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gurugirl · 1 month ago

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[3] It's Good to Be King | mean king!harry

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Series Summary: Harry, a handsome, but ill-mannered new king, bound by tradition, must select a queen, and against all expectations, he chooses Y/n, a street beggar. Now, Y/n finds herself caught between the gilded cage of royalty and the cold, harsh simplicity of her past, navigating a court shocked by her presence and a king who revels in the scandal of it all.

Note: Harry is mean/uncouth in this, though things do get better. He doesn't treat anyone around him with much respect at all. Expect to not like him much at first. Also, this is set in the 1800s England, and while not completely historically accurate, I did my best to keep it as accurate as possible.

Ch. 3 Word Count: 8,749

Ch. 3 Warning: Harsh physical treatment, descriptions of extreme poverty, discrimination, humiliation, some light petting, inspection kink (light), corruption kink, mention of parental death (let me know if I missed any!)

It's Good to Be King Masterlist

. .

Y/n had learned that the king had been called away to tend to a minor land ownership dispute in a village that was a day's ride away. He'd be gone for five days as long as there were no unexpected postponements.

When Phoebe told her, Y/n couldn't pinpoint exactly why she felt so wistful. She knew he was a cold, bad-mannered person, so she shouldn't have expected him to speak to her about his departure beforehand. But to feel the tight stretch in her chest that he didn't tell her himself… that was perplexing.

Their interactions over the last few weeks she'd been at the castle had been not more than fleeting. They'd had dinner together a few times, and one evening he went to her room with a gift for her. He didn't let her open it while he was present, but before he left, he placed his hand on her hip when she was wearing only her chemise and said, "This, I much prefer. I shall have another fig tart sent to you this evening."

He squeezed at her skin, his fingers indenting into her newly very slightly softer hip. She understood him to mean the small bit of weight she'd put on was what he preferred.

The gift he left her was a beautiful gold brooch bearing the kingdom's royal coat of arms carved into the center, adorned with sparkling purple, red, and amber jewels. On the back, it was engraved with the name of Harry's deceased mother, the late Queen.

She forced a smile as Phoebe poured hot, fragrant Ceylon into her teacup. "He'll be gone five days? The wedding ceremony is in two weeks. Let's hope nothing delays their return."

"Two weeks already is it?" Phoebe said, lifting the porcelain lid from her breakfast platter. "Are you scared?"

She nodded. "Yes. But I've no choice. My family finally has everything they've ever wanted here. My sister, Dell, cried last week when she tasted the citrus soufflé we all had for dessert. I can't do anything to ruin this. Even if he is the devil."

A dashing devil.

"I believe he's fond of you. He's a cad, but I've seen him look at you when you're not paying attention. Everyone has."

Y/n smiled down at her plate. She only pretended not to be paying attention, but she knew his gaze on the curve of her neck and brushing at her lips when she'd look the other direction. Crude, maybe, but he did show her something about her body she'd not soon forget.

In fact, it had come quite in handy once her bedroom was quiet and she was settled into her down blankets with a book full of wanton stories in her lap. The guilt she'd felt the first few times she'd reenacted what he'd shown her soon turned into a craving she daydreamed of at the most inappropriate times.

Just as then, while Phoebe stood by watching as she ate her breakfast.

"Have you eaten?" Y/n asked.

"Not yet."

"Would you like a biscuit with butter?" Y/n placed a biscuit on a small dish and gestured at the chair across from her for Phoebe to sit.

"It's meant for you, Y/n."

"Of course it's meant for me, but I'd like you to have some. You're my friend. Please, sit with me."

Phoebe offered a gentle smile and pulled the chair out to sit. "Thank you."

Y/n had begun offering some of her food to Phoebe during the mornings when no one else was around. Her friend always denied the initial offer but eventually wound up giving in. In fact, it seemed to be easier to get her to sit with Y/n by the day.

She'd also begun taking etiquette classes twice each week in preparation for the wedding and being seen in public with the king. The council advised that she needed the extra work. Harry left it up to Y/n whether or not she'd like to go. She decided to take the classes but quickly regretted that choice. The governess was harsh and easily angered.

Y/n had the feeling that her teacher didn't like her one bit, despite her best efforts to charm her. In fact, she got the idea that not many appreciated her presence in the castle at all. So she often preferred to stay in her room or her sisters'.

"Have you ever kissed a boy before?" Phoebe asked as she dotted the edge of her lip with her napkin.

"I have. But it was just with a friend because I was curious. And only once."

"Was it Lane? The one you told me about who likes his drink?"

She nodded. "Yes. But I'm sure he liked it more than I did. What about you?"

Phoebe smiled shyly and looked behind herself toward the door, as if anyone could hear them through the heavy, solid wood. "I might have last night…"

Y/n sat her fork down and leaned forward. "What do you mean? With whom?"

"You swear to not tell anyone?"

"Phoebe, you know I would never tell anyone your secrets. Was it Niall? It was Niall, wasn't it?"

The look on her friend's face when she spoke the name of the guard told Y/n everything she needed to know. She'd had a suspicion about the pair a couple of weeks prior when she spotted Niall winking at the girl, and the way her face shaded in pink was a clue as to how she felt about it.

A sudden knock on the door had both girls looking at one another in surprise. Phoebe quickly stood and walked toward the door with Y/n right behind. When she pulled the door open, there, standing in her doorway, was the Lord Mayor, and two men with him.

"Miss Y/n Y/l/n, you will come with us at once," he said, looking behind Phoebe at the queen-to-be.

"What is this about? Is the king okay?" Y/n asked, placing her hand over the broach he'd given her.

"You and your family are not welcome here in the castle any longer."

"What? I don't understand! Is there not—"

One of the men stepped in, pushing Phoebe to the side, and grabbed Y/n roughly by her arm. "Come!"

As she was pulled away from her room, the new guard, Niall, stopped the procession before they got too far. "Halt!"

"Move out of my way at once, guard!"

"My loyalty lies with the king and his orders. Unhand Her Majesty at once!"

"The King's duties fall on me when he's away. This is my command. Move to the side."

"Then you leave me no choice but to send word to King Styles to notify him of your trespass."

Y/n felt her arm yanked as she was dragged down the stairs. She screamed when another set of hands was on her middle, pushing, and then she spotted her sisters, parents, and grandmother already near the entrance, surrounded by men.

"Let me go! You needn't grab at me!" The men didn't listen. When they got to the bottom of the stairs, she was pushed until her knees and hands hit the stone floor just off the carpet. But she had barely a moment to take a breath when she was again being grabbed and hauled upward until she was standing next to her mother.

The Lord Mayor stepped in front of her and reached forward. Y/n gasped when she felt him yank at her dress and then realized he'd pulled the brooch off. "Take them away."

Niall called out before Y/n and her family were directed to load into the horse cart that had been waiting for them at the front of the castle. "King Styles will receive word tomorrow. Do not fear, madam."

Two guards hung on the sides of the cart, and a driver at the front controlled the two horses pulling it, as Y/n and her family clung to the wooden benches inside so they didn't fall. People stood and watched as the cart was pulled out of the castle gates and toward the slums of their overcrowded rookery.

"What's happened, Y/n? What did you do?" Her mother bellowed dramatically.

"I don't know what happened. This wasn't the king's orders."

"Those men were atrocious. Grabbed my toast right from my hand!"

The townsfolk were staring, laughing, and some spat as they passed them by. She was far less worried about her family's reputation than she was about the rude behavior of the middle and noble classes. Y/n may never hold influence or power, but she was a human, and she deserved fundamental decency. She'd always believed everyone did.

Until then. Those people mocking her were the lowest of the low.

Being carted out of the castle in a buggy meant for livestock had been done on purpose. It was meant to be a spectacle. It was meant to humiliate. But it only made her angry. For the first time since she'd met the king, she understood him, in part. Understood his need to cause a stir and disrupt the comfortably spoiled bourgeoisie. Now she understood why he didn't like any of them.

. .

"Your Majesty, I have an urgent message from the main castle guard. Y/n Y/l/n and her family have been removed from the castle without your permission. The Lord Mayor took it upon himself to act as regent in your stead and made the decision to banish them from the castle grounds. Your presence is requested at once to deal with the matter."

Harry had never been so furious in all his life. He'd led an army in war and dealt with enemy soldiers who spat in his face, and had never been treated with such a lack of respect as this. He'd only been gone for two days, and already he had his own men conspiring behind his back. It was in direct defiance of Harry, and that just would not do.

He had no choice but to abandon his purpose and return right away. The land dispute matter could wait. Taking care of the Lord Mayor and everyone involved could not. He bid farewell to his company and left the moment he mounted his steed with his men in tow.

A day's ride across the expanse of Thornekeep and the surrounding villages was tiresome. Harry had been looking forward to more rest before he was to return, but now he had to forgo the gin and the hearty meal that was being prepared for him so he could deal with the unruly cast of characters he'd left in charge of the castle in his stead.

If he'd been a hair more cruel than he was, he would have forced the horses to push through until exhaustion. But he relied on the steeds to safely give him transport, and rest was necessary for the animals, just as it was for him and his men.

And as upset as he was about being disrespected, he was more concerned about Y/n than anything. She was his responsibility, and it was no secret that she and her family were not happily welcomed into their new roles. But he certainly hadn't expected this.

The following day, when he arrived to town just outside the castle, it felt as though everyone suddenly retreated back into their homes. As if even the townspeople knew they'd done something wrong. The vendors and workers averted their gazes.

Pointing in the direction of the town square near where the Lord Mayor lived, Harry looked at two of his men who were riding with him. "The Lord Mayor, go and collect him. Bring him to the private chambers closet off the long gallery. Make him stay there and wait for me. You," he said as he looked at Fred, "Get the covered stagecoach and have Alfred drive it directly to Y/n's home. We will be bringing them back to the castle at once."

Harry and the guard traveling with him rode deeper into the town, where the slums sprawled with wet, muddy roads, buckets filled with slop, decrepit living quarters, and street drunkards. There, the people stared intently. They stopped in their tracks and watched as the king rode by on his healthy, strong steed, with his armoured guard behind him. It was the first time he'd ever gone into the rookeries, where the poor lived and worked (if they could find work).

"You, sir!" Harry shouted at a man carrying what looked to be a heavy sack over his shoulder. The man stopped and narrowed his eyes at the king. "Can you tell me in which direction Y/n Y/l/n lives?"

"Oy…" The man dropped the sack at his feet and looked around himself. "I know 'o no such name."

"She's a woman of 20. Has a father called Peter and her mother Lettice."

"Peter and Lettice… Peter Y/l/n…" He rubbed at his chin and chewed the inside of his cheek. "I might know it."

Harry sighed. He knew the spiel. The man was expecting some kind of payment for information. Directing his horse to step closer to the man, Harry looked down at him with a frown and could smell the stench coming from him. "If you know it, tell me then. If you do, I'll let you continue on your journey unharmed."

The man shrugged. It was worth a shot. "Across from the mill. There's a graveyard at the top o'the lane. Four or five tenements down. B'be careful o'the pigs. They've not eaten."

The smell, as Harry traveled deeper into the overcrowded and filthy streets, was almost unbearable. Every five or ten yards was a bucket overflowing with excrement. He'd always known these places existed, but to see it with his own eyes (and to smell it)… he was appalled. The kind of squalor the destitutes lived in was barbarous.

When they arrived at the rundown tenement across from the mill, Harry jumped from the horse and gave the lead to his guard before sloshing through the filth to step up onto the rotted boards of the platform. He knocked on the door with the loose frame and stepped back as someone opened it up right away.

"Who's that?" The old woman stumbled back a couple of steps and clutched her hand over her heart. "The king! The king is here!"

"M'lady, I'm looking for the Y/l/n family. Are they here in this tenement?" Harry held the door open and stepped inside. The main room was dingy and damp and smelled of stale food and unwashed bodies.

"By god!" The woman sat down on the benchtop and inhaled deeply like she'd been given the scare of her life. "The king is here!"

A young man came down the stairs and looked from Harry to the old woman. "We can 'ear ya! Enough!" The man removed his floppy hat and lowered his head. "Your Highness. To what do we owen'ya th'honor?"

"I'm looking for the Y/l/n family. I've heard they live here."

"Right y'are. Lemme find 'em."

Harry scraped his eyes around the space, and while it wasn't as filthy as things appeared from outside, it was unfit for any human. The woman gasped as she pushed herself to stand and mumbled something he couldn't hear, nor did he care much. She seemed to be half out of it, gin drunk perhaps.

The ceiling was caved in at the side of the common area, where it appeared there was some kind of unworking, rusted stove. The wooden floors were soft under his feet, and the walls stained with moisture.

"King Harry?"

He turned quickly when he heard Y/n's voice. She made her way down the stairs, followed by her three younger sisters. "Y/n. I've come for you and your family. I received word about the situation and came as quickly as I could."

She clasped her hands behind her back and nodded. "Yes. It was humiliating. But we're used to being treated as such."

"You and your family are to gather your things quickly. A carriage will be around soon to bring you back to the castle."

"We were told we were not welcome there."

"The Lord Mayor will be dealt with forthwith. But what he says is irrelevant. My word is final. You will come back to the castle, and we are to proceed as before."

Y/n nodded slowly and motioned for her sisters to go back up to their quarters. "That is fine. Would you like to come up?"

She could see it in his posture and the expression on his face that he was not well in that room. The stench could get to anyone, but at least in the small space where they lived, it was tidy and much less foul. So he followed behind her up to their floor, and she let him into their room.

And it was indeed just a room. Pallets of cloth and feather, and straw were strewn over the floor where he assumed they slept. In the corner was a bench piled with random things: cups, bowls, sacks, a couple of books, a lantern, a tin of fish. In another corner, there was a tin bucket full of charred things, the wall behind it black from soot. He imagined it was their source of heat, like a fireplace.

Lettice and Peter were already standing in wait, their faces like those of young children awaiting permission to play with their new things. They bowed their heads. "Your Majesty," Peter said.

"Nan," Y/n said softly as she bent down to put her hand on her grandmother's shoulder. She'd been sitting in a chair, asleep. The old woman startled and looked at Y/n like she was some kind of horrible intruder.

"Nan, look…" Y/n motioned toward Harry, and the old woman blinked her eyes slowly.

"We're saved? He's come for us. Thank heavens!"

There weren't many things to gather. Harry hadn't imagined their living space as such. He figured a multi-room flat, nothing extravagant, but at least a home with space to cook and use the WC. But there was none of that. No running water, no private space, and no comfortable things to lie upon at night. How could anyone live like that? And that there were seven people all crammed into that room? He couldn't imagine it.

There was a double knock on the door before it was opened. Everyone turned to look as a young man stepped inside. "What's this then? It's true!" He grinned at Y/n and then lowered his head. "Your Majesty."

Y/n stepped in next to the man and put her hand on his arm. "This is my good friend Lane. He was there with me, the day you came to me."

Harry looked the dirty fellow up and down. "Yes, I remember Lane."

He watched his wife-to-be whisper something to the young man, and then Lane turned to look at her with a brief nod as he ran his hand over her wrist. There was no time to challenge what had just happened or to ask what was said and why someone else was touching her like that when Alfred had finally arrived with the covered carriage.

Once Y/n and her family were loaded into the carriage, Harry and his guard led the way back to the castle. He'd seen a lot of things in his life, but he had not been prepared to see the rookeries up close like that. He'd seen the outskirts of impoverished neighborhoods in other kingdoms and towns and but never in his own. Shock might be too heavy of a word for the way it made him feel, but it was close.

He ordered three footmen to take Y/n's family to their quarters and give them whatever they would like to eat (as well as draw each of them a bath) while he went with Y/n and Phoebe to bring her to his chambers. "You'll stay in my room from here on. Your room will still be open for you, but I'm not satisfied for you to be there all night alone."

Y/n was still struggling to wrap her mind around the events of the last few days. Niall had told her to expect the king to come and get her, but she doubted that he really would. She imagined it was easier for the king to take a more suitable wife. A woman used to that life with a higher status. Someone the proletariat would prefer.

She was thankful that he did, though. She'd gotten used to some of the small luxuries (and big) that the royal castle afforded them all. Mostly, she missed her privacy and the comfy bed.

"Have her wardrobe brought over, a warm bath drawn, and whatever she'd like to eat," Harry said to Phoebe, who quickly got to work.

Y/n kept quiet as she watched the king open up his balcony and drape the lace curtains to the side before he poured two glasses of gin and handed her one.

He gulped his portion in one go as she sniffed her glass. "Go on. Drink it. You need it more than I do. Feel free to have as much as you like."

"Thank you."

"You should not have to thank me. This should never have happened. I will deal with the Lord Mayor and see what kind of punishment the council allows. I just ask that if you leave this room, have Phoebe and Niall with you."

She nodded. "Of course."

"I've made arrangements for a formal announcement of our engagement. Day after tomorrow, we will have a public appearance to announce to the whole of the kingdom that you will be the Queen Consort. No one can then deny that I've selected my wife, as it seems they've all done."

He paced toward the open balcony and put his hands on his hips. "I will be gone til late. I have much to do. Please use my room as if it were your own."

Y/n eyed the bed and then shifted her gaze back to the king as he stepped toward his door. "I'm grateful that you came to get us. I'm indebted to you, My Lord."

He sniffed and looked down at his feet, hand on the knob the door. "Yes. You are."

. .

Y/n woke up to the sound of pouring water. Slowly opening her eyes, she found Harry sitting next to the fire, sipping hot tea and reading something intently as a man stood over the large tub in the king's room. She couldn't remember when she'd fallen asleep, but it wasn't long after her warm bath and the big meal she'd eaten.

She wasn't sure what to think exactly. The last few days had been quite dramatic and unusual, then with the king barging into their meager home to bring them back to the castle... He'd returned for her when he didn't need to. He had no allegiance to her or her family, so it was a bit of a surprise that he seemed so insistent that she come back with him.

"My Lord. Your bath is ready."

The king looked toward the man and pushed himself up from his chair. "You are dismissed."

Y/n blinked and watched as the man left the room, and Harry stepped toward the bath to touch the water. He looked tired. She wondered what time he'd returned to the room. When he began to remove his clothes, she thought to look away, imagining he didn't realize she was already awake.

But she remained still and kept her eyes on his frame until he was stark naked, despite her internal scolding to look away. The urge to keep watching was much stronger than her polite reasoning to avert her eyes. His body appeared to be that of a hard worker, with solid muscle and a sturdy build. It had never been a doubt in her mind that he was well-formed, and now she had proof as she watched flexing, dense muscles as he stepped into his tub.

"You may join me, if you like."

His voice startled her. She hadn't realized he was aware that she was awake, watching him. Pushing herself to sit up, she pulled the blanket to cover her state of undress. He'd seen her before in just a chemise, but she still had the sense that it was wrong to bare herself to any man like that.

"Don't be shy with me. I've already tasted and smelled the juice of your quim and you've just seen me naked. Come."

Y/n gulped at the memory of Harry's hands on her body as she let out uncontrollable noises when he'd touched her. Then the aftermath of the forbidden shame as she watched him taste her offering. The lingering thought of the way he'd jutted his pink tongue out to lick at his fingers had her surging with heat.

"My King… It's improper—"

"Now don't start with that again. I say what's proper and what's not, and you disobeying me is improper."

Slowly, she moved the cover from herself and slid her legs to the edge of the bed. Harry had not yet looked in her direction, which she was thankful for as she wrapped her arms over the thin material that clung to her breasts and stepped closer until she was just next to the tub.

He looked up at her. His eyes were bloodshot, and the fatigue in them was evident. "Well, if you're not going to join me, at least sit." He patted the wide stone ledge of the tub as he kept his eyes on her.

Trying her best not to stare into the water, she shifted her gaze toward the fire and sat down where the king had told her. His broad chest rose and fell tiredly as he stretched his strong arms along the top of the tub. She looked down at his fingers, the distance of only 7 or 8 barleycorns away from her thigh. So close he could touch if he stretched his middle finger toward her.

"I didn't foresee the kind of difficulty I'd encounter in keeping you. I knew some would disagree with my choice, but to have been interrupted in my work and so blatantly disrespected… We will not be making that mistake again."

"I'm sorry, it was—"

"Stop." He spoke loudly, his voice carrying a harsh edge. "Do not apologize for concerns you did not create. I have chosen you, and that's final. The Lord Mayor will have to come to terms with his punishment, just as I will have to come to terms with my lapse in judgment. I take responsibility for that egregious failure. But I'm not happy about it."

Y/n kept quiet. She'd seen the king raging mad the moment he stepped into the castle the evening prior, and while that anger had not been directed at her, she felt it as if it were. So part of her still felt like she'd done something wrong. And it was becoming clear to her now that her place as queen was not going to be an easy one. She was not beloved by the kingdom. She was a disgrace to the monarch and tradition.

"Next time I have to take leave, you'll come with me. I don't believe we have any choice in the matter. You're my responsibility."

She gently placed her palm down on the cool stone and watched as he dragged a cloth over his chest. "When do you leave next?"

"Not until after we're wed. And once you become pregnant, all of my duties away from the castle must be delegated to someone I trust. We can't risk anyone trying to hurt you again."

As he wetted his skin and wrung out the damp cloth, she glanced over his shoulder and up his neck to his structured jawline. She imagined his babies would be very pretty. The out-of-place thought surprised her.

"I wish I weren't such a burden, My King."

He dipped the rag into the water and looked up at her as he leaned forward. "You're my burden. I chose it. I bear it. It's what I want. I could very well pick another who's more suitable. Easier. More docile. But I don't want that. I want you."

It wasn't romantic. Not at all. So why did her heart skip a beat when he'd said it? He'd admitted she was a burden. She was not easy, and she was not docile.

"I'm trying to be more docile. I'll learn."

He waved his arm as water dripped from his skin. "No. My mother tried to be compliant and docile, and look where it got her. The moment she surrendered her will was the moment she was sentenced to death."

Shaking her head in confusion, Y/n leaned forward and dipped a finger into the warm water. "What do you mean? The queen died from consumption. That was what we were all told."

"And she would still be alive today if she had kept a grip on her spirit. But she allowed my father to take it from her. He took her charm, her wit, and her will. Consumption took her because she allowed herself to surrender. It was her death sentence."

She had wanted to run her hand over his back in a soothing gesture, but she thought better of it. It was possible he was no longer mourning the loss of his mother and that he wouldn't want her touch even if he was. The queen had been gone for many years.

"I loathe to bring this up right now, but I feel it's important to say. I'm worried that the brooch you gave me, the one that belonged to the queen, is gone. The Lord Mayor took it from me when he removed me from the castle."

Harry's face darkened as he turned to look toward the door. "Did he now? If it's gone, he will pay a heavy price in the form of losing his title. That's theft and punishable by law. But I have a feeling it's still in his possession. I will have it back to you by tomorrow, and if not, I will buy you a new one."

"I'm very grateful to you, My King. You returned so quickly. My sisters are very happy here."

He looked at her face, and his irises burned a trail down the front of her chemise. "And you? Are you happy here?"

She looked down at her lack of clothes and shifted forward so that her breasts were less visible under the thin fabric. "I am. We all are. My family and I."

"Here…" He held his hand toward her, the wet cloth in his palm. She took the rag from him, and he repositioned himself so his back was facing her. Y/n understood that he was requesting her to take the cloth to his back to help him wash.

She hesitantly moved her hand toward his back, as if touching him would set her to flame. But once the damp rag was pressed into his shoulder, he sighed, and she realized that touching him wouldn't hurt her at all. It had been silly to think it would. Running it across his back, she noted the smooth skin and firm muscle that defined his sturdy figure. Plunging the cloth down into the water along his spine, she allowed herself to take him in. The backs of his arms and neck, the curve of his shoulder, and the breadth of his frame…

"If you joined me in the tub, this would be much easier."

It was true. If she were sitting behind him in the water, she'd have easier access to him, but that would require her to remove her garment. When she didn't answer, Harry turned to look at her as he leaned back into the tub until his shoulder was pressed into her thigh. "Keep going."

"Your back is hidden. I can't reach—"

"Then here." He took her hand with the cloth and pulled it over his chest. The new angle of him, his back to her as she leaned forward and slowly ran the rag along the solid muscle of his pectorals, felt quite salacious. But she continued wiping and cleaning him. When he leaned his head back against her thigh, she gasped and paused her motions.

He laughed, his eyes closed. "Oh, mouse… Calm yourself."

She slowly began to rub over the skin of his chest as she looked down at his face. His features were tranquil as he moaned, the lower she dipped the rag. She had no intentions of dragging it too low, but he seemed to be enjoying it as she ran it over his stomach.

Glancing down further, she could make out something dark between his legs, and then the member attached to him as it swayed with the water's movement. It was indecent of her to be looking, but her curiosity was acute. And besides, she'd seen it before already. She knew what he looked like, and right then, it seemed so harmless as it was distorted beneath the surface of the water.

"Lower."

Y/n blinked, casting her sight back to his face. She hesitated to bring the cloth lower against him, but figured she didn't need to go that low. There were other areas she could clean, other spots she could run the rag against. So she leaned in further and wiped down to his hip and the top of his thigh.

He let out a breathy groan and spread his legs the slightest. "Good."

She smiled at the praise. She was doing something right for once. Trailing the cloth to his other hip and down to the top of his thigh, he rocked his hips upward and moaned. When he turned his head, rolling it over her thigh, she felt his warm breath sneaking under the cloth of her chemise.

The moment was entirely too intimate. Harry was quite amenable in that moment, and the way he had used her thigh as a pillow felt sweet. Something about how tired he seemed and the way his eyelids were closed as he puffed out shallow breaths made her body heat. She didn't understand why she was responding to him that way.

But then he lifted an arm out of the water and reached behind himself, his hand pressed over her thigh, and then he squeezed as he moved his palm up to her hip. Her light colored chemise wetted under his touch, and she could see her skin coming through the damp material. She watched as his thumb gently ran along the bend of her thigh.

"My Lord…" She didn't know what she was to say, but she knew she had to say something. Anything… "You're getting my clothes wet."

"Then take them off."

She swallowed and lifted the rag away from him. "That's—"

"Improper? Is that what you were going to say?" Harry pushed himself from his spot in the tub and turned to look at her directly.

He pulled at her hip and grinned as she dropped the rag into the tub and gasped. She loved how it felt to have his hands on her, but she was too embarrassed to admit it as she writhed away from him and stood from the tub to step away.

The King leaned forward against the tub, his elbows on the spot she'd been sitting. "Where are you going?"

"I'm… You're the devil!" She said as her body thrummed with wanton heat.

He let out a loud laugh and felt something slick under his palm. Looking down to the stone, he stitched his brows together and drew a finger through the moisture before he brought it up to sniff. He dropped his mouth open in surprise as he looked at her. "Little mouse… This is not water. Come here at once and let me see."

"No." She looked away from him as she clutched the back of her chemise. She knew very well what it was, she just hadn't expected it to seep through the linen down to the stone. She'd only recently begun to understand the mechanics of how her body reacted to being aroused ever since Harry showed her the way she could make herself feel.

"Yes." He spoke firmly, his green eyes boring into her body as her chest heaved. "Come here and we'll take care of this for you. Now I see why you're so pent up. You need a release, don't you? It's been a hard few days for you."

She shook her head and looked down at her bare feet. She was doing everything she could to be a good girl, to do the right thing by God. But the king, whom she was certain was the devil himself, tempting her, made it unimaginably hard to keep righteous.

"Have you been taking good care of your little leaky spout like I showed you?"

She let out a wobbly noise and closed her eyes to pretend that question had never been uttered.

"I think you have. You very much enjoyed it when I showed you how to touch your little coo. Has it been good? I'm sure you were unable to whilst back at your tenement, but certainly you know well the kind of joy it brings when you have privacy."

She swallowed, the sound clicking loudly in the room. "No."

"Yes. Come here."

Opening her eyes, she let her sight trail over his arms and his face as he leaned into the tub so casually. Like what he was saying wasn't unscrupulous. He was so well-favored in looks that it almost wasn't fair. How was she to remain a proper lady?

"Was it me you thought of when you touched yourself?"

Shaking her head, she quickly glanced away. It was hard to maintain eye contact when she was lying.

"No? Then Lane? Your friend? You thought of him?"

Setting her eyes back on his, she shook her head. "No! Of course not!"

He smiled. "You don't fancy him then?"

"Never. Not like that."

"What about me? Do you fancy me, Y/n? Be honest. I can already tell when you're not being forthright. You can't even look me in the eye when you answer falsely."

Her skin felt like she'd fallen into a patch of stinging nettles as he kept his eyes on her. He'd figured out her little signal. She was no good at lying. But she didn't want him to have the satisfaction of knowing how he made her feel deep down.

"I want you here now. Come sit or I'll get out and force you to."

Still clutching the back of her chemise, she stepped forward slowly until she was next to the tub. Harry reached up for her hip and pulled. "Sit."

Y/n placed her hands down on the ledge and sat, but Harry pulled at her again until her legs were in the water and the bottom of her chemise was wet. Her heart was galloping in her chest as he placed his hands on her thighs. "You're going to be my wife. Yes?"

She nodded. "Yes."

"That's right. You're mine. So when I tell you to do something, I expect you to do it for me. I don't ask much of you, Y/n," he spoke as he ran his hands up and down her thighs, then hooked his thumbs under the hem of the material and brought it upward to her mid-thigh. "You needn't worry much about anyone else asking you to do something. Just me. Yes?"

She nodded again and watched as his thumbs pushed upward under the chemise over her skin and she thought she would faint.

"What did you eat last night?"

"Uhh… roasted potatoes and cream, salted fish, bread and butter, apples."

He smiled at her as he paused his hands at the top of her thigh, and she felt her whole body flush in embarrassment. If he lowered his sight and peeked, he'd see her full quim she was sure.

"Good. You're eating well. And you slept well too, I presume?"

She nodded, trying to keep still so he didn't conclude how much she was affected by his hands on her.

"You like this."

Blinking, she turned her sight to the table with the water pitcher without answering.

He laughed softly and ran his thumbs along the curve of her thigh where it met her hip. "That's a yes. And what about this?"

She felt his fingers press into the flesh at the inside of her thigh as he pulled and spread her legs. She looked down quickly and sucked in a sharp inhale at the sight. It was lewd for him to see her like that. And yet… She was curious.

"Keep going?" He looked up at her, an eyebrow raised.

"I don't know…" She gulped.

"You don't know? Then, how about I just keep going until you say stop? Yes?"

She nodded. "Okay."

He shifted his gaze further down to her privy parts, and she closed her eyes when she felt his thumb slide against her crease. He hissed, gripping her thigh harshly as he inspected her bits and moved in closer to get a better look.

"Very pretty, little mouse." She felt his thumb slip down further and softly massage until there was a little intrusion. She opened her eyes and watched as the tip of his thumb disappeared into her hole.

Snapping her thighs closed, Harry shot his eyes back up to her and removed his fingers. "Stop?"

It hadn't hurt her, but it was the embarrassment that had her shying from his touch. "I… I don't know. It's… not right."

"What's not right? The way a man and woman enjoy one another? Is that what's not right? Why would God go through the trouble of making humans with parts that can find pleasure in touch?"

"I think it's just meant for the sacrament of marriage."

"So, stop, then?"

She looked down at her legs dangling into the water and wished she were more bold like the girls she'd read about in her stories. The ones who'd found their lovers before they were wed and allowed themselves the indulgence of pleasure.

Harry gently wrapped his fingers around the space just above her ankle. "Look at me, mouse."

She looked into his green eyes and felt like she was being torn apart by her conscience. She'd never wanted to give in to her carnal pleasure as much as she did with Harry. And she never imagined that a man like him would defend her honor more than once. He was crude and undisciplined, but there was something tender, just for her, underneath the cold and pompous performance.

"Do you know why your little coo gets all wet like this, if not for the enjoyment of the act? It's human nature. It's how we were made. You do not need to be shy with me. If you want it, you can have it. As you've seen before, God will not smite you for such a thing as this."

The skin on her ankle where his hand was gripped felt warm, and it sent a wave of wicked craving through her insides. She wanted to reach toward him and push the curl from his forehead and slide her finger down his prominent nose over his plush pink lips just to see what he'd feel like under her fingertips. She wished she were brave enough to slip into the tub with him and fall into the temptuous ways of a dauntless woman.

He released her ankle and stood from the water, his strong, denuded body wet and dripping before her. She glanced only briefly at the organ hung heavy at her eye level before tilting her head back to look up at him. He bent as he took her chin in his hand. "What is it that you want? Tell me now."

She shook her head. "I don't know. I'm confused."

He puffed out a laugh and let go of her chin before he stepped from the tub. "Aren't we all, Y/n? No one really has the answers. Everyone is confused. You just have to learn to speak up for what you want most and hope that it wasn't the bad choice. No one can guide you but yourself."

She turned to watch as he pulled a robe over his body and walked toward his balcony. What did she want most? What if it was the bad choice?

Pulling her legs from the water, she stepped from the tub and guardedly followed behind him, the bottom half of her chemise soaked, which sent a chill over her heated skin. She stopped at the balcony door and coasted her eyes over the view of the castle garden with its fountains and tall trees. In the late spring, it would be a lovely place to stroll through, she thought. Harry was leaned into the stone railing, the tips of his curls in his damp hair already drying from the cool air whisping through it.

He was the sort of man who women whispered about. Both because he had such a rakishly handsome face (and form) and because he had the most brutish devil-may-care attitude. It made him quite a fascinating attraction. But the current of care he had for her underneath his thoughtless exterior was what drew Y/n's curiosity the most.

"You may do with me as you please. Make the decision for me. I won't say no." It took everything in her to spit the words out.

He turned and placed an elbow over the stone to lean into as he looked at her, his head cocked to the side as if she were a peculiar creature. "That does not please me. Indeed, I do not like being told no, but even worse is when I'm told yes and it's a lie."

"Then yes. I want to know. I may as well learn. Not just to please you but to discover my own pleasure."

Pushing himself from the stone, he blinked in surprise, a ghost of a smile turning the edge of his lip upward. "Then tell me what it is you want. Speak plainly."

She glanced behind her at the bed and then back at the king. "I'll… I could lie on the bed, and you could touch me again. Maybe…" She looked down and felt every atom of her being light up with scorching embers. "I'd like to feel your kiss."

She hadn't even noticed that he'd stepped in front of her until she saw his bare feet standing before her. Lifting her head upward to meet his gaze, she could have melted from the warmth on his face. "I haven't kissed you yet, have I?"

Harry placed his wide palm on her frozen cheek, and she closed her eyes. He hadn't kissed her, but the tender touch had her skin sizzling and her heart racing. "You haven't yet kissed me. No."

Blinking her eyes open to look at him again, she watched his irises smooth across her features and drag over her lips slowly as his thumb slid down her cheekbone. "Then we must remedy that mistake."

She'd been kissed before. Lane had been drunk, and she gave in to his persistent bickering to shut him up and to sate her own curiosity. It was hard and dry and smelled of gin and ale and sweat. It hadn't been what she imagined a kiss should be.

So, when Harry nudged his nose against hers, and she felt his hand soft on her hip, she knew it before he'd even closed the gap between their lips, that this would be the kind of kiss she'd always daydreamed of.

She felt his breath over her lips, and his fingers squeezed her skin as his thumb dragged gently at her temple before he pressed his smooth mouth to hers, and the noise of her doubt was silenced. She hadn't even realized that her hands were clutched over the fabric of his robe at his chest, like he would drift away as if in a dream if she didn't hang on tight.

He opened and closed his lips around hers in soft, careful motions, and she stepped closer, beckoned by the pull of his hand at her side. She parted her lips to mimic how he was kissing her, and he moaned into her mouth. She had no time to be startled by the moan and that it signified his delectation, when she felt the wet tip of his tongue lave over her bottom lip before he pulled it into his mouth gently.

Oh god! She was wrong about everything! He didn't need to confess an undying love or obsession that was not there. He only needed to kiss her for her body and her mind to relent to him. It was delicate and confident, prurient and genteel… it was bewitching.

Did one truly not need the magical bounds of love to bloom in rapture from a kiss? Her skin and her blood and the nails on her fingers and toes were all vibrating with the kind of sensation that she always assumed only happened when a soul had found the one it was predestined to.

His hand slowly pushed away from her face and wound to the back of her head as his other reached across her lower back until she was flush against his chest. Her heart fluttered so rapidly at her brazen reach, her hands moving upward of their own accord until she'd pushed her fingers into the hair at the nape of his neck.

Even with the chilled wind whipping over her thinly clothed frame, her blood burned hot. If he took her then and laid her in his bed and claimed her virginity, she thought she'd not say no. Because what was this? Why was the subtle unanchoring of her morals and her posture on right and wrong suddenly categorized as a lie and a truth? The thick veil of deception was quickly trampled by just a kiss. What else would she soon uncover?

When he parted from her, he did not remove his hands, but he set his gaze against hers with a soft wonder that carried over to his features. Slowly, she pulled her fingers from his hair and placed her palms on his shoulders, all in silence. Was he in awe just as she was? Surely not.

But his delicate touch at the back of her neck was an homage to something profoundly affectionate. It had all been unexpected. Perhaps even for him.

"I have much to do today, else I'd remain here with you. It's nearly ten, breakfast will be served promptly. We'll call for Phoebe to help you dress and begin your day."

He stepped away, and it was then that Y/n could feel the harsh wind cutting through the linen to her flesh. She stood, confounded, as she watched the king walk back into his room to dress himself. Frozen in her spot, she let her mind wander to her childhood when she used to play pretend that her prince had found her. He'd sweep her up, take her away, and they'd fall madly in love and rule the kingdom together. Was it something she'd somehow foreseen, or was it just the silly imagination of every young girl who wished for something better?

Confounded, maybe, but Y/n was armed with a new awareness, a definite truth that she hadn't been privy to before. That even those who mean well can tell a lie, and truth can be found in the most unexpected ways. It was an awakening for her to see the way her heart could soar, as if God himself had elicited it. And right then, her heart was in flight like a bird that knew the way it must go with an instinct that directed its path. It was not God that guided the way. It was her.

. .

Chapter 4 >>

. .

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p1utofairy · 14 days ago

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CARDS — 2 of cups, 3 of cups, page of cups, 6 of pentacles rx, the devil + knight of swords.

pile one you are a VERY giving person, soooo giving to the point that you can almost get lost in it. people take advantage of your kindness and generosity and use it as a way to control/manipulate you. i feel like your love holds no bounds (whether it be a romantic relationship or your friends) you treat the connection like it's divine. you treat connections with so much care, compassion, love and warmth. you pour so much of yourself into connections with your family, friends, etc. because you really value people in general. on the flip side, that’s also simultaneously draining you because people know the lengths you’re willing to go to keep them happy, to keep the connection going and to essentially keep the ball rolling in their court. not everyone has your best interest at heart — not everyone has the best intentions when it comes to your heart. i feel like people (especially lovers) try to hang things over your head by guilt tripping and/or gaslighting and love-bombing you; to keep you coming back & keep you on a chain. i don't think you get too caught up in the material aspect of things and what someone can necessarily do for you on a materialistic level, but more so you see things from a genuine + pure perspective in love. you give it so effortlessly — your cup overflows and you share that with other people. however, some of the people that you keep around you operate from a more materialistic/money-driven mindset so they don’t value the actual connection as much as you do. for them it boils down to what you do for them, what you can do for them and what YOUR energy attracts that makes them want to stay in your orbit.

i also picked up that these people put you in an energy of pursuit/chase so that you’re taken out of your natural energetic frequency. that page of cups energy: you're a very sensitive soul. you’re innocent at heart. you’re someone that emits pure love from the heart. people try to make you feel like you need to chase them – they make you feel like you need to do things to gain their love, trust and their attention when you actually don’t need to do that at all. this causes you mental distress, anxiety, doubt, confusion and pressures you to make hasty decisions and jump into situations that are ultimately not good for you and do not benefit you. your spirit guides want you to know that it’s okay to operate from that page of cups energy, and not feel guilt or shame for that! some of you that picked this pile might not have experienced a romantic commitment yet and/or haven’t experienced what you’re experiencing right now in terms of this constant flow of attention, friendships, romantic suitors, etc. it’s becoming a consistent flow in your life — a major theme. so it makes sense that this might feel new and foreign to you. however, your spirit guides want you to understand that it’s okay to not have all the answers and not know what you’re doing. 111 on the clock. it’s okay to lead with your heart. you are divinely protected, pile one. you DO NOT have to feel like you need to do anything for anyone’s approval or do things to keep anyone’s presence in your life, because if they want to be there for you, they will be for there for you — without a catch or without making you feel like you need to chase them. without dangling shining things in front of your face to make you come to them. people try to prey upon your innocence, but you’re so enriched in your own orbit that you’re protected in more ways than you even realize. you’re a dreamer at heart. very child-like, spiritual, psychic, an admirer of all things.

you see the beauty in the mundane and the extraordinary alike. this is why you create such rich, valuable and expansive experiences and connections. however, it also does boil down to being able to decipher which energies are operating on that same higher frequency as you are and that are contributing to your enlightenment and your growth vs the ones that try to drag you down and pull you into something you ultimately don’t want for yourself. it's about taking the time out to truly evaluate and reevaluate what exactly it is that YOU WANT in connection, and not letting fear or anxiety waver you. you don’t need to get too caught up in the games people try to play with you. continue operating on that frequency of communicating what it is that you desire like “hey i want this for myself/my soul” engage with more of the things that bring you joy and happiness. you don’t have to count yourself out or doubt the decisions and moves that you’re currently making. do not keep yourself in that state of mind where you feel like you need to make yourself small, be quiet or feel as though you don’t have the power/the energy/the presence to communicate what exactly it is that you want.

take the time out to keep your nervous system calm and really look at situations from a calm and centered standpoint, instead of the erratic whirlwind energy that people try to put you in. some people try to put you in a state of confusion and make you doubt what it is that you desire to keep a sense of control over you. ultimately, it just circles right back to the main point of coming back to yourself and being your own judge at the end of the day, because you have so much expansion coming into your life that you have to be able to decipher and sift through what it is that you truly want – because the abundance that awaits you is very jupiter-esque. it’s a lot and you could get lost in it if you’re not paying attention so don’t get lost in it, pile one. come down into yourself – come into self. put yourself in a peaceful environment if you have to…meditate, take a walk, etc. do whatever it is you need to do to ground you in your own inner stillness/inner guide so that you can really listen to what God and your spirit guides are trying to show and tell you in terms of the people and energies that you’re interacting with. the signs are there and you know it, but you try to overthink the answer that you already know is the TRUTH.

you might have prominent 7h/libra placements. i’m getting libra sun/jupiter/venus vibes. your spirit guides don’t want you to get caught up in that state of confusion that other people try to put you in – especially with the sag/jupiter energy that is either currently or about to enter your life. things could be happening very fast and you could be meeting and forming connections with people very quickly + traveling soon. you’re definitely meant to meet the right kind of people – you’re meant to connect with people on a higher level. however, this message keeps coming out loud and clear that you have to be very mindful of who you connect with and who you could potentially reconnect with. everything that glitters isn’t gold and just keep in mind that even when something might look very appealing or like it would make sense, doesn’t mean that it’s for you. you are going to find a genuine romantic partner that does check off a lot of your boxes – and it will make sense with them and it will look right but in the path towards that person it’s also about recognizing the difference of what is good for you on a soul level vs what others may perceive to be right for you from an external/societal standpoint if that makes sense? i.e. it could be the hottest person that presents themselves to you and you’re like ooooooo i want that and then you engage with them and you’re like oof wait…i actually don’t want that at all lol. you need to do some throat chakra remedies! EXPRESS, pile one.

you need to make it clear what you do and don’t want, because i feel like it gets lost in translation especially with the romantic partners you attract. these people can’t read your mind. they’re not connected to you on that HIGHER frequency - so that tells you right there that it may not be for you because they’re not in tune with where exactly you’re at in your spiritual journey, but you also have to be the one to explicitly say “hey this actually isn’t working for me…this is what i want” while also telling yourself that you don’t have to settle for this when you could have something better. if you don’t speak your truth to not only yourself but the ones you’re attracting, it’s going to put you in a state of regret. feeling like like you should’ve said this or you should’ve done that — to clear that fog of confusion you have to speak your truth. say exactly what it is that you want and not settle for people/situations that you feel are familiar. just because you’re familiar with someone or something doesn’t mean that it’s right/good for you. ultimately you know what the truth is, you know where you’re going and you know what suits you. don’t get too caught up in the blunder and mental chaos that not only other people but YOURSELF tries to inflict upon your psyche. CLEAR, CANCEL AND RELEASE the confusion from out of your life.

ADDITIONAL MESSAGES —

higher by tems, marilyn monroe, self sabotage, swati, love without tragedy by rihanna, burning blue by mariah the scientist, dhanistha, spread thin by mariah the scientist. you have a pattern of people pleasing tendencies when it comes to the connections around you (friends/family/lovers).

CARDS — 8 of pentacles, the hierophant, 4 of wands, 8 of swords, 4 of swords, the tower rx, 10 of cups, temperance.

pile two you need to stop over-compensating because you're more than qualified to genuinely be loved. time and time again you try to show up and try to morph into someone that's more digestible for people. it's almost like you downplay yourself in a sense. this also bleeds into the love you have for your craft/passions — it's very specific. you're beyond talented at what you do and you love the grind. you prefer quality over quantity. you don't need to have a lot of romantic connections or connections in general to feel fulfilled — in your opinion. at the end of the day, your guides want you to understand that everyone needs somebody when it's all said and done. not solely in a romantic relationship sense, more so that everyone needs someone to turn to and lean on in certain instances. your soul has felt so conditioned to keep powering through alone. you feel like you don't need people and that essentially you can do it all on you're own...there's some sort of hyper-independence here.

this is not to say that you can't do it on your own, but your spirit guides want you to understand that you can also ask for help. you can ask your spirit guides for help, you can ask the divine for help and you can ask for more. free of charge. you don't have to settle for less or water yourself down because you have the knowledge, power, connections and resources at your will more than you think you do to qualify for what it is that you want; the love that you want. to connect with the people and opportunities and the spaces that you want to be in. you have the power to access all of it, but you have to stop overcompensating and dimming yourself in a way that's ultimately working against you. you are a very hard-worker! to the point that it almost isolates you and deprives you from real love. it's like you feel trapped. i'm not certain if you know how to express your emotions fluently or if you know to express love in a "traditional" way. you might have an earth (capricorn, virgo, taurus) venus or prominent 6H placements. prominent gemini placement as well.

there's this strong energy of over-thinking, but in the mental chaos there's a method to your madness. love might not be conveyed in the ways that most people (especially romantic partners) would like because the way you give love might be unconventional or foreign to them. their needs vs yours. you have a very specific way that you want to be loved and i don't think you've fully experienced/felt it yet. you do know how to show up for people in the ways that they want, but it's just in a different way. if that makes sense? you might've felt like you've constantly hit a wall because of that...because essentially your watering down your own needs in the process of that. you're not truly being who you are in these romantic connections you attract, and that's why you're hitting a wall there.

you're not honoring who you are at the core because you're trying to play this traditional role, but you're really not that person. you're very unique. very one of one. it's hard for me to explain it, but you know what i'm talking about. you're very custom-made and not everybody can receive you because you're good by yourself and not a lot of people can stand on their own; but you can. i feel like that's where the fear and confusion comes in because because you start to feel isolated, lonely, misunderstood, outcasted and essentially pressured to be someone that you're not. people get it misconstrued with you. you might look one way but behind the physical appearance is something else. i'm being drawn to rohini (taurus) nakshatra. some of you might have a more conservative/traditional look to you where people put you in a box and think you're the ultimate marriage material/arm candy/trophy wife but whole time you're like um fuck being a trad!wife or "traditional" partner who stays home all day. you don't want that for yourself, you want to be an entrepreneur and build your own business and pave your own way. ardra (gemini) nakshatra energy. mad scientist vibes. you don't want anyone to take credit for the legacy and success you are cultivating for yourself because YOU made this happen from the ground up.

again, this is where you internally waver because you're not being seen for who you truly are and that's why the relationships you've been in didn't work out because you're resisting and they're resisting change. which is you...you're the change. you're not what they expected and that throws them off. even when you try to force it, its like you can't delay the inevitable. you can't avoid it because your true self is going to come out regardless — your soul is going to shine through no matter what. your guides want you to know that you will get to that place of finding someone that emotionally pours into you. someone that is not caught up in the physical/lust aspect when it comes to you. you don't fit into a box. your person/this love is going to feel so fulfilling on so many levels; i can't even fully put it into words. you might move somewhere else and/or move with this person but you need this. your soul needs this. it's like rejuvenation to your soul. you could marry this person and/or even have a family (if you want that) with them. ultimately this is what your soul needs because this is what it's felt deprived of. you've had your walls up subconsciously because you're not being who you authentically are in the relationships that you find yourself in.

you have very deep childhood wounds that stems from your family. that pressure of being someone that you're not was put upon you by your family. you could experience a lot of envy from family members for being who you are (some of you that picked this pile might be LGBTQ+) and for being the unique soul that you are. for being so good at what you do effortlessly. people perceive you in this way, but they don't even realize how hard you've worked to get to this point or how much you've put into being who it is that you are. sustaining what it is that you've created for yourself. their projections have made you feel insecure and very unsure of yourself and that's just an optical illusions to break you down. certain triggers from the external world are tactics to try to "humble" you and put you in an energy of doubt and lack so that you're not operating from your highest frequency/your soul. it's done to take you out of your essence and this is very...heavy. this is done in ways you haven't even fully recognized yet, but you're slowly starting to realize.

whoever you are — you can be your quirky self. you can be your silly self. you can be your imaginative self. you can be profound. you can be emotional. show that side of you because someone is going to come into your life and see you for who you truly are and love every imperfection and aspect of your soul. they're not going to fall in love with the facade that you've created in your mind, no. the image that you put on for the public does not resonate with them. your true authentic self is what they will fall in love with first. you or this person may have a pisces moon. yin and yang energy. this person is going to pour into you in ways you never knew you needed to be nourished in. you're learning how to not take on the burdens that people try to mentally inflict upon you. you don't have to accept that. you can be who you are at the core and still attract the things that you want.

ADDITIONAL MESSAGES —

check pile 1 if you also felt drawn to it, vibes don’t lie by leon thomas, get well soon by ariana grande, prominent gemini placements, hasta, teyana taylor vibe, art by tyla, jyeshtha, while we’re young by jhené aiko, heart chakra remedies, pretty little birds by sza ft. isaiah rashad, chart ruler in jupiter or in pisces sign.

CARDS — the sun, 10 of swords, the hermit, page of cups, page of wands, 8 of cups.

you carry such a bright light inside of you, pile 3. a sun-like aura surrounds you to the point people can't ignore it even if they tried. people can't help but be drawn to you. these people are almost vampiric in a sense that they need your warmth, vitality and presence in their life. they feel the difference in the room when you're there vs when you're not. you make a huge impact on peoples lives. i feel like people (especially romantic partners) try to take advantage of that —they can see and feel that you operate on this high frequency. it's like a drug to them. people around you try to take you out of that frequency/siphon your energy for themselves and try to use it against you because they know that you are a kind + radiant soul. no act, no gimmicks. these people try to backstab, betray and make an enemy out of you from a place of jealousy. you have the power to see through the veil and this evokes a lot of negative reactions/emotions from people.

it might wholeheartedly astonish you, but this seriously causes people to operate on a lower vibration to try to knock you off your "high horse" is what i'm picking up. they try to exhaust you, break you down and bring you down to their level but you refuse. even if in the moment you do feel hurt, angry, embarrassed or disrespected, you still come back to yourself. do not allow others to think that have the power to take your out of your body — out of your natural essence. you need to acknowledge when too much is too much. you have to learn how to not over-give and how to keep some things to yourself and for yourself, because you operate on such a sun-like frequency that nothing phases you. or at least that's how people perceive you, which then makes them feel like they need to knock you down a peg to make you feel something. sometimes this might work — sometimes people might take you to that place of feeling like "damn...okay" and make you retreat inwards and dim your light.

however, i feel like you have a sanctuary within your own soul. even when people trigger you like that, you still look at it from an optimistic perspective like "how can i grow from this? how can i transmute this energy?" it's interesting because you don't even really make it so much about the person. you still give them grace/the benefit of the doubt. instead, you turn to yourself to make sure that you're not falling into that trap of negativity that they want you to get caught up in. you might feel bothered by it momentarily — but you're very solution based in a way that honors your feelings and then you pivot. you're very reflective and introspective. you may have prominent 1H/aries/mars placements in your chart. even in the face of adversity, you're always resilient.

you have a very youthful energy that triggers a lot of people. you understand that a lot of people do not have the luxury of walking around on cloud 9 and looking at life from an optimistic point of view. a lot of people in the external world operate from a lower vibration, and you don't so when it comes to love you have to be able to wield your own power and not put it in the hands of someone else. there's nothing wrong with instilling boundaries and letting people know that they cannot just trample upon your emotional boundaries. you have to communicate what exactly it is that you feel instead of being passive or avoidant. you might be very good at ghosting or abruptly walking away, you'd rather do that than face the emotional aspect of it head on. i know that it's easier to retreat inward and deal with it internally (it's good that you can even do this because many don't) but if you don't say things out loud people (especially romantically) will try to overstep and not respect you or your emotions.

if something doesn't sit right with you — say it. everyone has a limit. you need to allow yourself to tell people what doesn't align with you. you like to deal with things in your own way which is fine, but it doesn't always leave things settled. once you say what you mean and mean what you say then — BOOM — it's settled you can walk away peacefully. however, when you don't fully close those cycles out, then you're going to go through a loop of repetition. like "why do people keep doing this to me?" or "why do people keep saying this to me?" — that's because you're basically allowing that. the ball is in your court, pile 3. what you say...goes. your guides want you to know that you have the power to do this. you don't have to be passive aggressive, complacent or feel remorseful. life is coming from you, not at you. so you need to get more in touch with your emotions and start conveying them in a way that makes people realize that they can't play with you like that. you might be young or just getting into adulthood or you may just have child-like personality, that makes people not want to respect you or your boundaries but that's why you have to stop being so passive about it and advocate for yourself. you might not have fully experienced a romantic commitment yet, you may have had more fleeting crushes/flings, but in speaking your truth/your emotions you will start to see a change in who it is that you attract.

you take a very unbothered approach to conflict. you don't allow others to fully see how you truly feel. you're known to be a very happy and sweet person, to the point that people don't see you as a threat; which makes them think they can play with you. instead of rocking the boat you see the best in people even when you need to see the situation for what it truly is and subconsciously you're making a blockage for yourself. you don't fully trust people, so it's like you don't want them to think that you're vulnerable enough to give them the reaction that they want — that's what is hindering you. honestly, fuck other people's opinions but this isn't about that. this is about you being an inspiration to yourself. it's about you respecting yourself enough to speak your truth unapologetically. don't spare other people at the expanse of yourself. taurus/2H vibes. you have a very sexy, cool, calm energy about you that helps you finagle situations to your advantage. you might have a very active root/sacral chakra. don't be so passive. refine how you communicate your needs and boundaries. with that taurus energy, people might think they can be sexually crude towards you because of how you look.

i feel like you have some new romance coming in though - you could meet this person while you're traveling/at a museum/exhibit of some sort. somewhere with nice scenery. this is going to be a wish fulfillment. something that you've always wanted to do/experience on a romantic level. it's like a rom-com scene in a movie when you meet them. like you're unlocking a new storyline/chapter lol. you're moving towards this very soon, pile 3.

ADDITIONAL MESSAGES —

belong to you remix by sabrina claudio ft. 6lack, krittika, NYC, historical site.

#pick a card #pac #pick a card reading #pick a pile #p1utofairy #tarot reading #pac reading #intuitive reading #tarot pac #tarot #vedic astrology

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sixxels · 4 days ago

Text

taunt me ~ t.fushiguro angst

fratboy!toji x reader

wc: 18k

!!disclaimer!! angst-heavy content, mutual pining, slow burn, jealousy, detailed consensual smut, alcohol use, hurt/comfort, references to unhealthy coping mechanisms.

summary ~ between late-night parties, jealous stares, and the chaos of sukuna’s games, your relationship with toji is a tangled mess of almosts and apologies. he pushes you away to protect you, but it only hurts more every time he does. when everything finally implodes, it’s not just love on the line, it’s your sanity. you both want each other. but love’s never been that simple. m.list

the bass hit first, deep and thick like it had teeth, rattling the cracked windows of delta phi and bleeding out into the dark. the house was already a mess by the time you got there. glitter on the floor, someone shotgunning a beer in the kitchen, a girl crying quietly in the hallway. classic. you’d been to a few of these now. you knew the rhythm. the chaos. the low thrum of want and violence that came with being around them, especially him.

toji was already inside when you arrived, leaning against the wall by the living room entrance like he always did, watching everything with that dark, sharp gaze like he was bored but taking notes. someone had tossed a hoodie over his shoulder, tank top clinging to his chest, black jeans ripped at the knees. his hair was messy like he’d just gotten out of bed. maybe he had. his eyes flicked to you when you walked in. slow. low. they lingered on your legs, then your lips, then back to your legs. he didn’t smile. he never did. just that slight raise of his brow, like he was amused you were even there.

you knew that look by now. it meant 'come here.'

you didn’t go right away. instead you wandered through the crowd, brushing past sukuna’s throne-chair in the living room where he held court like some bored devil, girls draped over him, red tattoos sharp in the strobe. he caught your wrist for a second and leaned in too close. “looking pretty tonight, sweetheart,” he murmured, mouth brushing your ear. “toji’s watching, you know.”

you didn’t reply, just slipped free and kept walking. sukuna’s laugh followed you. sukuna was always like this, too bold for his own good, always talking shut. the exact opposite of his best friend toji.

by the time you reached toji, the music had shifted into something lower, dirtier. he didn’t speak. didn’t ask. just reached out and took your hand, pulling you into the crowd with the kind of possessive ease that made your chest burn. you didn’t protest. you never did.

you ended up right in the middle of the room, surrounded by sweat and smoke and the smell of spilled liquor. bodies pressed close, but you only felt his. his hand on your waist. his fingers splayed against your back. he moved slow at first, lazy, like he wasn’t even trying, but his grip never loosened.

“you look good,” he said, voice rough from whiskey or weed or both. “real sexy.”

you looked up at him, close enough to see the slight scar above his brow. “you always say that.”

“cause it’s always true.”

your fingers curled in the hem of his shirt. you wanted more. wanted his mouth on your neck, his hands on your skin, but all he gave you was his eyes and that crooked smirk that meant trouble.

all you wanted was him. all of him. you two had been friends who flirted for about two years now, and god, it was getting so fucking unbearable.

you danced like that for a while, grinding, turning, your body brushing against his over and over until it was hard to tell where you ended and he began. every time you pressed into him, he let you, but his jaw stayed tight. his hand never dipped low enough.

“you gonna kiss me tonight, toji?” you asked against his throat.

he chuckled, low and dark. “you want me to?”

you tilted your head up, lips inches from his. “maybe.”

he didn’t kiss you. he never did. just leaned in like he might and then pulled back at the last second. teasing. cruel.

it drove you fucking crazy.

gojo wandered by at some point, wearing sunglasses and no shirt, red solo cup in hand as his perfect body shined with the blue led lights above. “jesus christ, get a room,” he called, grinning. “or don’t. watching this is better than the music i guess.”

toji flipped him off without looking. you laughed, but toji’s hand tensed on your waist for half a second. only you noticed.

eventually, you both pulled back, breathless. not from dancing. from the way he kept looking at you like he wanted to ruin you and hated himself for it. he led you to the edge of the room where it was quieter, just you and him and the pulse of the party vibrating through the walls.

“you shouldn’t dance like that,” he said, lighting a cigarette.

you stole it from his mouth and took a drag. “why not?”

he looked down at you, smoke curling from his lips. “cause it makes me wanna do things i shouldn’t.”

your heart kicked hard in your chest.

you handed the cigarette back. “so do them.”

he exhaled slow, eyes dropping to your lips again. “you don’t get it,” he muttered. “you never get it.”

he was always like this. hot and cold. pull and push. he’d dance with you like he wanted to take you apart, then disappear the second things got too close. sometimes he ignored you for days. sometimes he found you in the hallway at midnight, eyes dark, and murmured your name like a confession. you didn’t know what he wanted. but you knew what you did.

you wanted him. all of him. even the broken parts.

in the kitchen, shoko was pouring shots with sukuna. geto leaned against the counter, joint tucked behind his ear, quietly judging everyone. choso sat cross-legged on the floor, eyes half-lidded, scribbling something in a sketchbook. nanami was nowhere to be seen—probably upstairs rereading a syllabus and pretending he didn’t live here.

this house was wild, loud, suffocating. but it had toji. so you kept coming back.

you were still close to him, back against the wall, watching him smoke. he glanced at you. held your gaze for a second too long. “you like all this?” he asked. “the parties. the attention.”

“i like you,” you said, honest. “that’s why i’m here.”

his eyes flickered.

“shut up, y/n. you don't know what you're saying,” he said finally. voice low. tired.

“i know.”

“then stop trying.”

“i cant.”

he stared at you. his hand brushed your waist again, just for a second. a soft touch. something real.

then it was gone.

he watched you laugh with gojo later, something tight coiling in his chest. you looked happy. light. too good for this hellhole. too good for him.

you didn’t see the way his jaw clenched when sukuna slung an arm around your shoulders. didn’t see the way his fists curled when you leaned into geto’s side, laughing at something he whispered. you didn’t notice the way he watched you like he was memorizing every detail in case it was the last time.

you were popular, of course you had a lot of friends l, including the ones he was friends with. but fuck if it didn't hurt watching you get touched up on by all his frat brothers like you were just some girl.

toji fushiguro didn’t fall in love. he fucked. he fought assholes who's egos needed a good bruse. he disappeared when things got too warm. but you… you made everything complicated.

you were soft and beautiful and real. you looked at him like he mattered. like he wasn’t just some fuck up with too many scars and not enough soul. you smiled when he was cruel. didn’t flinch when he pushed. you kept coming back like you didn’t know any better.

he wanted to kiss you so badly it made his teeth ache.

but he didn’t.

he leaned back against the wall and watched the party burn around him, heart heavy, throat dry. he couldn’t have you. not the way you wanted. not without wrecking you. and he cared too much to do that.

so he hurt you instead.

kept his distance. said shit he didn’t mean. shit that he knew kept you up at night. let you believe he didn’t want you.

it was the only way he knew how to protect you.

and it was killing him.

he stayed outside for a while after that. just him, the stars, and a silence too thick to breathe through. the cold didn’t bother him. he’d take it over the warmth of you any day. warmth made him weak. warmth made him want to pull you into his lap and never let go. warmth made him selfish.

inside, the party didn’t slow down. it just got messier. louder. meaner. when you came back in, sukuna was still where you left him, perched in that throne-chair like some cursed king with a solo cup in one hand and a cigarette in the other. he gave you a lazy smirk, legs wide, tattoos gleaming under the shitty lights. “your little shadow still outside?”

you didn’t answer. you were too busy scanning the room. your eyes found him immediately. he was back inside now, leaning against the far wall like he hadn’t just told you he was bad for you with eyes full of regret. he looked calmer than he felt. calm enough that it made your heart twist.

you were about to move. one foot forward. just one. he was across the room but you could make it. you could try again. maybe this time you’d get through. maybe this time he’d—

then she walked into frame.

a girl. short skirt. tight top. she said something to him. laughed. he didn’t even hesitate. toji reached for her waist and pulled her in.

then he kissed her.

you froze. couldn’t move. couldn’t breathe. his hand cupped the back of her neck like he’d done to you once when he was drunk and reckless and almost real. his mouth pressed to hers slow at first, then deeper. open. hungry. you stared.

it felt like your ribs cracked open one by one. like your skin peeled back to make room for the ache blooming in your chest.

you and toji had been like this for two years. flirty friends. nothing more.

you weren’t even sure when it started. maybe it was that one party where you ended up sitting outside together at three a.m., passing a blunt and talking about shit neither of you usually said out loud. maybe it was the way he always made room for you on the couch without asking, or the way his hand would linger a little too long on your back when he walked by. maybe it was the night you both ditched the chaos and drove around in his beat-up car for hours, sharing gas station snacks and laughing at nothing until the sun came up.

but the thing was, he never kissed you.

not once.

you’d slept in his bed. worn his hoodies. let your legs tangle under his blanket when the movie ran too long and no one wanted to move. you’d made ramen in his kitchen and cleaned up his messes and seen him hungover and shirtless more times than you could count.

he’d seen you cry once. held your face in his hands and wiped your tears away with his thumbs and still didn’t kiss you. it drove you crazy sometimes. how close you were without tipping over the edge. how he flirted like he meant it but never followed through. how he’d call you sweetheart with that low voice and look at you like he was starving, then laugh it off like it was nothing.

you were just friends, everyone said it. he said it. you said it. but it never felt that simple.

not when he showed up at your dorm at midnight just because you sounded off over text. not when he sat next to you at parties even though he never sat still. not when he gave you his hoodie when you were cold, even if it meant standing outside in just a tank top himself. it was friendship, yeah. but it was the kind that felt like something sacred and dangerous all at once. like a match too close to gasoline.

and maybe nothing had ever happened between you two. not technically. not officially. but you felt it, he did too. you knew he did. and that made it worse.

you didn’t realize you’d stepped back until your shoulder hit sukuna’s. he looked down at you. and for once—just once—he didn’t say something cruel.

his voice was low. almost quiet. “he’s trying to make you hate him.” you blinked hard. your mouth was dry. “it’s working,” you whispered.

sukuna sighed and leaned back, dragging a hand through his hair. “yeah,” he muttered, “but you won’t. not really.” he tilted his head, looking at you sideways. “you’re too fucking soft.” you didn’t respond. couldn’t. your eyes were still locked on toji. he’d pulled away from the girl now. was saying something in her ear. she laughed again, tossed her hair, disappeared into the kitchen. he didn’t watch her go.

his eyes found yours instead. and even across the room, in all the chaos and noise and flickering lights, you saw the guilt. you saw the shame. you saw how much it hurt him to do it.

but he’d done it anyway.

you turned away.

sukuna stood, stretching lazily. he flicked his cigarette to the floor and ground it under his boot. “come on,” he said. “i’ll get you something stronger.” you didn’t want to follow him, but you did.

because it was easier than staying.

you ended up on the back porch with a bottle of cheap vodka and sukuna sitting next to you, his usual smugness dimmed. he didn’t touch you. didn’t flirt. just passed the bottle back and forth and let you sit there in your heartbreak.

“you wanna hear the truth?” he asked eventually. you looked at him, eyes rimmed red. “he’s not doing it to be cruel,” he said. “he’s doing it cause he thinks he’s saving you.” you blinked. “by kissing someone else right in front of me?”

he shrugged. “yeah. stupid, huh?” you didn’t laugh. didn’t smile. he looked up at the sky, jaw tight. “guys like him don’t know how to love without destroying shit. we don’t get soft things. we just break them.”

you stared at him. “and what about you? what do you want?” he met your eyes. something unreadable passed between you. “doesn’t matter,” he said. “i’m not the one you look at like that.”

you didn’t have anything to say to that. so you took another sip and let the vodka burn a hole through your chest where your heart used to be.

toji hadn’t moved from his spot.

he was still leaning against the wall, arms crossed, pretending not to look for you in every corner of the house. pretending the kiss hadn’t made him sick to his stomach.

he could still taste that girl’s lip gloss. fake cherry. too sweet. not you. he’d seen your face when you caught him. saw the way your expression cracked down the middle. the betrayal. the confusion. the hurt.

he wanted to punch something.

but this was what he’d wanted, right?

he told himself that. over and over.

she needs to hate you. she needs to leave. she needs to find someone who won’t break her.

so he kissed someone else, and now he was alone.

choso passed him on the way to the basement, headphones around his neck. he paused, looked at toji for a second. said nothing. just shook his head like he was disappointed.

gojo showed up a few minutes later with a raised brow and a knowing smirk. “you done being a dumbass?”

“go away.”

“you know she left with sukuna, right?”

toji’s head snapped up.

gojo grinned. “yeah. out back. he got her a bottle. they’re talking. real close.”

toji’s jaw clenched. “fuck off, satoru.”

“just saying,” gojo drawled. “you’re not the only one who knows how to self-destruct.”

he walked away whistling.

toji didn’t follow. he couldn’t.

he wasn’t sure what he’d do if he saw you sitting with sukuna, drinking and crying and leaning into the shoulder of a man who didn’t deserve to touch you. he’d lose it. do something he’d regret.

he deserved this. he made this happen.

and still—still—his hands were shaking.

you stayed out back longer than you meant to. the vodka numbed the sharp edges, but not the center. not the deep, hot ache that sat in your throat like a stone. sukuna didn’t try anything. didn’t even make a move.

he just let you be broken.

“i don’t get you,” he said after a while. you looked over at him, wiping under your eyes.

“he’s an asshole,” sukuna continued. “but you look at him like he strung the stars.” you laughed bitterly. “maybe he did.” he scoffed. “no. he just learned how to hold a hammer and forgot to put it down.” you leaned back, head against the siding of the house. “he’s not all bad.”

“no,” sukuna agreed. “but he’s not all good either.” he glanced at you. “just remember that next time he tries to break you in half.”

you wanted to argue. to say you could take it. that it was worth it. but your voice caught on the truth. it already hurt.

and he hadn’t even touched you.

when you finally came back inside, the house had shifted. quieter now. people passed out on couches. music down to a murmur. the scent of smoke and spilled drinks clung to everything.

toji was gone.

you checked the usual places. the kitchen. the hallway. even peeked into the basement where choso gave you a look like he wanted to say something but didn’t. eventually you found shoko leaning against the railing upstairs, cigarette in one hand, textbook in the other.

“you seen him sho?”

she looked at you without surprise. blew smoke out the side of her mouth. “he went to his room.”

you nodded. turned to go.

“don’t,” she said. you paused. “just… don’t,” she repeated. “not tonight.” you swallowed hard. “why?”

“cause you’ll forgive him if you do. and he won’t stop.” you looked at her. “i already forgave him.” shoko didn’t smile. didn’t judge. she just took another drag and said, “i know.”

you stood there for a long time. just stood. unsure of everything except how much it hurt, and how much you still wanted him anyway.

your anguish didn't go unnoticed to your friends, especially not to your most over the top one, gojo. he was pissed. pissed at toji. so after you had left, he made it his god sent to speak his mind to his brooding brother.

the hallway outside toji’s room still smelled like tequila and cheap weed. music was finally starting to die down downstairs, voices slurring into sleep or hookups or some kind of mess. gojo stepped over a knocked-over chair, kicked an empty red cup out of the way, and knocked hard twice before turning the knob without waiting for an answer.

the door creaked open. dark inside, save for the blue glow of a laptop screen. toji sat at the edge of his bed, elbows on his knees, tank top clinging to his chest with sweat. his hair was a mess, jaw clenched tight, a bottle of jack daniel’s sitting beside him like company.

“the fuck do you want,” toji muttered without looking up. gojo leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed. “wanted to see how the world’s biggest asshole was holding up.” toji scoffed. “get lost.”

“can’t. house rules. i get to verbally beat your ass at least once a semester.” toji didn’t move. just stared at the floor like it had answers. gojo let the silence hang for a second before pushing off the wall and walking inside. “you really had to do that to her? in front of everyone?”

“drop it."

“nah,” gojo said, voice tightening. “you don’t get to pull shit like that and then sit here acting like you’re the victim.”

“you don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“i know exactly what i’m talking about. she looked wrecked, toji. she left early. sukuna of all people had to comfort her. do you even realize how fucked that is?” toji’s head snapped up. “i said drop it.”

“and i said no,” gojo snapped. “you want me to stop then tell me why the hell you did it. why you kissed some random girl when the one person you actually give a shit about was walking toward you.”

“because she was walking toward me,” toji growled, standing now. “that’s why.” gojo blinked. “what?”

“she was coming over, gojo. i saw it in her face. like she still thought there was something there. like she was ready to try again.” toji’s chest rose and fell, breathing sharp. “and i can’t. i can’t do it.”

“can’t or won’t?"

toji laughed, bitter and low. “don’t start with that bullshit.” gojo stepped closer, voice sharp now. “then what is it, huh? you string her along for two years, make her think she means something, then blow it all up the second it feels real?”

“because she does mean something,” toji snapped. “that’s the problem.” gojo went quiet.

“she’s too fucking good,” toji said, voice breaking low. “she’s soft and kind and stupidly hopeful and i’ll ruin that. i’ll tear her apart without even trying.” gojo’s hands clenched into fists. “so your solution is to rip the bandaid off by kissing someone else in front of her? are you listening to yourself?”

“it’s better this way,” toji muttered, like he was convincing himself. “for who? not for her. and definitely not for you.”

“what do you want from me, satoru?” toji barked. “you want me to say i’m in love with her? that i can’t fucking sleep unless i know she’s safe, that i think about her every time i lift, every time i come home, every time i see her name on my phone? you want me to say i wish i wasn’t like this, wish i could be good enough for her?”

gojo stared, jaw tight. “well i’m not,” toji said, voice raw. “i’m not good. i never was. and if i let her close she’s gonna learn that the hard way.”

“she already knows,” gojo said, softer now. “she’s seen it. and she stayed.”

“she shouldn’t have to.”

“maybe that’s not your call to make.”

they stood there breathing like they’d just fought for real. and maybe they had. the air was thick with unsaid things, old wounds, the kind of hurt you only let out when it’s been sitting too long. “i’m not gonna tell you what to do,” gojo said after a long beat. “but you owe her better than what you gave her tonight.”

toji sat back down on the edge of the bed, rubbed a hand down his face like he was exhausted. “i know.”

“and for the record,” gojo added, “if i didn’t like her like a sister, i’d be the one standing next to her right now. not you.” toji looked up at him, eyes sharp. gojo raised a brow. “but i do. so don’t make me regret having faith in your dumb ass.”

the room was quiet again. not calm, not exactly, but the storm had passed. gojo turned to go, then paused in the doorway.

“you know,” he said without looking back, “i’ve seen you take hits from guys twice your size. but the look on your face when she walked out? that was the first time you actually looked hurt.”

then he left, door clicking shut behind him.

toji didn’t move for a while. just stared at the door like he was hoping you'd walk through it instead. like maybe he hadn’t ruined everything.

but you didn’t.

and he had.

the next morning was rough.

the sun was sharp and mean, casting everything in that washed-out gold that made the world feel too loud. toji didn’t bother with sunglasses. he never did. he walked like someone who had nothing to prove and still made people get out of the way.

he was headed to his monday morning business class, dragging his feet a little more than usual, hungover but used to it. the hangover was never the issue. it was the way his thoughts stuck to the back of his throat like smoke that wouldn’t clear. his little verbal fight with gojo last night ontop of making you feel like shit was not helping.

campus was already moving around him, caffeine-fueled freshmen and overachieving finance majors crowding the sidewalks, chattering about midterms and internship interviews and parties they weren’t even invited to yet. toji didn’t speak to any of them. he didn’t have to. everyone already knew who he was.

toji fushiguro was a name people said with caution. the kind of name that came with rumors and stories passed around late at night, most of them half true. people said he used to be a cage fighter. that he dropped out sophomore year because he broke someone’s jaw in a seminar. that he only re-enrolled because delta phi practically begged him to come back. that he had a kill count and not just in bed. and hey, he's not saying that's not true.

he didn’t care what they said. he’d been through worse than whispers.

he wore a black long sleeve shirt, sleeves shoved up to his elbows, tattoos crawling down his arms like they had minds of their own. heavy black ink that looked rough even from a distance, sharp edges and sacred lines. they looked like they belonged on someone who didn’t believe in softness. piercings glinted at his brow and ear and lip, silver catching the sun. his jeans hung low on his hips and his boots were scuffed like they’d seen too many nights out.

he was big. not just tall, but thick with muscle, all wide shoulders and brutal arms. one of the man reason he got you do hit and bothered. he looked like he could lift a car if he felt like it, or throw a man across the quad just to prove a point.

and despite the fact he barely said ten words to anyone in class, the professors never called on him. not anymore. he didn’t sit with anyone, except nanami when he felt like it. didn’t take notes. didn’t even open his laptop. but he passed every exam, turned in every assignment, and showed up just enough to stay under the radar. just enough to keep his spot at delta phi, which was really the only reason he hadn’t burned the whole place down yet.

toji wasn’t the president. that was sukuna’s circus. but he was something scarier—unofficial muscle. the one who kept the wolves at bay when they came too close. the one everyone looked at when things got ugly. he didn’t speak unless it mattered. didn’t fight unless it was worth it. but when he did? people remembered.

he cut across the back end of campus on his way to class, heading past the old science building where the vending machines always ate your change. the path was quieter here, shadowed by overgrown trees and cigarette smoke curling from cracked benches.

he caught the tail end of a conversation before he even saw who was talking.

“…seriously, fuck gojo. he’s not even that hot. just has clout. i saw him with mia last week. she was crying about me the week before, now she’s on his dick like i didn’t even exist.”

toji slowed down. his jaw twitched. the voice belonged to some guy he vaguely recognized—football or lacrosse, something cocky and replaceable. he was laughing with another dude, but it was bitter. jealous. toji turned the corner and looked directly at him.

“say that shit again,” he said, voice low and calm. the guy froze. his friend bailed immediately, slinking off with a muttered “i’ll catch you later, bro,” like even he knew what was coming. toji stepped closer.

“what?” the guy asked, trying to puff up his chest like that would help. “you think i’m scared of you?”

“no,” toji said, voice flat. “i think you’re pathetic.”

the guy scoffed. “you don’t even know what—” toji grabbed the collar of his hoodie and slammed him back against the brick wall, one hand flat against his chest like he wasn’t even trying yet.

“you got a problem with gojo?” he said, voice quiet. “say it to his face. otherwise shut your fucking mouth.” the guy flinched. toji could see the flash of fear behind his eyes now. good.

“jesus, man—he fucked my ex.”

“she left you. there’s a difference.” toji let go with a hard shove. the guy stumbled forward, catching himself on the edge of the bench. “you wanna blame someone for your girl moving on? blame yourself. don’t drag my brother’s name through the dirt ‘cause you’re too soft to handle it.”

the guy didn’t respond. didn’t even look at him. just turned and walked fast in the opposite direction, muttering under his breath. toji exhaled through his nose, shook out his hand like the heat in his blood was trying to burn through his skin.

despite his altercation with satoru the night prior, he'd always stand up for his family. hell, gojo probably wouldn’t even care. he never did. too laid back for grudges, too self-assured to let shit like that stick. but that didn’t matter to toji. because he knew what gojo didn’t show. he knew the cracks that didn’t reach the surface. the stuff behind the sunglasses and grins.

and loyalty? that wasn’t optional for toji. it wasn’t a trait. it was the only rule that mattered. delta phi might’ve been a shitshow, but it was his shitshow. they were his people. no one talked about them like that.

not without consequences. he adjusted the strap of his backpack and kept walking, heart still beating a little too fast in his chest.

because the truth was, he needed them. more than he’d ever admit out loud. the house, the chaos, the late nights and stupid games and gojo yelling about who stole his lighter again. it kept him tethered. kept him from spiraling too far. he knew gojo only meant well, so he'd never hold shit against him for putting his mind in the right place.

but mostly, it was you. you were the one thing he couldn’t name. couldn’t reach for. couldn’t lose. and now that sukuna was getting closer, now that you were looking at him like you didn’t know what to believe anymore, now that he was the one who made you cry—

he felt it slipping.

all of it.

and he didn’t know how to stop it.

'fuck me.'

your dorm feels colder than usual. the light is soft and pale through the blinds, the kind of grey morning that makes everything feel slow and sticky, like your body’s moving through half-dried paint. it’s just past nine and your bedsheets are tangled around your ankles like they fought back in your sleep. you didn’t dream. you didn’t get the chance. too many thoughts, too many flashes of his hands on someone else’s waist, her mouth on his, the curve of his grin that should’ve been yours.

you roll onto your back, stare up at the ceiling and breathe through the ache that’s settled behind your ribs like something permanent. you told yourself you wouldn’t fall for him. two years of skirting the edge, of shared joints on rooftops and late-night food runs and smirks across dance floors. two years of almosts and maybes and looks that said too much but never went anywhere. two years of him pulling you in just to push you away.

but last night? that felt different. dancing with him, the way his hands gripped your waist, the way his voice dropped when he said your name like it meant something.

it had felt real.

and then it hadn’t.

you replay it over and over—the moment your eyes locked across the room, the second you stepped away from sukuna, ready to go to him again, to risk it all one more time. and then the way his hand wrapped around her hip, how his mouth found hers like it was nothing. like you were nothing.

your stomach turns. you sit up, hair a mess, hoodie sliding off your shoulder. you hadn’t even taken your makeup off last night, just crawled into bed and let it all hit you at once. you remember sukuna’s voice at your ear, warm and surprisingly soft despite the venom he usually spat.

“you don’t cry over guys like him, sweetheart,” he’d said, pressing a drink into your hand. “you let them cry over you.” you weren’t sure why he cared. maybe he didn’t. maybe he just liked having a front row seat to the destruction. but last night he didn’t press too hard. just sat beside you while the party roared on, kept his arm slung behind the couch and didn’t let anyone else get too close.

your phone buzzes beside you. you pick it up and squint at the screen.

sukuna [9:09am]: you okay pretty girl?

you stare at it for a second, then type back.

you [9:10am]: i'm fine ryo

you hesitate, fingers hovering over the keyboard. you want to say more. thank him, maybe. tell him you appreciated it, even if it came from the last person you expected. but before you can send anything else, there’s a knock on your door.

you blink. frown. no one ever knocks on your door at this hour. you climb out of bed, tug your hoodie down, try to smooth your hair a little as you shuffle toward the door barefoot. you unlock it and pull it open—

“good morning, sunshine!” gojo stands there, grinning like the hangover skipped him entirely, sunglasses perched on his nose despite the cloudy sky outside. he’s holding a flyer in one hand and a coffee in the other.

“you’re… happy,” you mumble, rubbing your eye. he shrugs. “always am. some of us don’t let heartbreak slow us down.” you blink at him. “what?”

“nothing,” he says, way too fast, and pushes the flyer toward you. “special delivery from delta phi. invitation only. it’s a bar takeover tonight, and i was instructed—” he leans forward like it’s a secret— “by myself, because i’m a genius, to invite you personally.”

you take the flyer. the paper’s thick and smells faintly of weed. “you’re really doing printed invites now?”

“classy, right?” he wiggles his brows. “sukuna wanted a neon poster that said ‘girls drink free until they cry’ but i vetoed that.” you snort, but it dies fast. your fingers tighten around the flyer.

“so,” gojo says slowly, “how are you holding up?” you look up at him. he’s smiling, but not as wide as usual. he’s watching you carefully. “fine,” you say.

he tilts his head. “wrong. try again.” you shrug, leaning against the doorframe. “i don’t know. last night sucked.” he nods, lets that sit for a second.

“toji’s an idiot,” he says eventually. your breath catches. “you don’t have to—”

“i do,” he cuts in gently. “because i know him. and i know you.” you press your lips together. “he’s…” gojo runs a hand through his hair. “he’s complicated. always has been. doesn’t let people get too close, especially the ones he actually gives a shit about.”

“yeah, i noticed.” he frowns. “look. i’m not gonna make excuses for him. what he did last night? not cool. not even a little. and i know it hurt you.” you blink fast.

“but,” gojo says, stepping forward, “if it means anything… he didn’t want to hurt you.”

“he literally made out with someone right in front of me,” you say, voice cracking just slightly. “after dancing with me like—like he meant it.” gojo exhales. “i know. i was there.” he leans against the wall across from your door, crosses his arms. “he’s terrified. you mean too much, and that makes him feel like he’s already failing before he’s even tried. so he lashes out. does something cruel, because then he doesn’t have to deal with the guilt of ruining something good.”

you swallow, hard.

“i told him he was being a dumbass,” gojo adds. “for what it’s worth. we got into it a little.” your brows lift. “you fought?”

“not like, fists and broken bones. just the usual screaming match.” he shrugs. “brotherly love.” you lean your head back against the frame and sigh.

“you ever think,” you murmur, “maybe i was stupid for waiting this long? for thinking he’d eventually… i don’t know. stop running?” gojo’s voice softens. “you weren’t stupid. you were patient. and hopeful. that’s not weakness.” you close your eyes.

“but,” he adds, “you also don’t have to keep waiting. not if it’s breaking you.” you nod slowly, thumb brushing over the corner of the flyer. “so what do i do?” you ask. “show up tonight? act like it’s fine?”

gojo gives you a crooked smile. “you show up looking hot as hell, dance with whoever you want, and remember you’re not the one who messed up.” you huff a laugh. “easier said than done.”

“i’ll be your wingman. we’ll make it a whole thing.” you raise a brow. “you’re not gonna try to flirt with me?”

“oh, i absolutely will. but only in the respectful, ego-boosting way.” you laugh again, a little more real this time. he pushes off the wall. “think about it, okay?” you nod. “thanks, gojo.” his smile softens. “anytime. and… for what it’s worth, if he ever gets his head out of his ass, you’re the only girl i’d root for with him.” you blink at him.

“he’s never looked at anyone else the way he looks at you. not once.” then he’s gone, already whistling down the hall like he didn’t just emotionally disarm you before ten a.m. you stand there a while longer, door half-shut, staring at the flyer in your hand and wondering what the hell tonight is going to feel like.

wondering what’s going to hurt more—seeing him again, or pretending like none of it ever happened. and most of all, wondering if he’s going to look at you like he did before everything fell apart.

or if he won’t look at you at all.

god, you should’ve never come.

you told yourself that the whole walk over, heels clicking on uneven pavement, breath caught somewhere between your lungs and your throat. the air was sticky and warm, just the edge of summer pressing in, and you were too aware of the way your dress clung to you, the way your lipstick felt too pretty, too brave. but gojo had asked so sweetly, flashing that grin like a sunrise and pressing the invite into your hand like he already knew you’d say yes.

and maybe you did. maybe you wanted to be seen. maybe you wanted him to see you.

the bar was already a mess when you walked in—bodies packed wall to wall, bass vibrating through the floor, lights flickering pink and gold. it was chaos, the kind gojo thrived in. you spotted him first near the bar, shirt half-buttoned and sunglasses still on, despite it being night. he raised a hand when he saw you, mouth already forming something ridiculous, but your eyes didn’t stay on him long.

they found toji.

of course they did.

he was across the room, leaning back against the booth like he hadn’t ripped your heart out just nights ago. like he hadn’t kissed someone else while your chest was still cracked open in front of him. he hadn’t texted. not a word. not a hey. not a sorry. not even a “you good?” like you were some girl he barely knew. you hated that your first instinct was still to look for him.

and god, he looked good.

black tee stretched over his chest, sleeves rolled just enough to show the curve of his biceps and the ink that wrapped around them like smoke. his chain caught the light when he tilted his head. he hadn’t even shaved. a shadow of a beard clung to his jaw, making him look more like trouble than usual.

he saw you before you could look away.

his gaze locked with yours. it didn’t falter, didn’t skip. it stayed steady, calm, unaffected. he lifted a brow like he’d seen you last night, like nothing had happened, and your heart clenched in your ribs.

you almost turned back. you almost went to gojo and begged for a drink and a distraction. but toji was already pushing up from the booth and walking toward you, slow and steady, beer still in hand, eyes never leaving yours.

“you look so sexy y/n,” he said when he reached you, voice lazy, deep, low enough to drown in. his mind drifted to gojo screaming at him to get his shit together, but it quickly faded when he remembered just who he is. a fucking asshole that's nothing mroe than bad news.

he watched you blink, stupidly. “just gonna ignore last weekend?”

toji smirked like it was funny, like your confusion was some private joke he didn’t plan on explaining. “we’re at a party. don’t ruin the mood.”

you hated how fast he pulled you back in. how your anger wilted under his closeness. he smelled like cedar and whiskey, like heat and sweat and safety, even if he was the last person you should feel safe with. his hand ghosted against your lower back, not quite touching but close enough that your skin burned.

“so you’re just gonna ignore it?” you said, voice soft but sharp. toji’s eyes didn’t waver despite his intense inner turmoil. “what do you want me to say?”

everything, you thought. 'i miss you. i didn’t mean it. you’re not just some girl.' but you didn’t say it. because the second you did, it would all come spilling out, everything you’d been holding in since you met him two years ago, since you realized the way your stomach flipped every time he looked at you like you were a secret he didn’t want to share.

you shook your head instead and let him lead you toward the bar, let him order a drink for you, let him stand too close while you sipped vodka from a sticky straw and tried not to crumble.

“you looked good dancing with sukuna last weekend,” he said casually, like he wasn’t gripping the bar so tightly the tendons in his hand strained.

“you looked good kissing that girl,” you shot back. toji’s jaw ticked, but he didn’t flinch. “she kissed me.”

you gave him a look. “didn’t look that one-sided.”

he didn’t answer, just took a swig from his beer and looked straight ahead. the silence between you turned thick and bitter, but not unbearable. it was always like this. always a push and pull, a fire you both stood too close to.

after a beat, he leaned in, mouth brushing your ear, voice low.

“you still mad at me?”

“what do you think?”

he didn’t pull away.

“think you’re too pretty to look that angry.”

you hated him. hated the way he knew exactly how to disarm you, how he used softness like a weapon. hated that you leaned into him anyway, your shoulder brushing his chest, your breath catching when his fingers ghosted over your wrist.

“you don’t get to play like this,” you said. “not after that.”

“i’m not playing.” you stared up at him. his face was unreadable, but his eyes were anything but. something dark swam there, something he’d never say out loud. fear. guilt. want. it made your knees weak.

“then what is this?” he didn’t answer. you danced with him anyway. because what else were you supposed to do?

when the music shifted into something slower, hazier, he pulled you into him like you were meant to be there. your hands found his shoulders, then the curve of his neck. his arms circled your waist and tugged you closer until your chest was flush against his and you could feel his heartbeat, erratic and hard. he smelled like home. like everything you wanted and couldn’t have.

“you didn’t text me,” you whispered, staring at the place where your hand rested against his collarbone.

“i know.”

“why?”

“i didn’t know what to say.”

you bit your lip. “you could’ve said sorry.”

toji’s mouth curved into a grimace. “you think that’d make it better?”

“no,” you said honestly. “but it would’ve meant something.” his grip tightened just slightly, like the truth hurt. “i didn’t know if you wanted to hear from me.” you looked up at him. “i always want to hear from you. even when i hate you.”

his eyes softened for half a second. then he pulled you closer, forehead resting against yours. “you don’t hate me.”

“sometimes i wish i did.” he smiled. it wasn’t a happy one. “me too.” the song ended but you didn’t move. his breath was warm against your cheek, his hand splayed across your back like he was holding you together.

“what are we doing?” you asked quietly. “making bad choices,” he said.

you laughed. it sounded hollow. “yeah. i noticed.”

“you wanna leave?”

you looked at him. god, you wanted to. you wanted to crawl back into that space you used to share—his bed, his couch, that place on the porch where you’d sit and talk shit for hours. not that he meant it in a hook up way, you were bound to just go home and talk. you wanted his hand in yours, his mouth against your shoulder, his voice in your ear. but not like this. not until he meant it.

“not tonight,” you said. toji nodded. he looked away, you stepped back, he let you go.

you didn’t look at him again as you walked off the dance floor, not even when you felt his eyes on you the whole way across the bar. you found gojo leaning against the wall, sipping something neon and watching the crowd like a bored lion. he looked at you, then at toji, then back again.

“you good?” he asked.

you didn’t answer.

he handed you his drink.

you took it.

"fuck satoru i don't know how long i can do this shit."

meanwhile he was spiralling.

toji slammed the bars bathroom door so hard it rattled the fucking frame. fluorescent light buzzed above him, harsh and yellow, and the second the lock clicked into place, he was across the bathroom, fists braced against the sink, head down, jaw clenched so tight it hurt.

his reflection stared back, mocking. he hated what he saw.

“fucking idiot,” he spat, low and sharp like a curse. he was breathing too hard. chest heaving, eyes wild. “you fucking idiot.”

you looked beautiful tonight. more than beautiful. you looked like a dream he never deserved to touch. and when you walked in—god. you’d barely looked at him. you held yourself like you were trying not to shatter and he’d done that. again. he was the one who made you pull away, the one who twisted something soft into something cold.

he hadn’t even fucking texted you. because he’s a pussy. a loser with nothing good to offer and too much fucked up inside to fix. he gripped the edges of the sink harder, breathing through his nose, his heart pounding in his throat. the way you looked at him when you walked away—it gutted him. you didn’t yell. you didn’t cry. you just looked… done.

“you always ruin it,” he growled at the mirror. “always. every fucking time.”

you had every reason to hate him. he let you get close, let you crack open the rusted door to his chest and see what was rotting inside. and right when it felt like maybe, maybe he could be something better—he kissed that girl. right in front of you. because he was too fucking scared to admit that he wanted more. because wanting more meant admitting he needed you, and needing you meant risking it all, and he’d never been brave enough for that.

so he ran.

again.

and now you were out there in that goddamn dress looking like the one thing in the world that could save him, and he just stood there like nothing happened. just leaned in close, smiled, said stupid things like he hadn’t torn you apart. he leaned down and let his forehead hit the mirror with a dull, solid thunk. breathed hard. hands shaking. he felt like his bones were trying to break through his skin.

“you ruin everything,” he whispered. “you ruined her.”

his knuckles cracked as his fist slammed into the side of the sink. the porcelain groaned under the force, a tiny web of fractures blooming under his hand. it didn’t break all the way, but it was enough to feel something. enough to hurt. he deserved it.

he couldn’t get your face out of his head. the way your voice shook. the way you said you wished you hated him. me too. he meant it when he said that. because maybe if you hated him, you wouldn’t keep coming back. maybe you’d finally let go, finally move on, finally be safe from him. he leaned over the sink, hands on either side, and stared at his reflection again.

this wasn’t what you deserved, he’d never been what you deserved. and maybe that’s why he kept fucking it up. because deep down, he knew. there wasn’t a version of this story where he ended up the good guy. there was only you, trying so hard to love someone who couldn’t even love himself.

the door creaked open behind him, casual and slow. toji didn’t move. he didn’t have to. he could already smell the cologne—something expensive and offensive, paired with the soft, familiar click of jewelry against skin.

“jesus christ,” sukuna said cheerfully, voice bouncing off the tile. “you’re really losing it, huh?”

toji didn’t turn around. “get the fuck out.”

sukuna laughed. laughed. fucking prick.

“so touchy,” he said, stepping deeper into the bathroom like he owned the place. “must’ve been one hell of a kiss.”

toji’s jaw tensed so hard he thought his teeth might break. “don’t start.”

“but it was such a moment,” sukuna drawled. “the drama. the heartbreak. the way she looked at you like you just kicked her puppy. that was some real emotional cinema, man. had me misty-eyed.”

toji turned slowly, his eyes dark, dangerous.

“last warning.” but sukuna just leaned against the wall, all lazy arrogance and smug grin.

“what’re you gonna do, fushiguro? cry some more? break another sink? maybe punch a wall like a real alpha male?”

toji stepped forward once. sukuna didn’t flinch. “you think she’s gonna wait around forever?” sukuna said, voice dipped low now, a little more serious.

“you keep pushing her away, one day she’s not coming back.”

“shut the fuck up.”

“you know i’m right.”

“you don’t know shit.”

sukuna tilted his head, tongue poking the inside of his cheek. “i know she was crying.”

toji froze.

sukuna smiled. “i saw her. outside. right after you played tonsil hockey with that desperate little blonde. she was trying so hard to keep it together. but you broke her, man. again. and the worst part? she still looked like she was hoping you’d come after her.”

silence.

toji’s fists curled so tight his nails dug into his palms. “so what do you want, huh?” sukuna said, tone suddenly sharper. “you wanna keep her on a string? just close enough to feel her, just far enough she can’t touch you? you wanna fuck her up until she hates herself for loving you?”

toji launched forward so fast the room blurred, slamming sukuna up against the wall with one hand twisted in his shirt. the tile cracked behind him. sukuna grinned.

“hit me,” he dared, eyes gleaming. “do it. take all that guilt and rage and let it out. won’t change the fact that you’re a fucking coward.”

toji’s breathing was ragged, his other hand shaking at his side. he wanted to. he wanted to bury his fist in sukuna’s face and watch the smug drain out of his mouth. he wanted to feel something break that wasn’t inside him.

but he didn’t move. because sukuna was right, and that made everything worse.

“fuck you,” toji breathed, venom in his voice.

sukuna chuckled low in his throat, leaned in just enough to say, “she deserves better.” then he slipped from toji’s grip like water, smoothing out his shirt, fixing the collar like nothing happened. “see you out there, big guy,” he said, casual, and walked out.

toji stood frozen in place, chest heaving, hands shaking, heart breaking. he looked at the cracked sink again, at the tiny lines spidering out like fault lines in porcelain.

just like him, splintered. ready to shatter.

you weren’t sure how long you’d been standing at the bar since you left tojis side, the bass thumped under your feet, lights spinning across the floor, but everything felt distant. muffled. like you were underwater watching the night move on without you.

you leaned against the back wall of the bar, drink long forgotten in your hand, staring into the crowd like you were searching for something—someone. like if you just waited long enough, maybe toji would come back. maybe he’d walk up with that lazy smirk and say something stupid like 'you look pretty'. you hated how much it still hurt.

your throat was tight, chest heavy with that unbearable ache that sat behind your ribs and wouldn’t move no matter how many times you told yourself to be fine. you felt like a fool for hoping. for showing up looking good, thinking maybe things could go back to how they used to be, thinking he’d finally see you the way you saw him.

but of course he hadn’t. because that would’ve required him to care enough to be honest, to be brave, and toji fushiguro didn’t do honest. didn’t do brave. he just did damage. and you were so, so tired of bleeding over him.

you closed your eyes. tried to breathe. tried to escape the way your body ached for someone who wasn’t even trying to hold you anymore. and just like a prayer whispered into the dark, someone stepped into your silence.

“you’re looking like you just got stood up,” a voice said beside you, smooth and cocky and way too amused. your eyes snapped open. sukuna stood there, drink in hand, eyebrow raised, mouth curled into that familiar smug grin.

“fuck off,” you said, no heat behind it.

“harsh,” he laughed. “and here i was, ready to rescue you from your little emo spiral.” you rolled your eyes, but you didn’t walk away. you couldn’t. not when his presence suddenly made the air easier to breathe.

“you don’t need to do this,” you muttered.

“do what?” he asked, feigning innocence as he leaned against the wall beside you. “check on the pretty girl who looks like her world’s falling apart? seems like the least i could do after last time.”

you looked at him then. really looked. he didn’t look sorry. he never did. but there was something else in his face—something quieter underneath the usual edge. not sympathy. not pity. just… attention. you hated that it felt good.

“come dance with me,” he said suddenly, holding out his hand.

“no.”

“yes.”

“i don’t want—”

“i don’t care.” he grinned. “come on, sweetheart. let me give you something to think about that isn’t him.” you hesitated. just for a second. and that was all it took. he grabbed your hand and pulled you into the crowd like you weighed nothing. and maybe in that moment, you didn’t. maybe the ache in your chest loosened just enough for you to follow.

the music swallowed you both whole. bodies pressed in all around, but sukuna didn’t care. his hand found your waist like it belonged there, the other lacing through your fingers as he pulled you close—too close. “relax,” he murmured, lips near your ear. “you’re allowed to enjoy yourself.”

you wanted to argue. but then his hips rolled into yours and everything inside you short-circuited. he danced like sin. like temptation wrapped in a body built to destroy. and the worst part? you let him. because for once, someone wanted to be close. someone was choosing you, and god, it felt like oxygen.

somewhere off to the side, you caught gojo shaking his head as he leaned toward geto. the two of them were watching from their booth, drinks in hand, resigned like babysitters watching a soap opera unravel in real time.

“should we stop this?” geto asked, sipping his whiskey. “nah,” gojo sighed, tapping his glass. “let it play out. toji needs to see what happens when you leave something good waiting too long.”

on the dancefloor, sukuna spun you around and tugged you back, your chest against his. his hands skimmed lower than they should have, but his touch didn’t linger—he wasn’t greedy. just deliberate. “you’re tense,” he said into your neck. “no shit.”

“i could help with that.”

you snorted despite yourself. “this isn’t a solution.”

“no,” he said, looking down at you. “but it’s something.”

you wanted to be strong. wanted to step away and prove that toji didn’t still own some broken piece of you. but your body betrayed you—moved with sukuna like he was the only thing keeping you upright. your breath caught every time he touched you, every time his fingers slid just barely across your skin. it wasn’t love. it wasn’t healing, but it was a distraction.

and you needed it.

what you didn’t see was toji.

he walked out of the bathroom with fists clenched, throat tight, still reeling from what sukuna said—only to be met with the image of you in said mans arms. dancing, smiling, laughing like you hadn’t just cried over him a few nights ago. he froze. everything inside him froze, and then it all caught fire.

he saw red. thick, searing jealousy choking out any rational thought. his stomach twisted. his heart fucking dropped.

you were dancing with him. his stupid fucking frat brother who was notorious for being a slur, bit that he could really speak on it but still. the one guy who never shut up about wanting you. the guy who toji knew was only doing this to piss him off.

and worse—you were letting him. he didn’t think, didn’t breathe, just turned on his heel and stalked straight toward the bar.

“what’s good, baby?” he said to the first girl he saw. she was tall, pretty, and already drunk enough to think he meant it. “hi,” she giggled, touching his chest, he didn’t even hear her name, he just kissed her. sloppy. hard. intentional. made sure the angle lined up perfectly so when he opened his eyes mid-kiss, you were watching.

your body went still on the dance floor. sukuna smirked down at you. “there he goes.”

you stared, heart pounding, feeling sick. toji was kissing someone else. again. like nothing mattered. like you didn’t matter. you pulled away from sukuna, stumbling a little.

“you okay?” he asked, still smirking, but there was a sharpness behind it now.

you didn’t answer. you were too busy watching toji pull the girl closer, whisper something in her ear, and start leading her toward the door. your heart shattered in your chest.

again.

gojo groaned into his drink. “he’s such a fucking idiot.” geto sighed. “you think he’s doing it to hurt her?”

“i think he’s doing it to hurt himself,” gojo muttered. “she’s just collateral.” you turned and walked off the floor, jaw tight, trying not to cry in public again. behind you, sukuna just chuckled.

“this is getting good,” he said, sipping his drink.

across the bar, toji didn’t look back.

not once. but he felt every step you took away from him.

and it burned.

everything after seeing him with that girl felt like a blur, you didn’t remember how you got to the couch. didn’t remember pushing past the noise or the crowd or the awful ache in your chest. all you knew was that when you saw gojo’s bright blue eyes across the room and the way geto looked up like he already knew something was wrong, your knees went weak and everything you’d been trying to hold in just crashed through you like a wave.

“woah,” gojo said, sitting up. “hey hey hey—”

“oh no,” shoko muttered, putting her drink down. “come here, sit. now.” you collapsed onto the couch between them, face hot, hands shaking, heart beating too fast. you couldn’t breathe. couldn’t think. couldn’t stop the tears even if you wanted to.

“he— he kissed her,” you choked out, voice cracking, “he did it again, and i let myself believe he wouldn’t.” shoko put a hand on your knee, gentle, grounding. gojo was frowning now, serious in that rare way he only ever was when someone he loved was hurting. geto reached for your hand, warm and solid, thumb brushing over your knuckles like he was trying to anchor you back to earth.

“just breathe,” geto said softly. you tried. you really did. but everything in you was unraveling. “i don’t understand what i did wrong,” you whispered. “we were so close. for two years he’s been my best friend, he’s been everything to me. and yeah, it was flirty and yeah, i caught feelings, but i thought— i thought he felt something too. i thought maybe—” your voice broke again, and you covered your face. “i’m so fucking stupid.”

“no,” gojo said immediately. “no you’re not.”

“he doesn’t even look at other girls like he looks at you,” geto murmured. “you’re not imagining it.”

“then why does he keep doing this?” your voice rose, raw and shaking. “why does he keep picking someone else? why does he keep hurting me and acting like i don’t mean anything?” shoko lit a cigarette, exhaling slowly. “because he’s scared. and because he’s an idiot.”

you laughed bitterly, wiping at your cheeks. “he doesn’t even text me. he can’t even say sorry. he just pretends like we never almost— like nothing ever happened.”

“toji’s always been like that,” gojo said, watching you carefully. “he shuts down. he panics. the second he feels something real, he runs.”

“but why?” you asked, voice barely a whisper. “what’s so wrong with me that he can’t even try?” geto pulled you closer. “it’s not you. it’s him. he’s just— he doesn’t think he deserves good things. and you’re the only thing he actually wants.”

you collapsed into him then, forehead against his shoulder, tears soaking into his shirt. “i hate him,” you mumbled. “no you don’t,” shoko said gently.

“i should.”

“yeah,” she said, flicking ash into a nearby tray. “you probably should.”

you didn’t say anything else. couldn’t. not with your whole chest cracked open, all the grief and love and hope spilling out where everyone could see it. gojo leaned back and sighed like he was tired of watching people break over someone who refused to show up properly. shoko lit another cigarette. geto just held you while your shoulders shook.

and somewhere near the back exit of the bar, sukuna leaned against the wall, sipping his drink and watching it all unfold with a little smirk pulling at his mouth. the chaos was beautiful.

you were so far gone you didn’t even see him watching. but toji wasn’t. toji stood outside, arms crossed, jaw tight, staring off at the road while the girl he’d kissed leaned against him, giggling about nothing important.

“you callin’ the uber?” she asked, lips already brushing his neck. “yeah,” he muttered, pulling out his phone and tapping through the app. he wasn’t even listening to her. didn’t know her name. didn’t want to. she wasn’t you.

she’d seen the whole thing—him dragging her out of the bar, eyes locked on you like he wanted to tear something apart. she’d liked the attention. thought she was gonna get lucky with the hottest guy in delta phi. but now, standing on the sidewalk, it was clear to her he wasn’t really there.

“you okay?” she asked. toji nodded, tight and short. didn’t meet her eyes.

when the uber pulled up, he opened the door for her and she paused, confused. “you’re not coming?”

“nah,” he said, barely looking at her. “go home.” her face fell. “seriously?” he didn’t say anything. “wow,” she huffed, rolling her eyes as she climbed in. “asshole.” the door slammed and the car pulled away.

toji stood there in silence, head tipped back against the wall, wind biting at his skin.

he hated himself.

he reached into his jacket, pulled out a blunt and lit it with shaking hands. took a long drag and exhaled slowly, trying to ignore the way his heart felt like it was about to cave in.

“you fucking dick,” he muttered to himself, staring out at the night. he had no one to blame but himself. no excuse. no reason that made any of this better. you’d shown up tonight looking like a dream. like something out of a memory he was too afraid to hold. and he saw you—saw how you smiled, saw how you scanned the room like maybe, just maybe, you were hoping he’d come to you.

and what did he do? he panicked. again. like a fucking coward. like the version of himself he thought he’d buried long ago. all because he didn’t know how to handle the way you looked at him like he could be good.

he smashed his fist against the brick wall, breathing hard. hated how he made you feel. hated that he’d watched you cry and didn’t go to you. hated that he couldn’t fix what he kept breaking.

and worst of all, he hated the way sukuna touched you. he had his hands on you. he made you smile. you were supposed to be safe from that. from him.

toji took another long drag, jaw clenched so hard it hurt. the weed didn’t calm him. nothing could. he could still feel your eyes on him when he kissed that girl.

could still feel the disappointment in your face. he saw the way your body tensed. saw the way sukuna pulled you closer like he owned the moment. and toji had let it happen. he’d let someone else have you. again.

he closed his eyes.

“you don’t get to love someone like that,” he said to the night. “not when you keep proving you can’t handle it.”

he wasn’t good for you. he knew that. he’d known it from the start. but god, he wanted to be. he wanted to stop fucking it up. wanted to stop pushing you away every time it got too real. wanted to hold you like he meant it and stop making you cry and just be enough for once.

but he wasn’t.

he was this.

a fucked up mess with bloody knuckles and a blunt burning slow between fingers that didn’t know how to be gentle.

“you deserve better,” he whispered. and for once, he actually meant it.

you woke up to the smell of cologne and the scratch of expensive sheets. your body ached. your head throbbed. your mouth was dry and you had no idea where the hell you were. sunlight filtered in through high windows, catching on glass shelves and too many sunglasses and a stupid amount of hair product on the dresser. the room was cold, the blankets heavy, and it hit you all at once.

this wasn’t your dorm. and you were very much in someone’s bed. you sat up fast, heart pounding, brain still foggy. your dress was still on. your shoes were at the foot of the bed. no one else was there. but the panic still crawled under your skin.

'no no no no no what did i do—'

the door creaked open. gojo poked his head in, holding a red solo cup and a protein bar like he hadn’t just stepped into a full blown crisis.

“you’re alive,” he grinned, “that’s good.”

you stared at him. “what— where— did we—”

his face scrunched up like he tasted something sour. “ew. no. jesus."

you blinked. “but i’m in your bed.”

“yeah, because you were blackout at the bar and i couldn’t find your dorm key and you kept telling everyone you wanted to fight god. i figured this was safer.”

you slumped back against the pillows, dragging a hand over your face. “frick.”

gojo walked in, setting the cup on the nightstand beside you. “here. water. drink before you shrivel into dust.” you took it with shaking hands and sipped slowly, nausea curling in your stomach. everything from last night came back in pieces. the dancing. the kiss. toji dragging that girl out. the way he looked at you like you didn’t even exist.

sukuna’s hand on your waist, your breakdown on the couch. toji going home with that girl.

you groaned and curled up on your side, still clutching the cup. “so,” gojo said, sitting on the edge of the bed, “wanna talk about it?”

“no.”

“you sure? because you cried a lot last night and i think you used geto’s hoodie as a tissue.”

“satoru.”

“right. shutting up.” he leaned back on his hands, still watching you, still grinning like an idiot but softer now. it was that rare expression he wore only when he really cared. like when geto got too high and panicked or when shoko locked herself in the bathroom during finals week. “he’s a fucking idiot,” gojo said eventually. “just so you know.”

“yeah,” you whispered, staring at the wall. “i know.” you stayed there for a while. quiet. raw. letting the weight of it all settle on your chest like a stone. you didn’t know why it still hurt so much. maybe because you’d let yourself hope again. maybe because it wasn’t just any guy—it was toji. your best friend. your everything. and he didn’t even look at you. after a while, you pulled yourself up and grabbed your shoes, brushing past gojo without a word. “you sure you’re good to go?” he asked.

“i’ll live.” he didn’t stop you. the hallway outside was dim and quiet, the frat house still half asleep from the chaos of the night before. your heels clicked against the wood floor as you moved past the open kitchen, the beer cans, the stained couches. everything felt distant. muffled.

you turned the corner too fast and slammed into something solid, or someone. your stomach dropped.

him.

toji in all his tired glory stood there in a black hoodie and sweats, duffel bag slung over one shoulder, keys in his hand. he was heading to the gym. of course he was. that was what he did when he couldn’t deal with reality—he trained like he could beat the guilt out of his body.

he froze when he saw you. eyes dark. jaw clenched, you opened your mouth. maybe to say hi. maybe to apologize. maybe just to explain that you didn’t sleep with anyone in the frat. that you were still yours. but he didn’t give you the chance.

his eyes flicked down. took in your clothes. the fact you were coming from the direction of sukuna or gojos room.

and just like that, his face hardened. lips pressed tight. no emotion. no recognition. no trace of the person who used to make you laugh so hard you couldn’t breathe. he pushed past you without a word.

just brushed his shoulder against yours and walked out the front door like you weren’t even real. like you had done something wrong. you stood there, frozen. breath caught in your throat. he thought you’d slept with someone else. and that mattered to him, but not enough to stop, not enough to ask. not enough to care out loud.

you felt it again, that horrible twist in your chest. that ache that had nothing to do with heartbreak and everything to do with betrayal. you’d given him everything. time, trust, love. and all he gave you back was silence. you blinked hard, lips trembling.

fine.

if he didn’t want to listen, then you’d stop talking. if he didn’t want to care, then you’d stop hoping. you’d learn to shut it all off too.

just like him.

but god, why did it still hurt so bad?

the gym was cold.

too cold for this early in the morning, but that didn’t stop him. nothing really could when he was like this—when his chest was tight and his head was loud and everything felt like it was seconds from snapping. toji slammed the barbell back onto the rack, chest heaving. sweat ran down his neck and soaked through his hoodie. he didn’t even bother peeling it off. he wanted to feel like he was suffocating.

his knuckles were raw from the heavy bag. he’d been there for a while. lifting. hitting. breaking down, and it still wasn’t enough. he wiped his face with the back of his arm and dropped onto the bench again, eyes burning, heart racing.

he kept seeing your face.

your eyes when you looked at him in the hallway disheveled from sleep. the way you opened your mouth like you were gonna say something and he just—walked past you. pushed past you like you were nothing. because he couldn’t hear it. couldn’t take the sound of you explaining how good sukuna made you feel. at least that's what he thought happened. how you finally let go. how it meant nothing, just sex, just comfort. how it didn’t hurt you like he did.

his stomach twisted.

he was the one who ruined this. he’d kissed another girl. in front of you. like a fucking child. like some messed-up defense mechanism he didn’t even understand. and then you disappeared, all teary-eyed and broken, and now what? now you were with sukuna?

his hands curled into fists. 'of course it was sukuna, it had to of been him. gojo wouldn't of done it.' sleazy, smug, opportunistic sukuna. he probably saw how fucked up toji was over you and waited for the perfect moment to slide in. always smiling. always watching. always pushing buttons just to see what would happen.

and you let him. you let him touch you. god, his head was spinning. he didn’t even know what happened, not really. but the way you looked this morning, still wearing that dress, walking out of someone's room like you couldn’t even care—he could feel it. you were gone. and he should’ve expected it. you weren’t his. you never were. just friends. that’s what it was. that’s what it always was.

he told himself that so many times. drilled it into his head like it’d eventually feel true. even though he watched you for two fucking years and wanted you more than he ever wanted anything. even though every time you smiled at him or leaned into him or laughed at something he said, it lit up something in him he didn’t know how to name. he wanted you. not just your body. not just sex.

you.

and he was too much of a coward to admit it. so instead he kissed some girl he didn’t even like. and now sukuna got to have you.

toji grabbed a weight and launched it across the room. it hit the wall and cracked the plaster, landed with a heavy thud that echoed through the gym. he bent over, elbows on his knees, breathing hard. his chest hurt, not from the workout, not from the cold, from you. because no matter how many times he reminded himself that he didn’t deserve you, that you deserved someone better, someone softer, someone who wouldn’t break you just by existing—he still wanted to be that person.

he wanted to take it all back, the kiss. the girl. the silence. he wanted to be the one you turned to when you were hurting. not sukuna. never sukuna.

he wanted to knock on your door and say all the shit he never let himself say. how he thought about you every goddamn day. how he felt safe with you in a way that scared the hell out of him. how he loved when you doodled in his notebook and how he’d watch your hands more than he watched the board. how sometimes he caught himself picturing your name next to his in places it didn’t belong.

he dug his fingers into his hair, pulling hard, trying to breathe. why did it feel like losing something he never even had? he was the one who made this mess. he knew that. he just didn’t think it would cost him you.

and now that it had, he didn’t know what the hell to do with himself. the gym fell quiet again. just the buzz of the old lights overhead. just the sound of his own breathing. heavy. strained. like he was trying not to fall apart. in the back of his mind, sukuna’s voice laughed, smug. cruel. knowing.

he knew he won.

toji grabbed the heavy bag again and punched until his hands bled.

god, why did it hurt so bad?

he didn’t even hear the gym door swing open over the pounding bass in his skull. he was too busy beating the shit out of the punching bag, sweat dripping off his jaw, chest heaving, knuckles already raw through the tape. he could barely breathe past the thoughts echoing like fists against his ribs. you and sukuna. god, just the image of it made his stomach twist.

and then there it was, a voice like poison dipped in silk. “damn. someone’s got issues.”

toji didn’t even have to look to know who it was. he’d know that cocky tone anywhere. he turned anyway, slowly, shoulders stiff and glistening under the fluorescents. sukuna was leaning in the doorway like sin itself, sweatpants hanging low, torso bare, tattoos stretched like inked war across his golden skin. hair messy like he just rolled out of someone’s bed, that smug-ass smile already curled on his mouth. he looked annoyingly perfect, like he hadn’t lost a second of sleep.

“you always train like you’re trying to exorcise your demons or is it just the guilt today?” sukuna stepped inside, slow and casual like he owned the place, dragging his fingers through his hair. “guessin’ she didn’t take it well, huh? not that i blame her. you kissed that blonde like you were tryin’ to make a porno.”

toji’s eyes narrowed, chest rising faster now. he wiped sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand, jaw tight enough to snap. “don’t,” he muttered, voice low.

“don’t what? bring up the girl you keep playing emotional dodgeball with?” sukuna cocked his head, mock sympathy dripping from every word. “you fuck her up, push her away, then lose your shit when someone else so much as breathes her direction. tell me, does she even know how deep she’s in? or are you too busy acting like you don’t care?” toji’s hands curled into fists.

“you don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about.”

“oh, i think i do,” sukuna grinned, stepping even closer now, chest to chest. “you’re just pissed because for once, you’re not in control. and i gotta admit, she looked good last night. felt good too. all soft and sad, leaning into me like she just needed someone who wasn’t gonna treat her like a walking heartbreak.”

that was it.

the punch came so fast it cracked through the air. toji’s knuckles collided with sukuna’s jaw hard enough to whip his head sideways, and for a second, everything went still. even the music felt quieter.

then sukuna laughed. blood on his teeth. “oh, it’s like that?” he growled, and then lunged. they collided like a thunderstorm, all muscle and fury and months of unspoken shit. fists flying, bodies slamming into the gym wall, the weight bench tipping over with a crash. sukuna landed a punch to toji’s ribs, toji shoved him back and hit him square in the gut. it wasn’t frat brothers fighting. it was men with grudges too deep to hide behind loyalty.

“you think you’re better for her?” toji snarled, grabbing sukuna by the collar and shoving him against the mirror. “you think she’d want you?”

“i don’t gotta think,” sukuna spat back, blood trailing down his chin. “i already know i’d treat her better than you ever fucking could.” they barely noticed the gym door open again.

“for fuck sake,” gojo said, deadpan, as he and geto walked in. “and here i thought you two were just gonna kiss eventually.”

“this is bad,” geto muttered, already moving. “you think?” gojo stepped between them first, planting a hand on toji’s chest and forcing him back. “enough. what the fuck is this? you fighting your own brother over a girl you don’t even have the balls to admit you love?”

“stay out of this,” toji growled, panting, but his fists didn’t rise again. “too late for that,” geto said flatly, shoving sukuna back with a hand to his shoulder. “you both look pathetic.”

“he started it,” sukuna muttered, wiping his lip with the back of his hand, smirking like the devil. “i just gave him a reason.”

“you’re both bleeding,” gojo said, exasperated. “you’re not in high school. jesus christ.” the silence was heavy, tense, thick with adrenaline and the stench of sweat and resentment. toji looked at sukuna again, the red haze behind his eyes finally fading to something colder. disgust. at himself more than anything.

“you don’t get to talk about her,” toji muttered finally, voice quiet. “then maybe you should stop giving her reasons to need someone else,” sukuna shot back.

gojo grabbed his shoulder before toji could move again. “how about you both just shut the fuck up.” toji didn’t fight the grip. not anymore. his heart was still pounding but his energy was drained. his eyes dropped to the cracked mirror behind sukuna and for a second he saw himself. just a fucked-up guy, broken and bleeding, trying to fight what he couldn’t fix.

geto crossed his arms, glancing between them. “you both better figure this shit out before someone gets hurt worse than a busted lip.” sukuna scoffed but didn’t say more. toji stayed quiet, chest rising and falling like a man trying not to drown. gojo looked at toji. “you need to decide, man. either stop hurting her or start being real. you don’t get to have it both ways.”

toji’s jaw clenched. god, he knew that. he knew that.

he just didn’t know how to do either.

later into the day.

you were just trying to breathe.

the day felt heavy on your chest, like everything you’d been ignoring had finally decided to sit on top of you all at once. your head still ached from the night before, sleep had barely touched you, and your thoughts wouldn’t shut up. you’d left the frat early that morning, the weight of toji’s silence clinging to you like a second skin. all you wanted was to get coffee, maybe clear your head, maybe pretend life wasn’t completely falling apart.

you weren’t expecting to see sukuna, but there he was.

leaning against the corner store wall just across from campus, cigarette tucked between his fingers, sleeves pushed up to his elbows, that stupid grin already on his lips like he knew you were coming. he looked like sin soaked in sunshine, messy hair, glinting piercings, tattoos slipping under his collar like secrets. and then you saw it—his lip. swollen and cracked, red crusted at the edge, the faintest bruise shadowing his jaw.

you stopped in your tracks. "jesus,” you muttered without thinking, eyes locked on the damage. “what happened to you?” he grinned wider, like he wanted you to ask. “oh, this?” he gestured lazily, tapping his bottom lip. “got into it with a wall.” you gave him a flat look and he rolled his eyes.

“fine. toji punched me.”

the air caught in your throat. “what?”

“mm,” sukuna said, dragging on his cigarette, exhaling smoke like it didn’t matter. “we had a little… disagreement.” you blinked, heartbeat crawling into your mouth. “what about?” he tilted his head, watching you too closely. “you.” your breath stuttered.

“sukuna…”

“i might’ve said something that hit a nerve. poor guy’s been wound tight for days. looks like he’s carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders. and hey, when you keep pretending you don’t feel things, eventually they explode. right?” he gave you a pointed look, all knowing and cruelly soft. “you’d know something about that.”

you folded your arms, trying to stay upright under the weight of his gaze. “what did you say?”

“nothing that wasn’t true,” he said, smiling like he didn’t just set your insides on fire. “just told him maybe you needed someone who didn’t keep breaking you just to pull you back in. someone who wouldn’t make you cry every other night. someone who actually knows what he wants.”

you looked away, chest tightening, blinking too fast. he was always good at this—getting under your skin with a smile and watching you unravel like it was art. “he hit you because of me?”

“he hit me because he hates himself,” sukuna said smoothly. “i just gave him the mirror.” you hated how much that made sense. hated the twist it pulled in your gut. you hadn’t spoken to toji since the party, since he’d looked at you like you were nothing. you didn’t know if it was better or worse to find out he’d gotten violent because of it. “why are you telling me this?”

“because you deserve to know he cares,” sukuna said, and for one second, he actually looked sincere. “even if he’s a fucking idiot about it.” you stared at him, throat burning, but before you could answer, he stubbed out his cigarette and pushed off the wall.

“sure i want you, i think that's much is obvious, but he wanted you first. i was just here to stir the pot abit. take care of yourself, sweetheart,” he said, brushing past you with a low chuckle. “you look like you’re about to break.” you didn’t say anything.

you couldn’t.

you stood there frozen, chest cracked wide open, heart bleeding somewhere behind your ribs. his words echoed like static in your skull, twisting everything you thought you understood. he cared. toji cared. he just didn’t know how to show it. or maybe he did. maybe this was what love looked like from someone who didn’t believe he deserved it.

you made it down the street before your vision blurred. you ducked into the nearest alley and finally let the tears come, clinging to your coffee cup like it was the only solid thing left. you sobbed quietly, shoulders shaking, the weight of all of it catching up at once. his silence. his eyes. the kiss. the pain. the fact that he’d rather fight someone than talk to you. the way he looked through you like he didn’t still dream about you every night.

and somewhere far off, you were almost sure you could hear sukuna laughing. not because it was funny, but because he’d won. he’d pressed all the right buttons, and now you were left alone with nothing but your feelings, and the cruel understanding that you still loved a man who didn’t know how to love you back.

what the fuck were you going to do?.

toji wasn’t answering his phone. not gojo’s texts. not geto’s vague check-ins. not even shoko’s “you alive?” at 2 am. he wasn’t going to classes either, not really. he showed up to one lecture midweek, sat in the back with his hood up, left halfway through. no one said anything. no one ever did.

the next morning he hit the gym. hard. again and again. he trained until his knuckles bled. by the fourth day his hands were fucked up enough that even gojo noticed and said something, but toji just laughed it off. said he liked the sting.

he drank every night. it started with a few beers. then whiskey. then whatever geto had stashed in the back of the kitchen. the nights bled into mornings. he wasn’t sleeping much. wasn’t eating right either. he didn’t want to talk to anyone. didn’t want to explain that the thing eating him alive was not knowing if you really slept with sukuna, or if he just assumed that because of his own guilt and jealousy. didn’t want to admit that the thought of sukuna touching you made him feel like he was choking.

he saw you once across campus. walking with shoko, hair pulled up, hoodie sleeves too long. you didn’t look at him. didn’t even hesitate. that’s when he knew. you were done. or trying to be.

he couldn’t even blame you.

by the time saturday came around, toji wasn’t planning to go to the new party satoru was throwing. it was a quieter one, a smaller crowd, mostly people they knew from the frat or nearby houses. nothing crazy. but still, he couldn’t stomach the thought of seeing you there, laughing with someone else. maybe sukuna. maybe not. didn’t matter. he couldn’t fucking bear it.

so he slipped out the back of the house and started walking. hoodie on, hands in his pockets, head low. didn’t know where he was going. just kept moving. the streets were cold and empty, sky a low grey. there was a flicker of music echoing out from a cracked-open window two blocks down. someone laughed. he kept walking.

he thought about texting you. he even opened the screen. stared at your name. the thread of messages hadn’t moved in a week. last one was from you. just a simple “did i do something?” and he never replied. he couldn’t. he stared at it until it blurred. thumb hovered over the keyboard. he typed out, “can we talk?” then deleted it. typed, “i’m sorry.” then deleted that too. locked his phone. shoved it back in his pocket like it’d burned him.

his head was spinning. maybe from the whiskey he snuck earlier, maybe from the shit swirling inside him that he couldn’t name. regret. anger. grief for something that never even got a chance to start.

he turned the corner and stopped dead in his tracks.

you were walking toward him.

you looked soft under the streetlight, skin glowing and eyes wide when they landed on him. you weren’t dressed for a big night out — simple jeans, jacket, a look that still made his breath catch because it was you. because he hadn’t seen you this close in a week and it physically hurt.

you stopped too. like the world had pressed pause on everything.

his heart stuttered. fists clenched in his pockets. he didn’t know what to say. he didn’t know how to look at you and not fall apart. didn’t know how to open his mouth and not spill every raw, cracked, bleeding thing he’d been trying to keep buried.

but here you were. real. walking straight toward him like some cruel twist of fate or some final test from the universe.

and all he could think was:

'fuck. i missed you.'

you stop a few feet away from him and the wind knocks right out of you. he looks like hell. hoodie pulled low, dark circles bruised under his eyes, hands in his pockets like he’s holding himself together by a thread. but he’s still him. still that big, broad-shouldered shadow you’ve known for two years. the longest you’ve ever gone without hearing his voice was a few days during winter break. this week felt like being buried alive.

and now he’s right here.

you open your mouth to say something and nothing comes out. your throat burns. your heart’s clawing at your ribs and your brain’s playing back every horrible thing from the past week like a cursed slideshow. him kissing that girl. him ignoring you. walking past you like you were nothing. all the nights you cried into gojo’s pillows. the way sukuna smirked when he saw you shatter. all of it presses down at once and something inside you snaps.

“i’m sorry,” you choke out, voice already breaking.

toji flinches.

“i’m so sorry,” you say again, louder, more desperate. “i shouldn’t have danced with sukuna, i should’ve just gone home, i didn’t mean to make things worse, i didn’t want you to think—”

your words trip over each other like they’re racing to be forgiven. “i didn’t sleep with him, i swear. i wouldn’t. i was drunk and stupid and mad, and i just… i missed you. and i know you hate when i say shit like that, but i missed you so much and i’m sorry. i’m sorry for everything. i don’t know what i did to ruin this, but i’ll fix it, i swear—”

“hey.” it’s quiet. barely a breath. but it cuts through your rambling like a blade. you look up and he’s already stepping forward. his arms come around you in one smooth, heavy motion, big and warm and solid like the rest of the world doesn’t exist anymore. your knees almost buckle. your face presses into his chest and his hoodie smells like cigarettes and something familiar that makes your stomach ache. he holds you so tight it almost hurts.

you freeze for half a second and then sob into him. you don’t even care how pathetic it sounds. you cry into his hoodie like it’s the last time you’ll ever be held. you grip at his sleeves like if you let go he’ll disappear again. and he just stands there, letting you fall apart against him.

after what feels like forever, he finally speaks. “everything’s gonna be okay baby.” you hiccup against his chest. he says it again, lower this time. like a promise. “everything’s gonna be okay, alright?”

you nod, even if you don’t believe it yet. his voice is that same deep, unreadable rumble it always is, but it softens at the edges now. like he’s trying. like maybe he’s been hurting just as much.

“i’m sorry,” he says, and you don’t think you’ve ever heard those words from him before. “i’m sorry for being such an asshole to you. not just last week. all of it. the whole fucking time.” you pull back a little, just enough to look up at him. your face is hot and damp and your eyes are swollen and he still looks like he’s carved from stone. but his eyes are glassy. you’ve never seen him look like this before.

“toji…”

“you didn’t do anything wrong,” he says. “none of this is your fault. i just… i can’t be what you need. i don’t know how to. i never could.” you shake your head fast, “don’t say that—”

“i love you.” the words hit the air like a truck and your breath catches. he says it like it’s already killing him. like it’s always been true and he’s hated himself for it every second.

your heart stutters.

“i love you so fucking much it makes me sick,” he goes on, jaw tight. “and that’s why i can’t do this. because i’ll ruin you. because i’ll drag you down with me and you don’t deserve that.”

you start crying again.

he doesn’t try to stop you this time. he just watches, eyes dark and wrecked, like this is costing him everything. like this is what love looks like when it’s too broken to survive.

“i can’t fix it,” he says. “i wish i could. but i’m not built for the kind of love you deserve.” you don’t know what to say. your throat’s closing up. your chest is a mess of cracks and bruises. your fingers dig into his arms and he still doesn’t let go.

for a second, the world just goes still. your face pressed into his hoodie, his arms around you like armor, the ache of everything you never got to be pressing down from all sides. then you whisper, “i just wanted you.” he closes his eyes and presses his chin to the top of your head. “i know.”

and it’s not enough.

but it’s something.

you stay like that for a long time, pressed against his chest, the weight of everything between you hanging in the air. you’re not crying as hard anymore, but your breath still hitches now and then. his hand stays on the back of your head, fingers in your hair, like he can’t stop touching you even if he wanted to. finally, your voice comes out small. “what if… what if we tried?” his chest rises and falls beneath your cheek, slow and tense. you feel it before he even says anything.

“you don’t know what you’re asking,” he murmurs. “you really don’t.” you pull back just enough to look up at him again, your hands still gripping the front of his hoodie. “maybe not. but i know what i feel. i know i want you, even after everything. i don’t care how messy it is, i don’t care how broken you think you are. i just—i just want to figure it out with you.”

his jaw clenches. he looks away, breathing hard through his nose like he’s trying not to snap. “you say that now, but give it a few months. i’ll fuck it all up again. i’ll hurt you again.” you shake your head. “you don’t know that.”

“yes, i do,” he says, harsh and bitter. “that’s the one thing i do know. i’ll say the wrong thing or push you away or get jealous and do something stupid—again. and you’ll hate me. and i’ll hate myself even more.”

“then let me hate you,” you whisper. “but let me decide.” his eyes cut back to yours. you keep going, voice trembling but sure. “you’ve spent two years deciding what’s best for me. you keep saying you’re protecting me, but what if that’s not what i want? what if all this time, i just needed you to stop pushing me away?”

he stares at you like he wants to believe you but doesn’t know how. “i’m not scared of your damage,” you say. “i’m scared of not having you at all.” his throat works like he’s swallowing glass.

“please,” you whisper. “we don’t have to call it anything. we don’t have to make it perfect. i just want a chance. with you. even if it’s just a maybe.” his hands tighten on your waist. you feel the shift in him before you hear it in his voice. “what if i say yes,” he murmurs, low and rough, “and i end up destroying you anyway?”

you search his face. “then at least i’ll know i wasn’t the only one who tried.” his expression crumples for half a second—just a flicker, there and gone—but it’s enough to tell you he feels it too. all of it. the love, the fear, the impossible ache of wanting something that feels like it shouldn’t belong to you.

he leans in slowly, resting his forehead against yours. your noses brush. his breath is shaky. “a maybe,” he echoes. “that’s all i can give you.” you nod. “i’ll take it.” he lets out a breath like a war is ending inside him. and for the first time in what feels like forever, he kisses your forehead. soft. deliberate. full of everything he’s never been able to say out loud.

you close your eyes and let it sink in.

not a fix. not a solution. not a promise of forever.

just… a maybe.

and maybe that’s enough for tonight.

"toji... let's go back to my dorm, i don’t want to deal with a party right now."

you didn’t say much on the way back. your fingers were laced in his, warm and rough, grounding you in the quiet dark as the two of you walked through mostly empty sidewalks. toji kept stealing glances at you like he was checking you were still real, still here with him. your hand in his, your steps matching his pace, the silence between you strangely soothing.

he stopped you once just before you turned onto the path leading to your dorm, pulling your hand gently and making you look at him. the streetlamp above you flickered like a heartbeat, painting soft yellow light across his face. he looked like he wanted to say something but didn’t know how. he opened his mouth, paused, then just said in that low, gravel voice, “are you sure?”

you nodded before he even finished the sentence.

inside, the dorm was quiet. your roommate was gone for the weekend and the place felt hollow in a comforting way. as soon as the door shut behind you, you turned to him and he was already looking at you like you were something delicate and holy and he didn’t know if he deserved to touch you.

you stepped into his space first, gently taking his face in your hands. he leaned into your touch like he’d been starving for it, letting out a quiet breath as his forehead pressed against yours.

“you okay?” you whispered.

“not even close,” he whispered back, and then you kissed him.

it started soft, like testing the waters of something you both knew had been there for years. his lips were warm and slow against yours, his hands moving to your waist like he was scared to hold you too tightly. you pulled him closer, fingers curling into the back of his shirt, grounding yourself in the heat of his body.

toji sighed into your mouth like the weight of every regret he ever had was being lifted off his chest with every brush of your lips. he kissed you like he was saying sorry, like he was saying everything he never had the courage to speak out loud. your hands were on his chest, feeling the muscle beneath his shirt, the slow thudding of his heart that was somehow calmer now that you were touching him.

he pulled back just slightly, eyes searching yours. “you don’t have to—”

“i want to,” you said instantly, no hesitation. your thumb brushed his cheek. “i want this.”

something cracked in him. he kissed you again, deeper this time, more certain. his hands roamed up your sides, under your shirt, fingers slow and reverent. you felt like the most precious thing in the world under his touch, and god, you’d waited so long to be wanted like this by him.

you guided him to your bed. he let you, letting you crawl backwards onto the mattress as he hovered over you, eyes dark and full of something almost too intense to hold. he kissed your jaw, your neck, down your collarbone, whispering your name between each press of his lips. your shirt came off in a blur and so did his, and the feel of his skin against yours was enough to make you tremble.

“fuck,” he muttered, pressing his forehead to your chest. “you’re so—i don’t even know, i’m losing it.” you cupped his jaw and tilted his face up so you could kiss him again. “then lose it with me.”

his hands moved carefully, learning every part of you like he’d never get another chance. he took his time, like he didn’t want to miss a single detail. he traced the curve of your hip, the dip of your waist, kissed every inch of skin he uncovered like it was sacred. you felt worshipped. like he was finally letting himself feel everything he’d buried beneath all the guilt and fear and self-loathing.

you tugged him closer, wrapping your legs around his waist, gasping softly when you felt the way he pressed against you. your fingers found the waistband of his jeans and he froze just for a second, looking down at you with that broken look he’d worn since the day he realized he loved you.

“you’re sure?” he asked again, voice low and tight.

“i’ve never been more sure of anything,” you said, threading your fingers through his hair. “just… be here with me.”

his eyes dropped to your mouth like he couldn’t help it. like something in him was still resisting but not strong enough to stop what he needed. his thumb brushed your cheek, slow and reverent, and then you felt it—his breath mingling with yours, his hand sliding behind your neck like he needed to anchor himself to you, and then he kissed you.

god, he kissed you like he’d been dying to. like he was sorry and starving and scared all at once. it wasn’t rushed, it wasn’t just lust. it was deep. full-bodied. a confession sealed between parted lips and quiet moans. his hands were rough from years of training and weightlifting but the way they held your face was so gentle it made your chest ache. you wrapped your arms around his shoulders and kissed him back like he was everything. because he was.

“missed you so much,” you breathed against his mouth, barely able to get the words out between kisses. “you hurt me so bad, toji…”

he groaned into your lips like the truth pained him. “i know, baby. i know.”

his voice cracked when he said it. there was guilt in his hands, too—how they ghosted over your body like he didn’t feel worthy of touching you even now. but you weren’t going to let him float away again. not tonight.

you reached for the hem of his hoodie and tugged it up, and he let you, watching you with that dark-eyed intensity like you were unwrapping something dangerous. he didn’t stop you, not even when your fingers danced over his abs, not even when your lips trailed kisses down his chest like every part of him deserved worship. his hand came to the back of your head, gentle pressure, not to control you, just to feel you. to feel that this was real.

“can’t believe you’re real,” he murmured, like he was saying it to himself. “can’t believe you still want me after all that.” you met his eyes, then kissed over his collarbone. “don’t make me regret it.”

his mouth twitched like he almost smiled, but he couldn’t hold it. not with how shaky he felt inside. you pushed him back until his knees hit the edge of your bed and then climbed into his lap, straddling him slow, your hands finding their way into his messy black hair. he looked up at you like you were the only thing in the world he wanted to see. his hands settled on your hips and stayed there, tight enough to ground him, loose enough to let you move how you needed.

you rocked into him gently and felt the low groan vibrate through his chest as he buried his face in your neck. “fuck. you’re gonna kill me,” he whispered, voice hoarse.

“then die with me,” you whispered back, kissing the shell of his ear, “if you’re gonna be dramatic.” toji laughed under his breath, shaky and soft, and you felt something in him melt for you. he held you tighter, his forehead pressed to yours, and you both breathed each other in. this was slow. this was real. not some hazy hookup or guilt-ridden goodbye. this was you, pouring everything you had into the way you touched him, kissed him, held him. this was toji, stripped down to something raw and trembling and human beneath all his bravado.

you guided his hands under your shirt, placed them over your bare waist, your ribs, your back. he explored you like he’d never touched you before, even though he knew your body better than most. his fingers left burning trails. his mouth followed. every kiss was an apology. every gasp he pulled from you was one more promise that he’d do better, be better, love you right if you’d let him.

you tugged at the waistband of his sweats and he sucked in a sharp breath, head dropping against your shoulder. “you sure?” he asked, voice barely above a whisper.

you cupped his jaw and made him look at you. “i’ve never been more sure of anything.” his lips crushed into yours before you could say another word, and this time it was urgent. all teeth and tongue and breathless need, hands sliding over bare skin like he was trying to memorize every inch. clothes fell away one by one, carelessly discarded, and soon it was just skin against skin, heat tangled between sheets, and the weight of everything left unsaid hanging in the air around you.

he moved slow. every inch, every roll of his hips, every kiss to your throat, your chest, your stomach—it was all deliberate. no rush. just the ache of needing to feel connected. you clung to him, gasping his name, whispering how much you loved him in between moans and desperate kisses, and he gave it all back to you without saying much at all.

his mouth told you in other ways.

his hands told you in reverence.

his body told you in devotion.

you lost count of the times he made you cry out for him. lost yourself in the way his fingers gripped your thighs and how his voice broke when he told you you were perfect. he held your hand while your bodies moved together like they were made for it, pressing kisses to your palm, your wrist, your collarbone like he could kiss away all the damage he’d done.

you were shaking in his arms by the end, a mess of limbs and sweat and whispered i love yous, and he just held you, his arms strong and warm and wrapped around your body like you were something to be protected. something to be cherished. he didn’t run. he didn’t shut down. he just stayed, kissing the top of your head, whispering against your skin, pulling the blanket over your shoulders like you were the most important thing in the world.

and maybe you were.

“still scared?” you murmured sleepily, fingers tracing over the lines of his chest.

he kissed your forehead and whispered, “terrified.”

but he didn’t let go.

and neither did you.

never again would either if you slip away from each other, because this was real, this was what you two had always yearned for.

m.list!

oo i might like this better than my choso fics icl 🙁🤝 i hope you enjoyed ong i loved writing this make sure to tell me how you felt about itt 🫦

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gay-dorito-dust · 1 month ago

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More demon brained Vergil?? (The chokehold this man has on me. It's unimaginable.)

I will live and die by demon brained Vergil. Seriously this man has no clue what he’s doing when it comes to human flirting but demonic courting? This man is knowledgeable on all fronts.

Vergil bites and he scents you, his ‘mate’ or ‘partner’ for possessive and territorial purposes. This is well known enough for it to have been an inside joke, especially with how often you walked out of your shared room with almost painful bite marks upon your neck and shoulders, only to tell people that they were ‘love bites.’

but that was mainly stuff that many people got to see the aftermath and not what this man does behind closed doors.

He makes nests! Yes! Vergil makes a nest of your clothes when you leave for a mission if your a demon hunter or for work in general, he takes clothes that you had in your wardrobe and make a nest of them upon your shard bed with your pillow being the first piece to be added.

His demon side wanted to be closer to you and if he couldn’t do that with you literally, then he’d gladly use your clothes, more specifically clothes that you have worn beforehand and still held your scent and warmth, as a substitute and rub himself against them. Even going so far as to fall asleep in them becuase while he might not admit it, he did indeed miss you and will get huffy when your clothes stop smelling like you and loose your warmth.

Vergil is a clingy half demon, he knows this and doesn’t want to admit to it, but everything that you’ve ever lost place of or just thought was long gone was in this man’s possession instead. Anything that had your essence on was his by association, nobody else’s.

He’ll growl and his eyes will become even more icy blue when someone touches your stuff, getting it muddied with their ugly scent that smelt like acid to him, where as yours was sweet, unique and something that could put him at ease at a simple sniff.

Another well known one is that he purrs, growls and or chirps depending on what you were doing, it’s not like he’s actively doing it because this is all natural to him and his demonic heritage, if anything he found anything human too foreign for him since his long, long stay in hell. (I will literally never let anyone forget this fact)

So Vergil does this really unique noise just for you, it’s a noise he’s noticed that demons onto did towards their mates, something made only for them to find the other should they be at long distance from one another, letting them know that they were there and were okay. A meaning to being the two mates together and differentiate themselves from other demon mates nearby doing the same thing.

And so Vergil would make this noise, which was like a chirp and an almost howl like nose that only you would recognise and come looking for him, an act that itches his demon brain greatly, seriously if his demon tail was out it would be wagging happily at the attention of his mate recognising his sound and coming towards him.

His brain: ‘my mate is coming! They heard me! They recognise me! My mate! My beloved mate whom I’d kill and slaughter for! They’re here! Hi! Gimme kiss! Gimme kiss! Gimme my mate! MY MATE!’

Him: 😐 I’m glad you’re not hurt. Now let’s go.

Will show off his demon wings and spread them as far as they can go in order to impress you when he devil triggers, it’s adorable seeing this hulking blue demon stand before you, showing off his big ass wings in hopes of impressing you with the array of colours that went into them.

This is something he’d do pre-relationship kinda like a preening peacock but don’t be surprised when he does this when he’s your mate/partner, encouraging you to touch them and trace the patterns there.

Demon grooming! Again try imagining this blue demon combing his claws over you, preening/grooming you on the odd occasion now and then before silently asking for you to do the same for him, looking at you with those almost puppy dog like demon eyes of his.

Or just imagine Vergil straightening your clothes, making sure clothing was out of place, making sure your shoes were properly tied so you wouldn’t hurt yourself. This was his version of demon grooming outside his devil trigger by making sure you’re looking presentable before you leave the house. It’s cute watching him act so serious about removing that one stray fluff on your clothes to the point he growls in frustration, but it only him showing his care through his unique way.

#dmc x you #dmc drabble #dmc x reader #dmc imagine #dmc imagines #dmc fanfiction #devil may cry x you #devil may cry x reader #devil may cry imagine #devil may cry imagines #vergil sparda imagines #vergil sparda imagine #vergil sparda x reader #vergil imagine #vergil imagines #vergil x reader #vergil x you #vergil x y/n

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deikshen · 2 months ago

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The Shen Qingqiu who is kidnapped by Bingge in the post Bingge vs. Bingmei, then Shen Qingqiu decides: "oh, okay. You want me, you'll have me, you little shit."

And he turns into the absolute troll. He takes all he can out of being little shit on the internet, his spoiled rich kid days, scathing criticism. He even abandons the appearance of an elegant immortal master, he turns into chaos and a pain in the ass for Luo Bingge.

He gives women's liberation speeches to the harem wives, and more than half of them file for divorce, convinced that their marriages were a legal sham. He brings chaotic monsters to the inner garden saying they are harmless puppies (for Shen Qingqiu they are!!!) and spends coffers and coffers of gold paying servants to do things like learn modern songs and play them randomly in the demon court, or just spending it on little things that he's clearly getting ripped off on purpose.

He even argues with Bingge himself !! about his marital decisions, how disgusting Xin Mo is, his horrible taste in decorations, that can't solve everything with sex and blood. Strategy!!! Wasn't he at the peak of strategists for a reason!??

He also turns into a spoiled bitch. He demands extremely specific meals that must be made by Bingge, takes two bites, and (lies) that his Bingmei's meals are better. He demands to have fans made of a specific, very expensive material only to beat Bingge with them until they are ruined every time he does something Shen Qingqiu doesn't like. The finest silks in his robes, which also end up ruined when he runs through the gardens after short-haired beasts. The best jewels of the crown arrangement... For Shen Qingqiu to use to break the beads and play with them inside a cloth bag as a "stress reliever".

He intervenes in sessions of the demonic court, devastates everyone with hostile comments, humiliates and insults everyone. He's more of a bitch than cruel, slightly sinister, excessively spoiled. Ha!! As if Bingge could stand that. He'll give it back as soon as he loses enough patience!!

...

... Contrary to Shen Qingqiu's plans to completely scare away Luo Bingge, everything he does, the chaos he becomes, the headache he definitely is, only makes Luo Bingge wants him more.

When Bingmei comes to rescue him with a reforged Xin Mo and a lot of anger, Bingge comes to him and says: "How do you deal with all his whims? How do you keep him entertained without him getting bored and causing chaos? You can't really do it alone!!! I'll come with you and help to please Shizun!!!"

Bingmei has no idea what whims thing his counterpart is talking about. As Bingge further begins to tell him (with absolute fascination) all the things that kind Shizun has done, how he has behaved... Oh boy, Bingmei is SO jealous!!

How come he hasn't had the chance to see him like this!? How his Shizun, his beloved, doesn't allow him to see that side of him!?

And Bingge, that awful, shitty imposter!!! That enormous privilege of spoiled Shizun only should be his!!! Bingmei takes a deep breath, and, determined to make a deal with the devil if necessary, decides he needs to see his Shizun be a brat.

... Then maybe he can act a little like... Bingge. Just for a little while. Just to watch Shizun like this until he realizes he would come to rescue him. Bingge allows him to pretend to be himself on the condition that Bingmei allows him to visit their Shizun in their own world... Just to spoil him.

Bingmei chews over the option and reluctantly accepts it, as long as he doesn't try to kiss or touch his Shizun ("without his consent" Bingge insists. "If Shizun asks for it, this one will do it.")

So, Bingmei just... behaves like Bingge. He wears half gloves to hide the scar on his hand, and approaches Shizun only to be treated like a little shit, mocked, criticized and watch Shizun run after a wild thunder bird of prey, offering... Rats? Shizun is holding dead rats with his bare hands!? Walking barefoot on the grass!? And he is so free, so loose, so little from the distant immortal master that Bingmei has to escape so as not to fall on his knees, hug him and cry.

He'll definitely make his Shizun feel that free with him too, damn imposter who somehow got there first!!! And Bingge just watches him collapse, gives him a pat on the back and a look that is, simply and foolishly, his own.

Obsessed with Shizun. Adoring him. Wanting to please him. Wanting to fulfill his whims, allowing him everything, accepting everything for him. His word is law and his decision is truth. If Shizun strikes, it's a pleasure; if Shizun insults, it's a gift. Because Shizun also can't help being sweet, kind, concerned, and because they've both fallen so hard that Bingmei can't even get angry. Which version of him wouldn't fall to his Shizun, is the real question?

They'll spoil Shizun. And Bingmei will find a way for his Shizun to be that free even with him. And he will get that!! No matter what he has to do about it! Even if he has to keep pretending to be the imposter Bingge until he learn what made Shizun break free so much, he'll have the freedom from Shizun to be as critical and spoiled as he deserves!!!

#svsss #svsss au #svsss ideas #bingqiu #luo binghe #shen qingqiu #original luo binghe #scum villain self saving system #post bingge vs bingmei #the kidnapped shen qingqiu (for a silly bingge)#bingge and bingmei sharing having been wifebeamed by shen qingqiu #shen qingqiu is just being a spoiled brat #to irritate and annoy #and ends up conquering two great m #poor shizun he doesn't know what's coming #bingge and bingmei working together for the greater good #(the greater good: spoil shizun)#possible polyamory? we'll see

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kasagia · 1 year ago

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Right hand

Pairing: Na-Baron Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen x fem!exBeneGesserit! reader Summary: You were his right-hand (wo)man after he saw you in combat during your training on the Bene Gesserit. He freed you from them and turned you from a Bene Gesserit into a faithful soldier who took care of all his dirty business. Getting rid of the bodies of the people he killed, organising opponents for him to fight, poor people on whom he could vent his anger and desire for bloodshed, or even concubines. You were his eyes and ears in the baron's court. You reported everything to him, being more effective than any Bene Gesserit. But he wants more... much more. Warning: 18+; violence; blood; Feyd Rautha; death; fight; brutality; smut; bathing together; dagger play; breeding kink? I guess; a lot things happening; my first time for Feyd so I'm a little nervous😅; enjoy!; Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen's Masterlist ~•♤♤♤•~ Main Masterlist ~•♤♤♤•~ PART II ~•♤♤♤•~

It wasn't your choice to undergo Bene Gesserit training. Your mother abandoned you when you were a little baby and took you to these terrible women, leaving you to their mercy.

You hated them. Their entire organisation, which included planned breeding, aimed at creating the Kwisatz Haderach. To you, these women were a sick cult that you were reluctant to be a part of. You trembled with fear, thinking of the day when they would send you to extend the genetic line of a nobel family by lending your womb or to ensure that their plans succeeded.

However, you realised that you had little say in the matter. The Bene Gesserit would find you anywhere if you tried to run and hide. You were doomed to follow the orders of your crazy old reverend mother and wait in fear for the day when you could prove your usefulness.

But one day, you crossed paths with Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen. And for a very long time, you considered it a real gift from fate. The first happy turn of events in your tragic life.

He was on a diplomatic mission. He was being shown around by the princess of your planet, and they happened to be attending the training of the Bene Gesserit sisters. You immediately caught his attention. Your movements were smoother, full of the passion of a true warrior. You charmed him so much that, at first, he thought you had put a spell on him. After seeing your potential and your obvious dislike for your sisters, he took you with him to Giedi Prime.

He faked your death so the Bene Gesserit sisters wouldn't come looking for you. He made you his right hand, his most trusted soldier. It was only after years of service under the Na-Baron that you realised that you had entered a much worse hell than any plans the Bene Gesserit had for you.

Feyd Rautha was supposed to be your personal devil. But first, you saw him as your saviour.

An animalistic, bloodthirsty scream resounds throughout the na-baron's private training room as his 'toy' falls dead under the blow she received from the furious man. You enter the room just as Feyd pierces him with his sword, causing drops of blood to land on your face.

You wipe them away, undeterred by the na-baron's brutality. Years of service had accustomed you to all the acts of cruelty he was capable of. At least this time, the dead man's entrails didn't spill around him. You hated calling his harpies to the feast. Despite so many years spent at the side of the baron's favourite nephew, you never got used to his concubines. They made you feel strangely uneasy.

"My lord, na-baron." You say, announcing your presence. Feyd breathes heavily and shifts his mad, furious gaze to you, not noticing your entrance until you speak.

You walk past the body, avoiding the pool of blood, and hand him a towel. He takes it from you without a word, wiping the sweat and blood from his head, chest, and back. You ignore his exposed muscles and kneel next to the man on whom he took out his anger, preparing to carry him out of the room before the next opponent/toy shows up.

"You were right. That old fool entrusted Arrakis to my brother. He will embarrass our family in one day. Ha! Even half is enough for him! This wretch doesn't know how to manage a small province, let alone an entire planet with fremen ready to attack at any corner." He says, rubbing himself furiously. He throws a towel into the corner of the room and walks to the table to pour himself something to drink.

"He gives him a chance to prove himself. When he wastes it, you will get it and prove to the baron and the lords that you are rightfully entitled to the title of baron." You say, securing the body so the guards at the door can carry it out.

"Every fool knows that. It's obvious that I'm a better choice than this scoundrel, who will sell the secrets of our family and swear allegiance to anyone who threatens his life. Baron throws a party in his honor. To the success of his mission. He's just doing it to piss me off. He doesn't give a damn about Rabban or whether he succeeds. This is just another of his tests on me. That's why you're coming with me. I've already sent for a dress for you." You look up at him with your surprised gaze. You're even more shocked when he reaches out his hand to help you up—something you didn't expect from him in his white, burning rage state.

"A dress?" You ask, taking his hand. You hold your breath, keeping yourself from gasping, as he lifts you off the floor with one strong pull. Unprepared, you bump completely onto his chest, not being able to keep your balance.

You freeze at the feeling of his muscled body close to yours. You can feel his heart pounding in his chest from the adrenaline he felt while killing this poor man. You tense up, seeing his icy-blue eyes already staring at yours. He starts giggling darkly as he presses you tighter against him so you can feel every muscle of his.

"Is there a problem? Would you prefer to come naked? I wouldn't mind, but…”

"I'm simply surprised that you want me there officially. I usually sneak there. I watch from the shadows. Well, you know." You interrupt me before he can insinuate anything, and with his silent permission, you move a decent distance away from him, leaving his arms.

You always had to be careful when making moves like this. You saw how he punished for minor offences, just for breathing. And you didn't run away from the Bene Gesserit with him to lose your life because of one of his… impulses. Although he has never put you in any serious danger, which was strangly amazing, since all of the servants who worked for him (and are still alive) have experienced his wrath on their bodies at least once.

"I know. But this time, I need you by my side. Not in hiding. My birthday is coming up—the most important of them all. I want to know what my uncle will come up with. Maybe you can find out something from the Lords. Besides, why wouldn't I want to have such beauty on my arm?"

"You want a woman by your side so you can humiliate your brother before he leaves? Perpetuate in him a sense of belief that you are superior, even if you don't have power over Arrakis right now?"

You see his hands tighten on his blades. You purse your lips, realising you were too quick to question his intentions. Basic mistake. You shouldn't have tested the waters when you knew Feyd was already on the end of his patience.

He takes a step towards you, entering your personal space. You swallow and lift your head to meet his gaze. This wasn't the first time he had intimidated you, tested you, carefully gauged your reaction, and waited until he finally saw the fear in your eyes. But you never gave him that satisfaction. If the Bene Gesserit taught you anything, it was that fear was weakness. A weakness you could tame... at least enough not to show it to anyone else.

So you endure his piercing, burning gaze with indifference. You stay like that even after a small smirk starts to appear on his face. You wonder how many people before you saw that smirk and stared into those night-black eyes on Giedi Prime as they passed from this world.

"That pink little tongue of yours will get you into trouble one day, my little witch." He purrs, his tone low and dangerous. He reaches up to your face with his free hand and gently runs his hand through your hair, caressing your cheek and jaw with the pad of his thumb. "Possible. I'm a na-baron... don't I deserve the best?" He looks defiantly at you, throwing you the proverbial gauntlet. He's waiting for you to stumble. For open defiance of his order.

You don't understand why, but he's been acting like this more and more lately. He made ambiguous comments, carefully watching your reaction. It was something new—a change in his behaviour that you hadn't figured out the reason for yet. But you had too much on your mind to think about it any longer.

"I can prepare you a beautiful concubine perfect for Giedi Prime standards." You suggest at which he shakes his head, laughing hoarsely. He turns his back to you and pours himself another glass of water.

"It's not necessary. I want you. Go and get ready. I'll join you in two hours when I'm done here." He says just as the door opens to reveal the soldiers you called for to take the body away and who have brought him a new drugged opponent. Feyd licks his lips, flips the blade up, and catches it, making a little show before lunging at his toy.

"As you wish, my na-baron." You say before leaving him to get ready for the party. Another warrior's scream echoes off the walls of the chamber as Feyd unleashes his anger on him.

You scan the room carefully, standing with your glass against the wall in a more crowded part of the room. You try your best to blend in with the crowd, but with your hair down, it's not that easy. Even if you try to cover your hair, you can feel people's curious gazes on you. But the worst ones are the burning gazes of the lords on you, some of them too lustful to be able to feel comfortable.

If you could, you would hide in the shadows, as usual, and observe them without being the centre of attention. You felt like a monkey in a circus or an exotic animal at an exhibition. The cold hand on your shoulder reminds you why you can't do this. You turn around to once again meet the na-baron's intense gaze today.

"You look good." He says as his eyes carefully scan the black latex dress with cutouts on the sides that reach down to your hipbones. "But I don't remember having that metal corset disguised as armour and that ridiculous chain veil sent to you along with the dress."

"I almost mistook this rag for a nightgown. I had to wear something on it. They think I'm your whore anyway; we don't have to prove it to them." You respond to his taunt and turn towards him. He is wearing black, formal armour, which is perfect as an official outfit.

"Do you find it scandalous to be my whore, little witch? Maybe even disgusting?" You meet his gaze to roll your eyes at him, at which he chuckles, wrapping his arms around your waist. You don't like this closeness, but there's nothing you can do to push his hand off of you. You are in public. Such a gesture towards him would be equivalent to a death sentence.

"I see nothing... honourable or good in being anyone's whore, my na-baron." You say, gently moving away from him so as not to lean on him as much.

"Have you seen anything noteworthy?" He asks, unfazed by your trying to move away from him. He pulls you up, wrapping his arms around your waist tighter and making your back rest against his chest. His fingertips brush against the exposed skin, caressing your hipbone.

You frown, turning your head to look at him. He's never been so... clingy before. He always respected your personal space and never touched you. You blame it on his desire to tease his brother, who is staring at you intently from across the room, and you shift your gaze to the people present at the party.

"Several lords congratulated your brother. However, there are rumours and beliefs that he will not be up to the task. Some also believe that you will slit his throat before his ship leaves for Arrakis."

"This idea crossed my mind. If you hadn't brought this information to me earlier, you would probably have had to deal with making the public believe in his… tragic and sudden death from natural causes."

"Natural causes; I wish I could see that." You scoff, finishing your drink. You turn around, leaving his arms, and set your glass down on the table. When you turn to him again, he holds out his hand for you to take.

"You'll see if you don't entertain me. I'm bored, and looking at this smug idiot isn't helping my patience or my ability to restrain myself. Dance with me, my little witch."

"You're interrupting my work." You complain, taking his hand. He leads you to the dance floor and spins you around, pulling you tight against his chest. He holds you close to him, perfectly placing his steps and moving to the beat of the music. He is as fluid in dancing as he is in fighting. Flawless as always.

"I'm your work. You are my right hand; you meet all my needs. I don't think I need to remind you of that, do I?" He asks in challenge, taking your chin between his two fingers as he looks at you carefully. You only smile at him in a sweet, artificial way. He laughs, fully aware of how fake this act is, and drops your chin.

Over the years, you discovered that he liked it when you teased him and responded to his taunts with your own. Of course, only when no one could hear it, and not very often. He had a reputation to uphold. He couldn't afford for anyone to see his right-hand (wo)man mocking him. Unbeknownst to you, he found it adorable the way your eyes lit up whenever you did something mischievous.

"Of course not, my na-baron."

"Good." He nods at your words. He takes his eyes off you for a moment and focuses on something behind your shoulder. He leans down, his cheek brushing against yours. You shiver at the sudden closeness, his scent becoming more distinct as you inhale it wholeheartedly. It's captivating. Sweet. Intoxicating. Dangerous. Just like him. "Do you have your daggers?" His hot whisper reaches your ear. He's so close, you can almost feel his full lips brush against your earlobe.

"Yes, why?" You ask, perfectly masking the tremble in your voice. But you doubt whether you can hide from him how your heartbeat speeds up. You blame it on the adrenaline rush. Not fear caused by his proximity.

"It seems to me that you will soon have to prove to these imbeciles once again why I chose you to be my right-hand man." He explains as the song ends.

You feel him reluctantly release you from his embrace and take a step away from you. You turn around and see his brother walking towards you, his right hand following him, giving you a mischievous look and a lecherous, mocking smile when he sees your outfit. You straighten up, lifting your head proudly at the man in a similar position to yours. The difference between you was that you served the stronger Harkonnen. It would give you an inviolably higher position if, like them, you had a penis between your legs.

"Brother. You finally brought your pet to play with us." Rabban says, nodding to his brother. You feel a wave of disgust as his gaze lingers on you longer.

Feyd tenses, furious, as his brother's eyes are all on you. You wouldn't have noticed if his hand hadn't been on your hip bone a moment later, hiding some of your exposed skin from his brother's eyes. You wonder what his problem might be. After all, he chose this dress for you by himself.

"Be careful. She doesn't have a muzzle. I would prefer that no harm come to you before you go to Arrakis. She's got some pretty... sharp teeth." He says it condescendingly, pulling you closer to him. In a perfect world, you'd kick them both in the groin. Unfortunately, you don't have that luxury. You can only imagine putting these two pseudo-alpha males in their place. But how sweet these dreams are...

"What about a small competition? My man against yours? Let's see what this mysterious beauty that you keep hidden can really do." Rabban's right-hand man gives you a cocky, confident look. He plays with the dagger in his hand, making a poor show that was intended to intimidate you. You roll your eyes behind your metal chain veil and shift your gaze to Feyd. You are only subject to his orders. Not some weak, pathetic creatures.

"This party is already dead. Do you want to kill also YOUR pet?" Feyd mocks him, and you almost break your unflappable, emotionless attitude, barely holding back your laughter. Na-baron sees this and smiles to himself, rubbing circles with the pad of his thumb on your hipbone.

"Are you afraid that she won't heat your bed anymore?" Feyd narrows his eyes at him. You feel his fingertips dig painfully into your hip as he tries to keep himself from lunging at his brother with the blade. You know full well that the eyes of the lords, the baron, and most of the people at the party are turned towards you.

"I have no doubt whatsoever about the outcome of this little skirmish. She will just sweat unnecessarily. And I would rather have her in full strength tonight." He says it in a mocking tone, shifting his gaze towards you. He licks his lips and tightens his grip to make his lewd intentions towards you clear to the two men.

Despite his famous reputation, he never touched you. Giedi Prime society might have thought otherwise, but in the years you had served as his right-hand man, he had never once taken you to bed or had you entertain him at night. You appreciated it immensely, which is why you accepted such behaviour from him without batting an eyelid whenever you were in public. It was all a game to maintain the reputation he had built over the years. Or so you thought.

"Feyd, boy, release your pet. Let her entertain us." The baron's words interrupt any skirmish that might have developed between the brothers.

It was not uncommon at Giedi Prime parties for soldiers to fight against each other to entertain the crowd. You just didn't think that you would have to fight someone during your first official arrival at the party. Although you should have anticipated such an unexpected turn of events. The baron and Rabban would not miss the opportunity to find out how much you were really worth and why Feyd, out of all the talented soldiers, chose the Bene Gesserit as his right-hand man.

You send a quick glance at Feyd. He gives you a small nod, so you bow to the baron and prepare to fight. The crowd around you parts to form a circle. You feel people's excitement as you flip the metal chains from your face to your hair, revealing more of your face. You wrap the shawl around your hair, tying it tighter and making sure it won't get in the way of your fight.

You look at your opponent, who is also preparing, trying to spot any of his weak points before the fight even begins. Rabban says something in his ear, which causes the manly smile to grow. Feyd stands in front of you, blocking your view of them. You look into his steel blue eyes as he leans towards you.

"Don't hold back." He whispers in your ear, handing you his blade. "And finish it quickly. We have other things to do."

You nod at him. He walks away from you, sending a mocking smirk at your opponent. He spreads his arms, taking a few steps back, as if inviting him to try his hand at you. You feel the burning gaze of his eyes on your back as you position yourself in front of the man.

"Don't worry, witch. If I win, I won't kill you. It's a shame to waste such a pretty face. I wonder if you're as good as the rumours say. Your pussy must be good to keep the na-baron entertained for so long." He says, waiting for you to activate your shield. But you don't do this. You want to completely humiliate him and give everyone in the room a clear message about your power and that you didn't secure your place just by having a pretty face. The crowd cheers, but you think you can hear Feyd growl furiously amidst the shouts of approval.

"I doubt you'll have the chance to find out." You say, and without waiting for his next words, you attack.

After the first few attacks, you figure out his tactics. He is physically strong, it's true, but that's his only advantage. It attacks you in a learned way, repeating its patterns. You read him quickly and position yourself to use his strength and mass against him. You could have walked up to him a long time ago and slit his throat, but you know it would be much better if you had some fun with him. You will show that you have complete control over the course of this fight.

You dodge the man's punches, and after a few minutes, you quickly get bored when you once again manage to kick him and send him to his knees. You take advantage of the moment he gets up from the floor to glance at your na-baron. Feyd doesn't look happy with your introduction. Of course, you see his interested look and how he appreciates your skills, but he doesn't look at you like he usually does. He doesn't wait with bated breath for your next move, like the crowd around you does. You can tell from his face that he wants you to finish this as soon as possible. You frown, surprised that he of all people doesn't enjoy watching the fight. You wonder what the hell is wrong with him.

Your moment of inattention is, of course, immediately exploited by your opponent. You manage to fend off the man's blade, but not his kick, which sends you landing on your butt on the floor. You feel rage more than pain; you only see red when you hear the cocky laugh of the man you are fighting with. You're so focused on driving the blade into his body that you don't notice Feyd's angry look, the murder in his eyes, and the desire to rip your opponent apart with his own hands as you fall to the floor. And you certainly don't see the trembling of his hand, as he instinctively wanted to grab you and pull you safely behind him.

You strike once, quickly driving the blade into the man's stomach and leaving it there. You push him to his knees, push away the hand that holds the sword, and reach for the dagger hidden in the sleeve of your dress. You strike a second time, piercing his shoulder. You stick the second dagger into his hand and knock the weapon out of his hand, taking it from him. You grab the man's throat in a tight grip and tilt his head back. You lean over him, a mocking smirk on your face as he struggles to breathe.

"I didn't even take off my high heels." You mocked him as you slit his throat.

You smile victoriously as you decapitate him. His head rolls at your feet, blood splattering your dress and face as you breathe heavily. You sigh, feeling your heart pound in your chest, as you bow to the crowd surrounding you as they shout and applaud you. Out of the corner of your eye, you see Rabban's sour, angry expression. You kick the head of his right hand towards him and give him a small smirk. You stand upright as you meet the eyes of your na-baron.

And then you saw it. Hunger in his eyes. Pure lust and desire, as his pupils were wide and solemnly focused on you.

You knew that gaze. He only looked like that at things he really wanted. Only his favourite concubines got THAT look from him or a beautiful, precisely made weapon that fit perfectly in his hands. Usually he had that look in his eyes right after the great battle he won. He would lock himself with his concubines and then spend long hours in his chambers, giving himself completely to his primal instincts.

You shiver as he walks towards you, ignoring anything else in the room. He grabs you tightly by the throat, and, to the delight of the drunken crowd who are screaming madly with excitement after the show you had made, he kisses you.

It is hard, hungry, and passionate. His hand completely removes the metal chains and shawl that were covering your head, and he pulls you to him as close as possible. His grip on your hair and throat is tight as he demands that your mouth be opened for him by biting your lower lip. You moan involuntarily, causing his tongue to slip into your mouth, as he is exploring new territory with a zeal you've never seen from him.

He pulls away from you when you're completely out of breath. Your vision is blurry, your heart is pounding from the adrenaline of the fight, and you can only stare at him stupidly and blankly while trying to understand what just happened.

Your eyes widen as he licks his lips, lust still burning in his eyes as he takes in your panting form and swollen, red lips. A trickle of blood drips from your mouth after he bit into it a few minutes ago. As you taste your blood on your tongue, you realise the terrifying truth.

Feyd Rautha Harkonnen desired you.

Feyd strokes your neck, which is still in his tight grip. His eyes travel from your lips to your neck, to your collarbones, to the valley of your breasts, and to your hips, which were starting to bruise from how tightly he held them in the moments before your fight. Suddenly, everything starts to fall into place for you. His strange, unusual behaviour, the flirtatious comments, the long stares, and his more frequent attempts to hold you close to him and touch your exposed skin are starting to make sense.

You were screwed.

Completely and utterly fucked up.

You've been avoiding him since that night. More than any Reverend Mother or Bene Gesserit. Which was a very difficult task, considering how many things you had to do as his right hand.

But, luckily, you managed to avoid being alone with him. Of course, it couldn't last long. You knew him very well, and you knew that eventually he would try something and come for you. But you tried to deceive yourself by living the lie that his desire would pass and his concubines would effectively take care of him.

If he noticed your attempts to stay away from him, he never mentioned it. Of course, he chased after you when he saw you walking alone down the hall, but you never gave him a chance to catch up with you. He may have grown up here, but you knew the palace like the back of your hand. And all the nooks and crannies you could hide in from him.

So you actually managed not to get close to him for a very long time. Until it was time to train a unit of soldiers directly subordinate to him.

"Y/N!!!" You're sure all of Giedi Prime could have heard his scream. You sigh, calming down as you continue your walk to the arena. You step out into the black sun, carefully watching the men training. You walk up to him and bow to him.

"My lord na-baron." You say it politely, unfazed by the fact that he's practically seething with rage. You were more used to dealing with him like this than when he was horny... or worse, kind. You would turn on your shield if you knew it wouldn't make him fall over the edge and start murdering everyone he could.

"Take your blade. None of these piles of useless muscles know basic defensive moves. Look, you all! You have to learn this by the end of the day, or next time you will enter this arena as my opponent!" He walks over to one of them, probably to either stab him or adjust his position, leaving you to get ready. You tie your hair up so it doesn't bother you during a fight and choose your blade.

You gasp in surprise when you are suddenly pushed. You turn around quickly, trying to keep your balance as you face the na-baron. You move your hand to activate your shield, but his voice stops you:

"Don't. I have to show them how to do it. No shield." You know he's lying, and that's not why he doesn't want you to turn on your shield, but you don't say anything. You just nod and prepare to get into a defensive position.

He attacks you quickly. Very quickly. You've trained with him before, and you have to admit, he's never been this… brutal with you.

You go through different positions with him until you finally stop following the textbook fighting patterns and start fighting seriously. You keep up with his movements for a long time, blocking his blade with yours and dodging attacks that you have no physical ability to block, but he keeps pressing against you, not letting you rest or trying to return the favour with one of your attacks.

You gasp in surprise when he trips you, sending you to the ground. You block his swing at you with your blade and kneel in the sand, trying to get up, but he's pressing too hard against you with his sword for you to move. You use all your strength to push him away from you. Feyd growls, throwing his sword aside, and simply lunges at you. You're too shocked to do anything as he snatches the blade from your hand and sits on top of you.

You fight him, sending both of you rolling in the sand. Eventually, he gets impatient and wraps his hand around your throat. You take a hoarse breath as he blocks your airway. You grab his hand around your neck and try to pull it away. You dig your nails into his palm, but he remains unmoved, pinning you to the sand.

He leans closer to you, and you take the opportunity to wrap your hand around his neck. He laughs, showing you his black teeth as he practically lays on top of you. His erection presses hard against your thigh as he grinds against you, grunting as he too begins to feel the need for air... and something more. You see black spots in front of your eyes, and you feel tears welling up in your eyes as you struggle to breathe.

You let go of his neck completely, your hand falling next to your head, and you desperately try to use the remaining air to try and use your Bene Gesserit voice on him. But before you try to say anything, he loosens his grip so you can breathe, but his fingers are still lightly holding your neck.

Too busy breathing, you don't notice how he tilts his face towards you. Only when you feel his tongue on your neck do you realise how close he is to you. You freeze when he runs his tongue from your neck, from jaw to cheek, to taste your tears. You hear him moan softly. To confirm that your brain, stunned by lack of oxygen, didn't make it all up on its own, he rubs against you, and his hardness in his pants is clearly felt by you.

You just fucking hope he doesn't fuck you in front of those soldiers.

You meet his black eyes with yours. You shiver as he leans in, his bare chest pressed completely against you as he whispers into your ear.

"Damn you, witch... if you taste as sweet as your tears..." He growls. You feel dizzy, and you're not sure if it's because of the heat of the moment, the fact that he cut you off from oxygen for a while, or because you're overwhelmed by his scent and the warmth that radiates from the two of you.

You thank whoever is above you as he finally pulls away from you and stands up. He gives you his hand and helps you stand on your two feet. The soldiers obediently look at the ground, not daring to face the na-baron's gaze. You swallow hard, pulling your hand from his grasp.

Feyd barks orders at them, herding them back to training. You breathe a sigh of relief when he stops paying attention to you. You use your shawl to wipe his saliva and your sweat from your neck. You take your blade and are about to leave the arena to do the rest of your duties. But a tight grip on your wrist stops you. You tense up and turn around to face him again.

"Y/N." He murmurs, watching you carefully. You're sure that bruises are starting to appear on your neck from his tight squeeze. "Come to my chambers tonight." A cold shiver runs through you, but all you can do is nod and watch his retreating figure as he leaves to continue the training.

You hoped he didn't mean what you thought he meant by that... invitation. Otherwise, this could be your last night on Giedi Prime or the last night of your life. You're not sure yet.

For the first time, you feel fear as you walk to his chambers. He had called for you at such times before, but it never occurred to you that he wanted to do with you something else than discuss with you matters that were related to the Giedi Prime Court, the baron's plans, or other political matters and plots.

You shudder, wondering what might be waiting behind that door. You saw the condition in which some of his concubines left him. You didn't want to become one of them; you didn't want to be reduced to being his lover. It was fine as it was. You felt very good as his shadow, ears, and eyes. You liked conspiring together with him, making plans, and that hrill each time you managed to take down the enemies that were standing in your way. He was supposed to be your savior, not your persecutor. Were you that naive from the beginning, or has everything started going to shit recently?

The guards let you through without saying a word. With your heart pounding, you enter his chambers.

He's sitting on the bed. His harpies finish taking off his clothes, and at first you want to back away, but as soon as his gaze meets yours, you freeze. Feyd snaps at one of them. She hands him a glass of his wine while the others look at you furiously.

"Leave." He tells them, never taking his eyes off you. The women look at each other, not wanting to leave him, especially leave him alone with you. You guess that if it weren't for Feyd's presence, they would have attacked you long ago, trying to eat you before their master got a chance to touch you. Disgust arouses in you as you think that you may be soon reduced to their role and turned into one of them. "I said something." He growls at them, shifting his gaze from you to give them an angry glare.

The harpies are going out obediently, but they are not wasting an opportunity to hiss at you as they pass you to get to the exit. You hear one of them scream in pain as Feyd suddenly throws a knife at them right before they close the door behind them.

You were more used to his brutal reflexes than to his tender gestures. You actually preferred him being aggressive more. At least you could have predicted his movement. That's why you didn't even blink when he threw a blade at his pets.

"You wanted to see me." You start when you are alone. If you could impress him with anything other than your fighting skills and the ability to obtain various information by staying in the shadows, it would be that you never showed fear or insecurity. At least not to those who don't know you. Almost no one could read you. Almost.

However, Feyd saw that you were behaving differently. But he was tired of controlling himself around you. He couldn't do it anymore after tasting your lips, tasting your skin mixed with tears, and feeling your curves press against him. He wanted more. Much more than he ever got from you. And he was going to take it, whether you wanted it or not. He won't go crazy with lust for you... or at least not with as much longing for you each night as he used to.

"I did..." He stands up, and you're grateful he's at least wearing underwear as he walks over to his bar and pours a second glass of wine. He hands it to you and taps it with his own. He takes a few sips and looks at you. After a while, he sits down on his bed again and swirls his glass, playing with the remains of the wine. "Baron wants me to find a wife." He announces calmly, staring at you intently as he finishes his wine with one big sip.

You almost choke on your drink. You place your glass on the table and meet the careful gaze of his cold, blue eyes. You feel yourself starting to get hot with nerves.

"I beg you pardon?" You ask, still reeling from the shock of this sudden information.

"He wants me to find a broodmare who will bear my heirs since I am getting close to the appropriate age." He repeats, standing up gracefully. He approaches you, his steps slow and measured, as if he were approaching his prey in an arena. And for a moment, that's exactly how you feel. But you show no fear or any other emotion as he stops a few inches in front of you. You straighten up, your muscles tensing as you think about any answer.

"I… I can make the necessary preparations and check which high families…"

"Strip." He orders you. His tone is hoarse, leaving no room for any objection. He talks just as if he were asking you to pass him the dagger rather than to stand naked in front of him. As if it was an order he carried out every day and something you should be used to following.

"What?" You ask stupidly, unable to process what he said to you in your head.

"Have you gone deaf? Undress. Take your clothes off." He repeats mockingly. He crosses his arms, takes a few steps back, and leans against the wooden post of his bed as he watches you carefully, waiting for you to either obey his order or openly disobey him, giving him the opportunity to punish you... as if he even needed a reason to do so.

"My na-baron, I..."

"Exactly, Y/N. I am your na-baron. So follow my order. Now. I'm not in the mood for our games. You think I haven't noticed you've been playing hide-and-seek lately? I have given much worse punishments for such disobedience and attempts at self-indulgence. Take your clothes off, or I'll rip them from you."

For a moment, there is a deathly silence in his chambers. Only your breathing can be heard as you try to find any way out of this situation. But you can't think of anything. Your mind is empty, your hands are shaking a little, and all you can do is look at him, silently begging him to change his mind. A frown of impatience appears on his forehead, and you know you have to do something before he gets irritated and cuts you with one of his blades.

You sigh softly as you reach for the laces of your shirt. You take your time, slowly untying your bindings. Feyd devours every bit of skin you expose to him, and you swear you hear him hold his breath as your shirt lands on the floor. You get out of your shoes and socks very slowly.

Luckily, he doesn't comment on it and lets you get out of his clothes at your own pace. He knows he will win anyway. Tonight, he will finally stop playing cat and mouse with you and put his hands on what is rightfully his. So he savours every moment, making a plan in his head for what he will do to you tonight for this small act of rebellion.

He licks his lips as you stand in front of him in nothing but black underwear. His eyes take in your every curve, skin lesions, and scars that mark your warrior body. Oh yes. He was going to enjoy this night and finally unwrap his early birthday present.

"Good girl. You know where the bathroom is, right?" Without waiting for your response, he goes there, expecting you to follow him.

You swallow hard. You're glad that at least you managed to stay in your underwear and that you're not completely naked in front of him. You get out of your pile of clothes and leisurely follow him to the bathroom.

As soon as you enter, the door closes itself behind you. You sigh, the sweet smell of bath salts reaching your nostrils. But you don't feel so relaxed when the coolness of the bathroom and the black marble you stand barefoot on make you shiver and your nipples harden.

The na-baron's dark chuckle catches your attention. He's in a large, black bathtub, his hands resting on its edges as he enjoys the warm water, watching you closely, a spark of amusement shining in his icy blue eyes. He looks like a vulture waiting for the best moment to kill his prey.

"It had been a long day. Join me." He says, lifting his hand for you to take and step into the tub.

Having no choice, you obediently reach for his hand and release it as quickly as you can, sitting on the other side of the bathtub with your legs tucked under you so as not to accidentally touch him. He laughs, shaking his head in amusement.

"Not so far, my little mouse. Closer. I won't bite… well, not yet."

"I'm not a mouse." You snap at him. If you're going to die, at least die with dignity. Blinded by your anger at him, you sit on his lap before you can think it through. It's only his hardness pressing against your ass that makes you realize what a mistake you've made. You don't show your discomfort, though; you even lean against his chest, letting your head rest on his shoulder.

He laughs softly, wrapping his arms around you just as the skin of your back meets his chest. You feel like you're in a cage, even though he's trying to calm you down by lazily drawing patterns on the skin of your arms. Your underwear soaks up the water and sticks to you, making you feel even more uncomfortable.

"Hand me my dagger."

You much prefer receiving such orders from him. You get up from the bathtub to get away from him for a moment, but he stops you by grabbing your hips tightly. He shakes his head and nods towards the dagger, which is literally at his fingertips. You bite your lip, keeping yourself from talking back at him, and reach for the weapon, handing it to him. You do this carefully, not wanting to cut the skin of your fingertips with the very sharp blade.

He cuts through the fabric of your bra with surgical grace. You gasp in outrage but don't move, knowing full well that you are only millimetres away from him taking your blood. You don't have to turn around to know he's smiling cockily as he traces the tip of his dagger across your skin to your panties.

"You know I can take it off by myself?" You ask as he traces patterns with the tip of his dagger on your stomach, around your navel. You hold your breath as he rests his chin on your shoulder and pulls you closer to him, rubbing against your still-clothed ass. You learn the hard way that the rumours about his... greatness were true.

"You had your chance at the beginning, now it's my turn. You're lucky that I'm not taking it off of you with my teeth anyway." He growls in your ear. You shiver as he presses a wet kiss on your shoulder, peppering kisses on your skin, down to your neck, and down to your jawbone before he rests his chin on your shoulder again.

"Sorry for interrupting your fun, my na-baron." You growl as he hooks the tip of his dagger against the fabric of your panties.

"No worries; you will compensate me in another way." He says, cutting your panties. He throws them behind him and lazily presses the dagger against your jawbone, forcing you to turn your head to look at him.

You meet his blue eyes with yours. His irises are practically non-existent, giving way entirely to his dilated, black pupils. He stares at you hungrily, licking his lips. He looks lost and indecisive, as if he didn't know what to do first.

His other hand, the one not holding the dagger pressed against your neck and jaw, explores your body, caressing your skin as if it were some kind of precious silk. You sigh as he cups your breast, which, of course, fits perfectly in his hand. You want to punch him in the face, but the dagger at your throat reminds you that one wrong move could cost you dearly. So you take his hand in yours instead, stopping him from over-exploring.

"You know... I tried to stay away from you. From the first moment I saw you... fighting with those daggers of yours... you're not as graceful in dancing as you are with them in your hands, taking down all your enemies. But you are Bene Gesserit. I know you're dangerous. So damn dangerous... if I were anyone else, you'd use your voice on me and tell me to castrate myself. Or you could make me magically disappear by throwing myself off some tall tower just because I thwarted your plans or looked at you wrong. Surprised? You may live in the shadows, my little witch, but I won't miss anything you do. You know I have trouble controlling myself... so how can I do that when you're so damn irresistible? The fact that I've endured all these years and not gotten close to you the way I wanted—the way I dreamed so many times at night—is quite a success, don't you think?"

He massages your breast, playing with it. You bite your lip, holding back a moan as he pinches your nipple. He leans closer to you, pressing his nose against your neck and inhaling your scent deeply. He removes his hand from your breast and moves your connected body along your body. You gasp, tightening your grip on his as he brushes your clit gently with his fingertip.

"I… I should go." You mumble, squirming in his grip, which is, of course, pointless and only makes him groan in pleasure as your ass rubs against his hard, leaking member.

"Stay. You won't oppose your na-baron, will you?" The bastard knows well that you won't openly oppose him, and he uses it as best he can. He moves your joined hands to his length, forcing you to wrap your hand around him. He hisses, pressing the blade closer to your throat and tightening his grip on your hand as he guides yours along his length the way he wants. "Your skin is so soft… and that beautiful hair that you needlessly hide… you don't know how many times I imagined pulling you by it." He mumbles into your neck. The hand with the dagger now presses against your chest, only causing your heart to beat much faster. A wave of heat washes over you, your traitorous pussy clenching desperately as you hear his moans in your ear.

"Feyd..." You moan as his hand releases yours and works at your desperate pussy. He growls, feeling the warmth of your walls around his fingers and the wetness he caused. You remove your hand from his member and tighten your grip on his hand, trying to push him away from your private parts in a desperate attempt to regain control of the situation.

"Don't fight. Just give yourself to me, Y/N. Let me show you how much you've lost while trying to hide yourself from me in your shadows…" He growls, pressing the tip of the dagger to your nipple. You freeze, moaning as he becomes stiffened by the sheer movement of his blade.

He bites into your neck, making you moan loudly and throwing your head back. He licks and sucks your neck, rubbing his painfully hard cock against your pussy. The water splashes around you, some of it spilling out of the tub due to his sudden movements. A few inches deeper, and he would have slammed into you, bisecting you with his huge cock, which stood ready for you from the moment he saw you in your underwear.

"Can you feel it? Can you feel what you're doing to me? How hard I am because of you? It's like this every time you hand me my blade, perfectly balanced and sharpened, every time you meet all my needs without even communicating with me, you just know what I want by looking at me, my little witch. So tell me, who is a better partner for me than my right hand? Who can I trust more than you? Who should I fuck, full of my heirs, if not you?"

You don't respond; you can't find any words as your brain desperately tries to shout out the pleasure he's giving you and force you to resist him. Unsuccessfully. The warmth of the water, his body, his scent, and his precise, deliberate movements cut off your thoughts. Feyd is practically salivating at the sight of you so lost in lust and desire as he witnesses you lose control for the first time.

He throws away the dagger, which falls with a crash onto the marble floor. Neither of you care as he grabs your hips and, in one smooth, quick movement, turns you around so you can face him.

You only have time to draw in a quick breath before he demands your mouth. You moan into his lips as he kisses you with the same passion and intensity as he did a few weeks ago at the party after you won the fight. You try to pull away from him, but he holds you tightly, placing his hands on your back as he presses you against him. You don't stand a chance against his strength. You can resist him, but you know it won't be long before you collapse from exhaustion. You bite his lip until you draw blood, which only causes him to groan and have him grind against you, the tip of his cock teasing your entrance.

You gasp as he leaves your lips for a while and pulls your hair, exposing your throat to him so he can mark it even more. He sucks on your skin, littering it with hickeys as you feel him slowly move, positioning himself beneath you so that his member presses against the entrance of your pussy.

And just as he's about to join your bodies, to make you two one, to feel your hot, wet, tight walls around him, there's a knock on the bathroom door.

This time, he's the one who freezes, tightening his hold on you. You feel like he's making sure he hasn't misheard or imagined it in this heated moment between you, but when the knocking sounds a second time, he realises it's real.

You pray with gratitude for the soul of the fool who dared to interrupt him, because you know that even if it were something important, he would not live to see the morning.

"What?!" He growls furiously, not letting you go, not letting you move an inch from him, still believing that he can quickly get rid of the intruder and go back to ravaging you, maybe even fucking you while he talks to whoever is standing in front of that damned door. Though Feyd preferred to be fully focused on you when he took you for the first time. However, he was convinced that if he didn't feel you around him soon, he would go crazy. He is so close... all he had to do was push a little more...

"My lord na-baron. The Baron wants to see you. It's very important."

You see pure rage bubbling in his eyes. He growls, shifting you from his lap as he stands up. You look down as you see all of him very clearly, especially what you were exposed to a few moments ago. He throws a towel at you, and you automatically catch it. He wraps one around his waist before he comes back to you again and grabs your throat. He gives you a crazy, passionate kiss, stroking your neck and appreciating the marks he made before pulling away from you.

"We'll come back to it, little witch." He leaves you with that promise, closing the door behind him with a bang.

You hear him shouting something at his harpies, and you shudder at the thought of having to walk past them to get out of here. You lean back against the tub, still sitting in the now-cold water, as you slowly process everything that happened.

You succeeded this time, but you know you won't be so lucky next time. You could either accept... your new responsibilities and his expectations of you, or you could try to break free from him, risking your life.

It was a decision to be made in the privacy of your own chambers. For now, you let yourself lie in the cool water, fully aware that if you weren't interrupted now, he would fuck you silly, likely planting his seed inside you.

You ran away from the Bene Gesserit with him because you didn't want to be a whore, a vessel for their crazy breeding plan. Apparently, you just changed the owner of your womb. You had to do something if you didn't want to end up as originally intended—as the mother of the future Kwisatz Haderach.

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hqwkeyes · 2 months ago

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Falling for the Devil

Pairing: Matt Murdock x fem!Reader Word Count: 3.6k+ Warnings: swearing, uhh fluff, slight angst?, matt is a flirt, i edited this while fighting 6g melatonin Summary: Matt Murdock is a known flirt, and a successful one, at that. You've seen him work his magic on women dozens of times. But one night, he attempts to use that Murdock charm on you. He might've fallen first, but you just might fall harder... maybe.

Masterlist // Buy me a coffee!

Matt Murdock is many things: a great lawyer, a great friend, but most of all, he's a flirt. A merciless flirt, at that. A charmer and a tease. He has a way of making people, specifically women, feel special. It comes naturally to him, much to Foggy's dismay in his pre-Marci days.

You've been working at Nelson, Murdock, and Page for a while now, and you just sort of clicked with the group early on. There have been several occasions when you were all out at Josie's and Matt would work his magic on a woman. You would all watch as he'd flirt with them, charm them, and often times leave with them. It was a running joke in the group, at this point, that Matt was sort of a...philanderer, if you will. He didn't lead these women on, though. Matt was still pretty much a gentleman.

Although he keeps to himself more than the others, you've always been pretty close friends with Matt. He looks out for you the same way he does for Karen and Foggy, and you trust him—like really trust him. Was there a vibe you got from him sometimes? Sure, but you were also well aware that Matt could probably charm a brick wall if he wanted to, and you generally try not to fall for antics like that.

It's been a long week, and this case you were all working had dragged on for weeks in court. You all had done your best work for your client, but you weren't sure how the verdict would pan out. In the end, you guys won the case, and now it was time to celebrate.

Josie's is fairly busy. Foggy brought Marci tonight, and you all get yourselves a drink before claiming the pool table, which is thankfully free. The five of you toast to the big win in court before cutting loose a bit and playing a few games.

You're sitting at a table nearby with Karen, chatting a bit while Foggy plays against Marci—which is incredibly entertaining. Matt is by Foggy's side for emotional support, which he definitely needs. When both your drinks are empty, Karen gets up to get the two of you another round. After a few minutes, you peek over at the bar, wondering what's taking your friend so long. You're only a little surprised to find her talking it up with a guy. She's the friendly sort, but this seems like a bit more than just friendly. He's handsome and very much her type. Another minute later, Karen pops back over with your drink, and asks if you would mind if she stepped away to talk to Evan. You give her a suggestive grin and shoo her away before calling out to your friends that you're playing the winner in the next game.

In a shocking twist, Foggy beat Marci in the last game. Unfortunately for you, that just meant that she was on his side, cheering him on and distracting him from the game. Matt is sitting at the table you and Karen had been occupying, and you call him over.

"Come on, Matt, I need someone to root for me too," you tell him, and he laughs as he joins you by the pool table.

The two of you chat as you play, but after the next few shots, you lose Foggy to Marci's attention. He's practically drooling over her, and you would think it's adorable if it wasn't his turn.

"Earth to Foggy," you call out, but it's no use. You'll have to wait for him to turn his attention back to the game.

"Can you believe this?" You ask Matt, shaking your head in disbelief, and he laughs at your mild distress.

You lean against the table, grabbing your drink you'd left on the edge of it.

"You know, you really pulled through for us on this case," Matt says suddenly as he leans against the table beside you.

"Thanks, Matt. It was nothing though."

"No, really, I don't think we could've pulled it off if not for those documents you found."

"I'm just happy to help," you tell him.

"And we're very happy to have you," he says with a smile.

Matt holds out his glass, and you clink yours against it before taking a sip. You glance over to where Karen is to check on her, and she seems to be having a great time. Her eyes meet yours and she gives you a big smile.

"This is nice," Matt says, drawing your attention back to him.

"Hm?"

"We haven't spent much time together like this lately."

"Well, we've been so busy with the case, it's been hard to find time outside of work. And we all know you're always busy," you say, nudging him with your elbow.

"That's true," he says with a chuckle. "So what have you been up to outside of work?"

"Oh." You weren't expecting that.

"Um, well I've been watching this show lately." You explain the plot of the show before telling him about this new hobby you have. He listens attentively with a small smile. He shows genuine interest in what you're saying, asking questions here and there. After a few minutes, you realize that you've been babbling on.

"Jeez, I'm sorry. I've been rambling."

"Don't apologize," he says, leaning a bit closer. "I like listening to your voice." You recognize his tone. It's that seemingly innocent one he has when he's trying to charm someone. Something bubbles in your chest, and for a moment, you understand why so many women fall for his flirtations.

"I bet you tell all the girls that," you say with a laugh before taking another sip your drink.

"Hey, I mean it," he says, feigning hurt before finishing off his drink.

"Sure you do," you say, voice laced with amusement.

"I do, really. I could listen to you talk all day."

"You do listen to me talk all day," you joke, earning a chuckle from him, though his pride is a bit wounded.

Trying to keep his composure, he casually snatches your drink from your hand and takes a sip.

"Do you want me to get you another drink?" You ask with a laugh.

"I thought maybe we could share." His reply is quick, smooth, and it comes with that signature smirk again.

You roll your eyes. You know Matt and how he is. This case was tough and he's probably looking to blow off some steam, which is fine, but you're not sure why he's looking to you. Being friends with your bosses/coworkers can be difficult enough. Sleeping with Matt would likely complicate both of those relationships. You wouldn't want to risk it all over a one night stand, although, once again, you can see how he manages to captivate all these women.

You play it casual. "Sure, we can share if you want."

At that, you can see the twinge of frustration in Matt's expression. His brows draw up in what looks something like confusion.

"I heard Karen say she was talking to a guy at the bar?" He asks after a moment.

"Oh yeah, she said his name is Evan."

"Nice, nice."

A moment passes. You take your drink back for another sip as your eyes dance over the small crowd to check on Karen again, who still looks like she's having a great time.

"So, are you seeing anyone new?" And you almost spit that sip straight onto the floor. Josie would probably make you clean it yourself, or it would stay there until the sticky puddle dried.

You clear your throat from nearly choking. "No, I'm not." Matt's grin returns. He fumbles with his fingers.

"Oh, no?"

"Nope. You?"

"No, not lately." he says, taking your drink back again and draining half of what's left. He lets out a sigh after. "There's someone I've been interested in for a while, and I just can't quite get over my feelings," he says.

You freeze, your heart kicking up a fuss. Matt smiles at the floor. You try to maintain your composure.

"Oh, really?" you say, trying not to sound too interested. "Who's the lucky lady? Do we all know her?"

"Yeah, you do actually." He finishes off your drink. "Can I get you another?" He asks, holding up your glass.

"Umm." You glance at your watch. It's a Friday, but you don't want to go home so late that you have to call a car.

"Just one more? To celebrate our win." He plays it cool, but there's a slight edge to his voice, almost pleading.

"By one more, do you mean one of my own or one to share?" He laughs at that.

"What's wrong with sharing," he jests with a grin, then heads to the bar before you can reply.

He returns a couple minutes later with a drink for each of you, but his smile deflates when he finds that Foggy's attention has returned to the game you were playing.

"Thanks, Matt," you say passively as you take your drink and set it on the edge of the table before lining up your next shot.

You end up pocketing two balls in one go, letting out an excited shout.

"What's happening?" Matt asks.

"She just pocketed two balls," Foggy says, exasperated.

"My last two. And now I can go for the winning shot," you tell him. He smiles.

"Nice," Matt says, trying not to seem dejected.

"The odds of you making that shot are slim to none," Foggy says. He's right. Based on the placement of his remaining balls, it's unlikely that you'll make the winning shot in this turn, but you get competitive when people doubt you.

"Wanna bet?" you say.

"On you not making the shot? Hell yeah."

"How much if I do?"

"Twenty bucks."

"You don't sound too confident," you say, goading him.

"Fine, fifty." Marci lightly smacks his arm. Honestly, you shouldn't have pushed it with how slim your chances are, but you're feeling a little lucky tonight.

"Deal."

You call your pocket before taking a moment to line up your shot. You inhale deeply, hold it a second, exhale. Shoot. The 8 ball knocks against one of Foggy's, then against the edge of the table before slowly rolling toward the pocket you called. And it's in.

"Holy shit!" Foggy yells. You're cheering for yourself and Marci joins in the excitement.

Foggy comes around to your side of the table to give you your fifty dollars. "You definitely earned it," he says with a laugh. "Wanna go again?"

"I'm good," you tell him. "That was more than enough excitement for me."

You walk over to Matt, who is standing near the table you had shared with Karen earlier.

"I take it you won?"

"I did," you say, your voice oozing with pride.

He chuckles. "Of course you did."

He holds out his glass to toast to your win, and you clink yours against his, a bit spilling on the floor.

"So, what are you gonna do with the money you won?" he asks, setting his drink down on the table.

"Hmm, I'm not sure. Maybe I'll treat myself to dinner tomorrow night."

You go to step closer to the table to set your drink down, but slip on the puddle you'd left, falling forward. Matt catches you against his chest, his arms falling around your waist to steady you.

"Shit, I'm sorry," you say, removing your hands from his chest once you regain your footing, but Matt's arms don't move.

"You're finally falling for me, huh," he says with that smirk. Your heart skips a beat. Or maybe several. Actually, it feels like it might burst right out of your chest. Your eyes are wide, your cheeks growing hotter by the second.

"I– um, I–" you stammer, unsure of what to say.

"How about instead of treating yourself to dinner tomorrow night, you let me treat you."

"But what about–" you pause as the realization hits you. You were the woman he had been talking about. "Oh." You feel the tips of your ears reddening.

Matt lets out a soft chuckle at your reaction.

Now that you think about it, it's been more than a few weeks since Matt has flirted with anyone here at Josie's. Women have approached him, as usual, but he hadn't left with any of them or even accepted any of their offers to buy him a drink. He was still charming, but that's just natural with him. At the time, you attributed it to him being busy, as you all were with work. Matt had a way of really locking in on work when there was a heavy caseload, so it didn't seem unusual then. You would all just stop in at Josie's for a quick drink before heading home.

You're pulled from your thoughts by Matt tugging you a little closer to him.

"So how about it?" he asks quietly once he has your attention again. "We can go to that little Italian place you like near the office?"

Have you, at some point, considered what it might be like to be with Matt? Admittedly, yes. He's a sweetheart of a guy, always kind and courteous. He's a fierce lawyer—you're constantly impressed by his ability to captivate a jury and spin a narrative. And he and Foggy are always looking out for the little guy, taking on clients that don't have much—or anything at all, sometimes—but need help, and so they do just that. But at the end of the day, you're friends, and he's also your boss.

Your heart is in your throat.

"Um, as friends?" you ask.

He lets out a small laugh, shaking his head.

"Well, I was hoping it could be a date if you're comfortable with that."

You bite your lip. "I– I just don't know if I want to risk what we already have," you admit.

"Understandable," he says, and one of his hands comes up to rest on your cheek, the other remaining firmly on your waist. "But what if we could have so much more?"

Well, the joke's on you for trying to argue with a lawyer.

"You can think of it as a trial run if you want," he offers, his hand coming down to your jaw. "If it doesn't feel right to you, we can just go back to how things were."

It might not be that simple, you think, but maybe it's worth the risk, like he said. And besides, Matt is someone you love having in your life. If things didn't work out romantically after a date or two, you're sure you could still be friends.

"A trial run, then," you say with a small nod. Matt's smirk blossoms into a smile.

"Perfect," he whispers, his hand finding it's way back up to your cheek, thumb brushing over your cheekbone. Your eyes flutter closed.

And then they're shooting back open as Foggy's voice cuts across the room.

"Look at all this love in the room tonight!" The volume of his voice makes you wince, and Marci bats at his arm, scolding him for ruining the moment. Both you and Matt burst into laughter at the pair.

You finish off your drink before getting ready to head out with the others. Karen bids Evan a good night as she readies herself to leave with the rest of you, but not before she gets his number. You link your arm through hers as you move toward the exit, asking about her night. She gives little away in the short walk to the door, but promises to catch you up at work on Monday.

"You had an eventful night too, didn't you?" she says with a grin.

"Oh yeah, I won fifty bucks off of Foggy."

"Wait, what? I was talking about with Matt. I saw the two of you over by the table," she says, nudging you playfully.

"Oh, you saw that?" You wear a bashful smile.

"Yes, and I expect to hear about that on Monday too," she says with a laugh, and you agree.

The cool night air greets you as you exit the bar, leaving goosebumps on your skin. Foggy and Marci get a cab first, calling out their "goodnights" as they get in the car. Karen calls another cab over, and she offers it to you, but you insist she takes it as she lives further than you.

And now you're left here with Matt.

"I don't see anymore taxis," you tell him. "I can call one for you if you'd like?"

"Don't worry about me, I'm fine to walk," he says, tapping his cane against the pavement. Neither of you live far from Josie's. It's about a ten minute walk from you.

"I was going to walk too," you say.

"Then, can I walk you home?" he asks.

"How about I walk you home? You're not far out of the way."

He shakes his head. "I don't want you walking alone if you can avoid it. It's late."

"Fine," you say. Then, "thank you."

He smiles at the ground before taking hold of the crook of your arm. "Of course."

The two of you walk in silence for a moment before he speaks.

"You know, I'm really looking forward to tomorrow night," he says.

A small smile makes its way onto your face. "Is that so?"

"Yes," he says. "Thank you for giving me a chance. I know you might think I'm some kind of... I don't know, playboy or something, but I'm– I'm serious about this—about you." Your cheeks burn hot at that.

"I don't think that about you," you say quietly.

"You don't?"

"No. Although, I do think you have an uncanny ability to charm pretty much any woman." He smiles again. "You're a flirt and a tease, but I wouldn't go as far as to call you a playboy." His smile falters a bit at that.

"I believe you, though," you tell him. "Admittedly, I'm a little hesitant to, but you've never given me a reason not to trust you."

"Then, I'll just have to keep proving that you can trust me."

You smile. "I'm looking forward to that."

The two of you walk together in silence for a bit.

"The moon is so bright tonight," you say as you look up at the sky.

"Is it?"

"Yeah, it is. I can see it shining through the clouds, but there are too many to see any stars."

Matt sighs. "I'd give anything to see that one more time." Your heart constricts at that.

"I– I'm sorry."

"Don't be," he says. "I like that you describe things like that to me. You do it more often than you might think. It feels like you want to share it with me, and I enjoy hearing how things look through your eyes. I remember what it was like, you know, seeing the night sky, all the stars up there—or at least what we could see from the city. When you tell me about it, it helps me keep those memories alive." You tear up just a little bit, smiling sadly.

"I'm glad I could do that for you."

A few moments pass, and you come up to your apartment building.

"This is me," you say with a sniffle, coming to a stop.

Matt turns to face you, bringing his hand up to cup your face once again.

"I take it back," he says softly.

"What?" you ask, confused.

"I take it back," he says again, his thumb brushing over your cheek. "As much as I wish I could see the sky again, I'd do anything to see you just once."

"Oh, Matt," you breathe, and a tear slips free. He brushes it away as he closes the gap between you, pressing a featherlight kiss to your lips. And then he's pulling away, but your hand comes up to gently tug him back by his tie. His hands find their place on your hips as you pull him into another kiss, this one a bit deeper. One of his hands comes up to rest at the nape of your neck, and his glasses bump against your nose as he angles his head. The two of you break apart in a laugh, and his hand comes down to take hold of yours.

"I wasn't planning on kissing you tonight, just so you know."

"Oh, no?"

He shakes his head, a small grin on his face. "Nope."

"Well, I guess you can just try not to kiss me tomorrow night," you say with a small smirk.

"Oh, I don't think so," he says, a laugh rumbling in his chest as he leans in to press one last kiss to your lips.

"Until tomorrow," he says once he pulls away.

"Goodnight, Matt," you say as you take a step towards the stairs to your building.

"Goodnight" he says, finally releasing your hand.

He waits until he hears you get safely inside your apartment to start his walk to his own, a smile on his face the entire way home.

You're practically giddy as you ready yourself for bed. There's a good chance you won't be getting much sleep tonight, not with the anticipation of tomorrow night lingering.

Matt feels it too. Despite the late hour, he's wide awake, his heart thumping wildly as he recounts the past hour or so. As he lies in bed, he can't help but miss the way you felt in his arms, like the piece he didn't realize he was missing. Some would say it's too soon to tell, but to him, you already felt like home.

Masterlist // Buy me a coffee!

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snail-day · 4 months ago

Text

Terms and Conditions Apply

Yan!SatoSugu x Reader - unwholesome edition

Sum: Normal college roommate activities, except your roommates, are madly in love with you and have a really weird way of showing it.

TW: Yandere Behaviors (manipulation, obsessive, possessive,etc), Omorashi/Piss, noncon/dubcon, oral (m! receiving), Abuse of showerhead, Reader is a bit dense, Power Dynamics, Alcohol consumption, unhealthy relationships, Infantilization, MDNI

WC: 6.0k

A/n: I will probably finish editing the wholesome edition later this week. :) I feel like I've been too angsty lately and I lowkey prefer the wholesome version a bit more, however, my beta reader likes this one so we'll see!

How far is one willing to go?

Willing to sell their soul to the devil—or in this case, devils. The ones you once called your best friends. The ones who stripped you of your rights because you owed them. Because they owned you.

Suguru and Satoru—two trust fund kids with more money than they could ever spend—had waltzed into your life during your freshman year of college, offering friendship cloaked in charm and generosity.

They’d given you a place to stay, sliding a 52-page lease across the table. A document so thick and dense that it had made your stomach turn. Your heart, your instincts, your very soul screamed at you to stop. To read between the lines. But you didn’t.

You trusted them. You ignored the red flags.

You brushed off the subtle proclamations of love buried in their actions, their words, their very presence. How they’d spoke of living up to your standards. How they hinted they’d have truly courted you—if only you’d given them the time of day.

But you didn’t. You dismissed their flirting as harmless.

And like any rich men who refused to be denied, they did the next best thing. They bought you.

You really should’ve let them court you.

Because if you had, maybe you wouldn’t be here now—trapped in their twisted acts of devotion. Acts they called love.

Satoru, with his dazzling grin and sharp blue eyes, always joked about wanting a dog. Something to take care of, to love him unconditionally, to always come when called.

Suguru, ever composed and calculating, never hid his desire for control. He wanted something—or someone—to care for, to command, to obey his every word.

And now, that someone was you.

You’d gone too far for free rent, hadn’t you?

It was almost funny, in a cruel way. You’d joked once about selling feet pics to creepy old men to make ends meet, and Satoru had flashed you that sharp, wolfish grin and asked, “How much?”

You’d laughed it off, calling him ridiculous. But he hadn’t been joking. Not even a little.

If you had said a number, he would have bought them on the spot, saving them for later use.

When you couldn’t afford drinks on karaoke night, you’d waved it off, saying you’d be fine with water. But Suguru had just smiled, handing over his black card without hesitation.

“Don’t worry about it,” he’d said, his voice smooth, almost tender.

The whole night, he had coddled you, his arm a steady weight around your waist as you sang along to the music. When you were tipsy and laughing, stumbling into him, he’d pulled you onto his lap, his hands lingering just a little too long.

You didn’t notice.

You didn’t notice how his hands trailed along your thighs, how he tilted his head closer to catch the scent of your perfume, how his dark eyes gleamed with something dangerous.

They loved you.

They loved you so much that buying you was the easiest option.

Kidnapping you would have been messy, after all.

This? This was clean.

A lease. A signature. A series of favors and debts that quietly piled up until you were ensnared—unable to leave or even think about leaving.

You thought of them as just weird, quirky roommates. That’s what you kept telling yourself.

Satoru had the habit of barging into your room unannounced, sprawling across your bed like it was his own. He’d hug your pillows to his chest, burying his face in them, his bright blue eyes gleaming with amusement.

And behind your back?

He punched and slapped every single one of your stuffed animals.

All except for the ones he bought you.

Like the stuffed alligator he’d gifted you last month. “Because you’re so snappy,” he’d said with a wide grin, teasing you endlessly as he mimicked your glare. “And because you do those little alligator rolls when I try to cuddle you.”

He wasn’t lying. You did twist and squirm to escape his grip whenever Suguru was away, and Satoru found himself “too lonely” to sleep in a big bed all by himself.

“I need you,” he’d whine, tugging at your blanket as he wedged himself onto your mattress. “Friends can cuddle, y’know. It’s even in the lease—clause 22!”

You’d scoffed, rolling your eyes. “There’s no way that’s real.”

But, of course, you hadn’t read the lease.

You hadn’t read clause 22, clause 34, or any other fine print buried in those 52 pages.

If you had, maybe you’d have noticed the way they’d written their love into the lines of the contract. The way their obsession had been framed as something so mundane, so harmless, that you never thought to question it.

Instead, you dismissed it. Dismissed them.

They were just your weird, clingy roommates, right?

That’s what you told yourself every time Satoru squeezed the stuffed alligator to his chest, grinning as he teased, “See? It’s like me and you! You’re the snappy little gator, and I’m the big, lovable guy keeping you from biting anyone else.”

It was playful. Harmless, you managed to convince yourself.

But sometimes—especially in the dead of night, when the world was quiet, and there was nowhere to hide from the truth—you struggled to ignore the way his hands would wander.

How he’d press open-mouthed kisses against your chest, the wet heat of his lips leaving trails along your skin. The way his hands would squeeze your plush breasts, fingers digging in just a little too roughly, as if claiming them, claiming you, in his sleep.

You told yourself he was dreaming—lost in some haze where he thought you were someone else, or something else.

But when morning came, and you hesitantly brought it up, he’d blink at you with feigned innocence, his blue eyes wide and unbothered. “Did I really?” he’d ask, laughter bubbling just beneath the surface of his words. “Man, I must’ve been dreaming about something really good.”

His grin would widen, that devil-may-care attitude making you question if you’d imagined it all.

“Hey,” he’d say, throwing an arm around your shoulders as he steered you out the door, “let’s grab breakfast. My treat. Consider it a ‘thanks’ for not ripping my arm off in my sleep.”

The offer, so casually given, left you with no choice but to follow. To let him guide you down the street to the café he liked, where he’d order for you without asking—a gesture that felt less thoughtful and more… presumptive.

As he filled the table with plates of food you hadn’t asked for, his laughter echoing through the small, bustling space, you found yourself playing along. Smiling at his jokes, laughing when he wanted you to, pretending that everything was normal.

Because what else could you do?

Confronting him felt impossible. Denying him? Even more so.

It was easier this way—going along with the current, letting him pull you wherever he wanted, feeding you bites of his food like you were some cherished pet rather than a person with agency of your own.

“Open up,” he’d coo, holding a forkful of syrup-drenched pancake to your lips, his eyes gleaming with satisfaction when you complied. “Good girl.”

And you’d swallow it down, the sweetness coating your tongue as his praise sent a shiver crawling along your skin.

Because it was easier to pretend.

Easier to act like this was just how things were—how they’d always been.

But no matter how hard you tried to convince yourself, the question lingered, heavy and unavoidable:

How far were you willing to go?

You kept telling yourself to endure. Just two more years until you graduate. Two more years, and you’ll be free.

You could play along until then. You had to. You needed the cheap rent.

And it wasn’t like you could even prefer one of them over the other. They were equally clingy, equally overbearing in their own ways.

Suguru, at least, had the decency not to invade your space outright.

He never barged into your room unannounced like Satoru. He didn’t sprawl across your bed or bury his face in your pillows. No, Suguru was different. His methods were quieter, subtler.

Whenever Satoru left for the weekend to visit his family, it was Suguru who kept you company. He’d coax you onto the couch with him, his deep voice laced with calm reassurance.

“You’ll keep me company, won’t you?” he’d ask, his tone so soft, so genuine, that refusing felt impossible.

And before you knew it, you’d find yourself in his lap, his strong arms wrapping firmly around your waist as he leaned back, settling you against his chest.

“It soothes me,” he’d murmur, his voice low and almost apologetic. “I’ve been so stressed with my master’s lately. You don’t mind, do you?”

How could you say no?

Suguru always had a way of making his needs sound so reasonable, so innocent. You didn’t even think to question it—not until his hands started to linger. His thumbs would trace small, deliberate circles against your hips, his breath warm against the back of your neck.

Clause 12.

That’s what he’d called it the first time you hesitated.

“Roommate will always provide emotional comfort,” he’d said, the faintest hint of a smile tugging at his lips as his dark eyes held yours.

You hadn’t read the lease, of course. But when Suguru spoke, his voice so calm and assured, it was hard not to believe him.

So you let him hold you.

You let him keep you there for hours, his hands warm and steady as they rested on your waist, his quiet hums vibrating against your back. You sat frozen, unsure of where the line had blurred—or if there had ever been a line at all.

Things changed after one night.

You’d gone out for drinks with some friends—a rare occurrence these days. Between their constant presence and your dwindling social circle, opportunities like this had become few and far between.

Maybe that’s why you drank more than you should have.

The alcohol buzzed warmly through your veins, leaving your mind foggy and your limbs loose as laughter spilled freely from your lips. You didn’t even notice how late it had gotten until someone pointed it out, and the world tilted slightly as you tried to check the time on your phone.

“Shit,” you mumbled, your voice slurred as you stared at the blurry screen. You scrolled to Satoru’s contact—he always answered first—and hit call.

When they arrived, it was like the entire bar shifted.

“Oh my God, those are your roommates?” one of your friends teased, dragging out the words as she nudged you with a playful grin. “You’ve been holding out on us! Are you playing games or something?”

A giggle bubbled out of you as you swayed in your seat, the room spinning slightly. “Nooo,” you slurred, shaking your head a little too hard. “They’re just—”

Before you could finish, Satoru’s tall frame appeared in front of you, crouching down to your level. “Having fun, huh?” he asked, his bright blue eyes glinting with something unreadable.

You buried your face in his shirt, giggling uncontrollably. “Satoruuu,” you slurred, your voice high-pitched and childlike. “I’m fineeee. I was just… just hanging out!”

“Yeah, I can see that,” he said, chuckling as he shifted you in his arms, holding you upright as your legs wobbled.

Meanwhile, Suguru quietly slipped away to the bar, his expression calm and collected as he handed over his black card to settle your tab. When he returned, his eyes gleamed with something dark, though his lips curved into a faint smile as he glanced at your friends.

“Ah, sorry we haven’t announced we’re dating yet,” he said smoothly, his voice low, a grin playing at his lips.

The table erupted into laughter and cheers, glasses clinking together in celebration.

You blinked slowly, your alcohol-heavy mind struggling to process his words. “Wait… what?”

You tried to straighten up, but Satoru’s grip on you tightened, pulling you back against him. “Shh, don’t make a scene,” he murmured, his voice light and teasing, though the edge to his grin made your stomach twist.

“He’s joking,” you said, slurring as you waved a hand lazily. “You’re jokinnng, right, Suguru?”

But Suguru’s smile didn’t falter. He leaned closer, his hand resting on the small of your back as he said softly, “Does it sound like I’m joking?”

Your friends erupted into louder laughter, their voices blurring together as your head spun.

“Let’s get you home,” Satoru said brightly, steering you toward the door.

You were too drunk to argue, your body slumping against his as the cool night air hit your face.

“You didn’t have to say that,” you mumbled, your words barely coherent as Suguru helped you into the car.

“Say what?” he asked, sliding in beside you, his voice calm and measured.

“That… we’re dating,” you slurred, your head lolling against Satoru’s shoulder as he climbed in on your other side.

Satoru laughed, his hand ruffling your hair as he pulled you closer. “Oh, come on. It’s not a big deal. Besides, they loved it. Right, Suguru?”

Suguru’s hand brushed lightly against your knee, steady and deliberate. His dark eyes met yours in the dim glow of the streetlights. “Does it bother you?” he asked, his voice soft, almost tender.

You tried to answer, your lips parting, but your mind was too foggy, your tongue too heavy. The alcohol clouded your thoughts, dulling the sharp edges of your confusion and concern. The only sound you managed was a quiet, slurred mumble before sleep tugged at your consciousness.

When you woke up, the world felt too soft, too still.

Your eyes fluttered open, the dim light of early morning filtering through unfamiliar curtains. The silk sheets beneath you were far too luxurious, the plush mattress beneath your body a stark contrast to your usual bed.

You sat up slowly, a pounding headache hammering at your skull as the events of the night before came back to you in blurry flashes. The bar. Your friends. Satoru. Suguru.

And now this.

Waking up in their bed was unexpected.

You winced as the urge to pee hit you, the discomfort pulling you fully awake. You swung your legs over the edge of the bed, your bare feet brushing against the cool floor as you prepared to stand. But before you could rise, a hand shot out, gripping your wrist.

The sudden tug sent you back onto the mattress, your heart skipping a beat as you turned to see who it was.

Satoru.

His snowy white hair was messy, his eyes still half-lidded with sleep as he pulled you closer to him, his grip firm but not painful.

“Where are you going?” he mumbled, his voice groggy yet tinged with something along the lines of annoyance.

“I… I need to pee,” you stammered, your voice hoarse as you tried to free yourself from his grasp.

Satoru’s eyes opened fully then, his bright blue gaze locking onto yours. He looked at you for a long moment before his lips curved into a sleepy grin. “Mmm, can’t you wait a little longer? It’s too early to get up.”

The warmth of his body pressed against yours, heavy and unmoving, trapping you in place. His arms tightened around your waist, pulling you flush against him, as if he were anchoring you there.

“I’m serious…” you mumbled, your voice barely above a whisper as you tried to squirm away, but his grip didn’t loosen.

Instead, you felt his grin against the back of your neck, his breath hot against your skin.

“Shhh,” he murmured, his voice soft and drowsy but carrying that familiar edge of control. “You’ll wake up Sugu… You can wait.”

The mention of Suguru made you freeze, your eyes darting toward the other side of the bed.

Sure enough, there he was.

Suguru lay on his side, his face calm and serene in sleep, his dark hair spilling over the pillow. His breathing was deep and even, the rise and fall of his chest almost hypnotic.

“You don’t want to wake him, do you?” Satoru hummed, his voice low and teasing, though there was something almost mocking in the way he said it.

You swallowed hard, the weight of the situation settling heavily over you as Satoru’s arms remained firmly around your waist. He shifted slightly, nuzzling into the back of your neck like a contented cat.

“Just relax,” he murmured, his voice already trailing off as sleep pulled him back under.

You lay there, stiff and silent, the dull ache in your bladder forgotten as your mind raced.

The warmth of their bodies on either side of you, the sound of their steady breathing, the oppressive weight of Satoru’s arm around your waist—it was suffocating.

But you didn’t move.

You couldn’t.

Because somewhere deep down, beneath the haze of confusion and discomfort, a single, chilling thought crept into your mind:

They weren’t going to let you go.

And for now, it was easier to stay still. To let Satoru’s grip keep you in place, to let Suguru’s presence loom quietly beside you.

To endure.

Because what other choice did you have?

You waited an hour. Generously. The way your bladder felt like it was going to spill if you even moved an inch made it agonizing, but what else could you do?

Why did I have to drink so much? you thought bitterly, biting your lip to keep yourself from groaning.

“Satoru…” you whispered, your voice barely audible, tinged with a small, desperate whine.

No response.

His soft snores filled the room, and you felt the faintest flutter of hope when you realized his arm had gone slack around your waist. It was loose enough—just enough—that you might be able to slip free without waking him.

Carefully, you began to move, inch by inch.

You winced at the painful, overfull feeling in your bladder, a burning reminder that if you waited even a second longer, you were sure you’d humiliate yourself. The thought of staining such expensive, silken sheets filled you with dread.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, you managed to wriggle out of Satoru’s grip. He stirred slightly, mumbling something incoherent before settling back into his slumber.

You held your breath as you slid off the bed, crossing your legs tightly as you stood. The sensation made you want to scream, but you forced yourself to stay quiet, moving as carefully as you could across the room.

You reached the bathroom door, relief flooding through you as your hand grasped the handle.

But when you turned it, the handle didn’t budge.

It was locked.

Your stomach dropped, a cold wave of panic washing over you as you tried again, jiggling the handle more forcefully this time.

Still locked.

You glanced over your shoulder, your heart pounding as you looked back at the bed. Satoru hadn’t moved, his snores still soft and steady. Suguru remained motionless, his dark hair spilling over his pillow like ink.

You turned back to the door, biting your lip hard enough to sting. Why the hell was it locked?

You tried again, pressing your weight against the door this time, but it wouldn’t give.

Panic began to rise in your chest as you crossed your legs tighter, your body screaming at you for relief. You couldn’t go back to the bed—not now, not like this. You couldn’t face them if something went wrong.

Your bathroom was… across the apartment.

You could make it, right? You just had to waddle your way there.

The thought alone filled you with dread, but what choice did you have? The idea of pissing yourself in your weird roommates’ bedroom—on their luxurious, expensive sheets, no less—was enough to make your face burn with humiliation.

A soft, desperate whine escaped your throat as you shifted your weight. It’s too much.

But you had to try.

You moved carefully, every step a torturous mix of sharp, burning pressure and overwhelming panic. Your breaths came shallow and uneven, your legs trembling as you shuffled forward, praying the noise wouldn’t carry back to the bedroom.

It was just the hallway, the living room, and then the bathroom.

Easy, you told yourself, though the pounding of your heart and the sting of tears in your eyes screamed otherwise.

You barely made it to the end of the hallway before your legs gave out, your body sinking to the cold floor as a sob built in your throat.

Tears brimmed in your eyes, the humiliation of the situation crashing over you like a wave. You couldn’t stop them, hot streaks rolling down your cheeks as you clutched at your stomach, the pressure unbearable.

Why did this have to happen? Why couldn’t the door just unlock? Why couldn’t you have made it just a little farther?

You pressed your forehead against your knees, trying to muffle the soft, broken whimpers escaping your lips. The silence of the apartment felt suffocating, every sound you made echoing in your ears like a cruel reminder of just how trapped you were.

And then, the sound you dreaded most.

Footsteps.

Slow, deliberate, heavy against the hardwood floors.

You froze, your breath catching in your throat as the footsteps grew louder, closer.

“Couldn’t sleep?” Suguru’s voice was soft, calm, almost soothing, but it made your stomach twist into knots.

You didn’t lift your head, your body trembling as his presence loomed over you. You could feel his gaze, heavy like he could see straight through you.

“What are you doing out here?” he asked, crouching down so he was at eye level with you. His tone was steady, almost kind, but there was an edge to it that made your chest tighten.

“I… I just…” Your voice cracked, the words stumbling over themselves as you tried to think of an excuse, something that wouldn’t make this worse.

Suguru tilted his head, his dark hair falling over his shoulder as his sharp eyes scanned you. “You could’ve just woken me up if you needed something,” he said softly, his lips curving into a small, affectionate smile.

Before you could respond, another voice chimed in.

“She’s crying.”

You flinched at the familiar, teasing lilt of Satoru’s voice, your heart sinking further as you felt him approach.

“Aw, did we scare her?” he teased, his grin audible in his voice as he crouched beside Suguru, his bright blue eyes gleaming with amusement.

“It’s not that,” Suguru murmured, his gaze never leaving you. “She’s upset.”

“Hmm,” Satoru hummed, leaning in closer, his sharp blue eyes gleaming with something that made your chest tighten. “Why’s that, little gator? What’s got you all worked up, huh?”

You wanted to disappear, to sink into the floor and vanish entirely. Anything to escape their piercing stares, the weight of their presence pressing down on you like a cage.

But then, you felt it.

The warmth spreading beneath you, dampening the hardwood floor.

Your breath caught in your throat as the realization struck you like a tidal wave. You’d pissed yourself.

Silent tears trickled down your cheeks, shame and humiliation crashing over you in waves as you dared a glance at Suguru.

His dark eyes flicked down to the wet patch spreading across the floor.

And then he smiled.

Not his usual small, measured smile, but something broader. Something that sent a wave of goosebumps.

Satoru followed Suguru’s gaze, his brows lifting in surprise before his grin widened into something almost predatory. “Well, would you look at that,” he murmured, his tone light and teasing but laced with something darker.

Suguru tilted his head slightly, his sharp eyes meeting yours as he spoke.

“Clause 52,” he said softly, his voice calm and steady, like he was reciting something he’d known by heart.

Your stomach knotted further, anxiety pooling. You really should have took time to read the absurdly long lease.

“‘If a roommate is deemed unfit to take care of themselves, it becomes the other parties’ duty to assume full care of the roommate, gaining full autonomy over the party deemed unfit.’”

The words were a death knell, ringing in your ears as your tears fell faster.

“Unfit,” Satoru repeated, his tone dripping with mockery as he leaned closer, his hand gentle as it brushed a tear from your cheek. “That’s a little harsh, don’t you think, Suguru?”

Suguru’s smile didn’t falter, his dark eyes steady as his hand came to rest on your trembling shoulder. “It’s not harsh if it’s true,” he replied softly, his voice almost tender, but the weight of his words crushed any chance of denial. “She clearly needs us.”

“I’m fine,” you whispered, your voice cracking as you tried to push away the rising panic. You clung to the last shreds of your dignity, your hands trembling as you tried to wipe your tears. “It was an accident. I just—”

“You just proved you can’t take care of yourself,” Suguru interrupted, his grip tightening slightly, his words cutting through your feeble attempts at an excuse.

Satoru chuckled, leaning against you, his sharp blue eyes gleaming with a mix of amusement and something darker. “You know,” he started, his tone almost conversational, “we could have enacted Clause 52 sooner.”

Your breath hitched, your eyes darting to him as he tilted his head, his grin widening.

“I mean, your grades this semester? Not exactly stellar.” He chuckled, shaking his head as if scolding a child. “And let’s not forget that blunt you took from Shoko a few months back. You do know weed is very illegal in Japan, right?”

The blood drained from your face as he spoke, your mind scrambling to keep up with his words.

“Could’ve gone to jail,” Suguru added, his voice calm and matter-of-fact as he straightened, his hand leaving your shoulder only to slide under your legs.

You yelped as he scooped you up effortlessly, your body trembling as you tried to claw away from him, your hands weakly pushing against his chest.

“But a grown woman pissing herself?” Satoru said, standing and shaking his head as he followed Suguru toward the bathroom. “Now that’s a pretty clear sign you need help. I mean, we’d be neglecting you if we didn’t take care of you at this point.”

“Put me down!” you cried, your voice breaking as you struggled against Suguru’s hold, your heart pounding in your chest.

“Shh,” Suguru murmured, his grip unyielding as he carried you down the hall. “You’re only making this harder on yourself.”

Tears blurred your vision as the door to their bathroom came into view, the realization of just how powerless you were sinking in with every step.

“We’ll clean you up,” Satoru said brightly, his grin firmly in place as he swung the bathroom door open. His tone was light and teasing, but the words twisted in your stomach. “That’s what good boyfriends—sorry, roommates—do, right?”

Suguru carried you inside without hesitation, his movements smooth and calculated, like he’d done this a hundred times in his head. He set you down gently on the edge of the bathtub, his hands lingering on your arms as though steadying you. The care in his touch felt unnervingly intimate, blurring lines you hadn’t even realized were being crossed.

“I don’t need—” you started, your voice trembling, but Suguru cut you off.

“Do we need to treat you like a child too?” He hummed as he turned on the water, you noticed Satoru take a spot on the floor, his hand….gravitating to….

You forced yourself to look away.

Instead pleading to Suguru that you can wash yourself, that he doesn’t need to climb into the tub with you pressing himself behind you. As he grabbed the handheld shower head, changing the settings as he deemed fit as you squirmed and sobbed.

“Have to clean you now, hm?” He hummed behind you, changing the setting of the handheld shower head to the highest setting, the pressure was too much as you squirmed and clawed at his hands shaking your head. You looked over at Satoru the smile on his face, the way he seemed blissed out as he stroked his…

Oh god.

They enjoyed this.

You couldn’t help the whine that escaped you as your cunt clenched onto nothing, as your clit was being tormented by the harsh pressure of the showerhead Suguru had directed.

“Shhhh, just let go… I got you,” Suguru murmured, his voice low and soothing as he adjusted the spray of water once more, there was purpose in his insistent touches, firm and absolute.

You couldn’t stop the sobs that wracked your body, your tears mixing with the water cascading over your skin. Your mind felt like it was spinning, your thoughts fragmented and overwhelmed by the unbearable mix of sensations and emotions crashing over you.

And then, you reached the peak—your body betraying you, shuddering in his grip as your climax washed over you. Shame burned hot in your chest, your face flushed with humiliation as the sobs came harder, raw and broken.

Suguru’s hand never faltered, his movements steady as he lowered the setting on the showerhead to a gentle spray, hushing you softly as you came down from your high.

“That’s it,” he murmured, his tone almost tender as his hand smoothed over your damp skin. “Just let me take care of you.”

You couldn’t muster the strength to respond, your body trembling as exhaustion began to creep in.

But he wasn’t done.

Before you could catch your breath, Suguru adjusted the water pressure again, the sharp sensation snapping you back into focus as he began once more.

“No, please…” you whimpered, your voice weak and cracking as you squirmed in his hold.

“Shhh,” he hushed you, his lips brushing lightly against your temple as his grip tightened. “You’re fine. I’ve got you.”

You didn’t have the strength to fight him.

Again and again, he pushed you over the edge, your sobs gradually giving way to soft, broken whimpers as your body betrayed you. Your limbs felt heavy, your mind clouded with a haze of exhaustion and humiliation.

By the time he finally relented, your eyes were half-lidded, sleep tugging at the edges of your consciousness.

Satoru, who had been watching the entire time, stood from his spot on the floor, his sharp blue eyes raking over your limp form with a grin that made your stomach twist.

“Since Suguru did a good job cleaning you up, think you can clean my mess?” Satoru’s voice was light, teasing, but the sharp glint in his blue eyes told you there was no room for refusal.

Your head weakly shook in response, your body trembling with exhaustion as you tried to avert your gaze.

But Suguru didn’t let you.

“Be a good girl,” he murmured, his voice calm but firm as his hand cupped your jaw, tilting your face back toward them. His thumb pressed against your lips, prying them open with gentle insistence.

You whimpered, tears welling in your eyes again as his thumb slipped onto your tongue, the weight of his touch heavy and suffocating.

“There you go,” he said softly, almost soothing as though this was something to comfort you. “It’s easier if you don’t fight.”

Before you could protest, Satoru was pressing the tip of his cock onto your tongue, sliding his length down your throat despite your gags as Suguru ensured you wouldn’t bite down, keeping your mouth open.

“Good girl,” Satoru cooed, his voice low and saccharine as he watched you with amusement, the corners of his lips twitching upward as you instinctively flinched. “Be a good little gator, don’t bite”

You couldn’t stop the fresh wave of tears that trickled down your cheeks, your body frozen under the weight of their attention. Every movement felt heavy, every breath labored as you struggled to take the full length down your throat.

Suguru’s dark eyes bore into you, steady and unyielding. “See? You can do this,” he murmured, removing his thumb to help guide your head as you sucked on Satoru’s cock. “You’re already doing so well.”

“Better than I thought she would,” Satoru replied, a soft groan escaped his lips as he tilted his head back, gently rocking his hips forward despite your tears, Suguru was forcing your head to bob on Satoru's length, keeping his touch gentle.

“We’re going to take such good care of you,” Suguru hummed, his voice smooth and steady as his hand’s methodical movements, his dark eyes gazing at you in adornment as you choked on the sticky white ropes that trickled down your throat.

His words made your stomach twist, but the calmness in his tone—the way it almost sounded affectionate—made it all the more suffocating.

“I think we can work with this arrangement, right?” Suguru murmured, his lips curving into a faint smile as he leaned in closer, his breath brushing against your ear. His tone was calm, almost soothing, as though this was the most natural thing in the world.

“We love you so much, don’t you know?” he continued, his voice softening further, as if the depth of their love for you was as much a burden for them as it was for you. “We’ll give you time to adjust to the new arrangement. Don’t you worry.”

You flinched, your body trembling from a cocktail of exhaustion and humiliation. The words wrapped around you like a cage, their gentleness only making the weight of them heavier. Your eyes darted toward Satoru, searching desperately for some sign of relief, some thread of normalcy—but his expression only made your stomach twist.

His smile was lovesick, almost dazed, his half-lidded eyes clouded with fatigue, likely from his final exam. Yet his fingers found their way to the top of your head, the touch soft and deliberate, giving you a gentle, almost affectionate pat.

The gesture should have been comforting. It should have eased the tightness in your chest. Instead, it felt like a reminder—a quiet assertion of control, of just how tightly you were bound to them.

“Let’s get you ready for bed, shall we?” Satoru said, his voice light and teasing, laced with his usual carefree charm. But beneath the playful tone, there was an undertone of finality, a quiet edge that made it clear this wasn’t a suggestion.

Suguru’s hands were steady as he adjusted the towel around your body, his touch disarmingly gentle, as though he were savoring the act of caring for you. Each movement was slow, deliberate, as if he were worshipping the process of drying you off. He ensured the towel wrapped around you modestly, yet his fingers lingered just long enough to make you question if there was more to his care.

When he stood, his tall frame towering over you, he extended a hand. His dark eyes met yours, calm and unreadable, as if silently urging you to trust him.

You hesitated. Every instinct screamed at you to pull away, to run, to do something. But the exhaustion weighed you down, rooting you in place. Your legs felt like lead, your thoughts foggy and scattered, a tangle of fear and resignation you couldn’t untangle.

“You’re tired,” Suguru murmured, his voice a soothing balm that did little to ease the tightness in your chest. There was an undercurrent of quiet authority in his tone, one that made resistance feel futile.

His hand enveloped yours, warm and steady, guiding you to your feet before you could summon the strength to protest. “Let us take care of you,” he said softly, the words carrying a tenderness that felt at odds with the unease curling in your stomach.

Satoru was already waiting by the door, leaning casually against the frame. His bright blue eyes watched you with his signature grin—a grin that normally felt harmless but now carried an edge that made your chest tighten. “Come on, little gator,” he cooed, beckoning you with a casual wave. “We’ve got everything ready for you.”

You let them guide you, too drained to resist. Suguru’s hand rested lightly on your lower back, steadying you as Satoru walked ahead, his playful hum filling the quiet hall.

When you finally crawled into the cool sheets, your body sagged into the mattress, the weight of the day pressing down on you. The bath had left your skin warm and your limbs heavy, the overstimulation making it impossible to think straight. Exhaustion was a tide, pulling you under, and for a fleeting moment, you were grateful for the comfort they had so carefully orchestrated.

Perhaps you were too far gone to notice—or to care—about the faint noises behind you. The soft murmur of voices, the rustle of fabric, the low, intimate sound of Satoru’s moan as he lowered himself onto Suguru.

Your mind barely registered it, the sound blurring into the background as sleep took hold. You ignored the quiet gasp, the rhythmic creak of the mattress in the other room, and the muted groan that followed.

The warmth of the blankets, the scent of lavender, the haze of exhaustion—all of it conspired to drag you deeper into unconsciousness, letting the world fade away as your body surrendered to sleep.

#yandere jujutsu kaisen #yandere satosugu #satosugu x reader #yandere satosugu x reader #yandere satoru gojo #yandere satoru x reader #yandere suguru x reader #yandere suguru #yandere geto suguru #yandere gojo satoru #yandere #dark content #yandere x reader

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chvoswxtch · 26 days ago

Text

lucky

pairing: matt murdock x fem!reader

summary: matt gets an unexpected visitor in court.

warnings: swearing, matt being the sassy lil shit he is, more angst, lawyer matt lawyering (yes that needs a warning)

word count: 4k

a/n: are y'all feeling the slow burn yet? it's only gonna keep burning baby ;) as always, feedback is welcomed/appreciated!

[previous chapter] | [next chapter coming soon] | [series masterlist]

“Your Honor, the Defendant fired a shot-”

“Objection, it was an accident-”

Matt let out a humorless scoff as he tilted his head in the direction of the other lawyer who had been spouting nothing but audacious bullshit for the last hour and a half, and who smelled like he bathed in cheap cologne, both of which were grating on Matt’s nerves. This case should’ve been over weeks ago, but that Acqua di Dick kept filing for extensions with different excuses, and the judge kept granting them.

He’d been trying to remain level headed, even though it was ridiculous that this case had even turned into a trial with the damning evidence they had, but it had dragged on long enough. The thought of wasting another day in court over this when there were other cases that Matt was behind that needed his attention more only further pissed him off. The arrogance and condescension in that asshole’s annoying voice combined with the overpowering scent of his shitty cologne had a headache starting to throb at the base of Matt’s skull, and it had slowly shredded his patience into frayed strands he could no longer grasp onto.

Gripping his cane tightly with both hands, the dark indigo and violet blooms of bruises on his knuckles turned into pastels, and Matt Murdock took a backseat while the Devil took over.

“Mr. Huntington, your client did not accidentally walk into that bodega with a weapon and a ski mask. He did not accidentally threaten Mr. Ocasio with that weapon and demand the money from the register, or assault him when he refused. He did not accidentally commit a robbery.”

Matt ignored Foggy’s quiet whispered warnings of his name and instead turned to face the opposition directly, and even took a step towards their table. His cane subtly vibrated under his iron grip, something he’d noticed happened since he’d started carrying it around. Anytime he applied pressure, which was often considering gripping his cane was a physical practice to try and reign in his temper, it made the vibranium faintly buzz against his palm. He figured it was something to do with that kinetic energy she’d mentioned, but he hadn’t tried to use it yet.

“Your client walked into that bodega of sound mind, with that weapon and that mask, and the intent to commit a robbery. It does not matter if his finger slipped on the trigger accidentally or if he fired the shot intentionally, the fact of the matter is if that bullet had strayed just an inch to the left, this would be a manslaughter case. Now you can file as many bullshit extensions as you want and try to abuse the legal system to your benefit, but you are only delaying the inevitable, because we have video evidence of your client committing this crime. So when you’re finished being an egotistical asshole, maybe we can cut this pissing contest short, and you can get back to upholding your oath to the-”

“Mr. Murdock!”

The sound of the gavel banging repeatedly against the wood and the judge’s angry voice halted Matt’s angry tirade, making him twitch slightly. The noise turned that dull throb in his head into a relentless pounding, and he clenched his jaw as he pressed his lips together.

“One more outburst like that Mr. Murdock, and I’ll hold you in contempt.”

Matt could feel his anger simmering in his veins, his internal temperature steadily increasing. He opened his mouth to say something but abruptly paused. In the midst of his frustration, he hadn’t heard the creak of the doors opening in the back, or noticed someone slipping inside. Tilting his head slightly to the right, he focused his senses on the very back row, and he caught it.

Spiced vanilla and jasmine.

A furrow quickly nestled between his brows. What the hell was she doing here?

“Mr. Murdock?”

The judge didn’t bother hiding his exasperation, and Foggy whisper yelling his name again snapped him out of the distraction of her presence. Shifting back into focus, Matt straightened up and turned to face the bench.

“Your Honor, we’d like to present the surveillance footage from the night of April tenth that Mr. Ocasio’s security cameras captured.”

»»———　　———««

As soon as the gavel signaled the end of the session and the sentence was passed, Matt immediately headed towards the back of the courtroom, ignoring a very confused Foggy and Karen who were calling after him. The second he was close enough, he grabbed her arm firmly and dragged her out into the hallway before she could even make a smartass comment.

“What the hell are you doing here?”

Her own brows knit together as she tugged her arm away from his grasp.

“What? I like legal dramas.”

Matt’s lips pursed in pure annoyance, and she could almost see him roll his eyes behind those dark red tinted lenses.

“Okay, we need to establish some more boundaries. My job is off limits too-”

“This isn’t your office, it’s a public space.”

“You know what I mean. I don’t want you in my personal life.”

“I don’t think you want me in any part of your life.”

That shut him up. There was a casualness with how she’d said it, but he swore he could detect something layered beneath the intonation of indifference. Something faint, but there, that betrayed her impassive portrayal. Before he could linger too long on it, she changed the subject.

“I got a lead from Tarasov’s burner. It’s not exactly something I could’ve texted you.”

“Why not?”

“Because your phone reads all your messages out loud.”

Her voice was dry, and she made it sound like the most obvious thing in the world. Matt clenched his jaw as he processed that. She had a point.

“You couldn’t have called?”

“You don’t have a secure line.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means anyone could listen in.”

“But no one knows that I’m involved-”

“Doesn’t matter. They just have to hear the magic word while they’re scanning, and you’d become a target before you even hung up.”

Matt hadn’t thought about that. He didn’t think about any of these things, because it had never occurred to him before. As much as he hated to admit it, she knew what she was doing. She had knowledge and expertise when it came to these things that he just didn’t. Letting out a deep exhale, he shifted onto his other foot and adjusted his sunglasses on the bridge of his nose.

“Fine. What is it?”

“A text came through from an unknown number we couldn’t trace, but it had an address and a time. Soma’s, tomorrow night, eight pm.”

Before Matt could respond, a voice cut in from behind.

“So that’s why you sprinted out of the courtroom. Should’ve guessed.”

Foggy’s tone had a lilt of a tease, and Matt froze. The last thing he wanted was for Foggy and Karen to know about her. He didn’t even know how to explain her. But before he could stutter out an excuse, Foggy was already stepping forward and holding out his hand with a grin.

“Hi, I’m Foggy Nelson. This is Karen Page.”

Her lips spread into an easy smile as she shook both of their hands and introduced herself with one of her aliases.

“Nice to meet you both. Congratulations on your win, by the way.”

“That’s how we do things at N, M, & P. Winnin’ cases.”

Karen tried to stifle her snort behind her hand and Matt quietly groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“Don’t call us that-”

“What? Those are our initials, and that’s how the big law firms do it. It sounds more…sophisticated.”

“No it doesn’t.”

“Kinda does. Sounds like we get paid. Like in money.”

Beside him, Matt heard her let out a laugh. He could tell it was a genuine one. It was the same one he’d heard the other night on the phone.

“And…what do you get paid in now?”

Karen let out a soft laugh as she adjusted her bag over her shoulder and casually shrugged.

“Baked goods, favors, and just enough to keep the lights on.”

“So, are you uh…”

Foggy trailed off, looking between her and Matt curiously, waiting for one of them to fill in the blanks.

“She’s a friend.”

Matt automatically responded, even though it was the furthest thing from the truth. Foggy and Karen exchanged a quick knowing glance, and then Foggy looked at Matt with a smirk that made it clear he knew his best friend was full of shit.

“Right. A…friend. And does your friend want to come join us for celebratory drinks at Josie’s?”

“She has somewhere to-”

“I’d love to.”

Matt snapped his head in her direction, a tight frown of disapproval already tugging down his lips. There was absolutely no way in hell he was going to let her-

“Great, let’s go.”

Karen was already leading her towards the revolving doors of the building before Matt could even utter a word of protest. Foggy was just snickering as he turned to follow the pair.

“About time you brought a decent girl around, Matthew.”

Scowling at Foggy’s playful jab, Matt pressed his lips together and swiftly caught up to him, sticking his cane out in front of his leg. Foggy nearly tripped as his shin collided with it, and he bent down to rub his leg as he hissed.

“Ow! Goddamnit Matt-”

“Oops, my bad.”

Foggy grumbled under his breath as Matt smirked and kept walking.

“Keep it up. I’ll replace all your clothes with the most obnoxious colors and patterns I can find.”

Despite his annoyance, Matt couldn’t help but chuckle at that.

“Now that’s just cruel.”

“And tripping people with your cane isn’t? Jesus, what the hell is that thing made of anyway?”

»»———　　———««

“You know my mom wanted me to be a butcher?”

Karen and Matt simultaneously groaned, and Karen laughed as she set her drink down, holding her hand up to signal for Foggy to stop as she shook her head.

“God, not the butcher story again-”

“What? She hasn’t heard it. Anyway, I could’ve been a rich man by now, you know. Slingin’ meats.”

Setting her drink down, she laughed as she placed her chin in her palm, looking over at Foggy as she arched one of her brows curiously.

“What happened?”

“Ah, I got this roommate in law school, too smart for his own good, never shut up about Thurgood Marshall. And somehow, he convinced me to leave a very well paying gig at the law firm we interned at to start our own firm so we could help the underserved community instead of the rich assholes with blank checks.”

Matt rolled his eyes behind his sunglasses, taking another sip of his drink as he leaned back in the worn chair. She glanced over at him with a subtle smirk before looking over at Foggy again.

“Well, surely it’s more fulfilling.”

“Yeah, but we can’t pay our electric bill in casseroles and pies. Unfortunately.”

Matt set his drink down on the sticky table and tilted his head towards Foggy, his tone dry as he began to protest.

“We have paying clients Foggy-”

“Yeah, but we could have well paying clients. C’mon, one rich asshole a month, something petty that our conscience could survive defending.”

“We have enough cases-”

“One every three months. Every six? We could upcharge ‘em, you know. They won’t care, or notice. C’mon, I’ll take you somewhere snazzy, Murdock. Some place where you have to make a reservation a year in advance with a menu in a language neither of us can read. I could even get us front row seats to Rogers the musical!”

Creases of confusion settled in the middle of Matt’s forehead as he cocked his head to the side.

“Why would I want to go to a musical?”

“You have ears, Matthew. Don’t ruin my fantasy.”

While they bickered, she leaned over towards Karen with an amused expression and spoke quietly.

“Are they always like this?”

Karen glanced between Foggy and Matt with a grin before looking back at her and nodding, letting out a laugh.

“They’re usually worse.”

Foggy turned his attention back towards Matt’s mysterious new friend as he sipped his drink.

“So, what do you do?”

“I’m a ballet teacher.”

Matt was surprised at how quickly she’d answered. The ease with which she lied would be impressive if it wasn’t so concerning. That was probably part of the whole agent thing though, he supposed. He wondered if she came up with these things on her own, the aliases and the backstories, or if they were given to her by S.H.I.E.L.D. to memorize. He also wondered just how many she had. He struggled to keep up with one secret identity, and yet here she was juggling multiple.

He couldn’t understand how she didn’t lose track of her own real identity, or how she didn’t seem to get caught up in her own web of lies.

“Really? How did you get into that?”

Karen asked in surprise, her curiosity now peaked. The journalist in her couldn’t resist a good story, and that profession was unique. It wasn’t one somebody just chose on a whim or out of convenience.

“I was given lessons pretty early. I think I was…three when I started.”

Matt subtly tilted his head to the side, studying her. Strangely, her heartbeat didn’t falter. That was a truth. He found himself perplexed, wondering why she said it. Was it part of the protocol? Sprinkle some truth in with every lie to make it believable? He thought back to their phone call the other night, how she’d shared that personal detail about her memories.

Everytime he thought he was starting to figure her out, she’d say or do something that completely threw him off. As much as it intrigued him, it also left him incredibly frustrated. It was like trying to navigate a maze where every promising turn was a dead end.

“You still do it?”

She turned her attention to Foggy, giving a subtle shake of her head with a quiet laugh.

“Oh no, I just teach now.”

“You ever thought about doing anything else?”

She paused for a moment, her eyes flickering down to the drink in her hand. Something shifted in her body language, but once again, as quickly as it was there, it was gone. She faintly shrugged and looked up at Foggy again with a casual smile.

“I don’t know what I’d do, honestly. It’s…kinda the only thing I’ve ever known.”

Matt was struck by the sincerity in her voice. He didn’t know exactly what she meant by “it”, but whatever it was, she was telling the truth again. He suddenly found himself subconsciously turning towards her, wanting to ask what she meant by that, but then Foggy spoke up again.

“Do you think I could be a ballerina?”

Karen nearly spit out her drink laughing at the mental image, and even Matt let a dry chuckle escape at the absurdity of the question. A wry smirk tugged at the edge of her lips as she arched one of her brows.

“Do you want to be a ballerina?”

“Why not? How hard can it be?”

“It’s pretty brutal, actually. It’s a lot bloodier than people think.”

Foggy’s face twisted up as he wrinkled his nose at that.

“Really?”

“Yeah, and it’s pretty hard on your body.”

“You’re not selling me on this ballerina thing.”

She let out another short laugh, nodding with a small smile as she brought her drink to her lips.

“Good. We need more people like you than people like me.”

Matt didn’t know why, but the way she said that, and the certainty in her voice, made something in his chest tighten in an odd way. He knew self loathing when he heard it. It was a feeling he was all too familiar with. But he was shocked to hear someone like her even hint at it. Someone who had confessed with conviction that she didn’t mind being the “bad guy”.

He felt like he had a thousand more questions, none of which he could ask in front of Foggy and Karen. He had to be patient, which wasn’t his strong suit, and just hope that her relaxed mood meant that she’d answer without her usual smartass retort.

Twenty minutes later when Karen and Foggy got up for refills, Matt didn’t waste the opportunity. He leaned in a little closer and kept his voice low, even though the chatter around them and music playing from the jukebox provided a bubble of privacy for their conversation.

“How did you go from ballet lessons to S.H.I.E.L.D.?”

“Just lucky I guess.”

Matt had to fight the urge to throw his hands up in exasperation as let out an annoyed scoff. He shook his head in barely concealed incredulity, letting out a bitter laugh as he brought his drink to his lips.

“Great. We’re back to frustratingly vague answers?”

She was quiet for a moment, and Matt could feel her eyes roaming over him, studying him. She did that often, like she was trying to figure him out as much as he was her. But he didn’t understand why. She had the upper hand, and he hated that. He didn’t have a file with her whole life story in it. He could only work with what she gave him, which was usually nothing.

Letting out a slow exhale through her nose, she set her drink down and leaned back in the creaky chair.

“It’s not a simple answer.”

“It’s not an answer at all.”

Another moment of silence passed, and he could sense her eyes flickering around, taking the atmosphere all in. He didn’t know if being hyper aware of her surroundings had been part of her training, or if she was just a naturally curious person, but he’d noticed her head was usually on a swivel, and she never fully relaxed, despite her calm demeanor. It was like she was constantly on guard, waiting for something to happen.

“I joined S.H.I.E.L.D. five years ago.”

That caught his attention. He wasn’t expecting an actual answer, but that one didn’t clear up anything at all. It only made her timeline more puzzling. There was no way she’d become as skilled as she was in just five years. The ballet lessons could explain the fluid and graceful way she moved, but even if she’d taken lessons her whole life, it didn’t explain anything else.

Matt’s brain tried to rationalize this new information. He’d been training since he was ten years old. He’d spent his whole life doing it, even after Stick left. It had taken a long time learning on his own, but all those years of practice had led to him perfecting what he could do now. It all played a part in shaping who he had become.

In that moment, he had a sudden epiphany.

S.H.I.E.L.D. may have taught her a few things in the last five years, but something had come before that. He knew then, without a shadow of a doubt, that she had already been trained to be what she was long before.

Matt’s hand abruptly stilled, drink halfway to his lips, and he tilted his head in her direction. His expression betrayed the curiosity he felt.

“Where were you before that?”

“Somewhere I didn’t wanna be.”

There was a finality to her tone, a subtle edge that made it clear that was all he was going to get. He pursed his lips in a frown. Her answers were so carefully crafted, only composed of what she wanted him to know. Nothing more, nothing less. Those cryptic answers drove him insane. She’d given him tiny little pieces, but they amounted to nothing. Not even a general idea of who she actually was.

“I like Foggy.”

Matt let out a dry laugh, finally bringing his drink to his lips to drain the rest.

“Everybody likes Foggy.”

“I like Karen too.”

“Don’t get too comfortable.”

Matt felt an unexpected pang of guilt at how quick that had come out and how sharp it had been. Part of him felt like he was being a dick, but another part felt justified. This woman had completely flipped his world upside down, constantly raised his blood pressure, was one of the most frustrating people he’d ever met, and she’d given him no solid reason to not be wary of her. He was right to not want her here, in his special place, with the only family he had left.

But the way she subtly stiffened and sat up a little straighter made that Catholic guilt flare up, and it made him doubt his own reasoning.

“I should head out-”

“Wait-”

Matt surprised himself by the way he instinctively reached out to grab her wrist when she started to push her chair back. He could tell it had surprised her too, feeling the falter in her pulse under his fingers. He was struck by how…soft she was. How had he not noticed that before? Quickly snapping himself out of that thought, he retracted his hand just as swiftly and cleared his throat, trying to find the right words he wanted to say.

He hated how off balance she made him feel. He hadn’t wanted her to come, and now he didn’t want her to leave. Matt couldn’t think straight around her. All he could do was react. But his feelings towards her were so perplexing and inconsistent. For the most part he couldn’t stand her, but there were moments where he almost…enjoyed her presence, the banter, the challenge. He couldn’t explain it, and he didn’t understand it.

“Look I don’t…want them involved. I try really hard to keep my lives separate.”

“Do they know? About…”

She brought her hands up to either side of her head and made little devil horns with her index fingers, and Matt couldn’t stop the amused snort that it evoked. He clicked his tongue against his cheek as he nodded, a smirk tugging at the edge of his mouth.

“Yeah, they know. But I wish they didn’t.”

“Why?”

“Because it puts them at risk.”

A soft furrow nestled between her brows as she looked at him, and it was the first time he’d ever witnessed her confusion. She was always so self assured, so put together, always seemingly five steps ahead of everyone else.

“Is that it?”

Matt cocked his head to the side, pondering her question and why she was asking it.

“What do you mean?”

“That’s the only reason you wish they didn’t know? Because you think it puts them in danger?”

“I know it does. It already has.”

“But that’s the only reason. You don’t worry that they won’t…accept that other part of you.”

She said it as a statement, but he could hear the question in her cadence. There was a rare inflection of vulnerability, and she almost sounded bewildered that Matt hadn’t considered their rejection of that side of him.

“I mean, I know they don’t necessarily agree with it. Foggy…he has faith in the justice system. Sometimes I don’t think he can recognize how flawed and broken it is, or maybe he just doesn’t want to. And Karen…she worries. They both do. It was…an adjustment, getting to where we are now. But…they’re still here.”

Matt could sense the way her features softened at that last part. It seemed almost incomprehensible to her, that they knew all about his darker half, and they stuck around anyway. There was a question that nearly slipped off his tongue, but abruptly four shot glasses were slammed on the table by a very tipsy Foggy.

“Alright miss ballerina, as part of your initiation to the dingiest, dirtiest, dustiest dive bar in all of Hell’s Kitchen, you gotta drink the mighty eel juice!”

Her face twisted up in puzzlement, and she glanced up at Karen, arching one of her brows inquisitively.

“Do I even wanna know?”

Karen laughed and shook her head, distributing the shot glasses.

“In this situation, ignorance is bliss.”

tags: @the-swift-escape @lambmurdock @lunakkey @Lfdybadgirlsdiw @devilmurdock64 @moonyinthestars @suits-and-smirks @Day-dreaming-goddess @natashasotherhalf @rebel13lion39 @pixelfaery @ebsmind @Mattmurdocksscars @ahhhhhhhydbhdg @ayupcap @thepassionatereader @awenthealchemist @zomtart @superrbffun @buckypops @snicksbabe @redroomproperty @angel113431@18raven @a-sunflower-in-bloom @shadypaperwitch @lizziela @givemylovetoall @dreadfulxives18 @jjprxntiss @bigratbitchsworld @s1xthirty @daisy-the-quake @raven18 @hipwell @scorpiovelaryon @yiiiikesmish @mel-thefrog @Ponyosmom35 @daisydark @xoxabs88xox @punkshyteee @abbyhaslongshorts @wolvierinee @snowflames-world @yomnajir @Fries11 @groovycass

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beloveds-embrace · 1 month ago

Text

)some graves love for graves enthusiasts like @nightunite & @grombs-blog <3 :3)

No one breathed too loudly in your court. You made sure of that.

The throne room was a thing of precision- cut glass chandeliers that dripped crystals like frozen tears, walls the color of spilled wine, and floors polished until they reflected the gleam of your wrath. Ministers spoke only when addressed, and courtiers knew better than to linger near the dais, and ladies flicked open their fans in practiced fashion so as not to raise your wrath and displeasure, for you were not kind nor were you warm, and you wore your reputation like a crown sharper than the one on your head.

But the moment the great doors creaked open and he entered, the air shifted.

Philip Graves walked with the quiet arrogance of a man who had never truly known fear- not the way others did. Shadows seemed to coil around his boots like old friends. He bowed as always- graceful, efficient, head low, almost theatrical- but those damned eyes found yours the moment he rose and a grin stretched across his face- even when yours curdled like milk.

“You’re late.” You said, voice cool enough to crack glass.

“Only by a few hours, Queen,” he replied, smiling just enough to test your patience. “And I brought you a gift.”

He held out a velvet pouch, and the court stiffened when the glint of a ring- plucked from some now-dead rebel prince-of-the-people, if you had to guess- shimmered inside. But it wasn’t the token that pleased you, for you had far more fancier rings and jewels.

It was him.

You leaned back, studying him like a particularly fine blade, and thus your finger curled to summon him close. “Come here.”

He obeyed, of course. Philip always obeyed you.

With a casualness that sent ripples of horror through the room, you pulled him to sit on the wide arm of your throne, letting one leg drape lazily over his lap. Your hand curled into his hair, tugging lightly- an unspoken warning and a familiar comfort. You felt him exhale, the only noise to be heard in the dead silence of the throne room.

This was your routine. A dance sharp as the knives he uses.

“My little pet,” you murmured, stroking his jaw with the back of your fingers, your cold rings brushing across his cheeks. “Did you make a mess?”

His lips curled, the barest echo of smug pride. “Nothing that can’t be cleaned up.”

You smiled, slow and dangerous. Ministers looked away. One of them- a particularly vocal noble from the southern isles- looked like he might be sick, but you didn’t care; you wanted them to see. Let them clutch their pearls and avert their eyes, for you and Philip were a sight unmatched.

Let them try to reconcile the brutal head of the infamous Shadow Group with the man now nuzzling into the crook of your neck like a favored pet.

They didn’t understand and they never would, because he was yours. Not just your assassin, not just your hound- yours. And no blade he carried was half as sharp as the softness he reserved only for you.

“You missed me, Queenie.” He said quietly, so only you could hear.

“I don’t miss things, much less belongings.” You replied, but your fingers still curled tighter into his shirt, digging like claws that would not let go.

Liar, he almost said. But he just smiled again for he fancied keeping his silver-tongue, eyes glinting like knives beneath silk.

The court watched, silent and stunned, as their cold, untouchable Queen cradled him with all the tenderness of someone holding a beloved cat.

Let them whisper and let them fear, for you had your throne and you had your blade.

And curled in your lap, purring like a devil in velvet, you had Philip Graves.

#noona.posts #cod x reader #cod x you #noona.writes #cod #cod imagines #philip graves #graves #philip graves x you #philip graves x reader #graves x you #graves x reader #by

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sugar-grigri · 9 months ago

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Pochita, if you can read, why don't you speak ?

Wouldn't it be humane to protect humanity and demonic to protect the underworld? And what if... it was actually the other way around.

The interweaving of questions and answers is exactly what this chapter does.

While Yoru sordidly states that children are nothing more than the property of their parents, the one who can't speak, instead of devouring a human as he did with all those demons, decides to go to the blood drive.

Pochita understood what the sign meant. He knows how to talk. But he'd rather hold up that sign and roar than make any demands.

Worse still, he does not decide to give any orders.

It's not words that symbolise order, it's that raised index finger that already in Roman times expressed command.

In the United States, arms are a constitutional right (as recently reiterated by the Supreme Court, which does not admit of any restrictions), a fundamental freedom but also a means of preserving one's freedom, allowing organised militias to fight and protect the State.

You can see how it's all a construction, the weapons are a technological creation, the State is an administrative and political creation.

And that's where things get interesting. First of all, this chapter is highly symbolic and has a very strong political message (oh my god, political interpretation in a manga, impossible..........)

Yoru has sliced off the index fingers of those who support the right to bear arms in the United States. Or campaign for that freedom. But what Yoru is doing. In fact, it's taking it away from them. How can I shoot without this index finger? You can't do it.

It's by taking weapons away from men that they actually regain their freedom.

But it goes even further than that. Why does Yoru sacrifice these fingers? Because it reinforces the fear of weapons. Let's say I point a gun at you (sorry). You'd be less scared if you were as armed as I am. Especially when you're trained, know how to defend yourself and aren't afraid to shoot.

Yoru makes those who thought they were invincible with weapons vulnerable. She strengthens the Gun Devil's power. She contracts with them through her sacrificed child.

Weapons,

freedom,

deprivation of childhood,

of loved ones,

obsession with a mentor,

To think that a god created them.

Remind you of anyone?

Infanticide is what makes you immortal.

The sacrificed demons become weapons, lost between humanity and the demons. Not being human, nor demon, because they have no parents. Even artificial weapons like Reze and Katana display these characteristics. Isn't loneliness one of the ingredients?

Humanity sacrifices its children. As Fujimoto confirmed, they were prepared to do it for eternal youth.

And now you're going to say to me. NOOOO! Yoru too! Just as Makima wouldn't hesitate to do. The demons are also ready to do it.

Yes, because they are influenced by men.

Yoru speaks, uniting with humanity to say horrible things. Whereas Pochita doesn't speak. Worse still, he has chosen not to speak. Worst of the worst, even worse. He'd rather be a dog than a human. That's his choice.

Pochita fights for those he loves, he doesn't sacrifice them.

The demon of birth, it swallows but can spit out. Suspending existence, giving it new life, denying none of it.

Wasn't Makima devoured by Denji proof of this?

Nayuta is the symbol of this rebirth. A perpetual love that surpasses hate.

Pochita loves demons. He also loves those who mean something to him, like Denji. But he also knows that when we become too human, we can end up sacrificing ourselves out of vanity rather than love.

Pochita has sacrificed himself for love, without expecting anything in return as he waits permanently for Denji's dreams.

He is also Denji's lock, preventing him from fully adapting to men.

That's why killing Black CSM was Denji's wish come true. Because Pochita is preventing Denji from becoming normal.

Because he wants to protect him from humanity. Pochita has never been for humanity.

He is simply the guardian of the underworld, all those demons whose existence he guards, a supreme mother. Humanity must endure in order to continue to be afraid. But if humanity is prepared to overcome the ultimate fear of losing its child, then fear is scorned.

So Pochita tried to wipe out the weapons' existence, to devour them. But they still existed. Why? Because they are already the result of infanticide.

being devoured by the demon of birth, mother of the underworld, actually reinforces their existence.

Being devoured by their mother is the reason for their nature.

Whereas weapons are beings born because their mother has killed them.

Denji is the result of the death of the Supreme Mother.

It's not a weapon.

He's a wall.

Hero of the underworld.

A hero of the underworld who has been fighting from the start for the victory of love, sacrificing himself for those he loves and not sacrificing them. So he asks for blood.

And I'm sorry. If weapons really are born like that, they have to look human, and I think this is the last possessed human.

Someone's been ringing the doorbell.....for 100 chapters… it's time to answer it, isn't it?

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endless-ineffabilities · 1 year ago

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backhand stroke (18+)

tennis coach!Aemond x tennis player!reader

Rivals on and off the court, things come to a head between the two when Aemond crosses the line and sabotages the reader's relationship.

themes : challengers inspired, Art Donaldson is featured <3, a lot of cussing, smut!!! (minors dn fckin i), the reader and Aemond hate each other (but if they hate each other why are they fcking), reader may or may not be a cheating bastard, Aemond has a glass eye + he calls the reader ace

a/n : initially I was about to write a fic where Aemond and the reader are actual rivals themselves, but quickly remembered how tennis works 💀 so in this one, Aemond is a coach and reader is a player 🎾

word count : 8k ▪︎ masterlist

The Westeros Open is the biggest and most prestigious tennis tournament in the country.

Anyone who wants to be someone in the sport aims to qualify for it.

For you, it is everything. You have devoted your entire life to tennis. It started as something that stemmed from your parents' neglect. Rich folks who signed their young daughter up for extensive tennis lessons just so they can be free of her and galivant off to wherever.

You had sat there, staring at your shiny, brand-new white tennis shoes. Holding your unused top-of-the-line racket. Hair kept away from your face with a headband that still smelled like the store.

Mostly left alone by your family, you gathered your strength, and dragged your weak eight-year-old legs across the tennis court day in and day out.

Through the years, you found yourself. You found home, and you gave everything you had to make sure you would never lose it.

As luck would have it, you found romance along the way in Art Donaldson, who became your coach after your previous one decided to quit. He used to be a player, until he fell out of love with the game, and chose to coach up and coming players instead.

You had been wary of getting involved with him, but eventually you couldn’t resist. He turned out to be the perfect boyfriend - caring, sweet, attentive to your every need. He became your partner in both tennis and in life. Truly, you couldn’t want for anything else.

You shouldn’t.

So why does it feel like there is something missing?

And why is that void one that only Aemond Targaryen can fill?

The gigantic poster propped up in the inner courtyard of the country club lets everyone know that your next qualifying match in the Westeros Open is against none other than Helaena Targaryen.

Your image looms up to around twenty feet, with Helaena’s lithe figure on the other side. The perfectionist in you can’t help but scrutinise the details in your expression and your form. Was that really what you looked like mid-serve? You laugh dryly, feeling silly at your misdirected concern.

You like Helaena, and she’s always been cordial to you outside of your matches. The issue lies with her more brash and calculating brother and coach.

Something - or rather someone - shuffles behind you. Close enough that the hairs on the back of your neck stand on attention.

"I wish I could say that you look good up there, but we did once promise not to lie to each other.”

Think of the devil and he shall appear. You don't have to turn around to know who it is.

Aemond fucking Targaryen. Once at his prime, known for his freely expressing his passion and rage on the court, earning him the title 'the bad boy of tennis'. It was this drive, this relentlessness, that propelled his game. Unfortunately, it also served to be his downfall. After a few years as the sport's #1 male player, his career came to an end after an off-court altercation with an opponent that took his eye.

Now he is the coach of one of your top rivals and upcoming match opponent, his sister Helaena.

Which is why it should come as no surprise to you that he has made it his mission to get under your skin, with all his unwarranted flirty remarks, constant staring, and how he tirelessly interacts with everything you post on social media.

It used to be tame, by his standards anyway, with things like, ‘You need to work on that backhand’ or ‘I’m guessing Donaldson doesn’t train you well enough.’

But then the messages took a different turn. You once posted a picture of you in a fancy, revealing gown when you attended the annual gala, and he responded with, ‘It’s easy to see that all your training has paid off, ace.’

You chocked it all up to playful aggression. He’s just trying to get you to lower your guard, and distract you. You knew better than to look too much into the apparent interest he gives you.

He is notorious for being a playboy, after all. Dirty blonde hair perfectly tousled, designer tracksuits he wears with such snobbishness, a presence that can command an entire room. You’ve grown to heavily dislike the seemingly permanent smug sneer on his lips, and how he sometimes treats others like they’re nothing but gum stuck on the soles of his fancy tennis shoes.

A handsome rogue who possesses a lot of talent and who is aware of his status as a hot commodity can be dangerous indeed. If he can say that Helaena Targaryen’s best opponent is nothing but another notch on his bedpost, then he will never let that live down.

More importantly, you are already spoken for. Aemond knows this - not that he cares - but whatever he thinks about your relationship doesn’t matter.

“Aemond.” You don’t turn to face him, continuing to scrutinise the gigantic poster. “Is that the best you got?”

He shrugs, positioning himself right in your line of sight, clearly demanding more attention. “You don’t just look good. You look good enough to fucking eat, ace. Too bad about the shitty attitude.”

Hot then cold, nice then nasty. Aemond will never change. Rolling your eyes, you say, “I thought I told you not to call me that. Shouldn’t you be somewhere else training your sister? She’s gonna need it.”

He steps closer, invading your space. You look him directly in the eye like you’re squaring up with an opponent. This has always been your dynamic. Neither one backing down, neither one ever really dealing a blow.

Just constant dizzying electricity.

Sooner or later, it will all come to a head. Whether it will be your fault or his, the jury is still out on that.

“Oh, I’m sure she will,” he patronises, his deep blue almost violet eye sparkling. On the opposite was his glass eye, only adding to his intimidating nature. He hadn’t opted for one that resembled his real eye, but rather a hazy white apparatus, making him appear ghoulish, almost ghostlike. Nestled in his left eye socket, framed by a faded maroon gash, it made him look every bit like the charismatic rogue of tennis that he is known to be. “Shouldn’t you be somewhere receiving instruction from Donaldson? Not that you’ll get much out of it.”

“Art and I are on top of our training, not that it’s any of your damn business. You should concern yourself with your sister’s game.”

“If only that were actually true, ace, but unfortunately I believe that your sweet Art wastes too much of his fucking time being on top of you.”

“Fuck off, Targaryen,” you respond, trying to push the allure of his scent out of your mind. Pungent cologne and cigarette smoke, a blend that you’ve come to associate only with him. “Stay out of my business, and quit messaging me.”

“You like how we talk.”

“Trust me, I don’t.”

“Does Donaldson know?” Fully aware that Art has never had a liking for him, he knows that will hit a nerve.

Your face falls, like you’ve been caught in the act. Even though you've done nothing wrong. Occasionally caving in and responding to Aemond’s messages surely isn’t crossing the line. What started out as a couple of offhand fuck offs from your end turned into actually sharing private jokes about the other matches and training and - heavens forbid - small talk about the goddamn weather.

You’ve come to know that his favourite colour is green. Not the neon of a tennis ball, but a bluish-tinted pine.

Not that it matters.

Encounters such as this one also don’t mean anything. Never mind however much you find him attractive. Who wouldn’t? You have eyes, and you’re only human. Nothing more to it.

Never mind how, some nights, in what can only be construed as momentary states of delirium, you have imagined him in Art’s place.

Never mind just how much he gets under your skin, like no one else can, and how you can’t admit to yourself that you might actually like it.

Oh, you might actually be making yourself sick at all these thoughts.

“There’s nothing for him to know.” You step to the side, indicating that you want to walk away. But he has you cornered and you both know it.

He smirks, “Keep telling yourself that, ace. But you can’t deny - ” He steps close again. He suddenly tilts your face toward him with one hand, but you shake your head and his fingers lose their hold. “ - this. Us.”

Damn him. And damn the shiver that just ran up your spine.

You stand still, entranced by the look he’s giving you. Trick or not, Aemond sure does have a way of looking at you as if he sees you for who you really are. Not the tennis prodigy. Not the public personality. You remain a shell of that broken kid that poured everything she had into this sport, much like he had, only to come out the other end still not whole, still searching for something inexplicably out of reach. And he sees just that - just you.

You feel like Art holds you up on a pedestal, not seeing the flaws that make you who you are. But you’ve always been happy to play the perfect girlfriend.

Until Aemond.

But he’s too much. Too forward, too brash, too intoxicating. You can never know what he’s going to do next. You can’t like him. You have to be certain that you don’t.

But then again… love and hate have always been two sides of the same coin.

He whispers, clearly pleased with the effect he has on you, “Match point, ace.”

Match point. You could have him. He could have you. He makes it evident that the next move is all yours. “Don’t go out of bounds, Targaryen,” you warn him lowly.

“What if I want to?”

You have him. He has you.

And you… have Art.

Clearing your throat, and your head, you finally step back. His head snaps up to follow you, disappointment evident on his face.

“See you around, Targaryen.” You spin on your heel, walking away, immediately feeling lighter. Emptier, feeling like your body begs to drift closer to him, two equal magnets.

“Ace,” he calls to you, walking after you when you don’t turn around. “Wait a second,” he reappears right in front of you, effectively halting your stride.

You grumble hastily, “God, you really have a space issue, don’t you, Aemond?”

“Meet me in the courtyard gardens,” he says, a new intensity lacing his voice, “tonight. After dinner. Or whenever you can. Just - ”

“No.”

“Come on, ace.” His tone is insistent, with no trace of his usual bravado and cockiness. “I think… I need to tell you something.”

Part of you wants to cave in, and just agree to whatever it is that he’s proposing, but that nagging voice in the back of your mind is adamant that it would not be right. What would Art think? But what if Aemond truly just wants to tell you something?

“So tell me now.”

His jaw clenches hard, and you can’t help but admire the taut edges of his face. “No, I want to do this, just you and me. When we’ll be alone - ”

“Aemond - ” you start to shake your head, trying hard to come up with a refusal that he will actually register.

“Donaldson doesn’t need to know,” he almost pleads. “This is between you and me, ace. You just have to hear me out.”

You take a deep breath, unable to understand just what it is he means. “If it’s something I have to hide from my boyfriend, then it’s not gonna happen. You have to see just how messed up that is, Targaryen.”

Either he can’t hear you, or he just does not want to accept your response. “I’ll wait for you. Right around midnight then, ace? Should give you plenty of time to sneak out.”

Before you can say no, again, he hastily plants a kiss on your cheek. Your eyes flutter shut at the sensation, in surprise and perhaps pleasure at the softness of his lips, and when you open them once more, he is no longer flooding your space.

You spy him entering a set of glass doors, leaving you there stunned.

▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎

Aemond kicks at another pebble, the sound momentarily breaking the silence in the gardens.

He’d checked his watch just seconds before, the face of it spitting on what remains of his eagerness.

Twelve fucking fifteen.

Either you just got held up by your whiney rat-faced boyfriend, or you’re a no-show.

Aemond doesn’t know which one is worse. He did not know what he was expecting in the first place. Did he actually think that you would do as he says? You never were good at following orders, much less those from someone whom you likely view as something of a nuisance.

Is that really what you see him as? Isn’t there something more at play here?

Something that keeps Aemond up at night, when he can no longer deny that it is not because he dislikes you that you plague his thoughts, but because he admires you. He does admire you, he sees no shame in admitting that.

As a tennis player. As a competitor. Anyone who feigns ignorance at your insane potential would just be lying to themselves.

As a woman? A… partner? No. It has to be no, doesn’t it? You hate him, you make it clear now and again. You disagree with him, challenge his views, point out his flaws. Surely, he can’t be attracted to you in a way that commands his heart. You are beautiful, he doesn’t deny this, but so were the dozens of other girls he had run through.

Each time he watches you perform your signature backhand stroke, with that sensual growl escaping your lips and the lewd grace with which your body bends, Aemond feels his sanity slipping away.

You drive him crazy, but he can't be crazy about you.

The only reason he asked you to meet him, is because he wants to propose that he replace Art as your coach. Helaena has expressed that she wants to retire, and focus on some other creative pursuits. Something insignificant to Aemond, that he can’t remember what it was exactly. A pottery business? A fucking flower shop? He doesn’t care to know.

It’s perfect, he thinks, because your game is superior anyway. It’s what first got his attention, and now he can take part in your process. He can direct you, shape you. He can do so much better than Art Donaldson, and he’s sure you know this too.

Maybe then you might actually open up to him the way you opened up to Art. With your absence tonight, it dawns on him that he might actually have to resort to other measures. Did he seriously think he would be able to simply reason with you about this?

He sits for another half-hour on a bench nestled among the rose bushes. Surrounded by flowers of deep scarlet, a maroon he distinctly remembers as being your favourite colour. He fools himself into believing that he’s using the time to craft a plan for what’s to come, and not that he’s wasting it on the hope that you might emerge from the tall hedges, out of breath and eyes glinting eager to find him.

Well, you played your hand. Now he knows what he has to do.

▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎

You wake up groggy the following morning, having tossed and turned the entire night, thinking about Aemond.

Had he been out there, waiting for you? Your mind came up with the different possibilities of what he has to say. Or if he had nothing to say at all, and it was all just another ruse.

You told yourself that you didn’t want to meet up with him, but you had an alibi prepared. One of your old tennis club mates agreed to cover for you and say that you were having drinks together, just in case Art ever checks up.

But as you were about to deliver the excuse, Art had said something about you and him not getting to spend as much quality time anymore. The past few weeks have been occupied with nothing but tennis, and though it’s a shared activity that you both value, he wanted to stay in for the night with you. He ordered room service, downloaded two films that were on your watchlist, and whispered sweet nothings in your ear until you eventually gave up on meeting Aemond.

It can wait, whatever it is.

Besides, isn’t this the right thing to do? Did you seriously consider having a midnight rendezvous with the guy who you claim to dislike the most? Someone who encourages you to keep secrets from your boyfriend? What good could possibly come out of that?

With a heaving sigh, you push all thoughts of last night from your mind. There are bigger things at hand. The biggest tennis tournament of the year, for one.

You make your way to the dining hall of your hotel. Art had woken up before you, pressing a loving kiss to your cheek and explaining how he had to discuss some matters with your physical team. He wore the skin of a tennis coach as perfectly as that of a boyfriend.

And here you are, regretting that you were unable to meet up with another man the previous night.

The art deco layout of the lobby extends into the spacious dining hall, the interior of the hotel filled with geometric patterns and rich jewel tones. You once bid Aemond guess what your favourite interior design was, and he got it in two tries, complete with a spiel of how it reflects your personality. Art, on the other hand, had been adamant that your favourite was minimalist. That was the first time you realised that his perspective of you was different from Aemond’s.

You hadn’t yet reconciled with who is more accurate, lest it shine a light on something deeper.

The hostess is cheerful and full of pep as she leads you to your table. You know it’s coming - she’ll ask you for a picture in just a moment, and you’re proven right when she reaches in her pocket and her phone materialises inch by inch. She seems shy to ask, ready to turn on her heel with a stiff smile if you refuse, so you do your best to be encouraging.

When the photo is taken and she finally lowers her phone, you spy someone out in the distance and you make it out to be none other than your boyfriend. Leaning by the outdoor terrace, appearing to be speaking to another person you can’t yet make out, their face obscured by the decorative shrubbery scattered across the area.

You walk to the side to get a better view of who it is. That tall figure, clad in a black tracksuit… a familiar head of blonde hair… and the unmistakable cut of his jawline. Realisation sets in. Art is speaking to Aemond.

Your stomach sinks, the thought of breakfast no longer enticing. Frozen in the middle of the dining hall, you begin to attract the attention of others.

Aemond turns his head, perfectly timed for his gaze to meet yours. Like something out of a grim movie, your anxiety spikes as his smug smirk materialises in slow motion.

If there ever were a match at hand between you two, that smirk makes it clear that he has won it.

Art follows his gaze, also meeting yours, but without any trace of satisfaction. He looks at you accusingly. You shake your head at him, but you already know.

This is not going to end well.

▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎

“Is it true?”

You had wordlessly followed Art back to your hotel suite, the air around you thick with dread and anticipation.

“What did Aemond say?” You stand in front of him as he calmly sits by the window, as if you’re on the trial stand. You just might be.

“Guess,” Art spits mockingly. “Why don’t you tell me? You seem to know him quite well.” You bristle at his tone. He’s never spoken to you like this before.

“Whatever he told you, it’s not what it looks like, okay? You know Aemond. He likes to mess around with people, especially us.”

Art shakes his head in disbelief, “He even showed me some of your messages. Some of them you must have sent - what, at 3 or 4 in the fucking morning? When you’re lying next to me in bed? Not getting a lot of sleep apparently. It must be why you’re not on top of your game.”

He’s not playing fair, and you deserve this.

“There’s nothing going on between us,” you say through gritted teeth, making the statement sound as firm as possible, because it’s not just Art you’re attempting to convince. You want to believe it too.

“He’s said some things about me.”

“And I defended you.”

“Not well enough,” he shakes his head. “It sounded almost normal for you. Spewing bullshit to each other.”

“It’s just… it’s all just banter.” God, you sound so terrible. “Riling each other up to get into the mindset before matches.”

“All that… all that, I can kind of understand. It’s the other things. The intimate things that get on my nerves.”

“What - ” You can’t form the proper response to that.

“I missed talking to you, he once said. To which you replied that you do too.”

“That’s nothing.”

“You said that he inspired you.”

“That’s… that… he’s a great talent,” you stammer, as the statements he throws worsen. “He always has been. Even you can’t deny that.”

The argument goes on for an uncomfortable length of time, with Art reminding you of things that you and Aemond had apparently messaged each other, and you trying to play them off as insignificant.

Gradually, you convince Art that Aemond is just a thorn in your side. That Aemond was just overplaying the messages to get under his skin. That letting this break your relationship would be giving Aemond what he wants.

But everything he said - the messages he brought back to the surface, the encounters that were brought up - made you realise the depth of your involvement with Aemond.

You are fooling yourself, just as much as you are fooling Art.

He finally stands, heading towards the door. “I’ve spoken to our physical team. Meet us at the gym in 15.”

“Art.”

He halts, but he doesn’t turn to face you. You’re worried about what you’ll see in his face if he does.

“Are we okay?” you ask.

He turns to the side, and you catch a glimpse of the man you love, his once blithe demeanour reduced to a brief, forced smile. He nods once, and you sag in relief. When he is finally out the door, you collapse onto the bed and press your knuckles to your eyes.

You feel it all at once.

Anger. Frustration. That fear of inevitability coming to fruition. This was bound to happen and a part of you knew it was coming.

Aemond screwed you over, and it’s high time you put an end to everything.

▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎

The gardens. Midnight.

The message had been sent. The last one you will ever send to Aemond Targaryen if things go as planned.

You have it rehearsed and perfected in your mind - how you will give him a piece of your mind, how you will tell him off and tell him to fuck off for good.

As long as you think of Art… As long as you don’t lose yourself, then…

“You’re lucky I’m not standing you up, Ace. Not like what you did to me.” The bastard has appeared directly behind you, as per his custom, so close you can feel his breath on the nape of your neck.

You immediately turn to face him, and he stands calmly in his signature black tracksuit, his lips curled in their usual manner. “I never agreed to meet you that night.”

His smile is derisive, the sight of it sharp and cruel under the moonlight. “I thought we had sort of a code of honour, you and I. That we’d never lie to each other. Never let the other person down.”

“Honour?” you say mockingly. “I call bullshit. Trying to ruin my relationship… is that part of it?”

He looks away, shaking his head at your accusation. “I only did what you don’t have the fucking guts to do. Your relationship with Donaldson was ruined the moment we…” He trails off, brows furrowing. His gaze meets yours, revealing the truth that sits underneath his mask of arrogance. One that only you are allowed to see. He appears to take on a different smile this time, softer and less pronounced. The curses you want to hurl get caught in your throat when he looks to your lips and hums faintly to himself, almost as if he’s forgotten that you are in the middle of an argument.

You take a step back, and it shakes him out of his reverie. It shakes the both of you out of it.

“Well? Let’s fucking hear it then.” You raise your arms in a gesture, egging him on.

“Hear what?” he says, having the gall to be confused.

“What did you want to tell me that night? Tell me now, because you’ll never get the chance again.”

He straightens, getting his thoughts in order. He completely forgot about that issue, and talking is increasingly becoming the last thing he wants to do right now. He wants to put his lips to better use. Something more worthwhile. “Helaena’s retiring,” he finally decides on saying, “and I think I should be your coach.”

You’re dumbfounded for a moment, his proposition whirring in your head. It makes sense, it does. He just gets you. But then again…

“That’s rich,” you reply. “Do you think I would ever give up Art? He’s always been my coach and he’s damn good at it.”

“You’re not compatible,” he counters, “in the court and out of it.”

“You don’t know that.”

“He doesn’t see you,” he affirms. He would never lie to you, and he isn’t about to start now. He repeats, “He doesn’t see you, but I do.”

His words strike true, and it feels as if he’s just pulled the rug from underneath you, and you’re falling, falling…

Right into his arms. And the impact is jarring, because it’s real.

“We can’t.” It comes out as a hoarse whisper, a reflection of your weakening restraint.

“Yes we can, ace.” He takes a step closer, and he lifts his hand as if on instinct, reaching for your face. But he’s frozen, unsure of how far he can toe the line that already lies fragile between you. “It should be you and me.”

Your eyes follow his movements, because you know you want him to give in and hold you. To touch your face. To kiss you.

And it’s wrong. It’s all wrong.

“I have to go.” Your voice carries no emotion. You avert your gaze at the last second and catch the defeat that flashes across his face. It should come as a surprise that it pains you to see him like this, but then again, you see him as he sees you. You always have. Which renders your next words among the most painful to come out of your mouth. “We can’t do this anymore. Art already doesn’t trust me, and if this goes on, it’s only going to make things worse. I can’t talk to you - ”

“No.”

“- and I won’t be responding to anything- ”

“Stop fucking talking.” His anger is fledgling, rising to the surface. There is no way he will calmly accept these terms. “I said no, ace.”

“It’s… it’s the right thing to do,” you murmur, still unable to look at him. “I’m sure I’ll see you around. We run in the same circles. But we can’t be… us.”

“Forget it,” he seethes, trying to catch your eyes, and growling low when you don’t relent. “Forget him, ace. Or do whatever the fuck you want. But not this, I’m not having this.”

You exhale, having gotten the worst of it out of your chest. It’s over now. But it’s not a relief that you feel. It’s remorse.

“Goodbye, Aemond.” With that, you finally take him in once more, and one glance is enough to shatter your resolve. His heightened ill temper shines clearly across his distinguished features. Under the midnight moon, he resembles a fallen angel, long dark blonde lashes casting shadows on his cheekbones. His shadowy, glass eye strangely adding to the appeal.

Beautiful. And just not yours.

One last, lingering look - then you walk away. The silence is deafening, and you feel numb all over. Your knuckles are taut at your sides, fingernails digging in your palms to keep those pesky, errant tears at bay. You’ve suffered defeat before, but this is much worse, because it’s coming solely from your own hand. How easily you give him up, someone who was never yours, and how badly it stings.

“No,” you hear him say again, and you pray he shuts up so you can keep walking.

He doesn’t. He repeats the word - no - over and over like some mantra under his breath. One second you feel nothing. Nothing at all. But then the wind whooshes around you and you’re being spun around to face him.

And then, his lips claim yours, and you feel everything.

Sounds come rushing back to you. His ragged panting against your lips, the pads of his fingertips kneading the back of your head, the wet smacking of his mouth on your own. The empty pit in your stomach is filled with those clichéd butterflies. More so when one of his hands travels down to grasp your waist and press your body against his.

“Aem - ” Your mind catches up to you, and you try to say his name to get him to pause, but he slides his tongue past your teeth.

“Shut up and kiss me, ace.” He breaks free for but a second, then hungrily kisses you again. You let him. You give in completely.

“Mmm, Aemond.” Your hands reach up to cradle his face and he takes that as an opportunity to pull back and openly admire you.

“You’re my ace,” he professes, connecting his forehead to yours. “And I’m not fucking losing you.”

▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎

You rush through the lobby of the hotel, hand in hand and giggling like schoolchildren as you duck your heads so as not to get recognised by the night concierge.

With reckless abandon, your entwined bodies stumble into his suite, which just happens to be on the floor below yours. You once thought you would have to be inebriated beyond belief to surrender to a sin like this, and in a way you are. You’re high off of him - Aemond in his entirety, six feet of lean muscle, notorious foul-mouthed one-eyed libertine.

“Fuck, ace.” He has his arms wrapped around you from behind, and he nips at your exposed neck. His touch roams and finds the mounds of your breasts, kneading mindlessly over your shirt. The sound that reverberates from his throat is carnal, and you feel it echo through your whole body. It drives you to press your ass against him, taking full notice of his hardness straining from his sweatpants.

Feeling mischievous, you do it again, gripping his arms to anchor yourself while grinding against his cock.

“Foul play,” he whispers against your neck, “you fucking minx.”

“There are no rules now.” You face him, running a finger along his jawline as you walk backward and he follows suit. Stopping at the edge of his bed, you strip out of your shirt, careful to keep your eyes locked on his the whole time.

The movement is too slow for Aemond, and he desperately needs more. He pushes you onto the mattress and climbs on top of you. He slides your sweatpants off your legs, then lets his hand drag from your ankle to your inner thigh. He promptly undresses, graceless and in a rush, until all his clothes are left in a heap on the carpet.

His cock stands on attention, taut and goddamn long. You feel an ache below that compels you to rub your legs together, but he beats you to it and slides your underwear right off. “I’ve always wanted to taste you,” he croons. “Bet you taste so sweet.”

You take your bra off and you’re finally left completely bare. He spreads your legs and positions himself in between. He uses one hand to squeeze your breast and the other to keep your legs propped wide open.

His eye meets yours, before he settles in, lowering his head until he’s breathing cool air onto your pussy. “Match point, ace.”

You have him. He has you.

When Aemond’s tongue plunges deep into your throbbing core, swirling inside like he wants to consume you whole, you have to bite your tongue to hold back a scream.

He knows what he’s doing, of course he does, and he’s so fucking good.

“Yes - yes - keep going, baby, fuck - ” you moan, words breathy and irregular.

He sticks two fingers into your wetness, using it to spread you wider, leveraging his tongue ever deeper. In and out they go, faster than the fuck, fuck, fucks coming out of your mouth in blissful sputters.

He suddenly stops, a guttural hmm echoing from his lips, and you look down to see his lips coated in a mixture of his spit and your pre cum. “Not so fast, ace,” he taunts. “You’ll come when I say.”

You prop yourself up on your elbows, still widespread and exposed to him. “What, are you coaching me through it?”

He hums in affirmative and leans in to kiss you, juices still dripping from his chin.

“You gonna follow my orders, ace?” he asks, and your mind spirals at how utterly lewd it sounds.

“Wouldn’t you like that, Targaryen?” You let out another moan, biting your lip when he hungrily sucks on your breast. “Let’s see what you got first.”

He smiles at your playful instigation. It’s always come natural, this riffing back and forth. But this midnight dalliance - he wants it to be honest. He needs you to realise how much he wants you.

“Yes, ma’am.” He gets on his knees, a hand braced on each of your thighs, his hardened cock at the ready.

“Ma’am?” you breathe, a laugh dying in your throat when you his tip prods at your entrance.

“I can be agreeable under the right circumstances, ace.” He torments you by pushing his cock in but an inch.

“Fuck me, Aemond,” you cuss in frustration, then, literally, “Fuck me. Please.”

His eyes take you in, one darkened blue and one ghostly pale glass. “Well, since you asked so nicely,” he says. “You good for it, ace?” He nods once, referring to whether a condom is needed and you take the hint right away.

“Yeah,” you confirm. “Perks of having a top-of-the-line physio team. They hook you up on other things too.” Your cocky-athlete way of stating that you are on the pill.

The lights are dim in the room, but you clearly see the resolve settle on Aemond’s face. He parts his lips like he wants to say something more, and you tilt your head questioningly.

He feels the need to make some sort of declaration. Something true. It doesn’t seem right to say those damned three words at this moment, no matter how much he means them. You could think he’s trying to trick you in order to get what he wants. A good lay and nothing else. So he doesn’t say anything and lets the silence speak for itself. If you know him as you claim to, then you’ll see.

You’ll see just how much this means to him.

You nod, and it’s an unspoken plea.

He thrusts his cock into you with such force, stretching your walls with a sudden and blinding ache, until he is buried to the hilt. He reaches and cradles your face with one hand, the other keeping your ankle propped by his shoulder.

“Move, Aem.” You buck your hips against him, his cock squelching in and out again.

“Yeah, baby?” He complies with his hips in response. “That feel good?”

“Yes. God yes.”

A switch flicks inside of him, and he almost snarls through his teeth. “You feel so fucking good, ace. Your pussy takin’ me so well…” His hips buck faster, in abrupt snapping motions, burying his cock each damn time. He connects your legs together and turns you to your side, altering the position slightly.

You look behind your shoulder and see that feral look etched on his face. His grip is tight on the flesh of your hips and the curve of your ass, having it raised slightly for his convenience. He smacks your behind with an open palm, and it elicits a lusty moan out of you.

“Fuck, baby,” he rasps. “So beautiful like this, dripping around my fucking cock, huh? My good girl.”

The noises you release as a result are unintelligible. You press your face against the pillow in sheer pleasure, muffling your sounds.

“I wanna hear you, baby,” Aemond protests. With practised ease, he repositions you so your ass is propped high before him, your body bent forward as you have to lean on your forearms to keep from planting your face on the sheets.

He doesn’t ease up on his relentless thrusting, and you’re left squirming and cock-drunk. Your eyes rolling to the back of your head, you’re blissed-out on what only Aemond can give you.

“Does he fuck you as good?” he spits in obvious distaste. “I don’t think so, baby. Can’t fuck this pussy like I do.”

“N-no,” you whimper, without any trace of guilt. “Only you, Aem.”

“Hmm,” he simpers. “Come for me, ace. Be a good girl now. Come around my cock, yeah?”

“Mhhmm,” you pant, growing weaker and weaker at his statements, your walls tensing for that release you crave.

“You’re mine, ace. Mine.”

Your whimper comes out sudden and unrestrained as you let go, and feel your warm juices leaking down your thighs. The sounds of his cock growing noisy and sloppier. He releases not long after, with a few sharp spasms, decorating your insides with his cum.

Marking someone who is not supposed to be his.

But nothing else matters as he crumples against you and pulls you into his arms. If something is to be reconciled with, it won’t be for tonight.

With these things, regret always comes along with the sunrise.

▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎

“40 - 30.”

The crowd cheers at the umpire’s announcement. You can barely make out the faces morphing together into one homogeneous mob, but you’ve observed enough to know that Aemond isn’t among them. Rivulets of sweat drip down your face and you walk to the side as another break starts.

Helaena nods at you from the opposite side of the court, and you respond with a terse smile.

She resembles him so much - the one you’ve been avoiding for the past three days. With that same distinct shade of blonde hair and deep blue eyes, but possessing an aura of tenderness about her. If Aemond wasn’t lying about her plan to retire, then it makes perfect sense. She seems too good for the sport, too pure, whereas you fit right into its cruel constraints.

What sort of person would have done what you did, some nights ago, and be able to walk with their head held high? You want to believe that you regret sleeping with Aemond, that you would reverse your actions, given the chance. But the pain that eats at you is that you might have fucked things up for good, abruptly leaving before he woke up that morning.

It’s ironic - you may just get what you said you wanted. To end things. Never to be the same with him again.

You slump in your seat, wiping at your face with a towel, pushing all thought of Aemond from your mind.

From your periphery, you catch Helaena gesturing to you. She smiles, and you think that your emotions must show so clearly on your face that she feels bad for you.

She nods, and tilts her head to the side, so that you follow her gaze. Standing courtside, partially hidden in the corner just behind the barriers, you see Aemond closely watching you.

He came after all. You turn back to Helaena, unable to hide your surprise, and she sends another smile your way. She knows. Of course she does.

With renewed excitement, the match continues. It only takes one more point, one final ace, and you emerge triumphant. The court fills with cheers and sounds of celebration. It is declared that you are advancing to the next round of the tournament. You meet Helaena in the middle and she firmly shakes your hand, exhibiting no sign of disappointment.

“Congratulations! Very well played.” She drops her racket and grasps your hand with both of hers. She leans closer, and adds, “You know, I also consider it a win for myself, because my last ever match is against the girl my brother is in love with.”

You forget where you are, the revelation rendering everything else moot. The cheering crowds disappear, and it’s just you and Helaena as she dips her head comfortingly, assuring you that you heard her words true.

“I’m sure I’ll see you soon,” she lets go finally, with a cheerful, “go celebrate!”

You feel yourself being whisked away, cameras flashing from all sides. Art appears in front of you and he pulls you into an embrace. Several onlookers gush at the sight. You barely take notice of them, your eyes already drifting to where Aemond was standing.

There he remains, casually leaning against the barriers. Some audience members realise that the great Aemond Targaryen stands among them, and one by one a small crowd forms around him, asking for pictures and autographs.

He continues to hold your gaze, his usual smirk making an appearance, ignoring a guy waving a camera at his face. You shake your head at the scene, a genuine laugh bubbling from your lips.

You nod to each other, as if acknowledging the absurdity of it all, and leave it at that. There’s a lot more to be said, for another time. Art wraps his arm around your waist, and Aemond takes it as his cue to look away, relenting to the eager fans surrounding him.

You direct your gaze to your boyfriend, immediately seeing the recognition in Art’s eyes. He’s seen everything.

He doesn’t need to be as acutely perceptive as Helaena to realise the truth. That of the one-eyed rogue and his ace. You’ve been drifting from him for so long, that it was only a matter of time.

He was your friend first, and he always will be. You’ve watched each other grow, through endless mistakes and challenges, and there’s a fire in you he cannot match.

But Aemond can. He knows this now.

He extends a hand out to you, one which you accept with poorly masked caution. He understands how woeful it must be, to tear yourself apart from being in love with someone else. The shame and uncertainty that must entail.

For both your sakes, he decides that he has to be the bigger person and do the right thing.

“What do you say?” Art offers to you. “Post match treat?” he asks, referring to your tradition of sharing a large strawberry sundae after games.

“Okay.” Your smile is sweet and unguarded, and it reminds him of when you first met, nearly six years ago. That day, he knew he had made a lifelong friend.

▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎

“I wish I could say I’m happy to see you here, but we did once promise not to lie to each other.”

Aemond swivels toward the sound of your voice, cigarette smoke billowing from his lips.

“Vile habit, Targaryen.” You wrinkle your nose, and he just shakes his head and crushes the butt of his cigarette under his shoe.

“Yeah, well.” He merely shrugs. He was dead set on quitting, but something came up the past couple of days, causing his anxiety to reach new heights. When you ignored him after the night you shared, he can’t fault himself for reaching for depraved solace in nicotine. But no substance would ever be enough to erase the precious memory of watching you come undone.

“Not happy to see me, ace?” he refers back to your greeting, not bothering to hide the hurt he feels.

You walk closer to him, trying to hold back a smile. “Well, I lied. But it’s not like I haven’t lied before.” You stop when you’re right in front of him, the remnants of his smoke making you feel woozy. “I also lied when I said that we can’t keep being us anymore. When I said goodbye.”

“Hmm,” his lips curl at your confession. “Judging by how wildly you fucked me after you said that, I could already tell.”

You roll your eyes, but you already feel so much better, like things are falling right back into place. All it took was some teasing from the apparently callous, sharp-tongued, ambitious-to-a-fault boy standing before you.

A boy who revealed the true depths of his compassion only to you. He let you thaw out his cold heart from its confines and declared it yours.

“Something more to say, ace?” he asks.

“You first.”

“Are you kidding? Why don’t you play this game with your boyfriend?”

You share a lingering look, effectively answering his question. The unabashed shit-eating smile that breaks out on his face is enough to tell you just how he feels.

“Don’t gloat,” you warn him, but he’s already pulled you flush against him with both arms. “I also need a new coach.”

“Mhmm,” he nods, not really in response to your statement. “Save that for later, ace. Please shut the hell up and kiss me.”

He can’t help but smile through kisses, his lips chasing yours when you make an effort to pull away and say something more.

“Aemond, will you - ”

“Fuckin’ - ” a cuss slips from him when you manage to break apart, depriving him of your lips. He answers impatiently, “Yes of course, I’ll be your coach, ace. Of course. Happy? I’ll be anything you want me to be.”

Before he leans in once more, you say, “Don’t you dare fuck this up, Targaryen.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it, my love.”

You lean back in mild surprise.

He laughs, “I mean - ace - or my love. Either one applies, really.”

"I... I prefer ace," you say weakly.

"Now, now, my love. I thought we promised not to lie to each other?"

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