the Fairytale 'Bluebeard'- Halloween Special!

Summary: Six wives before her mysteriously disappeared, and someone in Dragonstone calls for her once her new husband entrusts her with his master key | Word Count: 8k~ | Warnings below the cut~

Links to my Taglists: General Taglist | Aemond Targaryen Taglist

Warnings: dub-con, arranged marriage, victorian england setting, era-typical sexism, murder, uxoricide, blood, toxic behaviour, apparitions/ghosts, manipulation, threats of violence

She's heard only tales of Aemond Targaryen.

The Green Prince of Dragonstone. A wealthy gentleman who often stayed within the confines of his estate.

When she abandoned the frills and wide smiles of girlhood, thrust into the pomp and practice of womanhood, that is when the stories began.

She had never seen him. And she began to believe, that the people around her who spoke of him never had either.

They were of a decent background, her and her family. Not overwhelmingly rich. But well-off is what her father always said.

Enough to employ a small army of servants.

Enough to never have to worry about the troubles of daily life that so often would hinder an everyday individual.

She doubted Aemond Targaryen ever had to worry about that either.

One fact that simply could not be frayed, was that he was royalty.

Only in the sense that he was utterly untouchable.

He had this elegance about him, they would say, a sort of curious exoticisim from the way his long, silver hair would drift down his back, to the way his inhuman purple eyes would glimmer, half lidded and looking straight ahead, as if he were piercing a knife through the individual with his gaze alone.

Though they were technically neighbours, she saw very little life pass through the iron gates of Dragonstone. His estate so vast, that by foot, she would have to commit a whole hour to simply brush by the border of what she deemed was a forbidden land.

There seemed an aura of darkness over it, that she could not quite comprehend. But one that intrigued her all the same.

Last year, at the same time as now, she had been considered a child. No better for company than being banished upstairs to dwindle about her books and writings, out of the way of adults and their serious business affairs.

What had really changed in 12 months, that they now considered her a woman?

She felt age had little to do with it.

She felt that she had been grown in her mind for some time, and had actually changed very little from the age of three and ten.

But now, at the tender age of nine and ten, there was still a girlish nature about her face. A brightness to her eyes, and a plumpness about her cheeks. One that her mother had once commented that men would find appealing in a wife.

And so here she was.

Dressed in her finery, a glass of wine in a crystal glass delicately placed in one hand, she stood beside her eldest brother, who had torn himself rather blatantly from a woman he himself was courting in favour of supporting his sweet, youngest sister.

"Do not, for the love of our mother, allow yourself to be approached by Mr Gardner. He has had five servants in as many months. I am sure you can understand why", her brother mused with a contented chuckle.

She did not know why. Nobody had told her plainly.

Sometimes she wished people would just be honest with her. And not assumed she knew the inner workings of people's minds, after years of being shut away upstairs by her parents and brother alike.

The foyer and adjoining rooms alike were filled with people, all pretending to make pleasantries with each other. And as the night dragged on, several well known bachelor's having tried their hand at impressing her, she found her glass of wine was not as endless as she thought.

When a servant had spotted her, appearing at her side to refill her glass, she had turned her body sideways and locked eyes, finally, with him.

The one people affectionately named, The Green Prince.

Like most of the men tonight, he was dressed in a suit with a long overcoat that covered his dark green waistcoat. So dark were the colours of his outfit, that they almost appeared black, like the rest of it.

His hair was loose, with a few strands falling to the front over his shoulders, and as her eyes trailed up to his pale collar, where a tie was loosely wrapped about his neck, she saw that when she met his gaze, he was already looking at her.

He held his glass in a manner most unbecoming. Hanging at his side, his long fingers grasping the edges so delicately, she was sure for a moment it was floating in his hold.

His finger, she noticed, tapped idly at the side of the room, as if deep in thought as he looked upon her.

She saw his gaze drop to her outfit, one that her mother had chosen for her. A red, almost burnt tea coloured dress, with very little flounce and fancy to it. The collar hung delicately at her shoulders, the bodice tight and the only detail of any colour was in the stitching of her skirt, which he noted was a shimmering gold.

When he lifted his eyes, he took a sip from his glass, still almost filled to the top, his burning lilac gaze hovering over the brim. She sucked in a breath, her own eyes flitting over his face. And to the patch that covered the left eye.

She didn't know why her chest felt tight, and why she hoped suddenly for the appearance of her brother. Or her father perhaps. He was staring at her so unabashedly, that for an unmarried woman such as herself, she would be looked upon with immense judgement if she were found to be staring back at him in the same manner.

Knowing his gaze was burning at the back of her head, perhaps tracing the intricate pattern of braids her hair had been styled in, she decided to ignore him, until he had the decency to approach and introduce himself to her properly.

As any good gentleman would.

She meandered through the menagerie of figures, careful to keep her wine close to her so that she wouldn't repeat the same embarrassment as last year when she spilled the entire glass down Mr Bray, whose wife near lost her voice with incessant shouting.

Her father, ever cheerful, as rich men so often are, materialised at her side, grasping her elbow and tugged his daughter close to him. His breath smelled like red wine as he whispered to her.

"It appears you have captured the special attention of Mr Targaryen, daughter"

Her father chuckled when her wide, terrified and yet curious eyes met his.

How could she have captured his attention, when she had done nothing at all? She thought.

She did not yet know, the charms that the appearance of a female body could offer. And how it could transform a respectable man from a pillar of society, to a hungry, lustful beast at a moment's notice.

"I shall introduce you to him" her father insisted, leading her along at his side, despite her quiet protests.

"But father-"

"Hush now. Remember your manners".

His tone of voice was enough.

She had not experienced it as a mere female. But she had seen first hand what her father did to her brother when he disobeyed. Finding a sort of punishment worthy at the end of his cane as it cracked against her brother's palm.

Her brother still wore gloves often. That was his shield.

She had yet to find her own.

Perhaps hers was in her mind, she thought. That she might be able to protect herself with her ideas and opinions, twisting the minds of men, as her elder sister had said once, to suit the needs of the women they owned.

She often had to remind herself, she was property. And could easily be bought and sold, and kicked to the roadside if she had done something to mar her family name.

She was thrust into a sort of social assassination once again once stood before the famed Mr Targaryen, who nodded his head in greeting but said nothing.

"My Targaryen. What an honour it is to have you here. Please might introduce my daughter"

He bent somewhat at the hip, his hand moving to grasp hers, the skin soft and feminine.

"The pleasure is all mine, Miss"

His voice was like the purr of a cat. And though terrifyingly intriguing, she couldn't find it in herself to look away.

"And to you, Sir. Many thanks for the invitation" Aemond turned towards her father, giving another barely existent nod of his head, his expression flat and almost bored.

"It is no problem at all, Mr Targaryen. Please accept my condolences on the passing of your wife"

Late wife?

She felt rude to ask, so said nothing.

Aemond seemed to understand her curiosity, and gave a light smirk in her direction, though she was on his blind side.

"Thank you, Sir. It was a great tragedy indeed"

"Indeed" her father repeated, leaning forward as if to emphasise the size of his empathy for him, "I understand she was quite distressed for some time, was she not?"

She almost passed her father a warning glance. Thinking it rather rude for him to say such things about his late wife. Whether she may have been mad or not.

But Aemond merely nodded.

"Indeed. I am afraid, however, it was an inevitable accident"

Accident.

She of course, remembered hearing the gossip, and hearing her father read the newspaper every morning. An update about the mad Alys Rivers at the top of the page every time.

Alys Rivers, the Lady of Dragonstone, found dead in God's Eye Lake. A wound to the neck spells suicide.

A wound to the neck was a kind description.

Her pale skin was said to be slashed open on one side, everything visible within. And once the water had got to her, she was swollen, pale and blue, completely drained of blood. Almost entirely unrecognisable.

It was just as well she had no family. They would not have wished to see how she met her end.

The article found it necessary to articulate, that her body had been returned to her husband.

Across the room, another gentleman called for her father, and she felt the hot whips of panic at the back of her neck at the thought of being left alone with Aemond.

"Do excuse me" her father said quickly, disappearing into the sea of black and grey.

She herself turned back to Aemond, not wanting to be rude, and tapped her fingernails on the crystal glass nervously.

"I am very sorry to hear about your wife"

Aemond hummed, one of his hands behind his back like he had a secret.

"Thank you, Miss"

There was a long period of silence between them. And for a while, she wondered if she should be the one to break it.

Aemond laughed lowly, leaning down to her face as he caught something interesting in his sights.

"See your brother?" He murmured. And her face turned as well, not realising at first how close their faces were, but she could not very well pull away without offending him.

All the same, he smelled of sandalwood.

Her eyes followed his, to her brother on the other side of the room, where he was thoroughly embarrassing himself by laughing too widely with the woman he had been courting for several months.

"He is awfully close to that woman, is he not?"

She swallowed, raising her chin to appear more confident as she spoke, "She is to be his intended. It is only natural they speak freely with one another" she reasoned.

Aemond did not move away, his shoulder brushing against her side. It made her shudder.

"He is certainly doing something freely" Aemond hummed deep in his chest, a tone which sent a dull ache through her body.

Her brother leaned in close to the woman. And she watched her blush and throw her head back with a demure laugh, her brother leaning close to run his nose along her neck, grinning against her skin.

It felt forbidden to watch them be so close.

And yet he was so brazen about it.

"She seems to be enjoying herself, at least"

She couldn't find it in herself to reply.

For the woman did appear as if she was enjoying herself. And briefly, stood beside Aemond, his breath softly batting against her neck, she wondered herself, how it would feel if he did the same to her.

She wondered if he was thinking the same thing as her. Sneaking into her mind like a whisper, as if he were being a locked door, and was peering through the keyhole to uncover her darkest thoughts and desires.

Her brother leaned towards his intended, planting a kiss to the column of her neck. And she felt herself parting her lips as the other woman had, not only at the shameless behaviour of her brother, so consumed in wine that he felt no need to appear reasonable in front of other people, but also because she felt Aemond’s slender fingers at her forearm.

It was not at all like the way her father had pulled her to him, in ownership.

Aemond tugged her towards him in a sort of longing, his nose pressing into the plaits of her hair.

“I am going to ask your father for your hand” he whispered, “and he will say yes. And you shall be mine”.

She listened with her fingers wrapped around the wooden pillars of the staircase as her brother shouted obscenity after obscenity at her father. Every now and then her mother would insert her little, sweet voice that was inevitably crushed by the low boom of the two males in the room.

With her gaze planted firmly in her lap, tracing the patterns of the lace of her nightgown as she listened, she thought with a sort of sadness that the offer of marriage should be a joyous and happy occasion. And now in her household, the prospect of her being tied to the Green Prince himself was so offensive to her brother, that he felt the need to fight on her behalf.

Perhaps knowing his sweet sister had no choice in the matter.

“He is barely half a decade older than her and has had six wives in as many years, father!” he boomed, and she could tell by the way his voice bounced off the furniture that he was pacing and throwing his arms around.

“To give her away to that brute. It is unthinkable!”

“Be quiet!” her father roared back, “the wedding will go ahead as planned. We will not get a better offer than this!”

While she was happy, that her brother was trying to stick up for her, it was no use. He nor her had a choice in the matter.

Her father had said it himself.

We will not get a better offer.

Not she.

She was property. Something to be sold and given in exchange for goods or reputation. What she wanted, was of no consequence.

And she couldn’t help but think of her mother, several decades younger than her father, and how she must have felt at her tender age when confronted with the prospect of marrying a man much older than she.

In a way, she felt connected to her mother in that way. But also in a way that she resented her, for dressing her up, plaiting her hair and pushing her out into the rich man’s world, ripe and ready for the taking.

Passing her the torch of a woman’s anguish.

The wedding felt clinical. More akin to a funeral than a union of two people.

Her brother stares dagger into the back of her intended for the entire ceremony. All while her mother cried softly into her handkerchief and her father sat, stoic and silent, his chubby fingers caressing the sculpted ornament on the top of his cane.

She remembered his hands as they were bought together and the officiator had placed a sort of sacred cloth over them as he muttered his prayers. Binding them lawfully and before the eyes of God, for their whole lives.

His hands were large, his palms completely dwarfing hers and his long fingers wrapping around hers like tight vines. And at that moment, she had never felt so small in her life.

And noticed that his side of the wedding chapel, where his family members were supposed to sit and witness their union, was completely empty.

Six wives in as many years.

That is what her brother had said.

She knew Aemond had been married multiple times prior to her, but was her brother merely exaggerating?

In contrast to his hands, where the blood swam warmly through his limbs, his lips where the officiant asked them to seal their union with a kiss, were cold, and not forthcoming. As if he had not asked her father for her hand in marriage, but that this entire affair was so useless and merely for looks, that he’d rather be somewhere else.

That said. She could not escape the intensity of his gaze.

He seemed to focus solely on her, much to her discomfort, to the point where it seemed like he was not listening to a single prayer or hymn that was uttered in the chapel all afternoon. And though her eyes were elsewhere, to try and place the feeling that bubbled in her chest somewhere else, she often found his lilac eye drifting to the details of her necklace, to face, and pausing where she wet her lips nervously.

If he hadn’t possessed such a domineering, strong presence, she thought he would be devilishly handsome.

Perhaps a fact he already knew.

It was unlike her family to have celebrations, so they didn’t.

She gave each of the servants, some who she knew for most of her life a final embrace, thanking them for their hospitality and care where she did not receive it from her parents. And as her luggage was packed meaningfully in the back of Mr Targaryen’s carriage, with two large horses at the front, she gave her brother a tight embrace as well. Inhaling and savouring the musty smell of tobacco on his coat.

He looked saddened, but for the sake of appearances, forced a smile onto his face.

“Good luck, dear sister. Remember you may write to me, even though you are a married woman” he smiled, teasing her softly with a nudge to her shoulder.

She gave a softer hug to her mother, who usually was not keen to shower her with affection. But she supposed, she was the youngest daughter, so it was only natural.

Her father, after having busied himself in an idle chattering session with Aemond, merely tipped his hat, and did not shed one bit of emotion as she climbed into the carriage before her husband. Aemond's hand helped her up the step, watching as she disappeared inside.

The smell of his sandalwood perfumes on his coat was stronger as he sat beside her on the cushion, instructing the handsome, olive-skinned driver to move forward and away from her home.

She only waved to her brother. And watched as he had wet eyes, stepping forward a few paces like he was about to break into a run after her.

The carriage was much nicer than anything she'd seen in her young life, and though they were for all intents and purposes, considered neighbours, it was still a half hour ride to his estate.

Dragonstone.

Her skin prickled at the mere thought of it.

She'd never seen it before. Nor had any of her family.

All she knew was that it was often clouded in fog, that when you stood at the front gates you could barely see the arching towards and dark brick in the distance anyway.

All she had heard was what people said.

That it was a frightful, maze of a place. With winding corridors and crooked doorways, and barely any servants.

He was a rich man, why not employ more?

He did not say a word the entire way home. He only sat, cross legged, and fiddle with his fingers like he was nervous. Turning them over in micro-movements.

Don't speak unless spoken to.

As Dragonstone came into view once they crossed the boundary of the iron gates, she felt her breath taken away.

And it was only when Aemond assisted her with a hand as she stepped down from the carriage that she could really appreciate the sheer size of his estate.

It was so big it was beyond comprehension.

She briefly wondered if she would get lost in such a place.

"Cole will bring your things to our room"

Her heart started to flutter, and pitter patter all at the same time.

Our room.

She had almost forgotten her one wifely duty she was to fulfil this evening.

To appease him.

The thought made a sort of tightness in her belly, though she was unsure why. Of course, her elder sister had divulged her own horror story of her wedding night. Though her sister was twenty and she herself only five and ten at the time, the nitty gritty was of great curiosity to her.

"For several hours the poor thing just cried and it rather spoiled the mood. Turned out that he had…pleased himself the morning of the wedding so as not to become too excited when the evening rolled around.

Oh well, no matter. Instead, when he had a rather excited visitor the next morning he crawled atop me and breathed heavily into my neck while he tried to get it inside me. 'Twas over in an instant dear sister and I did not feel a thing".

Though the anecdote was funny, although awkward seeing as she sat next to her brother-in-law the next morning and tried not to giggle, right now, it did little to quell the gnawing inside her.

Aemond did not seem as quiet and unsure of himself as her brother-in-law was. She doubted a man of his standing would have any issue fulfilling his role as a husband.

As he had done, six times before.

Which triggered yet another question.

Why no children? Surely all six of his previous wives could not have been barren?

Did they commit suicide? Ashamed of themselves for failing to fulfil this task? Were they all mere accidents? Or did someone break in at night to steal his plethora of fine jewels and artefacts and run into one of his unfortunate wives along the way?

It seemed entirely impossible.

She watched Aemond walk confidently to the front doors, where a couple of servants stood to greet the new Lady of Dragonstone. His coat fluttered around his thighs as he turned, the ends of his silver hair hung like they were floating.

"Wife. May I introduce you to the staff. Anything you so wish, please do not hesitate to ask them"

The two servants stood, hands clasped, looking entirely scared stiff. One was a middle aged man with an apron dirtied at the edges, and the other a maid, barely five and twenty, who offered her a polite curtsy.

She simply smiled at them, "a pleasure".

They said nothing.

There was something melancholic. Ancient. And crushing about Dragonstone.

She felt the weight on her shoulders the moment she passed those gates. Did they feel it too?

Did Aemond?

This was the only moment he seemed to smile, as miniscule as it was with a darkened gaze, was when he turned to look at his new wife and nodded.

"If you will forgive me, I have some business to attend to. I will see you tonight for supper"

His expression never wavered, even as he bent at the middle to press his lips to her hand, above the ring he had placed on her finger not a few hours before.

The servants quickly scuttled out of her sight and so she thought to amuse herself by exploring her new home. Out of habit, she started upstairs, going straight to her bedroom to inspect.

There was a large four poster bed made of what appeared to be walnut in the middle of the room, with various ornaments strewn about, but very little to suggest that he actually relaxed in here.

There were no mementos, keepsakes, and she thought briefly she couldn't get a grasp on his personality this way either.

She blushed and felt that tightness again at the thought of sharing a bed with him, of what they might have to do.

The rest of the house was indicative of the first room she ventured to. Lacking a certain personality she was sure existed in her new husband but one he refused to show.

The estate was cold and empty, with flagstone floors stretching along the long dark hallways.

There were so many doors it was difficult to know what on earth could be behind all of them. She'd so far discovered the Library, the Dining Room and even happened upon the scullery rather by accident.

And then, one room…

It had a oxblood red door, worn around the edges and the colour faded somewhat. She noted the scuff marks around the handle and the hinges, as well as the stone beneath the door where overtime, footsteps had worn it down.

So she was doubly surprised to find the door locked.

Curious.

Her skin prickled, and she was sure for a moment that she saw her own misty breath. Like that feeling that someone is watching you but you are too afraid to move an inch. The tips of her fingers suddenly felt numb.

She felt it on her neck, an iciness.

But when she turned, her breath stuck in her chest from panic, she could only see nothing but the empty corridor.

And all was silent.

There was a heaviness in her chest which seemed to pass through her like trying to walk through honey, trying to pull your feet up just an inch to step forward.

And as quickly as that feeling came, it was gone and she turned back in panic once she heard soft, careful footsteps behind the oxblood door.

She clenched and unclenched her fists in fear, trying to reason with herself.

Undeniable footsteps, ones that had started at the threshold and we're now walking slowly away from her.

The blood rushed warmly back into her fingertips, and she rubbed them painfully against her navy dress, trying to will a feeling back into them.

Footsteps…

She only heard her own as she hurried down the corridor again, her shoes clocking against the flagstone.

So desperate to get away from that heavy, morbid feeling that she nearly hurtled right into the young maid.

"My Lady!"

"I do apologise" she uttered immediately, her chest pushing against her bodice with her hurried breath, "I was not looking where I was going".

The maid curtsied, as if she'd forgotten to and straightened, "Supper is to be served, my Lady. May I-"

"What is that room? Down the hall?" She asked.

The maid raised her eyebrows, "Which one, my Lady?"

She turned her head down the hallway once again to point to the one she meant, and her words died on her lips.

The door moved.

It was unmistakable.

The shadow where the door was leant ajar quickly disappeared, and the frame was filled once more by the large wooden slat against it.

There was no click of a lock to be heard.

She was so afraid she lost herself for a moment. Going all pale. So much so the maid had to prompt her.

"My Lady?"

She shook her head, looking back to see if the door would move again, and drift open as it had before.

But it never did.

And the thought that as she was running away before, the door was slowly inching open, scared her beyond belief.

"It's nothing, I apologise" she said quickly, "Supper, thank you".

There was nothing of note for the rest of the evening.

Supper was quiet. And the table was so long with husband and wife sat at either end, that they may as well have been in separate rooms while they ate.

It was nice enough food she was grateful for that. A selection of soups and meats, and breads to fill her belly between courses.

He did not speak.

He barely moved any other muscle than his arm to fork the meat into his mouth. She watched him every now and then, over the barely dancing flame of the candelabra, otherwise the room would be completely dark.

So she drank her wine, and stayed silent. Waiting to be spoken to.

The only thing he said was right at the end.

"Shall we retire for bed, wife?"

And she could not very well say no.

She made brief eye contact with the maid as she followed her husband to the grand staircase, each step feeling heavier and more nerve-wracking than the last.

Her husband was tall, broad and she had no doubt be enjoyed the domineering aura he gave off. Judging by the dark colours of his waistcoat and trousers, as well as the leather eyepatch over one eye, he enjoyed inhabiting darkness.

She thought with some amusement that the only bright things about him were his hair and eyes.

Things he could not change.

He was certainly a marvel of a man. And truthfully, she should count herself lucky that he is at least somewhat close to her in age.

Aemond closed the door softly once they were both inside. The curtains were now drawn, and the room was filled with an amber glow from the candles the maid had lit for them.

She needn't ask him for help, for her new husband immediately stood behind her, and began to unlace her dress as if they had been married an age.

His movements were so sure. And she felt with jealousy of some kind that he had done this with six other women before her.

No wonder he was practiced.

There was no room for romance when to him, it was all just a matter of duty.

She stood only in her chemise, having pulled her hair free of her braids, feeling his gaze the entire time.

"Are you intent on remaining silent, wife?" He asked, and she heard him pull off his waistcoat with every pop of his buttons.

"Or might you become more vocal in the marriage bed?"

She felt her cheeks flush and thickness in her throat. Inadvertently pressing her legs together where a sort of excitement was blooming.

"I could not say…" she answered.

And chuckled lowly, pressing his front to her back, dragging his nose up the side of her neck, just as she had seen before.

She felt something hard press against her backside, his hips pushing it against her and moving softly, creating just a tiny bit of friction.

"Tell me" he muttered, his lips tickling her ear, "tell me what a good wife does"

She was suddenly nervous, thinking about what other people had told her.

And it was increasingly difficult to think, with his large hands pulling her chemise off her body.

"A good wife…is loyal to her husband" she recited, her breath coming in short pants, "she is…loving"

He blew air from his nose, like he was amused.

"..and she is obedient"

"That's it"

Aemond peeled the chemise off her, letting it drift to the floor.

"A good wife makes herself available to her husband"

She gasped and he revelled in it, as he pushed her newly naked body onto the bed, her body sinking into the mattress and watching as her husband bared himself one button at a time.

"Of course. There a many other wifely duties" he grinned.

His fingers moved to his trousers.

"But for now, I only care about this one".

Being touched all over was strange. There was a dull ache in her core when her husband touched certain areas, a feeling that she didn't recognise.

Her confused and somewhat distressed face at the whole ordeal was endearing to him.

Her young, plump face looked up at him with gleaming eyes and shame arched in her eyebrows.

It hurt. Not as greatly as she thought. But it still did.

"Close your eyes. It will be over soon"

She did as he said, turning her face away. But it was not over soon.

His member throbbed inside her, and she thought she'd never felt more full in her life. Since closing her eyes, she could not see the way his hair began to tangle around him, as his hips chased hers and came against hers with a soft smack.

The pain gave way to another feeling still.

That same ache she felt when he'd touched her.

Aemond smirked when he saw the confused, ashamed expression on her face. At the way she pressed her lips together.

"I think you are enjoying this" he murmured lowly, pushing harder into her like he was intent in piercing her stomach, "if I did not know any better, you would almost be moaning".

She didn't want it to feel good.

Or did she.

It felt wrong.

And yet she couldn't deny when he raised her thighs, his fingers wrapped into her flesh, it did feel good.

"Look at me" he whispered, never stopping, "Look at your husband, who is giving you pleasure"

Some excitement sparked inside him, when she didn't do as he asked, her warm embarrassed face pressed into the sheets as much as she could. Her eyes closed.

He laughed when she refused.

"Yes - you feel it, do you not? No need to act all coy. I can feel your body's response"

Shame crept into her body, her limbs going all tight just as he'd said. Feeling herself hit that irreplaceable point, she simply whimpered and felt his length throb once more before he spilled inside of her, releasing all he had to give.

She thought with lewdness, that his spend was warm inside her.

Aemond seemed to take great pleasure in making his wife shrink into herself with embarrassment and shame every time they coupled. He loved that doe eyed look she gave him, as if he did not have his cock buried between her legs every night he could since the wedding.

He would have her any way. Fully clothed if the moment presented itself.

There was something erotic about taking something that looked so innocent and filling her with his spend. How she would act all coy, with it dripping down her thighs.

He delighted in the fact that he had managed to kidnap this sweet young thing, and use her for himself and his pleasure any moment he was able. And the month that passed since the wedding, he could not think of a time that was sweeter.

So it was with great irritation that he was called to King's Landing. Some business with his brother that apparently couldn't wait.

He did not want to leave her.

He spoke firmly, stood before the oxblood door in his travel wear.

"While I am away, you must not enter this room. Do you understand?"

When she nodded without asking why, he smiled in pride and placed the master key in her small palm. Entrusting that she would do as she had promised in his absence.

He thought he'd reward her when he returned, by fucking her in the comfort of their bed sheets, until she was pink in the faxe and begging him to stop. Just as he liked her to be.

As soon as her husband left, she felt even more that she was being watched. All the little hairs on the back of her neck pointed upwards.

The maid kept clear of her, which was nothing unusual. But it was almost as if she was escaping rooms before she herself knew why. As if she knew what invaded the invisible space within them as soon as her back was turned.

Did she hear the voices too? See the dark figures and closing doors?

Anytime she passed the long dark hallway to the oxblood door, she felt her curiosity grow tenfold. But also a sense of dread, heavy in her gut, tugging her back to this wretched place.

What could be behind the door, that her husband wished not for her to see?

In the Library, the fire crackled comfortably as she turned the faded pages of her book. The maid busied herself collecting the dirtied saucers and teacups beside her, humming to herself gently.

The air suddenly went cold around her neck, and a breeze passed, evident by the dangling of her earrings. It was not only her imagination.

"A golden key. Oxblood door. Give the six souls rest, sweet child"

She looked up at the maid, "I am sorry, did you say something?"

The maid straightened and shook her head quickly, eyebrows arched in confusion, "No, my Lady"

Why did the maid always flee like that? Like someone was chasing her? With their claws at her back like an animal in the forest?

The key was ornate, with winding patterns and several notches at the top. And when she held it in her small palm, it felt hot to the touch like an iron rod.

Aemond would punish her.

How? She did not know.

She slotted the key into the door, without the energy to turn it. And her limbs felt heavy, and her knuckles cold, like someone was pushing on it. Forcing her will.

"That's right. Insert the key into the keyhole, and turn…"

A voice echoed off the stone.

A low, sweet, mature voice.

Click.

The oxblood door gave way to light, torches lit at every corner, illuminating the oxblood colour of the floor before her.

A step down.

The floor rippled like liquid.

"Our souls…"

Her shoe was slick with something oily that clung to the suede. Irreparably staining them.

Her skin prickled. Vomit bubbled at the back of her throat.

Six torch-lit figures reflected in the blood on the flagstone floor.

Hung, wrists bound over their head. White skulls in various stages of deterioration, with strings of what was once luscious hair drifting past their bony shoulders.

She saw with dread, they were still wearing dresses that hung off their ivory skeletons.

She was sure she collapsed with grief, a scream echoing around her that did not feel like her own. The only sound she registered was the clanging of the key as she dropped it in shock, blood of Aemond's ex-wives enveloping the brass.

Her throat felt sore.

She watched their empty eye sockets. The dust over their bound hands and their feet as they dangled inches off the floor.

Breath hot in her lungs like she was clinging to life as she knew it, she scrambled for the key and pulled the door shut behind her with a mighty boom.

Darkness crawled up her skin, now that she knew what was behind it.

Was this her fate?

If she displeased him, would she be their successor?

She was sat, with head in hand, in a state of complete distress with sweat on her brow and neck as Aemond returned.

She had paced the room for hours she felt, wringing her hands, as if to find what she might say to him on his arrival. He'd see it on her face.

He would know she had seen the corpses of his precious wives on her soft, innocent features. Scarred forever by death.

His tall, broad form filled the doorframe. And he dropped his coat onto the bed with a tired huff, but said nothing.

She almost wished he would say something. To spare her this horrible anticipation.

But she watched as he took two careful steps in. His one eye flitting over to the key he'd left her on the bureau.

The blood had not lifted from the brass. She could not wash it. No matter how much time she committed to it, it would not become clean.

Her husband looked back at her like she was something to eat, his eye half open with only half his iris visible.

She sobbed and cried when he advanced and held her to the wall by her neck with ease, slamming her small body against it.

"You thought you would get away without punishment, hm?"

She sobbed like a child, her tears wetting her cheeks and neck, to his fingers. Her own tried to pry his away, feeling that he was hurting her effortlessly with his grip around her throat.

"Please…husband…"

He could have laughed.

"Now is no time for begging. Tell me, how should I punish you, wife?, he grinned widely, his tone low and condescending as he spoke to the small woman before him.

"Please…you may do as you like with me - just first, let me pray-" she begged with a hoarse, tired voice. Never feeling that she could be scared of him in this way.

He pulled his head away, looking down at her past his nose, his lips tight.

She felt his grip loosen, but the places where his fingers had been were sore and red.

"I shall do as I please. But since you asked so nicely to pray. I shall let you"

She felt herself breathing like she was swallowing fire a she stepped out the door, allowing her privacy to pray before he inevitably drove a dagger through her, or something of the like.

She rushed to the master key and locked the door with a quick slam and click, locking her husband out and flinching when his palms pushed with urgency on the other side. Rapping on the wood like an animal who couldn't see their prey.

She had no intention of praying.

"Open this door! Now!"

Her eyes scanned the room anxiously and with urgency. She felt her fingers shaking as he pushed the window open, looking down at the great height she would have to jump to escape him.

A sure death.

She clambered over the bureau, her knees knocking painfully on the wood as she advanced in a panicked state towards the ledge.

Her brother.

If she could just escape to him.

He would save her.

A clang of metal rattled against the floor as her husband, as strong as she was, sent the door flinging off the hinges. His large arms wrapped around her waist as she writhed, fearing her life. Expecting a blade to her neck. Or perhaps to be dragged to the oxblood door, to never return.

"Husband - please - have mercy-"

"It is too late for 'please'. It is time for you to feel the consequence of your actions"

She struggled so much, he tackled her to the floor, holding both her forearms behind her back in one hand, pushing her front to the cold stone floor, her warm cheek moulding to the pattern of it.

"I beg you - have mercy and kill me quickly-"

Her tears wet her face entirely, feeling his body over her back, pressing his hips into her backside, letting her feel his wrath.

"Mercy?" He chuckled darkly, "why would I show the likes of you mercy?"

"You who I have treated with care and respect. You who has disobeyed me"

"My Lady shall learn this lesson now"

His voice was dark and low, and it scared her more than the whisperings of the paranormal and the sight of what was behind the oxblood door.

She panicked with a warm face as he rucked up her skirts to her waist, flinching when she felt two of his thick fingers swipe across her hot centre while he continued to hold her down.

"I do not often take pleasure in teaching my wife a lesson. But, for you, I shall make an exception"

She pressed her lips together, not wanting to anger him with her whimpers and whines as she felt him slide his trousers down and rub his hot, throbbing member, ready and waiting for her, against her cunt, collecting her wetness on his length for ease of entry.

He sighed longingly, his breath tickling her neck, his eyelashes fluttering against her jaw.

She choked on her breath as he slid into her, his fingers holding her hips desperately to widen her legs to accommodate him deeper inside her.

"None of them were worthy - fucking none of them -" he breathed, his breath hitching with each soft smack of his hips against her, stretching her walls to the shape and size of him and groaning at the way her hot insides parted.

"Do you wish me to give you a child, hm? None of them - fuck - none of them could give me what you do-"

She whimpered, feeling his length fill her repeatedly and bully the end of her, each blow against that rough spot inside increasingly making her shame and despair at his use of her body ebb away into a forbidden and unknown feeling.

"If you do not behave, you will not be allowed that pleasure" he muttered, his breath coming in short bursts, his thrusts as well becoming sloppy and unconfident.

Her gut warmed with his length piercing her insides. And she felt as though she was missing something he was telling her in his own way. Eyebrows arched in confusion.

Even now, while he fucked her on the floor, she felt afraid for her life.

"Oh, little one, I am almost disappointed that it took so long for you to realise that I do not intend to kill you.”

Her wet eyes cracked open to turn her head in discomfort to him. Her cheek rubbing against the stone floor as he pulled her hips up to fuck her deeper.

"No. You shall give me children. Many of them if you wish to please me"

She tightened around him completely out of instinct, and Aemond groaned loudly above her, pushing his chest so hard against her back she felt she might break.

And her hands clenched into fists, absentmindedly pushing her hips back to him to chase the remnants of that sweet rapture she was sometimes awarded when coupling with him.

A sweet escape from this prison.

He laughed, when he realised that she was quite resigned to her fate.

That she, compared to his other wives, was finally worthy of giving him children. Of satiating his desire to dominate a woman so easily. How he enjoyed watching the look of shame and pleasure on her face, as she battled with herself to submit to him or not.

He slammed with a wet squelch back into her again, filling her with his warmth with a long, shuddered groan. His grip so hard around her forearm, she was sure blood did not reach her hands.

He continued to move shallowly into her, pushing his spend as deep inside her as it would go. As if, whether she wanted to or not, he would fuck his child into her and watch her grow fat and round.

And then, once she had one, would fuck yet another into her.

Her breath came fast and hot from her swollen lips as she trembled around him, unknowingly prolonging his pleasure inside her.

His lips brushed against her ear.

"No other words before I begin?"

It was difficult with her head pushed against the floor, but she nodded softly in confirmation. Relief flooding her as she saw her husband's smirk rise to his lips, both his hands dropping to her hips to tug her back onto his length.

"Then let us begin"

756 notes · View notes

cherrycola27 · 6 months ago

Text

A Favor Among Friends

Masterlist Next Part

Series Warnings: Language, alcohol consumption, historical inaccuracies. Regency era men and ideals. Eventual Smut. RegencyEra!AU Banner Credit @thedroneranger

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Part 1: The First Ball of the Season

Dearest Reader,

I am sure you, just like I am, are buzzing about the upcoming social season. This year's marriage mart is filled with the cream of the crop and overflowing with perfectly beautiful ladies and perfectly handsome gentlemen.

This narrator is excited to see what matches are made this year.

But before the first ball of the season, I hope you all place your bets as to which ladies will find success and which will be left broken hearted.

All eyes this year, seem to be on the house of Lord and Lady Beaumont. At the ripe age of six-and-twenty, their daughter, Miss Y/N Beaumont, enters her fourth social season without a husband. With het older sister being the Dutchess of Miramar, and her older brother set to inherent the family title, one can only wonder why Miss Beaumont has yet to secure a match, and what her family plans to do if she fails again this season.

However, it seems there will be some excitement that many young ladies, and their mamas can look foward too.

After an extended period away in the Americas, this narrator is thrilled to report that the Viscount Bradley Bradshaw has returned to London in hopes to take a wife this season. The only question is, who will be the lucky lady that will catch his eye?

...........................................

"Isn't it wonderful to be back in London?" Your mother chirped from the carriage. "Yes, quite wonderful." You responded, not taking your eyes away from the passing landscape. You sighed.

You dreaded being back in London. You already knew that people would be whispering about you in hushed corners. Girls would giggle and cover their smirks as you walked by, a buzz about that fact that you were old, and still unwed.

It's not that you didn't want to marry. You just didn't want to make the wrong choice. You wanted someone who was kind and valued you as more than a body to carry a child. You wanted someone who liked your wit and charm and appreciated the many talents you had.

"Darling." Your mother called, snapping you out of your trance.

"Hmm?" You hummed back as you turned to face her and your father.

"I asked if you enjoyed your time in Miramar with your sister and the Duke?" Your mother repeated. "Yes, Mama, it was absolutely splendid. William, Micheal, and Violet have grown so much since you've seen them last." You beamed as you talked about your niece and nephews.

You had spent several months helping your sister tend to them while she looked for a governess. It had truly been a splendid time, and you wished you had been able to say forever. But, your parents insisted you come home.

"Wonderful." Your mother smiled before her expression turned more serious. "Y/N, there is something your father and I must discuss with you."

"What?" You asked her. "We know that you have had some difficulties securing a match. It is very noble for you to hold out for love, but sometimes, one must forego love and find a sensible match." Your mother began.

"What do you mean?" You say. "What I mean is—" she sighs. "Your sister is a Dutchess. Your brother will inherit the estate, and you— you will have nothing. And I know Eddie would never let you go without, but darling, your father and I want to know you will be taken care of once we are gone." She tells you.

"Eddie and Clarissa would make sure I'm taken care of. So would Marianne and George." You say.

"We know they would." Your father speaks up finally. "But it is not their job. That is the job of a husband. Which is why your mother and I have decided that if you do not secure a match by the end of the season, we will find one for you." He states.

"What?" You shriek. "An arranged marriage? I will not agree to it." You huff. "You don't have a choice. We love you, but we will not let you tarnish the family name by becoming a spinster!" Your father declares.

You open your mouth to respond, but he shoots you a look that lets you know his mind is made up and that this conversation is over. You sulk into your carriage seat and refuse to look at either of your parents for the remainder of the ride.

............

Your first few days back in London are a flurry of trips to the market, the jeweler, and the modiste. Your mother insists that a new wardrobe will help in your quest to sequester a husband. You're fitted with beautiful drapes of satin and silk and lace for what seems like hours until your mother deems you finished. She does allow you to pick the colors of your garments at least, and so, for the first ball of the season, you choose a deep shade of burgundy. You've always been fond of the color. Even though some would say it's melancholy, you think it's just right. The thought of a dress in that color gives you the tinest bit of hope as you prepare for the season.

..........

Viscount Bradley Bradshaw was not thrilled to be back in London. He would much rather be in the countryside, but he had ignored his estate for too long, and it was now to the point that he could no longer manage on his own. He needed a wife. Someone else to share the burden with.

He didn't need, nor really want, a love match. But he did want someone smart, sensible, kind, and willing to bear his heirs. He wanted someone he could have a conversation with, and that could, at the very least, be his friend.

He'd heard much about the ladies that were available this season, and there seemed to be several promising options. He just hoped he could find someone quickly, have a short courtship, an even shorter engagement, and be married before the meddling mamas sicked their daughters on him.

He ran his hands over his face in the back of his carriage. There were so many things he needed go do this week before the first ball of the season.

He needed to collect a few payments, pay the staffs wages, and head to the tailor. Many of his suits were now too tight in the shoulders. The months he'd spent traveling and made him broader and more muscular than he once was. He couldn't risk being on the dance floor with a potential wife and have his seams bust.

He glanced outside his carriage and saw the parade of ladies and their mothers walking around and gossiping.

"One season, Bradley, you can do this for one season." He whispered to himself before grabbing his journal and writing.

...............

The first ball at the home of Lord and Lady Whittmore came faster than you imagined. It seemed you'd just unpacked your trunk when your ladies' maids came in to help you dress and prepare for the evening.

They tied your corsets and stays, fastened each tiny button, styled your hair into an elegant half up, half down hairstyle, and helped you adorn yourself with a few simple jewels that your mother insisted on.

Standing back from your mirror, you looked every bit the part of an eligible bachelorette. Your deep red dress accentuated your features. The sparkling stones sewn onto it caught the light beautifully.

Your silk gloves elongated your arms, and the garnet necklace and earrings you wore matched your dress perfectly.

Your father smiled warmly, and your mother gasped when you descended the stairs to the foyer where they were waiting for you along with your brother and his wife.

"Y/N! You look most marvelous. Surely you will be the crown jewel of the ball!" Your sister-in-law, Clarissa, gushed as she hugged you.

"Thank you, Clarissa." You smiled at her warmly before your mother ushered everyone out to the carriages. You rode with Eddie and Clarissa to the Whittmore estate, thankful to have a reprieve from your parents talking your ear off about how important it was for you to find a match, and this ball would be your best chance.

The Whittmore estate was lovely when you arrived. Candles lit up the great rooms, lively string music played. There was delicious food and drinks at every corner. Lady Whittmore handed you your dance card, which you quickly secured around your wrist.

Your brother insisted on taking you on a turn about the room, which meant you stopped to talk to several noblemen and had several ask to place their name on your card.

You can't remember half of those you danced with. Just that they would step on your feet or only talk about themselves. Anytime they asked you a question, it was about how many children you wanted and if you knew how to run a house. They didn't care that you were well read, knew three languages, or that you could play the harp. Heirs, and lots of them. That's all they cared about.

After a quatrain with some Lord old enough to be your father, you stepped away from the dance floor in hopes of taking a break and catching your breath. You grabbed a glass of champagne and tried to find a quiet place to sit and have a moment to yourself. Unfortunately, fate had other plans. A large body collided with yours, causing you to trip and spill your drink, and there's all over yourself.

"Oh my goodness! This dress is new!" You shrieked as you frantically tried to dry it with your hankerchief.

"My apologies, Miss. I wasn't watching where I was going." The person who crashed into you said.

"Of course you weren't. You Lords waltz around here with your noses so high in the air that you forget to look down and pay attention." You shot back at them.

There was a moment of silence where you realized that you probably shouldn't have said that. Especially if you wanted to find a husband.

"I'm sor—" you began as you looked up. But once you saw who it was, your words died in your throat.

"Bradley Bradshaw?" You breathed not, not quite believing it was him standing before you. "Ducky? Ducky Beaumont? Is that you?" He asked with a smile.

"No one calls me Ducky anymore, not even Edmond." You say. "Well then, what do they call you?" Bradley asked you.

"Mine name, or Miss Beaumont." You reply. "Miss Beaumont?" Bradley asks you.

"Yes. I am still Miss Beaumont, even though this is my fourth season." You sigh. "Well— I have a had time believing that you of all people struggle with finding a match, Ducky." Bradley smiles at you.

You're just about to correct him again when he suddenly grabs your hand and sweeps you out onto the floor for a waltz. "What was that all about, Lord Bradshaw?" You ask him using his formal title.

"Well, Ducky. There is a young lady who has been pestering me all evening, and I needed to get away from her." Bradley said as he directed your attention to a girl who looked rather annoyed with you.

"Ah, I see." You chuckle. "So, Ducky, tell me, how have you gone four seasons without a husband?" Bradley asks you as the two of you dance.

"It is Miss Beaumont, Lord Bradshaw. We are no longer children, and I am no longer chasing you and my brother around the countryside while our mothers play cards." You say to him. "But, I have simply not been able to find someone who appreciates me and is kind. Everyone only cares about how many children I want and what my dowery is. Not once today have I been asked if I read or if I know another language or if I can play an instrument!" You huff. Bradley chuckles.

"Well, do you read?" He asks you before giving you a spin. "Yes, I read all kinds of books." You reply. "Do you know any other languages?" He asks with a chuckle. "I know three! I speak Spanish, French, and Italian!" You exclaim. "And what about musical instruments? Can you play any?" He smiles at you. "I am most accomplished with the harp." You smile back at him.

"Well, you are very well rounded, Miss Beaumont, certainly interesting." Bradley tells you.

"And you are the only person in this room who knows that. Which is probably why I am on my way to be an old maid at the age of six-and-twenty." You sigh.

"That is not old. I am not much older than that myself. I went to school with your brother, and we are both barely two-and-thirty." Bradley says as the song ends.

"Well, I appreciate the thought. Thank you for the dance, Lord Bradshaw." You say as you curtsey to him.

"No, thank you, Ducky." He smiles and winks at you before bowing and walking away.

You had butterflies in your belly for the rest of the evening. If you were being truthful with yourself, you'd always had feelings for Bradley. Ever since you were a girl, you were captivated by your brother's best friend, always chasing the two of them around your estate, which earned you the nickname he so foundly called you.

You can remember the exact moment you realized your feelings for Bradley weren't platonic. It was when you were fourteen, and he and your brother had come home from their second year at university. The tall, lanky boy you'd spent summers with had filled out into a broad, brawny man.

And even though he was older, Bradley was always kind to you. Which is why it crushed you that he went away the same year you made your debut. You'd always hoped that maybe—just maybe—he would court you.

Maybe that's why you'd never tried too hard to find a suitor because deep down, you were holding out for Bradley. And now, that he's back, you hope that this might be the year that you find a husband.

..............

The next day, you were giddy as calling hours approached. You prayed that if anyone came, it would be Bradley.

When a valet came and said there was a caller for you, you practically leaped from your seat on the sofa, only to be met with disappointment that it was Lord Artenson. He was followed by Lord Phillips, Lord Martin, and Lord Herrington, who was determined to have you as his third wife.

You sighed and resigned yourself to reading a book once Lord Herrington finally left. Calling hours were almost over, and you were silently disappointed that Bradley had not come. But really, it was foolish of you to think that he would. You were his best friend's little sister, practically his own little sister. You were his Ducky, and he would never think of you as anything more.

You were just about to head upstairs to your room and your parents to their own when a valet came in the drawing room.

"Excuse me Lord and Lady Beaumont, it seems there is another visitor here for Miss Beaumont." He spoke.

"Really?" Your father asked. "Who is it?"

"The Viscount Bradshaw."

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mellowsadistic · 8 months ago

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Couples Therapy - Part 1

After Angela cheats on her husband, she agrees to go to couples therapy with him, but each session with the therapist leaves her feeling less and less like a grown-up.

***

Angela tapped her foot impatiently while her husband spoke with the therapist privately, probably whining about how angry and betrayed he felt. They were both supposed to go in together in a moment, but for now she was stuck waiting in reception.

Really, she couldn’t understand why Eric was being so dramatic. It was only sex! It wasn’t as though she didn’t love him anymore. She just needed to have a little fun sometimes, that was all. They weren’t even thirty yet! He was twenty-eight and she was twenty-seven. Did he really expect her to settle down and stick to a single sexual partner when she was still so young?

But he’d insisted on seeing a marriage counsellor and she’d eventually agreed, albeit reluctantly. Their therapist was a man. How was he supposed to understand what it was like for a woman in her situation? And her first impressions of the office hadn’t been great either. The receptionist was a total bimbo!

Angela glanced over at her. She was dressed up like some bizarre fetish fantasy. Her long blonde hair was tied up in a pair of high pigtails, and her stripper-sized tits were crammed into a sparkly Disney princess top. Didn’t this place have a uniform? She looked like an overgrown six-year-old for goodness sake! And she’d been acting like one too when she’d tried to match their names to their booking. Her husband had been very patient with her stupid lisping voice and barely passable ability to read, but Angela had wanted to turn around and leave straight away. What kind of serious therapist’s office employed a woman like that?

At last the door opened, and the therapist stood in the doorway. He smiled kindly and gestured her to come inside.

“He’s weady for you now!” the bimbo receptionist chirped happily, looking up from what looked like a fashion magazine for tweens.

Angela rolled her eyes. “Thanks.”

She went into the office and the therapist closed the door behind her. Eric was lounged on a sofa facing a hard-backed wooden chair, looking perfectly relaxed. Angela sat down next to her husband, leaving a few inches of space in between them.

The therapist didn’t take a seat in the wooden chair, however. He took a tablet from his desk in the corner and stood in front of Angela.

“Here,” he said, handing it to her. She looked down at the screen in her lap in confusion. What was this for? Some sort of presentation?

“I find that girls always get a bit nervous in my office,” he said, talking to her in a light, overly friendly tone, as if he was talking to a nursery-schooler. “This will help you relax, okay sweetie?”

Angela scowled. She was about to launch into a furious tirade. She couldn’t stand being talked down to! Who the hell did this man think he was? If he assumed most women were like his ditzy receptionist then he had another thing coming. But before she could say a word, the tablet in her lap came to life. Brilliant pastel colours swirled and spiralled on the screen, sinking into a single spot in the centre, and her complaints died in her throat. She couldn’t take her eyes off it. It was just so pretty…

“There we go,” said the therapist in that same sweet tone. “That always takes care of fussy little girls.”

“Is there anything I have to do?” Eric asked.

Angela felt strange. She was vaguely aware of the men’s words, but it was as though they were coming to her from the end of a very long tunnel. Her attention was focused on the dazzling lights on the screen.

“Not a thing. Let me do all the talking. Did you hear that, Angela? We’re going to have a little talk, okay sweetie? Nothing to be nervous about. I’m a trained professional, after all. We need to have a little talk about how you betrayed your husband. About how he found out you were cheating on him. Because that wasn’t very clever of you, was it Angela? Getting caught.”

Angela shook her head, not taking her eyes off the screen. “Not clever,” she echoed. It was true. She shouldn’t have been caught. She should have been more careful not to let him find out. Because even though there was nothing wrong with what she’d done, even though she was completely in the right, Eric wouldn’t understand.

“That’s right, Angela,” said the therapist. “You’ve been a very dumb bitch, haven’t you?”

Angela frowned. That didn’t sound right. Dumb bitch. Was it okay for the therapist to call her that?

“Look at the pretty sparkles, sweetie,” he encouraged, and Angela sank back into the swirling lights. “That’s right. You’re just a dumb bitch, Angela. All women are, but you especially. That’s okay though. You don’t know any better – you’re just girls.”

Angela knew vaguely that there was something she didn’t like about what the man was saying, but she was too engrossed in the swirling colours to care. His words were like background noise. She could understand them if she concentrated, but it was so hard to focus with the wonderful patterns in front of her.

“Yes, you’re just a girl, Angela. Just a silly little girl. A big child. It doesn’t matter if you do something wrong, because you can’t be held accountable for your actions, can you? You’re sweet and innocent.”

Angela nodded eagerly, a dim smile spreading across her face. She hadn’t done anything wrong. If she wasn’t so distracted by her tablet, she’d have smirked at Eric. His stupid attempt to guilt-trip her with marriage counselling was backfiring on him. The therapist was on her side.

“Besides,” the therapist continued. “You didn’t cheat on your husband anyway, did you Angela?”

Angela was confused. She had cheated on Eric. Was the therapist going to help her cover it up? But Eric already knew, didn’t he? Surely that wouldn’t work! The lights on the screen grew brighter. They were so, so pretty…

“You didn’t,” the therapist said again. “In fact, it’s completely impossible for you to have cheated on your husband. You know why, I’m sure. It’s because of your embarrassing bedwetting habit.”

Angela wrinkled her nose and started trying to shake her head in disgust. She didn’t wet the bed! The therapist must be confused. He must be mixing her up with some little girl. Maybe one of his other clients was some silly little bedwetter who needed to be reassured that everyone had accidents now and again, but that certainly wasn’t her.

“Don’t… I don’t wet the bed…” she mumbled. Her words felt heavy in her mouth. It was hard to think. She just wanted to watch the pretty swirling lights.

“Look at the colours, sweetie,” the therapist told her. “That’s a good girl. You are a bedwetter, Angela. You wet the bed every night. You have done for quite a few weeks now. And what man would want to sleep with a woman who still pisses herself in her sleep like a dumb toddler? You’re very lucky your husband puts up with your babyish behaviour, young lady.”

Angela’s face slackened as the spirals spun faster and faster. Lucky. She was a lucky girl. She was lucky to have a husband who put up with her bedwetting. Another man might leave his wife if she started peeing herself every night. Especially if she’d cheated on him too. But Eric didn’t know about that. Did he? It was strange. For a while Angela had been sure he did. And the therapist didn’t seem to know either. In fact, he thought it was impossible for a bedwetter like her to cheat on her husband! She blushed even more brightly. How had she done it? Angela frowned slightly. She didn’t know. She couldn’t remember clearly. But the therapist was right – who’d want to have sex with some stupid, bedwetting baby-woman? Why would anyone sleep with her when it meant waking up in piss-soaked sheets, or next to someone in a sopping wet diaper. Her special protection. Her baby pants. Was the therapist still talking? She tried to pay attention.

“…because your husband puts up with you in other ways too, doesn’t he?” he was saying. “It’s not just the bedwetting. You actually have quite a few silly, childish behaviours that no adult woman should reasonably be expected to have. You…”

Angela tuned out again. She could feel his words entering her ears, but her attention was focused entirely on the lights in her lap. So pretty. Such pretty lights…

When she came to, the tablet was gone, Eric was standing up and putting his coat on, and the therapist was looking at her with a satisfied expression on his face. Had she fallen asleep?

“Ready to go home?” Eric asked her brightly.

Angela smiled back, a little hesitantly. She’d thought she was in trouble, but maybe she’d just been confused. She was such a silly girl sometimes. Such a dumb bitch.

Eric held out his hand, and she took it. It felt nice to be holding onto him. It felt reassuring. He held her hand all the way back to their house, and while he walked, she couldn’t help herself from skipping along beside him.

#mellowsadistic

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oddduckthatgirl · 1 year ago

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Pray For Us Sinners

Title: Pray for Us Sinners

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x f!reader

Warnings: religious guilt, religious themes, discussions of sexual themes, smut

Summary: Aemond thought himself to be a devout servant of the Seven. Until her.

A/N: I tried. Really. Don’t hate me.

Aemond rolled over, restless in his bed. He growled in frustration. Sweat covered his bare torso, the sound of his own breath was ragged in the darkness. His thoughts drifted to his betrothed; even his darkest ones. The brush of the cover over his hardness made him groan.

He was beyond frustrated. His stones ache with the memory of her laughter. He longed to hear all the sounds she could make.

Tossing the covers off his overheated body, he begins pacing the floor of his bedchamber. He never felt temptation like this before. He is a faithful servant of the Seven, despite the wrath he would love to unleash.

Lust was a new affliction to him, but he’s seen through his brother exactly the ruin it can bring. Aemond had decided long ago he would not be seduced into depravity like weaker men. He always kept proper distance with any woman he encountered. Never letting his gaze linger too long or speaking in a manner that would be offensive.

Deep down, he did not believe women to be less. They are mothers, sisters and daughters and should be treated with dignity. He couldn’t understand why anyone who called himself a man could hurt these precious gifts from the Seven. It was true he had seen a few women he thought were attractive but he put them out of his mind. They were allowed to just be beautiful without him imposing himself on them.

It was so simple. Until her.

Aemond thinks of the day they were introduced. He was convinced this would be a marriage of convenience. To keep the peace. Her family were very devout followers of the Faith and his grandsire thought the match to be amenable. Mother believed this girl to be an ideal match based on her faith and her love of reading. Aemond thought she sounded pleasant enough according to the letters; that her portrait was pleasing.

Nothing could have prepared him for the sight of her leaving the carriage that day. The way her golden hair shone in the sun. The shade of pink that painted her cheeks when her dark eyes met his pale one. Her voice saying “my Prince” was the finest song he had ever heard. The way her dress accentuated her shape without it being vulgar. Everything about her is exactly as it should be and more.

Then this feeling began. He was always hot blooded, fire beneath his skin. This, however, was different. Every word she spoke, every shy glance his way, and every touch burned through him. No woman he had ever met had this effect on him.

He decided that he would have to devote himself even more to the Seven. He needed guidance and strength. He knew he deserved it. All he needs to do is ask and the Seven will grant him all he needs.

He doesn’t wish to insult his lady or her virtue. He wanted to be the husband she deserved. She is a pure lady and shouldn’t even be in such lecherous thoughts.

Their wedding was in a sennight but it might as well be six moon turns away. He longed for her presence beside him but it was agony. He wondered if she felt this burning as he did but of course he couldn’t ask. That would be improper. He was sure she felt something. Her face flushes when he kisses her hand. Her breath catches when he pulls her close.

….but his lady wouldn’t trade in depravity. She spends much time in prayer, which he has taken to accompanying her to the Grand Sept. However after seeing her kneel in prayer, that pose has been imprinted into his mind. He had great difficulty concentrating on anything but how tight his breeches had become.

Ashamedly, he has used that image of her kneeling to sate his lust. He imagined standing in front of her, fingers tracing over her perfect face. The way her breath would catch when he said her name. Asking her to show him her devotion. The way she would accept his thumb pushing past her lips. The feeling of her hand unlacing his breeches. How warm her mouth would be as she took his cock. The sounds she would make.

Aemond played these thoughts out time and time again. Especially at night. Sleep would elude him for hours and even if he did drift into slumber he would dream about taking all the pleasures of the flesh with her. He would take his cock in hand, hissing with the first stroke. Never had he been so hard that it hurt. He wanted her, every way he could. Pumping himself while thinking of her lips on him instead of his hand made him a simpering mess. Writhing against the cool sheets of his bed, his moans echoed off the walls. Once the tightness would begin to coil, he would cup his stones while he fisted himself with a tighter grip. His peak would wash over him in moments; her name falling from his lips.

He could find sleep after that but when he would wake shame gripped him. He hates himself for his thoughts and actions. He would pray to the Father to not succumb to this weakness and to be forgiven for wasting his spend on his own pleasure. He would find it difficult to meet the eyes of his Lady the rest of those mornings. She would smile shyly at him and he was once again lost.

He was desperate about these feelings, so he turned to Aegon. Thinking that perhaps just once his brother would give helpful advice.

“Claim her, brother,” Aegon whispered, “all that needs to happen is ceremonial at best. The only way to get rid of temptation is to give into it.”

“We must be wed first. I will not tarnish the good name of my Lady or her house!”

“You fucking virgins. So consumed with your purity and chastity. It’s just fucking.”

“It is NOT just fucking. You give a piece of your soul to them. Every time. Perhaps that is why you have none left.”

“Save your lecture. The only other option is to relieve yourself anyway you can. There’s always the street of silk….or you do it yourself.”

Both options were not what Aemond wanted. He wouldn’t lower himself to visit a pleasure house. Relieving himself was the only suitable option, even though the thought filled him with shame.

It began only at night, after he was alone. Then he would find the need arising after breaking his fast with her and then again after any time spent together. It was affecting his training; he was distracted. He didn’t even read as much as he once had. His thoughts were consumed with her and his need to claim her.

He gripped the edge of his desk tightly now just to keep his hands away. His need is throbbing, begging to be touched. He slammed his fist down against the wood. Why was he so weak? Then she would drift into his mind: her hair falling over her shoulders, the look of complete devotion she has, the cut of her dress…

No! Aemond shakes his head as if to throw the thoughts away. He tries to think of anything else. Small council meetings, mother’s singing, time…yes, what time has it become?

Aemond gathers it must be near the hour of the wolf. The city is sleeping soundly while their Prince suffers. Lust has a hold on him: mind, body and soul.

His soul. That’s it. Now would be the best time to pray. Surely with the world asleep the Seven could hear his prayers without question. He hurriedly dresses, puts on a dark cloak and makes his way from his chambers down the secret passage that leads out from the Keep.

The streets are nearly empty except for a few beggars sleeping there. Aemond is careful to ensure his face and hair are obscured from view. No sense in any passerby to question the presence of a Targaryen Prince at this hour.

Concentrating on his journey to the Grand Sept keeps his mind busy. The need still burning in his veins feels less desperate for the moment. Thankfully the distance was enough for him to calm himself. He’s grateful that he will be able to have his wits about him for this.

He opens and shuts the doors as quietly as possible. Not that he believes anyone would be here, he still wouldn’t want to disturb them. He stands in the entryway and takes a breath. His mind is more quiet now.

He walks towards the altars, confident in what he will ask for until he hears a sound that stops him.

Her. His Lady. Begging.

“Please Maiden, I wish to be pure for him. These desires are consuming me. I do not want him to reject me. I carry such affection for him in my heart. But my thoughts….,” she lays prostrate while sobbing into her hands.

She does feel what I feel. I also carry much affection for her in my own heart, Aemond mused. He cannot bear the sound of her tears. His chest aches to hear her in such pain. He wants to rush to her side, take her in his arms, and hold her until the tears abade.

He slowly approaches. He doesn’t wish to startle her, “my Lady?”

She pulls herself to her knees and turns to face him, “my Prince! Why are you here at this hour?”

He rushes to keep her from standing and instead kneels beside her, “I was restless.”

Her breath catches as he wipes the tears from her eyes, “thank you,your Highness.”

“It’s just us and the Gods. You may call me by my name here.”

Her cheeks flush, “as you wish Aemond.”

His resolve nearly breaks at just his name from her lips, “what troubles you? I would be happy to listen if you wish to unburden yourself to me.”

She begins to speak but silences herself for a moment, “I cannot tell you. This…it’s not befitting a proper lady,” tears well in her eyes again.

Aemond pulls her into his arms and holds her while she cries. Even though the sound breaks his heart, he will not leave her to her tears. Running his fingers through her hair, he presses a gentle kiss against her temple, “all will be well ñuha jorraelagon. I’m here.”

“Not if I unburden myself. You will be completely repulsed.”

He takes the edge of his cloak and begins to wipe the wet trails on her face dry, “you would be amazed at my resolve.”

“I have no doubt of your resolve Aemond,” she wheezed as new tears threatened to fall, “it’s so shameful I fear you will find me to be unworthy of marriage.”

“No more tears. Please. It wounds me to see you so distraught,” he takes her hands in his, “perhaps we can just be still for a few moments. Find peace in this Sept together. Will you try for me?”

She frantically nods her head.

“Good. Let us close our eyes and just breathe together.”

He watches as her eyes close and she bows her head. It caused the fire in his blood to heat once more. He quickly closed his eye and began to concentrate on keeping his breath steady. He also listened for her. He tried to not think of how warm her soft hands were in his. He needed to be strong for her. To help her.

They sat quietly, hand in hand for several moments. Aemond noticed when her breathing became calm. Tension rolled out of his shoulders knowing that at least he could help calm her.

“Aemond,” she whispered in the silent chamber, “why could you not find sleep?”

He opened his eye to see her soft expression. It was one of concern. He kissed her hands before meeting her gaze, “sleep has been elusive as of late.”

“Are you well? Is it,” she glances at his scar, “perhaps the maesters….”

“All they will wish to do is give me essence of nightshade to help me find sleep. Or worse believe I have pains and wish to give me milk of the poppy. Those are not the reasons I do not find sleep.”

“If it is not physical, may I guess you believe something weighs on your soul?”

He swallows thickly, “Something does indeed.”

“And I have kept you from your prayers. Forgive me.”

She begins to pull away but he grips her hands tighter, “please. Stay with me.”

A soft smile accompanies her words, “of course Aemond.”

“I would like to propose something. First I swear to you that no matter what you may say, I will never judge you or wish you gone from my side. Can you make me the same promise? To not judge me or wish me gone?”

“Yes. I swear.”

Her tongue wetting her lips nearly has Aemond lunging for her. He shifts his focus back to their joined hands, “I did not intend on anyone else to be here. When I entered and heard a voice, I thought….it isn’t important. I heard the last part of your prayers.”

Hanging her head in shame as he mentions her prayer, “I am not worthy of you.”

He leans forward so their foreheads touch. Aemond feels a hot tear slip down his cheek, “it is I who isn’t worthy of you.”

She shakes her head, “impossible.”

“Ñuha jorraelagon, the things I have wanted…from you…someone must know what I have imagined. What I have done.”

“Aemond,” her voice waivers, “it is shameful. This sin...”

“We are all sinners my Lady,” he states simply, “we are asked to unburden ourselves with confession. It is only then we can begin to do penance and seek absolution. It should not matter who we give our confession to, just that we make it known and seek to atone for it.”

“You are correct,” her gaze shifts to the face of the statue before them, “I don’t even begin to know how to atone for this.”

“Would it put your mind at ease if I told you of my sin,” a plea in his voice. He needs her to hear him. That is the price of his lust.

“Could you tell me what is your sin?”

He nods, swallowing his fear before he speaks, “Lust. Lust for my betrothed.”

She draws a shaky breath. Her eyes drag over his body, “I too have lust for my betrothed. I have tried so hard to not think of you that way…”

“In what ways do you think of me, sweet girl?”

“That you are a good man. You are kind, despite what you would have others think. You are a man who values his family and those he holds dear. Unlike other Targaryens, you are a man of the Faith.”

“You are too kind to me,” a genuine smile is on his face, “but that is not what brought you to the Sept at the hour of the wolf. I swore not to judge you. I will not.”

She closes her eyes, “it’s just….your hands. I find myself thinking of them. How it feels when you take mine in yours or how safe I feel when you hold me. Then I wonder about your hands on….other parts of me.”

Despite her confession, Aemond takes her hands in his. His chest is heaving; he can feel his heart pounding. The fire is back, “Other parts?”

“Yes,” her own ragged breath sounds too loud in this place. She places his hands on her thighs, “everywhere. In my weakness, I have imagined what your hands would feel like on my bare skin. In….inside me.”

“Tell me,” he flexes his fingers away from hers while dragging them toward her center, “you are a lady of virtue. What do you know of a man’s fingers touching a lady?”

She bravely meets his gaze, “My sister….she never wanted for me to suffer at the hands of a cruel lord. She told me things about my body, of pleasure. Things I now imagine you doing to me.”

“What things,” he felt as though his senses had left him. He’s now so depraved that he’s harder than he’s ever been, on his knees in a Sept alone with his betrothed.

“Things,” wetting her lips before she continues “I have done with myself alone in my chambers at night. I would imagine you touching me instead. I’m so lost to my sin that I wait for the night to come so I can revel in my depravity. It consumes me.”

Aemond gently cups her cheek. He does not trust himself to leave his hands on her thighs, “You desire me.”

“Yes,” no second thoughts to her answer.

“Then I have nothing to fear. For I have desired you from the moment we met,” he brushes his thumb over her lips, “this very moment I am fighting the desire to capture your lips with mine.”

She gasps, parting her lips. His fingers trace a line down her neck and along her collarbone. His eye focused on the swell of her breasts and the small hint of cleavage.

“You are the most beautiful woman in the Seven Kingdoms and you are mine. You don’t even know how beautiful you are. The hold you have over me. I would burn every city in Westeros if they dared to speak against you.”

“Aemond….”

“I want to spend every moment with you but I am weak. Even the most innocent way you smile makes me think of all the ways I wish to let this realm know you’re mine. My shame doesn’t end there my lady.”

She kisses his fingers and takes his hands in hers as if they were folded in prayer, “unburden yourself to me, my love. Although my love sounds much better the way you say it. I wish I could say it well enough.”

“You will learn,” he suppresses a groan at the thought of hearing her speaking High Valyrian, “the reason I could not find sleep is I was trying to resist my desire. Today, while we had walked in the Kingswood, that rider passed too close to you. Do you recall what I did?”

“You pulled me back against you, to keep me safe.”

“I did. However, in doing so, my thoughts were not innocent. The friction of your body against mine was too much to bear. When we returned to the holdfast, I excused myself from you. I was worried that I would no longer be able to control myself. I went back to my chambers and lost myself in the thoughts of claiming you. In truth, when I felt your body against mine, I wanted to bury myself inside you.”

Her mouth went dry.

“I went back to my chambers because I needed to relieve myself, as I have done every night. So, I fisted my cock while thinking of how warm and wet you would feel around me. About the sounds of pleasure you would make as I touched your pearl while thrusting myself deep inside you. I can think of nothing else. I have my hands on my cock more than my sword.”

It felt too hot in this stone building. Both of them flush with color from their shared confessions.

“Whatever are we to do Aemond,” pressing her knees against his, “we are not yet wed. We cannot let this control us.”

He nodded and cupped her neck in his hands, “it will not control me any longer.”

Aemond stands and offers his hand to help her from the floor. As soon as she is standing, he pulls her body against his. Her eyes dart around the room, “Aemond!”

“Did you make the journey here alone my Lady,” he purrs in her ear. She can only meekly nod in response, “good.”

He presses his lips to hers and both of them moan. Luckily their sound is muffled. He was desperate and wanting. She was pliant in his arms. His hands explored the curves of her body, squeezing the parts he enjoyed the most which elicited a gasp from her.

He silences her with his lips again, swallowing every groan he makes. Her hands travel along the lean muscles of his torso and chest, then up his arms, only to land in his hair. When he slipped his tongue between her lips, her grip tightened in his silver locks. It only seemed to encourage him more.

He pulled away suddenly, “we shouldn’t be doing this here. Someone will find us. Surely the Septa’s will be here for their morning prayers soon.”

She nodded in agreement.

“Come. We should return to the Keep while we still have the cover of night,” Aemond pulled his cloak back over his head and ensured she also concealed her identity. He watched for anything out of place, “stay close to me.”

She could feel the heat rolling off of him in waves. It made her center ache with want. She knows she cannot give in but she would like nothing more.

They quietly made their way back to the Red Keep. Thankfully no one was yet out in the city to have seen them. Aemond led her up the stairs to the passage back to his chambers.

Once inside, he removed his cloak and saw her taking in his space. Soon these would be their apartments in the holdfast. He stands behind her and whispers, “let me take your cloak my Lady.”

She watches his hands slip to the clasp of her cloak. He was painfully slow opening it but once he removed the fabric, his lips were on her neck. Soft, warm kisses up to her jaw line. He pushed himself against her backside, “see the effect you have on me.”

He spun her around and again captured her lips. He couldn’t get enough. It was like he had been starving. They both held so tightly that she hardly noticed his hands pulling a leg over his hip until she felt her skirts rise.

“What are you,” yelping in surprise as he lifts her with ease to the foot of his bed. Shame burns within her as she whines, “Aemond…please…we cannot.”

He climbs over her body as she lays against his bedding, “I will not take your virtue this night. But it would please me to hear more.”

Before she can ask what he meant, he grinds his manhood against her clothed center. Their shared moans ring through the chamber. He repeats the motion to much the same result.

“Do you wish me to stop,” his eye meeting hers as he kisses the swell of her breasts, “I will ensure you get back to your chambers without being seen.”

“Please continue,” she rasps, “I fear I might die if you stop.

He chuckles darkly and continues, “gods…I can feel your wetness through all of our clothing.”

She attempts to cover her face but Aemond claps his hands around her wrists, pulling her arms over her head. He kisses down her neck as he rolls into her, “Gieve. Just like this. Never hide from me.”

She wails when his movements become faster. She locks her legs around him. She feels the way her body begins to tighten. She has never felt this, even when she is by herself, “Aemond…what’s…I feel strange…”

“All is as it should be,” panting as his pace is beginning to falter, “don’t fight it. Give into it.”

He kisses her again, the want evident in the way he captures her lips. They are both a whining mess of sound and heat.

Aemond feels her hands tightening against him, “let go for me. Don’t fight it.”

His eye goes wide as she falls over the edge of pleasure. The sounds she makes goes directly to his cock. Soon after he shouts her name as he spills into his breeches.

He pulls himself to lay beside her. He takes her hands and presses soft kisses on her fingers, “please forgive me. I have forced this upon us. I thought I could control it. Instead…”

She watches as panic paints on his face. She quickly reaches for his face; he doesn't shrink away even as she is touching the scarred side.

He pulls himself into her and sobs, “please forgive me. I’m so sorry. I told you I was not worthy of you.”

She strokes his hair, “we promised not to judge the other. I am not judging you. You asked if I wanted you to stop and I did not. We should seek the forgiveness of the Seven for failing this small test.”

He nods as she rocks his body, “we should pray. Now.”

“I agree.”

He sits up and offers a hand to her. He kneels first. Looking up at her he sighs, “you are far more than I deserve.”

She kneels in front of him, “you are more than I deserve my Prince,” shame heats her cheeks, “what if someone hears?”

“Not here. The walls are quite thick,” his gaze fixed on her.

“We should begin,” she bows her head and begins her prayers with thanking each of the Seven.

Aemond joins her, repeating the same words he’s heard since he was a boy.

He also offers his thanks when they have finished, “I wish to thank the Maiden for sending this perfect wife to me. I’m sorry that I would let my lecherous thoughts taint her purity. Forgive her slight as I was the one who enticed her. I seek the Father’s forgiveness for my weakness. Give me the strength to not tempt her or myself further.”

“I thank the Father for sending me a man of Faith as my husband,” she smiles at the words, “forgive his slight as he did nothing to sully my virtue. He is but a man and I, a woman. I seek the forgiveness of the Maiden for my vile thoughts. Help me to not be a temptation. Let my virtue warm him until we are wed.”

The silence between them is broken by Aemond, “we shouldn’t…we cannot do this again even though it was…”

“Yes. Even though,” she agreed, “I should go.”

He nods in agreement, “at least let me lead you back through the passages. They can be confusing.”

She grabs her cloak and allows him to escort her back. She more than likely would have lost her way on her own. He pushes the hidden door open and listens for any sounds, “it is safe.”

She enters her chambers, “it will be morning soon.”

He presses a soft kiss against her forehead, “then you should try and find rest. We will have long days and longer nights ahead of us.”

“Go before I ask you to stay,” sighing as he releases her.

He takes one look back at her before disappearing into the passageways. Now that he is alone with his thoughts again, he relives what has occured. If he can endure this night, six more days should be far more simple.

Aemond settles himself back into bed as quickly as he can upon entering his chambers. He nearly drifts off when a sweet smell drifts to him. Her. The fire in his veins is rekindled.

“Seven help me.”

#aemond smut #hotd aemond #aemond targaryen #aemond x reader #aemond fanfiction #oddduckthatgirl #prayforussinners #aemond x you

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ghostja · 11 months ago

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The Misunderstanding of Mori(BSD)

I have realized Mori is a misunderstood character in BSD due to his abilities name, Vita Sexualis. I recently finished reading the book, and the title is misleading. I assumed it was an erotic book; I could not have been more wrong. It’s a story about Kanai(MC), who is writing about his sexual experiences intended for his son to be provided as a means of sexual education. It is not inappropriate whatsoever, and the act of sex is never described in detail.

Throughout the story, you come to understand Kanai and how he has a lack of sexual desire. The story starts when he is a child, and adults tease him for his innocence. It was disgusting seeing adults toy with his innocence, especially since the story starts when he is six.

Later in the story, when Kanai is close to graduating from university, his parents think it would be best for him to marry. A meeting is set up for Kanai to meet a girl whom he finds nice. But he debates the difference between this girl and all other nice girls. He also questions if most men settle for a nice girl due to their sexual desire. Since Kanai has a low sex drive, he believes this is the reason he can’t settle. I believe he is bringing up the difference between love and sexual desire. Also, how sexual desire can act like love.

Here is a quote about Kanai's thoughts on marriage,

"I suspected that some probably decided under the stimulus of sexual desire. Because I was deficient in this area, I guessed that even if I felt the young lady was quite nice, the deficiency was probably why I didn't want to marry her."

There is an incredible tetralogy called The Sea of Fertility by Yukio Mishima, which discusses the downsides of sexual desire. In the first book, Spring Snow, Kiyoaki(MC) becomes infatuated with Satoko. He lets his desires control him and wishes Satoko to marry him, but she is engaged. Instead of putting her happiness first, Kiyoaki lets sexual possession take control of him, leading to his demise.

In the third book, Temple of Dawn, Imanishi created his own story, "The Land of the Pomegranate." It's about how sexual love leads to possession. As soon as the people in this world reach peak desire, they are discarded. This stops sexual possession from taking over.

I bring up these books to further show the difference between love and sexual desire. And how controlling this feeling can be with it acting like love.

I believe the author(Ogai Mori) is trying to tell the readers you are most capable of love when young because you have no experience. Sexual desire can be extremely passionate to the point where it controls you. In the story, Kanai reflects how once a month, his roommate Koga would let his sexual desires loose. While he personally found no importance in those activities. I find it vital to state even though he doesn't care for sex, it doesn't mean he wants to be alone. In the story, he says,

"Yet even though I had a longing for love and affection, I didn't feel, as one normally would have expected, any real sexual drive."

Now to connect this back to BSD, I believe Elise is a child to represent innocence. Maybe Mori himself is like Kanai and does not care for sexual relations. And what is the opposite of that? A child who knows nothing of sex and does not care for it. They do not have sexual desires, and it has nothing to do with their type of love. Elise might simply be someone for Mori to love and receive the same type of love back. Or she represents his innocence and the type of love he craves.

I believe she could also represent his hidden innocence because when you are older you wouldn't want to be called innocent or pure. It's embarrassing to be labeled a virgin or not understand a sexual joke. But not everyone cares for these things, and some yearn for a different type of love, one that is not sexual.

Hopefully, people will stop labeling this character as a pedo and look for the meaning behind his ability instead.

#bsd #bsd mori #bsd elise #bsd port mafia #bungou stray dogs #mori ougai #bsd mori ougai #bungo stray dog #bsd manga

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notafraidofredyellowandblue · 4 months ago

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Till's poem...and why it moved me a lot...

posted on Till Lindemann IG 2024-08-07.

Jegliches hat seine Zeit

Hier steh ich nun, bin sehr bereit

nichts kann mich vom Gehen halten

die Vergangenheit wirft Falten

besser später als zu spät

wenn es leider nicht mehr geht

man sollte Hut und Mantel greifen

in die weite Welt ausschweifen

neue Aussicht, weg vom Alten

nach neuen Ufern Ausschau halten

beschmiert mit Schuld verblasst in Sühne

brauch neue Farben neue Bühnen

um Verständnis bitt ich nicht

brauch auch kein anderes Gericht

das Urteil stand schon fest am Tag

bevor man mich zur Nacht befragt

einzig Licht da in der Not

Fackeln wie in „ROSENROT“*

Wort und Stimmung unterkühlt

noch nie so einsam mich gefühlt

liegt das Leben erst in Scherben

weiter weiter ins Verderben

Der Wald verbrannt

Nichts mehr zu roden

doch Asche ist der beste Boden

hoffnungsvoll aus ihr zu steigen

voller Dank mich hier verneigen

so fällt es gar nicht leicht zu gehen

die Zeit mit Euch war wirklich schön.

In Liebe und Respekt

Till

*Musikvideo Rammstein

--‐---‐---------------------------

It has already been posted on Tumblr, and i considered commenting on that, but decided not to, so as not to offend or aggravate anyone with my personal opinion on it, because I have on occassion been critical or at the very least hesitant about Till and Till's behaviour in the last couple of years (starting already from 2019)

When the allegations happened and in the year since then, i was on occasion doubtful when i saw Till referring to it as "it will blow over", feeling maybe his usual 'fuck it all' attitude was a bit misplaced because it wasn't just him who was involved, but the others in the band as well, feeling maybe he didn't care that much about that aspect of it all.

I love Till's poetry, maybe even more than some of his songs, he is such a born poet, can describe feelings, emotions, situations with such raw, well chosen words. Not needing pages and pages of flowery words, but exactly enough to get to the core, to the heart of things. I love that he is wellread, uses many reference from the classics, from German history, German literature etc.

But this, this is more...

this to me is really Till opening up. Straight from his heart, no metaphores, no alter-persona, this is him about himself. How he has been hurt by it all, how much it brought him down, how unfair he felt treated, without throwing accusations back at his accusers. How cold and lonely it has been, even though we know he always has people around him, always travelling with friends, i can't help but feel the coldness was also felt within the six-men-marriage Rammstein itself, at least for a while. Towards the end of the poem he sounds hopeful, growing again from the ashes, grateful.

How to interpret the last two lines "It's really not easy to go, the time with you was really beautiful"; is he saying goodbye? To us? To Rammstein? To the stadiumtour-years with all it's ups and downs? To his old lifestyle? I don't know. The latest post on Rammstein official makes me hopeful it is not Rammstein at least. Maybe we'll hear more soon, maybe we won't. We can only wait and see.

I hope he has someone with him, a friend, family, someone who really loves him for himself. And i hope he is okay ❤️

#till lindemann #till's poem #rammstein #poetry that spoke to me

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feyhunter78 · 2 years ago

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The Scar on Your Palm (and the One on Mine)

Description: Your father has written of your betrothal to another, and Aemond reminds you of vows made years ago. Ñuha dōna means “My sweet”

Part two here!!

You’ve been in love with Aemond since you met him when you both were children. Even when Aegon took him down to the Silk Streets on his ten and third nameday you had no fear, only a heavy grief in your heart as you held him in your arms afterwards.

He cried into the crook of your neck, clinging to you as if you’d disappear if he relaxed his grip. You shushed him and reassured him you would never leave him, no matter what happened.

When you turned ten and five, he kissed you. A fleeting thing that left you breathless and fumbling to pull him closer, desperate for that taste of peppermint on his tongue. He whispered his devotion against your lips. Telling you how much he treasured and adored you, how you were meant to be together, but that you would need to wait to be betrothed, that his family’s troubles needed to settle first.

At ten and seven, both of you drunk on Dornish wine fell into his bed together. Limbs intertwining, the taste of peppermint on your tongue as Aemond thrust into you, singing your praises all while claiming your maidenhood as his. He’d brought you moon tea in the morning with promises that one day you wouldn’t have to drink it. That one day you would raise your children together.

Now two years later you stood across from him, hands clasped together, eyes rimmed with tears as he refused to approach you. “Aemond, please, you know I have no say in this.”

He even refused to look at you, the letter from your father in his hand. “You swore to me, you swore you would never leave.”

“It is not as if I wish to leave. I had no knowledge of this betrothal, until I received the letter.” You quickly wiped away your tears. “My father worries I have remained unmarried for too long; he does not wish for rumors to spread.”

“Rumors?” He asked, finally looking at you.

You nodded. “I am unmarried, and many have witnessed the closeness between us, they will talk, and I will be ruined.”

He slammed the letter on the table and stalked over to you, pulling you flush against him. “You are mine; I have the blood stained sheets to prove it. Perhaps I will send them to your father along with an offer for your hand.”

“You saved them?” You weren’t sure how you felt about that.

He bent down, brushing his nose against your cheek, his voice low. “I feared one day I might need proof that we are bound together in more than just words.”

“If you are so desperate for my hand, why did you not ask for it sooner? I am already betrothed, to be married in a week. My father is here, we will depart in two days’ time.” Tears spilled down your cheeks, and you turned your face from Aemond.

He kissed your temple, and his hand rubbed your back soothingly. “We are already married, Ñuha dōna, do you not remember?” He gently turned your face. “We were bound in fire and blood years ago.”

You remembered the campfire, the dagger, the metallic taste of blood as it passed your lips. You were so in love with him, binding yourself to him at ten and six was the easiest decision you’d ever made. “Aegon said that wasn’t binding.”

He took your right hand in his and pressed lightly on the scar that ran across your palm. It matched his own. His precision with a dagger ensured they were nearly perfect copies, a contract made gladly in blood. “Aegon is a fool who fell asleep in all our lessons.”

“Then why do you entertain the ladies your mother brings, why do you let men dance with me and pursue me?”

He pressed your palm to his lips reverently. “We must do our duties, both you and me, until the dust has settled.”

You ripped your hand from his grip and took a step back, needing space to breathe. “That is not how marriage works. Why does our marriage only seem to matter when I am to be taken away from you? You are acting more like a child throwing a fit when his favorite toy is taken than a husband.”

Aemond’s hand twitched, but he let the distance remain. “Y/N you don’t understand, Aegon is not yet fit to be king—”

“If I am to do my duty, then I will marry Lord Borris. Let him rut into me like an animal, bear his heirs and once the dust has settled, you can fly Vhagar to my new home and demand my return. That sounds like a wonderful plan, Aemond.” You cut him off, grabbing a satchel and shoving your possessions in it, back turned to him. “You are a coward, hiding behind a shield of supposed duty.”

Aemond threw you over his shoulder, and you yelped, dropping the gown you were attempting to shove in your bag.

He adjusted your skirts to protect your virtue, then pushed open his door. “You are my wife, the only man who will rut into you will be me, the only heirs you will bear will be mine.”

You pounded your fists against his back, cursing him as he carried you to the throne room. “Aemond, put me down. This is mortifying and undignified.”

“What is mortifying is the idea that you would ever doubt my affections.” He set you down right outside the throne room doors before cupping your face.

You leaned into his touch despite your earlier anger. “I have waited years for you to finally announce that you love me, to tell the court that I am yours, and you are mine.”

He kissed you, quickly and gently. “And you have been so patient, my sweet wife. I am sorry, I was a coward, afraid that my family would disapprove, that they would attempt to come between us.”

You shivered as his lips brushed against yours with each whispered word.

“No one could ever come between us.” You promised, gripping his tunic, and kissing him, seeking his familiar taste.

A cough from one of the kingsguards broke you both apart, and Aemond straightened his tunic. “Come, my sweet lady wife, we must inform our fathers of the news.”

Tag list: @nyctophilic0vitnir, @svtansdaddyx, @fan-goddess, @dc-marvel-girl96

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tonkatsubowl · 1 year ago

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false love.

jing yuan x fem!reader nsfw themes (cursing and stuff i think. mentions of domestic abuse and self harm. mentions of suicide. no, jing yuan aint hurting u bb girl). read at your own risk. english isn’t my first language, so please don’t mind the grammatical errors. (っ◞‸◟ c)

⪩ arranged marriage. the reader and jing yuan have an arranged marriage and she is stuck, disliking every moment of it, until...

TERM DIRECTORY ◖y/n: your name ◖e/c: eye color ◖h/c: hair color ◖l/n: last name

part two. / part three. / part four. / part five. / part six. / part seven.

"worthless girl," you hear your father say as he smacked down the scrolls onto the floor, "the most you can do for this family is to not be fucking useless and accept this marriage. but since you aren't listening, we will still go through it anyway."

but that wasn't surprising. your family was known to do things to and for you without your consent. this marriage? this arranged marriage? you didn't know about it until you woke up this morning, and apparently this had been planned for months now. you didn't know who you were getting married to, but according to your siblings (that also loathed you as the rest), you were getting married to a military leader.

you were the eldest child of the l/n family, and every first born child was expected to at least be married in their early ages, but if the child fails to meet that traditional requirement, then they would be forced into an arranged marriage.

in truth, you didn't trust anyone. you didn't go out as often, you didn't know a lot of men. you didn't trust any men. you weren't fearful, but with how the world is, you just couldn't trust anyone. and now here you are, forcing to sign your life away to a man you've never met. a man you will hate.

you were a quiet child. despite being the oldest, your younger siblings were treated with respect, love and care...because they seemed to be more talented than you. however, because you were the oldest, you were easy to get rid of. then again, your family wanted to get rid of you from the beginning. it was to the point where your father had practically brainwashed your siblings to dislike you. ultimately for no reason, too. but you just went with it. you were used to this treatment. why haven't you died sooner? you should've been successful in your past attempts.

"dear," you hear your mother call out to your father, "general jing yuan is here."

"ah, brilliant. we can get rid of this useless little girl once and for all." your father replied as he stood up.

as your father left the scene to greet your unknown fiance, you stared yourself at the mirror. you wore a crimson cheongsam, and some decorative ornaments that covered your visage. you sat there, solemn and dull, unable to truly feel anything. you...didn't feel beautiful, even though the house servants of your home had pampered you up enough to look..."decent" and "pleasing" enough to the eye. you just didn't see the beauty in you. you always thought of yourself as useless. ugly. worthless. and now here you are, still looking the same as you were being sent off to spend the rest of your life with some man you never met.

"y/n." a house servant enters your room, bowing formally. "it's time."

slowly, you got up, silently making your way to follow the servant to where the private wedding would take place. you walked past your younger siblings who followed their gaze with you, ultimately disappointed in you, and ready to get rid of their older sibling from the rest of their lives. they will never see you again. and you will never see any of these filthy relatives ever again. that was the best part, at least.

entering the room, you were greeted with the sight of an unfamiliar man who has his back turned towards you. his silver, fluffy hair held up, the government official who officiates your marriage, and your cruel parents to witness your marriage.

you didn't even dare to look at the general. you didn't care. you just wanted to die as quickly as possible. a part of you had hoped that he was kind enough to kill you the same day the both of you wed...so you didn't have to live in this world anymore where you were always hurt. always distrusting others. always meant to be a failure.

the general stole a look at you, however, but he didn't say anything. he patiently listened to the officiate's words, and replied with an, "i do". and you did the same, but your voice was quiet. delicate. precious. like a flower that was stomped on repeatedly, barely able to survive. wedding vows and other wedding-related stuff later, you were finally sent off to be escorted by jing yuan, his lieutenant yanqing, off into his home to live in forever.

standing before you was the sanctum, and you came here by a fancy carriage. the city was in celebration due to the general's wedding. others were happy, and you were the only person who...just didn't seem excited.

"y/n," you hear the general speak to you in a loving voice. dangerous, you thought. it's a lie. it's a fake. he's just acting sweet because he's your husband. behind closed doors, he'll... "we're here."

extending a hand towards you, he caught you flinching. you had thought that the general would hit you, or harm you in some way...but opening your eyes, you see that he merely wanted to hold your hand to escort you out of the carriage. slowly, you nod, taking his hand. shaking. you were afraid, but you tried not to show it.

unbeknownst to you, both yanqing and jing yuan made eye contact with each other briefly after you had flinched.

jing yuan carefully escorted you out of the carriage, and slowly wrapped his arm around your shoulder as he gave a wave towards his people. yanqing was nearby, and another made her appearance.

"ah, fu xuan," jing yuan greeted, "has everything been complete?"

"yeah," fu xuan replied, "lunch has been set up, as well as everything else. i made sure to give you extra dessert this time since you kept complaining last time." a roll of the diviner's eyes, earning a heart-filled laugh from the general. "congratulations on your wedding anyway. and ma'am... miss y/n." a formal bow. "i am fu xuan. master diviner of the divination commission, at your service. please do not hesitate to call for me if you need any assistance."

"haha! thank you, fu xuan."

you were silent, still. you didn't even respond. your eyes remain downwards, staring into nothingness below you. fu xuan looked at yanqing, then to jing yuan, who had nodded slowly. fu xuan nodded, as though they were communicating with each other in silence. then, the master diviner left, leaving you and your husband to enter the sanctum.

upon entering, you were greeted with more of his assistants and servants, which you didn't even bother to care about. you just wanted to disappear. you just wanted to⸻

"y/n." you hear the general's voice. "i hope everything has been to your liking so far. there will be a lunch that has been prepared for us this afternoon to celebrate. would you like some warm tea before hand?"

you paused for a moment as he looked down towards you. you were unable to look at him, but you would want some tea...only due to the fact your hands were cold. you wanted to hold a cup of hot tea to warm them up. "...⸻⸻yes."

it mustered everything for you to respond. god, you felt so weak. you were so delicate. jing yuan smiled softly at you, slowly reaching towards your hands...before stopping.

"...may i hold your hand, y/n?"

you pause, looking at his own hands which were close to yours. you were scared. you were hesitant. but... you were getting cold due to your anxiety.

"..." you nodded slowly, as he took your hands in his.

god, they were warm. they were...soft. they were rough due to the fact he's been in many battles, and they were...large. surprisingly enough, you felt...so safe. jing yuan felt your hands relax in his, earning him a rewarding smile for himself. "let's prepare some tea together. do you happen to favor jasmine?"

your eyes sparkled for a bit. yes, jasmine was your favorite. you loved jasmine tea. it was one of the few comfort teas that you would drink to calm yourself. this time, you displayed a bit of expression as you nodded. "y...yes. jasmine tea is actually my favorite."

"aah, is that so?" jing yuan chuckled, "it is one of my favorite as well. i'll be sure to brew it properly so you can a strong flavor. our tea has been harvested from the best of the best, after all."

you looked down, a bit excited. but you were afraid that if you showed any sort of emotion...you would get hit. but you kept your gaze low to your feet, not wanting to look...

then, jing yuan escorted you to the patio outside, which you were greeted by the sight of the beauty of xianzhou luofu. you could see the sky...you could see the birds flying. for the first time, you felt so...free. but you were unsure.

your husband escorted you to your seat, then right after, he began to brew the tea before you. you watched carefully, seeing everything that he did...and giving you the opportunity to actually give the general a look. he...was beautiful. his silver hair, his golden eyes... he seemed so trusting. he was beautiful. too beautiful. and you were married to him.

god, he must be in love with someone else. he was cheating on you, you bet. he was just here to follow traditions, you bet. there must be another woman involved. you weren't the only one, you thought. there had to be⸻

"y/n?"

you snap back to reality as your eyes look up to meet jing yuan's. the look on his face...the look of sincerity. a gentle look. god, he was so beautiful. and his eyes looked so...soft. he tilted his head, his smile tugging at his lips as he looked at you with a bit of concern.

disgusting.

"are you alright?"

your eyes soften a bit, gaze returning to fixate on the jasmine tea that he had poured for you already.

"you haven't touched your tea, yet. is something the matter? do you believe i have poisoned it? i can drink it for you, if you'd like."

you shake your head. "n-no, it's alright. i just...spaced out."

it didn't matter if it was poisoned. it would be another way to go out.

you pick up the cup of tea, bringing it up to your lips, tasting the warmth of the jasmine-induced tea and...

ah.

your eyes bright up. your cheeks paint themselves with a soft, crimson color. it was...sublime. the taste of the tea was perfect. it was amongst the best...no, it was the best jasmine tea you've ever tasted. it was...perfect. it was amazing.

you could see jing yuan smiling as well, seeing that he was very observant to your behavior and to what you liked, disliked...and what made you fear the most.

"it's...it's really good," you murmur, "i enjoy it. a-alot. th...thank you."

jing yuan's smile widened. "of course. anything to make my wife happy, after all."

happy...happy?

what a strange man.

to fixate on one's happiness⸻yours, especially. was this an obligation, or just something he wanted to do willy-nilly? you were unsure, but for whatever the future holds for the both of you...you hoped that it would make you disappear soon.

but, truth to be told, the future that was promised for you was no danger, neither was it truly a tunnel of neverending darkness.

unbeknownst to you, you were free. and you were going to be happy.

and jing yuan will make sure of it.

#honkai star rail #hsr #hsr x reader #jing yuan #jing yuan x reader #hsr jing yuan

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moonshine-nightlight · 1 year ago

Text

Nothing's Wrong with Dale - Part Thirty

It’s been a week, but you’re fairly certain your fiancé accidentally got himself replaced by an eldritch being from the Depths. Deciding that he’s certainly not worse than your original fiancé, you endeavor to keep the engagement and his new non-human state to yourself.

However, this might prove harder than you originally thought.

Fantasy, arranged marriage, malemonsterxfemalereader, M/F

AO3: Nothing’s Wrong with Dale Chapter 30

[Part One][Part Two] [Part Three] [Part Four] [Part Five] [Part Six] [Part Seven] [Part Seven.5][Part Eight] [Part Nine] [Part Ten] [Part Eleven] [Part Twelve] [Part Thirteen] [Part Fourteen] [Part Fifteen] [Part Sixteen] [Part Seventeen] [Part Eighteen] [Part Nineteen] [Part Twenty] [Part Twenty-One] [Part Twenty-Two][Part Twenty-Three] [Part Twenty-Four][Part Twenty-Five] [Part Twenty-Six] [Part Twenty-Seven] [Part Twenty-Eight] [Part Twenty-Nine] Part Thirty [Part Thirty-One] [Part Thirty-Two] [Part Thirty-Three] [Part Thirty-Four]

You blink at the woman for a few long seconds, trying to comprehend her words. “Excuse me? Did you just say Lord Dale has called off the wedding? Our wedding?”

“I…” The maid is at a loss for words in the face of your incredulity. She swallows. “Yes, my lady.”

There’s a rushing sound in your ears, like wind roaring. You stay perfectly still, your face blank as you try to think. That is not possible. It’s not. How could he do something like that? Why would he? You’d dealt with so many surprises, jumped over every obstacle, and handled every challenge. Why instead did you feel as though you had survived a trip at sea only to find your ship crashing into the pier while within sight of home? You feel numb.

Perhaps you are making some sort of expression because the woman grows paler. “I’m sure it is simply pre-wedding jitters, my lady,” she hurries to reassure you. “Lord Archibald will have him seeing sense before you can blink.”

“Best to continue getting you ready,” Ms Dearden says as she lays out your corded underskirts. You appreciate her practiced dismissal even if you fear there’s more at play here than she’s aware of. “Young men these days always get cold feet. He’ll be over it soon enough.”

“Yes, of course.” Your own voice seems distant to your ears, but your words are enough for Callalily’s maid to resume work on your hair. At some point she finishes and you’re helped into your underskirts. Your mind stays blank as you try to conceive of reasons for him to do such a thing beyond tiring of you and this whole facade. Distant imaginings of what your life would be like without the wedding crumble to fog.

You’ve been so committed and focused on today that the news feels nonsensical more than alarming. How could the wedding not be happening? Did you just speak with your sisters? Has every moment of the last few weeks been in service of it? Are you not now suddenly dressed in your lovely yellow wedding gown? The person in the hand mirror looks as though they are marrying today.

The door flings open and Steward Bilmont hurries in despite the reproach from the women in the room at both his presence and the dramatics of his entrance.

You only need to look at his face to understand that the situation with Dale has not improved since the first maid broke it to you. He opens his mouth to speak, but something about your countenance, or perhaps your lack of reaction, must inform him that you know something of the situation.

“I don’t know what’s gotten into him, my lady,” Bilmont says, wringing his hands. “He’s not been this unreasonable in weeks. Lord Archibald has refused to put a stop to anything, but Lord Dale refuses to see reason. He’s barred the door to his chambers after Lord Archibald wouldn’t accept his words.”

“I see.” With careful fingers you put down the small hand mirror and begin to stand, adjusting your skirts as you do so.

It’s Miss Adir who asks, her voice filled with trepidation, “My lady?”

“Excuse me,” you say, an undeniable calm spreading through your veins, as you cross the room towards the door.

“Where are you going?” Steward Bilmont asks as you brush by him.

You realize your decision as you reply, “To speak with my betrothed. Please continue preparations without me.”

The maid who brought the news is the one who speaks up, as your hand closes around the door knob. “My lady, I don’t think—”

“Continue without me,” you cut her off, eyes snapping, because finally some emotion has made itself known to you and it is anger. You’ve worked so hard and been through so much. Dale thinks he can just put an end to it all mere hours before you’re to be wed? No.

“My lady…” Bilmont tries, his hand settling gently on your arm. He’s almost wincing, the look in his eyes resigned. As though he thought everything had been going too well and this was the inevitable shoe that dropped.

You shake his hand off. “If Lord Dale wishes to call off our wedding,” some of that anger finally bleeds into your voice and you see the surprise in Bilmont’s eyes, “he shall tell me so to my face. Get out of my way.”

He obligingly steps back, hands hanging back at his sides. You don’t bother to observe the others' reactions, opening the door quickly, and letting it shut heavily behind you.

You walk briskly down the hall and towards the Northridge family bedrooms. No one else, servant or noble alike, crosses your path as you head that way. Not until you’re closer. You hear shouting and decide to peek around the corner, wanting to get the scope of the situation you’re walking into.

“—utter foolishness!” Grandfather is shouting at Dale’s closed door with two guards flanking him. He bangs his fist on the door for good measure. “Do you wish for me to find your Grandmother? I’ve kindly not informed her of your idiocy, but I shall have to if you persist!”

There’s no reply from the other side of the door, not even a sound. Grandfather rattles the door knob to no avail, but doesn’t try anything further with the solid wood door.

He groans in frustration and turns to the guards. “I want to know the instant he leaves this room and if he does not within the hour, I shall have to inform Lady Deidre as promised.”

“Yes, my lord,” the guards chorus looked properly cowed by the threat, even if it isn't aimed at them.

Grandfather turns dramatically enough you see more of the original Dale in him than you thought possible and storms off. The guards take up posts on either side of the door, not baring it, but still present enough that you stay where you are. You’ve no desire to speak to them or to shout at Dale with them nearby.

You frown, unsure why but something doesn’t sit right with you the longer you look down the silent corridor. It seems…empty, or perhaps still, in a manner that makes you feel as if you are not where you should be. Not that your presence is unwanted, but as if you are lost.

You study the scene more closely and find your eyes drifting towards the bright sunlight streaming through the windows and the faint light coming from under Dale’s bedroom door. After a second, you realize what is wrong with the light and shadow—both are completely still. Before, the maid had said both of them were shouting and you’ve never heard this Dale raise his voice except in a physical fight. If he were truly upset, or at least strongly emotional, there should be some evidence in the shadows, some unnatural movement.

You chance another glance down the corridor, but it looks utterly ordinary. As your gaze sweeps from further down where Grandfather disappears around a corner and then back closer to yourself they snag on the stairway down towards the studies and other meeting rooms. There’s no movement, but the shadows are deep and dark. There are no windows there, that stairway is more utilitarian than for show like the grand staircases in other places throughout the house, so that’s plenty of reason for the darkness, but…

You move as quietly and fluidly as you can towards that staircase, hoping not to attract the guards notice. You don’t want to talk to anyone except Dale. You don’t know what Grandfather would try to say to you given he is clearly trying to keep this news contained. He stopped attempting to prove anything with you since the attack, but you’re still not completely sure of what he thinks of you. Keeping your skirts just high enough off the floor and grateful your house slippers are soft and quiet, you make it to the stairs without the guards' notice.

Your footsteps are nearly silent as you hastily make your way down the flight of stairs. You’ve never given much thought to the amount of light that fills it, but surely it wasn’t this dark in previous mornings. Or is that simply your imagination? Is it just your hope that it means you can find Dale and talk some sense into him?

You peek out at the bottom, looking for anyone in this area of the house who might question one of the couple getting married wandering about alone. No one is present. An eerie silence permeates the corridor and like the staircase, it seems darker than it should be. You step out, eyes on the window that lets light in, but seems outnumbered by shadows.

Dale’s personal study is off a smaller side corridor from this hallway, in its own small tower. You think the upper floor might connect to his bedroom. Then there is the underground room, the real reason you believe the original Dale had requested his current quarters and this study.

There’s an oppressive aura that thickens the air as soon as you turn the corner and it builds the closer you get to his study’s door. You imagine that's partially responsible for the lack of others in this area, which in some ways you’re grateful for. You also manage to draw on its presence as fuel for your anger at such obvious overflow from his nature. The shadows under the door ripple, as if it were night and a lighted candle was guttering in the breeze, unremarkable except for the fact that it's closer to noon.

Cautiously, you reach out for the door knob. Grasping it firmly in your hand, you find that it's not locked as you had feared. The knob turns without effort and the door swings inside to reveal Dale’s study. The flickering shadows solidify as you step inside, eyes searching for Dale.

You find him quickly enough, a trunk half packed of books next to him. Somehow you don’t think they are being gathered for your wedding trip. He’s by the window, back to you, but you can see tension in every line of his body. All the breath desserts you at the sight of him. All the words you could say dry up in your mouth. The door shuts with an audible click behind you.

“WOULD—” Dale whirls, his frustrated voice cuts off the second his eyes land on you. Abruptly all the anger in his face leaves him. Instead he practically deflates, merely gaping at you. To your surprise, he spins away from you. “What are you doing here?” he asks, voice pitched higher than usual. “I thought we were not to see each other until—” He doesn’t finish his sentence, his shoulders slumping.

You take another few steps into the room and clear your throat. “Yes, well, I’m fairly certain that the betrotheds laying eyes on one the morning of the wedding is of no consequence if there isn’t to be a wedding, hm?” You’re grateful that you’ve rediscovered some of your anger and your frustration to draw on for the strength to weather this conversation.

“I…” Dale can’t seem to think of an adequate response even as he refuses to turn around.

Your heart constricts in your chest at this confirmation. “So it’s true?” You hadn’t realized how much you were hoping despite all the evidence to the contrary that once you found Dale he’d explain how it was all one big misunderstanding. “You’ve called off our wedding.”

He leans his head against the wall and says nothing.

“Dammit, Dale!” The words jump out of you, louder than you’ve ever spoken to Dale. “Look at me,” you say, your voice breaking. “If you’re going to do this, you’re going to look at me as you do so.”

Slowly, like a man condemned, he turns. Dale swallows, looking profoundly guilty. He murmurs your name, but you refuse to let his soft voice sway you and merely stare straight back at him. “Why? Why are you doing this?”

“My reasons are complex, but unchangeable.” His words are rote and his voice wooden. You imagine he said something like this to Grandfather. “I apologize.”

“I don’t understand,” you say as plainly as you can, tired of talking around topics and pretending to be sure when you aren’t. “Complex? How complex can they be that you won’t even enumerate them for me now. Please explain, justify, anything.” Dale just stands there and that anger surges through your blood. You take another step forward, your voice as stern as you can make it, “You owe it to me. Tell me why you are calling off our future.”

“I…” Dale starts before his blue eyes meet yours squarely for the first time since you arrived and he appears to shrink in on himself. He sighs a deep sigh, looking weary. “I could say any number of reasons, but you’re correct. They’re just excuses.” He pulls himself back up and braces himself. “In truth, I simply cannot bear to deceive you any longer.”

“Deceive me? About what? What can you not have told me that would cause our wedding to be canceled?” Panicked, wild scenarios begin to fly through your mind. “Did you marry someone else on your travels and they’ve arrived today? Have you been caught smuggling? Are you a wanted man? Did something happen this morning?”

Dale looks taken aback. He blinks at you. “Wha-? No, no—none of that.”

You feel some exasperation mixing with your frustration as he continues to talk around whatever he’s worried about. You’ve done this dance every day for weeks now and you are so, so tired of it. “Then what? I thought,” you swallow, hating how small your voice has gotten. You clear your throat and try again. “I thought you wanted this—wanted our marriage.”

“I do!” The words burst out of him, surprising you. How can he say so when he’s the one who is ruining it. He continues more quietly, as if the volume was what shocked you, “I do, but you don’t know…” He trails off again, looking away.

“Then tell me,” you plead, taking another step closer. Only another step or two and you could touch him. You could try in vain to keep him from leaving you.

“I,” he starts, looking at you and away again. “A few weeks ago, there was a… I mean to say that I,” he begins again, obviously having difficulty getting the words out. At least you can see he’s truly making the attempt this time. “Well, not me, but he…” Is this something the original Dale had done that was coming back to ruin everything? That was what you hoped for, in a strange way, because at least it would mean that this Dale still might want you. That whatever prompted this was out of his control. That maybe you could fix whatever it was. “I care about you,” he finally says, his eyes bright, bright blue as they meet yours squarely once more and your breath catches at the genuine sentiment in his voice, “more than I ever thought I would, but I’m not who you think I am.” He takes another deep breath and says bluntly, “Dale of Northridge died weeks ago and then I possessed his body.”

Everything seems to screech to a halt as he stares at you, his eyes pleading with you to understand. Aside from the relief at finally hearing him say it out loud, you don’t. Understand, that is. “Yes…” you say slowly, nodding. “And…?” You’re still waiting for him to complete the thought. To tell you what he’s been building to. Prompting him seemed to help before. “Did you eat someone a few weeks ago and have just now been discovered? Did something you forgot come back to cause problems now?”

“What?” Now Dale looks nearly as confused as you feel. It makes you want to scream in frustration because he’s the one doing this—he has to be the one that knows what is going on. “No, I don’t think you understand.” He talks more slowly, like you’re not hearing his words right. “I’m not human, I’m a demon.” He once again appears to brace himself for your reaction, but you still don’t get it.

Maybe you aren’t hearing him right, but that’s never happened before. Is this some new demonic power or collateral influence? “Yes, I know,” you reply just as deliberately. You enunciate as you ask, “But what did you do that means we can not be wed?”

“You must not be comprehending my words.” He seems to be aware of the issue, getting frustrated himself. He runs his fingers through his long dark hair before he takes on a consoling tone, “I know it is a great shock to find out your fiance is now a demon—”

“What?” You stare at him because is that what he thinks you are getting caught on? You put your hands on your hips and can’t say anything except, “Of course, I know you’re a demon.”

“What?” He leans back, eyes wide. “No.” Dale shakes his head. “How could you know that?”

“Did you think you’ve been doing an exemplary job of hiding it?” The response bursts out of you before you can help it. Because no, this cannot be the conversation you’re having. It can’t be. “How about we begin with how the human Dale was obviously interested in demonology and black market dealing. How excited he was the night before this,” you gesture to Dale’s entire body, “happened. How sick you were after and your memory issues. The fact that you occasionally have more eyes than is proper and your influence on shadows and the claws. You’ve had a tail at times, for stars’ sake!”

“Oh.” Dale’s voice is small and his eyes big as he stares down at you, clearly at a loss for words.

You’ve seemingly found a well of words with which to rebuke him. “Do you know how many times I’ve had to conceal your nature?” You take a step forward, unable to contain your ire and incredulity. He takes one back. “It is not as easy as you must believe to distract people from wriggling shadows and additional eyes and all the strange things you say. Did you really believe I didn’t know? That you were hiding it that well?”

“Well, I don’t know.” Dale sounds more flustered than you’ve ever heard him. “Humans are so oblivious most of the time!”

“Not that oblivious!”

Dale throws his hands up. “Well, no one’s instigated a purge, have they? And Grandfather and Grandmother don’t know, do they?”

Your heart rate is slowly returning to normal and you grudgingly admit, “No. Although Grandfather did think I’d cursed you for a couple weeks.”

“He thought you cursed me?”

“Yes!” you reply, exasperated that he didn’t even know. “After the hunt, where you did light knows what with the boar, he became convinced that I had cursed you or ensnared you with my ‘potions’. Perhaps while you were still recovering from your supposed illness. As a supposed practitioner of dark ritual or maybe even a summoner, he kept trying to exorcise me, which I had to make sure didn’t accidentally affect you.” When Dale just looks at you, obviously hearing this or putting the pieces together for the first time you can’t help, but feel as if you might be the one who has lost their mind. “You must remember when he practically threw a glass of holy water on us?”

Dale’s brow furrows. “…I did think that was a bit odd.”

You snort. “Yes, I would wager so.” Slowly, you realize you're laughing. You put a hand to your mouth but all it does is muffle the sound. Dale looks newly worried but you can’t stop. “I can’t believe you didn’t know that I knew.” Collapsing into a chair, you cover your face in your hands as you try to regain your composure.

How is this happening? How had you managed to get so far along without realizing he didn’t know that you knew? Who does that say more about him or you?

After a moment or two, you sense him near you and he asks, “Are you alright?” He sounds so concerned, like he’s still worried the knowledge of what he is, even if it isn’t new to you, might be capable of breaking your mind or whatever he feared would happen.

“Yes, yes,” you finally sit back up, blinking in the light as you attempt to reassure him. “I will be. I simply need a moment.” Dale hesitates from where he’s leaning over you before turning to fetch a cup of water. Haltingly, he holds out to you. “Thank you,” you say as you wipe away the tears that had gathered in the corners of your eyes while laughing.

You sip it carefully as you pull the tattered remains of your composure around yourself once more. Dale watches you take the first couple of sips before he begins to pace in obvious agitation. He’s clearly waiting for you to finish the glass before saying whatever is so clearly on his mind. You’re content to take your time and make him wait after everything he’s put you through, seemingly without even realizing what you were doing.

After a minute, you set the glass down deliberately and Dale comes to a stop in front of you. “I don’t…” he starts to say before changing his mind. “If you know, then why are you doing this?”

“Doing what?” you ask. He’s the one constantly doing incomprehensible things.

“Marrying me!” he says, rather emphatically, as though it should be obvious. He runs his hands through his hair. “Going through with this wedding! I don’t understand.” He sounds desperate to understand.

You feel of heat gather high on your cheeks, not having expected to have a light shown on your own actions so directly. “What do you mean? We’re betrothed. Getting married is the expected course of action.”

He gives you a flat look that says you’re not fooling him. “Try once more. I admit there were certain times where I did think you…” He looks at you, a distant look in his eyes as he remembers whatever particular instance. “Where I did think that you knew. Half a dozen times, I was sure you knew,” he continues, eyes intent once more, “but you didn’t do anything about it! You never revealed me or tried to exorcise me or even demand any sort of recompense for keeping it secret. You merely continued on as we had. You were still there, at my side.” He sighs and he looks so tired again. “And so I thought I must be wrong, that you couldn’t know.”

You're not sure what to say in the face of his conviction that you knowing what he is and you continuing to associate with him were so unlikely he’d discounted it out of hand. He made it sound like tolerating or using him was the most he’d expected. “I…”

“And you’re afraid of demons!” The words burst out of him. “So why would—?”

“I’m not afraid of you,” you reply because that’s certainly true. If the manner in which the shadows behind Dale are writhing in distress are any indication, the reassurance can’t hurt. You’re worried about how his nature makes life more complicated and what other people might do, but you’re long past the point of fearing he’d physically injure you on purpose.

“I heard you and Grandfather talking about Two,” Dale replies, as if that proves something. “How you feared them because of what they were. That night, when I remembered what I’d heard, I changed my mind again about what you knew.”

You stare at him before saying slowly, “Dale, I was afraid of Two because they were trying to kidnap and murder us. Their being a demon made them more dangerous, so yes, that made me fear them more than the others. You were who knows where fighting them on your own and I was worried about you.” If you thought Dale looked confused before, he looks downright confounded now. You keep talking, relishing in the opportunity to finally speak honestly about the attack, “However, you being a demon makes you stronger, which reassured me. I couldn’t say anything else because of Grandfather’s attitude, but I did not grow up in Northridge. I may not have met a demon before, but I didn’t live anywhere with the rigorous, studied suspicion and fear that Northridge cultivates.”

“The rest of the world is not Northridge,” Dale acknowledges having composed himself, “but it is not charitable in its view either. And it is not wrong in that opinion. I’ve been on the Surface before. No one has ever treated me in the manner you have after learning what I am. It was impossible to reconcile the person I got to know with someone who would want what humans understand demons to be.”

It’s not as though you can’t follow where he’s coming from. You haven’t told anyone else about what he is for a reason beyond just what Grandfather and Grandmother. You’d never even seriously considered telling any of your siblings because you know they wouldn’t understand. You want to ask further about the personal experience he’s alluding to but that isn’t what matters at this moment. “I…” You take a breath and finally say the obvious truth that you’ve never been able to say directly, even if you alluded to the sentiment right after the attack. “I do want to marry you.” Dale looks thunder-stuck. “Far more than I ever wanted to marry Dale before you took his place.”

“You do?” You’ve never seen Dale look so completely bewildered. “Why?”

“Because he was a selfish, mean, entitled prick.” The plain, honest words slip out without thought and Dale’s eyes widen. “Because you’re not. I like you.” You swallow and continue, “I think we get along well. I would have tolerated marrying him. You make me look forward to marriage.”

It's a weight lifted to finally say those words, but they inevitably bring up your own confusion, your own lack of understanding of this Dale’s motivations and you can’t pass up the opportunity to ask. “But this is not just about why I have stuck to this facade. Why have you?” You still have no notion of what a demon might want. You’d only barely convinced yourself that Dale wanted this partnership since he was going along with it. He isn’t now. So perhaps you don’t know anything at all. “You could have stolen all you could from Dale and then disappeared to live your own life about a week after being here. You don’t have to be, to be,” you search for the words to define what’s he’s been doing, especially knowing he’s not been working toward the same end goal as you, “taking part in all these events, and playing dutiful grandson with Grandfather, Grandmother, or all the others.” You take a deep breath and add, with only a small shake to your voice, “Or being with me. Why are you still here?”

Dale opens his mouth, but no sound comes out as he stares at you.

Your shoulders slump in the face of his inability to give any reason, let alone a compelling one. “Although, I suppose there is no more wedding, is there? You’ve called it off, for all you haven’t left or told me why.” The prospect of the fall-out to come leaves you exhausted and hurt already. “I assume that leaving will be your next move.”

“No, no,” Dale starts to protest, “I…” Something changes in his expression as he searches for the words to say and this time, they come out steady, “Originally, I stayed because it was easy. I thought the best stroke of luck I’d had in my existence was when that imbecile broke himself opening an unguarded portal and I’d won the fight for his body.”

“Oh.” It had never even occurred to you that there might have been such an event. No matter what he does next, you’re grateful this demon is the one who won too.

“It’d been so long since I’d been up on the Surface,” Dale says wistfully. “I didn’t have a plan beyond getting here. I suppose, at first, I had considered taking what I could and leaving to make my own life. Except…” Your breath, your future hangs on that “except.” “I enjoy it here. Northridge, I mean, not just being out of the Depths. It’s somewhat impossible to know how much is experience and how much is borrowed memory, but I care for Grandfather and Grandmother. And for you. What is here in Northridge is more than I’d hoped for. A safe den, a loyal clan, a bountiful territory, an exemplary mate. Why would I go searching for better when it seemed I’d already found all I could want?”

“Truly?”

“Yes.”

Dale seems so sincere but that only brings your mind back to what prompted this conversation. “Then why are you trying to stop the wedding?”

“Because I thought you didn’t know!” he protests. “I told myself that since I’d never out-right lied to you, that was good enough.” He sighs. “But I realized if my only reason for not telling you who you were even marrying was because you might make a choice I didn’t want, that it was rather despicable.”

You can’t help, but ask the obvious. “Then why didn’t you simply tell me instead of calling the wedding off?”

“Because I’m selfish too,” Dale says, “and I couldn’t bear for you to know the truth and look at me like—.” He breaks off, shaking his head.

He’s returned to not meeting your eyes. Tension has crawled back up his spine to settle in his shoulders. His arms are crossed and he still seems one wrong word away from running. As if Dale’s still waiting for you to reject him. Perhaps you need to make up for all the times you didn’t speak up before. It seems like a fair concession if the hope blooming in your chest is proven true.

You stand up from your chair, crossing the remaining distance between you and Dale. You place gentle hands on his forearms and they loosen under your touch. Carefully you push those crossed arms down until they hang by his sides where you can entwine your fingers with his. You take advantage of the height he has on you to look up into his eyes, not even surprised to find more than just two. “Well, I do know.” Those glowing blue eyes stare back down at you with the same hope reflected in them. “And I still want to marry you. If you do.”

Dale’s answer is immediate and earnest, “I do. I want that. I want the life we spoke of building more than anything else I’ve ever thought to want.”

You nod, a smile breaking out across your face. “Good. Go-” He cuts you off with a kiss, which starts out light but grows in pressure when you kiss him back. He tries to lift a hand to your face, but instead the back of your own hand still held in his touches your cheek instead. You pull back to see the pout he makes as he stares at his hand, obviously unsure of whether to let yours go or to keep holding on.

The sound of a door opening above you followed by disgruntled voices pops the bubble of privacy you’d been enclosed in. You sigh. “While we still need to have a full conversation, I think it can wait for tonight at the least, yes?” Dale nods eagerly. “Then I must return to getting ready.”

“And I must assure Grandfather my ‘bout of childish insanity’ is indeed over. I’ve never seen him so furious.” At the look of surprise on your face, Dale smiles. “Regardless of what he thought before, Grandfather certainly thinks well of you now. He repeatedly told me that this would be the worst decision I ever made if I went through with it. He’s refused to even tell Grandmother, more out of fear for me than for her.”

High on emotion and relief, you giggle, too pleased that Grandfather spoke so strongly in your favor. “Did he?”

“Yes,” Dales says as he leads you to the study door. “And it's not as though I could provide a solid defense when I knew he was right.” He pulls you into a solid embrace before letting you go with a final kiss pressed to your forehead.

You pull the door open without looking away from him, not able to resist asking for one last reassurance, “Your word that you will be there at the other end of the aisle?”

Dale smiles. “Yes, sana, I give you my word that I will let nothing stand in the way of our wedding, not even myself.”

[Part Thirty-One]

#my writing #story: nothing's wrong with dale #story part #nothing's wrong with dale #monster romance #monster bf #exophilia #terato #osha compliant #slow burn #arranged marriage #reader #idk where today went #literally all i did was work on this and go to a bridal shower #and the day is gone #the anticipation just for myself for this chapter has been ridiculous #so i'm rly glad to hav finally gotten here and finished it!#hope you enjoyed the chapter!#let me know what you think!

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