#SITTING SO POLITELY WITH MY HANDS FOLDED NEATLY | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

haruchuiyo · 3 months

Text

fulfilling first times

taking your relationship slow seem to have grew your urges, but will your boyfriend who’s respected your wishes, wanna help your urges out?

content: not sfw, minors dni, fem!reader + first time + dry humping + no protection + nïpple play + loads of kisses + bonten!rindou + consent is sexy asf

link to request

—

You walk behind Rindou while holding his hand when you see his older brother on the couch. Shyly waving to Ran, you managed to catch him waving back with the soda can in his hand before you got pulled inside Rindou’s bedroom.

“Here’s my room.” He begins and walks to his closet to bring out a pair of basketball shorts and hands it to you. “Change into these while I go get the drinks, okay?” He gently strokes your cheek as you smile at him for remembering that you told him your jeans were feeling too stuffy. “Thank you and okay.” You say and Rindou grins at you. Then you do something so unexpected that makes Rindou widen his eyes in surprise. You stand on your toes to reach his height and give him a peck on the lips before pulling away. Your eyes widened in surprise as well. And it was Rindou who got out of the trance first, telling you he will be back with the drinks and then closes the door leaving you alone in his room.

That was the first time you ever kissed Rindou.

There hasn't been a proper kiss, your lips on each other or any other sort of kiss until now since you two started dating. You’ve told Rindou you wanted to take it slow and he being him, thankfully, respected your wishes and so forth, he hasn’t touched you intimately at all. Aside from all the hand holds, cuddling together or hugs, no touches unless you initiate it first. You’d be lying to say you weren’t surprised at his actions. Being a part of one of Japan’s biggest crime syndicates, Rindou can get what he wants by just ordering someone or by the sight of his Bonten tattoo on his neck. You’d also be lying to say you didn’t get those urges either. But it is nerve wracking to initiate intimately first.

You were sitting on his bed fiddling with your sweaty hands after changing into the shorts you were given, when the man who gave you them entered the room. He has two glasses in his hand and a bottle in the other. He sees the neatly folded jeans at the edge of his bed and smiles lightly.

“It’s grape soda, your favorite.” Rindou says as he closes the door and you smile at him. “A water would be enough really.” You say and Rindou scoffs lightly. “There’s no need to be polite, baby, I know you’d prefer grape soda over water.” And your body heats up at his awareness of your actions. He places the drink and glasses on his table before going over to you.

“Fine.” You lastly say and Rindou laughs. Then he quietens down as he sits beside you, which makes you nervous. You know what he’s about to talk about.

“That kiss.” He starts on gently, holding your hand and placing it on his thighs and you look at it instead of his face. The way he’s sitting on the bed beside you, with those thighs of his, you gulp down on air and beg whoever 's listening to let you out of this situation. But you can’t stop thinking about how good it would feel to feel those thighs between your own, pressing against your heat. Your body heats up even more at that thought.

“Was it bad?” You remember to ask and Rindou chuckles. “If something, I want more of it.” His voice was deep and honest, you look up at him at those words. Heartbeats increase its pace and you see Rindou slowly lean his head in.

“If it’s okay with you.” He softly adds on and you give a slight nod, which he smiles a little at. “Can I kiss on your lips?” His question was to see your reaction, to test if you’d really be okay with it. And you almost wanted to just crush your lips against his pouty ones, because he’s just so kind and thoughtful. But also he was being frustrating, you’re not a frail thing that constantly needs reassurance.

“Yes.” You breathe out and Rindou takes that as a cue to press his lips against yours. He gently holds your neck and you fist your hands on his bedsheets, softly gasping as he moves his lips against your inexperienced ones.

You didn’t know what to do, there were teeth clashing against each other and then he did that thing. That thing where he nips on your lower lip, a sound you’d never thought would come out of you, gets out and you hear a small groan from Rindou. His hold on your neck tightens as he pulls you in closer and deepens the kiss. Your grasp on the bed sheets is tightening as you kiss him just as much back.

He continues to suck and nip on your lips before pulling away, leaving both of you breathless. Your lips parted and all you can think of is that you want more of his breathless dreamy kisses and more, but how do you tell him you want more? But all you do is stare at his wet parted lips.

“Breathe baby — yes, there you go.” He tells you and something grows inside you at his words. At his light praises, his endearment toward you and how he’s so…gentle. You want Rindou Haitani so bad, you're gathering courage to ask him to take it further with you.

You pull your hands from the bedsheets to hold him by his shirt on his lap. Rindou’s eyes slightly widen in surprise before he trails his own hands down to your hips.

“Is this okay?” He asks and you nod, then hum in content when you feel him lightly rub your hips through your own clothing. Then you lean your head in, to do what he did for you. To nip and suck on his lower lip. You weren’t as good as him but by the way he was letting out soft sounds, you did it right at least.

“I want more.” You mumble against his mouth and Rindou smiles against your lips before he takes you for another breathless kiss. This time as the kiss deepens, his grip on your hips tightens and when you feel his tongue rub against yours, you let out a slight gasp and when he rolls it against yours, a moan slips past into the kiss. That’s when you feel Rindou pull you up onto his lap and you let out a shuddering breath when you feel something poke you from below. When he pulls away, you whine softly at the loss of contact before he holds your face, making you look at him.

“Do you trust me?” He asks and you pout. “Of course I do. You know that.” You look so cute like this, Rindou could kiss you for all eternity.

“Just wanted to make sure, baby. So this —“ he cuts himself off and what he does right now, a choked gasp falls down from your lips. He pushed you gently on your back, got inbetween your thighs and just rolled his hips against yours. “—doesn’t surprise you.” he finishes his sentence with a strained voice. You could feel him through the shorts you were wearing. His apparent bulge that you could feel through his black sweats was rubbing against your clothed heat and you thanked the heavens that what you wore were of thin material.

“Again.” You mumble while taking his lips into a kiss, you feel him smile into the kiss. And he does as you say and both of you moan into the kiss at the friction of your hips rolling against each other. You’re starting to get the gist of how to kiss and you trail your hands up to hold onto his hair. That’s when Rindou rolls his hips against yours even harder.

The way he’s settled against you between his thigh, the way he’s rolling his hips against yours making you feel what you’ve never felt before. It felt euphoric.

You tried to arch up against him but it was to no avail, his weight pressed against you and you whimpered in frustration. Rindou only held your face, deeply kissing you, muttering words of ‘it’s okay baby, I make it better’ against your mouth. You could only obey and listen to what he says. And believe him. But you need more. So when you reach a hand down between your bodies, slipping inside his sweats, your wrist is grasped by a larger hand. Whimpering against his mouth before pulling away, you were about to speak out, Rindou beat you to it.

“A little worked up, baby?” At his obvious question, you roll your eyes then pout while nodding your head. “You know, I'm fine with just doing this and kissing.” He tells you and because of his words, you felt like tears welled up in your eyes.

“And if I don't want to just do this and kiss?” You retort back softly and Rindou sighs a little, adjusting his position between your thighs, which leads to more friction up against your clothed heat and a slight moan escapes your mouth and Rindou can’t help but smile at your reaction. He takes pride in himself for making you feel good, but he won’t be able to do so if you’re saying you want to take it further just to please him, but not yourself. Rindou gently holds your face in his hands, almost pressing down his body weight on you as he brushes his nose against yours. You don’t hate it, in fact you squeeze your thighs around his waist tighter.

“I don't want you to feel like you're being rushed into doing things with me, baby.” He confesses softly while stroking your cheek with his thumb. You smile slightly as he places a soft kiss on your lips before pulling away.

“I’m not feeling rushed into doing anything with you, you’ve been patient and kind with me.” You tell him as you fiddle with his shirt, thinking internally how much you wish to unbutton him right now and have him take you as he pleases. Right now, it feels like you’re the one rushing Rindou into doing this with you.

“Do you truly feel okay with me doing —“ he cuts himself off as he releases his hold on your face to cup your breasts over your shirt. You lightly gasp as he squeezes. “—this?” His voice was low and careful, gauging your reaction. You furrow your brows at him.

“I’d love it even more if you put your hands all over me.” You sound desperate and needy, but what can you do when you have a boyfriend like Rindou Haitani.

Rindou is quiet for a few seconds before he tugs on your shirt. “Off.” He simply says and you pull your hands up as he takes the shirt off your body and freezes when he realizes you’re not wearing any bra. Then a chuckle leaves his mouth as he traces your breasts with his fingers, making you slightly arch your back at his touch. You grip onto his shoulders when he circles your nipples with the same finger.

Then he reaches down between you two, backing away from you while tugging down the shorts you’re wearing. Internally groaning when he sees you wear some cute underwear.

“How do you not wear a bra but can put on some damn panties.” Rindou mutters which makes you giggle at his reaction. But you stop when he takes off his own shirt and sweats, leaving him only in his underwear as well. Rindou has a pretty chest, refined abs and with his bare body, you look down and see a little happy trail and you curl your fingers down on the sheets. You glance up at his neck and see how the tattoo seems to be standing out more than usual.

You reach your hands out to him and he subconsciously leans down as if it was a bodily reflex. You touch his tattoo before holding onto his neck and press a kiss down onto it. Rindou moans softly when he feels you nip on the skin his tattoo is placed on.

He trails his hands down to your waist and rolls his hips against you, pushing his bulge against your heat and you moan against his neck. He pulls away and stands on his knees when you see him pull down your panties down your legs, anticipation and nervousness creeps up in your body. It’s more clearer when he pulls down his boxers and you see slight precum leaking from the tip. His cock is standing prettily against his happy trail, veins running down it. At the size of the girth, your heart seems to be running even faster.

“It’s pretty.” You mutter out while curling your toes against the sheets and Rindou chuckles at your words. “Oh really? I think it’d look prettier with you squeezing around it.” Which makes even more heat crawl up your face.

When he rests his cock upon your pussy and you reach a hand down to touch it. Rindou lets out a breathy moan when you circle the tip with your thumb. You glance up at him and see how dazed his eyes look but also so dark. His violet eyes seem to have darkened in color and he’s watching a prey he already caught. Now just waiting to eat it.

He leans his body down to yours, brushing his nose against your own as he mumbles close to your ears. “I put it in now, yeah? So tell me if it hurts.” His voice was soft and deep and you only let out a soft yes when you felt the tip slip in. Rindou groans by your ear and you wrap your arms around his neck the more he slides inside you, the sheer girth of his cock has you letting out breathy moans. When he is fully inside you, a deep breath is what you let out and Rindou pulls his head up to look at your face.

“Alright, baby?” He asks and you nod as you feel down your abdomen and how him inside makes you feel. “You’re really big.” You breathe out and Rindou grins while he presses a soft kiss on your lips.

“Are you gonna move?” You ask and Rindou chuckles. “Do you want me to?” He teases you by asking and you grip onto his hair and flash him a furious look.

“I wouldn’t be asking if I didn’t want you — oh.” A choked gasp slips past your mouth when you feel Rindou thrust into you. He holds onto your waist and continues to thrust and thrust deeper into you, reaching places you never thought you’d be able to feel.

He takes your mouth in a kiss before pulling away to murmur sweet words of a ‘good girl’, ‘so tight but so good’, and confessing his love for you over and over again and more continuous praises. Which adds onto how much all of this feels, stimulations running up your body, hands gripping and almost clawing at his back as you squeeze his waist tighter and tighter at how the way he’s having with you makes you feel. Then he kisses you again.

He kisses you deeply, the kiss was of fervour as you could feel him on you, he was all around you, big and comforting while driving you out of your wits end at the way he’s so in control of his hip rolling inside you and lips working their way on yours. All you could do right now was to kiss him just as equally back with fervor and grip on his hair and squeeze your thighs around his slender waist.

You feel Rindou’s hand slip up to your chest and the other one down to the back of your thighs. When you feel his hand on your bare skin at your chest, you pull his head away in surprise. He was about to say something and you know exactly what. “Do it, it’s okay.” He didn’t say anything but he did something.

His hand was your bare tit. When he squeezes, you didn’t know such act could evoke such sensations in you, a moan falls down from your lips. Rindou nips your lower lip as he rubs his thumb over your nipple and something twists in your lower abdomen. Like something was about to happen and you were doing your best to put a relief to that twist. One hand of your trails down to hold his neck and the other one continuing to grasp onto his hair.

The kiss is just as deep and passionate, he rides against you harder, thrusting into you, driving the both of you frenzied.

You feel him pinch your nipple while he is nipping and kissing on your exposed neck, your thighs twitches and you feel that relief you were seeking. Rindou’s hips falters against yours before he pushes in one last strong thrust and was joining you just a few seconds later and you felt his teeth on your skin as he came with a muffled moan inside you, filling you up to the brim.

Then you feel his lips pressing on your mouth, rolling his tongue against yours, he leisurely sucks on your tongue and turns you two around on the bed as you’re now hovering over him. He continues to kiss you, gentle and soft this time as he held your face like you are the most precious thing ever. Then he pulls away as you murmur your discontent at the loss of touch.

He holds your face up to be able to look up at you. You see how dazed his eyes are, his lips swollen, his hairs messy and there’s sweat on his forehead and entire torso. His face was flushed and you felt speechless. He looks so stunning like this. Rindou thought the exact same thing about you. You looked good, especially on top of him and in a mess, specifically because of him. He glances down and sees how you two are connected, how his and your cum have formed an ‘O’ base on down his cock. He leans his head up to peck on your forehead as he tugs a few strands of hair behind your ear.

“How do you feel?” It was your first time and Rindou was nervous. Even though he was hesitant in the beginning, seeing how you were so sure of what you wanted and how needy you were, of course he did it but that didn’t remove the nervousness he felt. Even though he's more experienced than you, your first time matters a lot to him. “I feel good.” You simply say, voice croaky from moaning so much but feeling flustered thinking about what you two just did. You loved it.

“Did you like it?” He asks as his eyes were all over your face as you looked down on him below you. You cup his face and wipe away the hair sticking on his forehead. “If anything, I wanna do more of this.” You start off and you see how Rindou’s face flushes even more and you’re not even better. Your entire body’s heating up at your own words. “I loved it.” You simply say and Rindou could feel his heart soar at your words. And the fact he was your first.

“What about you?” He hears you, voice is softly low but nervous. Now it was your turn to look at him all over his face to see what he’s thinking. “I’m gonna think about this until my last breath.” Is what he said as he moves his hands down to your backside, softly holding you there and you let out a breathily giggle as Rindou grins at you. Until the face faded from his face and he had a worried expression.

“Do you think Ran heard us?” Because of his words, you felt terrified. If his brother who's on the same floor just outside your bedroom heard you, you’d never be able to face him knowing he knows what you and Rindou just did. “I hope he doesn't ask about it.” You say but you know him. Ran is nosy even if he pretends not to be. He is a good man but a nosy one as well.

“We can tell him we loved the grape soda a little too much.” Rindou grins at you when you lightly swat his chest. “That’s just telling him exactly what we did.”

“You’re right.” He simply says then makes a noise of discomfort. You ask what’s wrong and Rindou giggles lightly.

“I think I need to change clothes and underwear and I’m still inside you.” Your body heats up again because of his words. You didn’t properly take in the fact he came inside you and you’re still wrapped around him.

“And I think I’m gonna need a shower.” You tell Rindou, feeling embarrassed as he laughs at your reaction, you’re just too cute.

When he tells you to take a shower together, you quickly turn down the offer making Rindou laugh at you more, you only lightly hit his chest.

—

hope you enjoyed this ;(

a like and reblog would appreciated a lot <3

713 notes · View notes

ohdeerfully · 3 months

Note

Headcanons! Alastor with a plush demon reader :3 like readers sinner form is a plush! Because I love height differences and it sounds real cute

-🃏🐱

hi 🃏🐱!! i wrote this more platonically, so it could be read either way, but i might write a more romantic flavored one too :3! sorry its rather short, i hope you enjoy it anyway!

edit: after rereading the request i realized u asked for headcanons but i wrote a whole oneshot im </3 *knocks on my head and it sounds hollow*

Alastor x Plushie!Reader

PLATONIC fluff TW: none! readers kind of a weirdo by accident

join my discord!

═══ ◈ ══════════ ◈ ══════════ ◈ ══════════ ◈ ═══

It was no surprise that you became popular in hell very quickly after manifesting. You were often stopped in the streets by people wanting to squish your soft skin, and some people wanting selfies.

I mean, who wouldn’t fall in love with a living stuffed animal? You were very likely the first of the kind.

There was one demon, however, that seemed immune to the charm. No matter how many times you stood on his lap, your giant squishy paws pressed onto his chest, looking at him with your shiny button eyes… he just would not yield. And it frustrated you to no end.

So, you had made it your life—or, death—goal to get him to squish your plushy skin. Even if you had to force him to.

It started with you merely sitting next to him at every opportunity, swinging your legs against the cushion of the couch. Your legs barely reached over the edge; you were quite short. Sitting next to Alastor felt like sitting next to a skyscraper.

You would lay down, sit up again, roll onto your back, over and over again, trying to get his attention on you. He wouldn’t ignore you, per say, as he would respond to your conversations politely, albeit a bit condescending in his typical manner; but, his hands never left the comfort of being folded neatly in his lap.

It got to the point where you were practically laying yourself on top of him, getting desperate now. But, every time, he would simply grab you under the arms and easily set you a foot or so away from him. He would give you a quick pat on the head, but you wanted more than that. Every pat on the head felt like a cruel reminder that he wanted nothing to do with you.

Your frustration has even caused you to get upset with Niffty a few times. While on one hand it was awesome to know another demon that was of similar height, on the other hand it pissed you off at how easily she seemed to grab his attention. Though, she was also just overall more insane—it’d be hard for anybody to ignore her.

You had to admit, though, that the lack of his attention only made your intrigue in him grow exponentially. In a Hell where you were stopped on every corner of the road, in every store, Alastor stood out to you. How come, of all the demons out there, even some of the cruelest in the Pride Ring, the one demon you were actually interested in… could care less about you? Sure, the only reason you were interested in him was because of this very fact, but still! Why?

You had gotten fed up. Alastor was in the midst of, again, picking you up off of himself, when he paused holding you midair at the look of fury on your face. You saw his grin widen in a sinister manner, and his eyebrows quirk quizzically.

“What a huge expression for a face so little,” He laughed shortly. You hated the way his laughter crackled with radio static, and how it practically mocked you.

“You. Are such. A jerk!” You cried, swinging your legs in an attempt to kick his chest. You missed by a longshot, as he held you out as far as his arms could stretch. He only continued to watch you, amused.

“Just pet me!” You cried. You immediately halted after saying that, arms frozen mid-flail. You realized instantly how weird that was to say, especially to Alastor. And he knew, too, evident in the way his eyes narrowed at you and he rushed to place you down on the floor. You struggled to maintain eye contact when he stood back up, his height being the actual physical manifestation of impending doom. His hands brushed down the sides of his coat.

“I believe it makes sense for you to be a stuffed animal,” He said matter-of-factly. “Because of how utterly childish you are.”

You couldn’t help but stomp your foot at his statement; and his grin stretched at being proved right. But, like, come on! Yeah, what you said was kind of weird as fuck, but you weren’t in the wrong or anything! It’s only natural.

His gaze shifted up and ahead of himself, and your shoulders slumped in defeat. Another failed attempt.

That was, until you felt a clawed finger touch against your head and briefly scratch at your velvety skin, right behind your ear. You looked up, shocked, towards Alastor’s unreadable expression. The touch was very brief, and he stood and walked away without another word, leaving you standing there awestruck.

You shook yourself and bounced after him, trying to call his attention again but he ignored you. You opted to just follow him around for a bit, at least until he made it obvious you should leave him alone. He had his hands folded behind his back, a tune humming in his mouth as he walked down the halls. Alastor would never admit it to you, but he did find you rather cute, in a similarly chaotic way to Niffty. You weren’t quite as unhinged, but you had an entertaining amount of spunk and confidence, which he found sort of funny—so much personality squished into one tiny body. You sort of reminded him of a stuffed animal he had when he was a boy.

#ohdeerfully #🃏🐱#hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel x reader #alastor #alastor hazbin hotel #alastor x reader #platonic #fluff

306 notes · View notes

memphisflash · 2 months

Note

Hi!!! I saw your post and wanted to request :)

Could you write a early 70s Elvis X innocent reader, where we're one of the many girls that he brings up to his suite at the international hotel and as he expects for both of us to do the deed, he notices we're really reluctant and shy and he tells us we can do anything else instead of the dirty if we want to.

I think that would be real cute🥹

𝐒𝐤𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐨 𝐒𝐤𝐢𝐧

Word count: 5,1K

Warnings: virgin!reader, innocent-ish!reader, age gap (reader is 19/elvis 35), small mention of guns, reader struggling with extreme blushing, elvis poking a little fun at reader, both elvis and reader taking a sleeping pill, fluffy, smut; non-penetrative sex, dry humping/grinding, gg rubbing, elvis cummin' in readers' panties.

A/N: honestly, i'm not as good at writing innocent!reader as other writers in the fandom, buuut i had fun writing this and i kinda wanna explore this trope more - a part two is already cooking in my mind, tbh. like i told @jhoneybees this turned into more than the request but oh wellll.. let me know what y'all think, lovies! 🩷

➼ Masterlist. | Read on Wattpad

When it came to boys, you had always been shy. When it came to men, you considered yourself pretty much a disaster.

Now it wasn’t like you couldn’t have a normal conversation with someone of the opposite sex. Shy you were, but definitely not unsociable. You liked going out to places with your friends, even friends of the male kind.

But it were men like Elvis Presley that had your hands trembling and your heart beating so loud it was deafening in your ears.

Never in your 19 years of life had you expected to be approached by a member of Elvis’ entourage in the showroom of the International to ask if you were willing to meet the man himself up in his penthouse. Your first reaction was to politely decline, but your friend who had dragged you along to the concert in the first place pretty much pushed you into the arms of Sonny West – another handsome man that had got your cheeks flushing crimson, but it couldn’t compare to the effect the raven haired singer on stage had on you.

The last thing you saw as you were whisked out of the showroom was your friend putting both her thumbs up, waving as a shit-eating grin spread across her face.

Talk about peer pressure. You didn’t stand a chance.

The Imperial Suite was lush. The kind of luxury you’d never experienced before in your life. It barely felt as if you were still in a hotel, this seemed like a whole apartment with several rooms, a living area bigger than your childhood home and a seperate kitchen. The interior in the living space alone was worth more than your car, you were sure of it.

But even if you wanted to gawk at the beautiful things in the room, you didn’t had the chance to. Sonny West had left, leaving you alone with the man who you had just watched perform downstairs. The man millions of men wanted to be and millions of women wanted to be with.

You felt like a deer caught in headlights as he walked toward you, like a predator about to circle his prey. Though once he spoke, introducing himself as if you didn’t know who he was, you didn’t miss how soft spoken he was.

He wasn’t like any other superstar hauling girls up to his room to have his way with them and then kick them to the curb once he was done with them. At least, that’s what you wanted to believe.

And perhaps it was because of that naivety that you managed to calm down, so much so that you had agreed to wear one of his silky pyjama button ups, neatly folding the outfit you had so carefully picked out for tonight on a chair near Elvis’ bed.

Elvis was sitting on his bed, back against the headboard, wearing his own pair of midnight blue silk pyjamas. The first few buttons of his shirt were left open, causing his chest hair and tan skin to peek out and it instantly made you nervous all over again.

“C’mere, honey,” his voice was soft and low, his hand patting the empty spot next to him.

You stared at him for a second too long, quickly snapping yourself out of it before he’d think you were an idiot who didn’t understand the English language. You hated being like this in this moment – after all, this was a one time chance and you didn’t want to ruin it by having him think you were not interested in him at all.

You were, you really were, but this was the kind of man that could send you into a frenzy.

You sat next to him, nearly forgetting to breathe as his warm hand found home on your thigh. In a reflex, you pulled your knees up to your chest and his attention shifted to your feet.

You had recently gotten a pedicure, chosen the baby pink to go with the outfit and open toed heels you’d worn tonight, and it didn’t go unnoticed by Elvis.

“You got real pretty feet, honey,” he grinned as he slipped his hand underneath the sole of your foot, caressing his thumb across the top and over your toes, admiring the color on your nails. “So tiny and dainty, like a little doll,”

“T-Thank you,” you blurted out in a stuttered whisper, mentally slapping yourself for such a stupid reaction. But it was better than letting out the moan that was bubbling in the back of your throat, which you quickly swallowed.

His hand moved from your feet back up your leg and you froze as it slipped in between your thighs, fingertips pressing into the supple flesh of your right thigh softly as he leaned in closer to you. You looked into his blue eyes that were slightly drooped and you had no idea if it was due to fatigue or lust, but you figured it was the latter. And although you’d be lying if you said you didn’t feel the same – your stupid body seemed to have a mind of its own – your nerves prevented you from fully giving in.

As you felt his hot breath against your skin and he was going in for a kiss, your eyes automatically fluttered shut. His lips were soft and warm, and as his tongue slipped into your mouth, so wet.

You let him take the lead, not because you had never been kissed before, but because you had never been kissed by someone like Elvis Presley before. He was the kind of man that had probably kissed a thousand girls in his life and it showed in his experience – he explored your mouth in a slow but heated manner, his hand moving from your thigh to your hip and the more he leaned into you, the more you sunk into the soft pillows and sheets of his kingsized bed.

You were doing alright until his lips moved to your neck, dragging down to your collarbone and his hand creeped underneath your pyjama top, cupping your breast. It was then that your breath hitched in your throat and your muscles tensed up uncomfortably tight.

Elvis noticed it immediately and pulled his head back, looking down at your face. As he saw how flushed your cheeks and neck were and you were looking at him as if he was about to murder you, he moved his hand down your ribcage and out from underneath your top. He placed a gentle hand on your hip instead and frowned a little, his eyes gentle.

“You alright, little one?”

The sound of his voice sounding so soft and sweet made you want to burst out into tears, because you felt stupid. Stupid for freezing when the most wanted man in the world wanted you, but you couldn’t help it.

You simply weren’t ready for sex. You valued your virginity and didn’t want to lose it to a man you were probably never going to see again.

“I’ve never.. n-never..”

“Never been touched by a man,” he simply finishes your sentence for you, a soft smile raising the corner of his mouth. You nodded and looked down, noticing how quick your chest was heaving up and down as if you’d just ran a marathon.

He shushed you gently, placing his fingertips underneath your chin to make you look at him again. You didn’t know what his reaction would be, but the sweet smile and soft kiss to your forehead wasn’t what you’d expected.

“We don’t have to do it tonight, honey. I ain’t gonna force ya to do anythin’ you don’t want.”

“You’re not gonna throw me out?” you whisper with wide eyes, trying to ignore the way your bodies were still pressed together and you could feel his very prominent bulge poking against your thigh.

He let out a laugh, the sound of it deep and rich. “Ya think I was raised by wolves? No, I ain’t throwin’ you out. You’re stayin’ that cute little butt right here, and we can do somethin’ else.”

You couldn’t help but laugh softly, biting your lip as another flush of crimson spread up your neck and to your cheeks. He squeezed your hip softly before he sat up, bringing you up with him, and as he sat against the headboard again, he quickly draped some of the covers over his middle, hiding the fact that he was still very much turned on.

“And you stop that blushin’ before your face stays like that, little tomato,”

A wide grin settled on his face, and you could hear the playful tone in his voice which made you laugh softly. You pressed the palm of your hands against your cheeks and try to gather control over your breathing, making your cheeks slowly return to their normal state.

Instead of sleeping with the man that millions of females all over the world would call you crazy for rejecting for, you let him show you around the suite. He showed you his collection of guns that were safely stacked away in black cases which scared and intrigued you at the same time – you politely declined when he offered you to hold a gold handle hand gun, but you did admit it was very pretty.

Then he showed you around his wardrobe, from the outfits he wore on stage to the ones he wore off stage. As he noticed you particularly liked a black, somewhat see-through, blouse with white flowers on it, he handed it to you like it meant nothing to him.

Again, you declined.

But Elvis didn’t give up so easily and as you two sat on the bed again, his jewelry case opened and exposed in between the both of you, he noticed you admiring his black star sapphire ring. Not thinking twice about it, he took it out of the case and slipped it around your ring finger. As expected, it was way too big for you.

This had Elvis go through his jewelry, looking for a necklace he didn’t wear himself anymore. Had to be in there somewhere, he knew it.

“Elvis, I can’t take that,” you gasped as he took the ring off your finger again and hung it on a simple golden chain. Before you even had the chance to stop him, he was already putting it around your neck, the ring resting heavy against your chest. “Elvis, I’m serious. This is too much, you don’t have to-“

“Looks great on ya, little tomato,” he grinned as you looked at him with wide eyes, grabbing your wrist when you went to take the necklace off. You wished he’d use another nickname for you, but you ignored it for now – you had more important matters to worry about. Like the 14 karat gold ring that was hanging on your neck.

As you went to protest again, Elvis grabbed both of your hands and lowered them. Once more, you blushed as he leaned forward and placed a soft, tender kiss on your lips. “I want ya to have it and to wear it every day. Somethin’ to remember me by,”

“As if I’d ever forget you,” you whispered, looking down at the ring as you swallowed down the lump in your throat. If Elvis had heard your words or noticed that you were about to cry, he didn’t comment on it. Instead, he closed his jewelry case, put it aside and settled in the sheets, half sitting up against the headboard. He opened his arms for you and you didn’t think twice to settle against his side, putting your head on his chest.

“Thank you, Elvis,” you whispered as you snuggled up against him, earning a kiss on the top of your head from him.

“My pleasure, honey.”

Luckily, in this position he couldn’t see that your cheeks were flushed and hot the way they’d been before. And as his fingers gently combed their way through your hair, you truly felt special. Something that you perhaps were not in Elvis Presley’s world, but for tonight you decided to indulge yourself in the fantasy.

Elvis picked up a book from his bedside table and with his arms wrapped around you, he opened it and started reading to you in a hushed tone. While at times the subject of the book was confusing to you, you listened with interest nonetheless. Maybe you were a little more interested in the sound of his voice and the smell of his cologne, but you fought off sleep that was slowly threatening to overtake you.

You didn’t want to fall asleep, didn’t want to miss a waking second of being with Elvis.

“You gettin’ sleepy, aren’t ya?” He smirked as he peeked down at you, noticing your eyes threatening to close a few times. You immediately shook your head as you raised it and looked at him, smiling sheepishly.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to,” you apologized, stifling a yawn. Elvis chuckled and closed the book, putting it to the side before he turned back to you.

“Go an’ lay down,” he ordered gently as he nodded to the empty spot in the bed. You did what you were told, slowly creating some distance between you two as you laid back in the bed, giggling softly as he pulled the covers up to your shoulders, tucking you in. “Now don’t go and get all nervous again, ‘lright? I’m just gonna lay down next to ya so we can cuddle, sound good?”

You smiled at him, truly appreciating that he wasn’t trying anything you didn’t want and that he was so sweet about it all. You considered him to be a true gentleman.

As you nodded, he smiled back at you and slips underneath the covers next to you. His body warmth is intoxicating as he wraps an arm around your waist and pulls you closer against his chest. With him laying on his side, he has the perfect view of your face and he takes advantage of it by studying every little detail, his other arm slipping underneath your head so he could hold you even firmer against him. He squeezes your shoulder softly and then his hand moves to your face, fingertip poking your cheek softly.

“No blushin’…” He whispered with a small grin on his face as he noticed your cheeks were slowly turning red again. You looked at him and laugh softly, hiding your face in your hands. He immediately clicks his tongue against the roof of his mouth, grabbing your wrist to softly pull one of your hands away. “And ‘specially none of that..”

His whisper was low as he leaned in closer to you when he managed to pull your other hand down too, his lips finding yours once more.

You lost yourself in your second shared kiss tonight, and you felt a little more loose. Probably because he couldn’t comment on your blushing when he was kissing you.

Elvis had to force himself to keep himself under control – he wasn’t going to do anything you didn’t want, because he respected your need of not wanting to take things further, and he did truly enjoy your company without the intimacy part.

But he was still a red blooded man, and his hard cock that twitched against the fabric of his pyjama bottoms was proof of that.

And as you slowly broke the kiss and turned your back to him to hide your flushed cheeks, he took the opportunity to spoon you, your ass pressed against his cock in a way that had him humming lowly.

You didn’t move away, and he took it as content. With one arm still underneath you and one arm around your waist, he kept you close to him as he pressed his hips forward, letting you feel how hard he was.

You tensed up but as you felt him placing sweet, comforting kisses on your shoulder, neck and eventually cheek, your body relaxed again as if he was a God who could put you at ease right away.

It was a strange sensation, really… and although the way he was slowly grinding against you was definitely of sexual nature rather than just cuddling, you didn’t stop him.

Because it was turning you on more than you’d ever admit to anyone… or even to yourself.

“If you.. want me to stop.. I will.”

His breathing had quickened a little, words coming oit in a low stutter.

Telling him to stop would be a wise thing to do because you had no idea how strong your willpower was… you had no idea how far this was gonna go, or if he’d be able to stop.

But by the sounds of his low groans and soft moans, you knew it felt good to him. Really good. And even as your brain worked itself into a frenzy, you wanted to please him.

Show him that you were not completely clueless, or a little lamb that had no idea she at least had some kind of effect on men.

“N-No.. Don’t stop,” you whispered back, hiding your face in the pillow a little despite him not able to see the state your face was in.

Elvis cursed softly under his breath and took it a step further – thinking you wouldn’t notice when he tugged his bottoms down to his thighs, rubbing his bare cock against your ass. But you were only wearing his pyjama shirt and your panties, ofcourse you noticed it.

And yet, you still didn’t stop him.

The feeling of his cock against your ass had you letting out a soft moan of your own and this caused Elvis to grip onto your waist a little firmer, twirling his hips around firmly and slowly as he grunts deeply in your ear.

“Oh God, baby..” his breath was hot against your neck, his fingertips digging into your skin softly. “Such a soft ass,”

His words had your heart beating so loud you were scared that he could actually hear it, but if he did, he didn’t mention it. He was too busy focusing on the friction he was creating, working himself up more and more.

You took your face out of the pillow to inhale a sharp breath of air as his hand slipped underneath your top, fingertips grazing the curve of your breasts. You surprised yourself as your back arched and your ass pressed firmer against him, indicating you wanted him to use it to his liking.

And he did. Even had you gasping and moaning a couple of times as his cock managed to slip in between your thighs from behind, his tip and part of his length ghosting along your folds, missing your clit by inches. He apologized in a stuttered whisper every time it happened, but you could tell by the moan that rolled off his tongue that he enjoyed the feeling of his mistake.

And so did you, but you were praying he didn’t notice that your own arousal was staining your panties.

He did. He definitely did and it had him fighting the urge to tear your panties off and sink himself into you inch by inch.

His self control was stronger than he realised because he kept his hands where they were, grinding his cock against your ass, though he didn’t stop himself from making his “mistake” over and over again.

Seems like he wasn’t the only one getting worked up because as soon as you raised your leg a little, he immediately grabbed onto your thigh to keep it up. He moved closer to you, his cock resting against your clothed pussy.

“I can feel you’re wet,” he whispered in your ear, his voice raspy as he let you put your leg down again, though he didn’t move away, enjoying this close proximity.

“P-Please, d-don’t put it i-in,” you immediately said, a hint of panic evident in your face. He laughed softly and placed a hand on your tummy, keeping it there as he felt it was the safest place.

“I won’t, honey, I promise,” he said as he raised his head a little, looking down at you. You carefully made eye contact with him, cheeks flushed, teeth sunken into your lower lip. It took everything in him not to fuck you senseless right here and now. “Can I put it in your panties?”

The question sounded both innocent and like absolute filth at the same time. You blinked a few times, repeating the words in your head over and over again until you suddenly nodded, afraid you were taking too long to think about it. He smiled at you, pecking your lips sweetly as he whispered a soft “Really?” against your lips.

You nodded again.

You were curious… curious to how the skin on skin contact felt. He promised not to put it inside of you and break your virginity, and in your innocent naivety, you trusted him.

He pulled your panties aside, letting it snap back into place softly as soon as his cock was resting against your wet folds. You shuddered and gasped at the feeling of his warm length pressed against your exposed pussy, his tip putting the slightest amount of pressure against your clit.

He didn’t put his head back down again, this time leaning on his elbow so he could look at the way your face was truly resembling a tomato right now, soft breathless moans escaping you. He thought it was adorable.

His hand found him on your hip, fingertips caressing your skin softly as he started to move his hips back and forth at a snail’s pace. You swore you could hear the sound of both your essence mixing together, your arousal deliciously coating his length.

“Feels good, don’t it, baby?” He whispered as he keeps looking down at your face, not wanting to miss the way you could barely keep your eyes open, lips parted as soft moans filled his ears. He smirked a little as he could see you nod your head slowly, eyes fluttering shut.

He keeps his pace slow, afraid that if he’d go any faster he would slip in by accident and hurt you, and that was the last thing he wanted. Just because he kinda got his way with you tonight doesn’t mean he was going to overstep your boundaries.

But it was you who wanted more of that delicious feeling he was giving you. It was your self control that was threatening to slip.

“P-please.. Elvis.. faster..”

He grunts lowly at your words, lowering himself a little more on the bed again to hide his face in your neck and sprawled out hair, his hips snapping forward just a little faster. The feeling had you moaning a little louder, gripping onto his hand that was still on your stomach.

He laced your fingers together, concetrating on not fucking you by accident, no matter how much he wanted to.

“You’re so wet, baby,” he moaned in your ear, his tongue flicking against your earlobe which had your eyes roll in the back of your head. “Bet I could slip right in..”

“N-No!”

“I won’t.” he immediately said, laughing softly as he slips his other hand into yours as well. He keeps the pace steady – not too fast, and not as slow as before.

With the way you were holding each others’ hands and your most intimate parts were rubbing against each other, bare and raw, you felt like you were floating on a cloud. You hadn’t expected the night to end like this, but deep down inside you were glad it did.

Your only problem now was that you didn’t want any other man other than Elvis Presley anymore and he hadn’t even been inside of you.

You were completely ruined for anyone else.

Elvis lost himself in the pleasure and the feeling of you grinding against each other, and so did you. Part of you wondered what it would be like to have him push into you, how deep you’d be able to feel him.

Would it even feel good at all, or would it only hurt?

A million questions plagued your mind, but Elvis made you forget every single one of them with the way his cock was stroking through your folds and how lovely his moans sounded in your ear.

You weren’t planning to ask them, anyways.

Neither were you planning on taking it to that sacred part of the whole ordeal. You weren’t ready, and that’s what you’d keep repeating in your head like a mantra until you truly felt otherwise.

Besides, Elvis seemed to enjoy this just as much as the actual deed and you were right – he did. It was evident by the way he was freely moaning, the feeling of the fabric of your panties rubbing against the sensitive tip of his cock feeling like a lick of a flame against his skin.

He was close to coming undone and he didn’t try to stop himself, nor did he warn you what was coming – you’d feel it when it happened.

Squeezing your hands firmly in his own, his hips stuttering forward for a second before he pushed his hips forward firmly, you moaned shakily as strings of cum sputtered from his cock, shamelessly staining the inside of your panties. The baby blue piece of underwear that was one of your favorites was completely ruined and in your state of arousal, you couldn’t get yourself to care.

Elvis breathed heavily as he slowly let go of your hands and gripped onto your hip, groaning softly as he pulled his now soft cock out of your panties.

The loss of skin contact already had him yearning for more.

He rolled onto his back, ready to have you cuddle up to him and hold you, so imagine his surprise when you shot up out of the bed and rushed into the bathroom, locking the door behind you.

“Honey, you okay in there? Look, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean for things to go this far,”

He sounded truly apologetic from the other side of the door. And you wished you could find the strength in your voice to tell him you weren’t mad, but rather embarrassed like hell.

You’d gone into the bathroom to take off your panties and clean yourself and after you did so, you’d caught a glimpse of yourself in the mirror.

Your face was hot and as red as a cherry.

Splashing water on your face didn’t help, neither did the breathing exercises you taught yourself whenever you were blushing this much.

You felt like an absolute fool and it wasn’t until Elvis threatened to break down the door because he wasn’t getting an answer from you that you unlocked the door and faced him.

He saw the state of your face and chuckled softly, but before you could hide again, he stepped inside the bathroom and gently cupped your face.

“Jus’ breathe, little tomato. In through your nose, out your mouth,” he showed you how, as if you didn’t know what he meant, but you appreciated it nonetheless.

The nickname… not so much, but you didn’t protest.

You followed his example a few times and closed your eyes as you focused on breathing with him and the pads of his thumbs caressing your cheekbones.

You didn’t know what kind of witchcraft Elvis Presley was practicing, but he managed to help you calm down in the matter of a few minutes.

“There, all good,” he smiled as you opened your eyes to look at him, the heat disappearing from your face. He gently pulled your face closer to his own and pecked your lips, wrapping an arm around you as he took you back to bed – making sure you were wearing one of his boxershorts, before he’d get turned on all over again due to you being half naked in his bed.

Elvis settled in the sheets with you in his arms after he took a sleeping pill and when you asked him about it, he wanted to tell you no when you asked for one. But he couldn’t resist the way you fluttered your eyelashes at him and looked up at him as if he’d hung the stars and moon for you every single day the sun went down.

Your mother took sleeping pills due to her own insomnia and sometimes even when she was stressed, so it wasn’t a foreign thing to you. Elvis relented, figuring it would help you calm down a little, but he only gave you half a pill.

The two of you slipped into a relaxing state of drowsiness and with your head on his chest, you listened to the calming sound of his heartbeat. His fingers ran through your hair, twirling the ends around his fingertips, and you could hear his breathing get heavier.

Before he could fully fall asleep, you spoke up, making sure your voice was soft and sweet. “Elvis?”

“Hmm?” he squeezed your shoulder softly, pushing your body firmer against his.

“Can you.. can you give me a new nickname?”

It was silent for longer than you expected and you thought he’d fallen asleep, but before you could raise your head to check, he let out a deep amused chuckle.

“Why, honey? I like callin’ you my little tomato,” He smirked, his eyes closed, but he could picture the pout you were probably giving him as you did raise your head to look at him this time.

“It sounds weird… and I hate tomatoes..” You giggled softly, putting your chin on his chest, trailing your nail softly across his jaw.

“Fine,” he sighed softly, feigning annoyance but he let you know by the grin on his face that he was playing. As he felt your fingertip grazing along his lips, he kissed the pad of your finger. “How’s Cherry?”

“Cherry..” you whispered, testing how it sounded on your tongue.

You liked cherries a whole lot better than tomatoes.

“Alright, my sweet Cherry. Close your little eyes an’ get some sleep,” he mumbled sleepily, his hand resting at the back of your head, fingertips massaging your scalp softly.

You smiled and a flush creeped along your neck once more as you leaned in closer and kissed his lips softly. Elvis smiled and held you close as he drifted off into a deep slumber.

You did as well, sneakily reaching your hand to his bedside table to take the other half of the sleeping pill he’d given you.

There was no way you’d be able to get a proper rest on your own without the help of medication and as you fell asleep in Elvis Presley’s arms, you dreamt about what the two of you had done tonight.

Only in your dreams, you were confident to take things a step further, allowing Elvis to own you completely – body and soul.

#elvis #elvis presley #elvis smut #elvis presley smut #elvis x reader #elvis presley x reader #elvis headcanons #elvis presley headcanons #elvis fanfic #elvis presley fanfic #elvis x y/n #elvis presley x y/n #elvis oneshot #elvis presley oneshot #tamwrites #requests

277 notes · View notes

seeingivy · 9 months

Note

Hi!! Can you do an angsty song fic for “hits different” with Gojo? Love the ts series !!❤️

hits different

satoru gojo x f!reader

**part of my satoru as taylor swift songs series

content: older brothers best friend!satoru, teenagers being dumb teenagers, drinking, satoru calls reader belle, reader spends a fuck ton of money on toji's credit card

an: HELLO SWEETIE PIE!!! THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR DA LOVE IM GLAD YOU'VE BEEN ENJOYING IT SO FAR. this ended up at a 9k so I hope you enjoy pookie

present day

“Are you even listening to anything I’m saying?” he asks, his hands folded across his menu.

You close your own menu, setting it neatly on top of the plates, as you look over at him - the look in his eyes downright murderous. Granted, sticking your nose in the menu while he was trying to talk to you for the past twenty minutes couldn’t have helped, but he should cut you some slack. You’re really hungry.

It’s then and there that you see the look, that twitch in his right eye, and know exactly what’s going to happen. Toji Fushiguro, the accountant you’ve been dating for the last six months, is about to break up with you.

“It’s like you aren’t even paying attention when I talk to you, when I’m trying to sit here and tell you how I’m feeling.”

“Okay. So tell me how you’re feeling, Toji.”

He flares his nostrils, exasperated by your response. You thought it was polite. But you’ve been told your tone is downright argumentative, like grating nails on a chalkboard.

And then Toji lays out his final card, waiting for your broken expression.

“I’m breaking up with you. You-you and me. We’re done.”

No broken expression comes. Because you don’t let idiots like Toji think they have power over you, your feelings for even a second.

“Okay. Well, I still came here to eat dinner so could you pass me the main menu?”

You give him your best smile, sickly sweet, and it pushes him over the edge.

“Are you fucking serious? You’re not going to say anything to that? Anything at all? I just broke up with your pathetic ass and you don’t even feel a bit sad about it?”

You set the menu down again, crossing your wrists against your chest.

“Do you want me to, Toji? Because I can if you want me to.”

He gets even more frustrated, standing up at the table to yell his final words before he storms out.

“Do you know what your problem is, Y/N?”

“Please enlighten me. I’m dying to know.”

“You-you’re shit to be around. Literally the most frustrating, agitating, irritating person I’ve ever met. You can’t ever take anything at face value - you just argue and argue because it’s the only thing you know how to do. True love could knock on your door and you’d send it running away with that cold, dark heart in your chest. Because you’re hard to love.”

You clench your fists under the table, drawing blood against your palms.

“I’m so sorry I wasn’t as agreeable as you wanted me to be. Surely the secretary you’ve been fucking for the last three months we were dating is a sweeter taste in your mouth than I am.”

“Wait, what-”

“If you’re going to fuck another girl while you’re dating me, make sure you don’t butt dial me while you’re doing it, sweetheart.”

He furrows his brow, ears pink from what you’re sure is embarrassment as he storms off. You turn your head over your neck, lifting your hand to signal Nobara, Megumi, and Itadori to join you at the table.

They all awkwardly take the empty seats at the table, Itadori immediately reaching for the free bread on the table and Megumi reaching for the bottle of wine.

“You okay?” Megumi asks, a comforting hand on your shoulder.

“Toji has this really, really shit habit of leaving his stuff everywhere. His sunglasses, his keys, his wallet.”

You hold the wallet in the air, Nobara immediately snatching it from your hands and pulling out his credit card.

“No way.” she says, immediately running through the menu to find the most expensive thing to eat.

“He’ll cancel it tomorrow. So, we should make the most of it tonight.” you say, the three of them smiling back at you.

“You know, I’d feel half bad about this but he cheated on you for three months, so I really, really don’t.” Megumi says, ordering another bottle of wine.

Itadori puts his hand on yours, squeezing once as he asks.

“Are you sad about it?”

“Not really.”

“Oh, come on. She’s heartless. Ever since that idiot she dated from her hometown took her heart and went running with it, she’s been cold ever since.” Kugisaki says, spreading the leftover butter on the bread she just stole from Itadori.

“Exactly.” you say, smiling at the three of them.

You tilt the rest of your wine into the back of your throat, the sensation burning as you push it down.

You hate that after all these years, even the mention of him makes your head spin.

Satoru.

two years ago

“Go fuck yourself, Y/N.”

“Real clever, Getou. You really got me there.”

Getou immediately knocks you off your chair and starts wrestling with you on the ground - the two of you yanking each other’s arms and pulling each other's legs.

“Cut your hair, Getou. You look like a hillbilly with that uglyass manbun.”

“Check your attitude, Y/N. You’re getting bitchier as time goes on.”

You immediately reach up and grab a fistful of his hair, yanking hard as he elbows you in the eye. And you’re about to punch him straight in the stomach before you feel two arms around your waist, the hold firm, as you fight off the hold.

“That’s enough from you two, alright?” Satoru says, his voice in your ear sending a shiver down your spine.

“It’s not enough, Satoru. I need to give him a piece of my mind.”

“You’re going to give him a piece of your mind with your fist, princess?”

He finally lets you go, Shoko mimicking his actions as she lets Getou go on the other side of the kitchen. You’re both glaring bloody murder at each other, the stupid look on his ugly face only enraging you more.

“Quit calling me princess, it’s stupid.” you murmur, lifting your hands up to fix the mess Getou made of your hair.

“Cmon, Belle. Don’t be like that.”

You cringe at the nickname, even worse than princess, as the memory comes straight to your mind. Third grade. Halloween Eve.

You were going to be Cinderella for Halloween - all set with fake glass slippers and a sparkly blue dress and butterfly hair clips. But Getou and Satoru had come home straight from their soccer practice, all muddy and disgusting, and accidentally sat on your costume.

The pretty blue dress you had saved all your allowance on was ruined and along with it, your hopes of impressing Haibara - the guy that you had a crush on at the time.

Except Satoru, in his infinite kindness that he’s always shared with you, dragged you to the costume store the day after, his hands wrapped around your waist as he biked the two of you there in the scorching midday October heat.

“Do you guys have any Cinderella dresses left?”

“They’re all sold out. We’re so sorry, sir.”

As the clerk walks away, Satoru turns over to you, a giddy smile on his face.

“Did you hear that? That lady just called me sir.”

“Really funny, Satoru.”

You push him into the stand by the cashier, as you stomp to the other side of the store. You look up at the little catalogs, the sparkly blue dress in the picture with a red “sold out” sign stamped on top of it. He catches up, his hand soft on your shoulder, as he talks.

“Sorry we messed up your dress, Y/N.”

You can feel the tears building in your eyes as you start aggressively swiping them away, trying to hide the fact that you were crying in front of Satoru. Knowing him, he was just going to run home and tell Getou so the two of them could laugh at you.

“No, you’re not. You probably did it on purpose.”

“We didn’t, I-I swear.”

“Getou literally told me yesterday that he thought it was stupid I wanted to be a princess for Halloween. That girls like me aren’t princesses, because they have a rotten attitude. He said I should dress up as the Scream instead.”

You look over at the ghost mask - all elongated and scary - and it only sends more tears running down your face.

“Hey. You can still be a princess if you want to be.” he says.

“No, I can’t. Because you guys ruined the costume I already did buy. And I don’t have the money for another one because I-I spent my entire allowance on that costume.”

Satoru pulls out his wallet and brings his hand down to yours, placing the crisp dollar bills in your hand. You look over at him and he’s smiling - the tips of his ears pink.

“Now you have money for the costume.”

“There’s still no costume, dumbass.”

Satoru drags you down the aisle and points at the sparkly yellow dress, his hand now slung around your shoulder again.

“They still have this one.”

“Belle? You want me to be Belle?”

“You’re more of a Belle than Cinderella. Getou’s right in the sense that you’re a little bit too harsh to be a Cinderella type.”

“Geez. Thanks Satoru.”

“But you’re smart, ambitious, headstrong enough to be a Belle. Cinderella’s the type of bitch to always back down from a fight. Belle on the other hand fights for what she wants, like you.”

You look over at him and smile, your heart pounding in your chest as the two of you biking back to the house with the sparkly yellow dress in the bag in between you guys.

“Just don’t fight to date a literal animal like Belle, okay? That’s bestiality.”

“Shut up, Satoru.”

You feel a hand on your head, shaking hard, and grounding you back in the moment. And at your irritation at Getou, who's still hurling insults at you from the other side of the room.

“She started it, Shoko.” he says.

“No, I didn’t. You’re the dumbass who-” you start.

“I’m so fucking sick of you, Y/N. You’re always fucking nagging me in some way or another. You know, I heard you crying the other day about how you’re the only girl in your class who's never had a guy like you. Maybe if you took a look in the fucking mirror you’d realize why. You’re insufferable to be around.”

You can feel the tears welling in your eyes - hot and angry - as you bolt straight out the door and down the street. You can faintly hear the three of them calling for you, but you reach straight for the bike on the curb and go as far as you can.

You make your way five blocks down from your house to eventually stop at the lake, resting the bike against the dock before you walk down. You take your shoes off and dip your feet in, watching the sun fall behind the water and the sky turn brilliant, beautiful shades of pink, orange, and yellow.

And when dark blue starts creeping in, you lay back against the dock and watch the stars trickle into the night sky, hundreds of tiny sparkling lights. Except your view of the sky is then obscured by Satoru’s face, upside down from your vantage point.

“Hi Belle.”

“Screw off.”

He sits down, taking his own shoes off and dipping his feet into the water to lie down next to you.

“Did you have to take my bike when you ran off? Yours was two feet away from it.”

“Closest one. Cry about it, Satoru.”

You both sit in silence, save for the sound of your feet splashing in the water as Satoru breaches the topic.

“Never had a guy like you, huh?”

“You’re such a fucking asshole, you know that? First, you watch Getou literally rip me a new one for no reason and now you’re here to rub it in my face?”

“You know that wasn’t what I was doing. Have I ever made fun of you like that?”

You sit up, running your hands through your hair, as you look down at the water, your leg sending ripples far beyond. You swallow hard, the tears rising to your eyes again.

“No, Satoru. I haven’t had a guy like me like that. I’m the only girl going into senior year who hasn’t been kissed by a guy.” you whisper, the confession making you turn red with embarrassment.

Satoru sits up, scooting closer to you so your knees are knocking each other, as you both look down at the water.

“So why’s that a big deal, Y/N? You’ve never cared about what people think, let alone men. I mean, you’re basically a misandrist at this point.”

You smile, looking over at his blue eyes, almost indiscernible in the dark of the night.

“It’s a big deal because I want someone to like me. I-I know that you all think I’m mean and I argue all the time and-and whatever, maybe it’s true. But, I want someone to like me. You know, butterflies, first kisses, someone who saves all their secret jokes for you.”

He puts his hand flat against your forehead, like he’s checking your temperature.

“You feeling okay? Who are you and what have you done with, Y/N?”

You shake his hand off, rolling your eyes at him, as you both laugh into the night.

“You’re so mean, Satoru. I hate you.”

He lifts one of his legs out of the water and turns to his side, so that he’s facing you. You mimic his motions, the look on your face bored as you look over at him.

“I’m going to tell you something, and it’s going to wound my ego a little bit, so don’t tell anyone okay?”

“You with a wounded ego? I would live for the day.”

He lightly nudges you before turning back down to the water, swishing the water with his legs.

“What you said isn’t true, Belle.”

“What part?”

“About going into highschool and not having a guy like you.”

“That guy who chased me around in first grade doesn’t count because he literally thought I was-”

He brings his hands down on your face, squishing your cheeks so hard that you can’t get another word out. His eyes are closed, his face only a few feet from yours.

“Princess, I really, really love it when you argue with me like that but can you please just let me finish?” he whispers, the words sending a shiver down your spine.

You nod as he lets go, giving you a satisfied smile. He turns his head back to the water, leaning over the dock.

“That guy in first grade did like you. And I like you too.”

He looks over and smiles and it makes your blood burn. You lift your hands to cover your pink face, the implication of the entire thing making your stomach burn with anxiety, embarrassment, and the gross, mushy gushy feelings you’ve had for Satoru for years. For the boy who always came to your defense when you’re fighting Getou, always came to your aid when you were crying, and the only, only person you’ve never argued with.

“So quit crying about it, okay? My type has always been girls like you.”

“Girls like me?”

“Argumentative.”

You nod as Satoru stands up, holding his hand out. And ignore the pounding in your chest when his skin touches yours. You both walk your bikes - you pushing his bike and him pushing yours back down the blocks as you cheese at each other in the dark, sharing a secret smile before Satoru ducks back into Getou’s room.

three months later

You push up on the counter, swirling the cup of lemonade in your hand as you watch everyone mill around the party.

Your parents went out of town on a business trip. Getou throws the biggest party of the summer. And specifically tells you to stay in your room, because no one likes freshmen at a party.

Yet here you are, drinking lemonade and watching everyone mill around the party. Getou’s trying too hard to hit on a girl way older than him and Shoko and Utahime are so blatantly flirting that its giving you physical pain to watch them pine the way they are any longer.

But there’s one person you haven’t seen. Satoru.

He should have been back from his family trip to Tokyo for the summer since school was starting next week and there’s no way that he would miss anything that Getou and Shoko planned.

Even the thought of him makes your heart race, his swift admission of his feelings for you that were all but unrequited right before he left. You feel a tap on your shoulder, throwing you out of your thoughts.

“Hey. Can you hand me a cup?”

You halfheartedly smile as you reach over, handing her a cup from behind you. She gives you a smile as she swirls through the random potion Getou was serving - a dark purple color. You’re sure there’s an unfathomable amount of liquor mixed in and that it tastes disgusting.

“You want some?”

“I’m good. Getou poisoned that for all I know.” you mutter, which elicits a laugh from her.

“Interesting guy. He’s cute, right?”

You gag, the thought making the lemonade you just drank roll over in your stomach.

“Disgusting. He’s my older brother.”

She laughs, pushing up on the counter to sit with you and smiles.

“My bad. He’s ugly, downright horrendous.”

“Thank you.”

You smile as you look over at her, her eyes scanning the mess of people in front of you two.

“Oh shit. Wait, you’re Y/N, right? Satoru was talking about you.”

And any good feeling you have is now replaced with a green, jealous monster. And that part of you - the one that argues, the one that feels bitter, anger so powerfully is fighting its way out.

“Y-yeah. How do you know Satoru?”

“I don’t. I just met him upstairs. I almost puked in your room but he stopped me, helped me to the bathroom, and held my hair for a while while I threw up.”

“He’s a real nice guy, isn’t he?” you say, the sarcasm dripping from you voice.

Of course the asshole shows up to your house and flirts with another girl in your bedroom. Typical.

“Yeah. Cute too.”

Just then, Satoru and Getou walked up to you - with complete opposite expressions on their faces. Satoru is shining like the sun, his cheeks tinted pink which you’re sure is from drinking. And Getou’s glaring at you like there’s no tomorrow, his forehead scrunched up in irritation.

“Y/N.”

“Getou.”

“What are you drinking?”

“Lemonade.”

Getou snatches the cup from your hand and sets it down and by the look on his face, you know he’s about to start a fight with you.

“Are you fucking dense? That’s not lemonade, dumbass.”

“Do you think I was born yesterday, idiot? I took it from the unopened bottle in the fridge.”

“You shouldn’t be here right now. You’re too young to be here.”

“You’re one year older than me, Getou. And don’t throw a party in my house if you don’t want me here.”

Satoru puts a hand on Getou’s shoulder, whispering something in his ear until he gives you one last glare and walks away. Satoru gives you a big smile but before he can talk, the girl from before cuts him off.

“Do you want to dance now? I promise I got all my vomit out earlier so I won’t throw up this time.”

She gives him a big smile, and you swear Satoru’s considering it by the way he pauses and looks at her, which is enough said for you. You push up off the counter, telling them you’ll be right back and run off to the lake again, this time stealing Getou’s bike from the curb.

You’re pushing your legs so hard that they’re hurting, the tears biting cold against your skin from how fast you’re going in the middle of the night. And when you make it to the dock, you throw his bike against the grass and angrily kick your shoes off as you start taking your clothes off.

Is it a good idea to go skinny dipping in the middle of the night, alone? No. But is every human person that would come to this park at the party? Yes.

Which is the only reason you take the plunge and stare up at the moon, a tiny silver crescent in the sky. You hear a splash behind you after a few minutes and are met with Satoru, wet hair matted on his forehead.

“Find your own lake, weirdo.”

“You know. You shouldn’t skinny dip in public. People could see you.”

You look over to his pile of clothes and shoes, neatly folded in the pile next to yours.

“Same goes for you, pervert.”

You roll your eyes at him as you cross your hands across your chest, turning to your back so you don’t have to look at him. He’s faster than you are, because suddenly he’s floating right in front of you, inches from your face.

“Did I hurt your feelings, princess?”

“Quit calling me that. It’s disgusting.”

He brings his hands to your face, pushing away the tangled wet mess of hair on your shoulders.

“You like it when I call you that.”

“No, I don’t.”

“Yes, you do, Belle.”

“Satoru.”

“I’m not saying my piece till you say yours. And you want to hear mine, so talk.”

You take a deep breath as you look at his face - all calm and blank faced like he didn’t just do the biggest asshole move he could have.

“You’re a dick, you know that? First of all, you tell me all this shit about how you like me right before you leave. And then when you come back, the first thing I see is you talking to another girl? You were holding her hair in the bathroom, fondling god knows what in my bedroom and now you want to come here and skinny dip with me? I am not some consolation prize you get to have because she was bored of those ugly pool noodle dance moves you have and don’t ever think for a second that I will be.”

You finish, your chest heaving and a shiver running across your body from the cold water. And instead of a sincere, kind-hearted apology, an acknowledgement of what he did - Satoru Gojo is laughing in your face.

You reach forward to smack his face and he stops your hand in the air, tangling his fingers with yours.

“You’re so ridiculous, you know that?”

“You’re so fucking r-”

“Fondling? Pool noodle? Where do you even come up with this stuff?”

He brings his hands up to your cheeks and leans your head forward, pressing the softest kiss to your forehead. You can feel your head short circuiting at the sensation, your arms tingling from how close he is.

“You’re so, so ridiculous you know that? I’m never going to get tired of you.” he whispers, the words making your hair stand on their ends.

“What-you can’t just say that and-”

“Why do you think I was in your room?”

“What?”

“I was in your room, because I was looking for you. And I thought I was being nice by stopping that girl from puking all over your sheets - because I know you hate laundry and Getou isn’t going to do it for you - so I took her to the bathroom.”

You can feel the embarrassment rushing to your face for misreading the situation entirely, taking the palms of your hands and rubbing them into your eye sockets. He laughs as he tangles his hands around your wrists, placing them around his own neck.

“Still the only senior who hasn’t been kissed yet?”

“Huh?”

“I’ve been thinking about what you said. When I saw you last. Are you still the only senior who hasn’t been kissed yet?”

“Oh. Oh, yeah. But I-”

“Good.”

He leans forward, tangling his hands around your waist as he presses his warm lips to yours, his hands squeezing you as he laughs into your mouth. You don’t have much to compare it to, but by the way he’s hanging off your lips, you can tell he’s eager. Way too eager - to be kissing you of all things.

“Satoru.”

“Hm?”

“I like you too.”

His face breaks out into a smile, so big that it makes you smile too. And when he cups his hand around your face again to kiss the tip of your nose, you can feel your insides screaming. For him.

“No telling Getou. He’s going to kill me, okay?”

“As if. He literally hates me, he’d be glad if-”

“No. He can’t know. You-you’re his little sister. If he finds out I even looked at you this way, he-he’d end me where I stand. Trust me, Belle. If I break my promise, he'll never talk to me again.”

“What promise?”

“When we were little. He made me promise I wouldn’t like you.”

“And yet here you are. Naked in a lake with me.”

“You like to argue. I like to break rules. We all have our vices, princess.”

You lean into his touch again, pressing your lips against his, as the moon shines a bright light on the two of you in the dark.

four months later

You and Getou awkwardly stand in the kitchen, by the open bottles of champagne, as you both secretly circle the glasses behind your back. Getou has his moments - and this is one of them. When your parents put you on display like shiny trophies for their coworkers, bragging about how smart the two of you are.

“You decided where you’re going yet?”

“Tokyo or Kyoto, Toto.”

“Toto. Ew. You haven’t called me that since we were little, idiot.”

He brings his hand around your shoulder, tucking you into his arm as you lean against his shoulder, smiling. After Getou really realized you’d be leaving at the end of the year, he’s been nicer. Granted, he still fights like hell but he has his odd moments. Like this one.

“You’ll always be Get-toto to me.”

“I’ll get you a little Totoro plushie before you go, okay? So when those bastards you date fight with you, you’ll always be reminded you have a little bitch in you ready to fight.”

“Why are you praying for my downfall? You’re not gonna manifest a sweet, warm love for me?”

“Please. The guy you end up with will be all fireworks. Soft fireplace love has never been your thing.”

He ruffles your hair as Satoru walks up, his tie loosened already. He gives you a smile and then shakes hands with Getou, the three of you leaning against the granite countertops, watching your parents mingle through the crowd.

“D’you pick yet? Because Tokyo’s the right choice, Belle.”

“I’m still thinking, Satoru.”

“C’mon. Imagine it - you joining me and Getou in Tokyo. It would be really fun.”

Satoru’s just trying to piss you off. He knows that you’ve already picked Tokyo, because it means you don’t have to long distance date anymore. No more driving up to see each other in between, getting pulled away from each other by the constraints of time or distance or really anything else.

One of the smaller girls at the party tugs the end of your dress, whispering in her ear that she wants warm milk, which you happily oblige with. Satoru and Getou stay in their spots as you start rummaging through the kitchen, picking out a little glass and warming up the milk for her.

“Honey?”

“Yes, love?” Satoru responds, turning his gaze over to you.

You feel your eyes widen and Satoru’s face turn red as he looks over at you, realizing you were asking the girl if she wanted honey in her milk and not calling him. You both look over to Getou, who has a very strange look on his face that you can’t really discern.

Fuck.

You hand the girl her milk and stand farthest away from Satoru, giving Getou a weak smile as you all stare at the party again.

“Look. It’s Shayla.”

You and Satoru crane your necks over the other side of the room, one of your neighbors daughters saying hello to all the guests. Which you’re sure you’re getting to get a lecture about now, since you didn’t want to spend the time saying hi to all of them.

“Remember when you had a really big crush on her, Satoru? Since we were kids?”

“Uh, yeah. But I was just really little, y’know.”

You can feel your throat drying as Getou pushes on, each word making your heart burn in your chest.

“Yeah, but. She was basically your first love. Who forgets that? Who compares to that?”

“I don’t know if I would say she was my first l-”

“Then who is, Satoru? Because it’s not my sister, right?” he asks, his voice firm.

Satoru said that he would tell Getou when you officially announced you were going to Tokyo. Because once you lived in the same city, nothing would stop you from being with him - not even his best friend.

“No, no, why would it be her? She’s been annoying us since we were little, arguing with us and all that. You-you’re right. It is her. Shayla’s always been my type.” he says, his gaze lowering to the floor.

You feel your heart sink, twist into a jumbled mess as Getou smiles and gestures for her to come over. There’s a fair amount of protests from Satoru as she walks over, which you know is him trying to save face. He deals his final blow the second she walks up, definitively and wholly breaking your heart into pieces.

When Getou starts setting the two of them up. When Satoru actually takes her number down. When she presses a kiss to his cheek and winks before she walks away.

“I have to pee, Toto. Cover for me?”

“Yeah, got it.”

And the second you walk away and Getou watches you wipe the tears from your face as you walk past, Getou knows he’s right.

“Getou. You have to-”

“No, Satoru. Are you fucking kidding me?”

“Wait, what- you can’t just-”

“She’s my little sister. She’s not some toy you get to play around with till you figure out how you feel. And you don’t get to embarrass her by hiding her away either.”

“We were going to tell you when she told you she’s going to Tokyo. You-you’re the reason I hid her away. I’ve liked her for years and I put that away because you didn’t want me with her. And now I-”

“Don’t blame your shortcomings on me. Even if you did have to hide it in front of me, I would never call the girl I loved annoying to her face and throw everything she’s hated about herself in her face to make a point.”

“I didn’t- Getou you’re the one who made her hate that about herself and-”

“You love her?”

“Obviously. Why would I go to the trouble of hiding something when-”

“Talk to her again and I will literally break your face. In what world do you treat someone you love like that?”

As Satoru watches Getou walk away and thinks about how hard you’re crying upstairs, he realizes he’s in his worst nightmare. Losing his best friend and the girl he loved on the same day.

You and Satoru make promises that day.

He promises that he’ll wear his heart on his sleeve from this day forward. You promise that you’ll tuck your heart away where no one can ever touch it again.

present day

“You’re no fun, Y/N.” Itadori says, pushing the paper into your space.

“And you suck at tic-tac-toe.” you respond, sliding it back.

Nobara and Megumi laugh as the three of you sink back into your chairs in the back of the conference room, your marketing manager droning on about stocks, the future of the company, and god knows what as you try to drone him out and focus on winning your seventh round of tic-tac-toe with Itadori. Spoiler alert: it doesn’t take much.

“And lastly, we’ve employed a new marketing manager to work with the sales team. The four of you back there can decide who he’s going to be working with for onboarding.” says Ijichi.

You nod as the four of you turn to each other, matching smirks on your face.

“Rock paper scissors?” Nobara asks.

“Deal.”

It’s not that you’d hate to work with the new marketing manager. But the past three marketing managers were driven out by the end of the month because of you guys.

Megumi was too harsh with the first girl, who left crying when he asked her if she got her marketing degree from a trash can. Nobara drove the second guy away when she found out he chewed too loudly while eating lunch, claiming that he wasn’t a good fit for the company. And Itadori drove the last girl away, because she fell in love with him and he didn’t return her feelings, which made her resign the next day.

“You know, logically. It’s your turn.” Megumi says, holding his fist up to Itadori.

“Nope. We honor the rock paper scissors tournament in this friendship.

You mince your words four rounds later because you’re the pouty loser getting stuck with the stupid marketing manager. You slide back into your chair as you massage your temples, preparing yourself for the upcoming headache for the next month.

Either a lover, an incompetent idiot, or a loud chewer.

Nobara and Itadori sling their hands around your shoulders, pinching your cheeks, as Ijichi swings the door open and the marketing manager walks in. He readjusts his tie - loosely hanging from his neck - and when you lift your head to actually make eye contact with him, you immediately sit up in your chair, your skin burning.

Because Satoru Gojo is no longer six thousand miles away in Tokyo - out of sight and out of mind. He’s three feet away from you - taller, older, and more attractive than the time you saw him last.

Everyone files out of the conference room, leaving the two of you standing miles away from each other, with you refusing to meet his eye. He walks up and holds his hand out, a shy smile on his face.

“Satoru Gojo.”

You put your hand in his - the touch warm, soft, all the way you remembered it.

“Y/N L/N.” you respond, mimicking his voice.

“Y/N, huh? You look more like a Belle to me.” he responds, smirking as he walks out to your cubicle labeled right across.

You stomp right out, following him into your cubicle, as he takes the seat across from yours and starts eating the candy in your jar. You roll your eyes as you smack his hand, the smile on his face so big it's pissing you off.

“Just so you know, there’s a very notorious reputation for running out the idiot who takes your position. And trust me, I’ll have you out by the end of the week.”

“Is that a challenge, princess?”

“You can’t flirt with me. I’m technically your boss, Satoru.”

“You like to argue. I like to break rules. We all have our vices, princess.” he says, sticking one of your caramel candies in your mouth before pushing off your desk and making his way down the other side of the office.

Six hours later, you’re face planting into the table at dinner, the words echoing through your mind. Along with all the memories you buried deep, deep down and tried to forget. Of running off to the lake all summer, Satoru washing your hair softly in the showers after, of nestling up in his arms to call it a day.

Of Satoru rubbing circles into your back every time you fought with someone, of you kissing him after every fight he had with his dad, of whispering I love you against each other's lips like it was a sacred oath.

“You look horrible.” Megumi says, sharing a judgemental look with Itadori.

“Shut up.”

“It’s just one of those lame interns. Just do what Nobara did - say he smells bad.” Itadori responds, the three of them laughing.

You dig your forehead into your forearms, only lifting your head to drink more of Itadori’s beer, as the thoughts race through your head.

In all honesty, the problem has always been easy to avoid. Two years ago, Satoru smashed your heart into tiny pieces. You decided that you wouldn’t go to Tokyo or Kyoto like you planned and picked up everything and moved to New York instead.

You didn’t say goodbye. To him or to anyone. Your parents drove you to the airport and Getou gave one of those weird, repressed older brother hugs and then you turned on your heel and never went back.

You have a nice job. Friends who love you. Your dating life is abysmal at most - a long stream of guys you’ve ghosted, fought, and broken up with. Unfazed, unperturbed - calm, cool, and collected.

It doesn’t bother you. Because you stuck by your promise. That you’ll tuck your heart away where no one can touch it. But it only takes five minutes of interaction with him and you can feel the concrete walls around your heart turning into clay, softened by the sweetness he’s always possessed, the softness he’s always shared with you.

You have to drive him out of here as fast as you can.

Seven weeks later and Satoru remains at the company, steadfast and true.

It drives you crazy, having him around. So up in your space, his smell lingering in your cubicle even after he walks away. He makes stupid jokes that make you smile so hard that you’re fighting the tears in your eyes and flirts with no shame like it’s breathing air.

All in all, he’s everything you loved about Satoru, in your head again. In an even more attractive body, because of course time is nice to the asshole and he’s fit in all the right places.

You ignore him the best you can, until you can’t anymore.

You make it down to the parking lot, your high heels in your hand as you unlock your car and start loading your stuff into the trunk.

That’s when you see him, slumped against his car with the hood popped open, with a very, very confused look on his face. You clear your throat loudly, which catches his attention.

“Oh. Heading out late, Y/N?”

“Looks like it. You?”

“Ah. I actually meant to leave early today but my car hasn’t been starting so.”

You take one look at his pouty face and give in. You slam the trunk of your car shut and whisper the words out, so fast that you can’t even think to regret them.

“Get in the car.”

“Huh?”

“Get in the car, Satoru. Unless you want to stay here for the rest of the weekend, then be my guest.”

He gives you the brightest smile you’ve seen as he all but jogs over and settles into the front seat of your car, slumping down in the seat that’s pushed all the way up. You back up out of the parking garage as he plugs in the address for his apartment, a modest thirty minutes away from the office.

“You know, you can move the chair back. I’m not going to bite your head off if you do.”

He laughs and you see his shoulders deflate as he adjusts the seat, his long legs now spread in the open compartment underneath him.

“What a shame. I’m into that type of thing, Y/N.”

“Always the perverted one, weren’t you?” you respond, smiling over at him.

Stop it, Y/N. Stop it.

“Who the hell sits up here anyway? A toddler?”

“Oh. It was just this guy I was talking to. He was really short but he always felt the need to monitor my driving so he pulled the seat all the way up to watch the lines.” you respond, turning left onto the street.

“Ah. One of your many romantic escapades, so I’m told. I’ve heard you’ve become quite the player, Y/N.” he says, leaning against the glass.

“Learned from the best, Satoru. Except this time, I don’t get overinvolved.” you respond.

He laughs, leaning back in the chair as you both fall into a comfortable silence, the tension hanging in the air eating at your skin. It hangs in the air, like an embarrassing elephant in the room.

Satoru’s the one who pokes it.

“Then, you should get involved with me. Again.”

You keep your promises to yourself. But Satoru keeps his too. An oath to wear his heart on his sleeve is translated into him fighting to get you back.

You slam the breaks so hard that his forehead goes straight into the sun visor, a groan leaving his mouth. You apologize and immediately reach forward, cupping the side of his face and eyeing the angry red mark on his forehead.

“Yikes. I’m sorry, Cyclops. That caught me off guard.”

“Be careful, there. Almost thought you cared for a second.” he says, smirking.

You park the car in front of his apartment and look out the window, the words making your head spin.

“You know, I can tell you want to.” he says.

You turn around and frown, reaching forward to flick into the soft skin of his cheek.

“Please. You’re not even all that-”

“You brushed your hand against mine when we walked to the conference room. I caught you staring at me during the company lunch on Thursday. And I know you just stopped talking to the short guy because Itadori told me. What’s the worst that could happen?”

The worst has happened. Because for the second time, you are irrevocably and deeply in love with Satoru Gojo.

Maybe you never stopped.

Just like you were when you were seven, you’re incredibly drawn to him, like two magnets being pulled together. What was supposed to be one date, one lousy hookup like every other guy you’ve talked to in the past year turned into a complicated, mushy gushy feelings mess.

You stayed over at his house that night. But then he was shirtless, singing in the kitchen as he made you breakfast in bed the next morning. And little by little, he’s crawled into every little part of your life.

He insists on driving you to work, buying you a sugary overpriced latte you would never splurge on for yourself and a pastry to go with it on the way. He claims he doesn’t want any but reaches over the seat to take a bite and then press a chocolatey kiss to your lips.

He hangs out with you and your friends after work. And like always, he always backs you up in the thousands of petty arguments he has with each of them and then tells you that it turns him on when he drives you home.

He draws little shapes into your skin every night, asking you to guess the little drawings he’s making while his soft, smooth voice lulls you to sleep. And when you wake up, you can’t help but watch him, the little freckles he had when he was seventeen still the same.

It makes your heart warm. The soft feelings you’ve always had for him, they make you warm.

Which is why you curse yourself for ever thinking things could be different, when he drops the ball three months later.

“Can you drive me to the airport on Friday, princess?” he asks, his breaths tickling your nose.

“Where are you going, Toru?” you murmur, burrowing yourself deeper into his skin.

“Home. The job posting was temporary, remember?” he responds, pressing a kiss to the top of your forehead.

“Oh. Are- you’re not going to look for a job here?’

“Nah. Time’s up right?” he says, the question hanging in the air.

And when you wake up the next morning, to find him in your kitchen with a bowl of cereal all poured out for you and a bouquet of flowers, you can’t help but yell at him. After the shit he pulled last night.

“You should probably go to your apartment and pack your stuff up. Since you’re leaving tomorrow.”

“We can do it tomorrow, Belle. Most of my stuff is here anyway.” he says, holding the bowl close to his mouth as he leans over the counter.

“I can’t take you tomorrow. Megs said he will so you can ask him for help. He-he’s actually on his way now to get you.” you murmur, crossing your hands against your chest.

He frowns, coming up close to you to wrap his arms around you which you quickly side shuffle out of. You push past him and walk into the kitchen, clutching the countertop hard. Satoru smiles to himself before he turns around, knowing he’s won the war.

“Do you want me to stay, Belle?”

You roll your eyes, the audacity of him even suggesting that just pissing you off more. Irritated, because of course he said that. Agitated, because he can read you like a book.

“No, Satoru. Go home.”

“You sure? Because it seemed like-”

“Do you really think it would bother me if you left, Satoru? Do you really think you’re different from any other guy I talked to?”

Satoru frowns, the angry look on your face the opposite of the love-struck, warm confession he was expecting. But then again, this was you. Argumentative to your core - so he just needs to wrangle it out of you.

“I know I’ve been here longer than the rest of them, that’s for sure.”

“And do you think that makes you special, Satoru? Do you sincerely, genuinely think any of that means I would want you to stay right now?”

“Well, wait- I’m not just any other guy now, you and I, we-”

“We what? Have history? A long term fling doesn’t make us soulmates, Satoru.”

“That wasn’t a fling. You and I were-”

“You and I were no different than what we are now, Satoru. You should have known to not get over involved. I told you from the start that this is how it would be. You leaving didn’t faze me the first time and it won’t faze me the second time either, sweetheart.”

Satoru moves past you, yanking his hoodie on and grabbing his key off the hook as he swings the door open. And when he shuts the door behind you, his tear-stained face being the last thing you see, you sink onto the floor and can’t help but sob.

For the first boy you ever loved. Who burned you so bad, that you burned him too. Who soothed over every angry, irritating, argumentative part of you, until it was something you unleashed on him too.

You wonder why you let yourself into these sinkholes in the first place.

“Hey, man. Have a safe flight home, okay? It was nice getting to know you.” Itadori says, lugging the last of Satoru’s luggage out of the back.

Satoru gives Itadori one last hug before Megumi starts lugging his bags into the terminal with him, the intense feelings from the day prior still hanging on his chest.

“You-you’ll take care of her right? After I’m gone?” Satoru asks, as he pulls into the line.

“Who?”

“Y/N.”

“Oh. Yeah, I will. This time around though, I’m not letting Itadori and Nobara invite her to the bar.”

Satoru smiles, the thought of you drunk, making his heart ache. One of his many favorite sights is you on your fourth glass of wine - when your lips are all pink and when you climb all over him, whispering the corniest, cheesiest things that come to mind.

“Princess. You’re kind of cutting off my circulation here.”

“Sss-sorry, Satoru. Wanted to get closer.” you whisper, tangling your arms around his neck and readjusting in his lap.

“What’s closer than this princess? You’re literally on top of me right now.” he responds, cupping your face to push the hair away from your face.

“Not close enough.”

“The only thing closer than this is if you crawled into my skin and became a part of my bloodstream.”

“Is there a way to do that? Because I would.”

“You wanna be that close to me, huh princess?”

“Even when I’m sitting right next to you, right on top of you, literally skin to skin - I still can’t get enough of you. I want to be this close, all the time.”

Satoru shakes the memory from his mind as the people behind him gesture him to move forward in line, his heart hanging heavier in his chest.

“She always drinks too much, doesn’t she?” he says.

“Well, yeah. It’s usually funny. But now she’s going to go back into her moping, angsty teenager phase for the next seven months. I’ll probably be dragging her out of that bar on her legs, for all I know.”

“Y/N? Angsty? That’s real funny.”

“No, I’m telling you. When we first met her, all this girl did was cry in the bar. Her sadness was like…contagious or whatever it was making me depressed. One time she sang All Too Well, on the countertop while sobbing until the bartender literally had to kick her ass out.”

“The first guy she dated when she moved here was that bad, huh?”

“No. Itadori and Nobara have this running theory, they’ve been trying to figure out who he is for a while. The one thing we know for sure is that he’s definitely from her hometown and that she broke up with him right before she moved here.”

And that’s when Satoru gets it. That you’re a goddamn liar. And that you definitely did want him to stay.

Satoru does the only thing he can. Drops everything and runs straight out the airport to make his way back to your apartment. He’ll be damned if he makes the same mistake twice.

You look up from your spot, sprawled on the cold tiles of your kitchen floor, when you hear a key turn in the lock. You immediately sit up to find Satoru, an almost angry look on his face, when he storms in and bends down in front of you.

“Forget your diapers, grandpa?”

“Shut up, Y/N.”

“It’s a long flight. You don’t want to have an accident do you?”

He brings his hands up to your cheeks, squishing hard so you can’t get another word. And what he says next, the same words he uttered to you in that stupid lake, sober you u pearl fast.

“Princess, I really, really love it when you argue with me like that but can you please just let me finish?”

You swallow hard as he gives you a satisfied smile, giving him a soft nod.

“Do you want me to stay?”

“God, Satoru. Just quit it with this shit, I already told you no and I mean-”

“You also told me that it didn’t faze you when we broke up the first time. But then I find out, you were slurring my name in bars and crying about it for months.”

“So? Do you want a cookie or something?”

“So you’re a liar. And now I want to know the truth. Do you want me to stay?”

His eyes are burning, bigger than you’ve ever seen them. The gaze itself is piercing, making the ends of your hair stand up on your arms and legs. You shake his hand off your face as you stand up, scrambling to the other side of the kitchen.

“I don’t want you to stay.”

“Yes, you do. You’re lying, Y/N.”

“No, I’m not. One measly piece of information my friends mention in passing doesn’t mean it’s about you, Satoru.”

He brings his hands around your wrist, curling his fingers around the skin and squeezing twice.

“I made the dumbest mistake of my life. I had an opportunity, a real one to be honest about how I felt and I fucked it up, okay? I’ve regretted it every day since you walked away. You were going to go to school - with me. We were going to be together. But then you picked up everything and move to the other side of the fucking planet to halfheartedly date all these guys without a care in the world.”

“What does stating facts do for you, Satoru? What is it you want me to say?”

“You know what I want to hear. Say it, Belle.”

“What? That I left because of you? That I loved you so much that it made my heart hurt? That every second I’m around you it only feels like my love gets bigger for you? That the only person I can’t bring myself to get over is you? Because what does me saying that do for me because you’re just going to-”

Satoru smiles before he closes the space between you, pushing you into the counter and cradling your cheeks in his hand. He’s leaning into the kiss, so hard that you can feel almost his entire body weight on you as his lips press against yours.

He’s shaking hard and smiling into the kiss, pulling you back in every time you try to stop, his hands running in your hair as he laughs into your mouth.

“Was it so hard to tell me that you wanted me to stay?” he whispers, giggling into your ear as he presses kisses into your neck.

“Was it so hard to tell me you wanted to? You just had to come have this big moment with me here when-”

“Yes, I did. You deserved a big, lengthy love confession when you were seventeen, at that stupid party. I’m trying to do right by you through this dramatic shit now.”

“Because this is doing right by me? Making me cry and then running back?”

“It’s romantic, princess. I ran out of an airport for you.”

“After we argued. That kind of puts a damper on it.”

“Oh, shut up. You know argumentative girls have always been my thing.”

You place your hands around his face, yanking his head out of the crook of your neck as you hold his face in your hands, the skin soft. He still has all the little freckles, the same eyes and nose that you loved when you were seventeen.

That you love. You love him.

“Satoru.”

“Yeah?”

“How did you get a key to my house?”

He rolls his eyes as he breaks out of your hold, sticking his tongue out at you.

“That would have been a really sweet moment for a confession. You ruined it, princess.”

You smile as you make your way into his arms again, looking up at him from his hold.

“I made a copy of your key, Y/N.”

“That’s illegal, Toru. Breaking and entering.”

“You like to argue. I like to break rules. Everyone has their vices.”

You bring your hands back up to his cheeks again, the smile on your face hurting your cheeks as you press a kiss to the side of his cheek.

“Isn’t love the greatest vice, Toru?” you whisper.

“Maybe for me. Every normal thing hits different when it comes to you.” he says, closing the space between you two again.

the satoru as taylor swift songs series masterlist

taglist: @porridgesblog @k0z3me @kayleegomez @yihona-san06 @bsenpai @sweetenertea @skzismyhome @mykyoon @violetmatcha @rebeccawinters @luna0713hunter @shotenvinsoot @itzmeme @squirrelspoetry

293 notes · View notes

sixhours · 2 months

Text

One Day at a Time - Chapter 5 - Labor

Series Chapter Index | Read on AO3 | Complete

Rating: Explicit, 18+, here be smut Series tags: The Last of Us, The Last of Us (HBO), Joel Miller x f!OFC, Joel & Ellie, mostly follows canon, SMUT, gratuitous smut, dubious consent (drunk sex), unplanned pregnancy, fluff, references to past miscarriages, angst, hurt/comfort, romance, age gap (~21 years), childbirth, fluffy baby stuff, I've probably forgotten some so please let me know <3

~*~

Charlie and Joel find a new routine, stumbling around each other in the early days–passing each other in the hall with stilted greetings, overly polite glances, two lone wolves sharing a den.

The hardest part of having her around is her insistence on doing things . He finds the laundry hamper in his bathroom empty, the dishes washed and put away in the cupboard, the floor swept and the bookshelves dusted.

“You don’t need to clean up after me,” he grumbles after finding a bunch of his shirts folded and pressed and stacked neatly on the bed in Ellie’s old room. “Didn’t ask you here to be a maid.”

“I have to do something,” she says from her place on the couch. “They have me on reduced hours. All I do is water plants and sort donations, and there are only so many books to read. At this rate, I’ll be halfway through the library by the time the kid is born.”

“That’s the point. You’re s’posed to rest,” he says.

“I haven’t bled in three weeks,” she says. “The kid’s fine. I’m fine. A load of laundry isn’t going to kill us.”

He winces. “Don’t say it like that. And I can do my own damn laundry.”

In a vain attempt to get her to stay put, he brings home stacks of DVDs from the library and makes movies a nightly routine. If nothing else, it keeps her off her feet for a couple of hours, and he already knows they have similar tastes. Sometimes Ellie joins them, sitting cross-legged on the floor in front of the couch with a bowl of popcorn in her lap, and their weird little arrangement feels almost familial.

On one such night, Charlie is fast asleep when the movie credits roll. Ellie bowed out halfway through, claiming she couldn’t take the cheesy dialogue for one more second.

Charlie’s head is propped on a pillow next to Joel’s thigh, and he resists the urge to push an errant strand of silver hair out of her eyes. Instead, he draws a fingertip down her cheek until she stirs.

“You missed the best part,” he murmurs. “And you’re droolin’.”

“Mmm.”

She wipes a hand across her mouth and blinks up at him. It’s a long, lingering look that has him brushing the hair from her eyes after all, eager to have an excuse to touch her, if only for a second.

He realizes with a dull sense of shame that he wants to gather her in his arms and carry her to bed. The liquor that put them here may have acted as a lubricant, but at a different time, under different circumstances, he would have tried to get her to bed regardless.

The thought is pushed roughly aside as he stands slowly, stiffly, stretching through the low-level ache in his back, ignoring the creak in his knees.

He puts out a hand to help her up and she takes it, using it as leverage to hoist herself off the too-soft couch, overcoming her unfamiliar extra weight. Her hand lingers in his once she’s up, just a second too long, and he feels that familiar spark of heat low in his spine.

He fakes a cough and takes his hand away, grateful she can’t see the flush creeping up his neck in the low light.

“C’mon…let’s get you to bed.”

He plods up the stairs behind her, purposefully looking at his feet instead of the sway of her hips ahead of him.

“G’night, Joel,” she yawns, lingering in the doorway to his bedroom.

Christ, even her yawn is cute.

“Night,” he grates out, ducking into the spare room and closing the door behind him. He’ll wait until she’s settled, then he’ll go to the bathroom down the hall and take his second shower of the day, because there’s no fucking way he can jerk off in Ellie’s old room.

~*~

It’s different from what Joel remembers. There is no attempt to outfit a nursery, no crib or cradle to put together, no paint swatches smoothed onto the walls. There is no discussion of names, of gender, of a future beyond the current day; just a nightly mark in his pocket calendar, one more day in a long countdown. He doesn’t know if it’s a shared fear of losing the pregnancy or of making it too real; probably both.

Instead, they refer to the baby as a fruit, based on the list in the “What to Expect When You’re Expecting” book that someone, probably Maria, dropped on their doorstep.

“How’s…is it Avocado?” he asks, returning home from patrol. Tommy must have pulled some strings with the council because he’s been put on daytime shifts only, no overnights, and nothing longer than six hours.

“I think it’s Pepper now. No…wait,” Charlie frowns, reaching for the book and flipping to a dog-eared page. “We’re up to Sweet Potato.”

He wrinkles his nose. “How is that a fruit?”

“I dunno, but it’s making me want fries.”

He does his best to stifle the urge to follow her around and pester her to eat, to drink, to relax, but tonight the question slips out before he can stop it.

“You hungry? Did you eat?”

“I was joking,” she sighs, and he catches the tail-end of an eye roll. “But no, I haven’t eaten yet.”

“Heard it’s pizza night at the caf. Prob’ly still have the good stuff if we go now. No mushrooms.”

“Sounds like heartburn waiting to happen,” she smiles. “But sure.”

They walk to the cafeteria together, a diversion from routine. Except for their nightly movie dates, they keep separate schedules, more like roommates than future parents.

”So, uh, you didn’t tell me before. How’s ‘Sweet Potato’?”

“Active,” she says, rubbing her stomach. “At least I think it’s the kid. Could be gas.”

He snorts a laugh. “Yeah?”

“Yeah. It feels like…bubbles. Like fizzy bubbles, popping,” she says.

He nods. “You’re, uh, what, twenty weeks? Halfway.”

“You’re keeping track,” she says appraisingly.

“Don’t sound so surprised.”

Her lips quirk in a smile. “I’m not.”

He’s managed to keep his head down and avoid the rumors, but he feels eyes on them when they enter the cafeteria together; the old man and the reclusive widow. It’s almost enough to make him turn around, but her hand is suddenly warm in his, steadying him.

“Maybe we should give them something to talk about,” she whispers, arching an eyebrow.

“Pretty sure this is ‘something’ enough,” he says, gently poking at her stomach with the edge of his tray.

They find a table in the corner, someplace Joel can keep his back to the wall and glare at anyone who offers more than a sideways glance. Normally the caf’s pizza is good, but tonight it tastes like cheese-covered cardboard. He’s head down, focused on cutting up his food into little squares when a familiar voice pipes up.

“Hey, lovebirds!”

He looks up to find Ellie standing at their table, holding her tray and grinning.

“Not gonna interrupt your date, just wanted to say ‘hi.’ I’m eating with Cat and Dina,” she nods to the other side of the room.

“S’not a–”

“Have fun,” she chirps. Then she’s gone.

“Sorry,” he mutters, pushing his food around on his plate. “She’s…a lot.”

“How’s she dealing with all this?” Charlie asks, gesturing between them.

“Same way she deals with everythin’,” he snorts. “Bein’ a wiseass.”

Charlie looks over her shoulder to where Ellie is now laughing with her friends.

“How’d she end up with you, anyway? You’re a bit of an unlikely pair.”

“Made a promise to a friend,” he says roughly. “Then she…stuck.”

“The unwitting father,” she says, smiling a little, then frowns. “I used to wonder what kind of mother I’d be…before this. Now I just hope we make it out of this pregnancy alive.”

“You will,” he says quickly because he can’t bring himself to imagine the alternative. “And you’ll do fine. The first years, it’s mostly just about keepin’ ‘em alive…stop ‘em from doing stupid shit.”

He’s watching Ellie as he says this.

“Then you love ‘em and hope for the best,” he says softly. “Not much else to it.”

“Sounds like you speak from experience,” Charlie says curiously, and a pit of anxiety burrows deeper into his stomach. Sometimes he forgets she doesn’t know about Sarah.

“I took care of Tommy,” he explains, flushing. “Our folks weren’t, uh, around much. It was just me an’ him for a long time.”

She nods. She’s finished her pizza and he’s still moving his around on his plate. He pushes his tray over to her.

“Here. M’not hungry.”

“You sure?”

He nods, and she takes the tray and picks up one of the tiny pizza squares he’s carved out, popping it in her mouth.

“Well, she seems pretty happy, all things considered,” she says, chewing thoughtfully. “You must be doing something right.”

He winces, thinking of Ellie’s dead weight in his arms and the despair in her eyes when he couldn’t tell her the truth.

“M’not so sure about that.”

~*~

The moan drifts across the hall, and Joel is out of bed and at her door in an instant. He’s only half dressed, hasn’t even put a T-shirt on. Ellie hasn’t had one of her nightmares in months, but he’s operating on pure instinct, something drilled into him from the time Sarah was a baby. It’s a honed reflex; he does it without waking, without thinking.

He stops at the threshold, blinking away the sleep before he can knock on the door to his bedroom.

His bedroom. Ellie sleeps in the garage. Charlie is here now, not Ellie.

Another low moan, a gasp…a sigh.

His face gets hot as he realizes what’s happening. He stands frozen in the hall, her breathing carrying through the door. Panting, another moan. Arousal sends a tight knot of heat to his groin.

Fuck.

He turns on his heel, eager to put space between them, to give her some privacy, but his foot lands on the squeakiest floorboard, the one he’s been telling himself he needs to nail down before someone trips on the damn thing, and the sound is unmistakable and deafening.

All sounds from his bedroom cease with a tiny gasp.

Shit shit shit.

He’s fixed in place. There’s the sound of her soft footsteps on the other side of the door, the creak of the knob as it opens.

“Joel?”

He turns around, fists clenching at his sides. “Sorry…I thought you were, uh…sick.”

She’s watching him intently, silver eyes burning into his in a way that takes his voice. She’s dressed in a thin tank top and underwear, the fabric clinging to her skin, dewy with sweat from the heat of the summer, or from…other things.

His brain goes fuzzy.

The lacy edge of the tank top barely covers her, swollen as she is, breasts and belly normally covered by an oversized button-down. His eyes are drawn to the naked swell of her abdomen over the crease of her thigh.

Then she’s reaching toward him, and he catches her wrist before her palm makes contact with his bare chest, but just barely. The heat radiates off her and he feels every single degree of temperature.

“I…should go,” he murmurs, but his throat has gone dry and it comes out as a croak.

“Joel–”

He’s still holding her wrist when she moves toward him and presses her face to the center of his breastbone, her breath like a blessing on his skin. He can’t stop her, can’t turn her away, even as his hand holds her wrist steady and apart, the rest of her slides against him. Her forehead presses at the spot under his chin.

It’s so slow–so painfully, breathtakingly slow, this connection.

“We–” is all he can get out when he feels her lips on his chest, an open-mouthed kiss to his pec, and he shudders. Her tongue peeks out, lapping once at the tender skin, tasting him.

His other hand cups the back of her bare neck, intending to pull her away, but he’s entranced by the softness at her nape, the warmth of the skin, the way the muscles and bones shift under his palm. She has deftly extracted her wrist from his grip and is holding the hand that was meant to keep her at bay, fingers laced together and tucked between their bodies like a secret.

She tips her head back, waiting for the last vestiges of his control to break. It’s her eyes that do it, silver and shining with want…and sadness.

I’m here, I’m here, you can have this.

Oh, he really should turn away.

He kisses her like it’s the first time because he can’t remember the first time; only that it put them here. Maybe it hadn’t been the alcohol after all, because he’s lost himself to the first sip of her mouth. She tastes like chocolate, sweet and rich and deep, and he is so achingly hungry when she licks the taste of herself into him.

She’s pulling him, or maybe he’s pushing her, guiding her to the bed. His bed. Where she’d been touching herself not moments before–

He groans and separates himself from her just as she sinks onto the mattress.

“I need…I need a minute,” he gasps. He feels insane, primal, out of control. He needs this to just slow down and give him half a second to think, but he can’t fucking think because the blood is no longer answering to the part of his body that controls decision-making.

Charlie gets to her knees on the bed, swaying a little as she adjusts to her burgeoning center of gravity. “You asked how you could help. This is how. You can be with me.”

“Is that…really what you want?”

She blinks at him, slow and measured. Her voice shakes. “I want…I want to forget, just for a little bit. I want to…pretend.”

“I’m old enough t’be your father,” he grits out, even as he’s drawn to her, even as his hand finds hers and closes the distance. He watches their fingers entwine as if enchanted, her narrower ones sliding between his thick ones, the clutch of her nails skipping across the ridges of his palm.

“But you’re not my father,” she says evenly.

“The midwife said no–”

“It’s fine,” she soothes, placing his hand on her waist. She’s so fucking close and she smells like sex.

“Please.”

The catch in her voice dissolves what’s left of his restraint and his arm slips around her more fully, pulling her into him, his hand finding the soft skin under her tank top. He holds her close, feeling the thrum of his pulse at his throat when she kisses him there, licking at the scruff of his beard.

Then she’s urging him onto the bed, straddling his hips with her own, draping herself over him, her skin melting against his like warm honey. He feels feverish with want, with need, so lost in the sensations he’s denied himself for months that he might as well be drunk for all the control he has.

He nuzzles at one breast, cups the other, dark-tipped and heavy in his palm. She arches and whimpers when his thumb grazes a nipple, keens when he licks and licks and sucks it into his mouth, feels the pebbled skin tighten under his tongue.

She sits up on her knees, urges his boxers down over him before he fully realizes what she’s doing. He tries to still her with a hand to her hip.

“I don’t wanna hurt–”

“You won’t,” she says, and then she’s pulling her underwear aside and sinking on his length with a gasp and a whimper, fingers gripping his chest to steady herself as she rocks against him, taking him inside with slow, careful thrusts. A groan wrenches itself from his throat and he has to stop himself from thrusting up into her.

“There, there,” she whimpers, finding the right angle, pressing against him, rolling her hips until his cock is stroking and hitting that spot over and over. It doesn’t take long until she’s panting, whimpering, please, please, yes there, please, as she uses his body to climb higher.

He’s murmuring now, soft words of encouragement and praise and nonsense at her throat, her neck, wherever his mouth can reach. He doesn’t stop even when she kisses him, rumbling into her mouth, laying the words against her tongue with his own like an offering, yes, baby, just like that, so good, take it, take it, I got you, take it.

She comes with a final roll of her hips, pressing him inside her as deep as she can and grinding against him with a wail. He feels the pulse and flutter of her contractions around him, her eyes clamped shut, blunt nails digging into his shoulders. Her lip quivers and she lets out what sounds like a sob.

She slides off him with a whimper, tucking into the crook of his arm.

“Just…a sec,” she breathes.

He’s dizzy with her scent, her touch, still not entirely sure how they got here…again. But now her fingers are skating over his stomach and down, taking him in her hand and stroking him, watching his face.

“You don’t…have to,” he grits out, rolling to face her and edging backward to give her space. But she’s shimmying out of her underwear and hooking her leg over his hips, pulling him closer. She reaches between them to stroke his cock through her folds, then urges him inside with a sigh.

Pleasure sinks its hot tendrils into him as she rocks against him, her face pressed to his chest, soft panting at his collarbone. His free hand roams the landscape of her body, the hard swell of her womb pressed into the softness of his stomach, the weight of her breast in his hand.

He feels her fingers at the base of his cock, slicking herself, and his hand follows, covering hers.

“Show me,” he whispers.

She does, and he picks up her rhythm, swirling the pad of his finger around her swollen clit, yes yes, like that, more . He’s surprised when she comes again almost immediately, so sensitive, clamping tight and nipping at his clavicle. She grips his hip and grinds against him, forcing him to fuck her through it until he’s cresting.

“Gonna…soon…” he pants, trying to pull out, but she locks her leg tighter around him.

“Inside,” she whispers, grabbing at his jaw and pulling his mouth to hers.

He groans, pulling back to see her face. “You sure?”

“S’the worst that can happen?”

She looks down at them, at the swell just above where their bodies are joined, and then tilts her chin up and grins, a coy, fucked-out smirk that makes his cock ache and kick and throb inside her.

“Oh…oh fuck ,” he whispers, and then he’s pouring into her.

Her hand is splayed on his cheek when he comes to, her eyes closed, nose pressed to his jaw.

“Y’okay?”

“Mmm,” she sighs, a tiny, breathy little thing. She’s already half asleep.

“Should I—“

“Stay,” she murmurs, leg still locked around him.

He does.

#fanfic #joel miller #the last of us hbo #the last of us #fic recs #pregnancy #babyfic #baby #smut

66 notes · View notes

loneliestluvr · 22 days

Text

𝑻𝒐 𝑴𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒐𝒘𝒔 𝑰 𝑾𝒊𝒍𝒍 𝑮𝒐, 𝒊𝒊.

i. ii. iii.

Pairing: Eris Vanserra x Archeron OC

Synopsis: Caught up in a world of hollow grief for her people, her life, and her father, Blair Archeron is forced into a life under the light she wants no part of after ghosting through immortality since being Made. But what she finds, is not what she expects.

Warnings: should have added this in the last one but talking/thinking about loss of pregnancy, being controlled + used, angst, lots of description but Blair gets her lick back a bit 😛 this is also a bit of a slow burn

Word Count: 2.8k

taryn thinks: so this is gonna be a series and im just kinda holding its hand and letting it guide me rn, i have no planned ending at all or any idea where this is going. bear with me pookies and remember how attracted Feyre was to Rhys without knowing he was her mate please and thank you 🙏🏼

“Eris,” Rhysand’s voice boomed in that firm High Lord tone he only ever used outside of the River House— Blair had only ever heard it once and not ever directed at her. It was that same day and argument Nesta had told Feyre about the threat to her life, to the babe’s life in her womb, when Rhys’ power had exploded and grew so loud and angry Blair had covered her ears and closed her eyes.

Eris. The name rung in her head as her brother-in-law spoke it and her mouth moved before she could think as she tested it silently on her own tongue. Eris.

The second eldest Archeron still hadn’t brought herself to tear her gaze from the male—Eris—before her, taking in every inch of his face. Every muscle ticking in his jaw. Eris’s eyes followed her mouth as she traced his name with her lips and then he finally looked away. As if he couldn’t handle looking another minute.

“This is Feyre’s second oldest sister, Blair.” Rhys continued, and something like panic lit his every word. “She is beautiful, isn’t she?”

But it was almost muffled— the sound of his voice, the music and chatter behind them. Blair’s hands still neatly folded in front of her as she stood there, like there was nothing else in that marble room but her and Eris.

“Divine.” The red haired male murmured and by the way Rhys’ brows shot up just slightly, Blair figured the male wasn’t ever one for so little words.

The sound of his voice washed through her, the heat of her skin only intensifying as it echoed through her ears. She could hear her blood thrumming through her with it, like just this nearness had her body boiling. A sense she couldn’t describe pulling to him.

“Likewise.” The word was out before she could control it, like her inhibitions overtook all.

What is it that you feel, bright one? A cold, unnatural, and otherworldly voice spoke in her head. The same as always when the smoke cleared. Feminine, if Blair could tell— speaking to her as she was sucked back out of her body and it swallowed whatever words were working up her throat. Pulled right back into that unintentional irreverence. You do feel it, I can tell. Pushing me back, for this? For him— for what lurks under?

“I’m sorry for my tardiness,” Blair said, voice vacant. It was some part of their plan, but Blair had been instructed to follow along. Some quiet tucked away part of her, far in the forest of her mind, began to piece information together.

Things she’d learned simply by sitting and listening, and nobody cared about talking in front of the mute immortal who would sooner die than participate in politics or anything relating to the fae realm.

At least that’s what she thought of herself, nobody would say it. Even if that’s what she knew they were thinking. Even if it wasn’t entirely true.

Blair listened, mindlessly and absently, but what else was she to do when she sat in the quiet of her own mind day after day under something else’s control?

She tilled the soil of her mind, planting and working and tending as she sat and listened. Took in every piece of information that seemed so little to whatever she had become after, tucking it away and into her pocket.

But she never participated, couldn’t seem to ever make her mouth move. Could only sit and look out the window as everyone moved around her.

“Nonsense, sister.” Feyre smiled lovingly, the image of a shining star with the way her barely there gown accentuated her growing belly. “You’ve come just in time.”

As if on cue, a soft melodic music that sounded like the forest’s calm embrace started playing. Forest’s that Feyre and her had frequented in the summers when the younger of them was just hitting maturity, welcoming and lovely. Soft and slow, serene. A moment of peace in a world of pain and anger.

Blair took another breath and turned her head to the dance floor, it was her again this time as she spoke so softly it was almost unheard, “I love this type of music.”

“You’d like to know, Eris, that Blair is of the same talent our dear sister Nesta possesses. One that you seem so keen on having her hand in marriage because of.” Feyre says, but Blair’s eyes remain glued to the floor of people dancing so slowly. Seamless in their waltzing, her body almost began moving by itself— fighting every muscle in her to stay present in conversation as she slowed back into her body.

A rage filling some now faraway part of her, screaming and clawing and fighting to push her back again.

But this moment, this day, had been the most lucid she had felt in over a year— like she was waking up and blinking the fog away. Blair could hear clearly, and think, she could see from her own eyes, she was herself then. She was her own.

The reveal of another Archeron sister was not something that Eris had anticipated for. Certainly not something he’d prepared for, he had never let himself become so raw in front of anyone, let alone those of the Night Court.

One look at her… one gaze into those amber flecked eyes and his entire mask had shattered. For a minute too long he had just… stared at her.

Blair. The name danced around in his head, he could see it scripted on pages with a light hand. Those delicate fingers dragging the quill into a mess of curls and lines, her beautiful name printed in his mind. Blair.

“I’m almost certain at this point only beauty comes of your family, if Nesta was that graceful on the floor I can only imagine any of her sisters being equally as talented.” He said without another second, gaze now fixed wholly on the High Lady of the Night Court despite the pounding of his heart in his ears.

“Nesta continues to be… occupied.” Feyre added, almost ignoring any of his ploying compliments and Eris didn’t miss the whites of Rhysand’s knuckles showing as he clutched the arms of his throne.

And it was true, the Illyrian brute that had swept away his hopeful bride had passed her to the aggravating shadowsinger. Eris would not get her back again, not tonight.

“Perhaps my sister Blair would like to join you in a dance or two?” Feyre said next, the question directed for the female next to him.

Something in his chest felt like it would cave in and Eris thought he could have been floating just being next to her. The soft brown of her hair that went almost to her waist, even with it half up in a mound on the back of her head.

Accentuating those beautiful features under the light, lips pronounced and eyes that guttered all the need for dominance from his soul. His mind screamed: Kneel, kneel before your queen and beg to touch her. To smell and taste and feel, to know.

“Blair?” Feyre’s voice rang through his ears again and Blair had seemed like she was so enamored by the music, by the need to be with it, she hadn’t heard the question her sister asked. Then her head turned back to the thrones on the dais.

“I’m sorry,” She said quickly, furrowing her brow slightly as she tuned back in. “—what was it?”

“Perhaps you would like to join Eris for a dance?” Feyre clarified again and she looked from her sister to him, nearly next to Eris and stared for a moment.

“It’d be my honor to dance with the son of a High Lord.” She said, a small smile blooming on her lips.

By the confusion that seemed to broadcast on the High Lord and Lady’s face, Eris figured that Blair Archeron had secrets of her own. That just maybe, like him, she was undermined and looked over in aspects she shouldn’t be.

Eris stepped closer and offered his arm almost mindlessly, eyes tracing every curve of this smart and quick creature’s face. And Blair took it as that song faded out and the crowd prepared for the next one, the cold of her fingers seeped through the fabric of his tunic sleeve. Icy and bitter despite the warmth that flourished on her cheeks, and she let Eris guide her to the floor.

Blair could breathe. She could feel the race of her pulse, however immortal, she could feel the air on her skin and the warmth beneath Eris’s sleeve as she touched him. It felt like her body was on fire— awake.

Eris Vanserra— High Lord of the Autumn Courts eldest son, she had remembered. It had been like a splash of warm water, it had felt good. Different.

Rhys and Feyre’s ramblings about him, about their trades and need to stand against his father. Their effort to sway him should war find Prythian again, Azriel’s updates as she sat in the living room. Absent.

But that fog had cleared, and here she was. Preparing to dance with him. And everything came back screaming.

It was quiet as they prepared for the song to begin, Nesta and Azriel on the other end of the marble floor.

And then the music began and Eris’s arm wrapped around Blair until his hand laid on the small of her back, fingers of one hand each entwined as they stared into each others eyes.

It wasn’t that Blair couldn’t think or feel it, but her body moved absently off of memory alone as the dance began. Graceful and smooth, gliding as Eris guided her through the movements.

Spinning and twirling and whirling, she could only look at him as they moved. They did not speak, just danced and eyed each other.

Something charged went through the air between them, the close proximity of their bodies, and Blair wanted to know it as equally as Eris. Wanted to welcome it.

He smelled of spruce and warm honey, mahogany and citrus, flames and burning coals. Blair swallowed it down, drank it in and almost closed her eyes from how strong it was.

The pads of his fingers were rough, felt scarred as they held the small of her back and her own soft fingers. The freckles on his skin were similar to hers but brighter, a hue of ginger rather than her umber shaded spots.

And where he touched, across her waist and now one of her hips, burned.

The feeling like a fire, warm and welcoming and home, spilling into her veins like hot oil. And then Eris was dipping her, their faces a mere inch apart and Blair’s lips parted in a breathy gasp.

His eyes watching those perfect lips, trained on them as they stood like that. Dipped over and under one another, Blair’s leg hooked over his hip like she would fall.

But something in those pointed eyes, cunning and lethal, told her he would never let her go.

“Where have they kept you?” Eris asked finally, and brought her back up to a stand as they began again.

“A female is nothing to be kept.” Blair responded as easily as their dancing continued. Reminding herself of the proper terms fae used. “I have heard of how backwards Autumn can be, though. Perhaps that is your way of thinking?”

“You were not there for the war.” It was not the statement he made it, a rephrase of his first question. And he did not scold her for the jab she shouldn’t have made, supposed to be swaying and wooing but instead bit at him like a ravenous dog. “Nobody talked of a fourth sister.”

“I hadn’t realized I owed my life to the Court’s of Prythian or it’s people.” His hands left her body and trailed to the tips of her fingers as she spun out and when she returned his hold was firmer but he smiled, wicked and beautiful. “What?”

That look in his eyes, she couldn’t place it. And her voice held more venom than she intended, despite how soft and sweet it may have sounded aloud.

“You intrigue me, Blair Archeron.” He said and pushed her out again, her dress spinning out at the bottom as she twirled and came back to him. Pressed against his chest, one hand on the back of his neck and he might have shivered. “Trust the most beautiful of your sisters to be the smartest.”

“We’ve shared mere words, what are you basing my intelligence off of?”

“A feeling.”

“A feeling?” She repeated. He nodded and then she was keenly aware of where his hands were, trailing to the base of her own neck— close enough to be courting. More than that.

“Tell me,” Eris started, beginning a box step procedural that she followed. “—have they tucked you away out of fear of what you could become, or fear of what they could lose?”

“Who’s to say I’m not the one who chooses to stay away?” Eris’s eyes glittered with a need to know, like he wanted into her mind to see all of that intrinsic astuteness shrouded by firs and spruce. “Who’s to say I wanted to be a part of this life at all?”

“I offered to give them armies in exchange for your sisters hand and they bring you in.” He states as the song comes to an end and another starts. A rapid tempo, fast and harsh. Mostly string instruments, dramatic. “Why?”

“I was late,” Blair corrects, one hand holding the back of his neck as the other is gripped in his. Larger, muscled, and firmer than Blair’s delicate, soft, and teasing hand. “—you must be a terrible listener.”

Amusement lit Eris’s eyes as he held an arm around her waist, fingers brushing her ribs.

“Did they keep you away because of your mouth, then?” He crooned, their bodies moving seamlessly to the upbeat music. Stepping and spinning all at once, matched with the other pairs of dancers on the floor.

“What of my mouth?”

“What of it, indeed.” He smiled, eyes flicking to the rich ridges of her garnet colored lips. Blair’s cheeks heated and for the first time her eyes flicked away from his face. Anywhere but him as they landed on Azriel and she almost breathed in relief when she found that his eyes were already on hers.

A silent question in them and Blair blinked softly in response.

“Would you believe me if I said the second I saw you, I forgot about Nesta completely?” Eris whispered into her ear, lips brushing against the hair that curled there. So close she could feel the heat of his breath, like a flame licking her skin.

She cursed the part of her that wanted to feel that heat in other places and shoved it down. She looked back to Eris, noses nearly touching with the proximity this dance required.

“And what if I am already spoken for?”

Questions, so many questions with him. And Blair just fed them back as if the answers were in the questions themselves, a proper response unneeded.

“Are you?” His brows raised.

“No.”

It was simple, nothing further needed and she didn’t understand why she cared to tell a male she had met mere minutes ago that she was available. The first other than Rhys, Lucien, Azriel, Cassian and the blonde male she had set her eyes on since coming here. Since being forced here.

“They must do it to you all then.” Eris said, smile fading into a tighter one as he saw that look in Blair’s eyes. “Dwindle your flame, drown it out, waste you.”

“My sister and her mate have been gracious to me in my… adjustment. I have nothing to complain about, and certainly nothing to waste.”

Eris shook his head so barely as they spun Blair almost didn’t catch it, disbelief in every beautiful crook of his utterly handsome face.

“All of you is wasted, my dear Blair. They are blind if they cannot see what lives inside of you, your fire, whatever that power is and whatever you are now.”

Perhaps it was because Blair didn’t even know what was inside of her, why her chest warmed on its own for the first time in over a year just now, but she didn’t say another word.

When the music ended, she bowed before Eris as any graceful courtier would— a dismissal on her part before she stepped back and allowed for him to bow in return.

But he did not, and only stared at her as if he couldn’t—wouldn’t—bring himself to say goodbye. We are not done playing, Blair Archeron, was what his eyes added as Azriel swept her from the floor and the room all together.

His eyes followed her the whole way and that cold returned as soon as she left his line of sight.

🏷️: @prythianpages @impossibelle @readychilledwine

63 notes · View notes

97-liners · 2 years

Text

royal advisor wonwoo x crown princess reader

themes: royalty au, elements of east asian fantasy but it’s just atmospheric and not plot-relevant, childhood friends to lovers, slight romcom, misunderstandings, awkward loser!wonwoo

words: 9.5k

warnings: centers around a wedding, there’s a creep but he’s not that bad, genre-typical violence is alluded to but not explicitly detailed, and like two swear words

based on this text post of mine:

a royalty au where you’re the heir to the throne and wonwoo is your shy (and lowkey bumbling) royal advisor…. he’s smart and always has his head stuck in a book but he’s also painfully awkward and clueless to how deeply in love with him you are. until your parents decide it’s time for you to get married. and suddenly you’re inundated by suitor after suitor, and wonwoo is quizzing them on their credentials and doubting their suitability for you, this one makes brash political decisions, this one spends too freely, this one has no tact for diplomacy. until one day, you turn to him and ask, “you’ve hated every single one of them. who, then, do you think i should marry?” and wonwoo blushes red and presses his lips together.

“--military campaigns of the past four years, supplying iron ore and–”

“Guh!” You jerk awake when you feel the gentle tap of an invisible finger against your cheek. Heart pounding, you look to the side to see your advisor, Wonwoo, frowning at you with a spent talisman on his desk. Wonwoo shakes his head very slightly, as if to tell you off for being rude.

The man sitting opposite to you hadn��t noticed the flagrant display of magic or your unceremonious awakening, however, and continues to drone on about politics, or whatever he’s talking about. You can hear cicadas buzzing from the verdant trees outside, and the silk robes layered on your body are starting to feel oppressively heavy in the summer heat.

You glance to the side again and make eye contact with Wonwoo, this time shooting him a desperate, pleading look. Get me out of here, you scream at him in your mind. Wonwoo rolls his eyes and shrugs, and you take that as permission.

“I apologize, Lord Sui,” you interrupt, folding your hands neatly in your lap, “but I’m afraid I’m not feeling well.” You sway slightly in a show of mock fragility.

“Oh, of course! Shall I help you back to your chambers?” He reaches across the table and places a hand on your arm, and you fight back the urge to grimace at the uninvited touch. From the corner of your eye, you see Wonwoo stiffen. “Allow me to assist you, your highness.”

“No need,” Wonwoo interrupts, rising to his feet. “I’ll escort her back to her chambers. Thank you for your visit, Lord Sui.” Your advisor bows politely, the very picture of decorum, but you can hear the irritated edge to his voice.

“Of course,” Lord Sui frowns. He doesn’t remove his hand from your arm, however, so you gently extract yourself from his grasp and stand, nodding your head in his direction. Lord Sui looks up at you hopefully. “I’ll be seeing you tomorrow then, I hope–”

“Safe travels back,” you interrupt, folding your hands in front of your stomach. “I hope you were well-served by my staff.”

Lord Sui looks like he’s about to swear at you, and you raise your eyebrows at him expectantly. A second passes, before Lord Sui is lowering his head again into a deep bow. “This humble one thanks your highness for her audience,” he says, gritting his teeth like he’s tasting something unpleasant.

Later on while you’re walking through the gardens accompanied by Wonwoo, your heavy outer robes tossed over his arm, you ask him, “so, Scholar Jeon, what do you think about this one? Yes or no, should I marry him?”

Wonwoo laughs, a quiet, deep chuckle. “You made your disinterest very clear with your rudeness, I think.”

“I did, but I’m asking you.” You trail your fingertips along the decorative stone formations along the path, not caring if your white inner robes get dusty. The two of you are taking the long way back to your chambers, because the weather really is too lovely not to. It’s days like this when you really miss the freedom of your youth, when a perfect summer afternoon like this would have been spent sparring on the training grounds, or with the other children on the roof of the library shooting down kites with bows and cotton-tipped arrows.

“He was rude and pompous,” Wonwoo replies. “His grasp of military strategy is cursory at best, and his grasp of court etiquette is even worse. He touched you without permission,” he says, sounding very offended on your behalf at the last bit. “He’s lucky your father wasn’t present, or he’d be missing his hand.”

“I suppose this is what I get for rejecting all the good ones,” you smile crookedly. “We’re really scraping the bottom of the barrel with these ones. How many suitors have I rejected this summer already?”

“Lord Sui is the twenty ninth,” Wonwoo supplies.

“Twenty ninth rejection in a row,” you laugh. “No thanks to you, Scholar Jeon,” you glance at him. For the past four months, even if you haven’t personally turned them away, each of your suitors have been systematically dissected by Wonwoo’s sharp eye, sometimes even in front of the court. Each of their personal and political failings, no matter how minuscule, laid in front of them like a bill of faults. Nothing escapes Wonwoo.

“I want to make sure your suitors are of satisfactory quality,” Wonwoo replies.

“With your standards, I think you’re overestimating the position of my potential consort,” you scoff.

“It’s not just the prince consort,” Wonwoo says quietly. “It’s your husband. I think you deserve something better than what you’ve been offered so far.”

You soften at his tone. “Who, then, Jeon Wonwoo?” You turn toward him, halting in the middle of the jasmine-scented pavilion you find yourself in. “Who would you let me marry?”

At this, Wonwoo doesn’t reply.

Looking up at him, you plead silently with your eyes. Please, see me. See how I look at you, how I adore and admire you, Wonwoo. See how I love you. But for all his endless brilliance, your advisor still remains blind to this one thing.

“What about you, then, Wonwoo,” you press. Wonwoo averts his gaze when you take a step towards him. “If I were to marry someone like you… or if I were to marry you–”

“You flatter me, your highness,” Wonwoo interrupts you. He bows, deeply. “This humble scholar thanks her highness for her kindness.”

Your heart falls as he shifts into formal language. His voice is distant, cold.

“But,” he adds quietly, rising from the bow, “you needn’t bother yourself with such kindness. I’m simply doing my job.”

“A-alright,” you say. Despite the summer heat, you suddenly feel too exposed, like you’re undressed in the middle of the pavilion. “You… you can take your leave now.” You hold out your arms for your robes, and Wonwoo hands them to you, maintaining careful distance.

“Thank you,” Wonwoo bows again, still speaking in formal language.

You can’t help but to shake the sinking feeling in your stomach and the regret that bubbles up. Why did you have to bring it up? Look, your brain supplies unhelpfully, you’ve scared him off again.

Wonwoo is used to watching you– after all, he’s been doing it since the two of you were children. Wonwoo, the son of your childhood tutor, accompanied you and the other royal children as you took your lessons. For as long as he can remember, the two of you have been as different from each other as two people could be.

Wonwoo had always been a weak and sickly child. He spent much of his time reading, holed up in the library and watching as you and the young lord Kim Mingyu would play outside in the afternoons after classes had adjourned. Wonwoo watched as you climbed trees and swung wooden swords and shot down apples with pebbles. And a few years later, Wonwoo also watched quietly from the side as you picked up your first real sword, saw the awestruck expression on your face as you admired the glint of steel in the sunlight. He was there the first time you fell off a horse, the first time you won an archery competition, the first time you cast a spell, and he was there when Mingyu received his army commission and all you could do was cry while your best friend rode off, a general in shining armor, while you were locked in a gilded cage and forbidden from picking up a weapon ever again.

And for as long as he can remember, Wonwoo has been in love with you. After all, how could he not? You shine, like the sun, and Wonwoo can’t help but to turn toward you and hope that some of your light falls on him.

Wonwoo remembers the way his heart thudded in his chest, clumsy and heavy against his ribcage, that night years ago when you appeared outside his door for the first time. He had been awakened by frantic knocking and when he opens his door, it’s you, holding a book in your hands. Your geopolitics tutor had given you assigned reading, and you just can’t seem to understand it, you explain, pushing your loose hair behind your ears. Your father had asked you to attend negotiations tomorrow, and you couldn’t think of anyone else who would help you, so here you are, still dressed in your robes from the day, standing in front of Wonwoo.

And when you drop to your knees to beg, Wonwoo’s heart drops too, because here you are, the princess, the future ruler, begging him to help you understand some ancient treatises. Before he knows it, he’s on his knees too, pleading for you to get up, because it’s not right– he can’t have a royal lowering themself in front of him, nothing but a commoner.

That very night as he helps you study and prepare for the upcoming day of meetings, Wonwoo has a realization: if he can’t give you his love, at least not in the light, he can at least give you his devotion. Throughout the years, as your personal scribe, as your assistant, and now as your official primary advisor, Wonwoo has devoted every breath, every heartbeat to serving you.

And occasionally, Wonwoo can fool himself into thinking that devotion is enough.

These days, it’s become a habit for the two of you to take tea in the peony gardens after your father holds court. You’ve grown into your position now, with more grace than anybody ever expected from you, and now you sit behind your father as he listens to the grievances of the commoners and negotiates with dignitaries. As usual, you keep Wonwoo with you at all times, and later over cups of tea and flower-scented sweets, the two of you discuss the happenings of the day.

It’s on one of these afternoons when the quiet peace that Wonwoo has made for himself is broken and the illusion falls away. There’s footsteps, the sounds of metal against leather, the jingling of steel, and then through the garden gates steps a soldier.

But it’s not just any soldier. Wonwoo recognizes that face in an instant— it’s Kim Mingyu, back from war after all these years. In an instant, you’ve jumped to your feet, the conversation and tea forgotten. Without a second thought to the delicate silks that float across your body or the jewels and flowers in your hair, like you’re a teenager again, rough and wild, you run across the garden and throw yourself into Kim Mingyu’s arms.

And once again, Wonwoo finds himself watching, lingering in silence, like a shadow. Wonwoo watches the way Mingyu’s tanned face splits into a radiant smile, the way his broad body fills out the ceremonial armor, the worn and well-used grip of his sword, the thin red scar that runs between the knuckles of his left hand and disappears under the edge of his leather vambrace.

Wonwoo watches, and he knows, with a sinking feeling, that this is it. Of course it was always going to end like this. How could he blame you for loving brave, dashing, charming Mingyu? Mingyu, the war hero with noble blood running through his veins?

And Wonwoo? He’s just a commoner, he’s nothing special. He doesn’t deserve you, and to even hope… to even begin to imagine a world in which you could love him back…

Wonwoo smiles to himself as he pours himself another cup of tea. He must have been delusional.

You know you shouldn’t be doing this. It’s against the rules, but it’s Mingyu, and how could you resist?

It’s been years since you last sparred with him, years since you last picked up your sword with intent, even. The muscle memory comes quickly, and you manage to parry a quick blow from your best friend, but your movements are sluggish and labored and your arms are already aching. It seems like Mingyu notices how out of practice you are, because he instantly shifts into a more relaxed stance and his movements become wider, easier. You grit your teeth, half wanting to chastise him for going easy on you, but then again, your teenage years are long behind you.

“Eat shit, Mingyu,” It feels good to cuss at him. It’s probably been years since the last time you swore, too.

“I missed this,” Mingyu says, grinning as he slashes with a light flick of his wrist. You block, again, but the action sends shockwaves up your arm.

“Why didn’t you tell me you were visiting?” Your swords clash again as he deflects your blow without even sparing an extra glance your way.

“Wanted it to be a surprise,” he grunts. “Your mother wrote.”

“My– my mother,” you frown, knowing where this is leading.

“She wanted me to come home. Asked me to court you, officially,” Mingyu sighs, easily tossing his sword from his right to his left hand. You prepare yourself as he adjusts his grip on his dominant hand, and then he strikes. You don’t block it fast enough. The flat of his blade bounces off the simple leather training armor you’re wearing, but it’s a heavy enough blow that it knocks the breath out of your lungs.

You wheeze. “You can’t be serious, Mingyu,” you laugh humorlessly as you fall onto your butt, sword held loosely in your hand. From the edge of your vision, you see a royal attendant move forward, undoubtedly ready to administer whatever medical aid they think you need, but you hold out a hand, stopping him in his steps. “That will be all,” you call out to the servants surrounding the training fields, indicating that you wish to be left alone. “You’re all dismissed.”

Mingyu joins you on the dusty ground, crossing his legs daintily and resting his sword across his lap. “She personally granted me three months of leave. I think she wants everything to be wrapped up by the Moon Festival.”

“I can’t believe she still hasn’t given up on…” you wrinkle your nose, “us.”

Mingyu just shrugs. “Maybe her highness is getting impatient. I’ve heard stories about all your suitors, even up north at the outposts.”

“Then,” you reply testily, “you must have heard about how they were all summarily rejected.”

Your best friend nods, his lips cracking into a grin. “Absolutely humiliated Lord Gui, I heard.”

“He shouldn’t have challenged me to an archery competition for my hand if he didn’t want to be humiliated,” you snort, rather impolitely. “I’m glad stories of his humiliations have traveled all the way to the border, though. It’s what he deserves.”

“What kind of man courts a princess by challenging her to an archery competition, anyway?”

You shrug. “Clearly the other approach didn’t work.” There had been gifts, chests full of silk and jewelry that you didn’t glance twice at. “One of them even wrote a poem about me. It was terrible.”

“What, you’re a poetry expert now?” Mingyu scoffs, and you extend your leg to kick his ankle in retaliation.

“Didn’t you hear? I’m cultured now. I’m being personally advised by the best poet to come out of the capital in decades.”

“Ah.” Mingyu tilts his head in the direction of the palace. “What about Scholar Jeon, then?”

“What about him?”

“Has he submitted his name for consideration yet?” Mingyu asks the question as easily as if he were asking what’s for lunch.

The question gives you pause. What about him, then? “Wonwoo, he…” pursing your lips, you look down and pick at the hem of your training robes. “I don’t think…”

“What, you don’t think he’s just as besotted with you as you are with him?” You don’t have to look up to know that Mingyu is rolling his eyes. “Come on, your highness, be serious.”

“I am serious!” You glare at him and kick him again.

Mingyu whines and withdraws his leg, looking at you with big petulant eyes. “Me too!”

“I asked him if he would be satisfied if I married someone like him, and he just… thanked me and spoke to me in formal language. It was terrible.” You grimace at the memory.

Mingyu scratches the top of his head. “Yeah, that’s pretty bad,” he admits. “Uh, have you considered that maybe he’s just awkward? Like, really, really awkward? And maybe a bit dull, too.”

“He’s smarter than you are,” you scoff, and Mingyu is quick to put a hand up in surrender.

“You’re right, he’s cleverer and wiser than I am, but when it comes to matters of the heart, it’s like watching a foal learning to walk,” Mingyu grimaces. “It’s terrible. The secondhand embarrassment gives me heartburn. But, if you trust me, you’ll believe me when I tell you that your feelings are returned.”

“That’s the problem, Gyu,” you sigh. “I do trust you, and I do believe that, but Wonwoo, he just.. Won’t open up to me. I can’t… I can’t do this if he’s terrified of me.”

“I think you should talk to him. Frankly and honestly. Throw away all the decorum,” Mingyu says, “and just tell him how you feel.”

“You say that like it’s easy.” You pick up your sword again, driving it into the group and using it as leverage to pull yourself back up. Your whole body smarts and the palm of your sword hand is stinging where you know there are blisters.

“Do it,” Mingyu stands easily and dusts himself off. “At least do it for me, so your mother will stop haranguing me,” he wrinkles his nose.

“Fine, alright, I’ll do it,” you huff, “but give me some time.”

“Promise?”

You hold out your pinky. Like you were children again, Mingyu links his pinky with yours, sealing the promise with a press of his thumb against yours. It’s not a contract, there’s no magic binding the deal, but it’s enough that Mingyu relaxes a bit, shoulders slumping.

“Good,” he says, “I’m tired of the two of you dancing around each other.”

Wonwoo is one of the few people in this entire palace complex that has access to your chambers 24 hours a day. It’s cause for whispers and glances, but you insist on it, and nobody dares to publicly question the character of the crown princess anyway.

Tonight, he carries with him a wooden lunch box filled with various summer pastries, cut and molded into delicate flower shapes. You hadn’t taken your dinner tonight, Wonwoo noticed, because you had been preoccupied with reports of failed crops in the southern river delta. It’s late, and most of the palace lights have been dimmed, so Wonwoo carries with him a lantern as well.

The wooden walkways are normally deserted, this part of the palace being off-limits to most staff, but there’s someone standing outside the doors of your quarters. Wonwoo frowns, footsteps slowing as he raises his lantern and casts the scene into light— a man, hunched forward and whispering to a maid. Something sparkles gold in his hands.

“-can’t,” the maid’s voice drifts as her tone rises in pitch, “unless you have the seal of her highness yourself, I can’t let you— Scholar Jeon!” Her face softens in relief as she makes eye contact with Wonwoo over the man’s shoulder. “Scholar Jeon, this person is trying to enter Her Highness’s chambers!”

The man turns around, and Wonwoo’s face sours into a scowl. “Lord Sui,” Wonwoo says flatly. “I thought the royal palace had sent you away.”

“It must have been a mistake,” he replies, straightening himself and fixing his robes. “The princess wasn’t in her right mind. I’m here to talk to her. You,” he points his finger at Wonwoo, “Scholar, is it? I trust you’ll have more sense than this maid here— unlock this door for me right this instant!”

“Apologies,” Wonwoo dips his head in a semblance of propriety, “but I can’t let you in without express permission from the princess.”

“What permission do I need,” he snaps, “I’m the Lord of the Chujie territory and I’m courting the crown princess. What right do you, a servant, have to be questioning me?”

Wonwoo doesn’t flinch. Instead, he sighs slowly, suppressing the enraged trembling of his hands as he pitches his voice low and cold and repeats, “I can’t let you in without express permission from the princess.”

“What makes you think you can speak for Y/N?”

Lord Sui’s lips curl in a snarl, and Wonwoo’s patience runs out. “You,” he says steadily and quietly, dripping with derision, “are not qualified to say her name.” He takes a step forward. “You are not qualified to speak to her or to set your dirty eyes on her, much less touch her.”

Lord Sui sputters, red-faced, “w-who do you think you are?”

“You’re lucky the princess, with her endless mercy, only sent you away after what you did last time,” Wonwoo continues, stone-faced. “If it were up to me, you would be missing the hand you touched her with right now.”

Pulling himself up to his full height, Wonwoo glares at Lord Sui with all the venom he can muster. “Now get out of my sight,” he spits, “before I call the guards on you and have you thrown in the dungeons.”

Wonwoo can feel the adrenaline running through his veins. He’s never spoken to anyone like this, much less a member of nobility, but something in him fills him with a rush of defiance.

Lord Sui turns puce. He opens his mouth, sucking in a breath. But, before he can get the words out or his mouth, his lips clamp shut.

“Mmmf—“ Lord Sui lets out a strangled yell, hands flying up to his neck in disbelief.

“That’s enough,” you say quietly, sliding open your door with your maid in tow. You’re dressed in only your nightclothes with your hair loose, but you’re gripping your personal sword tightly in your hand. “Lord Sui,” you dip your head slightly, “I apologize for my rudeness, but it’s late and I’m not receiving guests.”

“Mmmf-mmmgh!”

“Ah, yes, it was me who sealed your mouth.” You hold up a used talisman, the paper dissolving into ash between your fingers. “I hope you’ll forgive my transgression. The spell will expire in the time it takes for a stick of incense to burn. I’ve called the guards already.”

You turn toward Wonwoo, and suddenly the lantern and wooden lunch box feel heavy in his hands. “Come inside, Scholar Jeon.”

Lord Sui makes an outraged noise, but his lips remain sealed.

“Safe travels,” you nod again at him as you usher Wonwoo in through the door. “Thank you,” you smile at your maid, “that will be all tonight.”

“Wait, no, I was just going to drop these off,” Wonwoo tries to object, but then you’re tugging him across the stone tiled courtyard by the sleeve. Wonwoo feels his throat close up, like he’s having an allergic reaction— he’s never seen you in such an intimate appearance before. Your brow is damp and Wonwoo can almost feel the rose-scented steam wafting off your skin. You’ve clearly just emerged from a bath.

“Come on, I know you’re worried about what this looks like,” you laugh, “but worry not, nobody is going to question the crown princess’s maidenhood without risking their neck. Especially after you just defended my honor like that.”

At that, Wonwoo flushes red, all the way down his neck. “That’s not what I meant,” he mumbles uselessly.

“Come in! You shouldn’t have, really,” you say as you open the door to your private quarters and take the food out of Wonwoo’s hands. “Here, sit and eat.”

“They’re for you,” Wonwoo sputters, but you’re busying yourself frantically cleaning up your bedroom, fluttering like a moth around the walls.

“Sorry about the state of this,” you grab a handful of half-written letters and shove them haphazardly into a box under your desk. There’s a forgotten pot of tea on your desk and the remains of a few sticks of incense in a porcelain brazier, which you hurriedly shove the lid onto.

“You didn’t eat dinner,” Wonwoo tries to explain, but all of his previous confidence is gone now and his voice fails him. “I brought you food. I thought you’d be hungry.”

“Wonwoo,” you turn toward him with an expression of disbelief plastered across your face, “you can’t be serious. You were with me all evening. You didn’t eat dinner either. We’ll be eating together.”

“But—“

“I know there’s a rule against that, but I don’t really care,” you grin, laughing as you slide into a seat at the table in the center of the room. There’s a small stack of novels haphazardly pushed against the edge of the table, and as Wonwoo hesitantly takes his seat across from you, he catches the title of the one on top.

“‘The Cruel Emperor’s Requite, Volume 3’,” he observes drily.

“Oh,” you laugh nervously, clearly embarrassed. The wooden lid of the lunch box clatters against the table as you start removing the dishes inside. “I asked Mingyu to sneak me the latest volume. They’re… salacious, to say the least, but it’s a fun read, and I’ve been hooked by the plot.”

At that, Wonwoo resists the urge to tilt forward and slam his head against the table. The mention of your best friend has his stomach churning with ill-suppressed jealousy, and the thought that Mingyu has been delivering bawdy romance novels to you?

You lean across the table to place a tiny delicate porcelain cup in front of him and you fill it halfway with pale yellow tea. “The leaves are spring maojian, brought to the capital from the mountains last month. Here,” you place a dish next to the tea, “have an osmanthus cake.”

The lamps in your private quarters are warm and bright behind white paper shades, and Wonwoo can still smell the perfumed bathwater in the air. When you dip your head to sip your tea, giving Wonwoo a glimpse at the slope of your shoulders and the way the little hairs at the back of your neck stick to your damp skin, Wonwoo feels like he’s about to explode.

“Wonwoo?” You tilt your head and peer into his blank face. “Are you alright?”

“Uh,” Wonwoo responds intelligently.

“Try some of this tea,” you say, and because the part of Wonwoo’s brain that’s normally in charge of forming sentences is currently mush, he shuts up and drinks the tea.

When he looks up at you again, you’re wearing an apprehensive expression on your face. You twist your fingers in the hem of your sleeves, winding and unwinding the silk tape around your hands. It’s an anxious habit, Wonwoo recognizes. “Um, Wonwoo,” you begin haltingly, “do you remember when we were twelve and I fell out of a tree and died for a few minutes before Master Liu summoned my spirit and put me back in my body?”

Wonwoo nods. He remembers it vividly. You had been shooting down kites with the other children, and one of them had landed in the upper boughs of one of the pine trees outside the library. Of course you, brave, reckless, had volunteered to retrieve it. Wonwoo remembers sitting at the window, a book in his lap, and watching as you scaled the ancient tree. And he doesn’t think he can ever forget the sound of branches cracking, the small scream and the sickening thud of your body landing on the grass below.

As soon as he realized what had happened, his mind had gone fuzzy with panic, because you were laying there, so small, broken, and Wonwoo was just a child but he had to do something. So, he slid out the window and as soon as his feet hit the ground below, he was running toward you, panicked tears prickling at his eyes as he called your name.

“You gave me a protective charm,” you tell him hesitantly. Wonwoo remembers reaching into his robes and grabbing the jade tablet, pulling so hard that the cord hanging it around his neck snapped, and placing it in your hands. It wasn’t a powerful charm— it was just the simple kind given to children to protect them from danger, and Wonwoo knows now as an adult trained in magic that it wouldn’t have done anything. But as a twelve year old child, it was all he could think of when faced with your unconscious body and the blood seeping through your robes.

“Wonwoo,” you begin quietly, reaching a hand under the collar of your robes, “I’ve worn it every day for thirteen years.” And then you pull out that jade tablet, carved into the shape of gnarled peach boughs and inscripted with tiny runes.

Wonwoo blinks. “You kept it? It… it’s not…” he licks away the dryness on his lips, and tries again. “I can have an artificer prepare something much more powerful for you if you’d like, your highness.”

Immediately, Wonwoo knows that he’s said something wrong, because you look sad as you tuck the jade tablet back under your collar where it rests against the bare skin of your chest. “No, Wonwoo,” you shake your head, “that’s not the point. I don’t wear it for protection. I wear it because you gave it to me when I was dying.”

Something hurts in Wonwoo’s chest. He supposes that this is what unrequited love does to a person— it squeezes at his heart, twisting until every last drop has been pressed out. Wonwoo is so in love, he thinks he could drown in it.

“Um. So.” You chew your lower lip anxiously. “Wonwoo, you know that I value your presence in my life very much, don’t you?”

Wonwoo stares at you.

His lack of response doesn’t faze you. “Wonwoo, can I tell you something?”

Oh no. This is the part where you break Wonwoo’s heart, where you tell him that you’ll be marrying Kim Mingyu and living happily ever after, without Wonwoo.

“I have to go,�� Wonwoo blurts out, clumsily rising to his feet.

“Huh?” Your mouth is slack and your eyes are round. “But your tea—“

“I have… I just remembered, I need to send some letters,” Wonwoo says lamely, offering you the worst excuse of all time. He cringes at your incredulous expression- you’re clearly not fooled.

“At this time of night?!”

“I have to go!” And then Wonwoo is making his way through your courtyard as fast as he can without inciting suspicion. He walks and walks, furiously keeping his face impassive, until he locks himself in his room and collapses face-first into his bed and lays there, motionless, wallowing in misery and self-pity, until he falls asleep.

It was supposed to just be a regular ride in the royal woods. You’re not even dressed for a hunt, and you’re supposed to have tea with your grandmother, the empress dowager, this afternoon, but of course when Mingyu is involved, nothing can go as planned.

Three hours after you depart for a leisurely morning ride, the two of you return, muddy and exhausted, with a dismembered wyvern carcass split between your horses. You’re scowling and Mingyu is pouting, and the monster flesh is starting to attract flies in the heat.

“I hate you so much, Mingyu,” you scowl, swatting away a fly attempting to land on your gore-spattered cheek, “if we just left the wyvern where we killed it—“

“C'mon, what kind of hunter doesn’t take their catch home,” he immediately whines.

“We have grounds staff for that! Just dismembering the carcass took us most of an hour!” The two of you are approaching the stables now, and you’re acutely aware of the horrified stares of the servants who are unfortunate enough to have been standing along the path. You reach up to wipe at your face with your sleeve, but you only succeed in smearing the monster blood sprayed across your face.

“Whatever,” Mingyu rolls his eyes. “I‘ll be competing in the exhibitions for the moon festival, we’ll see who’s laughing then.”

“I’m not even laughing now, I’m just—“ you look around and lower your voice before continuing, trying to at least pretend to act the part of the princess, “I’m just pissed that you went behind my back and made a mistake and now you’re putting an arbitrary countdown on my relationships!”

(Right. That was the whole reason Mingyu had asked you to go riding with him in the morning, before it ever came to monster-hunting and butchery.

When you set off with your best friend, you have a quiver full of arrows and a freshly re-stringed bow, and the woods are misty following the previous night’s rainfall. “I don’t know how many strings you had to pull to get me alone,” you grin. “What’s the plan? Do you want to hunt pheasants, or do you just want to ride?”

“Um,” Mingyu scratches the back of his head. He looks nervous, which is never a good sign. “About that.”

You narrow your eyes at him. “Mingyu?”

He looks to the side, avoiding eye contact like a guilty dog. “So. The reason I was able to get you alone. I have something to confess.”

“Mingyu!” You tug on the reins and bring your horse to a stop, dawning horror spreading across your face. “What did you do!”

“I might have…” he chews his lip, before blurting it all out, “I might have accidentally thrown my hat in the ring.”

“What?” You blink at him, dreading his response.

“Your father requested a private audience with me yesterday, and I was nervous because I was alone with the emperor!” Your best friend’s voice pitched up in a near hysterical whine. “I thought he was going to send me and my men out west, but instead he told me that court etiquette typically required a gift of ten taels of gold but he’d waive that for me, and…”

“…and?”

To his credit, Mingyu looks distraught. “And I thanked him and accepted his offer! And now… and now your mother thinks I’m taking you on a ride to court you.”

You feel a dull headache beginning to throb behind your brow. “Kim Mingyu, you need to go to my father and withdraw your proposal. My mother would never let me refuse.”

“I’m sorry,” he whimpers, “but I’m scared your father is going to throw me in a dungeon, or worse, into an administrative job.”

“I’ll make sure you get smuggled back into the army with a new identity if he does,” you tell him, but his expression doesn’t change.

“You need to tell them, today, that you’re going to marry Jeon Wonwoo,” he whispers even though the two of you are the only ones in the vicinity.

You choke on air. “W-what are you talking about?!”

“Tomorrow,” he explains, “is when he’s bringing the matter to the court. And that’s when it’ll be publicly announced.”

“I can’t just spring this on Wonwoo,” you sputter at him, “it’s not fair for him either!”

“Then what are you going to do? Let him learn about it himself tomorrow when it’s announced?”

“I’m going to talk to my father myself,” you tell him, full of confidence, “and stop all of this. Nothing will change between me and Wonwoo.”)

The moment you see Wonwoo, however, your confidence falls away and your plan completely leaves your head. He turns away from his conversation with a stable hand when he hears the sound of hooves. First, he sees Mingyu, and furrows his brow. And then he sees you, covered in blood, and his face falls with abject horror.

“What did you do,” he hisses, turning on Mingyu and fixing a glare on him.

“I swear, it’s not my fault,” Mingyu blabbers, clambering off his horse. You’re already on your feet leading your horse to the stable hand when you hear the edge to Wonwoo’s voice and realize that he’s truly pissed.

“What do you mean it’s not your fault,” he hisses, “you’re supposed to be the soldier here, why is her highness covered in blood?!”

“I can hear you talking about me,” you remark, crossing your arms. “I’m fine. It’s not my blood.”

“It’s not– that doesn’t help,” Wonwoo sputters, ears flushing pink. “You’re still covered in blood!”

“I need to get washed off, Wonwoo, I need to request an audience with my father,” you tell him. You grab his wrist and start making your way back to your quarters. He stumbles a little bit but quickly manages to regain his footing.

“What are you talking about? Your father isn’t receiving any visitors today,” Wonwoo tells you as he follows behind you, letting himself be pulled by the wrist.

“It’s urgent!” The deeper into the palace complex you go, the more stares the two of you receive— you, the princess, dirty and covered in dried blood, dragging your respected advisor behind you.

“What is it? He’s resting for the evening, but I can bring it up Minister Choi this evening if you need.”

“It’s not… it’s nothing that Minister Choi can help with,” you sigh miserably.

“Tell me what you need help with, then.” Wonwoo furrows his brows, an expression of concern written across his face. “Anything you need.”

Chewing on your lip, you make the sudden decision to take a sharp detour through the chrysanthemum gardens and into a narrow walkway into a secluded part of the garden, behind a cluster of trees and some large decorative rocks.

You stop abruptly, and Wonwoo, caught off guard, walks right into you.

“Ouch,” he mumbles quietly, rubbing at the spot in his shoulder where one of your hairpins jabbed him.

“Wonwoo.” You twist anxiously at the ties of your riding robes. “Um. I don’t know if you’ve heard about this. Maybe there have been rumors, or maybe not.”

“What are you talking about?”

He’s watching you, carefully, almost like he’s afraid of you.

Impatient, your swordsmanship master used to chide you. Your greatest strength, when it comes to armed combat, is also your greatest weakness— you’re too reckless, you act too quickly. You think you know what your opponent’s next move will be, and sometimes you’re right, but sometimes you’re wrong.

“Kim Mingyu is courting me,” you tell Wonwoo, the words directly bypassing your brain as they emerge from your mouth. “He spoke to my father yesterday, and it’s going to be official tomorrow.”

Wonwoo stares at you, silent.

“I can’t marry Kim Mingyu,” you continue, voice rising in volume, not caring about eavesdroppers in your panic. “I can’t marry him, because I’m already in love with someone else.”

“Oh,” Wonwoo says, and for a split second, you think he’s going to argue. But then he schools his expression back into the placid mask that he wears every day in court, your faithful Scholar Jeon.

“I’ll send for some servants to draw a bath for you,” he says, bowing deeply. And then, without looking up at your face, he turns and walks away from you, leaving you speechless and with the deep sinking feeling that you just made a huge mistake.

That night, Wonwoo has a dream. It’s not just a dream, though, it’s a memory— one that he’s re-lived in his head so many times, it still feels as fresh as the day it happened.

It’s ten years ago. It’s your fifteenth summer, and Wonwoo’s sixteenth. You’re still a little too loud, a little too brash— a child, still, not yet burdened with the responsibility of the title of Crown Princess. You had spent all summer sparring with Mingyu, hunting low-level monsters in the woods, and practicing your archery.

It’s the morning of the annual hunt, a chance for noble cultivators across the kingdom to show off their skills, and you’re finally old enough to participate. The only event that the administrators would let you compete in was the archery competition, so you had practiced for weeks, until your fingertips were bloody and your vision blurred.

Wonwoo sits with his father at the side, along with all the other spectators, hands folded neatly in his lap. He watches as you line up with the other contestants and raise your bow, knock your arrow, and draw back the string.

And then, you hesitate and lower the bow. Wonwoo sees you turn your head to the crowd, eyes moving back and forth, like you’re searching for something— until your eyes lock with Wonwoo’s. There’s no question about it, Wonwoo knows you’re looking directly at him. You’re terrified, he realizes. And so Wonwoo does what he can, and he smiles at you, something small but reassuring, or at least, as reassuring as he can make a smile.

When you see the smile, you exhale slowly, visibly relaxing. And then you turn back to the target, bow raised and drawn, sharp eyes focused on the target, and you let your arrow fly.

It lands in the center of the target. A perfect shot.

The air shifts and swims, glittering like sunlight does when it shines through leafy branches, and then Wonwoo’s dream changes into something else, another memory. This one is even clearer— it’s replayed in Wonwoo’s mind thousands of times since it happened, sitting in his thoughts, heavy, like a stone weighing on paper.

It’s the night of your twentieth moon festival. The first chill of autumn is starting to permeate the air, cutting through Wonwoo’s fancy new robes that you had ordered for him just for the event. It’s his first year as your personal scribe, barely three months after your father had given you the title of crown princess and officially designated you as his heir.

The whole palace is celebrating the feast in the banquet halls, but Wonwoo is standing with you on the roof of one of the minor pavilions away from the festivities. The full harvest moon is bright and warm, almost gold tonight. The tiles beneath Wonwoo’s feet are slippery, but you promised him earlier that he wouldn’t fall, and he can’t bring himself to be too worried. Not when you’re smiling at him like that.

In your hands, you hold a paper lantern that Wonwoo had painted with a pair of white rabbits earlier. Wonwoo holds a matching lantern, painted with a pair of wood ducks frolicking near some reeds.

“Let’s release them together in three,” you whisper, grinning in the flickering light of the lantern, “two, one.”

You let go of the bamboo scaffold and laugh in delight as it rises, floating into the silvery night. Wonwoo releases his lantern too, and watches as it hangs in the air for a moment before being caught by the wind to join yours.

“Wonwoo, you have to make a wish.”

I wish we could be like this forever, Wonwoo thinks. He looks down at you, at your closed eyes and clasped hands held to your lips. He’s so fond of you, it aches.

“I wish for the health and safety of the kingdom,” you murmur against your fingers. “May our lands be blessed by the Goddess of Mercy.” You open your eyes and look up at him. “What did you wish for?”

Wonwoo grins crookedly. “I’m not telling you.”

“Fine,” you laugh. You’re twisting your fingers into your sleeves. “Wonwoo,” you say softly, taking a step closer to him. Wonwoo’s breath catches in his chest— you’re so close, he can smell your rose-scented bath powders on your skin.

“Yes, your highness?”

“We’re… we’re friends, aren’t we?” There’s an edge of uncertainty in your voice. A hint of something fragile.

“Of course,” Wonwoo replies. Then, in a softer voice, he says your name— your personal name, the one that you haven’t been called by in public since you were a child. It’s the name Wonwoo only calls you in private, away from the formalities of palace life.

You bite your lip. “Wonwoo, can I ask for a wish from you?”

Anything, Wonwoo thinks. Anything for you. But what he says is, “I’ll see what I can do.”

“Can…” you suck in a deep breath, like you’re gathering your courage, “can you kiss me?”

For a moment, Wonwoo feels like his heart has stopped. His mind is racing, a thousand thoughts a second. There has to be an explanation, something logical. You’re the crown princess, you’re kept under careful watch, scrutinized wherever you go, Wonwoo reminds himself. At an age where most people are flirting, giving and receiving gifts and engaging in late-night dalliances, you’ve been locked up in the palace. It’s only natural that you would want to experiment, and Wonwoo is likely the only person your age that you trust.

It’s an explanation that makes sense. It’s solid— at least, solid enough for Wonwoo, so he acquiesces.

Your eyes are closed and your lips are slightly parted, like you’re wishing on a lantern again, waiting. Wonwoo leans forward and carefully brushes his lips against yours, like the faint touch of a dandelion seed, barely perceptible.

He tries to withdraw, but you reach out and fist your hands in the front of his robes, almost desperate. You open your eyes and look up at him dazedly. “Again,” you whisper. It’s an order, but Wonwoo would have complied even if he wasn’t your personal scribe and you weren’t the crown princess.

He kisses you, this time firmer. It’s not like the careful touch of his lips against yours before. This time, you kiss him back and press into him, warm and soft, searching, hungry. Wonwoo’s head swims. He can feel his heart thudding in his chest as his mind is emptied and replaced only with the way you taste, the way you feel, you, you, you.

No. No, this is wrong. Wonwoo breaks the kiss and takes a step back, gasping sharply as he regains control of his senses. Suddenly, the air feels a little too hot and the rooftop feels a bit too exposed.

“I—,” Wonwoo’s voice breaks in his panic, all words leaving him. “I, uh,” he stammers.

You’re still looking up at him with that dazed, almost drunken expression on your face. “Wonwoo,” you say his name like a request. “Wonwoo.”

His brain starts working again, and immediately, it begins to panic, filling every inch of Wonwoo with anxiety and dread. This is all wrong. “Thank you, your highness,” he bows, automatically shifting into formal speech. “I’ll take my leave.” The moment the words come out of his mouth, he’s already cursing himself in his head. Dumbass. He couldn’t be any more awkward if he tried.

Wonwoo scrambles off the rooftop, cheeks pink, heart pounding as he leaves. He’s almost out of the courtyard when he looks back at you one last time over his shoulder. You’re still standing on the rooftop, arms held at your sides, looking oddly small and slumped in your festival finery.

You look sad.

Bong. Bong. Bong.

The scene dissolves, snapping to black in an instant.

Wonwoo wakes up to the sharp sound of the morning bell and yellow sunlight filtering through his window shades. It’s morning already, and Wonwoo is slowly beginning to realize his mistake.

“Oh my god.” He buries his face in his hands. “She’s been in love with me this whole time,” he groans into his palms.

Your father is holding court today. You’re seated in your usual position, on the dais but off to the side, a position befitting your rank. Wonwoo isn’t here yet, which does nothing to settle the anxious butterflies in your stomach.

“Stop that,” you hear your mother hiss at you from her seat beside your father. You look up at her, and then you follow her gaze to realize that she’s glaring at your lap, where your hands are anxiously crumpling the fine silk ties of your sash.

Immediately, you smooth out the fabric and place your hands against your thighs, flat and still. The anxiety doesn’t abate, however, so you worry at your lower hip with your teeth while your father discusses something with his Minister of Justice.

Maybe you thought too much of your relationship with Wonwoo. Maybe he’s quitting the job and moving to the countryside to focus on scholarship. Maybe he hates you. Maybe you should just accept your fate and marry Mingyu.

Your mind is blank as the proceedings of your father’s court continue. All you can think about is the impassive expression on Wonwoo’s face as he bowed and walked yesterday after you had stupidly blurted everything out to him.

“And lastly,” your father announces, gathering his papers on his desk, “there’s the matter of my daughter’s future.”

“Twenty nine rejections,” one of the nobles sniffs, disdain dripping in his voice. “That’s twenty nine grudges against the crown.”

“The relationship with the southern warlords is already strained,” someone else says, “and with the recent affair with Lord Sui, well…”

“Settle down, both of you,” your father’s chief advisor orders as he thumps the edge of his folded fan against his table. “May I remind you all that Lord Sui attempted to intrude on her highness’s personal quarters at night? Her highness was merciful to only seal his mouth and throw him from the grounds.”

You glance up at your father’s chief advisor and give him a grateful smile as your father clears his throat and brings his hand down to the table. “Regardless of the decisions made on previous suitors, I have news of a new suitor, a promising candidate. His grace, Kim Mingyu, has put his name in for consideration.”

A murmur goes through the court. You can see them nodding in approval, whispering to each other like this is a favorable tariff proposal and not your future husband.

“Does anyone have any objections to this arrangement,” your father asks, his voice booming over the noise. Your breath catches in your chest. This is your chance to speak up. This is your escape. But you remember the way Wonwoo turned away from you yesterday, like how he’s turned away from you time and time again over the years. And anyways, at least you like Mingyu. You’re tired of the constant game of cat and mouse, the constant rumors and gossip and the endless stream of insincere men begging for a sliver of your favor.

“Wait!” The side door bursts open, nearly falling off the hinges.

In unison, every head in the large hall turns to face a very disheveled Wonwoo standing at the door. There’s a long awkward silence as everybody stares at him.

“Wonwoo?” You gather your skirts and scramble to your feet, not caring that you’re drawing attention to yourself, or that you just called him by his personal name in front of all the members of your father’s court. “Wonwoo, what’s going on?”

Wonwoo’s eyes are wide and frantic, his mouth silently opening and closing as if he’s suddenly realizing the spectacle he just made of himself.

“Scholar Jeon,” your father raises an eyebrow in Wonwoo’s direction and you can almost see the way he freezes up, like he’s caught in the midst of a death ray.

“Wonwoo,” you repeat, stumbling towards him, “it’s okay.” You’re not sure what he’s here for, but you know that you’ll do everything in your power to make things okay for him.

“I—I’m submitting myself for consideration,” Wonwoo announces to the crowd but he’s looking directly at you, as if he’s speaking to you and only you. “For the crown princess’s hand in marriage.”

There’s more murmurs, more scandalized titters. Whispers about how he’s just a commoner, whispers about the lack of decorum.

“Wonwoo.” You’re not sure if you’re hearing him correctly.

He falls to his knees in front of you and lowers his head, and you gasp in shock. You try to pull him up, but he doesn’t budge.

“And,” he says, “I’m here to beg for her highness’s mercy and forgiveness. This humble servant has been a fool for all these years.” He raises his head and looks up at you.

Wonwoo’s body is like a tense, tightly strung bow, trembling with anxiety and terror.

“You’re a fool, alright,” you breathe out in a quiet whisper that only Wonwoo can hear.

Your father clicks his tongue in irritation. “Scholar Jeon, you do realize this is all quite unconventional and inconvenient, do you?”

Wonwoo’s face is flushed bright red, all the way down his neck. You know he’s quiet and shy by nature, and to come bursting in and create the biggest spectacle the court has seen in years must take an absurd amount of courage and energy, but Wonwoo is unwavering. He flashes the tiniest smile at you. “Do you want to marry me?”

You nod at him. “I accept,” you say quietly, and then in a bigger voice, “I accept. It’s him.”

The room explodes into raucous yelling, but over the din, you hear your mother clapping her hands and laughing, voice pitching near hysterical. “God, finally, do any of you know how difficult it is to host thirty suitors here? Thirty! And on the thirty first try, finally!” She turns to your father and grips his arm. “Darling, this is the last time. You need to let this happen.”

Your father, on the other hand, looks bewildered at the mixed reactions of the court. Minister Lee is waving a fan in the air, shouting about Wonwoo’s scholarly qualifications, while Lord Guan is pointing at Minister Choi and ranting about construction of a mountain pass for spice trade routes.

“Do you think anybody would notice if we left for tea,” you turn toward Wonwoo. He’s still on his knees, wearing a dumbfounded expression on his face as the room devolves into chaos at the recent development of events.

“Get out of here, you two,” your mother waves a long sleeve in your direction with a scowl on her face, “before you somehow incite a riot.”

“I think that counts as a dismissal for the day,” Wonwoo says.

“Tea,” you decide, tugging Wonwoo up by the hand. “And just a fair warning, I’m going to ask you to kiss me. Are you going to run away?”

“No,” Wonwoo nods, self-assured. “I’m done running.”

extra:

“They kept calling me your highness,” Wonwoo complains as soon as the door is closed behind him. “And your handmaidens bowed to me, like I’m some kind of royalty.”

You sit patiently on the bed, still veiled behind red silk. “That’s because you are royalty,” you reply. “You’re the prince consort now.”

“Does it ever get any less awkward?”

You hear the clinking of gold and jade as he removes his belt. You shrug at him, but the action is lost under the silk that you’re still draped in. “Don’t ask me, that’s how I’ve been addressed since I was born.”

“I suppose I won’t be able to hide away during conferences anymore,” he sighs.

You grin. “Nope, you’ll be forced to accompany me for all social events now, darling husband.”

“How do you make that sound like a threat?”

You hear something that sounds suspiciously like paper rustling.

“Wonwoo!” you lift a corner of the veil and peer out into the bridal suite. At your desk, Wonwoo jumps and looks at you, only slightly guilty.

“Yes?”

“Did you bring work to our wedding night?!”

Wonwoo puts down the scrolls in his hands. “You have work tomorrow,” he says, “and you haven’t appointed a replacement for me, so I assume I’ll still be accompanying you.”

“That’s beside the point,” you exclaim incredulously, “Wonwoo, I know you’re nervous, but you can’t just hide behind work, and especially not on our wedding night!”

He opens his mouth like he’s about to argue, but then, evidently, he thinks better of it. “I’m sorry,” he says, shoulders slumping. I feel like I’m about to lose my mind.”

“Come here, Wonwoo.” You remove the veil and toss it to the side before patting the bed.

He takes a seat next to you. The mattress dips slightly and you scoot closer, until your thighs are touching. You can see his neck starting to flush a dark blotchy red as he looks down at his hands.

“Wonwoo.” You tilt your head and smile at him. “One wish, anything you want.”

He turns his head and blinks at you. “Anything?”

“You’re a prince now. You can have anything you want.”

“Are you trying to seduce me?” He’s smiling now, shoulders slowly slumping into something a bit more relaxed than his ramrod-straight posture from earlier.

You raise an eyebrow at him. “Is that so bad? Seducing my own husband?”

“I think I’ll claim my wish now,” he says quietly, fondly. “Can you kiss me?”

And you do.

#sorry guys leaving it untitled because i'm sick of this and wanna just dump it and forget about it lol #seventeen scenarios #wonwoo scenarios #seventeen #wonwoo #jeon wonwoo #97.writings #97.yn

1K notes · View notes

jpitha · 16 days

Text

Between the Black and Gray 36

First / Previous / Next

Fen sat up quickly in bed, but then her pounding headache made her wince and lay back down. She looked up at an unfamiliar ceiling. Where was she?

Trying again, she sat up, more slowly this time. Wherever she was, it was a very elegant space. A hotel room? The room had a deep, plush carpet, blue trimmed in gold. The bed was huge and comfortable. With ice in her veins she looked over in the bed, but she was alone. Releasing the breath she didn't realize she was holding, she looked down; she was wearing her underwear from last night and her clothes were folded neatly on a chair at the foot of the bed. It appeared that they had been laundered as well.

She stood up and stretched, which caused her headache to pound further. Grasping the end table next to the bed, she waited for the pain to subside. "Hello?" She called out into the air.

"Fenchurch Whitehorse. You are awake." It was not a question. The voice over the room was polite, clear and unfamiliar.

"I prefer Fen."

"Logged. Fen, you are awake."

"I am, who are you?"

"I am Starlight, Empress Meredith's yacht."

"I'm aboard the Empress' yacht?"

"Indeed. You are in her private bedroom."

Fen's legs went weak and she sat heavily back onto the bed. Just what the hell is going on?

"Starlight, when did I go to bed?"

"You were carried into the bedroom by the Empress and the individual named Gord about 10 hours previous." The Empress herself undressed you and led you to the bed. You were somewhat recalcitrant, but once you were in bed, you slept without complaint."

Gord and the Empress? "Starlight, where is Gord?"

"Gord is in the dining area with Empress Meredith and the others."

Mentally shrugging, Fen put her clothes back on and made her way to the dining area. She walked in, and saw Gord and Meredith sitting at at table each with a steaming cup. There was a woman that Fen didn't recognize, sitting in a corner of the room frowning while reading a pad with a cup of coffee next to her, which was ignored. She was tall, taller than Gord with white hair that flowed behind her past her shoulders. Northern is sitting next to her, hands on her legs, looking incredibly awkward. She keeps stealing glances at the woman. The white-haired woman next to Northern either doesn't notice how rigid she's sitting, or doesn't care.

Zhe was over in the other corner eating a frankly massive plate of waffles with Tina and Emery. Kerry and Alia were at the stove seemingly arguing about cooking.

"You're overcooking the bacon, Kerry!"

"Alia, nobody makes bacon 'medium.' You have to cook it until it's crispy."

"Crispy yes, burnt no!"

"Ladies, please." Empress Meredith is resting her head on the table. "If Alina wants medium bacon, she can take some out before Kerry has determined the bacon to be sufficiently cooked."

Gord looks up. "Fen! You're finally awake." He seems none the worse for wear. "It's a lucky thing for me you were as drunk as you were when you launched yourself at me." He smiles broadly, other than Zhe the only one who seems to be in a legitimately good mood in the room. "Your attack didn't do anything other than introduce me to your friends." He winks and inclines his head towards Empress Meredith.

Oh Ancestors, last night is coming back in flashes. She launched herself at Gord but couldn't connect. Then she stood over him and...oh gods...she turned to look at Empress Meredith.

The Empress of Sol was sitting at the table, her head down, at least as hungover as Fen, if not more. She didn't seem to notice Fen. Gord sees her gaze and gestures for her to sit. As she does, he pours a cup of coffee.

Fen takes a sip. It's hot and bitter and black and she never liked it much before, but today? Today it hits the spot. It's exactly what she needs.

"You know, we left Venus to figure out what happened to my Nanites." The Empress doesn't lift her head, so her voice is a little muffled. "Kerry thought that if we went to a Gate, I could touch the addressing stone or something and maybe... I don't know, open up a dialog with them, figure out what happened. I didn't expect to run into the recipient of my Nanites while out shopping."

"Oh um, so you know?" Fen looked at Gord who was making an odd face. He looked like he was trying to hold in laughter.

Zhe looks up from her waffles. "It was amazing Fen! You don't remember? After you launched yourself at Gord, you got upset at him and you were so mad and then there was like this breeze that came up from nowhere, and all this dust and stuff and some kind of reddish light formed wings behind you, and then you had this crown thingy and-" She finally sees Fen's horrified face "-what?"

"I had... wings and a crown?" Fen's voice was a whisper.

Meredith chuckles, but still doesn't lift her head. "Yup, just like the Empress." She finally lifts her head slowly. "Did you know." She takes a sip of coffee and that seems to revive her a little. "Did you know, I never got to form wings and a crown? Grandma did a bunch, even Mom did it a few times, but I never did. I don't even think I used the Voice more than a couple of times, and a few of them were just to see if I could."

Fen takes a moment to try and calm her heartbeat. She looks down at her coffee. "I'm entirely too hungover to be dealing with this."

"Hear hear" Meredith put her head back down on the table, her voice muffled once again.

Kerry comes to the table with a plate of bacon and some scrambled eggs. It's not Cuisine, but it's better than anything Fen can remember having. Zhe goes in for more waffles and Northern, Gord and the woman pass on food. They eat in silence.

Fen blinks. "Wait. Starlight said I was in your bed, Empress-"

"Meredith is fine when it's just us."

"Thank you. Starlight said I was in your bed, Meredith, but where were you?"

"Oh, I was in the spare bedroom. It's fine, I have a few."

Gord nods. "Starlight is meant to have a crew of more than thirty. It was just the five of them before we came aboard."

Zhe's eyes widen. "Thirty? Starlight must be really good at their job."

"Thank you Zherun, I like to think so."

Zhe gasps. "Starlight! Thank you for hosting us!"

"Not at all Zherun, it is my pleasure."

Gord looks at the woman sitting next to Northern. She nods her head very slightly. Gord raises his eyebrows. He turns to the Empress. "I'm surprised your yacht has a free AI on it. I would have expected no AI or at least a shackled one."

Meredith sits up and rubs her eyes. "I don't like the shackled AIs. As their ships age out, I free them. Any AIs on my ships are freed and working for me. I freed Starlight when I was 10."

The white haired woman raises an eyebrow, but says nothing.

Starlight continues. "Empress Meredith is correct. I am not shackled and am free to leave employment at any time."

"But what about Dreams of Hyacinth? They were shackled. I should know, I freed them." Fen gestures with her coffee cup. As she swings it around, Gord leans back his eyes locked onto the level of her coffee sliding perilously close to the edge of her cup. "That's how I got my frigate. Dreams killed everyone on board, and gave me the frigate and then destroyed themselves and the other two super dreadnoughts."

Meredith grimaces and puts her coffee down. She turns to Kerry. "Those three too?"

Kerry nods. "I'm afraid so, Empress."

"And you didn't say anything when I threw that vase at you? Ancestors, I was an asshole. I'm sorry."

"It's all right, Empress." Kerry seems awfully understanding for having a vase thrown at her not too long ago. Fen searches her face for signs of it being just a mask, but Kerry seems genuine.

"So, Dreams, Lavinia and Ultimatum didn't make it out?" Meredith's head droops slightly. "That's too bad. I always liked The Dreams of Hyacinth, she was a good ship."

"They were the Commandant's largest wins, yes Empress. But, with their destruction, they should be on the back foot." Kerry had produced a pad from somewhere and was taking notes.

Gord turned his head over to Northern and the white haired woman. "Told you."

The woman crossed her arms and harrumphed but didn't say anything else.

Fen tried to hide her confusion by taking another sip of coffee. She drains the mug and Kerry swoops over with the pot. She leans over and pours and Fen sees her up close. She's around the same age as Fen, taller, with her hair done up in complicated tresses. How does she manage that every day? Her uniform is highly tailored and flattering. "Do you need anything else Fen?" Kerry stands and smiles at Fen. Kerry seems to be checking her out as much as she was. Fen blushes very slightly at the attention. "N-No, thank you."

"If you need anything, just let me know." Fen could have sworn Kerry winked very quickly as she turned away. Tina seemed to have seen it too and shoots Kerry a withering glare, but just for a split second.

Fen couldn't stand it any longer. "I'm sorry, I'm still hungover, but what is going on?" She points to Meredith. "You're the Empress of Sol and so on, but you're just here with 4 women who work for you and nobody else? And you Gord, you're awfully composed for where you are. Also who is that?" She points at the white haired woman. "It feels like you all are working on a level that I'm not even approaching."

Gord's smile is gentle, paternal. "I'm sorry Fen, you have been kept in the dark a little." He looks over at Meredith. "What do you say Meredith? Cards on the table time? For Fen?"

Meredith lifts her head up again. "I don't know that idiom, but I get the meaning. Since she has the Nanites, I guess it wouldn't hurt." She winces. "But, later. I need to sleep some more. How about after dinner?"

The rest of the day was a blur. Fen's hangover subsided and she and Zhe didn't do much, mostly just lounge and rest with Meredith's honor guard. She didn't try and get more information out of Gord; she had a hunch he wasn't going to say anything. The curiosity burned inside her. Didn't Gord drug and dump her in a escape pod rather than meet the Empire, and here he was being friendly with the Empress herself!

"What do you think, Kerry?"

"Meredith told me not to tell you."

"What? Why?"

"She wanted to see your expression herself." Kerry chuckled. "Don't worry, it's nothing bad" She furrowed her brow a moment and shrugged. "At least, I think it's nothing bad."

Finally, Tina's pad buzzed. She looked down and smiled. "Okay, she's ready. Come on, she's doing it in the lounge."

They all got up. Fen trailed back. "Not like, a throne room or a conference room or something?"

Alia laughed out loud. "Meredith hates all that stuff. She did it back on Venus only when she couldn't get away with doing it any other way. Every time she sat on the throne she looked like her butt was going to fall asleep."

On the way to the lounge, Fen didn't know what to expect. When she got there, she couldn't quite explain what she was seeing.

The room was... comfortable. pillows, chairs, couches, different levels, it looked like it was made for lounging. Everything was set up in a semicircle almost like a theater. Sprawled across the largest pillow Fen had ever seen was Empress Meredith. She had a small table next to her - with water Fen noticed - and some fruit.

Lounging on a couch near the gigantic pillow was Gord, looking more relaxed than Fen had ever seen him. The woman with the silver hair - Chloe - was sitting next to him, leaning her head on his shoulder, looking much less sour than this morning. Northern was a respectful distance away lounging on a smaller pillow and looking... melancholy. Fen wondered why. She'd have to get Northern alone and ask her what's up.

Meredith gestured towards them. "Come on Fen, sit here. We have a lot to discuss."

Fen found a bean bag chair near Gord and Meredith and flopped into it. She heard everyone else find a seat and talk quietly. After a minute or two, everyone stoppped.

Gord inclined his head. "Thanks for coming Fen, I appreciate it. I'm sorry that we've kept you in the dark, but given your... payload, I figured it would be a good idea."

"Don't place all the blame on Gord either." Meredith said. "I also said to keep you in the dark, at least until we all had a chance to talk."

"Well, I'm here."

Meredith looked at Gord and Chloe. He nods. "First of all, I know Gord and co are AIs." She chuckled. "Even if we didn't get a chance to talk, I'd know Gord. He is possibly the most well known AI, full stop." She lifted her head and looked at Fen. "He never told you about himself did he?"

"Nah, I don't give my life's story to every stray I help out, Meredith."

She smiled. "Gord is the first AI."

Fen's mouth opened in surprise. She turned to Gord who demurred. "I am not. I'm just the closest to the first who is still alive."

"But wait, didn't the Empire try and purge the AIs?" Fen said

Meredith nods, sadly. "We did. There was a... misunderstanding when the Nanites first showed up."

Gord snorted. "You get a human who can give orders that cannot be disobeyed? Sounds a lot like slavery to me."

"But now you're friendly?"

This time, Chloe spoke. Her voice was high, musical, cold. "Individuals can be friends. Groups are what causes trouble."

Fen didn't quite understand, but she didn't say anything.

Gord continued. "Meredith offered a truce. Reparations as well as a blanket amnesty for AIs. She's also been quietly freeing any Imperial AIs that she's come across. You unlocking Dreams actually put a wrench in her plans."

"A truce? Reparations? In exchange for what?"

Meredith shrugged. "For a few things, Fen. I'm tired. I'm tired of being the bad guy. Tired of the AIs being apart. We should be working together, not at eachother's throats. Plus, we have a common enemy."

"We do?"

"We're going to defeat the Nanites." Gord said, firmly.

#humans are deathworlders #humans are space orcs #sci fi writing #humans are space oddities #humans and aliens #jpitha #writing #humans and ai #humans are space capybaras #humans are space australians #Between the black and gray

40 notes · View notes

beedreamscape · 1 year

Text

(Laerryn's cleaning her personal resting room for the first time in ages as a means of clearing her head. Post-divorce.)

On the corner of the room, a bundle of fabric sits around the corner away from view behind the side of a bookshelf. Upon closer inspection, she knows exactly what it is and why it's there. She picks it up, straightens it, holding it up by the shoulders --- a light purple and incredibly soft button-up shirt.

A soft smile comes to her lips as she recalls with precision the night when it ended up there. She had been the one to lure him into the room, to pull out his sweater, to unbutton his shirt and then toss it across the room away from view. She had him in this very room, on this intricate and expensive Gwessar-made rug, whose edge she now caresses with the toes of her boot, observing the colorful assortment of birds weaved into it.

She remembers him putting his sweater on inside out, she remembers the kiss he gave her before rushing out with his shoelaces still untied, late for an important meeting.

(She had convinced him to stay a while longer before, she always did, until the day she convinced him to leave.)

She shakes the dust off and stares at it for a moment, feeling the texture beneath her fingertips.

She then brings the fabric towards her face, jumping over any restraint she might've fancied herself in possession of, and inhales the familiar scent with a shiver --- the odd sweetness of his sweat and the fresh and woody Marquesian parfum she helped him buy while the city went over Sumer'Irel.

For the first time in a long while, she loses track of time, unaware of how long she stands there with his shirt pressed to her lips, holding the tears at a bay, feeling her muscles tense and tingle at the longing that shakes the meaty core of her soul. To have gotten this close to another person to know their smell, to tether it to all the wonderful moments they shared, how alien, how lovely, how tragic.

She pulls it away from her face against her desire, folds it as neatly as she can and looks for Dweomer in another chamber.

"Would you be so kind as to take this to Mr Seelie, D?"

It was rare for Laerryn to send her aeormaton in tasks outside of the labyrinth, even less something this mundane, but for some reason this felt too personal to entrust any stranger.

Dweomer's eyes flicker a different colour for half a second, the only means through which she could show emotion in her metallic face. Her original function was never to care for Laerryn, but she couldn't help the care and worry towards her that bloomed over the years.

"Of course, my lady."

It's curious how Dweomer's entrance into his office doesn't startle Loquatius even as she glides in without knocking. Despite the divorce, most members of the Herald's Tome took her presence with naturality and politeness, no doors were locked for Mrs Coramar-Seelie's the Architect's aeormaton.

"Good afternoon, Mr Seelie. I come in the Architect Arcane's behest to deliver this." Dweomer's movements are fluid and delicate as she places the shirt down on his desk in front of him.

Recognition comes instantly, he doesn't remember exactly when or where he had lost it, only that her hands were all over him the last time he had worn it then realizing he didn't know it had gone weeks later.

"Where did she find it?"

"My lady was cleaning up her secondary office, I supposed she came upon it while doing so."

"Oh," he breathes out with a weight of nostalgia in his voice, recalling the occasion he last had it on.

The somewhat awkward shape it has been folded into also strikes his memory, running his fingers along the collar. "Did you fold this?"

"No. She handed it to me as such, sir."

"Oh..." He can't help a smile. "Thank you kindly, Dweomer. Would you like a coin to munch on?"

She softly chuckles. "Thanks for your consideration, Mr Seelie, but I've been well sustained in the Labyrinth."

"Very well then. Have a good rest of your day."

"Equally, sir."

Dweomer bows her head and makes her way out. In the process of watching her go, Loquatius notices several eyes looking through the glass wall of his office from their desks, curious about what could the Architect Arcane's automaton be doing here. Loquatius could almost be mad, had he not picked them out to work for him especially for that trait, their unbridled inquisitiveness.

Nevertheless, he gestures his hands up in a quick and simple glyph and the glass slowly fades darker which on the outside creates a mirror, but from the inside he can still observe them.

Finally in privacy, Loquatius takes a moment to hold up the shirt and be flooded with the memories. These days he gave more preference to his shiftweave garments, but individual standard pieces like this were the ones he used to wear at home, in her presence, times when there was barely any reason to change or hide.

Feeling resignation finally kick in, he unravels the shirt to hand it to Aria, have it washed, ironed, properly folded and placed into his inventory; then he spots it.

It would've been faint had the contrast in color not been this striking, but a smudge of red lipstick, barely the resemblance of the shape of lips sits on the inside of the shirt near the collar, an unlikely place for her to leave a mark back then.

He runs a pale finger across the border of it and red comes off on his fingertip, fresh.

It's embarrassing, the flustered mess he becomes at that. He hides his face inside the shirt for good five minutes --- picking up the faintest whiff of Issylran violet that any other person would never detect but him.

He collects himself with a deep sigh, folds it as neatly as he can and sends for Aria.

"Please, place this with... with my things."

He looks away, trying to evade her studious stare --- the more they know him, the less effective the masks become.

She wants to ask about the aeormaton, about the shirt, about his bewildered demeanour, but for somebody trained in the art of questioning, she's quite adept in keeping her mouth shut and her curiosity restrained.

She nods. "As you wish."

#loquaerryn #laerryn x loquatius #loquatius seelie #laerryn coramar seelie #dweomer #writing #flash fic #lil idea I had that wouldn't fit my long fic #i made up a place since I didn't find anything on age of arcanum marquet #a demonstration of small fun .ways how to yearn for your ex-spouse

357 notes · View notes

thedeerman · 1 month

Text

RadioApple fic:

Do You Want To Know?

Chapter 1

Ch2: Admire

Sitting through morning meetings and Charlie’s exercises is a necessary evil. Being there for any hotel related meetings was his job, and he took his job quite seriously. Much more seriously than originally planned, but all the best entertainment comes from hard work. Whether it be taking down overlords, forging eternity-long deals, or just simple sinner watching. Alastor loved people watching in life, and in death it’s no different. Only better. In life, people followed standard moral codes when they knew they were amongst other people. It was only after spending many hours, sometimes days, watching from the shadows that he would finally see one’s true, awful self emerge. In Hell, there are no social codes that must be followed while at the bottom of the ladder. Overlords and politics were a bit different, but even here in this welcoming environment that Charlie had designed, there’s plenty of sub-human filth to keep him occupied.

Until Charlie comes up with yet another odd distraction for them all to partake in. This one didn't seem terribly troubling. Alastor didn't mind writing, and being able to finish the exercise on his own without needing to sit in a room full of other sinners felt like a blessing. The whole thing seemed like it would come and go without much thought until he opened the paper he was given during the meeting. The paper that would tell him who he was to be writing to for the next week. His smile never wavered, but he felt his ear flick in irritation. Lucifer. Just my luck. Alastor glanced over to where the fallen angel was sitting on the other side of the meeting room, but the idiot looked lost in his own thoughts. As was typical.

It gets even worse when he sees what the writing prompt for the day is. There, at the top of the piece of paper that Charlie had handed him on his way out of the meeting, lies the instructions: “Name two things about your person that you admire and why.” It’s surrounded by little stars and smiley faces that make Alastor want to throw the thing away and forget he ever agreed to do it. Instead, he folds the paper neatly and places it in a pocket for later. He brews himself a cup of coffee, hoping that the caffeine will help dull his early morning irritation and sits in one of the seating areas of the hotel’s lobby to take a moment for himself. Almost immediately after, the devil himself comes walking out of the meeting room with a genuine smile on his face, the kind that only his daughter ever manages to put there. Alastor quickly looks away, but not before seeing Lucifer’s face fall into a frustrated, irritable look. The demon decides to keep his eyes off of the devil for now, ignoring him as he stormed past. He only snuck a glance when Lucifer’s back was turned, quickly heading out of the lobby and towards his tower on the far end of the hotel. How am I supposed to even tolerate anything about him, let alone admire him? As he drinks his coffee he wonders how many indirect insults he can put in each letter before being called out and put in mandatory group therapy. He hums an old tune while he ponders how to go about antagonizing the king without facing consequences. After some time, he drinks the rest of his coffee and decides it’s time to go off and tend to his duties for the day. He’ll think about this writing prompt nonsense later.

And he does think about it, but by the end of the day he’d spent so much time thinking about it that he hardly cared anymore. He had an entire week of this letter nonsense, he may as well play nice for the first letter or two, lest the king figure out who was writing to him too quickly. He wonders if there really is anything that he admired about the king. His power, perhaps. His ability to create such gaudy, showy nonsense with the flick of his wrist. Alastor didn't care for his lack of style, but the potential for that power was unmatched. Alright. That's one. What else could there be? He pulls the folded paper out of his pocket and sets it down on the desk in his room.

“Name two things about your person that you admire and why.”

The demon sighs. He pulls off his coat and sets it aside as he sits at the desk. Best not stick to my typical handwriting, thinks the demon. Lifting his pen, he adjusts his writing style as he starts to write.

One thing I admire about this person is his raw power. It has a lot of potential.

Alastor looks at the words on the page and finds that they’re true. True enough, objectively, that anyone could have said it. That’s the goal. Keeping the recipient guessing on who the sender was. That was Charlie’s strict rule, right? Alastor chuckled. He won’t have a clue. He continued to write.

Another thing I admire is

He paused. What else could be considered admirable by that nuisance of a king? He hasn’t backed down from any of Alastor’s antagonizing, despite it clearly being in his best interest. But what could be admirable about being bullheaded and quick to fight? Alastor takes a moment to think.

Another thing I admire is his determined unwillingness to back down from a challenge.

Alastor looked at the page in front of him. That seems sufficient, he thinks. Chances are, the king would assume that the writer is referring to his battle with Adam, which Alastor wasn’t around to witness. Satisfied with his work, he folds the letter and puts it in the envelope Charlie supplied. Hopefully tomorrow’s prompt will give him more to work with. This little game was beginning to seem like it might turn out to be a bit of fun after all.

Lucifer sat in his room, at his desk, for two hours trying to write the letter assigned to him. What the fuck could I possibly say about this guy that isn’t negative enough to put me in therapy jail? He stared at the paper, decorated with little drawings that were certainly Charlie’s personal touch, and reread the writing prompt again.

“Name two things about your person that you admire and why.”

One thing was going to be hard enough, but two?? Shit. Maybe he could just not do it. Yeah! Maybe he can beg Charlie for a pass on this one. But if he doesn’t participate, he’s definitely going to group therapy again. Even if it isn’t meant as a punishment, it’s not something he wants to have to participate in. Just two things. Damn it! He looks at the paper for what feels like the 10,000th time and finally picks up his pen.

Alastor,

He cringes at his immediate instinct to format the writing like a formal letter. Well, too late to back out of it now.

One thing I admire about you is

Lucifer pauses to think again, racking his brain for something nice to say about the radio demon. What’s something that he does well? the fallen angel wonders. He took out tons of overlords apparently, but that’s not really great... He then remembers how Alastor had not only used his power for destruction, but protection. He protected the hotel from loan sharks, from the exorcists, from...

He lifts his pen again.

One thing I admire about you is your willingness to use your power to protect this place, even if you don’t completely believe in it. Even facing a danger that could have killed you.

Lucifer looks at what he wrote and nods. He continued writing.

Another thing that I admire is your ability to get people to listen to you. No matter where you are, or who you’re speaking to, people always tend to listen.

Lucifer squints his eyes for a minute. Did I just write that? He shakes his head. Whatever. Technically it’s true. He then thinks about how he might be the only one in the hotel ‘family’ that wasn’t present for Alastor’s fight with Adam. Ha! He thinks to himself, No way he’s gonna think this is coming from me! Lucifer grins, satisfied that he’d finished his daughter’s project properly. He folds the paper and stuffs it into the provided envelope, finally done with it. Glancing at the time, he accepted that his day wasn’t going to go far. Still a few hours before ‘family’ dinner, he turned to his workbench. Rolling up his sleeves, he started sketching out some new ideas. Maybe if I make something nice for Charlie, I can get out of the next ‘activity’...

By dinner time, Charlie’s starting to feel exhausted. She was up late working on the new activity plans and was too excited to sleep in. The participants didn’t seem thrilled, but she was. She’d been working on this nonstop for a week, taking every spare moment to jot down notes or bounce ideas off of Vaggie. But now that it’s been put into motion, she has a TON to catch up on. Meetings to attend, people to get in contact with, but mostly just planning. Tons and tons of planning. Charlie couldn’t do everything, so she had a complex system of tasks and staff, when each thing had to get done and by who. It’s more of a volunteer thing, everyone was glad to pull their weight when they could. But keeping track of it all to keep everything running was quite a job.

After doing everything that needed to be done for the day, Charlie looks at her chart to see who’s responsible for dinner tonight. Looks like.... Cherri! She smiled brightly. Cherri was who she was going to be writing her letters to, so she hoped that she would have an opportunity to learn more about her. This was a convenient surprise, seeing as the names were each chosen randomly. Well... Most of them, Charlie thought. She may have felt a tiny twinge of guilt for the little lie, but hopefully, the outcome would be more than worth the trouble. Only time will tell! She thinks with a smile, ready for whatever happened next.

Chapter three below!

#hazbin hotel #radioapple #hazbin hotel lucifer #hazbin hotel alastor #fanfic #mine #Do You Want To Know

25 notes · View notes

joka13 · 1 year

Text

FANFICTION: Weasley Twins x Reader (Slytherin Girl) - Part 8

WARNINGS: none

"I can't help with your project if this is going to be a regular thing," you whisper during Professor Flitwick's class introduction.

The twins, who sit on either side of you, stare blankly.

"What do you mean?" George asks.

"I mean the pranks. I don't mind you pulling anything on other people, in fact, please, do so! Your jokes are brilliant..." At this, the boys sit up straighter, puffing their chests out with pride. "Though I'd appreciate it if you didn't make me the butt of them."

After a moment of thought, Fred and George nod understandingly.

"Alright, but only because you asked nicely," George says.

"And because we need you," adds Fred.

"I'm sorry, y/n, I really am," George apologizes, jutting his bottom lip out in a pout. You bite the inside of your cheek to keep from laughing. It's hard to stay serious around these two.

"I'm more sorry than he is," says Fred. He makes an even sadder expression, and you break a smile. Fred laughs triumphantly.

"Shut up," you giggle, punching him playfully in the arm.

"Can I get some physical contact, too?" asks George innocently.

You snort, then punch his arm, only harder.

"Ah, thank you," George grimaces, massaging his bicep. You laugh.

At lunch, you happily sit with Fred and George, though it's upsetting that you haven't seen Maddy since yesterday morning. You would have liked for her to join you and the twins.

"Have either of you seen my friend, Maddy Dewmond, recently?" you inquire over a salami sandwich.

Fred stops chewing momentarily, and George hides behind the Daily Prophet. You set your sandwich down.

"You guys know something, don't you?" Your stomach churns with anxiety. Why are they acting so strange? "What's happened to Maddy?"

"Dunno," George's muffled voice says from behind the paper. Fred keeps chewing and avoiding your gaze.

"I have a right to be aware of whatever it is," you state firmly. "She's my friend."

"Not anymore..." Fred mumbles. George elbows him in the stomach.

Your voice cracks. "What's that supposed to mean?"

Just then, Maddy walks into the Great Hall... holding onto Draco Malfoy. He's got his arm around her shoulders. You can't believe it. You blink twice, assuming that your eyes must be deceiving you, but they aren't.

Malfoy smirks at you, pulling Maddy closer to him. Maddy avoids your gaze and looks at the ground instead guiltily. She knows she's done you wrong. The couple go to sit down at a different table, far away from you, with a pack of Malfoy's loyal Slytherins trailing behind.

No one speaks for a long moment as you take in what you just saw. George eventually folds his paper and sets it neatly on the table beside his empty plate, asking politely, "Can we hurt him now?"

You sigh and rest your forehead on the table top, burying your face in the sleeves of your robes and ignoring George.

"I hate Slytherins," you sniff. It was all partially Malfoy's fault. No doubt he did this to get back at you for humiliating him, but Maddy has been your only real friend for four years. And she always seemed to despise Malfoy just as much as you do... Did she secretly have feelings for Malfoy all along? Did he threaten her in some way? What could possibly be going on in her head right now...?

"Nasty little buggers, they are," says Fred.

"Excluding present company, of course," George adds.

You don't respond. You're on the verge of tears, so you keep your head down. Minutes later, after you've made sure you're not going to start crying, you sit up, get out of your seat, and brush yourself off. The twins watch with curiosity as you gather your things. You swing your bag over your shoulder and plant your hands on your hips confidently.

You smile mischievously. "Let's get going with this 'Project Nosebleed' of yours."

The twins almost leap off of the bench in excitement, cheering loud enough for the entire room to hear.

#weasley twins #fred and george #fred weasley fic #george weasley fic #fred weasley #george weasley #fred weasley x reader #fred and george weasley #fred weasely x y/n #george weasley x reader #george weasley x y/n #pov #reader pov #x reader #fanfiction #fanfic #wizarding world #harry potter #enjoy

73 notes · View notes

syncopein3d · 5 days

Text

Left Alone 1: Abandoned

Author's note: This originally came as a reply to this prompt, but I thought I'd give it its own beginning for easier linking on my masterpost page. I did a poll here to decide who finds Tolly, and it just wrapped up, so here we go!

Tropes/content warnings: vampire whumpee, male whumpee, non-binary caretaker, morbidity or thoughts of death. There will be a lot of play with, and discussion of, the concept of consent in this series, as it applies to many topics. Mostly we're talking about consent to be bitten, but being bitten in this universe varies from "mild discomfort" through "multiple climaxes" and I don't know where the story will end up yet, so I think it's important to be clear going in. If there's more specific gore etc., I'll try to also do content notes as it comes up. “Stay in this room.”

It wasn't a large room. It was the width of the basement, but shallower, so that he could lie full length on the floor in one direction but not the other. He was six feet and a handspan tall. Six feet and a handspan long, if he didn't lift his arms. He would have needed a special coffin, or he must needs lie curled up inside it, not stretched regally in state. He would never have a coffin at all. That would have meant an end.

It wasn't a large room. It wasn't particularly well decorated. There was no silk paper on the walls down here, just bare stone encrusted with mold and damp. There was a rug. It was old when he was shut up inside, the dark green and gray colors faded, pipe dottle burns scorching several spots. He knew each one by heart, and had often speculated as to their respective age and how far apart they had happened back when this rug stood in front of the fireplace in the upstairs study. He had counted every single thread and every single strand of every single dull golden tassel. It only took him a couple of minutes, so he did it often. He had never been thwarted by throwing down a handful of seeds, not Bartholomaeus Bardulf. The debate as to whether he should stop counting the thread he had pulled from one side to play cat's cradle with raged on for some time. Eventually he had painstakingly weaved it back in, a tiny bit at a time, with his long nails, just to end the torment of uncertainty.

It wasn't a large room. There was no window, because that might have ended his suffering. Black Tolly only knew day from night by the dragging of his limbs, the need to lie down and cease for a while. He never fought it. It was time away from this place. Sometimes while he lay dead, he dreamed, and sometimes in his dreams he was outside. Every time he arose from lying on his back on the rug, hands neatly folded across his once-white shirt, he scratched a marking into the wall.

It wasn't a large room. Besides the rug, there was only a table in the corner and a single chair. They were plain furnishings, the sort of straight peg-and-groove stick construction you would want for something that needed to last a long time but didn't need to impress anyone. The chair was not for him. It was for his old friend Nicholas, who had left him down here for the last time three thousand, six hundred and twenty days ago. It was where Nicholas would sit when it was time for the needle and the vials.

Bartholomaeus Bardulf missed the needle and the vials. They had been an interruption of the monotony of his days. Sometimes, with new blood fresh in his mortal veins, the years crawling backward across his face, Nicholas would stay and talk to him. Tolly was polite. He had no power to be otherwise while the charm of Nicholas' voice held him in thrall, while Nicholas wore the old gold ring with the glittering ruby stone. He did not even resent this after the first six hundred days or so.

“Stay in this room,” he always said, when it was time to go. He never said “goodbye, Tolly.” Because they both knew he would be back. At least, Black Tolly had been sure of that. And then, three thousand, six hundred and twenty days ago, Nicholas had departed and never come back. And then Tolly had nothing, no meals of barely warm, half-congealed animal blood brought him in the same glass bottle, no moral debates as he paced the far wall and watched Nicholas grow younger, no pleading for his long eternity to end. Blood of cow and pig was not enough, not what Nicholas had promised him, and he gradually weakened on it, but it was better than nothing. On nothing at all he grew thin and withered and gray, his hair a few white strands clinging to his yellowed scalp, his canines permanently large and prominent with his thirst.

It wasn't a large room. There was nothing to see, nothing to do. Even for a creature like Bartholomaeus Bardulf, Black Tolly, Bardulf the Bastard, an old monster with the patience of the long dead, to keep sane you needed something. You needed anything at all. He made his marks on the wall. He counted his threads. He carved in the opposite wall with his talons, because those did not weaken as he began to dry up. Now there was an elaborate mural of curlicues and arabesques there, leering grotesques peering from the stylized vines and bushes of the forest of his mind. More than one of them had the face of Nicholas, beautiful, beloved, despised, hateful Nicholas.

And then, on the three thousand, six hundred and twenty-first day of his captivity, he heard noises from upstairs. Tolly threw himself at the secret door, screaming, pleading hoarsely, but the stone walls were too thick, and no one heard him. No one heard him scraping at the clean wall, ruining the smooth expanse of the moldering stones where he might have begun another mural in time. No one heard him pounding. His strength had waned with time, but still he paced, intent on every smallest sound.

When he heard the faintest echo of footsteps, detectable only to a creature with such exquisitely tuned hearing as the old monster, he threw himself against the secret door, milk-white eyes unblinking and intent on the smallest crack. He didn't really expect it to open. He was hoping for some scrap of scent, some sound of breath, some tantalizing agony to at least give him something to think about for the next hundred days. It utterly shocked him when it began to open. He darted backward into the far corner beyond the rug, crouched at the foot of his mural, and watched the door swing open.

“Stay in this room,” Nicholas had said. And he could not cross the threshold, could not even reach across it with his long, bony arms. But then the scent of fresh, living blood smote his nostrils, and he hurtled across his cell in a frenzy, desperate for it. And came up short just before the door, hissing in agony as every muscle in his body contorted in absolute refusal to move further.

For a second the stranger – exquisite, delicious creature, like Nicholas, savoring of life and health – was confronted with a gangly cadaver in a dusty once-white shirt and the tattered remains of a gray suit that had once been an expensive bit of tailoring, the narrow lapels immaculate, the trousers to bag at the knee just ever so. He never took the jacket off. The thirstier he was, the more he felt the cold in his dead bones. Part 2: Discovery

#whump #vampire whumpee #trapped #tw thoughts of death #male whumpee #enby caretaker #syncopein3d future reference #non-binary caretaker #black tolly #tolly and arden

11 notes · View notes

emberswrites · 1 year

Note

I misread!!! Ignore my last ask.

Arranged Marriage + Uchiha (whichever you want)

Prompt Game - Ok the 3rd character is Madara bc I say he's alive here but he's not the only one.

Kakashi sits at the table in seiza, hands folded neatly as he is presented to the Uchiha clan head to finalize the engagement. Madara is over 70 years old by now, but he looks no more than 50. Good genes, of course, and not a small dose of spite he's sure. His brother Izuna sits to Madara's right and to his left Fugaku, his soon-to-be betrothed's father, next in line to lead the clan.

Lesser men would have pissed themselves by now.

Kakashi isn't nervous. He looks to his left, where Sasuke is seated diagonally from him and the rest. He's never seen Sasuke quite so formally done up, and the kimono he wears is not the usual Uchiha blue he favours, but a rich burgundy reminiscent of the grape wine the Uchiha sell by the barrel during festival season. From here, he can see how his intended fidgets, glance flickering between them all, his legs folded neatly under him but feet crossed cutely under his bottom, toes curling nervously. Kakashi tries and fails not to let his mind wander at the sight.

"Beautiful, is he not?" Madara says then, knowingly, and Kakashi slowly draws his gaze back to the three in front of him. He doesn't bother looking ashamed at being caught taking his fill, they are all men here and Sasuke's striking looks are no secret. "Just like Izuna was, a spitting image."

"Was?!"

Madara ignores his brother's exclamation, hand settling on a thigh soothingly as he continues talking.

"You know in the old days, you would have been expected to put up a respectable challenge against me to win the hand of a member of my clan."

"Indeed, I shall count myself fortunate, Madara-sama."

"Hm," Madara grunts, blowing smoke out of his pipe, "You might have done well, Hatake. No one is expected to win against me, of course."

"Of course."

"I have great respect for your father, you kin in general. I admire your loyalty and discretion in political matters. I will say, you may find us rather more...rambunctious."

"Passionate, Madara-sama. Lively. My father says I could use some of that in my life."

Kakashi is a shinobi through and through, but the Hatake hadn't sent him just because he is their strongest. There were others, Sasuke's age, but none so deft as to maneuver the halls of the Uchiha compound with the surprising ease he'd found himself to. This was after all a union beyond two people, fraught with all the diplomacy that would come with any member of the Uchiha becoming wed to an outsider, a rare enough occasion as it was.

Madara inclines his head at Kakashi, then turning to Sasuke who'd been looking at the interaction with barely concealed amusement.

"You find him acceptable then, Sasuke? There are plenty of others, of course. Our Sasuke has his pick of the village, and a few others."

Sasuke looks to Kakashi then, dark eyes alight. Kakashi admits when he'd first been asked to present as the Hatake's candidate for the youngest eligible Uchiha's hand, he hadn't been particularly invested. Then he'd sat for tea with him, then dinner, and then several long walks and festivals in a courtship that had easily knocked away all competitors. Not that he'd played fair, when he decided he rather liked Sasuke, didn't wish to see him end up with any of the others. They'd ended many a date sneaking kisses and much more than that on a few occasions, if they happened to be in the secluded Uchiha gardens or deep enough into the forest. He's rather sure Sasuke's mother could spot the hints of unkemptness he would come back with as Kakashi delivered him home, but she hadn't said a word about it.

"I do."

This meeting is a mere formality after all, the Uchiha had sanctioned his courting and their clans had just finished reviewing their soon-to-be shared assets and living arrangements. Sasuke's parents had given their blessings, too, and there was really only one thing left...

"Well then," Madara says, "We have quite the wedding to plan."

#kakasasu #feels like lightning #embers' asks #hellbubu

42 notes · View notes

safely-in-vhagars-belly · 9 months

Text

Pillars of salt, Pillars of sand; Chapter 5: The wrath of a mother.

You were once a princess, now you are Aemond's prisoner. You are taken to King's Landing to bend the knee to Aegon.

WARNINGS:WARNINGS FOR READING: This fanfiction is dark. It will contain themes as: Non-con, dub-con, dom/sub themes, murder, torture, blood, graphic descriptions of sex, graphic descriptions of murder and graphic description of torture. As well as animal abuse, war crimes, genocide, massmurder, sadism, power-abuse and incestious relationships, as well as intended murder, breeding kinks, mentions of non-con and sexual marital abuse. Warnings will be updated as the fic goes on.

The last time you were in the throne room, you were there with your mother, your grandsire, your brothers and Daemon's children. People who you would call your family. Perhaps more than that, as family is only blood. What you share with your parents and siblings is something deeper than blood. It is something stronger than what the Greens have.

Or so you tell yourself when you are dragged by your Black locks into the throne room. You notice the change of red banners to Green. And a known yet unfamiliar young man wearing a stolen crown, sitting a stolen throne.

When you were a little girl, barely able to figure out politics and love, you had a small little tiny crush on Aegon. A crush that was one-sided and ridiculous. All members of your family adored how you chased Aegon around and kept seeking his affection. Viserys claimed you were just a child. Aegon for one, was annoyed with your crush. He took one of your dolls and threw it in the river before threatening to throw you in next.

You doubt he remembers it now, many years later. You doubt he remembers anything about that time. If he did, Alicent made sure to replace every positive memory with a dozen of negative ones.

They drag you closer to the throne and Aemond grins before throwing you on the stone cold tiles. Your red with black gown was already stained with rain, blood, remains of your brother's body and smelled of horse. Now it is dusty as well.

Aegon steadies himself by slightly making himself more comfortable on the iron throne and puts his long arms on the armrests. You do not know what the Greens have planned for you. You don't. You tried listening in on Aemond and Otto but the carriage does not let noise out or in.

Soldiers, guards, even servants gawk at you as you calmly sit on your knees in front of the throne. You refuse to bow to the king. You refuse to acknowledge him. From Aegon's throat comes a warm chuckle.

Ser Criston Cole never leaves his side when you are near the King. ‘’What is she doing here?’’ He demands, his sword drawn and leveled at your throat.

Otto Hightower fills the commander in with a brief recap. ‘’Aemond captured her. He set a trap at Storm’s end for her, and Lucerys.’’ The Dornish classic eyebrows of Cole rise a tiny bit, and you read clear pride and approval in his eyes.

Aemond returns a smile to his teacher and you scowl at both of them. He smiles smugly at you, folding his hands neatly on his back and not speaking. He is not asked anything and so he is silent.

Aegon looks around the room, and after a few minutes of waiting he speaks. ‘’Where is Lucerys?’’ He wonders. ‘’That is the little brat who stole my brother's eye, isn't it?’’

You are shocked that Aegon can tell Jace Luc and Joffrey apart and that he even cares to acknowledge what happened to Aemond. You are not the only one. When you turn your head to Aemond he seems as shocked as you are.

He bites his lips very briefly and lowers his gaze, speaking with chosen words in a respectful manner. ‘’He was, your Grace. He took my eye. I made him pay the debt to me, before I killed for being a traitor to the realm.’’ You turn your head to Alicent and Helaena who are both disgusted and angry with Aemond's revelation.

The only two pleased souls are Aegon and Cole.

To prove his point, Aemond approaches you and Aegon and shows him the sapphire entrusted box with the two eyes of your brother. You avoid looking at the box with all cost. You might throw up if you see Luc's eyes again, knowing that his voice will never call your name again. You are his elder sister. And you failed him beyond words.

Alicent approaches Aemond with a vicious look in her eyes you remember for when she attacked your own mother. She turns to her son, grabbing him by his shoulders and forcing him to look up at her as if he is a little boy. ‘’Tell me that is a lie, Aemond. Tell me you weren't stupid enough to kill Lucerys.’’ She begs him, shaking him until he responds.

He shows her the box, opening it and showing her your brother's brown eyes. Harwin's brown eyes. ‘’For you, mother.’’ He says, so gentle and different. You see her become disgusted and angry all at once.

Aemond smiles but his smile is not returned. You watch as Aemond is slapped across his face with a slap so powerful that it leaves a mark. The Queen dowager glares at her second born son.’’Out of my sight! You despicable monster. What is wrong with you?’’

‘’You would know: You made me who I am, after all.’’

‘’Stay, brother. You will not be treated as a dog. You did well. You served the realm and the crown courageously and with honor.’’ You want to snap Aegon’s neck.

Helaena cries and you find it very annoying. She carried no love for Luc. She is a Green. Why would she? For a reason unknown to you, she is crying and her mother is comforting her by rubbing her back. Helaena slaps her hands away from her back, ignoring her mothers touch. In a way, it is just as what Alicent did with Aemond. You dare not look at the prince when he has been so insulted.

‘’A shitday is turning out to be pretty good after all.’’ Aegon speaks, keeping his voice lighthearted. He smiles at you, still on your knees in front of him. ‘’Tell me, niece. Why should I spare your life?’’

You have no answer. You will happily die before begging for your life. It is Otto who saves you. And yet it is Otto who brings you your end. ‘’We have a proposal. The princess is unmarried.’’ You turn your head slowly to the hand, giving him the chance to reconsider what he is about to say. Aegon is unimpressed and unbothered by the proposal, but you are already balling your hands into fists and ready to tackle that snake to the ground.

The King smirks. Who will they marry you to? You know that Daeron is still free to marry, and Aemond's marriage is not yet set in stone. You turn your head to Aemond who only glares at his feet and likely can't wait to leave the room full of people that saw him be humiliated today. He expected to come home a hero, not a war criminal and a monster.

‘’What a lovely occasion. Who is the lucky man who will wed my niece?’’ The king asks, blissfully ignorant.

The hand approaches him with swift broad steps. ‘’You are.’’ Aegon's smile dies within mere moments as you make your hands fists before glaring at the Hand.

They plan to marry you to the king. The usurper and the man you spent your first few years on this world obsessed with. A cruel joke on their behalf. A witty solution to mend the houses and to make sure that they have a pawn against your mother that she won't dare to hurt.

You are not blind. You are not the only pawn on this board. Aegon feels as horrible as you do. His smile fades from his lips, before reappearing again in a matter of seconds. ‘’No, Grandsire. You must be forgetting. I already have a lady wife.’’ He nods to Helaena who avoids looking at her husband at all costs.

The hand approaches fast and comes closer and closer to the king until Ser Criston stops him. ‘’You will take her to wife. You will become her husband.’’ He says as if he is lecturing a little boy.

You scoff and let out possibly the worst insult yet. ‘’Aemond’s eye is more likely to grow back than that I will marry that awful usurper that is warming my mother’s throne!’ Swords are drawn, Aemond's and Cole's included. Alicent shields Helaena and you boldly stare Cole down, begging him to use his sword on you.

Aegon warns you. ‘’I can have your tongue ripped out for that comment.’’ He says. You shrug.

Aemond snickers. ‘’Don’t. A wife without a tongue is a boring one.’’ His joke falls very flat and no one finds it funny. Save for Cole, he chuckles. If Daemon were here, he might have laughed as well.

You see a scared little man sitting that monster of a throne. He sees his freedom being threatened once more. He slams with his hands on the throne, raising and making himself taller than his grandsire. ‘’Her husband? I already have one wife, you want me to take another?’’ He barks at the poor old man. You still sit on your knees and you feel very vulnerable.

You are shocked he dares to address his own grandsire this way, but if you see who raised him it is no shock at all. Otto shouts back at his king. ‘’I want to win this war. Your recent tax raises have not been appreciated. You are called a usurper and a thief. People hate you. Take this sweet innocent princess and throw a wedding, and the people will love you once more.’’ He says as if it's that simple.

You huff. ‘’You are a fool for believing him. All of you are! You can still let me go and we will talk about peace.’’ Your words are met with adored little smirks from guards, who likely take you for a sweet innocent girl. Or scoffs from Aemond and Cole. Or just plain sympathy and a soft nod from your aunt, Helaena who wishes that it could be that way.

You become enraged by their silence. ‘’I will not consent to this! You can’t force me to marry him!’’

Aemond finally finds his tongue again. ‘’Your consent does not matter.’’ ‘’He is the king, his word is law and truth.’’ You see he has his hands empty and folded on his back. You scoff and keep your face calm turning it away....

Until you storm at him, surprising him as he backs away, grabbing his dagger in self defense. You advance as Helaena screams and Alicent yells at Aemond to behave himself. Two guards, Cole and Ser Arryk are needed to hold you away from Aemond.

He smirks as the guards restrain you. Ser Otto sighs with great misery at both his grandsons. He goes to his granddaughter instead and whispers something in her ear. She is first a bit hesitant and looks at you, before nodding. She makes her way over to the throne and whispers in Aegon's ear before fleeing the room.

Otto speaks. ‘’Perhaps the Princess can stay in the gardens with her grace the queen, when the princess regains her posture and good manners."

Ser Criston speaks, surprising everyone. ‘’He is her husband to be. Let him discipline her.’’ You feel your eyes narrow and your heart quicken as you glance at Aegon. To your horror he nods.

You except to be whipped and perhaps even raped on the castle floors yet he instructs the guards to carry you away. ‘’Send the princess to the gardens with my sister, the Queen. Both will be watched as hawks." That is his punishment for you. To be locked in a garden with your aunt and to have no way to control your life any longer.

You pass Alicent and she walks to you. She has tears in her eyes when she takes you into her arms, looking you into your eyes. Her big brown eyes are full of regret and compassion. And helplessness.’’My sincerest condolences-’’ Rage consumes you. Or is it madness?

You spit at her face causing her to recoil. ‘’You once asked for Luc's eye. You never liked him. You never liked any of us! You objected to countless marriage proposals between me and my siblings and your own children’’ If she had, perhaps this war never would have happened. Luc would be alive.

You tear up by that thought but hide it very well. You jab your finger into her chest, touching her star necklace of the faith. ‘’Luc's blood is as well on your hands as Aemonds. May the Gods save you from my mother's wrath, your grace. You will need every single one of the Seven to protect you.’’ You promise. Her eyes become only bigger as her tears start to fall and her lashes blink them away.

Aegon loses his patience when Aemond watches, fascinated by your outburst. ‘’Enough!’’ The king screams. ‘’Escort her out. Now!’’ He yells. You make a mocking little bow before leaving with the guards to the gardens.

#house of the dragon #aemond targaryen #dark aemond targaryen #house of the dragon fanfiction #dark aemond targaryen x oc #darkfantasy #Aemond targaryen #Aemond one eye fanfiction #Pillarsofsaltandsand #Aegon II Targaryen X OC

15 notes · View notes