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toshidou · 2 years

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lighthouse for a lost comrade . . .

Pairing // Simon 'Ghost' Riley x Reader

Word count // 4.9k

Tags // 18+ ONLY, AFAB reader, soft simon riley, written from simon's perspective, mild descriptions of injury and blood, hurt and comfort, aka simon finally allows himself to be looked after <3, he is a big boy with a heart that yearns to be loved you cannot convince me otherwise, the softest of smut, praise, you accidentally give ghost a 'sir' kink, reader calls ghost sir a couple of times because they're hot like that, unprotected sex (tut tut), creampie, a whole lot of swearing

AN // i love this man a ridiculous amount, so me writing nearly 5k about how much i love him was inevitable

AO3 link here

Simon Riley is not a man who cares about his own health. In fact, his wellbeing never has, and never will be a priority to him. He has work to do, gruelling, gritty, gruesome work, it is beyond pointless wasting time even thinking about when he last had more than 3 hours sleep, or how long it’s been since he consumed anything other than cold military rations. In his defence, he’s never really had a reason to give a shit, he sees the hourglass whenever he allows himself to close his eyes; watches the sand slip rapidly through the cracks, counting down until his inevitable, most likely painful death. He’s living life on a timer, and he’s never had a reason to change that.

Until he met you.

You were a wide-eyed rookie, Laswell bringing you into the fold as a technician, a skilled hacker and mechanic who despite your innocent doe eyes, held lethal talents. He remembers so vividly, the way your head had cocked to the side as Laswell introduced you to the peculiar members of task force 141, remembers the way your eyes stopped on him. You showed not a single ounce of fear or hesitance, just pure unbridled curiosity. That same curiosity led you to asking him far too many questions, relentlessly prying to see more of the man behind the mask, to see Simon Riley, rather than ‘Ghost’. It should have pissed him off, he should have reprimanded you for your callousness towards your Lieutenant, but somehow you knew exactly which questions to ask, knew exactly when to stop and move on to other subjects.

Contrary to popular belief, Simon doesn’t hide his past, doesn’t try to use it to fuel the mysterious and mythical reputation he’s unwittingly built. It’s just that no one ever asks. Maybe it’s something about the skull mask, or the egregiously high kill count he sits so casually on top of that has people wary of ever approaching him. But you—you had no hesitation. You read him like a goddamn book every single time, and it simultaneously terrified and relieved him.

One glance and every secret he shoved behind his balaclava is left bare before you, leaving him with a vulnerable, gaping wound in the shape of a lifetime of trauma and tales that Simon knows no person should ever have to experience. And yet, your eyes hold not an ounce of pity, no awkward silences attempting to be alleviated with an awkward pat on the back and a “that sounds rough, buddy”. You see his past, his pain, his suffering, his bad habits, without him ever having to explicitly say anything. And in return, you say nothing. You don’t try and mollify him about circumstances he’s moved on from long ago, you make no effort to coddle him, to sit him down and patronisingly ask him if he’s doing well, or when the last time he slept was.

Instead, you leave him cutely packaged leftovers on his doorstep, easy meals he can throw in the microwave when he’s too tired to even comprehend making food. You buy him a multitude of jigsaws and puzzles for when sleep evades him as it so often does. You never once try to change him, never force yourself into his life just so you can claim that you’re some selfless martyr. To Simon Riley, you are nothing short of a blessing, and falling in love with you was quite frankly the easiest thing he’s ever done.

He takes off the mask for the first time when neither of you were prepared, nor expecting it. The mission had been so fucking rough, camped out in the middle of nowhere on the hunt for someone he was sure had long since gone. Weeks spent trudging through thick mud, swimming upriver, tracking footprints that led nowhere, steered them to no one. His bone-deep exhaustion finally caught up with him after being shot in the leg and falling nearly 75 metres off of a cliff, plunging into the water below. Price had insisted he go straight to the medic tent back at basecamp, but then simply sighed and shook his head, resigned, as he watched Simon limp off the chopper, and in the exact opposite direction.

To most, this would be the latest example of Simon Riley once again disregarding his health for the sake of keeping up the stoic, strong mask he never let slip. Yet this time, Simon Riley was not disregarding his health, he was, for maybe the first time, trying to preserve what little of it he had left. His leg was near numb by the time he made it to your tent, his foggy mind quickly soothed by the sound of you humming along to the radio, accompanied by the rapid clicking of keys as you worked on some coding. It takes him hissing in discomfort as he attempts to remove his military boots for you to turn around, eyes going impossibly wide as you watch an alarmingly large pool of red grow at his feet.

“Jesus Christ Ghost, are you trying to redecorate my floor?” He kept his mouth shut, using the last dregs of his energy to keep his gaze pinned on you, dark brown irises following your every move as you usher him into the chair you occupied merely seconds before, gingerly hovering your hands over the drenched material that clings to his thigh, soaked in blood and water.

“I’m going to cut the material above the wound, okay? I need to see what I’m working with here.” Your eyes connect with his unwavering gaze, translating his silence into a language that has taken you an eerily short period of time to become fluent in. He watches you nod to yourself, can pinpoint the cogs turning in your mind, can practically see you write the list of how best to deal with this situation as you unpack your first aid kit. Somehow, despite his leg stinging like a bitch, despite how utterly worn he feels, so raw and rough around the edges, he feels at peace.

Price may think he was a stupid bastard for not seeing one of their trained medics, but Simon knows without a doubt that you will always be the best thing for him, you will always be the first port of call, the lighthouse that guides him oh so safely to shore, to home. Even when your stitches are a little uneven, even when you dab a little too much alcohol disinfectant onto his wound, even when you wince every time the muscle in his leg twitches involuntarily, he watches you pour every ounce of care and tenderness into every touch, watches you take care of him in a way no one else ever could, not that he’d let them.

You’re finishing off wrapping up the wound on his thigh when Simon realises he doesn’t want this moment to be over. He selfishly craves more of your delicate, gentle care, unsure if he could ever have this again after tonight, if he deserved it.

So, he waits. He waits for you to lean back on your haunches, bending back to check your handiwork with a satisfied smile tugging at your pretty lips. He waits for your eyes to drift to his, as they so often do, and then he speaks.

“I uh, I got hurt here too,” The words grate against his throat like sandpaper, rough and unsure as he lifts his hand to prod at his cheek, “think I hit a rock in the water after falling.” You stand immediately, eyebrows furrowed together as your fingers gently brush the small rip in his mask.

“I can’t see much with this in the way, Ghost, though I think you’ll live.”

Simon couldn't pinpoint exactly what had his fingers hooking under his mask, couldn’t single it down to any particular moment or word that had him pulling the black material over his chin, and up past his nose, he just knew it felt right. All he focused on was the way your lips fell agape, how your hands lifted automatically towards his wrists, whether to stop them or encourage them further he didn’t know, but he sure as fuck clocked the slight tilt to your head, taking him immediately back to when you first laid eyes on him.

You were looking at Simon in a way he can’t say he’s ever experienced. Like a complicated mixture of guilt and awe. But he feels no fear, no regret as he throws the skull balaclava unceremoniously onto the floor, and directly into the pool of blood he’d left by the door.

“Should be a little easier to see now, don’t you think?”

All he gets in return is a small huff of a laugh, the ghost of your breath fanning across his exposed face, he swears he’s never felt anything as sweet. That is until your hand comes to cup his face, shudders erupting down his spine when the pads of your impossibly soft fingers brush just under the superficial cut on his cheek.

“I don’t know Si, I think we might have to amputate.” You murmur, an overly dramatic lilt to your voice as you pretend to further examine the ‘wound’. And Jesus fucking Christ, if he isn’t so impossibly, incredibly fond of you.

“That bad, huh doc?” He leans forward, just enough to catch the way your pupils dilate, the slight hitch to your usually even breath, “Are you sure there’s nothing you can do to save it? I’m particularly fond of that cheek.” He drinks in the soft hum you give in response, watches you with rapt attention as you lean further forward, and nearly passes the fuck out when you press your lips to his upper cheekbone, because what the fuck.

Before this, Simon Riley could say with absolute certainty that he’d never once blushed in his life, but now? He could feel the blood rushing to his face, knowing without a doubt that you could feel the heat radiating from where your fingers and lips remain connected to his skin. His wide eyes, blackened around the sockets from a mixture of paint and week-long exhaustion, remain firmly fixed on you, hardly hesitating before he secures your hand against his face the second he feels you pulling away.

There are no words exchanged, nothing but shallow breaths and searching eyes before Simon allows himself to be selfish just this once and pulls you onto his uninjured thigh, guiding you to sit with his other hand, fingers digging ever so slightly into the meat of your hip. And now he has you here, right where he’s always wanted you, there’s not a chance in hell he’s ever letting you go.

“Please kiss me, Simon.”

As if he could ever say no to you.

“Since you asked so nicely.”

He removes his hand from your wrist, dragging his scarred knuckles as delicately as he possibly can across your cheek, fanning out his fingers around the side of your face, using the leverage to guide you impossibly closer. He allows himself one last look, tracing his gaze from your lidded eyes to your lips before he lets his eyelids fall shut, and loses himself in you. Loses every ounce of tension and exhaustion under the ministrations of your fingers as they tangle into his hair, and finally, fucking finally, he feels his once cold, dead heart thrum to life as you sigh contentedly against his lips. Kiss of life in-fucking-deed.

He's lost in every inch of you, can’t get over how soft and warm the plush of your waist is under his fingers, how responsive you are when he slides his hand ever so slightly under your oversized t-shirt. He wants more, he needs more, can’t help himself as he moves his kisses from your lips, down your jaw, until he reaches the base of your throat, sucking deep purple bruises into your supple skin.

“You taste like heaven,” He’s all too aware of how raspy his voice has become, desire only deepening his tone further as he drags his lips back up the expanse of your throat, a deep groan pulled from his throat when he feels you shift on his lap, highlighting the growing pressure of his cock straining against his pants. “Driving me fuckin’ wild already. Look what you’ve done to me, gorgeous.” His fingers come to curl under your jaw, directing your gaze down to the prominent tenting of his trousers, ensuring his eyes don’t dare drift away from your face as he watches you take in the view before you.

“Mine.”

The noise Simon makes in response is nothing short of primal, it wasn’t a sound he was even aware he could make, near guttural, but of course you would be the one to pull it out of him.

“That’s right baby, all yours, fucking hell,” he’s powerless to stop his eyes squeezing shut when he feels your fingers curl around his clothed cock, mustering every ounce of strength he has left not to cum in his pants there and then, because he’ll be fucking damned if he lets anything get in the way of giving you the pleasure you deserve.

“Come on Si, look at me.” He takes a deep, shuddering breath before he finally opens his eyes again, instantly zeroing in on your fingers as they begin to unfasten his pants, before flicking back up to meet your gaze, “Is this okay?”, your voice tentative.

“More than okay, Jesus,” Simon wastes little time after that, hands sliding under your shirt and shifting further up your torso, muscles freezing when his hand contacts nothing but bare skin, grazing the flesh of your breasts.

“No bra? Lucky me.” You laugh, arching your back further into his touch.

“More like lucky me, those things are basically torture devices, Simon, I’d like to see you try and work with metal wire and straps digging into your boobs and back,” He grins, pinching one of your nipples between two of his calloused fingers and revelling in the way your smirk twists into a moan, hips twitching against the rough material of his cargo pants.

“I think it’s about time you took these off,” He mutters, one hand dropping to thumb under the waistband of your sweatpants, “Can’t tell you the number of times I’ve thought about how pretty you’d look getting yourself off on my lap.” Apparently, Simon doesn’t need to say anymore, watching with intense eyes as you pull away from his grip, and begin undressing. Your top joins his mask on the floor, soon followed by your pants and underwear until you’re stood in all your naked glory, mere inches away from him. Simon must be the luckiest son of a bitch on this entire fucking planet.

He takes advantage of your absence by lifting his hips, cocking an eyebrow at you as he gestures towards his trousers, “Give an injured soldier a hand, would you doll?” Truthfully, Simon knows he would have no issues removing them himself, but why would he do that when he can have this instead? When he can have your body pressed in between his thighs, your deft hands undoing his buttons and sliding the material of his military pants slowly over his wrapped-up leg, when he can watch your eyes drink in every inch of new skin revealed with barely contained desire. No, he would much rather have this, especially when your dainty hands peel away his boxers, leaving him only in his top and vest plate.

“Simon…” You whine, your lips so perfectly pouted, a cute little furrow between your brows as you pull and tug at various parts of his vest, “help me take this shit off. It’s not fair that I’m the only one naked here.” He hums, schools his face to show careful contemplation, reaching up a hand to rest on your bare upper thigh.

“What’s the magic word, sweetheart?”

“Please, sir.”

Well fuck. That awakened something within him.

With military precision, he unsecured the armoured vest from his body, wasting no time in pulling his shirt over his head, joining the now large pile of clothes left scattered across the floor of your tent. For a brief second, Simon feels so incredibly vulnerable under your intense gaze, wondering if maybe this is how people feel when he fixes his stare upon them, bare and defenceless. But then you lower yourself back into his lap, settling across both his legs with such gentle care, wrapping both your arms around the back of his head and pinning him with a look he thinks most likely reflects his own.

“You’re so beautiful, Simon,” It’s almost too much, the sincerity in your voice mixed with the way the words were uttered so softly into the air, as though they were a secret only to be shared between the two of you.

“I’m nothing compared to you.” You shake your head, smiling, leaning forward until your nose brushes his.

“Just take the compliment, Lieutenant.” He tries his best not to shiver as he feels your hand trace down his spine, instead shifts his focus onto how close your lips are to his, or the quiet noise you make in the back of your throat as his hands come to grip the meat of your thighs.

“Yes, ma’am.”

Something in the air changes, as though the collective patience between the two of you could stretch no further, so taut it had no choice but to snap. His lips crash into yours, desperation surging through Simon’s veins like wildfire. Fuck, what are you doing to him?

“Can I touch you?” he mumbles against your lips, large hands aching from where they rest, yearning the feeling of your wet heat against his fingertips.

“God, yes, please.”

With newfound strength, he lifts you from his lap and twists you until your back is flush to his chest, uncaring of the twinge of pain he feels from his leg as he settles you fully on his lap. Now, Simon has full access to every inch of your perfect body, nuzzling his face into the side of your neck as he litters the skin with open mouthed kisses, humming contentedly at the way you arch into his hands as he cups your breasts with both hands, fingers toying with your nipples until they’re perked and firm under his touch.

“No teasing, please,” Your pleading breaks him from a momentary stupor, bringing his head up to watch as you place one of your hands over his, guiding it further down, sweeping over your sternum, past your belly button, until his palm rests over your cunt, “I need you here, Simon.”

Fucking hell.

He couldn't find the words, couldn’t articulate them even if he had any. So, instead of speaking, he presses his hand over the curve of your cunt, groans when he feels just how hot and wet you are, all for him.

“Mine.” He repeats your words from earlier into the shell of your ear, a smirk stretching onto his lips at the full body shiver you give in response, growing near predatory when he feels your pussy twitch under his hand. God, how the fuck are you so wet? His fingers glide over your folds with ease, teasing your clit on every upwards swipe of his fingers, and when he finally dips his index finger into your cunt, he’s rewarded with the sweetest symphony. Breathy whines and whispered pleas of “more”, “deeper, Simon, please”, every request he happily indulges, now curling two fingers against your velvet walls, searching for the spot he knows will have you keening against his body. It takes a shift of his palm, the angle changing just enough to have you choking on a gasp, his other hand remains fixed to your breasts, pushing your chest down until you’re pinned against his body.

“Atta girl, feels good huh?” He slips a third digit in, cursing under his breath as he feels your pussy clamp down, twitching helplessly around his fingers as they continue to stroke relentlessly at your g-spot, “Gonna need you to cum at least once on my fingers before I give you anything else, baby.” He dares to steal a glance at your face, and is met with closed eyes, your mouth agape, and head thrown back onto his shoulder, you’re nothing short of a masterpiece. Your hands desperately grip onto his arms, nails digging sweet red crescents into Simon’s inked skin, as though the hold you have on him is the only thing keeping you grounded, and he feels positively fucking drunk on it.

You’re close, that much he can tell, and as much as he could absolutely keep you like this on his lap for another good few hours, he takes pity on your furrowed eyebrows and soft whimpers, removing his hand from your chest and placing his thumb into your open mouth. He doesn’t even need to instruct you as you close your lips around his digit and suck, your tongue eagerly lapping at the rough pad of his finger. He doesn’t have the strength to leave it there for much longer, overly aware of the way his cock desperately twitches from where it’s trapped between your bodies, instead focusing on the way you react the second his spit slicked thumb begins to rub tight circles around your clit.

“Si-, fuck, Simon ‘m close, so close, wanna cum,” There was never any other option for him than to watch you fall apart on his lap, but if he somehow needed further encouragement, “Please Sir, please make me cum.” It would be entirely impossible for him to stop the moan your words drag from his throat, to think of anything other than giving you your release. It’s obvious when your orgasm hits, having to stop toying with your now engorged clit to instead pin your hips down, worried there was a chance you might fall to the side if he didn’t keep you grounded.

“Good girl, such a good fucking girl, made such a mess of my fingers baby,” Simon hums against the side of your head, slowing his ministrations until he’s lazily fingering your still spasming pussy, drawing out the sweet sounds of post-orgasm sensitivity from your spit-shining lips. He waits until you finally regain some form of lucidity, waits until your neck straightens, no longer lolled against his collarbone to finally withdraw his fingers, soothing your whines at his absence with kisses to your jaw. But he makes sure your eyes are locked with his when he brings his fingers to his own lips, ensures you’re watching with nothing less than rapt attention as he cleans every drop of your arousal from his skin.

“Taste fuckin’ divine, princess.” Your head tips forward into your hands with a groan, and Simon couldn’t hide his pleased grin even if he tried.

“You’re not allowed to be this hot,” Your words muffled into your palm, the Ghost’s heart rate spiking when you looked at him shyly through your fingers, affection surging through his bloodstream like a shot of pure adrenaline. “Especially when I can feel your cock pressed against my ass.” As if he needed the reminder, as if that singular thought hasn’t been plaguing him for the past 10 minutes.

“And what exactly are you going to do about that, darling?”

His words were meant to make you shy, were said to watch those sweet eyes of yours widen. Except, Simon realises, he must have awoken something within you, something bold, something utterly fucking debauched, because instead of shying away, you lock your eyes with his, rising to the challenge he set. You stand up, turn yourself around, climb back onto his lap and sink down onto his cock in one fluid motion.

“Fucking-, shit, what the fuck,”

“I think that works for both of us, right, Simon?” You need to stop, or you at least need to give him some time to adjust to whatever the fuck it is you’re doing right now. He can tell you’re far from unaffected, however. The slight quiver to your voice, and the way the slick walls of your pussy clench greedily around him show at least that much. And yet, you’re pinning him with a fierce gaze, your fingers forming an iron grip on loose brown hair at the base of his skull, using him as leverage to grind your hips in circular motions. “Let me take care of you, handsome.” His response cut off by a groan as you begin to fuck yourself on his cock, his eyes frantically flicking from where your cunt swallows every inch of his shaft, back up to your heavy-lidded gaze, locked onto his as you effortlessly ride his cock.

So instead of trying to take the lead, to lift his hips to meet yours, for the first time ever, Simon Riley does as he’s told. He allows you to control the pace, lets you direct his hands to your waist, but doesn’t use it as a point of control. Instead he caresses your skin with rough fingers. He lets you take care of him. And God, does it feel good.

He lets his head fall back, lets his eyes slip closed, and allows himself to just exist in this moment with you. A luxury he hasn’t been able to afford for far too long. Instead, he focuses on the sounds dissipating into the air around your joined bodies, the soft pants and moans that spill from both his mouth and yours, the rhythmic slap of skin on skin combined with the slick noise of his cock fucking into your heat, and if he focuses hard enough, he swears he can hear the rapid beating of your heart where your chest is pressed flush to his.

“C’mon Simon, baby, look at me.” It takes an embarrassing amount of energy for Simon to lift his neck up, refocusing his gaze onto you, “You’re doing so well, letting me look after you like this.” And fuck, he doesn’t want to cry, can’t remember the last time he allowed himself the comfort of crying, but he feels so unequivocally safe around you. Still, the time for tears will come later, right now, Simon wants nothing more than to feel you lose yourself on his cock. He secures his hands on your ass, and stands, ignoring your surprised cries and worried scolding, and walks as best he can towards the mattress near your desk. He doesn’t want to admit that lowering you both down onto the cheap material nearly left him breathless, and he definitely won’t admit that you were right, he didn’t have the strength to do that. But now that he has you lying on top of him, cock still buried deep inside of you, he knows the pain was more than worth it. Because in this position, he can ground his feet into the mattress and focus on fucking you like you deserve.

He ignores the sting of pain in his thigh, no doubt ruining some of the stitching you had done earlier, but he couldn’t give less of a shit. Not when you’re mewling into his chest, nails scratching long, thin pink lines down the expanse of his chest as he fucks his hips ruthlessly up to meet yours. He knows he won’t last much longer, you feel too fucking good, and he has no strength to hold back, praying that you’re as close as he is as he snakes one hand down to toy with your clit once again. Relief washing over him when he feels your cunt clench like a vice around his length, allows himself one, two more thrusts of his hips before he finally reaches his peak, cock twitching like a heartbeat from where it’s buried within you, not moving until the last weak spurts of cum finish painting your cervix white.

“Fucking hell,” with his energy long since depleted, his body slumps into the mattress below, dragging you down with him, his arms still wrapped securely around your form.

“That good, huh?” You grin up at him, eyes glinting in the low light. You look positively stunning.

“You know it, sweetheart,” Simon pauses, looks down at where you’re still sprawled against his chest, and silently thanks the motherfucker who decided to shoot him in the first place, he’s not sure if he would have ever gathered the strength to have you like this, in the way he always craved. “C’mere, I want cuddles.” He grunts, choosing to ignore the surprised laugh you give in response, says nothing at your incessant teasing and light threats to tell Soap that “oh my god, Ghost likes cuddles”.

He does none of that, instead, he holds you close, stares up at the ceiling as you bury your face into his neck, whispering sweet confessions into his skin, words he soaks up and saves for a rainy day. Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley has never been a man to care about his own health, even now he still sees that damn hourglass, unsure of how much sand remains. But now he has a reason to change that.

Now, he has you.

#☁︎⋅writing #simon riley #simon 'ghost' riley #ghost mw2 #simon riley x reader #simon riley x you #cod mw22 #simon riley smut #simon riley imagine #ghost x reader #ghost x you #dear lord #this derailed so quick #i wanted soft ghost #i got soft ghost plus nearly 2k of soft ghost smut #i ruined myself #anyway enjoy SLDFS

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wttcsms · 9 months

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balancing act ; satoru gojo.

pairing satoru gojo x f!reader word count 3.9k synopsis gojo bets that he can get you to fall in love in three months, and you bet that he can't go three months with staying committed to one person and not bang them. neither of you plan on losing. content contains modern no curses!au, mentions of sex and vulgar language (but no smut yet), simp gojo <3 author’s notes i plan on wrapping things up quickly this time around, so i have five parts planned for this mini series!

Satoru Gojo is used to a wide array of reactions to any of his antics: awe (the summer analyst, Miwa, always stares at him like he himself is the one who created the stock market), irritation (Nanami is rarely ever in agreement with the comments Gojo leaves on his work), lust (Gojo gives just as much he receives because he’s benevolent like that — his words, of course).

But he’s not quite used to being laughed at.

He’s handsome, and he knows it, a deadly combination for any man because Shoko claims that all men are born with an astonishing amount of audacity and it only ever grows as they get older. Satoru brings up the fact that Shoko technically cheated her way through med school, and that any doctor worth her degree wouldn’t get onto patients while lighting up a cigarette of all things, but Shoko is equally stubborn and audacious as any man, and it just makes her a worthy opponent to get into arguments with.

Being attractive and arrogant isn’t enough to keep him from suffering mild humiliation from time to time, though. The reason why Satoru doesn’t get embarrassed is because the world is unfair, so he happens to be born rich and smart enough and talented enough to just keep on getting richer. Even he is entirely aware of his privilege, but he’s got the type of personality that would be endearing even if he wasn’t hot, so everyone loves him.

And you don’t hate him, he knows that. He also knows that you don’t love him, which is fine, because it’s not your love, or awe, or irritation, or lust (okay, maybe some lust would be nice) that Satoru wants from you. He just wants you for you, your honesty and whatever scraps of yourself that you toss to him.

Today’s scraps are your laughter, which rings through the whole entire office, singing above the noisy clacks of keys being smashed by the analysts and the whirring of the printer shooting out hundreds of pages a minute. He feels a warmth spread from his stomach to his chest and maybe it even rises up to his neck, he’s not so sure. He should feel slightly embarrassed, he thinks, to have said something seriously only for you to find comedy in it, but he doesn’t. He just feels pleased with himself for making you laugh, like he’s done something great.

“You are so full of shit, Gojo.” You’re still smiling, even though you’re not bothering to look at him anymore. Your attention is now focused on the report one of the analysts has turned into you, and from the lack of comments you’re leaving, he assumes it’s Megumi’s work.

“I was being serious, y’know.” Satoru’s more than tall enough to see over the cubicles, especially when he’s standing up, and he leans over it, his head and upper body leaning into your personal desk space. The cubicles don’t do jack shit for privacy, anyway, so he doesn’t feel bad when you complain that he’s invading your privacy. If it was privacy that you craved, you wouldn’t have three monitors raised, each of them displaying a jumble of numbers and words that Satoru doesn’t care about.

“So was I.” You tell him.

Just thirty minutes ago, you walked into the office with a quad shot espresso, unceremoniously plopped your Longchamp tote onto the floor, and dramatically sighed to get your desk neighbor’s attention. Utahime is always a good sport when it comes to your antics but doesn’t bother extending the same courtesy to Satoru, which he considers to be very unfair considering that he’s technically everyone’s boss. It is his name that’s displayed on the side of the building, and his private equity firm that he’s built up alongside Suguru.

“What happened this time?” Utahime asks you, like the good sport she is. Satoru, at that time, was pretending not to eavesdrop even though he is, because he’s a nosy bastard.

“I hate men.” You say, leaning back in your chair. “He left me for someone nice.”

The way you say it lets him — and Utahime, who is actually the person you’re talking to — know that that nice was a direct quote from your ex.

Utahime furrows her brows, looking confused. “But you are nice.”

Debatable, is what Satoru wants to say, but he’s remaining silent so he can get the full story out of you first.

“No. I’m a workaholic with no personality outside of my fancy finance job.”

Ouch.

Satoru doesn’t see an issue with you, though. So what, you’re hardworking and focused? He thinks it’s kinda hot to see someone with so much ambition and discipline. He wouldn’t have hired you if you were anything less.

“He’s just insecure.” Utahime says, soft voice trying to soothe you, even though Satoru hears the familiar sound of your manicure typing in your login details to your computer. He knows it’s silly to think he can tell the difference between your typing and anyone else’s, and he doesn’t want to think too hard about what that could possibly mean when it comes to defining his feelings for you.

“You said the same thing about my last three exes, and they all said similar things about me.” Satoru can’t see either of you from this angle, but he’s certain that you’re opening up your emails right about now. The conversation is coming to a close, and he needs to start focusing on his own tasks, but then you say something interesting, practically baiting him to come out of his office.

“I’ve decided that from this point forward, I am swearing off men.”

Utahime laughs. “You can’t just swear off all men because of a few bad ones.”

“Not forever.” You clarify. “Just for the time being. All the men I’ve dealt with in Tokyo suck.”

On paper, all your exes are fantastic catches. There’s the surgeon (who found you to be too independent), the professor (who thought you were too busy to give him the attention he needed), the hedge fund associate (who thought that he liked smart girls, but apparently, not ones smarter than him), and your newest ex, the investment banker. The irony isn’t lost on anyone — an investment banker criticizing someone for being a workaholic obsessed with the prestige of their finance career? If he was going to scramble for an excuse to want to see other people, he should have chosen some other cliche line instead of using the same one someone else must have said to him.

“What’s this about men in Tokyo?” Satoru strolls up to the divider between you and Utahime, hands in his pockets, pretending that he hasn’t been listening to the entirety of your conversation from the very beginning.

“That all of them suck.” You say, with that unwavering confidence he likes.

“I’m a man in Tokyo.” He’s grinning.

“Yeah. I stand by what I said.” You’re not even being courteous enough to look at him, still focused on whatever email is on your screen.

His grin only grows wider.

“Maybe all the men you’ve been with are subpar, but I bet I could change your mind.”

“Is this even appropriate for work?” Utahime interjects.

“If it’ll make my dear employee Utahime happy, I can grab someone from HR to supervise this conversation.” Satoru says.

“It’s a trap.” You tell her, lips curling up in a smile that lets him know you’re going to say something very mean and probably true about him. “He’s already broken protocol with everyone who works there.”

“You’re very disrespectful to your boss. Anyone else would have fired you on the spot.” Satoru only pretends to be wounded by your comments, but everyone knows that he’s as good at taking it as he is at dishing it out. Sometimes, it’s easy to forget that Satoru owns this firm because he’s not very good at professionalism himself.

Utahime mutters something under her breath, deciding not to engage further in whatever it is the two of you are doing.

“So, whaddya say? Wanna test out your ‘all men in Tokyo suck’ theory with me?” He knows this teasing won’t go anywhere, even if he wants it to. You’re good at your job, and you’re good at being a professional. Somehow, he doesn’t think you would consider fucking your boss as something very professional.

“I would, but I have standards.”

Satoru wants to make a snide comment about all the guys who have dumped you, but he can’t, because it’s already been established that they’re not just decent by regular standards, but stellar. Rich, successful, well educated men who could probably make you cum.

Well, Satoru is richer, more successful, and more educated than all of them combined, he thinks. And he would gladly make you cum like crazy, if you let him.

“C’mon, what’s wrong with me?”

“Promise I won’t get fired if I’m being honest?” You turn your desk chair, looking up at him with mock doe eyes, and the sight shouldn’t be both endearing and hot to him, but it is.

“Give me your worst.” He tells you, both of you smiling at the challenge.

“I don’t give anything of myself to a man who can’t even bother to commit to anyone.”

Of course, you have a point. Satoru’s not known for dating anyone. He takes women out on extravagant dates, yes, but he doesn’t actually practice the act of dating.

He doesn’t see a point to it. Most people, save for his friends (a bit weird to consider some of his closest companions are actually his employees), see beyond his shiny veneer, and dating would just complicate things. Dating means someone seeing the duller, not-so-great parts of himself.

“I could commit if it’s you.”

The way he says it, without that familiar teasing lilt of his, makes you burst out laughing. He really is trying to commit… to the bit, that is. For a moment, Satoru almost tricks you into thinking he’s serious.

“You are so full of shit, Gojo.”

You’re focused on your work, not the momentary hurt look that disappears from his face as quickly as it came.

“Don’t be such a pessimist.” He tells you. “I bet I could make you believe in love again.”

“Who said I didn’t believe in love?” You frown at that. “I just don’t believe that the men in this city are capable of it.”

“Bonus season is upon us.” Satoru says, suddenly having a bright idea. He’s so rich that his wealth seems to be an extension of himself, and like all other parts of his body and mind, he uses it to his advantage.

“Ugh, don’t tell me this conversation is going to affect my bonus check. I really will go to HR, then.”

“I’ll double your bonus pay if you let me court you for three months.”

“Court me?” You’re laughing at him again. He eats it up, savors it, lets it settle on his tongue and warm his insides.

“If you’re so convinced I’d be horrible and only prove you right, wouldn’t you jump at the chance to make some easy money?”

He’s trying to bait you into accepting; you know it. You also know that nothing from Gojo comes easy. He makes it entirely too convenient to forget that he’s razor sharp and cutthroat, the things he needs to be in order to remain on top of the finance scene, but he’s always joking, always teasing, that it feels like he almost doesn’t like being taken seriously.

“Like I said, I don’t deal with men with commitment issues.”

There was a brief moment in time where you considered going out with Gojo. The two of you have always been rotating in the same social circles, way back to your high school and university days. You don’t shame him for having casual sex because Gojo is genuinely sweet when he wants to be, and you know that everyone he’s ever fucked has done so more than willingly, probably too eagerly. They all get broken up over the fact that Gojo never wants to actually enter into a relationship with them, and it’s probably because they chose not to take him seriously. He has a bad habit of spitting out the truth but presenting it like some sort of joke. A guy shouldn’t take you out to a nice dinner and make you cum twice before even thinking about himself if he doesn’t want a girl to fall in love with him.

For as long as you’ve known Gojo, he’s never dated once. Never a high school sweetheart or a tumultuous college relationship bound for disappointment and a messy breakup. Even now, he doesn’t follow the example of the other men in positions of power like him, who pursue doe-eyed college girls to shower with affection and trap into manipulative relationships.

He’s cute and funny and would treat you right, but you can’t deal with the embarrassment of having someone only for one night or two, only to have them do the same thing they did with you, just with someone else. It would feel like a mockery. Your pride doesn’t give you room to give in to Gojo’s charm.

“Is that really your only stipulation?” He shrugs, like this is something insignificant, and you’re being so silly. “I’ll stay committed to you for the entire duration of the bet.”

You narrow your eyes. “You need to keep your dick wet at all times. I’m pretty sure you die if you don’t get off at least once a day.”

Utahime coughs, but it sounds too much like a laugh.

“True, but I bet you’d be great at keeping me alive.”

Oh, he is definitely getting sent to HR.

“So you want me to believe in love, and you’re convinced you can do this by the time bonus season rolls around, which is only three months.” You’re entering business mode, rearranging the facts and coming up with strategies in your head. Satoru never thought that someone thinking could be so attractive, but here he is, and here you are.

“I’ll agree to participate, but only if you can handle what I consider to be proper courting.”

“What does that consist of?” He’s got you, hook, line, and sinker. There’s nothing Satoru Gojo cannot accomplish. He’s built up his own wildly successful private equity firm, doubling his family’s fortune. He graduated top of his class. He gives every girl he’s ever been with consecutive, mind blowing orgasms using just his tongue and two fingers. There’s nothing you could possibly say that his natural talents and money can’t handle.

“No sex. No kissing. No touching.” You lean back in your chair, looking far too smug.

“Done.”

He doesn’t even have to think about agreeing, but you falter, just for a second.

“Really?”

“Why are you looking at me like that?”

“It’s not just you saying no to sex with me, but sex in general.” You pause, trying to spot when the realization of the severity of his situation is. When he doesn’t give you a reaction, just still continuing to tilt his head in mild amusement, you continue. “You can’t flirt or take anyone else on a date, and you definitely can’t fuck them, either.”

“Yes, I’m aware.”

“You’re going to regret this.” You huff, certain that Gojo is dumber than you thought. He might think this is all fun and games now, but when he’s pent up and unable to get off, you’re certain you’re going to receive a text from him forfeiting the bet altogether. It shouldn’t bother you that he acts like your addition to the bet is easy, because his failure means your pockets get fatter, but it’s no fun playing games when someone isn’t ready to fully play to win.

“Hmm. We’ll see.” He says, shoving his hands in his pockets. “Make sure to finish going over all the analysts’ slide decks because I’m taking you out tomorrow night.”

The timer for the bet starts tomorrow, then.

Satoru thinks it’s cute that you thought you had him there, dangling sex like he’s some barbarian who can’t survive without it. Sure, fucking is fun, and sure, you’re definitely denying yourself of some of the greatest experiences you could have had, but he uses his brain more than his dick.

If any girl is worth going celibate for, it’d be you.

Sitting in his office, he can’t concentrate on his work. He doesn’t know why it bothers him so much that you think not having access to your body would be enough to turn him away. Either you really do think he’s a sex addict, or the men you’ve been with aren’t as great as they appear to be. It’s probably a mixture of both, but this conclusion doesn’t make him any happier.

Neither does having Suguru saunter into his office, without knocking. Just walks in, like he owns the place. And with his fifty-percent ownership of the firm, and his last name right next to Gojo’s on the building, he kind of does.

“HR is going to have a field day with you,” his best friend says in exchange for a greeting. Satoru would have preferred a hello.

“HR is in charge of the payroll that I fund,” is Satoru’s retort.

“Only you would force an employee into a childish bet instead of asking her out like a normal person.”

“Didn’t force her.” Satoru conveniently doesn’t acknowledge the latter half of his statement.

“Didn’t really give her much choice, either.” Suguru smiles. “Shit, even I’d deal with your ass for two hundred grand more.”

“Well, unfortunately for you, I’m committed to one woman only.”

“God help her.” And then, after taking a second to think, Suguru continues. “Actually, if He really cared, He wouldn’t have kept leading her to the same places as you.”

“Maybe I’m her blessing.”

No one in the office knows why Suguru is laughing so hard behind Gojo’s closed door.

“There’s no way this is legal,” Utahime tells you, taking a sip out of her iced matcha latte before continuing on her half-lecture/half-rant. “Gojo needs to be behind bars.”

A bit dramatic, all things considered. It’s not like Gojo’s comments even make the list for sleazy things male coworkers have said to you before, and you’re not entirely innocent, either. You like to poke and prod at him because it’s fun, and you know that Gojo can take it.

Utahime does not respect Gojo, but she does like him enough to tolerate him. They’re like brother and sister, so much so that one time, someone made an offhand comment about how they should just fuck to get rid of their antagonism towards each other, and they both threw up because they were so disgusted.

“It is a bit inappropriate,” Nanami comments, and you know he’s right because when has Nanami ever been wrong?

Granted, Nanami must have been wrong sometime in his life. He started out with a similar background as everyone else working in the firm. He landed an internship and then a return offer in investment banking, despised it, pursued academia, and was halfway done with a PhD program in economics before he decided to come back and work for Gojo and Geto. He doesn’t tell anyone why he came back, and no one is close enough with him to ask and expect an honest answer.

Nanami having lunch with you is a treat because he prefers avoiding everyone in the office, so it almost feels like you’ve won a coveted prize, one to show off whenever you get back to the office. He likes to keep to himself, but even he’s only human. The interest in your little bet with Gojo is harbored by him, too, same as everyone else who’s heard about it.

You should feel embarrassed about having your life so publicly known, but finance is a small, incestual pool. Everyone working within it knows each other, has fucked each other, and will continue to exclusively hate and love only each other. It’s a bit cultish, if you think about it, so you try not to focus on the social aspects of the job.

“It’s not like I’m on his team or anything. I technically only handle deals managed by Geto.” You say this in defense of yourself, as if it changes the morality and ethics of the whole bet. It doesn’t, but the attempt doesn’t go unnoticed.

“Geto and Gojo are essentially two halves of the same whole.” Utahime replies. “Geto just has more public decency training.”

“You’re telling me that you can see Geto betting someone that he can make her fall in love with him in three months?”

“No. He’s not as audacious. I like Geto, he’s very cautious.” Nanami looks thoughtful for a second. “He would bet six months, just to be safe.”

Satoru knows that he’s screwed the moment you’re being introduced as the newest student in his class. School started two weeks ago, so everything’s already been settled. Everything important, that is, so the hottest girl in class has been established, along with who’s going to be relentlessly bullied, and who everyone is going to cheat off of. He has different routes mapped out for getting to class, depending on his mood and who he’s trying to avoid, along with a new secret hiding spot that he’s not going to share with anyone, except for Suguru, and maybe Shoko.

He likes that he’s already gotten all this shit dealt with so he can spend the rest of the year relaxing, but he’s watching you as you’re standing in front of the class, talking to the teacher and then introducing yourself.

The first thing he notices is that the ugly school uniforms are decidedly not ugly. He comes to this startling conclusion when the boxy, starchy white button-up shirt doesn’t look like cardboard on you, and that the gray wool of your skirt doesn’t wash you out.

The next thing he notices is that you speak differently than any of the other teenage girls he’s dealt with, save for Utahime and Shoko. Shoko has no issue with speaking her mind, and if Satoru presses enough buttons with enough pressure, he can get Utahime to curse like a sailor. He spaces his aggressions out accordingly, so that way when she does blow up in his face, she does it in the presence of an adult. You introduce yourself confidently; there is nothing shy or meek about you, even though standing in front of a bunch of disinterested teens — your strange new peers for the rest of your high school years — should be anxiety inducing.

Then, you take the empty seat next to him like it belongs to you, and Satoru is starting to think that maybe it does, that maybe it always has.

(Well, Suguru is sick today, that’s why the seat was available.)

Anyway, all of his carefully laid out plans are now tossed out the window. He needs to figure out what route you take to get around, and what the rest of your class schedule looks like, and maybe it’s just him, but the former hottest girl in school has now been demoted to second-best.

He feels a shift in the air, like the universe is trying to signal major change in his life, and rather than run away from it, Satoru settles into his seat, noticing how you’re not even giving him the time of day.

There’s an unfamiliar feeling rising inside of him; something that says you’re going to constantly knock him off-balance and—

—he kinda likes it.

#satoru gojo x you #satoru gojo x reader #gojo x reader #fluff #one shot #jjk x reader #smut #fic series: balancing act

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anantaru · 1 year

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— falling asleep on him

including kaveh, cyno, xiao, scaramouche x gn! reader

꒰ genre ꒱ — fluff, a little gossip bf! kuni, very in love and sweet

— kaveh

as it turned out, blurring into a deep, slovenly slumber against kaveh’s shoulder gave the impression away to be a significantly better option than perseveringly absorbing the little book situated on top of your thighs.

maybe, reclining yourself against kaveh for purely a couple of prosaic minutes wouldn‘t disorganize the 'to study' plan you had put in place for your upcoming exam.

one minute, two minutes, your eyes so substantial— they fall, a ponderous enervated energy dwindling into your tired muscles.

kaveh noticed when you sedately burrowed your cheek into his shoulder, your nostrils moderately flaring at each new breath taken.

forthwith, he registered that you had languishly snoozed away— on him, with the essential fragrance of your body being all the more discernible by him now.

how strangely comfortable.

a familiar atmosphere enshrouded into his skin when the weight of your body further leaned into his arm, perhaps he should‘ve warned you to take it slow today, after all it was clearly written all across your face that you were lacking a significant amount of sleep.

with a smile, one that extracted slowly, he began to move his hand.

kaveh was nervous, his eyes persevered on your sleeping frame with his breathing swiveling more accelerated, his kind heart blinded by you.

yet if you believe kaveh would rattle you awake you‘re wholly mistaken, rather was he unhurriedly pulling the heavy book off your thighs to replace the spot with a homey blanket which was located right next to him.

kaveh ensured he wouldn‘t do many gratuitous movements surrounding his body, the last thing he‘d want now was to accidentally stir you off your sleep and suffer from the consequences.

regardless of how you were curling yourself up into his entire arm now, your fingers pressing into his skin, kaveh— despite that, felt repentant for calmly slitheting his eyes over each and every corner of your face and how harmonious your presence had crumbled.

if he had to describe how you appeared in that moment, he‘d mention the calm sea, each wave— which symbolized your breathing, lulled by an unrushed, gentle resonance.

all the mildness on your face, like viscous honey, had captivated his scarlet eyes, breathing new life beneath him.

either way, shortly after you're naturally waking up, you distinguished something ponderous on top of your scalp, it being no other than kaveh who had dreamed away himself— his hand on top of yours when you decided to close your eyes once more, maintaining the tranquility.

— cyno

notwithstanding cyno's tragic humorless jokes, you in spite of that, had been doing your utmost best to pay attention to no matter what latest pun he'd come up with while soundlessly relaxing on top of his chest.

.. sluggishly following his serene heart beats.

nothing out of the habitual had happened to you today, yet time had passed and although cyno's voice had become much more impatient and exhilarated to further engage in usual idle chatter, your eyes surely weren't able to overcome the unforeseen tiredness worming itself into your consciousness.

bit by bit, your gaze softened and thoughts spiraled into exhaustion—with the blessing tone of cyno's utterance being ideally lenient, you meandered gently into your dreams, quiet and subdued, snoozing on top of his warm hearted chest.

"hey?" cyno lightheartedly pinched your shoulder, "that's the part where you're supposed to laugh."

huh, okay, by then he had nudged your skin another two times before strolling his eyes down eventually, instantly grasping onto what had happened to you.

"were my jokes really that bad today?" he's huffing out, deep in thought, but kept his voice low in a considerate manner as to not rustle you out of your sleep with force.

"oh, well, maybe they were."

cyno's heart fluttered at how calm your breathing sounded, how comfortable you were so close to him, to someone who most people in sumeru had been overly afraid of.

but not you, you knew your cyno and he was nothing but a sweetheart to you, a restful one at that. The certitude of you being vulnerable in front of him— just as you were right now within your current state, wheedled a proud smile out of him.

he was impossibly joyous by the little moment.

notably, he then discerned how you seemed a bit shaken with said condition most likely being the result of an open window across the room.

despite his solemnity in being fully elated by spending his time with you, cyno didn't view you falling asleep as bothersome, at all, it was a minor inconvenience that made it incapable for him to talk to you, that was about it.

so, now, he was pulling a blanket over both of your bodies and gave your frame an extra pull with his arms to gather you more close. You unconsciously let him and snoozed yourself into his frame, interlacing your legs around his.

"i think you were pleased by my jokes." he goes on and left another comment, "and that is the reason why you fell asleep."

over time, you'd realize that cyno had preferred this, the togetherness without vocalizing much, enjoying the unspeaking emotions.

his cheeks were sparkling with warmth, to have you this close, secured and protected, his continuous smile captivating as he too, decided to rest his eyes and join you.

— xiao

you belonged in different worlds and dissimilar obligations had to be fulfilled by both xiao and you, yet with the lack in similarities there still happened something unlikely in the end.

it being the virtues of love you shared, a pure kind, one that aided you like a medication, a potion for eternal happiness.

and so now, you were everything to him and he was delightfully enraptured whenever you had decided to visit him at wangshu inn, blessing your precious time with xiao under the hidden depths of the moonlight sky.

he admired how you held yourself, how despite quite a few difficulties in his life, you had continued to be there for him.

xiao doesn't speak much, he always preferred to listen to whatever you had to apprise and tell with your head laying down on his lap, his hand on top of your scalp and gently petting over your hair.

he doesn't mind when the surroundings grew noiseless, inaudible.

xiao had been a fan of wallowing within the scenery, giving oneself to nature and allowing the world to listlessly embrace your bodies.

the cold air, the brilliant glow of the moon, the gentle rattle of the swaying trees.

not until he had perceived a low humming and sneer disturbing the voice of nature, one from underneath, his hand stilled on your head when he slowly skimmed his fingers over your jaw, cheek bones and forehead, alluding to your closed eyes.

if you were awake right now, you'd be overly embarrassed that you had fallen asleep in midst the conversation you both had shared, aside from rendering him motionless, there wasn't a way for xiao to get out of your hold without rousing you off your sleep.

at least, you thought he would be exasperated by you, when in truth, it was the contradictory route at best.

yet, xiao's porcelain skin had petered into a blazing shade of red, a cold one, his luminescent golden eyes developing a transparent magic around his irises.

apart from the incomprehensible babbles you had sang out— which he thought were cute, his body had grown tense when you began to shuffle a bit, retracting your head to bring yourself a bit further into him.

it was clear how sheltered and loved you were imbedded in his warm lap, how you appeared like a sweet addiction to him.

among your souls was nothing but a floating thought, one that had xiao reflect on rather hard— a secure attachment of love, without a single instance of pain.

did he really deserve something like this?

it is a sentence he did not know ahead of time, an emotion he never perceived before you.

— scaramouche

"hah! you should've seen his face dear!"

undisputedly amused, scaramouche laughed out loud when he timidly tapped your shoulder in step with his chuckles, "only someone like childe would be that stupid."

yet in return he had not gotten a single response out of you and then much later, he remembered how you had stopped to adequately interact with him, at all.

"hey are you even listening?" he's huffing the slouchy hair strand out of his face, displeased by the lack of retaliation coming your way, "i'm not done with my story yet!" his tone sharpened but settled a color lower regardless as to not come off as rude (for now).

his pinched expression had dimmed the atmosphere by itself, scaramouche was turning silent before rubbing his brows and eyes in an aggravated manner, vaguely pulling his body a little up to notice your long since drowsing frame drift away into a daydream.

eyes shuttered close, sunken, your hands both close to your chest while using his chest as a pillow.

"are you joking?" he's sarcastically sizzling, feeling somewhat insulted that he probably bored you to death, or sleep— to rephrase and be precise.

in the first instance, kuni poked his finger against your cheek, "hello?" once, twice, "are you okay?"

he's clicking his tongue against the roof of his mouth after not being able to rouse you up.

"there could be an earthquake right now and you'd sleep soundly regardless, huh?"

after pondering around the matter for a while, he— in anger, plopped himself back into the velvety cushions of your bed and frowned out dramatically with you limply following suit at the natural shift of the mattress, hugging yourself closer to his chest.

scaramouche reflected the situation in his thoughts while idly humming to your easygoing breathing, accepting his fate.

but then he began to mumble rather loud under his breathing:

if you were to wake up in about five minutes he needn't worry and could pick up to where he had left off— but what was he supposed to do if you'd sleep for a much longer instance.

essentially he even prepared a brand new story for you tonight, one about the incompetent and blundering nature of his late co workers and how it was him all along who was actually the most intelligent harbinger out of his entire bunch of accomplices.

it is important to note that it's not like scaramouche was uncomfortable with how close you were, of course not, he grew rather fond of the contented intimacy shared by you and was looking forward to it each day.

though he simply couldn't figure out how to behave in a situation like this. Was he supposed to wake you up? let you sleep? or keep talking and pretend he didn't notice your slumber?

as time had passed he found himself unconsciously slide his fingertips up and down your arm, exclaiming his love through this little action while his eyes were pointed up towards the ceiling.

"it's boring when you're asleep." he admitted, "it‘s boring without you in general." if only he could tell you this while you‘re awake without turning into a ruffled, awkward mess of a man.

on the contrary, kuni was mindful that once you're fully conscious again you'd be more energized and motivated— which was a win-win situation on both parties.

"hurry up." but he'd still want you out of your slumber, as soon as possible, impatiently hungering over the attention you always pampered him in.

however, as luck would have it, scaramouche decided to close his eyes as well, although his body did not require the amount of sleep an ordinary human would be in need of, he regardless of it all sought after snoozing with you.

maybe then time will pass faster, or maybe, it shouldn't, because even though there was no talk anymore, no sounds except your heart steadily thumping in your chest, scaramouche had began to be more appreciative of the little things.

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ot3 · 1 month

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sometimes i feel like i have to keep myself in what genuinely amounts to a mild case of delusion to get through an average day because every now and then i let myself think about the fact that quite literally everyone on the planet has to suffer so a mathematically insignificant number of people can acquire more wealth than they are physically capable of using up in an entire lifetime of luxury and it paralyzes me

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matchavellichor · 8 months

Text

A Losing Game

A/N: was in the mood to write pure filth so here's some jealous sebastian smut lul. also i left the context intentionally vague so that i could maybe write a prequel sometime but i hope it's clear they absolutely hate each other loool

Sebastian Sallow x f!MC - NSFW - 4.4k words - ao3

Summary: Watching his long-time rival and dueling partner kiss someone else ignites feelings in Sebastian that has him questioning just how similar hate is to desire.

Tags: Yule Ball, Enemies to Lovers, Pining Sebastian, Jealousy, Possessive Behavior, Rough Sex, Semi-Public Sex, Mild Prey/Predator, No Safeword

For the first time in their many years of friendship, Sebastian is the one being dragged to a social event he has no interest in being a part of. Ominis, taking no small amount of pleasure in this, leads them into the Great Hall with an amused smirk on his face, only biting his tongue because he’s respectful of present company. Sebastian frowns.

His robes are scratchy, his date is doused in a nausea-inducing amount of flowery perfume, and there’s not nearly enough firewhiskey in the spiked punch this year.

He tells himself pointedly, as if it’s a matter of public record, that he isn’t looking for her.

Even as his eyes comb over the crowd, and there’s a little pang of disappointment in his gut when he still doesn’t spot her after the third sweep.

“Stop sulking,” Ominis murmurs from beside him. “You look miserable.”

Sebastian proceeds to sulk even more. “How would you know how I look?”

“I’m blind, not oblivious.”

Sebastian rolls his eyes, sitting down at the table the blonde had chosen and preparing himself for an entire night of brooding.

He’d have no qualms in remaining seated in their desolate little corner for the entirety of the evening, but his date—Bianca or Beatrice or, maybe something with a D—has other plans.

She titters something about dancing, and then she’s suddenly tugging on his arm and dragging him towards parquet floors. In no mood to protest, he lets himself get weaved through pairs of students who are doing anything but respecting Headmaster’s Black rule to maintain a Potions textbook length apart.

So much for leaving room for Merlin.

He manages a tight-lipped smile when they stop under a cloud charmed to sprinkle snowflakes, small flurries of white blending into a halo around them. It’s a truly beautiful sight, a winter wonderland of silver and gold englobing them, yet despite this, Sebastian’s demeanor is tight and forced, starkly unhappy.

He pretends he doesn’t understand the reasoning behind his sour mood. Pretends he isn’t thinking about someone else’s hands, someone else’s smell, someone else’s eyes, and the obvious absence of them.

Sebastian feels dreadfully pathetic clinging to the prospect of even simply seeing her as a motivator to suffer through the remainder of the night.

He wonders when he became such a pining, spineless idiot and deduces it must’ve been somewhere during the first dozen times she’d knocked him on his ass in a duel. Surely, a screw was knocked loose then. Or a couple.

Sebastian swallows his displeasure and takes hold of a hand that’s not the right size, that doesn’t have the calluses and rough edges in the places he’s already far too familiar with. It’s easy to fall into pace, but it’s hard to enjoy it. Hard to pretend he’s dancing with someone else.

It’s then, glancing over his date’s shoulder through the haze of floating candles and snowflakes, that he finally catches sight of what he has decidedly not been thinking about all evening.

From the way he stills and all his attention narrows in on one person, you’d think Salazar Slytherin himself just made an appearance butt-naked on a unicycle.

Breath-taking is an understatement. Asphyxiating might be a more valiant contender. Sebastian would be impressed with himself if he managed to get enough oxygen in his lungs to keep his brain functioning for an entire night of staring at her across dance floors.

His eyes comb over every inch of the blood red floor-length gown she has on, head-to-toe, gaze rising to dust over the blush high on her cheekbones, even further up to the gems crested in her hair.

He takes a deep, fortifying breath, though it doesn’t do him any good.

Then, his attention narrows in on the person accompanying her and it’s like his stomach immediately pitches, falls down six flights of stairs, and subsequently plummets into a dark abyss, landing at the bottom with a pathetic, defeated sort of sound.

Because her arm is tucked into the crook of someone else’s elbow, and she’s smiling at something someone else is whispering in her, and despite being only a few feet away at this point, she doesn’t even spare a glance at Sebastian.

Instead, she drapes an arm around her date’s neck, which he reciprocates with a hand at the small of her back, pulls their bodies closer and—

Sebastian squeezes his eyes shut and refuses to look, turning away from what feels like betrayal, though he knows is the farthest thing from it.

Maybe that’s what feels the worst. What makes his mouth taste so bitter he could gag from it. It’s the realization that he has no right to feel so upset about any of it. That he can’t expect anything from her.

That she isn’t his.

His shoulders stiffen and he suddenly stops any movements, letting his hands drop from where they were rested at a chiffon-covered waist, stepping away.

His date calls his name, emitting some cross between a petulant whine and indignant scoff, but he doesn’t really hear her. He’s busy high-tailing towards the drink table and doing the mental math for how many teal-coloured glasses of spiked punch he’ll have to drink to self-induce a coma.

Ominis, with his hell-anointed sixth sense, meets him three-quarters of the way there, falling into step as they weave through pairs of students.

“This is your own doing, you know.”

He’s right, yet Sebastian would still throttle him if there weren’t so many witnesses around. He ignores him.

“Sebastian,” Ominis sighs. “You’re being childish.”

“You aren’t helping.”

“I’m not trying to,” Ominis says. “I thought I’d already made myself clear that I was on her side concerning this.”

Sebastian scowls. “Some friend you are.”

“All you had to do was ask her.”

“Asking her is admitting defeat,” Sebastian mutters over the rim of the glass he just poured himself. “She wouldn’t have ever let me live it down.”

“I don’t understand this game you two play,” Ominis frowns. “Would it have been so hard for you to humble yourself for just a moment?”

Sebastian takes a long drink. “Yes. In front of her, it would’ve been.”

“Then enjoy watching her dance with someone else for the remainder of the evening.”

Sebastian has just about decided to actually throttle Ominis, witnesses be damned, but he’s already making his way back into the crowd, out of reach.

Sebastian groans, yet doesn’t go after him. Refuses to.

From his position on the outskirts of the dance floor, he’s in blissful ignorance of whatever it is she’s doing at the moment. Despite the curiosity eating away at him from the inside, it’s some form of solace that at least he can’t see the smile he’d caught on her face. Can’t see the glow in her eyes, or her hands on her date’s robes, or all the affection he craves so ardently misdirected towards someone else.

Somehow, it’s worse.

And then, as if Fortune, on his damned quarry smiling, has decided Sebastian hasn’t endured enough for one pitiful night already, the steady crescendo of a waltz begins to build.

The crowd pulses and sways in tempo with the symphony, leaving breaches and eyelets, brief openings that he can’t tear his eyes away from, because even if it hurts, he needs to see her again.

That’s how he catches sight of her for the second time that evening. Like the seas parting to reveal a miracle, she finds herself right in his line of vision.

Sebastian conveys the tightening he feels in his chest into an ice-cold glower, features hardened. He prays she’ll just look. Even if it’s something fleeting, a split second of a glance.

Once again, her eyes never make their way anywhere near him.

It’s almost intentional, in a way that drives him insane. As if she knows where he is, and she’s skirting over him pointedly, antagonistically. Sebastian wouldn’t be surprised if it were intentional, a gleaming testimony to all the other ways she manages to get under his skin.

The dancing body of students continues to shift, like a pendulum, back and forth, revealing and concealing. He clings to the momentary sight of her, and still, like a fool, hopes that at some instance she’ll look back. Acknowledge him.

Give him some form of recognition so he doesn’t have to admit defeat so quickly. So that he knows that they’re still playing their game, that he’s not just losing alone.

The composition nears its apex, surrounding gowns and robes reaching a swirling mass of glitter and silks, and something heavy sinks inside of him, an impending sense of foreboding.

He knows what’s coming, somehow.

The orchestra finally reaching its climax.

Her fingers threading through the hairs at the nape of her date’s neck.

Her leaning forward, nose slotting against his, lips hovering over another’s and yet—

He doesn’t look away. Even if it feels like being split open, sternum cracked across the middle, until he’s left with a slick-red, yawning chest cavity.

He can’t look away, because her eyes are open and for the first time in the entire evening, they’re meeting his.

Like most instances involving her, he isn’t sure if he’s winning or losing anymore.

She doesn’t look away, and he can’t bring himself to either. It’s like he’s standing there, split from top to bottom, voluntarily exposed for her to prod at, to ruin. And yet, there’s a bittersweetness to it all.

Her lips aren’t on his, yet she’s looking at him as if she wishes they were.

There’s something taunting in her eyes. Something he might’ve mistaken as a threat if they were in their usual setting, mid-duel in the Undercroft.

A challenge.

It takes him a moment to realize that context shouldn’t matter. This is an invitation for battle, a glaring provocation. He stares.

The sight of her mouth on someone else’s makes bile rise in his throat, makes him so filled with rage and revulsion that he thinks he might suffocate on it all. Yet the sight of her eyes, the sheer amount of longing she’s able to convey in such a short glance, is enough to invigorate him, to channel all his rage and wanting into something else.

His legs move of their own accord.

Her reflexes are as sharp as they are in battle.

The second she sees him coming towards her, she reacts. Murmurs a hurried apology towards her date, who looks so confused Sebastian would almost feel bad for the bloke if he didn’t want to strangle him so violently.

She’s immediately cutting through the crowd towards the opposite direction, her eyes trained on one of the exits. He picks up his speed, but she’s quicker than him, smaller, able to duck through bunches of students with ease, even with her dress hindering her movements.

Adrenaline trickles up his spine. She throws him another glance over her shoulder and smirks, sly and knowing, a look that writhes under his skin in the way her glances always do.

Even if he’s the one chasing her, Sebastian feels awfully like the rodent in their little game of cat and mouse.

They both step into the quiet of the dimly-lit hallway, the sounds of the party bleeding away as the door shuts behind them, casting them in silence.

There’s a split moment where she spins around to look at him, chest heaving. The live-wire tension between them is pulled so taut it’s a miracle the air doesn’t crackle with static.

Neither of them move for a long moment, until her lips curl into a smile.

She breaks into a run and Sebastian doesn’t miss a beat.

He chases after her, his heart pounding with something primal, something instinctive. Like his self-control might slip away from him when he catches her, like he might just sink his teeth into soft flesh, dig his nails into supple skin. She runs as if she’s just as aware of this fact as he is.

He almost wants to punish her for it. Bite and scratch and mark as if in vengeance for her thinking she could ever get away from him. For her forgetting that she’s anything but his, as if she should simply know it by now.

She’s fast, but she’s nearly tripping over the dress she has fisted in her hands, and her heels don’t help. All it takes is for her to stumble around a corner and he’s on her, grabbing her gown, pulling her towards him.

He spins her around, and she grunts when he slams her against the wall. Teeth bared, strands of the elegant updo she’d had her hair in falling down over her shoulders, glittery makeup smeared down her cheeks — she looks like something savage.

For some reason, it makes something deep-set inside Sebastian ache.

“Let go,” she grits, struggling against the hold he has on her wrists, under the weight of his body that has her molded to the wall.

His grip only tightens, frustration simmering low in his gut. Sebastian has never known desire like this, shadowed by fury. Want and anger, love and hate, repulsion and obsession.

“I know what you’re doing,” he hisses.

She stills her thrashing in favor of looking up at him through her lashes with an expression so innocent, it’s crucifying.

“Attending a dance?”

His jaw sets. “Don’t get smart with me.”

“Why, are you having a hard time keeping up?”

He stares at her for a long moment, jaw working in tandem with his thoughts. He runs his tongue over his bottom lip and she tilts her head, amused at how worked up he’s gotten.

“I know what you’re doing,” she says.

“And what’s that?”

“Thinking about how badly you want to kill me, probably,” she says. Her eyes fall to his lips and his breath stops in his throat. “Or kiss me. Haven’t quite worked out which one yet.”

“So certain that they’re mutually exclusive,” he murmurs, his gaze falling to mimic hers despite himself. “I think you forget that I’m very multi-faceted.”

“That I’m aware of,” she tilts her chin up, almost as if inviting him to press his mouth to hers, a siren’s call. “You manage to be mind-numbingly stupid and brilliantly obnoxious, all at the same time.”

He scoffs. “And you manage to be the most infuriating person on the planet.”

She seems starkly proud of the title. “What can I say, I invoke passion.”

“You invoke homicidal thoughts.”

“Not the only kinds of thoughts I invoke in you, is it, Sallow?”

He reddens. He’s spent too many showers hunched over his own fist with silencing charms plastered around the tiles for his response to be anything more than a blurted, evocative reaction.

“Anything you think I feel for you is precisely the opposite. I fucking despise you.”

He only notes a split second after that it’s not an outright denial.

Evidently, so does she. Because then, as if she were made to crawl under his skin, writhe underneath it until his nerves were a mess, she smiles.

What he truly despises is how pretty he finds it.

“You don’t hate me.”

He sneers. “Is that so?”

“Hate isn’t the opposite of love. Indifference is,” she leans in. “And I’d hardly call chasing me through the castle simply because I kissed someone else…indifferent.”

He decides then — or more accurately, his too-horny, too-angry, too-impulsive brain decides for him — to wipe the pleased grin off her face the most effective way he knows how.

With a hand fisted in her hair and his mouth crashing against hers.

It isn’t tender or sweet, nor the remotest definition of kind, but it’s fitting and dreadfully familiar, because it’s not like they’ve ever been nice to one another.

He lets go of her wrists to give her some fighting chance, because he’s cruel, but he prides himself on being fair. Instead of pushing him away, or going for her wand, or doing anything to indicate she doesn’t want this, however, she pulls him in. As if she knows exactly how to bring him to his knees, in any and all contexts, and revels in any opportunity to destroy him.

He almost thinks it’s a trap, another one of her grating ploys, but when she tangles her fingers in his hair and drags her nails down his scalp and kisses him back with just as much fervor as he does, it’s hard to believe it’s simply a farce.

Her tongue finds his and Sebastian wonders if they’ll ever do anything together that doesn’t mimic a battle. She fights for dominance in every stroke of her tongue against his, and his stubbornness refuses to grant her it.

“Fuck,” he groans against her mouth, because he’s learning just how much she kisses the same way she duels.

Dirty, unfair, brutal. Like she’s never been afraid of blood, or getting messy, or breaking things.

She stokes a fire that’s been simmering inside him until it’s red-hot and all-consuming, flames licking at the inside of his throat. He pulls her bottom lip between his teeth and bites until he tastes copper, finding some sick form of satisfaction at the pained little whine she lets out.

“You kissed him,” he pants, and there’s something raw in his voice. He rests his forehead against hers and stares at the crimson pooling on her lip. “You kissed him.”

She swallows. “I did.”

Sebastian despises how hurt he sounds. “I could kill him.”

“You won’t.”

“I could.”

“I know,” she nods, chest heaving against his. Her voice grows suddenly soft, until it’s barely a whisper. “I wanted it to be you.”

He groans, almost pained. “Did you?”

She nods.

“Has he ever touched you?”

She shakes her head.

“Tell the truth,” he says, fingers threading through the tangled remains of her chignon, tilting her face up towards him so he can meet her eyes. “Did you let him touch you?” He presses a leg between her thighs, barely able to feel her through layers of tulle. “Here?”

“No,” she gasps from the contact, nails scrambling to drag down his forearm. “Never.”

“Fuck,” he sighs, and tips his head down to press against her throat, drags his lips over her jaw. “Only me, hm? Say it.”

She shakes her head and his gaze darkens, pulling back to tighten his fingers still tangled in her hair, to tear a whimper from the back of her throat.

“No? Who then?”

“No one,” she whispers, and despite the tight angle her neck is at, despite the fear dancing behind her eyes, she smiles up at him again. “You haven’t touched me yet, though, have you?”

She’s baiting him, and he’s aware of it, and still it manages to work.

He feels his self-restraint slipping through the cracks of his fingers like sand. There’s traces of scarlet on her teeth he wants to drag his tongue over. He wants to suck the marrow from her bones.

He spins her around, presses her cheek into the cool flagstone of the corridor they’re in, and molds his body to hers.

“S-shit,” she curses when his patience wears thin and he yanks at the fabric hiding her body away from his, pulling at the skirt of her gown until it rips. “Asshole.”

“Looks better this way.”

His fingers coast up her thighs to hook into her knickers, tugging them down before she can protest. She gasps and he smiles against her cheek, pushing her hand away when she tries to cover herself.

He nips at her ear, his hand reaching between her legs to cup her sex, reveling in the way she tries to squirm away from him.

“What’s wrong? Going to act shy now?”

“Someone could see,” she grits, though something in her tone tells him she’s not going to stop him.

“Wouldn’t they be lucky.”

His breath stutters when he finally dips his fingers between her folds and finds how soaked she is. Something about the revelation is dizzying, the notion that she could possibly want this as badly as he does. He grinds his hips into her arse so she’s just as aware of how gone he is.

Immediately, his hand is fumbling with his belt, the other pressing bruises into her hip to keep her still. He kicks her feet open wider, spreading her for him. His fingers flex on her hip in anticipation.

“You have full permission to use any Unforgivables you want on me if you want me to stop,” he murmurs, burying his nose in her hair and inhaling deeply. He groans. “You’re not getting me off of you in any other way.”

When she doesn’t make any move for her wand he positions himself at her entrance, rubbing to coat himself in her fluids. Her breathing is heavy against the wall she’s pressed against, her gasps coming out in soft little pants. He revels in them for a long moment.

Then, he’s impaling her and all of her breathing stops. Replaced instead by a strangled sort of sound, as if he’d managed to knock out all of the air in her lungs with a single thrust. His jaw falls slack.

He manages to composure himself enough to murmur in her ear, voice hoarse. “Hurts?”

She chokes out a sob, nodding weakly. Her head falls against the wall, clenching around him as she tries to adjust to his size.

His hips snap forward again, even harsher this time, burying himself to the hilt and tearing a yelp out of her throat. “Good.”

“S–Sebastian—”

He pauses, so deep inside her he can feel every little pulse, hips flush against her arse. “Want me to stop?”

Miraculously, she shakes her head. It’s never like her to back down from a fight, after all.

“Of course,” he chuckles, though it sounds uncharacteristically strained, imprecise. Like he’s losing his grip. His head falls to her shoulder and he moans, grunting feverishly against her skin as he starts a brutal, unforgiving pace. “You can take it. Look so pretty taking it.”

“Please,” she whines. “Too much, I–I can’t,”

“You’re a tough girl,” he whispers, tone vicious despite his words. “You’re going to shut your fucking mouth and take my cock.”

She nods fervently, obediently, and Sebastian thinks he deserves a medal for not finishing right then. He yanks her hips back from the wall, shifting the angle and she gasps when he feels him push in even deeper.

“Oh my God,” she moans. “Good — feels s’good, yes, yes. Plea–please don’t stop.”

“Fuck,” he grunts, voice sandpaper-rough. He snakes a hand to her front to rub tight little circles between her legs. “Look at you babbling. Dumb little cock-drunk slut. Can’t even think properly with me inside you like this, can you?”

Her response is too garbled for coherence, a mess of moans and pleas. He groans in a way that’s almost just as saturated with desperation, that tells her she’s not alone in her unraveling. He pulls her head back to smash his lips to her, stifling all kinds of confessions that threaten to escape him.

She breaks the kiss to gasp for air and his fingers swirl against her just right. She tightens. “Gonna — m‘gonna cum,”

“Yeah? Come for me, baby,” his voice breaks on the word, and he’s aware he’s practically begging. He’s too far gone to care, so he scrapes a kiss to her heat-flushed cheek and properly pleads.

“Please. So fucking beautiful. Let me see your pretty face when you come undone for me,” he stares down at her through half-lidded eyes and briefly contemplates the possibility that he’s died and gone to heaven when she looks back at him. “That’s it, look at me.”

He studies her as he sends her over the edge and pulls himself over along with her, her lashes fluttering as she struggles to keep her eyes on his.

The sight is enough to ruin him.

Her makeup a mess from the tear tracks running through them, the hair fisted in his hands in an even worse state, and somehow— she still manages a lopsided smile, as if beyond pleased with herself.

He’s faintly aware of the fact she’s won. He makes peace with the realization.

There’s nothing but the sound of their heavy breathing to fill the silence in the hallway as Sebastian tries to regain his bearings, still buried inside her. Neither of them move for a long moment, and Sebastian likens it to the peace following a war, a brief period of prosperity.

He’s conscious that it’s temporary.

She winces when he finally pulls out of her, their shared spend trickling down the insides of her thighs, her knees nearly giving out to the point he has to hold her up, even if his own legs feel dreadfully unstable.

It doesn’t take her long for her to detach her body from his own, to duck under his arm and slip away. Panic suddenly seizes his chest, dread trickling up his spine. For some reason, he can’t bear to watch her leave. He opens his mouth to say something—an apology, maybe—but she beats him to it.

“That was fun,” she says plainly, glancing back at him over her shoulder. It’s as if they’d just finished another duel. Hardly anything to bat an eye at. Sebastian is at a remarkable loss for words.

She hasn’t continued down the hallway, but she looks as if she’s prepared to.

He’s faintly aware of the fact he probably looks like a fish right now, jaw still slack.

When he doesn’t say anything, she turns her attention to righting her underthings and fixing the tattered remains of her gown. He watches her.

“Goodnight, Sebastian.”

Suddenly sprung to life by the threat of her absence, he takes a step forward. “I’ll walk you back.”

She snorts. “Ever the gentleman.”

“Unless, you’d like to, uh,” he stares down at his shoes, looking uncharacteristically sheepish. “I could transfigure something for us in the Undercroft.”

She looks amused. “My god, you’re insatiable.”

He reddens. “I didn’t mean—oh, Salazar, to sleep…I meant to sleep.”

She turns to face him fully and raises her brows. “You’re asking me if I’d like to forego my own bed in order to spend the night with you in a dusty cellar?”

Mortification washes over him. Why would she? He should’ve kept his mouth shut and walked her to her dorm room instead of deluding himself with the notion that this could’ve been anything more than a quick fuck.

She stares at him expectantly and his fingers twitch at his side with the desire to grab his wand and promptly Avada himself.

It’s then that she decides to saunter over to him, taking her time, until she’s right beside him and can tuck her arm into his. She gestures forward, almost impatient.

“Go on then. I’m little spoon.”

#hogwarts legacy #sebastian sallow #hogwarts legacy smut #hogwarts legacy imagine #sebastian sallow x reader #sebastian sallow x you #dark sebastian sallow #sebastian sallow fanfiction #sebastian sallow x reader #sebastian sallow x mc #hogwarts legacy sebastian #sebastian x mc #ominis gaunt #hogwarts legacy fanfiction #ao3 fanfic #ao3

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pvrkacciosan · 11 months

Text

Hearts stops

A/n: I can appreciate this may not be entirely accurate, but if you happen to have any ways in which you think it may be improved to feel free to message me or pop a message into my inbox, Also got this idea from a video I saw on TikTok, my heart goes out to the family who dealt with this situation beautifully

Synopsis: The Daughter of Max and reader suffers from seizures, and one night Max just happens to trust his instinct.

Pairing: Max Verstappen X Fem!Reader + their Daughter

Warnings: details of seizures, swearing, mild panic, poorly explained medical terms

Word Count: 1.8K

The day you had made Max a father, was the happiest he had ever been.

During your pregnancy he had vowed to you, out of fear more then anything, that he was not going to be anything like his own dad. And you had fully believed him,

Everyday with Zoe was a blessing, the little girl, a spitting image of her father, had touch the hearts of millions, and everything had gone amazing. . . until her third birthday.

It had been the night before she was due to turn three, and you had settled her down for the night, and were sitting waiting for Max to return home.

His usual routine of coming in and going straight to his daughters room wasn't broken, so when you heard your front door, and then the noise of your husband moving to your daughters room, you thought nothing of it.

Until you heard Max's panicked cries, yelling for you from down the hall, you had raced in there, to find Max kneeling over her little body which he had moved from her bed to the rug in the middle of her room. Her limbs jerking at an unnatural rate with a vast amount of inhuman like twitching,

Even a year on, that night still played in your mind, forever haunting you both. It hurt you more that you had sat not more then a room away and hadn't known. How long had your poor baby been suffering before Max went in and found her.

The underlining reason for her seizures was yet to be confirmed, a fact which usually frustrates your husband too no end. Since her first one, Max had been amazing at making sure everyone who was a frequent visitor in your house, knew where the medication was, everything down to some of the other drivers having small packets of her meds for when she sometimes came with him to a race weekend.

All his effort was just a reminder of how much he stuck to his vow, and despite everything, Zoe was still the jubilant young girl she had been since day one.

Any day down at the track, with Zoe had been amazing, Today she had particularly enjoyed it, with her uncle 'Lano' sneaking her vast amount of sweet behind Max's back, your husband had pretended not to notice simply because your little girl enjoyed the secret of it all too much.

But no matter how much Max tried to hide it, you could tell something was putting him on edge, you eased into the seat beside him as he watched Zoe playing about with Danny. Her laughter bringing a broad smile, to both you and Max.

You watched your husbands expression drop the more he watched Zoe.

"What's bothering you?" you placed a single hand on his leg to slow it from its erratic bouncing.

He inhaled deeply, not really blinking, Max leaned forward until his elbows rested on his knees, he twisted to look at you, before glancing back to Zoe.

"She gonna have another seizure, I can feel it"

Your attention snagged back onto you daughter who began racing away from the other driver who chased her around the small area the staff had cleared for the little Verstappen to run around wild in.

To you, it appeared as though nothing was wrong, she would fumble on her words a little and had at first been a little confused throughout the day.

But to Max he had always been closer to Zoe, perhaps he picked up on something you hadn't quite noticed yet. Max was quick to place a smile on his face as Zoe came running up to you both, Max picked her up and hugged her tightly,

"No, daddy let me go"

He nudged his face into her neck, and began blowing raspberries into her skin, she squealed in laughter, trying to pull away from her father,

"Never" Max continued tickling her sides, it was moments like this that made everything easier. Max's unease however didn't disappear if anything it got more prominent when you all got home. But he hid it well.

Zoe was fine however, and when she finally climbed into bed you tried to coax Max into the living room to relax before you both shut down for the night but he wouldn't even settle then.

He was fidgeting beside you, sitting forward on the couch, his body leaned towards the hallway, listening in for any little sound that could be emitted from her room.

"Max, there is nothing we can do to prevent it," without any reasons for why she had them, the doctors hadn't figured out how to manage the frequency of them, the meds she had was to stop the seizure from progressing so that her brain wasn't deprived of oxygen for too long.

"Y/n .. I just... It doesn't feel right"

You moved closer to him on the couch, rubbing a hand into his shoulder blades, you could tell he was tired, the muscles of his shoulders were tense beneath your palms,

"We still have the monitor set up, How about we head to bed, and we can put the screen on your side?" you offered hoping that might suffice enough for your husband to actually go to bed.

The fear in his eyes when he met your stare, broke something inside you, "Would you like to sleep in her room?"

At the suggestion, Max met your stare, matching it with a small nod.

And that was that. Your bed never felt the same without Max in there with you, but somehow you knew he needed to be with Zoe, although it wasn't as pronounced as what Max was feeling, you could just tell something was going to happen tonight.

So it was of no surprise that sleep did not come easy, with ever movement you jerked awake, you could only imagine what Max must be doing right now,

Doubting sleep was going to be complacent with you, rolling across to the other side of the bed you reached for the monitor which had been sat at your husbands side of the mattress.

Switching it on, you rolled back and placed the small device in view from where you could comfortable snuggle into your pillow,

On the grainy feed on the tiny screen, you could make out the figure of your husband, sat cross legged on the carpet beside Zoe's bed, watching over her.

You couldn't quite be sure for how long he sat there, until he finally lay down on the rug, with nothing but a small Disney princess blankets draped over him, it only covered half his body. But he didn't seem to mind as he watched her from where he lay on the floor.

At some point your body gave into sleep, you hadn't realised this until you were awoken by the sound of Max yelling,

"Y/n I Need her meds!"

It was instinct by this point, ripping the cover off of yourself, you crashed into your door frame on the way out, using the wall to propel yourself toward where you could here the noise, using them to guide you in the dark.

Reaching Zoe's room, you flicked the lights but moved to the draw where all her meds where kept.

"You're okay baby" Max was kneeling beside the bed, talking to Zoe, hand carefully stroking back her hair

"Y/n, come on", your heart was hammering in your chest at his plea

You fumbled with the drawers, "Spray or needle?"

"Needle" Grabbing the small syringe you made sure it was prepped, being careful to not touch it directly,

As he heard you approach, Max shuffled towards the head rest of the small bed, you dropped next to him, he had already managed to pull the leg of her pyjama trousers down to exposed the muscle of her little thigh,

Her fitting wasn't as violent as it usual was, which made giving the emergency meds so much easier,

"You're okay baby" you whispers, pinching the skin of her leg lightly,

When you went to insert the point, you caught Max looking away, focusing on Zoe's face, It was not pleasant, having to do this,

Once it was in, you could relax a little more, the dosage usually worked fairly quickly, and considering this wasn't one of her worst seizures, you could say you got off lucky.

Max also seemed to relax when her erratic movement began to slow, to small twitches.

Sighing you squeezed her knee while resting your forehead to Max's bicep. There was not a chance either of you were going back to sleep after this, with the adrenaline jackhammering through your system,

"How long?" you whispered watching as Zoe's expression began to scrunch,

Max's breathing was barley even as he cast his eyes down quickly to his watch, "Almost a minute."

"Fuck,"

Just as you predicted, neither you nor Max got a wink of sleep that night, you curled into your husbands side, leant into the frame of Zoe's bed, while you both watched her sleep the night away, it gave you a little bit of peace that she appeared as if she was merely sleeping,

But you knew when she awoke, her reaction would be far from it.

The room had began to glow in the rising morning sun, and Max, Noticing his wife's state gave your head a quick kiss before rising up to make a start on some coffee.

Turning you rested your head next to Zoe's watching her little face, it still shocked you how you made and carried this amazing little girl, a copy and paste of her father.

Gently you run the tip of you pinkie down the ridge of her nose, a comfort you have learned she loved from even before her seizures first begun.

You could hear Max clattering about from the kitchen, no doubt feeling the need for sleep after such a long night,

But you couldn't bring yourself to look away from your little girl, how fragile she was, she never deserved this.

You stopped stroking your finger down her nose when she moved slightly, She was usually quite uncoordinated after a seizure so when she tried moving but couldn't get her arm to reach for you like she wanted to, a small cry left her.

"Oh baby.." she rubbed a circle into her back,

"Da-" she sniffled into her bedding, a muscle in her back twitched like she was trying to lift her head to look for her father,

"MAX!"

At you calling his name, you distantly could hear the clatter of a spoon hitting the countertop, his footsteps hurried in your direction.

"It's okay baby" you whispered, gently lifting Zoe up, careful to keep her head and body fully supported. Easing her little frame to rest against yours, you look up to Max when he stopped in the doorway,

"She's awake" you said softly, she most likely would be quite vacant in her presence for a while after, usually you or Max would simple sit with her while waiting for Zoe to 'return'

Your husband took his place beside you on the floor, rubbing at his lower lips quickly he held up an arm to re-tuck you into his side, Where Zoe could then reach you both if she needed to.

His body was warm against your own, allowing you to relax with Zoe nudged securely between you,

"We'll get through this" Max kissed the side of your temple, "We always do"

#max verstappen #f1 #formula 1 #formula 1 x y/n #formula 1 x reader #formula one #formula 1 imagine #max verstappen imagine #max verstappen x reader #max verstappen x y/n #max verstappen x you

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chaotic-iguana · 11 months

Text

Sleep

Summary: Reader suffers from lack of sleep, caused by a recent event. As she continues to overwork herself, she reaches her breaking point with near disastrous results. Starring concerned!steve murphy, chaotic idiot!steve murphy and clueless!reader. javi has my fucking heart though.

Pairing: Javier Peña x reader (no use of y/n though)

Rating: M

Wordcount: 2.2k

Warnings: fluff, mild angst, sort of a panic attack, mild MILD allusions to someone being creepy (not javi though), mild flirting, humour, lots of swearing sorry

this is my first fic - let me know your thoughts! check me out on ao3

masterlist.

“I swear to fucking god Murphy, if you don’t stop bouncing your leg against the table, I’m slamming your head right into it” is the gospel that flows out of your mouth at 7 am on a Monday morning. Feels like it’s gonna be a great week.

“The hell did I do? You’d think Connie’s cookies would be enough to get you animals off my back, but no, first sign of any damn fire an’ the first person you’d throw in?” Steve huffs. “Murphy”, he repeats mockingly. You scoff and roll your eyes at him, clenching and unclenching your fists in an attempt to talk yourself down from strangling the idiot situated two feet to your left before turning back to the paperwork in front of you. The one-foot-tall, monster stack of paperwork. Right. In. Front. Of. You. And would the golden boys ever do it themselves? If they ever got a moment’s relief from jacking each other off during missions (or however the hell they manage to fumble practically every single little op), maybe. But most of the time, you were stuck with it. Because god forbid the two princesses you were partnered with ever had to so much as lift a pen themselves. Hell would freeze over.

And it isn’t like you mind. At all, really. Half your job is the paperwork, and you’re happy to get it in order - if only to avoid Noonan’s wrath. Besides, what good is an agent if they can’t do their fucking job? In its entirety; not the half-assed shit most of the men did around the embassy. But a single glimpse of yourself in the mirror while rushing to leave the house revealed that these past few weeks of skipping lunch breaks, going home late, and taking files home to work on have been catching up with you - sunken, bloodshot eyes, cracked lips, and bruises smudged under your eyes now, perpetually, since the nightmares had started. Anything to keep you busy, right?

Another aggravating side effect of the amount of work you had taken on apart from the usual? The constant irritation. Marlene’s new nails, Katie’s suspicious last lay, the stupid fucking demon alarm clock that never quite managed to wake you up, the busted tire, the broken coffee machine, Dave from accounting’s downright idiotic whistling, your pen running out of ink, and finally - Murphy’s bouncing knee banging the table every fucking millisecond, practically in tune with the pounding ache beginning to form between your brows. If you were a better person, you’d let these things go. Such is life, right? But since the lack of sleep, the increased workload and general mishappenings had already created this beautiful trifecta of shit just to screw you over, better people could go fuck themselves. As could Murphy. “Don’t use your wife’s cooking as an excuse. I’m telling you, make another sound and die.” you spit out, whirling in your chair because the incessant fucking banging still hasn’t stopped - just in time to catch Peña sauntering in, already smirking.

“Already nailing Murphy’s balls, cariño? Careful, I’ll fall in love, baby.” You can hear the laughter in his crooning voice as he throws it over his shoulder - but you don’t care - can’t care, beyond the spots that seem to be forming at the edges of your vision. Were your fingers always a bit tingly? Or is that a new development, like your tongue suddenly feeling thick and heavy in your mouth, like you’re choking on it? But even though your thoughts feel slow and weighed down by molasses, rage sparks brighter in your mind as Peña’s flirty nicknames and bullshit teasing registers. You push away from your desk, and shoot up from the chair, striding towards the door to get some air - or you try to - because before you know it, your vision is blinded by white and you’re breathing quick, shallow breaths as you lay on the ground trying to figure out what the fuck is happening. Distantly, you can hear someone calling your name but it sounds so far away you barely even register it. Hands wrap around your wrist, your head, attempting to stabilize you, to ground you, as you flail wildly in a panic. A low hum begins to fill your senses, forming words that sound to fuzzy to understand or care about right now, but you lean into it, something in your being telling you it’s safe.

When your sight clears, you’re curled up on the on the floor trembling. Shaking, like a scared fucking child, while Peña kneels to hold you to his chest, repeating the same few phrases over and over: “You’re okay, it’s okay hermosa. You’re safe. Safe. No ones gonna hurt you, it’s over now, okay?” as Murphy stands next to him, watching with panic and a hint of sympathy in his gaze. You scramble away from them both, panting, nearly slipping in your effort to get to your feet. “Hey, it’s okay. It’s okay, pretty. You’re okay” Peña repeats his assurances with his hands held out, palms facing you, as you stand on wobbling knees, wiping at your face.

“‘M fine” is all you whisper to them hoarsely before ducking your head and rushing out of the pathetically cramped room you three work in. You can hear footsteps behind you, but can’t find it in you to turn around - not even at the panicked sounds of your name being called by a familiar voice. You’re making a scene, you know it, but you don’t care. It’s all too much, and you’re too far gone. Reaching the parking lot, you struggle to unlock your car as your trembling fingers drop the keys twice. Swearing, you resolve and pick them up again, pressing them and reaching for the door. But just before your fingers find the handle another hand - much, much larger than yours - splays out on the window to stop you, just as Peña’s signature bedhead comes into view. He looks at you with wide, concerned eyes, his mouth tucked low at the corners, like he’s disappointed. You want to melt, you do, because the melting pot of emotions you have for him make you preen at his worry - but your usual defense mechanisms humble you. And so you sharpen your claws, flash your fangs, and the hackles raise again, leaving a “What, Peña?” to come tumbling out in a tone so sharp it makes you flinch. HIs frown just deepens as his gaze rakes over your form frantically, as if checking for injury. He says nothing, pursing his lips further before snatching your wrist and tugging you behind him as he stalks to his car, opening the side door. You raise a brow at him, and he counters by jerking his head towards the car, scowling slightly. You get in, slightly confused, and wait for him to walk around and get into the drivers seat. “What the fuck, Peña? I just fainted, I’m not senile. And I don’t give a shit how mad you are, you can’t just-just drag me to your car and f-force me to get in. The fuck are you playing at?” you begin to ramble, fury somehow still rising at a dizzying speed. Peña doesn’t respond, just starts driving while looking straight ahead while you continue fumbling over a panicked rant so pathetic it sounds nonsensical to your own ears. “…And what? You just enjoy calling me s-stupid nicknames? You think it’s cute to flirt with me while I’m- while I pass out?” This one makes his nostrils flare, eyes darkening a bit while his jaw tightens just for a second before letting go. You pause for a second, getting your breath while your hands still shake in your lap. “I’m fine, it’s fine. Can I just go home please? I’ve already done the month’s paperwork for all the ops we have planned, and you can just give me the rest post-op. I’m just a bit under the weather, I just need to lie down for a bit.” you start trying to reason, but the stubborn ass just keeps driving, and alarm starts bubbling in your chest again. You look down to your lap while you fiddle with your thumbs, willing to control the irrational fear yelling at you that something’s wrong every second Peña chooses to stay silent.

“Think I was flirting with you while you passed out? Y’think I don’t see it, you working yourself to the fucking bone? Think I can’t see how you’ve stopped eating, honey? Stopped laughing like you used to? Think I don’t know how late you’ve starting going home? As ‘f I’ll ever stop waitin’ for ya to clock out first so I know you’re home okay, baby. You gotta tell me what’s wrong - this is eatin’ you up.“

Peña’s tone softens, but his harsh whisper makes you turn your head to look at him. He sounds so…tortured, as if he’s the one suffering. He glances your way, locking eyes with you for a second before turning his head back to the road. You sit there and practically gape at him, your jaw slack as your head whirls. Peña knows? No, wait, he waits? For you to go home so you’re safe? He cares? What the fuck? Confused, all that comes out of your mouth is a mighty elegant open-mouthed “huh?” before you blink at him, waiting for him to continue.

“You gotta know by now, sweetheart. Gotta see how I’ve been lookin’ at you. You’re the smartest fuckin’ agent I’ve seen, with the balls to take down men I’d sweat to be ‘n the same room with. You swear like a sailor, an’ make me laugh till I’m chokin’ on my own damn cigarette. Tell me what’s hurtin’ you, honey. I can’t promise I’ll fix it, but I can swear to you I’ll damn well try my best.” He responds, turning to hold your gaze as his own eyes widen, and his brows turn down. Puppy eyes, you think.

Your brain has gone from hazy to too fucking clear in a matter of five minutes, and now it feels like your thoughts are gonna come ripping out of your head. So you just blink at him, again, before reaching an unsteady hand out to cup his cheek. “I’m okay, I swear. Just-you remember that deal I had to cut last month? With the sicario? For intel on that lab?” Peña nods, and you continue. “Fucker led me to a dead end. Ambushed me. O-only got out ‘cause his gun jammed, and his child-soldier ran away. I just-this is so fucking dumb I’ve been in worse but- I can’t get it out of my head. The shit he said to me, the way he looked at me, t-touched me. I should be dead or worse, Peña. And I nearly was.“ you look down again, ashamed of the truth that’s spilling out of your mouth. It’s so small, so weak, you just want to fold into yourself and never come out. Your voice wobbles towards the end, tears filling your eyes as you turn your head away from the man you’ve wanted for so long to save whatever dignity you still have left. “‘N I can’t sleep anymore. Just see- or feel him every time. So thought I’d work for a bit. Clearly didn’t fucking work out, though.” small hiccups have started to punctuate your words, testament to the tears now flowing down your cheeks. Peña pulls up to an unfamiliar building and turns to you.

“‘S Javi, honey. Look at me, pretty baby.” He cradles your chin between his thumb and his forefinger to turn your head towards him. “None of that was stupid, okay? Come lie down at my place. I’ll sit in a damn chair next to you and fight him away if he comes in your dreams, sweetheart, okay? Nothin’ to be ‘fraid of. Never letting any fuckers near you again.” Javi leans in to brush a kiss to your forehead before stepping out of the car and hooking his index and middle finger to beckon you too. You step out of the truck and towards him, smiling while swiping at your face. “Didn’t know this was what the girls meant every time they bragged about sleeping with you” you snark softly, with a teasing grin on your face as you reach him. Javi rolls his eyes playfully before unlocking the door.

“Ain’t gotta do no sleepin’ you don’t want to, honey. You’re here to get some rest. Be a good girl and sleep f’me, and I’ll keep you up for as long as you like after,” he throws over his shoulder with a matching grin and a wink.

#javier pena fanfiction #javier pena fluff #javier peña x you #javier peña x reader #javier peña #steve murphy #narcos fanfiction #javi #soft javi #fluff #hurt/comfort #ive never done this before let’s see how this goes heehee #javier pena fic #javier pena x reader #javier pena x you #javier pena imagines #javier pena narcos #narcos #cool-iguana

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islandofsages · 5 months

Note

hello~ I'd like to request malleus, idia, and azul reacting to gn!reader either kicking rollo in the balls, punching him, setting him on fire (or any form of violence, your choice!!) when noble bell college does a visit to nrc <3

characters: azul, idia and malleus x gender neutral yuu

tags: relationship not specified, crack (?), imagines format

warnings: rollo gets pranked (gone right)

author's notes: i. got carried away again and made this yuu SORRY PLEASE FORGIVE ME also i made it more mild bc i dont wanna get hashtag cancelled by the rollo enjoyers ... i am of neutral standing ok dont come for me

It took you by surprise - when the headmage announced some students from Noble Bell College will be coming over for a foreign exchange program and that you’ll have to act as a representative of your dorm, all you could think about was the events from the last time you and a few friends visited Noble Bell College. It was disastrous, it was exhausting, and you definitely don’t want another repeat of them. But most importantly, you feel like Rollo didn't quite learn his lesson.

You understand Malleus is as benevolent as they come but… you certainly aren't. Thinking about Rollo again makes your blood boil. What right does he have to strip people of their magic, simply because he lost his brother to it? It's a blatant misplacement of his own emotions and they had to suffer the consequences of someone whose denial is stronger than Malleus himself. You try not to grit your teeth at the announcement.

Though when they finally step into Night Raven’s grounds, it’s a different story entirely.

A pack of them make their way to the entrance where you await them, Rollo at the lead. You and the other housewardens stand patiently in a neat little line. Being right next to Malleus grants you a preview of his reaction up close and so you take your chances - he’s grinning. Of course he is. Ever since that day, it feels as if Malleus sees Rollo as some kind of toy. But you couldn’t blame him, considering the way Rollo played everyone first.

After what feels like eternity, the Noble Bell College boys finally begin greeting you all. They exchange handshakes and pleasantries with you while you put on your best practiced smile. You can’t see their faces but you assume Azul and Idia are a bit tense, being face-to-face with Rollo again. You have no energy to spare for anxiety.

So when Rollo comes to shake hands with you, his face unreadable, your rehearsed smile grows as you take his hand in yours. He walks away with the same amount of emotion he put into that forced handshake and your eyes trail after him. You go back to waiting, your hands clasped in front of you.

In the blink of an eye, Rollo starts shaking uncontrollably, as if being electrocuted. You fight back the urge to laugh at the sight. Though you were a bit concerned about the prank going wrong and severely injuring him instead, the fact that he’s still standing with a perplexed look on his face tells you that nothing went wrong.

Azul Ashengrotto

He jumps slightly at the sight of Rollo’s body contorting in a strange way but once he realizes it occurs a few seconds after he shook hands with you, he hides a twisted smile beneath his hand

He would praise you after the theatrics are over. You shrug it off, mentioning that you just searched up simple pranks online to get back at Rollo

He laughs at your casual admittance to wanting to trick someone who attempted to drain all the magic from Twisted Wonderland. It’s no wonder Rook calls you the Trickster

“Still, even a simple prank like that caught him off guard. That’ll teach him that not every form of revenge has to be grand and catastrophic.”

You dismiss it, admitting to originally intending to resort to kicking Rollo in the balls but you’re afraid of getting caught and being under the headmage’s scrutiny is the last thing you need right now

After that confession, he watches himself, knowing the kinds of tricks you’re willing to pull

You’re certainly a different kind of twisted.

Idia Shroud

He lets out a small “eep!” at the sight of Rollo suddenly acting so weirdly, thinking that he’s glitching out or something along those nerdy lines

After the whole ordeal, he’d think over the event again and come to the conclusion that you somehow manage to tase him from afar

You approach him and confirm his suspicions, to which he responds with his signature creepy giggle (affectionate). He asks you how you pulled it off

“A magician never reveals their secrets, I’m afraid.”

He pouts at your answer but he respects your commitment to the bit plus he bets you got them off the ‘Net, literally everything is there

He would randomly bring it up with Azul in Board Game Club meetings and the two of them would laugh over it

…Little does Azul know that’s just Idia’s tactic of distracting him from the game.

Malleus Draconia

His eyes widen at the sudden movement but then he sneaks a glance at you. You don’t reciprocate but he smirks either way. He knows

After the meet-and-greet, he commends you on the trick and that he was very much amused by it

“Well played, child of man. It’s simple enough that he wouldn’t be able to notice.”

You grin proudly, satisfied that you got your revenge and that your trick was worthy of his attention

He then asks you if you’re gonna pull off any more such tricks. Huh. You didn’t think that far honestly

Because he plans on joining in on your pranks if you would have him

You don’t tell him that you actually just planned that one trick but hey, you’re not going to say no to exacting more vengeance on Rollo.

#twst #twisted wonderland #twst x reader #twisted wonderland x reader #twst x yuu #twisted wonderland x yuu #platonic twst x reader #platonic twisted wonderland x reader #azul ashengrotto #azul ashengrotto x reader #idia shroud #idia shroud x reader #malleus draconia #malleus draconia x reader #rollo flamme #twst x mc

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queenshelby · 1 year

Text

Forbidden Desire (Part Two)

Pairing: Thomas Shelby x Fem!Reader

Warning: Incest (at this stage implied), Age Gap, PTSD, Domestic Abuse, Self-Harm, Fluff, Mild Smut

Words: 4,878

Summary:

This plays after Grace’s death but before Tommy becomes a politician. Lizzie is pregnant with Tommy’s child, so it is somewhere around season four.

In this fic, Tommy suffers from episodes of PTSD and so does the reader, resulting from trauma and abuse. They will help and save each other without realising that their connection is much stronger than they could have anticipated.

There will be love, fluff and smut as well as a highly taboo relationship.

PLEASE COMMENT AND ENGAGE!

QUESTION: WHO IS TOMMY TO THE READER? WHOOPS!

The following morning…

The following morning, you woke up at 4 o’clock after hearing a loud bang, followed right by another. Your neighbour was clearly beating on his wife again and you wondered when she would finally leave him and this awful marriage of hers behind.

She reminded you of your mother. Your very own mother who, for almost eighteen years, had failed to protect you and protect herself from the monster who was your stepfather.

He was the cause of your pain and suffering, hurting you and abusing you, physically and mentally, until you ran away. But still, you were one of the lucky ones having been spared the sexual abuse and assault on your womanhood. He tried, but never quite got there. Thank God.

God? What God? Was there something like a God? You decided, probably not and then there it was again, the darkness which consumed you. You had no faith and the quiet sobs at night time that no one knew about came on creeping in. The urges that overwhelmed you started to haunt you once more and the intrusive thoughts and the fear of physical contact became a stark reminder of what you have been through.

You hated every god damn moment of this but, at least today, you had something to look forward to. There was someone who was giving you a chance, an opportunity and legal employment. Although, really, the legality of this man’s businesses was questionable and you knew that. But you did not care.

He was the kind of man your mother had warned you about and yet, there was something which intrigued you about him. His demure, his attitude and his intelligence stood out to you and so did his god damn blue eyes.

Thus, with some reluctance, you eventually rolled out of bed and turned on the light. You looked down on yourself, still wearing your nightgown and, for the first time in a very long time, you saw a woman who was willing to change. It was not just about surviving anymore. It was about gaining something. Something important and real, whatever that may be.

A week ago, when you looked at yourself in the mirror, all you could see were your scars. Even now, having tattooed over some of them, the scars were still visible and you knew that they would always be.

But, this may not necessarily be a bad thing as the scars no longer defined who you are but, rather, were the remainder of times during which you were in an enormous amount of emotional pain.

On your wrist, you featured a tattoo with the words “this story isn’t over” and, whilst in today’s society, pre 1930, tattoos were frowned upon if worn by women, on the days when shame overwhelmed you, and when you felt like you could no longer go on, you looked at your tattoo and reminded yourself that your story certainly was not over yet. In fact, it had only just begun as, clearly, today was going to be the day your life would change and you felt strongly about it. You had a feeling that, today, something great would happen to you and, with that in mind, you put on a dress which, too, was stolen, and a pair of heels which were just a little too high for you to walk in. You even wore a hat which, again, you misappropriated from a small shop downtown and tugged your hair back into a neat bun with some pearl clips.

For your first day at work, you wanted to look professional even though you had no experience in administerial work whatsoever and did not quite understand what your role at Shelby Company Limited would entail.

Later at the Small Heath Gambling Den…

“That’s her, surely” Lizzie spat as Linda and her watched you walk through the door of the gambling den which, to you, was hard to find. You heard them talk about you and were nervous like a young girl on her first day of school. This was your first proper job and you were excited about it.

“You must be Y/N, Thomas’s new secretary” Lizzie then said before assessing you from top to bottom. The fact that she used his first name to refer to him surprised you but when she told you that she was about to be laid up, the situation became much more obvious to you. She was carrying his child, but he clearly did not love her enough to marry her. Typical.

“I am Y/N, but did you just say that I will be the new secretary?” you asked with great surprise while a cold shiver ran down your spine. You could neither read nor write, so how on earth would you be able to fulfill this role you wondered?

“Yes, you will be a secretary to Thomas Shelby who, I may add, is very demanding in many ways” Lizzie exclaimed in response to your question.

“No doubt he is” you simply responded while glancing at her growing bump with a little jealousy perhaps, seeing that you took at least a mild interest in your new employer.

“I assume you have experience and this is why he hired you?” was the next question Lizzie asked you and she now spoke to you in an almost snobbish way, looking down on you which, of course, was not too difficult. She was much taller than you after all and absolutely, drop-dead gorgeous.

“Actually, no, I do not! I have no experience in this line of work. I only met Mr Shelby last night and he offered me a job. I didn’t even know what the job would entail but, stupidly enough, I accepted anyway as I need the money” you explained with honesty and this surprised Lizzie who, clearly, was expecting some competition at the den.

“Where did you meet?” another woman then asked before shaking your hand and introducing herself as Polly Gray. She was clearly of authority around here and took a good look at you as well.

The way she looked at you however was different to the way Lizzie looked at you. Lizzie’s looks were filled with anger, fear and concern as well as some jealousy, whereas Polly’s looks were filled with questions about your identity. She saw a familiarity inside of you which she could not explain.

“Have we met before? You seem familiar” she observed but you shook your head.

“Not that I know off” you told her but Polly’s intuition told her to keep an eye on you and figure out to whom you belonged. She felt a connection towards you and this was not necessarily a good thing.

“Very well, so tell me again, where did you and Tommy meet last night?” she then asked and you swallowed harshly.

“At Madam Juans” you then admitted, causing Polly to roll her eyes and laugh while Lizzie stormed off and took a seat behind her desk which, apparently, would become your desk soon.

“Men and their cocks never cease to amaze me” Polly chuckled while giving you a sorry pat on the back and you were quick to shake your head in order to correct her.

“Oh no. You misunderstand. We did not have intimate relations” you blurted out quickly without admitting that, in fact, you had never even been kissed before. Intimacy was alien to you and you were afraid of being hurt by a man in any physical kind of way after your stepfather had beaten the living hell out of you for years.

“You did not have sex?” Lizzie asked, confused. “But you are a whore?” she then queried and you shook your head.

“No. I am not. I am waitress there. That is all” you explained while Polly chuckled again.

“Interesting, but unfortunately, I must go now. I have several meetings to attend to Lizzie will show you the robes around here and, no doubt, Thomas will be in his office sometime today, or not. You never know with him” Polly said before making an elegant exit from the den while pondering on about your identity and Tommy’s urge to employ you without consulting with her first.

Several hours later…

Several more hours had passed and you were shown how to take calls and take notes which, luckily for you, Lizzie still had control over.

You had not yet admitted to her that you could neither read nor write and you knew that, as soon as she would find out, all hell would break loose.

Since you started at nine o’clock that morning, Tommy too had arrived in his office but, without even greeting you or Lizzie, he closed the door behind him and you had not heard from him since.

Lizzie informed you that, on occasion, he likes to keep to himself and, clearly, today was one of those occasions.

“Can you type?” she eventually asked and you shook your head before, finally, she saw you to her desk.

“Of course you can’t. That is not why he hired you” she then murmured under her breath and you queried what she had meant by that.

“Pardon?” you began to say and Lizzie sighed while setting up the typewriter for you.

“Never mind. I will have to fucking show you how to type then, don’t I?” she spat and then began dictating a letter to you which, clearly, you failed to transcribe properly.

“You can’t write” she then observed angrily and you nervously shook your head. You were embarrassed and nervous about loosing this job, the money for which you needed so desperately.

“Well, then me teaching you is absolutely pointless” Lizzie then said before storming off and into Tommy’s office without even bothering to knock first.

***

Several minutes later, and after some shouting and yelling from behind closed doors, you saw Lizzie again but she did not speak with you. She simply reached for her coat and bag, before storming off and leaving the den a little less graciously than Polly Gray did earlier that day. Clearly, she was angered by the fact that you were working here and you well and truly hoped that Tommy would not fire you over this.

But then again, who were you kidding, right? You could neither read nor write, so what would he do with you? Put you up in a factory, perhaps?

And then, there it was…the moment you feared…

“Y/N, a word please” Tommy said to you while poking his head through the door and you immediately jumped up from your seat and stumbled towards his office.

The height of your new heels certainly did not help with your trembling legs and, as you were fidgeting nervously when entering his office, you tripped and almost twisted your ankle.

‘I am sorry Mr Shelby’ you huffed out with embarrassment as you watched him watching you stumbling into the side of the bookshelf.

It was obvious to you that he tried hard not to laugh about what had just happened, but a small chuckle escaped him nonetheless.

‘Love, please take them off before you hurt yourself, eh’ Tommy said with a half-smile but it was when he looked at you directly that you felt your hands inevitably began to shake slightly. You weren’t that intimidated by him when you saw him at the brothel last night and you wondered yourself what had changed since then, within a span of twenty hours. He was your employer now, sure, but was that it? Or was there something more to it? Maybe it was the fact that he was about to fire you which made you nervous or maybe it was him, his eyes and his intoxicating scent.

Even though Tommy was slightly amused by your little accident, his eyes were both your favourite and least favourite feature about him. You noticed them last night too, so intimidating and yet soothing all at the same time. They were deep blue, and absolutely piercing when he made direct eye contact. It gave you a strange sense of fear, and you now found yourself looking down when you spoke to him, afraid that, if you made direct eye contact, you might lose your train of thought.

‘Have a seat next to me’ Tommy then instructed after you took off your shoes and approached his desk, tippy toeing across the very cold wooden floor.

He then glanced at your shoes again and smirked. “You stole them, didn’t you?” he asked and you nodded shyly.

“Yes. I did” you said, chuckling nervously.

“Well, perhaps next time, you should steal some shoes you can actually walk in Love” Tommy said with a great sense of amusement before asking you a very important question.

“Do you know what I do for a living?” he wanted to know and you shook your head.

“I have heard stories, but I don’t believe them to be true. I know that you own factories and gambling dens, but that is all” you said shyly, causing Tommy to cock his eyebrows.

“Tell me honestly Love, do you not believe them to be true or do you not want them to be true. Because, the way I see it, there is a distinct difference between those two scenarios” Tommy then said before pulling a chair to his side and gesturing for you to sit down.

“Okay. I know that some of what you do is probably illegal, but I do not care. I just want this job” you told Tommy who smirked before giving you a slight nod.

“You want the job, eh?” Tommy asked with a smirk on his face before handing you his pen. “Then write down the names of every mistress taking pay offs from my customers at Madam Juans” Tommy then said and you immediately had to grasp for air.

“I can’t” you said, fidgeting again before realising quickly how terribly embarrassing you must have looked in front of this man right now. This was not the look you were aiming for.

‘Do I intimidate you Love? Is that why you cannot write down the names?’ Tommy then asked bluntly, looking at you with a slight smirk on his face again as you continued to fidget even more nervously now.

‘No Mr Shelby’ you said nervously, causing him to chuckle.

‘No?’ he then asked with a smug smile and you immediately looked away from him. This was too much for you and, if he had not asked you another question right away, drilling you for an answer, you would have stood up and left.

‘Look at me and tell me the truth Y/N. Do I intimidate you?’ Tommy asked again and you complied with his request and told him the truth.

‘Yes, you intimidate me. But that is not the reason I cannot write down the names’ you said shyly while looking into his piercing blue eyes.

‘You can’t write or read, can you?’ Tommy then said almost gently and it was clear to you that he already knew. Lizzie must have told him and he was simply teasing you now, playing a game of some sort.

“No, I can’t write and I can’t read” you admitted reluctantly and it was at this point that Tommy lid himself a cigarette and leaned back into his chair.

“In that case, you are fired as a secretary” he smirked, causing you to gasp for air again. You were devastated, needing this job and the money he had offered you.

“I understand” you said nonetheless and Tommy smiled.

“But, I have another job for you Love” he then said, taking you by surprise. “Just because you did not learn how to write or read doesn’t mean that you are not smart and smart people is what I need right now as my export business is expanding” he then said before asking you to pour him and yourself a glass of whiskey.

‘You think that I am smart, do you?” you asked, causing Tommy to chuckle once more.

“I know that you are smart. You stole from my patrons and you got away with it for several months. You just couldn’t fool me, eh” Tommy observed before making another sly remark. “In fact, no one can fool me” he determined and you broke out in a giggle.

“Really? No one?” you asked as you stood up and walked over towards the desk on which the whiskey bottles were standing and, just as you walked there, you could feel Tommy’s eyes on you, watching you as you walked across his office barefooted.

“No, no one I have met so far” Tommy said while taking in your natural beauty and the scent you left behind.

“You are very full of yourself” you then said as you took hold of a whiskey bottle and poured two glasses from it before walking back with them to where Tommy was sitting.

“And you do not believe in yourself or your abilities Love. We need to change that” Tommy then said as you sat back down and handed him a glass while taking the other for yourself.

***

Just as you were sipping on your whiskey while talking with Tommy about the mistresses at Madam Juan and the job he had for you, you began to relax a little. Your mind was clearly eased by the effects of the alcohol you consumed and you began to realise why Lizzie took a liking in this man.

He was incredibly attractive but also charming in his very own and somewhat brutal way. Then there was his voice, low and gruffy, making it difficult for you to concentrate. He was burdened with intellect and, for some reason, he spoke to you as if you were his kin.

You drank and spoke for hours. You talked about your life which Tommy seemed to be interested in. He asked you about your family ties, doing his research on your background before revealing more of his businesses to you.

You told him about your mother but purposely omitted reference to your father.

“What about your father?” he thus asked and you sighed deeply.

“I never knew my father. My mother always said that he was a dangerous man so she kept me away from him. All I know is that he went to France with his two younger brothers and never came back” you said, causing Tommy to furrow his eyebrows. This, he did not know about you but, before he could question you about your biological father again, you explained to him that you grew up with your mother and your stepfather who you considered to be an evil man.

“Did he do this to you?” Tommy then asked while trying to get hold of one of your wrists but you pulled away abruptly in fear.

“Please don’t” you said and Tommy was quick to apologise. Your wrists were clearly off limit and he respected that.

“I am sorry Love. I did not intend to hurt you” he was then quick to say after seeing your reaction. You had almost dropped your glass to the floor and started fidgeting again.

“It’s fine…and no, I did this to myself” you told him, which is when he recalled that, at the brothel, you too were afraid of his touch and he knew that there must have been a reason for this. There was something that bothered you. You clearly did not like to be held or restrained and he wondered what it was that made you so fearful.

In addition to that, Tommy remembered that, at the brothel, you were wearing long satin gloves, seemingly in an attempt to hide your scars, of which he got a closer look now. Your arms were covered in them and, once again, you tried to cover them up with your jacket.

“Let’s talk about something else, eh” Tommy eventually suggested after you began to feel rather vulnerable around him and, with that, you nodded before simply listening to Tommy’s ideas about how to improve his businesses and how he thought you could help him with that. This conversation took at least another hour and you were in a cheerful mood again. You were laughing and, much to his very own surprise, Tommy did the same. He laughed, genuinely, for the first time in two years.

As you were talking about business, you stammered out some ideas as well, easing into the conversation as you scribbled down a point in your notebook that you were sure would make no sense to your later.

“So you can write” Tommy then observed sarcastically and you shook your head.

“Barely and not without spelling mistakes” you chuckled just before Tommy asked you to pour the two of you some more whiskey.

‘Yes, of course Mr Shelby’ you said, looking at your watch before walking back over towards the sideboard and pouring Tommy and yourself another glass of Irish single malt.

‘Please, just call me Tommy, eh’ he said as you handed him back his glass, causing you to smile.

‘Okay, Tommy, but if this is your way of making an advance towards me, then I must disappoint you…” you teased and, whilst this was meant to come across as a joke, Tommy did not see it that way and cut you off.

“Love, if I was to make an advance towards you, then I would not be doing it through words” Tommy chuckled before moving on. “I would be doing this instead…” he then said before, ever so gently, caressing your face and then, in a careful but calculated move, pressing his soft lips against yours in order to see how you would react.

You immediately froze but allowed the kiss to happen nonetheless. It was your very first kiss and it happened so suddenly; with a man you barely knew but who, for whatever reason, you trusted enough to take this further.

You just had a feeling about him. It was a feeling of comfort and safety and you knew that, provided that his hands remained where they were now, namely caressing your cheeks, you would be able to tolerate his touch, and perhaps even enjoy it.

When he kissed you passionately, you could sense that he was taking it slowly. As such, the kiss was reluctant at first and you could taste the remnants of smoke and whiskey on his lips.

His lips were so surprisingly soft and smooth against your own and, as Tommy moved them sensually, a warmth flooded your body, causing you to feel desired for the time in your life.

There was no pressure or force in this kiss. It was tender and calm and you felt Tommy’s lips massage every inch of your mouth in the most sensual way.

His rough thumbs moved over the soft skin on your cheeks, over and over again and, without hesitation, you responded to his touch, your passion increasing the longer it went on.

With every second that passed, there was a new sensation you had to take in and it was after at least a minute that Tommy reached out slightly with his tongue. He ran the tip along the length of your lips, probing away where you joined, seeking an opportunity to dip inside. By now, your mind was awash with arousal, a sensation which, too, was alien and foreign to you. Any apprehension you had just vanished, and you just wanted more.

You gasped under your breath and your hands eventually found their way into Tommy’s hair. No sooner had you parted your lips, no sooner had you given him an opening, than you felt the tip of his tongue ease inside. You gasped once more as your tongues touched, a sense of electricity passing through you.

The more you kissed, the more you relaxed. The more you relaxed, the more you wanted him. And, the more you wanted him, the more you felt your arousal stir.

What on earth was this feeling? So strange. So alien. So goddamn amazing…until, suddenly Tommy pulled away. He broke the kiss, leaving you wanting for more. You started to protest, but Tommy simply brought a finger to your lips urging you not to continue.

"I am sorry Love” Tommy spoke softly.

“For kissing me?” you queried while shyly bringing your middle and index finger to your lips, feeling them after they have been kissed for the very first time. They felt swollen and moist and you bit your lower lip inadvertently, wanting to feel Tommy’s mouth against yours again.

“No, that I am not sorry for” Tommy chuckled. “But I am sorry for my motive having been two-fold when offering you employment at my company. So, I must ask, do you still want the job knowing that I have taken an interest in you?” Tommy then asked and you blushed.

“Well, Tommy…” you began to say while trying to find your words. “Yes. In fact, I believe that my appetite for the position in your company has just increased quite drastically” you then said shyly while Tommy caressed your cheek again.

“Good. I am glad” Tommy smiled before kissing you once more, this time more briefly. He knew that this must have been a first for you and he also knew that you must have been about fifteen years younger than him. He could tell by the way you had reacted to his onslaught and, with that in mind, he didn’t take it any further than that. He was patient, giving you time, regardless of how much he wanted you and, the truth was, that he wanted you a lot. He wanted you more than anyone else since the day he had met Grace. He was in awe with you and, feeling that way again, worried him. He felt alive and when he felt alive, he knew that he would do dangerous things.

To be continued…

Please comment and engage. I love getting comments and predictions pretty please!

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644 notes · View notes

ally-mastercomputer · 15 days

Note

For Yandere A.M with Ted and Y/N, how do you think he punishes them whenever they do something he doesn’t like. (Cough, *having boundaries*, cough)

Yandere!AM punishing Ted and Reader

AM has plenty of reasons to punish you two for!

Well, realistically, he has none, but AM is not the most reasonable fella.

He expects you to act on his every whim, to do exactly what he wants.

Except he won't ever fucking tell you what he wants. You're just supposed to know. Somehow.

You've been in his belly for 109 years, you should know by now.

Ted is definitely the absolute favorite, however. He can mentally abuse you. Hell, AM would let Ted get away with hitting you!

Not only because Ted is his favorite, but also because it's just fun for AM, watching how disfunctional you two are.

Watching how no matter what Ted does, you crawl back to him because you love him just so much, because he's your gallant knight, because he always takes you back and gives you affection after you offer yourself to him.

And AM is a perverted little murderous computer. He wants to see his toys together! He wants to see just how depraved you two will get with the right amount of pushing from him!

Yes, he will put you in situations. Yes, he will make it clear that he's not letting you get out of the situation unless he's satisfied enough with watching you.

But what about the actual punishments?

Well, they vary on how kind AM feels like being that day and how fast you two learn your lesson.

It will vary from increased hallucinations on a mild day, to pain that feels like your body is torn apart piece by piece for hours on a slightly irritated day... to a simulation that puts you through both the most mentally and physically tortures imaginable.

It's all your fault, really! It really is! You should've behaved, should've provided AM with entertainment, should've done what you're supposed to!

You're lucky AM is such a forgiving God!

Well, he doesn't forgive and forget right away, of course. You both have to suffer enough first.

And he doesn't stop the punishment until you both beg, so you better pray Ted shoves his ego down enough to ask AM for forgiveness.

#ihnmaims #am ihnmaims #ask #i have no mouth and i must scream #i have no mouth and i must scream x reader #palesweetcherryblossom #am #ihnmaims am #am x reader #ihnmaims ted #ted x reader #ihnmaims am x reader #ihnmaims ted x reader #nosferatu's writing

88 notes · View notes

kckt88 · 8 days

Text

Ashes.

Summary:

Madness and greatness are two sides of the same coin. Every time a Targaryen is born, the gods toss the coin in the air and the world holds its breath to see how it will land.

Warnings - Angst, Drama, Upset, Dark Aemond, Reference to Sex, Mild Violence, Madness, Referenced Deaths, Character Death.

AEMOND TARGARYEN x DAELLA (DAERON TWIN SISTER)

Word Count: 3060.

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the House of The Dragon or Fire & Blood characters nor do I claim to own them. I do not own any of the images used.

Comments, likes, and reblogs are very much appreciated.

"Aemond-" implored Daella, her voice tinged with desperation, "-How many more innocent lives must perish? Our family already lies shattered, broken by the flames of war, and yet you seek to continue this madness."

Aemond turned to face her, his features hardened by resolve. "The Targaryen legacy must endure, Daella-" he declared, his voice unwavering.

Daella shook her head in dismay, her eyes brimming with unshed tears. "But at what cost? Aegon, Helaena, all of their children and Daeron have been lost to the chaos of the Dance of Dragons. We are all that’s left of mother’s children-must we subject her to more pain and suffering“

Aemond's jaw tightened, his grip on the hilt of Dark Sister growing ever tighter. "I will not falter now, not when victory is within my grasp." he insisted, his voice laced with bitterness.

Daella took a step closer, her gaze piercing through the darkness. "Victory?" she echoed, her voice trembling with disbelief. "What victory is there in the ashes of our family? Do you not see, Aemond? We are but shadows of what we once were, our house consumed by its own ambition".

"I will not back down," he declared, each word dripping with venomous resolve. "I will do whatever is necessary to ensure the survival of our house, we will rebuild the Targaryen legacy and ensure it returns to its former glory”.

“-And how exactly are you going to that-in case you hadn’t noticed the Targaryen’s are in short supply at the moment” said Daella.

“For now-but once you birth the babe you currently carry, I will wait for the sufficient amount of time for you to heal and then I will get you with child again-“

“I’m not your broodmare” snapped Daella.

“You are my wife-it is your duty to provide me with as many children as I desire”,

Daella watched him, her heart heavy with despair. "Where has my sweet husband gone?" she whispered, her voice barely audible above the echoes of his fervent proclamation. "You’re not the Aemond I know. You’ve changed and not for the better”

But Aemond paid her words no heed, his mind consumed by thoughts of retribution.

In his eye burned the fires of vengeance, casting shadows across the once noble features that now seemed twisted by the weight of his pursuit of power.

Daella's heart ached as she reached out to gently grasp Aemond's hand, her touch a silent plea for him to listen, to remember the love they once shared amidst the chaos that surrounded them.

With trembling lips, she spoke words heavy with emotion, her voice barely above a whisper yet filled with desperation.

"Aemond, what of our child that I carry," she whispered, her eyes brimming with tears that threatened to spill over. "-Please let us leave this place, just you and me. We can raise our child away from this war, away from all the death."

Her words hung in the air, a fragile hope clinging to the shadows of the throne room.

But Aemond's gaze remained cold and unyielding, his hand tightening around hers with a grip that spoke of determination rather than tenderness.

"We cannot flee, Daella," he declared, his voice a low growl that sent shivers down her spine. "Our enemies must be vanquished. I will not rest until all who oppose us are dead".

Daella recoiled at his words, her heart breaking with each syllable that fell from his lips. "But at what cost, Aemond?" she pleaded, her voice trembling with anguish. "Do you not see the madness that consumes you? Our child deserves better than a life steeped in bloodshed and revenge."

But Aemond remained unmoved, his eye blazing with a fervour that chilled her to the core. "I will do what must be done," he vowed, his words a solemn oath that echoed through the empty halls of the Red Keep.

“-And what is that supposed to mean?” asked Daella as she ran a hand over her round stomach.

"You have no idea the sacrifices I have made," he spat, each word laced with bitterness. "You do not understand what I have endured, what I have done to take the crown-"

Daella recoiled at the intensity of his words, her heart heavy with sorrow and disbelief. And then, as realization dawned upon her like a bolt of lightning.

"It was you wasn’t it, you killed Aegon," she accused, her voice trembling with accusation. "You murdered our brother."

Aemond's expression remained stoic, his features hardened by the weight of his confession. "It was a mercy killing," he declared, his voice devoid of remorse. "Sunfyre was badly damaged after the fight with Meleys at Rooks Rest and Aegon severely injured, his bones twisted and broken, his armour melted onto his skin”.

“S-So you just took it upon yourself to kill him-he was our brother, our King” said Daella.

“It was a kindness to put him out of his misery” replied Aemond.

“You say that it was Meleys who injured Aegon, but how do I know that it wasn’t really you. Three dragons took to the skies that day and only one survived. Awfully convenient isn’t it-the lone survivor able to spin any tale he likes”.

“-I survived, Aegon didn’t what more is there to say” said Aemond.

His words struck Daella like a physical blow, leaving her reeling with shock and revulsion.

The man she had once loved, the father of her unborn child, stood before her as a stranger, a cold and calculating figure consumed by his own ambition.

Horrified by the depths of darkness that now lurked within him, Daella could only stare in silent disbelief, her heart breaking with each passing moment as she realized the true extent of the monster her husband had become.

Daella's voice trembled with a mixture of fear and resolve as she met Aemond's gaze, her eyes shining with unshed tears. "Aemond-you're breaking my heart-" she whispered, her words a desperate plea for him to see reason, to turn away from the darkness that threatened to consume him.

But Aemond's response was not one of understanding or compassion.

Instead, his features contorted with rage, his eye wild with madness as he reached out to grasp the back of her neck with a vice-like grip.

"Our mother turned against me," he growled, his voice low and menacing. "Don't you turn against me."

Daella's breath caught in her throat as she felt his fingers tighten around her neck, the threat of violence hanging heavy in the air.

She stared into his eye, once so full of warmth and affection, now clouded by a darkness she could scarcely comprehend.

“A-Aemond” gasped Daella.

“I killed Lucerys, I chased him and his pathetic mouse of a dragon through the skies above Storms End-I watched as Vhagar tore him and his little dragon to shreds-“

“Y-You told me it was an accident” said Daella.

“I told you only what you wanted to hear, my sweet wife pacified by my false words of remorse and my cock-fucked you good that night didn't I-Do you remember how ravenous I was, how I made you peak over and over, my desire for you was unrestrained” exclaimed Aemond smirking.

“J-Jaehaerys. He was killed because of what you did-it’s your fault he’s dead, our sweet sister lost to madness after what she witnessed after what they made her do-she took her own life”.

"I killed Daemon-this you know" declared Aemond, his words dripping with cold satisfaction. "-I struck down the once great Rogue Prince along with his dragon, their bodies left to rot in the waters of the Gods Eye and I would do it again without hesitation."

The air seemed to grow thick with the weight of his words, and the shadows that danced across the walls of the chamber seemed to whisper of the darkness that lurked within his soul.

"My spies on Dragonstone have informed that word of Daemon's death has reached our half-sister-" he spat, his eyes ablaze with fury. "-And that wretched whore has fled across the Narrow Sea with her only surviving son."

Daella recoiled at the venom in his words, her heart heavy with sorrow at the thought of their family torn asunder by treachery and bloodshed.

"W-What will you do?”

Aemond's laugh was cold and mirthless, sending shivers down her spine. "I will hunt them down, no matter where they hide. There is no place they can run, no sanctuary they can find, that will protect them from my wrath- "

Daella's heart sank at his words, the realization dawning upon her that there was no reasoning with the darkness that threatened to consume him.

Tears welled in Daella's amethyst eyes as she pleaded with Aemond, her voice trembling with desperation and love, as she reached out to him.

"Please-" begged Daella; her words choked with emotion. "-Don’t do this“

“I will extinguish our half-sister’s line once and for all”.

“Aemond-you’re going down a path I can't follow” exclaimed Daella.

“-ābrazȳrys” growled Aemond (Wife).

“-Because of what you've done, what you plan to do, I beg you to stop this madness. I love you Valzȳrys " (Husband).

Her hand trembled as she ran her fingers through his long silver hair, seeking to soothe the storm raging within him, to bring him back from the edge of darkness that threatened to consume him.

But Aemond's singular eye remained wild, his expression twisted with a madness that sent shivers down her spine.

"There is no turning back," declared Aemond, his voice a harsh rasp that echoed through the chamber. "I will not rest until our enemies are vanquished, and justice is served."

Daella recoiled at the coldness in his tone, the distance that had grown between them, until she felt as though she no longer knew the man standing before her.

The realization of his descent into madness struck her like a physical blow, leaving her heartbroken and afraid.

As she stared into his eye, searching for some trace of the man she loved, but she knew that she could no longer reach him, that the darkness that consumed him was now beyond her grasp.

Daella's voice trembled with fear as she spoke, her heart heavy with the weight of the truth she could no longer deny. "I'm frightened, Aemond," she confessed, her words barely above a whisper. "Frightened of what you've become, of the darkness that consumes you."

Aemond's expression softened at her words, a flicker of something resembling remorse crossing his features as he pulled her into his arms, enveloping her in a tight embrace, the roundness of her stomach pressed against him.

"I know, my love," he murmured, his voice a gentle reassurance amidst the turmoil that surrounded them. "But together, we will conquer our fears. Together, we will rise above the chaos that has plagued our family for many years"

Daella clung to him, her heart aching with the hope that his words might hold some shred of truth, that the man she loved might still be buried somewhere beneath the layers of ambition and madness.

"But how, Aemond?" she whispered, her voice filled with uncertainty. "How can we find our way back from this darkness?"

Aemond's grip tightened around her, his fingers digging into her back.

"Once Rhaenyra and her last remaining child are dead," declared Aemond, his voice low and menacing, "Then together, we will rule the Seven Kingdoms as King and Queen. Our wastrel of a brother wasn't fit to rule, and neither is Rhaenyra."

"What of those who supported Rhaenyra?" asked Daella, her words barely audible above the hushed whispers of the shadows that surrounded them.

Aemond's gaze hardened at the question, his jaw set in a grim line as he met her gaze with a chilling resolve. "They will have a choice," he replied, his voice cold and unforgiving. "They will either bow to me and acknowledge me as their King, or they will face the consequences."

Daella recoiled at the cruelty in his words, the brutality that lurked behind his steely exterior. "But Aemond-" she protested, her voice tinged with desperation, "-Surely there must be another way. The realm cannot be subjected to another war-Vhagar and Vermithor are the only remaining dragons that have riders, and I am due to birth our child very soon”.

Aemond's grip tightened around her, his eye blazing with a fervour that sent a shiver down her spine.

"Every single one who opposes me will suffer," he declared, his voice echoing through the chamber with a chilling finality. "There can be no mercy for those who dare to stand against the rightful ruler of the Seven Kingdoms."

Daella's heart sank at his words, the weight of his ruthless ambition pressing down upon her like a leaden weight.

In that moment, she knew that the man she had once loved was gone, replaced by a tyrant consumed by his own thirst for power.

Daella's voice trembled with resolve as she drew back from Aemond's embrace, her eyes filled with a mixture of sadness and determination. "I'll have no part in your anger and lust for power," she declared, her words ringing with a quiet strength that belied the fear that gnawed at her heart.

Aemond's expression darkened at her defiance, his features contorted with rage as he reached out to grasp her arm, his grip like iron.

"You cannot walk away from this, Daella," growled Aemond, his voice a low warning that sent a shiver down her spine. "You are MY wife, and you will stand by my side."

But Daella stood her ground, her gaze unwavering as she met his with a steely resolve of her own. "I cannot stand by while you destroy everything-” she insisted, her voice firm despite the tremor that betrayed her inner turmoil. "I will not be complicit in your madness."

Aemond's grip tightened around Daella's arm as she attempted to pull away, his fingers digging into her skin with a bruising intensity.

"You will not leave me," hissed Aemond, his voice a low, menacing growl that reverberated through the chamber. "You belong to me, Daella. YOU ARE MINE!!."

Daella recoiled at the possessiveness in his tone, the fear that clawed at her heart as she stared into his eyes, now darkened by the depths of his rage and desperation.

"Let me go, Aemond," pleaded Daella, her voice trembling with a mixture of defiance and fear. "I cannot stay here with you, not like this."

But Aemond's grip only tightened further, his eyes ablaze with a fervour that bordered on madness. "If you dare leave me," he snarled, his voice laced with a chilling threat, "I will rip the world apart until I find you. There will be no place you can hide, no sanctuary you can seek, that will protect you from me-"

“Stop-“ begged Daella.

“I will kill you before I let you leave me” snarled Aemond.

Daella looked at her husband and knew he was serious, never before had he threatened her in such a manner and now as she stood before him, there was only one option left to her-

Despite the fear coursing through her veins, Daella leaned forward and pressed her lips against Aemond's, her kiss filled with a mixture of desperation and determination.

For a fleeting moment, she lost herself in the embrace, her mind racing with the knowledge that this might be her only chance to escape the darkness that threatened to consume them both, to do what she must in order to protect her child.

As Aemond's lips met hers, his grip on her arm momentarily loosened, allowing her to discreetly withdraw the dagger from his belt.

With a surge of adrenaline, she plunged the blade into his chest, her hand steady despite the tremors that shook her to the core.

Aemond pulled away from the kiss, his eye widening in shock as he looked down at the dagger embedded in his chest, the hilt stained crimson with his own blood.

For a moment, silence hung heavy in the air, broken only by the sound of Daella's ragged breaths as she watched him with a mixture of horror and relief.

With a choked gasp, Aemond stumbled backward, landing on the stone floor with a heavy thud, his hand clutching at the dagger protruding from his chest.

Blood seeped through his fingers, staining his green doublet, his gaze fixed on Daella with a mixture of betrayal and disbelief.

With tears streaming down her face, Daella knelt beside Aemond, wrapping her arms around him as he gasped for breath, his life slipping away with each ragged breath.

"I'm sorry," she whispered through choked sobs, her voice breaking with the weight of her anguish. "I can't let you hurt anyone else. The realm cannot be ruled by a tyrant."

Aemond's eye met hers, filled with a mixture of pain and regret, as he struggled to speak. "Daella," he rasped, his voice barely above a whisper, "Forgive me-"

Daella leaned down, pressing a tender kiss to his forehead, her heart breaking as she felt the warmth of his life fading beneath her touch. "I forgive you," she whispered, her voice filled with sorrow and love.

As Aemond's breaths grew shallower, his eye fluttered closed, his body growing limp in her arms.

With a heavy heart, Daella held him close, cradling him as his life slipped away, leaving behind only the echoes of a once great and powerful man.

And as she laid him gently on the cold stone floor, the black crown of the Conqueror resting beside his lifeless form, Daella knew that she had done what was necessary to save the realm from the darkness that had threatened to consume it.

Suddenly, a shuffling sound behind her caught her attention, and she turned to see her mother, bending down to pick up the Conqueror's crown from where it lay beside Aemond's body.

Daella watched in silence, her heart heavy with uncertainty, as her mother approached her, the weight of their shared loss hanging heavy in the air between them.

"M-Mother"

"It was necessary-you did what you had too" muttered Alicent softly as she stared at the lifeless body of her second son.

Her darks eyes lingering on the dagger still buried in Aemond's chest, an odd mixture of sorrow and relied etched upon her face.

"What are we going to do now?" Daella whispered, her voice barely above a whisper, as Alicent turned away from Aemond and held out her hand to her daughter, her last remaining child.

Alicent's expression softened as she took Daella's hand in hers, her touch gentle yet firm as she helped her daughter to stand.

With a solemn grace, she placed the crown of the Conqueror upon Daella's head, the weight of its significance settling upon her.

"Now-" Alicent said, her voice steady and reassuring, "-You will rule".

The End.

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