#this is too short to post on ao3 so I'm doing the ao3 tags here :) | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

pedroslittlelady · 7 months

Text

Just You & Me, Darlin'

joel miller x f!reader (18+)

A/N: OMG Okay, I'm actually doing this! I'm posting something for the first time in over 4 years and I'm super nervous. Pedro Pascal just has me by the titties, and so do all of you wonderful writers and artists I've been so inspired by, so here is my little contribution 🫣💕

You can also read this on my ao3 if you prefer 😊

summary: When Tommy returns to the QZ without you, Joel is both terrified and furious but he’s determined to get you back safe no matter what.

tags/warnings: 18+ Explicit | Minors Do Not Interact Please! no use of y/n, boston qz, fluff, hurt/comfort, mention of suicidal thoughts, slight exhibitionism, explicit smut, unprotected piv, no description of female reader, other than joel can pick you up and kinda implied age gap, squirting, emotional sex, unbeta'd, use of pet names (sweetheart, baby, darlin', baby girl). oh and you're both super in love so :) I think that's it.

word count: 5.9k

Joel’s heart was fluttering within his chest, nerves and excitement flooding him as he made his way up the steps of his apartment building. If all had gone well, you were due back from the week-long smuggling run outside of the QZ today, and he had been stuck on work duty for most of it.

He hadn’t been able to go with you since someone had needed to stay back and protect their store of goods and ration cards from being stolen in their absence, they’d learned this the hard way.

And in his mind he’d drawn the short straw.

Joel would much rather be out there with you than stuck here wondering if you were okay. Here, he was unable to do anything if something went wrong but he knew you, the little hell-raiser that you were could definitely handle yourself.

The both of you had agreed when you first started sleeping together that it shouldn’t mess with the business, it gave you all a more comfortable life in the QZ than most got to have after all.

Even after falling hard for one another following the sharing of your past within whispered cuddles post sex, you both still tried to keep the business professional and that meant trusting one another to watch your own and your partners’ backs.

As he entered his apartment he was surprised to see Tommy sitting on his couch with his head in his hands.

Joel’s stomach dropped at the sight, he already knew something was wrong. Heart breaking into a gallop against his sternum he quickly scanned the apartment, the open layout giving him a view of the whole room and you were nowhere in sight.

Joel's hands tightened into fists, his jaw tensing in anger and fear as he focused his intense gaze on his little brother who was now worrying his lip.

��Where is she,” Joel stated more than questioned in his deep southern timbre, his voice thick with emotion. Anger, fear, anguish and dread were all suddenly clogging up his throat. He swallowed to keep it contained, needing to keep his head on straight right now.

“I don’t know brother,” Tommy responded, guilt and slight fear painted his features as he looked up at his older brother.

“The hell do you mean you don’t know?” Joel growled as he prowled closer to his brother who quickly stood from his slumped position. “I trusted you to watch her back, to keep her safe for me!” Joel couldn’t control himself, the emotions from the thought of losing you, of never seeing you again were too much to handle and he grabbed his brother by the neck of his jacket and shook him.

“The deal went bad! Me and Tess got separated from her!” Tommy quickly explained, his hands gripping onto Joel's shaking wrists. “We tried to find her but… shit man, things are more fucked up out there than ever. We were hoping she’d made it back here.”

Joel pushed his brother away from him, afraid he would start swinging. Rage and fear consumed him, tightening his heaving chest as he ran his hands through his greying hair. He quickly stalked over to his weapons stash beneath the floorboards while vile images of you being scared and hurt, being taken by sex traffickers and all manner of other atrocities he’d seen and heard about over all his years surviving in this hell were flooding his mind.

If it was the last thing he did, he’d find you himself and bring you home. The thought of never finding you was unspeakable and he quickly pushed that horrible scenario out of his mind. But then another took its ugly place as he quickly grabbed his go bag; what if he found you dead or dying?

Well that would be the end, wouldn’t it?

He paused before looking at his little brother, standing before him paler than he’d seen him in a long time. Exhaustion was dragging Tommy down and Joel knew that he and Tess had done the best they could to find you; they loved you too.

“I’ll find her and bring her back,” Joel stated.

“I’ll come with-”

“No… thank you, but no. You're exhausted, you’ll just slow me down. If I don’t come back… then I…,” Joel trailed off as he watched anguish and fear become apparent on his little brother's face.

“Joel. Don’t. Please, brother,” Tommy begged, already knowing where Joel’s head was at.

“I can’t…” Joel felt his voice break as tears flooded his vision, blurring the image of his baby brother walking towards him.

Next thing Joel knew, his brother's arms were around him and Joel let himself feel the rare embrace for just a moment. He and his brother had never been the most affectionate with each other even before the outbreak, so the fact his brother was hugging him so tightly told him Tommy knew exactly what you meant to him. How could he not, with how blatant the two of you were with your lovesick need for each other. You had become his whole world, a quick spiral into passionate need that seemed to drive the two of you from the very moment you became one when he took you on that dirty warehouse floor three years earlier.

His head dipped to Tommy’s shoulder as silent tears rolled down his cheeks and into his patchy beard, into that place where you always kissed him, as if that spot had been made just for you. A place to kiss and lick and nibble like you loved to do when you both were intimate, which was basically whenever you were in the same room as one another, everyone else be damned.

Would Joel ever feel that again? Had you both made all the memories together that you ever would? The last time he saw you flashed in his mind, replacing the ugly panicked images from before. You’d smiled up at him, arms wrapped around one another, foreheads pressed together as you whispered your ‘see you laters’ - never ‘goodbyes’ - to each other, while Tess and Tommy looked on and rolled their eyes in annoyance at your overt pda.

The Joel of before had never been one for public displays of affection, to the point where one woman had broken things off with him because she’d said he was cold, that he didn’t care enough about her. He’d realised later on that she had probably been right. More conscious of how much affection he was giving in front of others than he should have been.

Now though, with you these last few years? Joel didn’t give a single fuck what people thought of how he held your hand, kissed you, sat you on his lap as he made deals with all kinds of people. He loved when you’d do the same, when you would kiss him in that spot that was surely made purely for your mouth while you rolled your hips against his hardening cock. The greedy eyes of lowlifes watching on in pure jealousy of how unashamed you were with showing everyone how wanton you could get for him. His precious little hell-raiser.

Shit, he’d fucked you outside before and hadn’t cared who’d heard. It had actually turned him on to know the residents had heard your desperate and lustful cries as you let him take you from behind in an alleyway between two apartment buildings. Anyone could’ve looked out and seen how Joel Miller got to have you be his, the most vicious beauty in all of Boston, submitting to him, belonging to him.

Joel quickly pulled away from Tommy before he got too emotional about how this day had turned into a fucking real life nightmare.

As he strode towards his apartment door with his go bag on his back and his weapons tucked away on his person, he rubbed the tears from his eyes and face. He couldn’t look back at Tommy so he roughly pulled open the door and walked out with a quickly uttered, “see you brother.”

While descending to street level Joel struggled to get his emotions under control. It had been a long time since he had cried, since he had felt this scared and helpless, but he pushed through and began to formulate a plan on how he would get out of the QZ through a smuggler tunnel they had created two years ago. Then he would find you so he could bring you home, safe and sound.

There was no other option he would let himself consider from here on out, he needed to focus on his current mission.

Joel steeled himself as he walked out of the apartment building and turned right to head to the closest smuggling route out of the QZ. As he looked up to assess his surroundings he was stopped dead in his tracks at the sight of you standing in front of him.

His eyes widened in shock as you stood before him, a shaky vulnerable look on your pretty as sin face. Joel choked on your name in disbelief and before he knew it his hands were grasping your cheeks and his lips were crushing against yours in a desperate kiss.

He pulled away from your tight embrace to quickly gasp, “What the hell happened, baby?” Before he kissed you again and again and again. So relieved to feel you alive and whole in his arms once more.

But then worry clouded his mind; the look on your face as you saw him notice you replayed in his mind.

Joel once again pulled away from the desperate kisses you both were sharing to truly look into your wide teary eyes.

“Are… are you okay, sweetheart? Are you hurt? Let me see you,” Joel pleaded in a vulnerable whisper. He reluctantly pulled further away so he could assess you until you spoke for the first time since your reunion.

“I’m okay Joel, baby. I’m okay I promise!” You gasped as Joel began to pull up your sleeves and the hem of your shirt to see your slightly bruised and cut skin, clearly searching for a fatal wound like a bite that he thankfully would not find.

“Joel!” You shouted to get his attention, uncaring of the passers-by on the busy street taking notice of your desperate interaction.

Joel stopped his searching as you placed your hands on his cheeks and gave a soft smile when you saw the fear in his eyes recede into a warm relieved look of love that always made your chest flutter in unbelievable happiness, like butterflies bursting with life within you. You had never expected to get to this point with anyone, let alone the cold standoffish brute Joel Miller who had barely seemed to tolerate you the first few weeks after your initial meeting.

To have this big, dangerous, sometimes scary but protective man look at you like you were his whole world was intoxicating. No wonder you could never keep your hands off of him.

It had started after the first time you’d fucked, and that’s all it had been meant to be. A desperate fuck after a near death experience, both of you alone and thankful to be alive. You had exchanged no words but a heady look and before you’d known what was happening he was kissing into your mouth before pinning you onto the hard dirty floor and fucking you silly.

You knew he’d been sleeping with Tess at the time, although it wasn’t serious, and you had slipped into Tommy’s bed once or twice, but for years you had respected Joel’s leadership and strength, and of course enjoyed admiring how handsome he really was, but you both had never been particularly close, until then.

After, you had both agreed it wouldn’t happen again. You reluctantly agreed with him even though your legs had felt like jelly after the best orgasms you’d ever been given, having never before been fucked like Joel Miller liked to fuck.

It happened again of course, the very next night when you took a chance and slipped into his room and cot. He hadn’t said a thing against it, only a cocky, “can’t get enough huh, hell-raiser?”

After you sucked him to full hardness he’d let you ride him as fast or slow as you wanted while he just watched you. In the wake of your first orgasm Joel had snapped and took control once more by putting you on your back and practically folding you in half. He’d fucked you so hard you’d screamed your pleasure, so loud you had only realised afterward that Tommy and Tess must have been 100% aware of what was happening. But you’d come so hard you’d squirted all over Joel and made a complete mess, but you had seen in Joel’s eyes how much he’d absolutely loved it.

There was no talk of it never happening again after that, only an acknowledgement that business came first. A few months into your arrangement he began cuddling you after sex, asking you not to leave his bed in the sweetest whisper against the back of your head. You had agreed, threading your fingers through his and nodding with a simple, “yes Joel.”

And you hadn’t left, you both barely let the other out of your lovesick sight as you basically moved in with him. Tess and Tommy quickly moved out so they didn’t have to listen to the both of you ‘fucking every goddamn day.’

“I’m fine baby, I promise. Okay?” You kissed Joel softly bringing you back to the present, his arms tightening around you.

“I don’t know what I would’ve done if… fuck, I thought you were-” Joel was crushing you against him, lips brushing yours as he spoke. A tremble was in his voice, one you’ve come to know more over the years as he opened up to you about things from his past.

“I’m right here darlin’, right where I’m supposed to be,” you gently spoke while running your hands through his salt and pepper curls. The action always calmed him down.

“I love you so goddamn much, hell-raiser.” Joel smiled against your lips before kissing you again. You chuckled, feeling tears gather in your eyes at the silly pet name he’d given you after your first chaotic introduction years ago which involved you wielding a couple molotov cocktails. The first of many pet names he graced you with, but definitely your favourite.

“I love you too, big guy.”

Your back gently hit the apartment building as Joel increased the pressure of your kisses, a desperation taking over you both as the feeling of being reunited after a close call washed over you once again.

Joel hiked your leg up and ground his hardened cock against your rapidly soaking pussy making you gasp at the sting of pain the suddenness of your arousal wrought as it travelled deep into your rapidly warming core.

“Joel,” you panted into his mouth as he licked at your tongue before sucking it into his mouth with a growl of need you felt emanating from his belly which was pressed tight against yours.

“Fuck, need inside your tight little cunt right now, darlin’,” Joel rumbled before he hastily began to undo your jeans, his lips carving a wet path across your cheek and down your tilting neck. He bit you quick and hard there, marking you; claiming you. You gasped, your arousal seeping from your desperately empty channel and trickling into your panties as you tilted your hips against his rock hard cock.

Joel slipped his thick fingers into your wet slit making you moan into his mouth.

“Get a room,” you heard someone mutter as they walked past. Joel growled before pulling away to glare fiercely at the man who suddenly blanched before quickly scurrying away at the sight of Joel hovering over you with a murderous look in his eyes.

You giggled at the interaction, drawing his attention back to you, his eyes softening at your mischievous smirk.

“Take me to bed, big guy. Remind me who I belong to,” you murmured before biting your lower lip in anticipation as Joel's eyes turned blacker than the deepest cavern within the fathomless ocean.

He grabbed you by the back of the neck and began to steer you back into the apartment building and up the stairs. You could feel his eyes on your ass before a slap landed there making you squeak excitedly. “Hurry the fuck up, darlin’,” Joel growled with a squeeze to your right cheek making you skip up the stairs quicker, panties practically drenched now.

The next second he was pushing open your apartment door, throwing off his bag and flipping you around to face him so he could kiss you hungrily once more. His thick tongue probed every part of your mouth, overwhelming you. You whimpered, your hands caressing through his hair to scratch gently at his scalp.

His grip on your thighs suddenly let you know what he was about to do and you braced your hands on his broad shoulders as he quickly hoisted you up, your legs wrapping around his hips. You both groaned and panted into one another's mouth at the feel of being pressed together.

You stilled when you heard the clearing of a throat. Joel groaned in annoyance as your lips separated wetly.

“Uh, sorry to interrupt,” Tommy said before covering a slight laugh with a cough, Joel glowered. “But I’m really glad you're okay, sweetheart.”

“Thank you, Tommy. I appreciate it.” You smiled, so glad to see him safe and sound too. You told him this and questioned where Tess was and he informed you that she was just fine also.

“I just wanted to say-” Tommy started to speak.

“Enough said,” Joel growled. “Talk later. We're busy, brother.” Joel raised his brows clearly unabashed at being caught in this position by his baby brother.

“Jeez, alright lover boy-” Tommy rolled his eyes.

“I swear to God Tommy if you don’t get the fuck out of here now I’ll-”

“Okay okay! We’ll catch up later, Christ.” Tommy shook his head but you could see he wasn’t truly annoyed by the relieved look on his face.

As Tommy made his way to the door, a smirk was painted on his handsome face. Joel just pierced him with a frustrated and grumpy glare, you couldn’t help but snort softly while still being held up in his strong arms.

“See you later Tommy, and tell Tess thanks as well when you see her,” you quickly uttered before you forgot all about Tess and Tommy in just a few seconds.

“Will do, sweetheart. See you later. You too, Romeo.” Tommy laughed before darting out the door as fast as he could once he’d heard Joel’s growl of annoyance.

“C’mon baby,” you murmured in his ear before sucking the lobe into your mouth bringing his attention back to you, his eyes softening once more. “Need to feel your big cock inside me, I feel so empty.” You pouted playfully even though you could still feel some of the adrenaline and fear from your near miss swarming inside you.

You had very nearly not made it home to him and that thought made your heart jump and your hold on your lover tighten. You didn’t know if you could hold back on the avalanche of feeling you knew was headed your way.

“Poor baby,” Joel responded as he carried you to your bed and laid you down, his back not being able to hold you up for much longer, not if he was going to fuck you like you both needed after today. “Don’t you worry darlin’, I got you.”

Joel stood before you and began to remove the various weapons from his body, his dark intense gaze never leaving you as you began to writhe in need.

“Hurry Joel,” you whimpered, a desperation taking over now that you weren’t in his arms anymore. You felt tears gather in your eyes at just how lucky you were to be back here with him, safe and sound. You couldn’t hold back a hiccupping sob threatening to escape you.

Joel took notice and quickly hovered over you, one hand on your hip, the other palming your cheek and wiping a tear away. “You're okay now, baby. I got you.” He kissed your forehead and you could hear him inhale your scent as he did.

“Joel.” You murmured, feeling a little overwhelmed. You needed to release these emotions, and Joel was the best at giving you just what you needed, what you both needed.

“I know, sweetheart. I know,” Joel murmured, his own gaze tear filled meeting yours before he pressed his lips to yours for a desperate kiss. You struggled to keep up with his kisses at first but then he was scraping his teeth down your jaw and sucking on your neck.

You bucked your hips up against him, his leg slipping between yours so you could grind on him. You whimpered, needing his bare skin to be slick against yours as you once again fitted together so perfectly.

You needed the intimacy and the vulnerability of being beneath his broad form as he fucked you deep and hard, imprinting himself within you forever.

As if Joel had read your mind, he pulled back from nuzzling between your breasts, his big strong hands grasped the collar of your shirt and ripped it down the middle in one go.

You gasped at the action, at the grimace of need on his face as he began to manhandle you in a desperate need to get you naked beneath him. You unhooked your bra as he roughly pulled down your jeans and panties in one go, snarling in annoyance when your boots hampered his mission.

As soon as you were bare Joel was back on the bed and spreading your legs up and wide so he could see your perfectly soaked little cunt fluttering needily around nothing. Fuckin’ Heaven right there, he thought to himself as he dragged his eyes up your heaving belly and chest to see you biting your lip, small hands fisting the sheets beneath you.

“Please Joel, want you naked against me,” you practically begged, pupils blown out, eyes still glistening. He knew from your reaction something had scared you, probably a moment of terror in thinking you weren’t going to make it back to him in one piece or at all. The idea of that being a very real possibility that could have happened shook him to his core and he quickly tore off his clothes, not wanting to be away from your touch for longer than necessary.

He began to kiss every scrape and bruise as he made his way up your chest. Soon his eyes were looking deep into your soft gaze, your arms and legs wrapping around him and he knew he was finally home. He brushed his nose along yours, both his hands tunnelling into your pretty hair as he gazed down at you.

“You and me, darlin’, that’s all I need. Just you, I fuckin’ love you, you drive me goddamn insane with it, you know that?” His gaze was soft but intense, his words rumbled out of his pouty lips.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered, your own hands rubbing his back soothingly before sliding up his neck and into his hair. “But I feel the same.”

“Don’t be sorry, darlin’. You’re the best thing that's happened to me in a really long time. Just scares the hell outta me,” he nearly choked on his words before burying his face into the sexy slope of your neck, inhaling your heavenly scent. “Can’t lose you, baby.”

“I’m right here, not losing me, Joel,” you responded softly before kissing his scarred temple.

Joel slowly lowered his hips as he lifted his head to kiss you, his weeping cock covering your pussy, soaking him even further. Normally Joel would prepare you, stretch you with his thick fingers and make you come on his tongue but from the way you were mewling and moving against him he knew you both needed to become one right now. Besides, you had told him plenty of times how you liked the slight pain his cock created when it stretched your little hole open, the girth of him too wide to fit comfortably at first.

You both angled your hips, well versed in the best way to slot together hands free. Your breath hitched when the crown of his twitching cock popped inside you.

“So fuckin’ tight and wet for me, baby girl.”

“Joel,” you whimpered against his lips before your hips pushed against him, sliding more of him within your aching heat.

He stared into your watery eyes as he gripped your hip with a bruising grasp and began to push into your tightness. He loved watching the way your mouth opened into a little ‘o’ shape and the space between your brows creased cutely in pain.

“Takin’ my cock so well, you precious little fuckin’ thing,” Joel growled as he bottomed out causing you to gasp. Your perfect cunt clenching around him was like nothing he’d ever felt before.

Your breasts heaved against his chest as he let you adjust to the stretch of him for a moment. But he had little patience right now, so he soon pulled back making you whimper sweetly and he kissed into your mouth soothingly before he moved his hand to the back of your neck and held it tightly.

Pulling back from the kiss he quickly punched his hips down and forward, slamming deep inside you and causing your body to jolt from the force, his hands holding you steady. You weren’t going anywhere.

The squeak you let out was choked off when he did it again, and again. The soundtrack to your desperate love making became the wet slapping of skin on skin, the gasps of pleasure and the cries of pain as you melded together as one. Sweaty skin sliding against hardened nipples and harsh gasps were shared as he rhythmically pounded you into the mattress

“Joel, Joel, oh God Joel don’t stop!” you pleaded wide eyes staring up at his fervent expression as he gazed down at you.

“Fuck! That’s it baby, take my cock.” Joel grimaced in pleasure.

“Please, baby. Go faster!” You yelped as his hips smacked against you, his heavy balls soaked from your arousal.

He granted your plea, arching his back so he could suck on your tight nipples, hands grasping under and over your shoulders as he began to piston sharply within you, pulling you onto his thick cock.

“Yes yes yes, gonna come,” you suddenly gasped and Joel knew it was true by how your tight little pussy started fluttering around his shaft, sucking him deep.

“Come all over me, baby girl,” he whispered against your parted lips, sweat building between you as you both moved in sync, chasing that beautiful euphoria he always granted you.

You had been feeling it build within you so deeply, you knew you were about to crest that tremendous wave of pleasure you associated with Joel and how he always spoiled you rotten when you made love. It hit deep and sharp, making you arch your back and cry out against his lips as your pussy clutched so tightly to him, never wanting him to stop or leave your most vulnerable place that he always cherished.

It caught your breath as you ascended into ecstasy, all you could do was whimper against his plush lips as you came. His hips stuttered as you tightened, unable to keep up the pace at how tightly you were grasping at him. Nails scraping his back, legs spreading further, toes curling against his thick thighs.

“Good girl, baby,” he practically whimpered as you came around him. “That’s my good girl. Fuck, I love you,” Joel growled while he quickened his pace again, the ache in his lower back completely ignored. He sat up a bit, lifted your legs so they fell over the bend in his elbows before planting his hands on the bed.

You were practically folded in half, completely dazed from that intense orgasm as he manoeuvred you however he liked. You loved when he treated you like his precious little fuck doll.

“Oh my God, baby,” you gasped, just watching as his hulking form rose above you, his dark desperate eyes dragging from your own eyes to your bouncing breasts as he started pumping his cock into you once more. The generous crown of his cock repeatedly hit that amorous spot deep inside you that only Joel could locate.

His stare was fixated on where you were joined together as he continued to thrust, slowing a little to admire it. “Sweet little pussy is creaming all over my dick, fuck!” Joel couldn’t take his eyes away from it, your abused hole flushed with arousal and soaked with your mingling desire. “God damn, baby girl. You can really take some cock, huh?”

All you could do was whimper at the vision he made above you, greedy lustful stare focused on your needy hole stretched around the wide circumference of his wet cock pumping inside you. The broad expanse of his tanned slick shoulders, the strength of his hands as they wrapped his calloused fingers around your hips, angling them perfectly. He sat up, his knees bracketing your ass and you quickly pressed your hands up behind you knowing exactly what was coming. Your heart jumped in your chest, you loved to watch him above you like this; using you, loving you so deeply and harshly.

“Gonna cum so deep inside your cunt, baby girl. Never gonna be rid of me,” Joel growled before rolling his hips into you, knowingly hitting that special place inside you that usually had you squirting all over him.

He never forgot that moment you’d shared with one another. Only your second time together and he had given it to you so good it was probably one of his proudest moments, his ego getting a huge boost that had been well needed at the time.

You had been so shocked and loud, you’d practically screamed at the sensation, shivering so vulnerably beneath him afterward it had stuck deep inside his chest afterward. It had pushed him to coo to you softly at your little whimpers, telling you that you were okay, that you had been so sexy and beautiful for him.

His hips were rolling and thrusting into you making you moan and stare up at him in awe. This man was all fucking yours.

“Mine, Joel. You’re mine.”

“Yeah, baby. All yours, this cock is all yours. And who does this pussy belong to, hmm?” he questioned with a smirk as he stared down into your wide eyes as his hips picked up the pace, you continuing to reciprocate his movements like a well choreographed dance.

“Yours, my pussy’s all yours. No one else's, baby.”

“Good girl,” Joel praised before leaning over you, his pretty lips pressing into yours, widening your mouth and swiping his tongue against yours as your pussy flooded his cock and balls creating a slapping sound that made you whimper and blush.

“Always so fuckin’ wet for me. Ain’t ya, sweetheart,” Joel groaned. “Fuckin’ love you.”

“Love you too, now fill me up, baby. Please!” You gasped against him, your foreheads now pressed against one another, mouths sharing harsh breaths.

You braced against the headboard with one hand while moving the other to his curly hair desperately seeking purchase as your arousal grew once more. Core warming and tightening in an impending orgasm and when he shifted your position so he could press against your clit and urethra with his fingers your stomach jumped, knowing exactly what he wanted from you.

“Oh Joel,” you whined.

“Yeah baby, drench me please,” Joel encouraged and you began to flutter around the precise pumping of his twitching cock within your sensitive walls.

It hit you suddenly, your back arched with a quick scream of pleasure and the overstimulation that you associated with squirting. Joel groaned in pleasure as you burst with feeling.

“Atta fuckin’ girl, baby! That’s it, shit I’m gonna come,” Joel gasped as you soaked him, a vision beneath him, sweat slicked tits bouncing, mouth agape in a shout of intense pleasure and eyes practically rolling into the back of your head.

Joel's hips stuttered, his balls tightening even more as he felt his pleasure travel from deep within his core, up to the swollen tip of his cock. “Fuck, baby,” Joel whimpered into your neck as he began to spurt his come deep into your womb, hips stuttering and grinding against yours with the need to stuff you full of his cum.

“Yes, Joel,” you whimpered as you felt him empty himself within you. You nudged his head as he did, wanting to see his handsome face in pleasure. He lifted and looked down at you, cum still spilling, overflowing you and trickling down your ass. “That’s it, baby. Fill me up good. I want all your cum,” you whispered softly as you gazed up at him. His face was so vulnerable and needy in that moment you couldn’t help but clench around him once more.

His balls had emptied with each ejection of his cum inside you, hips finally stilling as his cock became oversensitized to the stimulation still happening.

“Easy, baby girl. Easy.” Joel chuckled as he fell against you, completely spent before kissing you so softly that your heart jumped. “You think I can go again at my age?”

“You think I can go again after that?” You giggled breathily, completely satisfied. The impending avalanche of emotions purged from you in pleasure by your lover.

“Yeah, baby. Don’t doubt yourself.” Joel rubbed his nose against yours affectionately, a small grin on his face, eyes as soft as chocolate ice-cream.

“Then you don’t doubt yourself either.”

“I know my limits and my back is shot, darlin',” Joel grumbled in annoyance, his softly grinning face turning so grumpily pouty you couldn’t help but melt, you loved that you got to see this side of him that he unveiled to no one else but you. He really was all yours.

“Oh, poor baby,” you whispered to him before nudging him to the side so he could rest flat on the mattress, his softened dick slipping out of you with a flood of his cum which tickled your still trembling thighs. You definitely planned on giving him another back massage as soon as you both got some sleep, he had fucked you so perfectly; hard and loving. He certainly deserved it. “Rest now, we’re together and that’s all that matters.”

Joel sighed as he settled into the admittedly uncomfortable bed, but with you snuggling up against his chest he had no complaints.

“I don’t want you goin’ out there without me anymore, okay? Fuck the business, you’re more important.”

You looked up at him “As long as you don’t go out there without me either, we’re more important,” you agreed with a sigh of relief.

“Just you and me, darlin’. That’s all I need,” Joel assured you.

You snuggled deeper into his strong arms, a warm sense of safety and love blanketing your heart as his arms tightened and his lips kissed the top of your head with a mumbled, “Love you, hell-raiser.”

You kissed his chest before replying, “Love you too, big guy.”

A/N: Thank you to any of you who made it to the end of this, I hope you enjoyed it! Please consider reblogging and/or commenting to help this little story of mine find new readers💕😘

#joel miller x reader #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller smut #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller fic #pedro pascal #pedro pascal characters #clare's stories #pedroslittlelady writes #tw: mention of suicidal thoughts #tlou fic #joel miller x you #joel miller x y/n #joel miller #joel miller x female reader #implied age gap #pedro pascal x reader #joel miller fluff #the last of us fanfiction

439 notes · View notes

brain-rot-central · 2 months

Text

Sonnet of the Lone Cardinal, Ch. 4

A/N: Confrontation time. Here we go, y'all. I'm tagging this as borderline non-con for the ending. It steps into some murky territory that some may feel uncomfortable with. But hey, we're dealing with AA, after all. I'll also be linking a post reference within the text here; please click the link when you see it! It'll help you visualize a certain part. 🌝 Thank you all for the support thus far! I hope you enjoy reading ❤️

Rating: Explicit Word count: 7.7k Pairing: Ascended Astarion x Female Tav (named) Warnings: 18+, non-con (somewhat; literally touches the border of it), absolutely dubcon, mentions of pregnancy, mention of virginity loss, loss of innocence, manipulative behaviors, toxic relationship, discussions of death and murder, vaginal fingering, cunnilingus, PiV sex, PiV sex while pregnant, blood drinking, mother-fuckin' vampire sex boiiiiiiiiii (sorry these tags are way too serious and I am not)

Summary: Tav arrives at the Crimson Palace, poised for a confrontation with Astarion. A delicate dance ensues.

♥ Previous Chapter ♥ Link to Ao3

It takes a moment for her eyes to adjust as she enters, but once they do, the sight before her nearly robs her of all speech and reason.

Illuminated by candelabras, Tav gasps in awe at the renovations to the interior of the manor. The once drab and outdated decor has been ripped out, heart and soul, and replaced with… white. So much white.

White walls, white marble flooring with golden accents, tall white marble columns. A generous crystal chandelier hangs from the ceiling, Tav looking up. Her vision comes down to settle on the plush red carpet lining the foyer, stretching through the hall and into the ballroom. The reflection of the candlelight shimmers along the marble floors. A sunset on the water… Tav notes offhandedly to herself.

A commemoration to their moment of triumph over the Absolute.

They all stood atop the dock watching the sun set over the horizon, sunlight glinting off the sea. The moment the tadpole vanished, Astarion became free. Truly and completely free.

A life regained, a future unwritten.

Reborn anew.

As she continues to drink in the new additions to the palace, Tav sees a figure approach from the corner of her eye. She turns her head to observe an older human woman making her way down the carpet, a smile set upon her slightly wrinkled face.

“Good evening, young miss,” the woman greets with a short bow. “Have you come to ask for an audience with Lord Ancunín?”

Tav remains silent for a moment as she quickly gives the woman a glance over. Gray hair with a time-worn face, albeit one that still shows the beauty she once beheld. She wears a simple long black dress with long sleeves, a white apron tied around her waist. Her shoes are black with a big metal buckle adorning the top of each. “I beg pardon for my current appearance,” the woman offers, giving the apron a quick pat down. “It isn’t often we have visitors this time in the evening.”

“No…” Tav begins, voice trailing off as she regroups her thoughts. “Not an audience, no. I’m…” Her chest thumps as she ponders their relationship. “...A friend of Astarion's. Is he home?”

“The young Master is in, yes; though I'm afraid he's currently occupied.” As if sensing Tav’s disappointment, the woman questions, “May I ask who you are?”

Tav nods her head respectfully. “I'm Tav.” The woman quirks a questioning brow. “Tavaria,” she adds quickly. “I was a traveling companion to Astarion over a year ago.”

And much more…

A spark shoots across the woman's vision and Tav recoils backward, readying herself.

“Ah!” the woman exclaims joyfully, “Lady Tavaria!” The woman bows earnestly. “Lord Ancunín extends his warmest greetings to you. Welcome to the Crimson Palace.”

With a smile, Tav softens her stance. She bows in return. “Thank you. It's… definitely different than before,” she comments while looking around the room.

“Ah, yes,” the woman agrees, “Master Astarion has renovated the manor to his distinct liking after the untimely passing of its prior occupant.”

“I see,” Tav states with a laugh. “This is all… very Astarion.” Elegant and refined.

All for show.

Continuing her observation of the room, a painting hanging on the middle wall catches Tav's eyes. She walks toward the painting, stopping just in front of it.

It's a black and white piece, looking to have been drawn in charcoal, depicting a man and woman sharing an intimate embrace. Both are naked, the woman's face obscured by her pose as she bows her back while offering her throat to the man. His head rests within her neck, his long black hair flowing down his back. The accompanying piece focuses solely on the man. The lustful look demonstrated in the man's half-lidded eyes as he looks up from the woman's throat has Tav shaking where she stands.

She's seen that look before. Not unlike how Astarion has looked at her.

The servant woman smiles, still standing in the same spot, clasping her hands together. “You must be exhausted, dearie,” she says, cutting through the silence. “Shall I direct you to your chambers?”

Tav blinks rapidly and turns her head to the woman. “I’m sorry, but did you say ‘my chambers?’” She shakes her head with a short laugh. “I don't live here.”

“But of course, my lady,” offers the servant. “Master Astarion has asked that we offer it as an option should you ever visit the manor.” She nods her head with another beatific smile. “There is no obligation. It is simply a kind gesture.” She bows, courteously, “My apologies for any offense I may have given, Lady Tavaria.”

Tav nods briefly, turning away from the woman as her mind races. He made me a bloody bedroom? She lifts her head and once again finds the picture on the wall. A chill travels up her neck as she locks eyes with the intense gaze of the man in the painting. Her breath hitches.

“Do you know when Astarion will be available?” Tav asks hurriedly, looking toward the woman.

The servant shakes her head. “I'm afraid I do not, though I can set you up in the study while you wait?” Smiling again, the woman walks across the room to a set of double doors on the far right. She opens them wide and gestures to Tav, welcoming her to enter.

Clutching her satchel, Tav walks through the threshold and into the office. It's rather standard when compared to the rest of the manor; dark green carpeting and wood panel walls. Multiple bookcases that are carved into the walls, holding a plethora of tomes. A couple glass display cases are near the large window on the far side of the room. The evening sunlight pours in from the wide window and onto the chaise lounge adjacent to it; a relaxing spot for one who wishes to bask in the sun.

The solid, dark wooden desk across from the double doors has a number of loose papers strewn about the top. An ornate wooden chair sits behind the desk, purple velvet upholstery with golden Damask patterns lining the back and seat. Two simple royal blue armchairs sit before the desk, signaling the office’s likely use for business gatherings.

“Please, make yourself at home,” the older woman says from behind as she enters the room. She walks over to the desk and gathers the documents into a single pile. “Would you care for something to drink, my lady? I'd be happy to bring you something after informing Lord Ancunín of your presence.”

Tav turns her head in acknowledgement of the older woman. “I'm quite well, thank you.” She furrows her brow. “Though, I didn't catch your name before.”

The woman freezes momentarily before bringing her hands to her cheeks. “Oh, my goodness!” she exclaims in embarrassment, bringing her hands to her cheeks. “Where are my manners today?” She quickly bows. “Magdalena, my lady. A true pleasure to make your acquaintance. My sincerest apologies.”

“It’s quite alright, Magdalena. No harm done,” Tav says with a calming wave of her hand. She walks toward the grand window and turns to face the older woman again. “Thank you for your hospitality thus far. I’ll settle myself in.”

With a nod of her head, Magdalena begins to exit the study. “Of course, Lady Tavaria. I’ll inform Master Astarion of your presence at once.” The doors close behind her with a soft click, and suddenly, Tav is alone.

She removes the satchel from around her chest, depositing the bag onto the chaise lounge. Her hat and scarf are next to join as she shakes out her hair. Tav tries to look through the frosted glass window without success. The opacity is too intense to make out anything more than muddled blobs. Turning around, she begins to walk the perimeter of the room, stopping in front of a large glass display case with a large book resting within. The cover of the book is adorned with skin, stitched into the pattern of a screaming face. An amethyst jewel sits within the face’s open mouth. Tav recalls the long nights and early mornings Astarion spent reasoning with this book until finally uncovering its secrets.

The Necromancy of Thay.

Of course he kept it.

She continues on, noting each small trinket that sits within the shelves of the grand bookcases. Slipping her hands behind her back, Tav peers over the wooden desk and observes the pile of documents on top. She pops her head up to briefly scan the room. Satisfied that she has clear advantage, she takes a hand to swipe over the letters.

There are various invitations to grand balls in distant kingdoms, letters of gratitude from high nobles, bills of sale… Tav’s eyes widen as she spots a familiar name amongst the many signatures.

With deepest admiration, Araj Oblodra

Tav reaches over and picks up the letter off the desk, holding it steady with both hands as she skims through the contents. From what she gathers, it sounds as if Araj has learned of Astarion’s new circumstances. She’s highly apologetic for her past behavior and would very much like an opportunity to show her sincerest gratitude. The letter goes on further to imply that they take the chance to get to know one another better, and perhaps they can even become allies.

Tav scoffs as she places the piece of paper back down on the desk.

She resumes her roaming when she settles on a small jewelry case on the top left of the desk. Walking around the edge, Tav fixates on the case, a startled gasp slips past her lips as she recognizes the jewelry within.

Resting atop a red velvet cushion lay a golden ring with a turquoise stone in its center. One half of a matching set of rings she had found during their journey through the Shadow-Cursed Lands. Tav was in possession of both rings for quite some time, going back and forth with herself about whether giving him one half would be too much.

She’d grown to like him; really-really like him, but she’d no idea if he felt the same. It wasn’t until the night of Astarion’s confession that Tav made her decision. Feeling the tension within his body as she wrapped her arms around his waist, yet fighting through his hesitation to return her embrace. It was enough to convince her that he truly did want to give them a try.

She presented the ring to him the following morning as they packed up camp.

“...A bit soon for a proposal, no?” quips Astarion, expression smug.

Tav stands before him. A ring with a golden aura lays within the palm of her hand, held out in silent offer. “N-no!” she stammers, the ghost of a blush tinting her cheeks. She averts her gaze as she says, “It's an enchanted ring.”

Astarion raises an eyebrow in question. “I can see that quite clearly, dear. But what does it do?”

Turning to look at him under her eyes, Tav replies shyly, “...It allows me to cast a special protection spell on you.” Her cheeks burn hot, her skin beginning to prickle.

His eyes darken as he leans forward. “Oh,” Astarion teases, voice velvet, “you wish to be my Knight?” He begins to move into her, hovering his lips just above hers. “You want to save a poor, innocent maiden such as I,” he coos. “Is that it, darling?”

They spent the majority of the following night rutting feverishly against one another, sharing a mutual need to scrub their underclothes in the river the morning after. From that point forward, each wore their respective ring around the fourth finger of the left hand.

Commotion outside the office brings Tav back to the present. She hears the voice of a woman, though not of the servant from earlier. Tav sneaks closer toward the doors, placing her ear to the wood to hopefully catch some of the conversation.

Still muffled, she thinks with a scowl. Drawing a deep breath in, Tav makes a quick split decision and grabs hold of the doorknob, twisting it gently. She feels the lock unlatch and pulls the door open just enough to allow for a small sliver of visibility. Tav strains against the door as she tries to find a better angle.

A tall elven woman with long blonde hair stands in the foyer exchanging words with Magdalena. Dressed in professional attire, she hands the maid a business card as they exchange pleasantries. Tav catches the woman's head beginning to turn toward the direction of the office and Tav quickly steps out of sight, holding her breath, heart flying within her chest. A few moments pass without incident before Tav slowly inches toward the crack in the door. She finds Magdalena bowing as the elf takes her leave of the manor.

There isn't much time to ponder who this mysterious woman is – the sound of footsteps marching along marble flooring fills the air.

“Good evening, Master,” greets Magdalena, kneeling in a curtsy.

“Good evening, my dear.” A man's voice, deep and smooth. Perfectly poised. Her stomach lurches; she knows that voice.

Tav holds her breath as talk continues just beyond the door. She quickly scans the room to determine which is closer – the blue armchair sitting before the desk, or the chaise lounge near the window.

As the man's footsteps draw closer to the door Tav bolts for the armchair, sitting promptly. She adjusts herself to appear as if she's been waiting patiently for his arrival all this time.

“Odd that the door is already open,” Tav hears the man comment from just beyond the door.

Shit.

A flash of embarrassing heat crawls up her neck. Magdalena mutters something to Astarion under her breath, but it's too quiet for Tav to make out. The doors suddenly swing open and Tav remains still, trying desperately to settle the overactive current that is her nerves.

She smells him first before she sees him – the signature scent of rosemary, bergamot and brandy encompassing the quaint office. “Thank you, Magdalena. Now, please, carry on,” he says smoothly.

Tav hears the man begin to approach from behind, placing the palms of his hands atop her shoulders. “I’m sure you've done a fine job at making our Lady feel welcome, hmm?” He squeezes her shoulders, Tav flinching beneath his grasp.

Tav tries desperately to resist the urge to look at him. When she closes her eyes she envisions the sharpness of his jaw behind her mind's eye, coupled with the smell of his cologne that’s currently assaulting her senses – she simply cannot look at him. If she does, she's going to fall.

She'll forget about the murders. Forget how angry she is that he dared come to her in a state of blood-crazed lust. That she carries a child he knows nothing about, that he can never know anything about.

If she looks at his face, so perfectly sculpted by the Gods themselves, she's going to forget every reason as to why she should stay far, far away from this man. Longing for nothing more than to fall into his arms for the rest of eternity.

“Y-yes,” Tav replies, nervously. “You've been ever so kind, Magdalena. Thank you.” Finally, she turns, eyes meeting with the servant woman. Tav feels the pale elf's searing gaze upon her skin as she deliberately looks past him, the hands on her shoulders relaxing.

“Wonderful,” he sings with a wave of his hand. “Now leave us, Magdalena.” He walks around Tav, coming to lean against the lip of the office desk. “The Lady and I have much to discuss,” he purrs, leaning over as he places a hand upon her jaw. Slowly he tilts her face upright, staring directly into her eyes. “Isn't that right, love?”

Within an instant, she feels faint. An unsettling warmth begins to spread. “Yes, Astarion,” Tav murmurs softly as his fingers slip down her neck. Her eyes flutter closed as the hand inevitably falls free of her. Astarion slowly leans back and upright, a hint of a smirk pulling at the corner of his lips. He breaks eye contact to focus on Magdalena.

The servant woman bows, closing the doors behind her with an audible ‘thud’ as she takes her leave. The room is silent then. Tav’s heart pounds in her ears as she stares beyond Astarion again, focusing on the ring box at the corner of the desk. She only realizes how rapidly she's breathing as the sound reaches her ears.

“Are you alright, dear?” Astarion’s smooth voice cuts through. “You look as though you've seen a ghost.”

Raising her head, Tav meets his eyes. He stands before her, concern written across his features. For a split second, Tav sees him – the dashing rogue she fell in love with.

The way Astarion is knitting his brow, wide glassy eyes studying her. It's all very much like him.

“I’m fine,” she forces out, swallowing hard.

“Did Magdalena offend you?” Astarion asks urgently.

Tav shakes her head. “No, she truly has been pleasant.”

He leans over her again. Astarion drags a finger delicately up the side of her cheek. “Then why do you cry?”

Immediately Tav raises a hand to her opposite cheek. Moisture coats her fingertips as she finds a stray tear rolling down her cheek. She’s unsure when or why she’s begun to weep, wiping the tear away with the back of her hand. Tav pulls herself out of Astarion’s touch with a slight groan.

“I-I’m fine, really,” she insists. “I… came to see you.”

The vampire's expression softens as he tilts his head. “I haven't come to you in some time,” Astarion says, walking toward a carafe of wine sitting atop a metal cart near the window. “I apologize for that.” He speaks over his shoulder, pouring the wine out into a glass. He gestures with the carafe briefly to Tav; she shakes her head. “Although, I can't say I anticipated you showing up here.” Placing the carafe back down on the cart, Astarion turns, lips pulling into a smirk as he brings the wine glass to his lips. “Is it true then, what they say? Has absence made your heart grow fonder?”

Tav stands and turns to Astarion, giving him a full glance over. He wears a simple white dress shirt, the top few buttons undone revealing glimpses of his sculpted chest. His trousers are something she’s unfamiliar with – a type of woven cotton in a particular vertical design, and dyed blue. Indigo blue. He's wearing a black belt, threaded into loops within the pants around his hips. Tav imagines there's a fastener under the belt buckle, but also something else to help secure the garment. Something metal running down the front seam of the pants. Her eyes finish their course down his legs to find a simple pair of polished black loafers.

“...I'll take that as a yes,” Astarion comments with a quirk of his brow. He returns from across the room to once again take his place leaning against the desk in front of Tav, setting the wine glass down.

“N-no,” Tav blurts out, “I mean yes, but…” She feels the warmth of embarrassment crawl up her neck, nipping along her skin as it floods her face.

A hand rises to move her hair gently aside. Astarion leans forward and dips his head into the crook of her neck, planting chaste kisses along the tender flesh. “I missed you,” he whispers into her skin. Hot puffs of breath spread over her neck and Tav shudders. Almost instinctively, she raises her head to allow Astarion better access to her throat; her eyes flutter closed. His hand in her hair winds around the back of her head, gently guiding Tav’s head further to the side before falling to her hip.

Tav gasps as Astarion pulls their bodies flush against one another. His arousal has yet to awaken, though she can still feel the outline of him against her core. She groans as he rolls her hips into her again and again; slow, languid thrusts that have bolts of pleasure shooting up from between her thighs and spreading like wildfire through her body.

“Astarion…” Tav protests weakly, raising a hand to cover Astarion's on her hip. “I didn't come here for this.”

He purrs into her throat, gently nipping and teasing the skin around her scars with blunted teeth. “Oh, no? Are you sure?” Astarion pulls her into him again while imitating a piercing bite into her neck.

She moans, louder than she means to, finally feeling the rigidness of his cock firmly against her sex. Her head falls against his shoulder as he continues rolling his hips against her, hardly noticing Astarion moving his hand from her hip to her lower back. A spark of panic zaps through her addled mind as she realizes where this is heading.

“Y-yes, I'm sure,” she insists, somehow managing to pull herself out of Astarion's embrace. The room spins around her as she turns to face him. “There's something I wanted to discuss with you,” she says breathlessly, vision finally starting to clear.

His expression falls, replaced by smug dissatisfaction. “You came halfway across the city… just to talk?” asks Astarion, narrowing his eyes.

Tav nods her head in agreement. “Yes, it's something rather important.”

Astarion groans low in his throat, grabbing the glass of wine off the desk and walking toward the office window. He brings the crimson liquid to his lips and takes a strong sip. “You could have sent a damned pigeon, if that's all you wanted,” he snides over his shoulder.

“Not about this.” Tav feels her throat run dry as she speaks. Her lust has settled for now, replaced by the live wire of anticipation.

“About what?” Astarion growls defensively. He spins around, entire body leaning into his words. Like an animal being cornered.

Tav flinches reflexively. It’s rare that Astarion ever raises his voice to her, even during disagreements. She swallows, hardening her resolve. “Don’t use that tone with me.”

Astarion hisses through clenched teeth, taking another long drink from his wine glass. His face softens. “I'm sorry, love, but I'm having a very rough time ascertaining what could ever be so important that you felt the need to bring yourself here,” he gestures wildly to the floor below him, “to me, just to talk?”

She doesn't respond.

The tension eases from his form as he studies Tav, clearly shaken by his display. He sucks his teeth in defeat. “Oh, for the love of Shar’s cunt, fine,” he groans. “If you're going to look at me like that, then fine, I'll bite.” He comes to rest on the chaise lounge near the window, knees spread wide, his forearms resting over the tops of his thighs. “So, what can I do for you, my friend?”

Tav winces, looking down at her hands as she fidgets her fingers. He's being heavily sarcastic, though at least it's an invitation to continue. “...There was an article recently in the Gazette,” she begins, voice quivering. “That spoke of a murder within the sewers.”

Astarion scoffs. “Unsurprising for those cesspits, but do carry on.”

Her eyes shift momentarily to his face before falling back to the floor. “It's reported that there were five victims in total. Three had their throats slashed, while the other two…” her voice trails off as her throat tightens. Tav tries to swallow, but nothing goes down. Panic rises within her, adrenaline building.

“The other two what, dear?” Astarion's voice is dark, firm. He stands from his place on the lounge, walking slowly over to Tav. He stands before her, brows pulled together, his eyes cast down upon her face. A hand comes up to lift her chin, forcing her to look at him. “Tell me,” he demands.

She gasps, Tav finally saying with some hesitation, “They had fang marks… embedded in their throats. Resembling the scars I bear.” She blinks. “The ones you gave me,” she adds, quietly.

His eyes darken with malice as his face contorts. His grip on her chin tightens, forcibly lifting her head to the side to observe her branding. Astarion pulls in a full breath as he looks over her neck, mouth dropping open in an exasperated exhale.

“...Do you know anything about this?” Tav chokes out, eyelashes fluttering rapidly.

“And why would I know anything about that, hmm?” Astarion lowers his head into the crook of her neck, panting heavily against her skin. Tav shakes from their proximity. He then drags his lips up the side of her face, resting them against her ear. “I'm not the only monster lurking in the shadows,” he whispers.

The hand on her chin falls to her hip, guiding her gently toward the lip of the desk. “I know how you think of me, darling.” Tav sucks in a sharp breath as her backside bumps into the wood. “That I’m the big bad wolf coming to steal you away in the night.” Astarion buries his nose within her hair, inhaling deeply as he pulls their bodies flush together again.

“A-answer the question, Astarion,” Tav insists, her head beginning to cloud.

“Oh, but wouldn't you rather hear what I miss most about you, Tavaria?” he growls into her ear. “What memories play incessantly again and again in my mind?” Astarion grinds himself against her center again, coaxing a suggestive moan out of Tav. Her arms rise to encircle his neck, her resolve beginning to shatter.

“A-Astarion,” Tav whines desperately. “D-don’t…”

He drops his head to rest their foreheads together, lips practically touching. “I miss how you’d writhe in my lap as I'd drink from you,” Astarion confesses. He pulls at her bottom lip, suckling the flesh between his. “The way you flutter around my cock when you fall off the edge for me.” He kisses her more thoroughly this time, groaning softly into her mouth as Tav’s jaw slackens. “But, do you know what I miss above all else?” suggests Astarion, pulling back. He dips his head again into the nape of her neck, a hand rising to gently hold the opposite side of her face.

Tav grasps at the linen of his dress shirt, bunching the fabric within the palms of her hands. She's now rocking her hips in rhythm with his, a smoldering fire now roaring to life deep within her belly. Her body calls for him, and Tav wonders briefly if he can hear it.

The crazed beating of her heart? The lone song it sings only for him? The proof of their union that grows within?

“Your blood,” Astarion speaks against her skin. Suddenly he places his mouth over her scars and sucks voraciously, like a man starved. Tav moans, buckling at the knees momentarily. She grabs at his hair, threading her fingers deep against their roots for leverage. “Gods, there's nothing quite like the vintage of your blood,” he continues as he unlatches from her throat. The delicacy of her skin has given way to a mauve bloom; he smiles as he pulls away.

She shakes beneath him. If it weren't for the desk behind her, Tav would certainly collapse. He's trying to seduce her. Fuck her into submission – make her crave him so that she's more pliable, in whichever way he desires. These are his classic manipulation tactics, not unlike their humble beginnings.

“I know w-what you're doing, Astarion,” Tav says. “Don’t toy with me.”

He laughs – a quick condescending sound breaking free from his lips. “Oh, darling, you've been toying with me for months now. I'm very aware,” Astarion says with a smirk. He cranes his head. “Our dance is always the same – we fight, we kiss, and then I make the sweetest love to you as you weave your fingers between the very threading of my soul, ripping my heart free of my chest,” he adds with a sneer, pounding a fist over his heart.

Astarion pauses for a brief moment to stare at her. He pulls in a quick breath and his face softens. “And I let you, every time.” Tav gasps as the hand holding her face slides to her chin, fingers tracing the outline of her lips. “But you?” he continues, gesturing to a shelf on the wall behind them with a nod of his head, “You keep yours high on a shelf, completely out of reach. No matter how I clamor for it.”

Astarion releases her, hands entirely off her being as he steps back. “I lay myself bare for you every time. But you refuse to see it. Refuse to see me, beyond the glitz and glamor.” He knits his brow again, and Tav swears she sees a hint of moisture gather at the edges of his eyes. “Yet, I say nothing, because this is the only way you allow me to have you. And I’d rather have some of you than nothing at all.”

Silence blankets them both.

Has she been unfair to him? Cruel? Has she so sorely misjudged who he’s become? Tav shifts her gaze down to the floor as the questions mount. Maybe he isn’t this grand demon she’s characterized him to be. His talk of power and control after the ritual – perhaps it was a rush of emotions? The first taste of freedom after so many years of indentured servitude? He seems more settled now, not in so much of a rush to bend the entire city to his will.

Perhaps… she was wrong?

“So, may we skip straight to the finale?” says Astarion, distracting her from her thoughts, “Because I’m not quite sure how much more of this I can take.”

Her mouth hangs open, too stunned to speak. Tav looks up; she meets his eyes.

Maniacal laughter as he bathes in a glowing red aura of 7000 souls extinguished.

His face when the ritual was complete. The way he roared. How he laughed.

No, she's not wrong for mistrusting him. He's worse than a devil themselves.

They stare into one another's eyes, the tension swirling about the room thickening. Tav blinks; he still hasn't answered her question.

“You still haven't answered my question, Astarion.”

She stands firm.

He scoffs, turning his head toward the grand window. Astarion runs a hand over his face; he bites the top of a finger. “No,” he answers sternly, dropping the hand from his mouth. “I don't take particular interest in what happens within the bowels of this city.” He glances down at the fingernails of his closed fist, rubbing them across the front of his shirt. “My days of being a sewer rat are long gone, my dear.”

Tav winces. She's not entirely yet convinced. “Are you sure?”

Slowly, Astarion returns his attention to her. “Yes,” he growls low in this throat, “I am sure.” He tilts his head to the side as he lifts his brow. “Satisfied?”

Briefly she narrows her eyes, studying his face. Something about this… she's seen it before. He's pulled his face into an all-too-perfect expression. Not a muscle out of place.

“Yes, thank you,” she answers. Tav watches his liar’s mask slide off, replaced by a smug expression. He’s truly convinced he has her fooled.

How could she have ever loved such a horrid creature?

“Excellent,” Astarion hums as he clasps his hands. “Shall we return to more pressing matters?” His hands raise to caress the soft edges of her hips. He drops his face to her forehead, planting a soft, lingering kiss. Gently he rocks them together again.

He's turning this into his playground. His bargaining chip.

Sex. Lies. Manipulation.

He falls back on them every time. Seals every deal with the proposition of ‘a little death;’ wielding his body like a finely sharpened tool. In her case, if she doesn't play her cards carefully, Tav could very well be staring face to face with actual death.

“Of course,” she sings to him. “I wouldn't be truthful if I said I hadn't been thinking of this.” She smiles softly to him, in just the way she knows he likes – a smile that reaches her eyes. It's her turn to start dealing her hand.

And just as expected, Astarion folds.

Hands reach behind her knees, Astarion lifting her up and onto the top of the desk. Their kiss is hurried as he slots himself between her splayed thighs, his tongue entwining itself around hers. Astarion's hands travel up again, one landing on her waist while the other palms at a clothed breast. Tav arches her back, pushing her chest into his touch. She sighs as he continues massaging the tender mound, mewling into his mouth as he pulls teasingly at her nipple. Breaking the kiss, she rests her forehead against the bridge of his nose. Her chest heaves as she tries to regain her breath.

Astarion releases her breast and slides his hand up to push the strap of her dress off her shoulder. “Lay down,” he commands with a whisper. Tav hesitates at first, but then moves slowly. She gently lays back onto the surface of the desk; the wood is cold against her exposed skin, sending a chill through her. Astarion leans forward, planting open-mouthed kisses to her neck and the newly exposed area of her shoulder. He travels down, suckling softly at the swell of her breast. She writhes beneath his touch as his hair tickles her chest.

“Ai armiel telere maenen hir,” says Astarion, kissing down the expanse of her abdomen. Tav grasps at silver locks, threading her fingers through Astarion’s hair as he begins hiking up her dress.

“You’ve said that to me before,” she pants heavily while stealing a look between her legs. An involuntary twitch ripples through her as he kisses the inside of her thigh. Tav feels him smirk into her skin.

“And still you’ve yet to seek out its meaning,” comes his prompt response. Astarion hooks his fingers into the hem of her undergarments, Tav lifting her hips enough for him to slide the fabric down her legs. They hang off one ankle as he resumes lavishing attention to her.

She arches off the desk as he kisses her mound, dipping his head momentarily to swipe his tongue teasingly up her slit. “W-uh, what d-does it mean?” she questions in a moan.

Astarion hums as he kneels before her spread legs. “You'll just have to find out for yourself,” he teases. Holding her legs open, he runs the flat of his tongue up her center, stopping to lavish her sensitive bud. He wraps his lips around her clit, suckling gently as he brings a hand to her entrance.

“What are you-” Tav exclaims, clearly panicked. Two of his fingers prod over her entrance, Astarion lightly teasing the tips in and out. Their eyes connect and he finally breaches forward, his eyes now rolling back into his skull as he continues lapping at her cunt. He curls his fingers, jerking his hand back and forth to pass over the intimate spot within. Tav’s vision begins to fill with searing white heat, her body writhing under him. He's bringing her closer and closer to release, and fast. More quickly than ever before.

“Gods, you taste even better than I remember,” he moans softly, adding fuel to the ever-mounting fire within her belly. Astarion kisses her opposite thigh, continuing the assault with his fingers. “Thiramen,” he says softly, sensing her proximity to the precipice.

The fucking Elvish. He surely hasn't forgotten the effect it has on her.

“D-don’t… not fair…” Tav whines, looking down between her legs as she runs her hands through Astarion's hair. Her thighs quake, the coil in her lower belly winding tighter and tighter as it threatens to snap.

Astarion meets her gaze, tongue once again passing over her swollen clit. “Thiramen eath’she,” he says. “Let shan nesh tel’quiet, thiramen...”

Astarion curls his finger with just the right amount of finesse and suddenly Tav’s body ceases. She cries out, loud and wanton, her release spilling into the palm of his hand. Astarion smirks and continues passing his fingers over her spot, coaxing her through the intensity of her pleasure. Tav pulls her knees together and finally rolls away from his touch, too overstimulated to take any more. Her chest heaves as aftershocks of her release rock through her.

The vampire smiles as he stands up, wiping his face with the back of his hand. He begins undoing the buttons of his dress shirt, shrugging it off his shoulders. Opening her legs again, he leans over her. Tav’s face is flushed red, her eyes still closed as her mouth hangs open. He makes a quick mental note of her current state to call upon for later use. “So beautiful,” Astarion comments, snaking a hand down to the button of his trousers. With the deftness expected of a skilled rogue, he pops open the button and loosens the fastener.

Tav finally comes to, opening her eyes to meet his gaze. “Astarion…” she breathes, raking her nails over his bare chest. Looking between their bodies, she follows his hand as he reaches within the waistband of his underclothes, pulling them down his thighs. His cock springs free and Tav gasps. Pre-fluid gathers at the tip of him and her eyes flutter upward to meet his again, feeling heat rise to her cheeks.

“I'll stop, if you want,” Astarion whispers through kiss-swollen lips. Guiding his length to rest against her sex, he groans softly, resting his head against her forehead. Involuntarily twitches of his hips have his shaft sliding deliciously through her arousal. Both pull in a sharp breath when the head of his cock catches at her entrance, Tav’s body arching off the desk at the sensation.

Shaky hands rise to hold either side of his face, and Tav notices for the first time that evening how warm it is. A soft blush sits high on his face, across the tops of his cheeks. Astarion turns his head into her palm, planting gentle kisses. Any reservations begin to melt away at the gesture. “No,” she breathes, “it's fine. I want this.” Tav runs her thumb back and forth over his cheek. “Even if only for a little while.”

He nods, completely silent, then guides himself along her core. Her hands tangle within moonlit locks as he breeches her entrance. Her sudden pleasured moan is swallowed in a kiss, Astarion groaning out is own into her mouth as his length slips deeper, deeper, until he hits her end. Tav tastes the remnants of her release on his tongue; a bitter sweetness that tickles the back of her throat. An involuntary clenching of her walls around his cock as his tip kisses the end of her tunnel has Astarion moaning again, breaking their kiss. He buries his head within the crook of her neck, resting there for a brief moment as he bottoms out.

They lay still, Tav pressing a heated cheek to the side of his face. Inhaling deeply, she crosses her legs over the small of his back and pulls him impossibly closer. Astarion adjusts the angle of his hips and she gasps as the head of his cock pushes against her cervix again, slightly arching into his embrace. Gently he begins to rock his hips – short, teasing thrusts to test her readiness. He lavishes attention to her neck with languid kisses, suckling at the delicate skin.

This is… passionate. Intimate, Tav realizes. The words he cannot say aloud, that he's too afraid to say aloud, he'll express through this.

This is her Astarion. The man she fell in love with over a year ago. Here, like this, is him. Tav turns her face to plant reassuring kisses against his temple. “You can move, Astarion,” she tells him.

He doesn't lift his face, but she feels how he breathes against her skin. A hand comes up to thread within her hair, the other landing on her hip. He’s silent as he begins to move – pulling out before slowly plunging back in. They stay like this for a bit, Astarion rocking his hips into her core with added fevor. He glides smoothly as her arousal grows, Tav falling easily into their shared rhythm.

“Tav?”

She opens her eyes, unaware of having closed them. “Mmm?” she groans softly, mouth falling open in a silent gasp as he adjusts his angle.

“Do you trust me?”

It takes a moment, but she’s sure she hears a sort of sternness in his voice. Tav peels her head back to meet his eyes. They're wild – dark crimson pools that threaten to swallow her whole. Astarion breathes heavily through his nose, eyes cast down as he awaits an answer.

She opens her mouth to speak but the words catch in her throat. With a wandering eye she finds the ring laying next to her on the corner of the desk. Light gleams on the gold band, reflecting off the glass of encasement.

He kept the ring, she argues to herself. He kept his half of the rings.

Were he so terrible, would he have done that?

“I do,” Tav answers nervously, blinking rapidly.

“May I ask a favor?”

Astarion stills his movements. He holds himself up by his elbows, but not before guiding Tav to lay flat on the surface of the desk. She nods her head slowly as she looks up to him, inviting him to continue.

In an instant, her stomach twists.

He smiles.

“It's been so long since I've supped of you, darling,” Astarion says, voice smooth as velvet. “Would you be ever so kind to grant me another taste?”

A chill runs up her spine. The room is cold, suddenly so very cold. She's ripped violently from the benevolent illusion of the moment, finding herself face to face with the very creature of tales long past.

The innocent maidens.

They always come for the innocent maidens.

She was nowhere near innocent – not for many years. But a maiden? Yes, of this she was sure.

She never did tell Astarion, but he was her first as much as she was his. Her mind may have still been fractured, but somehow she had certainty of that one fact. The moment he breached her maidenhead was the beginning of everything. Bit by bit he carved out pieces of her. Took them, stole them for himself. More and more she gave, all in an effort to appease his ever-growing lust for power and control.

Astarion is, and was, a rolling thunderstorm – lightning fit to strike for no reason other than he can.

And now he's asking, again, for more.

An overwhelming urge to cry is building within her, but she won't. She chose this. To be here, with him. Like this. The consequences of her actions playing out in real time.

Her stomach twists again and she winces in pain. She understands his craving for blood well. The pregnancy has been kicking up old feelings; she believed them to be settled after the rejection of her Father. Can she really deny him his hunger?

Tav lifts her face to meet his gaze. Astarion is looking down at her with a blank expression. He silently awaits her answer.

“...D-do not turn me, Astarion,” comes her shaky response.

A deep rumble travels up his chest as he twists his face into a foreboding smile. “Of course not, my love,” he purrs, like a cat that finally got the cream. His hand twists within Tav’s hair, guiding her head upward to expose the long column of her throat. His eyes find her scars again and he sucks in a sharp breath, involuntarily jerking his hips into her core. Astarion’s arousal has flagged, though the promise of her blood has him twitching back to life.

Tav groans as she feels him swell within her, hooking her legs back around the small of his waist. Tears threaten at the corners of her eyes as she feels his gaze upon her. “Be gentle, please,” she pleads. Trembling hands rise to hold his shoulders as he moves into position, his mouth hovering above her neck.

Astarion peppers the underside of her jaw with kisses as he trails down her neck. “I would never dream of being anything but,” he speaks into her skin. He swipes his tongue over her mark, his mark, enclosing his mouth over the spot and suckling lightly. “You'll barely feel a thing.”

She could stop this. She should stop this. But instead, she lies in wait, bracing herself for the icy sting of his fangs piercing her flesh. Tav feels the points of his teeth press into her neck; she screws her eyes shut as they sink in, hands flying to the top of his head. She groans, gripping handfuls of silver hair.

He's right – the pain is only momentary, replaced by a familiar, comforting warmth. Astarion sucks in earnest, mouthfuls of her blood rushing down his throat. With his cock fully replenished, Astarion resumes a steady rhythm, thrusting in time with each pull of blood into his mouth. He groans against her skin.

He desires this, he desires me, Tav reassures herself. The edges of her vision are beginning to darken; a telltale sign that she's reaching her limit. “Astarion,” she says meekly, trying to alert him of her condition.

Yet, he continues to drink.

She pants against his forehead as she tries desperately to break free of his hold. Her strength is quickly fading, more of her vision fading with each pull of her blood into his mouth. Still his thrusts continue; a numbness starts to spread from her core throughout her limbs.

“Astarion…” Tav calls again, voice barely above a whisper.

The ceiling is the last thing she sees before she closes her eyes. Even behind her closed lids the room spins. One hand slips from the top of Astarion's head and onto the table, followed shortly by the other.

As she slips closer and closer into unconsciousness, Tav makes peace with the fact that she chose this. She knew this was a possibility. She knew he desired this, and she gave it to him. Willing.

He outplayed her.

A single thought races across her mind before she fades, of the artwork in the foyer.

The vampire bites the woman he desires.

Finally, Tav succumbs to the dark.

Astarion continues to drink.

----------------------------------

A/N: PHEW. Well. The art I referenced above I believe is a scene from a manga called "Blood Sucker," but I couldn't find an actual panel depicting the image above, even with reverse image searching. If anyone can find the actual reference, please feel free to inform me and I'll adjust the link. Translations for the Elvish are as followed: Ai armiel telere maenen hir - "You hold my heart forever" Thiramen - "I love you/my love" when referring to soulmates Thiramen eath’she - "I love you forever," again, in the context of soulmates Let shan nesh tel’quiet, thiramen - "Let go for me, my love," Sources are here & here

Hope you had fun reading!!

#astarion #ascended astarion #bg3 astarion #fanfiction #astarion smut #astarion angst #astarion fanfic #astarion x tav #astarion x named tav #astarion ancunin #bg3 #my writing #astarion x durge #astarion x female tav #astarion x female dark urge #sotlc

231 notes · View notes

just-some-random-blogger · 9 months

Text

Safe Keeping | 3

Part 1 2 3 4

"What say you, lady? Don't you think the Hound would make a fine husband? He would protect you, yes, and you would bear him many babes." I curtsy again but this time, my voice falters when I speak, "I- I think he would," I turn to my left, "Lord Sandor would make a fine husband... a fine father."

Sandor Clegane x Reader | 6k+ | cw: fem!reader, forced marriage, enemies to lovers, slow burn, angst, emotional unavailability, The Hound being abrasive, jealousy, canon typical casual misogyny/violence, themes/mentions of menstruation/pregnancy/miscarriage, baby fever, typos, etc.

A/N: i made a bunch of shit up in this this chapter so just roll with it (: originally posted on ao3 but felt like posting it on here

Tagging: @otteropera @poisonsage808 @glitterandgoldfinds

I blink harshly and pinch myself, willing my body awake. I force my eyes wide open, doing my best to make sense of the surroundings that were cloaked in black.

We were heading to my family's abandoned estate in the Brown Wood by the Sterling Rivers; finally, the people there would have a present preceding lord to govern them.

I had not been to the estate since my family was murdered when I was 10 and 3. There was a dread and an excitement that tingled in my body at the idea of return.

Right now, however, my head was starting to hurt from sleepiness.

It seemed we could cease for nothing. We, or rather, the horse and Sandor, have been walking for what felt like ages towards naught.

"Perhaps we should stop for the night," I turn to the Hound from atop my horse, whose face was barely visible in the darkness.

"And do what, little girl?" he groans, "you wanna sleep in the mud?"

I feel Lucy lean further into my shoulder from behind. She nuzzles into my neck and sighs; her arms, which were wrapped around me, loosened as she deeper fell into slumber. Daisy, too, was asleep. Much like Lucy, she nuzzled into Sandor's neck, who's been carrying her since King's Landing.

"Our options are currently limited," I tell him.

He scoffs, "a prissy lady like you thinks she can catch a wink of sleep with her head on a rock?" The Hound adjusts his hold on the reins of the horse, "if you find it hard to sleep on horseback, gods, do I have news for you."

I knit my brows at his words, "I don't find it hard to sleep. I'm choosing to stay up with y-"

"And which of us asked you to do that?" he scoffs and eyes me, "shut your mouth and sleep."

"You've been walking for leagues," I whine, "yours and the horse's backs must hurt from carrying-"

"Then shall I throw you away?" he snaps and stops in his tracks. The horse neighs at the sudden halt. I tighten Lucy's arms around me as I look down at him.

He was truly so large; even now as I was perched upon a steed, he barely had to crane his neck up to look at me.

"It'll be fucking easier for me to get by without 3 bitches weighing me down."

I turn away and huff.

Regardless of this, unlike most times, I feel no threat with his words. If he really wanted to get rid of us, he wouldn't have taken us in the first place. This much I knew. Still, I keep my silence on the matter and mutter instead, "I hope we find lodging soon."

Sandor scoffs and continues walking. He adjusts his grip on Daisy as he looks forward, "your hope is just as helpful as your dollies, little girl."

It's nothing short of a miracle that wandered to a town and found an inn. The moment I thanked the gods tough, they laughed at my face.

We flock outside the inn and Sandor immediately calls the worker girl carrying a bucket of potatoes, telling her to prepare us a room. She turns to him, swallowing the immediate terror she felt over his appearance, and choked out there were no rooms left for many claimed rooms tonight. She says we should try the inn another town away.

You could guess how much The Hound liked that.

The girl and I both gasped when the massive man blocked her passage and imposed upon her, "I suggest you fucking make room for us."

"Sandor!" I cry out, feeling Lucy wake behind me.

The girl drops her bucket; it breaks with a crash and out spills the potatoes. She scrams to pick it all up.

Daisy whines in shock of the noise, wakes, and lifts her head. I pull Lucy's arms off me when Sandor kicks the girl's bucket away. She squeals and falls on her bum just as I jump down from the horse gracelessly.

"WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!" I stand in his way before he can do anything further to the girl. This causes us to collide and I shuffle back in contact. My feet hit the girl's legs and I lose my balance.

I yelp the same time the Hound grabs me by the arm and snarls, "you stupid fucking girl!"

He rips me into his chest. His iron grip on my arm stings so bad I feel my eyes water. I hiss, "let go of me!"

Daisy begins to stir in his arms. She barks and he wrangles out of his grip. The Hound releases the both of us; the dog jumps out of his arms and comes to my side.

At this point, Lucy is wide awake and jumps off the horse. She fixes her satchel around her and comes to my side. She asks me if I'm hurt and rubs my arm as I did. I tell her to help the girl up as I glare at Sandor.

Daisy is losing her mind barking. It makes the Hound more furious than he was already. He tries to kick her, but Daisy was thankfully quick and managed to run off before he could hit her. She continues barking behind me.

I walk towards him when he makes an attempt to hurt Daisy again. I block his path and grabbing his thick arms, "STOP IT!"

The Hound's eye twitches. He reaches out and yanks my head back by the hair, "you really think you can stop me?"

I whine. I grab the hand on my hair, "she's just a child! It's not her fault there are no more rooms!"

The Hound growls. He releases me roughly.

I shuffle back.

Lucy glares at him as she collects the potatoes and gives it to the weeping girl; she gathers them in her skirts.

"I'm doing this for you, hen-peck," The Hound quips, "and you'd prefer to make me suffer all the way to the next rat infested village!"

"That's not what I'm asking you to do!" I rebut, blood pumping hot with anger, "I'm asking you to leave the girl alone because she's done nothing but be honest to us!"

A chill runs down my spine when I hear him laugh; it's the first time I've ever heard him make such a sound.

"You know what happens to you lot of honest people?" he steps forward and leans down to meet me eye level. I step back but hold his gaze. He he snorts then spits by his side before straightening up, "we lot kill you."

I am equal parts frustrated and scared when he turns around and walks off. Gods know what he will do now.

I call out to him, "I'll find us lodging! I swear it!"

"You go do that, little girl," he growls back as he disappears into the thicket.

I release a breath as I turn around and walk up to Lucy and the girl. Daisy finally stops barking.

"Forgive me, sweet girl," I mutter as I help the weeping thing up. I give Lucy a look and she immediately nods and goes through her satchel. I frown at the girl and brush away the hair sticking to her dampened face, "my husband has rough hands and a sharp tongue."

Her face falls upon hearing this.

Lucy pulls out a coin and shows it to her before slipping it between her belt.

"For your trouble, my dear," I pull away from her, "I hope no one will bother you again tonight."

With that, the girl curtsies and walks off.

"Would you like some wine, my lady?"

I turn to the man, sat diagonal to me. He gives me a beaming smile from ear to ear, hazel eyes twinkling with the morning sunshine. His his rosy cheeks are framed by his mousy blonde hair. He motions to his servant, but then changes his mind a second later. He stands from his seat on the table and grabs the ewer, ready to pour me a glass.

I cover the chalice before me and smile, "water is enough for me, my lord. Thank you."

"Oh," he raises the object, "please. This is special wine from my uncle's vineyard. I tell you there is none like it."

Lucy, sat to my right, lifts her eyes as she chews the duck we had been served.

I shake my head, "I do not doubt it. I do not think it appropriate for me to drink wine, however."

"Nonsense," he shakes his head and smiles, "a cup of wine in the morning will get your blood pumping."

"No, Lord, I do not make issue of drinking during this time of day," I purse my lips, "I mean I am..." I trail off trying to think of the simplest way to explain it, "expecting."

The man tilts his head in confusion.

"Of course, I am uncertain, but..." I turn to my lap then turn back to him.

Lucy chews slowly as she straightens up beside me.

"... I could be with child."

The man freezes upon hearing that. His lips part and his arm slowly lowers.

I offer him a soft smile. He makes a cautious sound, "my apologies, Lady Clegane."

"No. All is well, I assure you, Lo-"

"No," he clears his throat, "it was quite impertinent of me to press upon such a thing with a lady," he nods, "you have taught me a valuable lesson."

I let out a polite chuckle, "glad to be of service, Lord Alistair."

"Please, the Lord of house Alistair is my father," he smiles, "I bid you call me Cedric."

Lucy pretends to clear her throat and then grabs her cup. Our host sees this then stands up to offer, "perhaps you would like to try the wine instead?"

Lucy blinks and looks between him and I. I give her a look then she says, "don't mind if I do, milord."

I chuckle under my breath.

He pours her a cup and she immediately drinks it.

She lets out a breath, "wow. Cedric's right about the wine!"

Both of us perk in shock of Lucy's words.

"Lucy!" I quip.

"What, milady?" she makes an innocent face, "it really is god wine!'

"You cannot call our Lord by his name!"

"But he said not to call him Lord Alistair!"

My jaw drops, "Lucy!"

Cedric laughs, "no. She is right. I did say that." He looks between us, "I pray both of you call me by my name."

I turn to Cedric but do not get to respond as Lucy does it for me, "I am your obedient servant."

Cedric laughs and we make small talk as we continue to finish our morning meal.

Cedric Alistair was a most courteous host. Last night, as our options went dry, I asked the townsfolk where their lord resided, and we walked all the way to the Alistair stronghold in hopes of amity. We were met with much more than that

Not only did he feed me, Lucy, Daisy, and the horse, but he had his servants draw us baths and give us a change of clothes. He refused any of the coin I had to give him, and said it was only right to host a lady this way. He even said he would also have his men look for my missing husband.

Sandor wandered off after our squabble, thus we looked for a place to stay ourselves. I knew partially, he probably needed this time to cool his temper, but I obviously didn't want to be separated from him. And yet, the idea of having Lord Alistair's men look for the Hound made me anxious, as I knew the chances of a fight breaking out between them was high. In the end, told him he did not need to deploy his men because my husband would find his way to us eventually.

Cedric chuckled in surprise when I told him this, remarking I must have quite the capable husband.

Neither of us expected him to walk into the room in the middle of our conversation.

I stand from my seat when I spot him, "Sandor!"

Lord Cedric stands with me.

The Hound is expressionless, save for the way his brows were furrowed. His skin and armor is still covered in blood from the battle of the Blackwater; it's now dried up and brown. His hair and beard is matted.

Daisy, who had been graciously kept indoors and was being fed at the end of the room, runs as fast as her three legs can take her, towards the Hound.

Lucy finds herself standing because of this. She runs up to Daisy, who was now near Sandor. She scolds the dog who is excited to see him. Sandor ignores them both and heads towards me. I meet him halfway, looking his body once over.

Sandor halts when I place my hands on his arms. In truth, the action was instinctive. Seeing him like this in daylight was making my stomach churn. I look up at him, "this is not your blood, right?"

His eyes look heavy as he looks down at me. He huffs, "no."

I nod in relief, "here," I pull away and motion to my seat, "you can have my food-"

"Nonsense," Cedric interjects, turning from us to the entrance of the dining room, "could someone prepare a plate for Lord-"

Sandor reaches past me and grabs the duck on my plate, stuffing it into his mouth.

Cedric turns to him as he does this.

I ask, "could I request a damp cloth?"

Lucy finally calms Daisy down and convinces her to go back to her bowl and finish eating.

Cedric eyes me, then Sandor, then the entrance, "and a damp cloth!"

I watch as Sandor devours the meat, "where did you sleep last night?"

He huffs as he chews. "On a rock in the fucking forest," the Hound grumbles before swallows the duck in his mouth.

I frown at him, "we tried looking for you for a while after you stormed off, but I did not want to lead us any deeper into the forest beyond what torchlight touched."

Sandor gives me a nod, "smart girl."

The compliment fades in an instant when he pushes me aside and sits on my spot, finishing whatever was left on my plate. Cedric and I watch him eat. At the same time, two servants come in with a plate and cutlery, and a small basin bowl and a cloth.

"Good morn, milord," Lucy curtsies at Sandor, who spares her a glance but nothing more.

I circle around to grab a chair from across Sandor and bring it to his side. Cedric holds back whatever he is meant to say as he watches me thank his servant for the bowl and cloth, and prop it on the chair I took.

"Stop!" I hiss at Sandor, just as he reaches to a leg of chicken with his bare hand.

The Hound pulls back and turns to me with slightly wide eyes. In contrast, Lucy's eyes are as big as the moon.

I wring out the towel before taking Sandor's left hand, wiping it. I mumble, "I know you're starving, but you should eat with clean hands, my Lord."

Cedric finally sits down on his chair. Lucy turns to her own hands and wonders if she should wash after touching Daisy.

Sandor gives me his other hand to clean, silently watching me do this.

"Would you like milk of the poppy for your wounds, Lord Clegane?" Cedric asks, unable to tear his eyes from the man's face, "for your burn?"

I turn to him when he says this while. I motion to Sandor, wordlessly allowing him to continue eating now. I wash the towel in the basin, "he's not inju-"

"I would like some milk," Sandor says as he tears himself some chicken.

I furrow my brows at this, turning to him, "but you said-"

Cedric is about to call the order but then my husband's voice cuts him off. The Hound blurts just as I begin to wipe his face, "but only if it's from my wife's teat."

Lucy begins to choke on the wine she was drinking.

My freeze in my spot. I feel my face burn like a thousand suns.

There is a thick tension in the air, only thinned by the sound of Lucy's coughing.

I don't know what to say and so I decide not to say anything. I simply wipe the man's face with bit more force than necessary. He didn't even seem to notice.

The Hound eyes Lord Alistair the whole time he eats. It makes both the Lord, himself, and I severely uncomfortable.

"Sandor," I scold warily.

He does not turn to me as he picks up a cup, "wife."

I watch him chug down water then turn to me. The Hound asks, "you want some duck?"

I do my best not to roll my eyes.

The horses grazed as we took a break near a river. I watch Sandor kneel down by the water and wash his face. I scoff at him, sitting down on a rock.

We were on our way to my family's estate again. Cedric had been kind enough to offer us each a horse. The Hound, however, was too proud to accept a horse for himself, arguing he would not be able to carry the stupid bitch if he got on horseback.

He also rejected a bath, as 'we ought to not waste daylight.'

I look around the surroundings, finding solace in the fact that at least the weather was clear and kind. I watch Daisy run around and dig a hole with her paws; her broken leg did not really help, and yet that did not stop her from using it. I smile at the animal.

I watch Lucy lean into her horse and stroke it's mane. I can barely make out what she was whispering to the steed Cedric gave her. Still, the sight intensified my smile.

I so badly want to give them a good life.

I turn to the tree by my side. I remember how we used to have a tree in Brown Wood, how my father made my brothers and I a swing himself. I want that. I want to do the same for my children. I wonder if that tree was still there. I gasp when I spot a squirrel on the branch.

The Hound is immediately alerted by this and grabs his hilt, "what is it?"

"A squirrel," I point and stand. I walk over to the tree, "look, it's so little!"

Sandor makes a noise and makes a face, "Little?" he releases his grip, "what like you? Shall I get it for you as a pet?"

I turn to him, shocked by his offer. He would get a pet for me?

He walks towards me, "I won't be the one to kill it. Your dog will."

My expression morphs into a scowl.

He clicks his tongue twice then whistles. Daisy barks in response and follows after him. I am somehow angered by her obedience to him. I scoff under my breath, "I suppose dogs recognize each other."

The moment I see Daisy's excitement towards him, I regret speaking such harsh words. I'm glad Sandor did not hear it.

Lucy watches me as I walk up to my horse. Sandor takes me by the waist and lifts me with no fuss. I easily mount the horse and look down at him. I finally find it in me to bring it up after a painfully quiet travel, "you did not have to be so icy to Lord Alistair. He was a temperate host."

Sandor chuckles dryly and grabs the reins of my horse. He begins to walk. Daisy walks beside him as he says, "I'm sure he'd love to warm your bed. And I'm sure you'd want him to."

My face falls at his accusation.

"I'm sure you'd let him."

"Do not speak so low and surely of me, Hound!" I hiss, "these words you sputter weigh heavily on the both of us."

He chuckles again, "is that supposed to be a threat?" He turns to me, "you think I give a shit about words?"

"Well, I do!" I snap, eyes watering in anger and frustration, "and your words hurt me!" I turn away from him, "I have done nothing but try to please you, and you do nothing but try to hurt me!"

"Please me," he grumbles and looks away, "you've done nothing but nag and slow me down!"

I ignore him as I ruefully wipe away my tears, cursing myself for crying over him again.

The Hound is about to bark another string of complaints but stops himself as he whips back at me. He looks for a second, adjusting his hold onto he reins, then turns away, "you should have married the likes of fucking Lord Alistair, little squirrel."

I scoff and shake my head at his new nickname, "well, I didn't choose you, didn't I, Hound?"

Lucy's looks at me, lips parting at sound of the remark.

Sandor turns to Daisy, watching her keep up with him with her three paws, "no, you did not."

We were finally... home.

It was the dead of night when we arrived, and my family estate was as abandoned as ever. The place was called Brown Wood, as it was near a forest which was home to many brown bears. The forest extended to the Sterling Rivers, which got its name for it's clear waters where you could fish for gold. It used to be a haven for both men and beasts alike, now, it was a ruin of darkness.

The people that remained there stayed as far from the forest as they could, fearing what lurked in the shadows.

Sandor had to open the gates himself, as there would be no one to do it for us. The moment we were inside, a chill ran down my spine.

"This was your home, milady?" Lucy asks, looking around the place as our horses tread inside.

I sniffle and offer a smile, mostly to mask the fear building in my stomach, "it wasn't always like this."

"How old were you when you left again?" she asks as she readies to dismount her horse.

Sandor shoos Daisy away before reaching out to help me down. I reply before I do, "10 & 3."

I huff as Sandor sets me down. I look up at him. He looks down on me, pulling his hands that lingered too long away from my waist. Daisy begins to run around and bark. The Hound walks off and shushes her.

Lucy takes my arm and we go inside together.

I thought if we lit candles and the fireplace, I'd feel less scared, but I think I was terrified now. I thought that if I ignored that feeling as I showed everyone around my old home, I'd feel better, but I didn't.

Lucy had decided to take the room near the kitchen, so she wouldn't have to walk so far in the mornings to cook for us. I wasn't exactly sure where Daisy was. It was now only Sandor and I walking down the halls. I was leading us to the master bedroom with a single candle in my hand.

I open the door and step in, "here it is."

I turn to Sandor, stood by the door. I place the candle down my the bedside table. He surveys the room, taking in the cob webs and the dusty furniture, "it's big room."

I lick my lips, "it was bigger in my head, but... it must have just been because I was a child when I was last here."

Sandor looks at me and nods, "I will sleep in the room beside you."

"Wha- wait!" I step forward.

Sandor's boots skid on the floor as he stops himself.

"Y-you're-- y-you're not going to sleep with me?"

Sandor grips the knob, "have I ever slept with you before?"

I feel like I'm going to be sick.

A moment of silence passes.

"You could start sleeping with me now," I offer weakly as I motion around, "there's more than enough space for the two of us."

Sandor shifts before speaking, "I'm going to take a bath before going to bed." And with that, he closes the door behind him.

I gasp when he does. I feeling a heavy dread sliver up my spine.

I roll my shoulders back and roughly brush my arms. I light the other candles in the room and busy myself with changing the sheets. There was a bittersweetness in doing so. This used to be my parents room. I knew where they kept their things and all their things were still in place. One would wonder why every item was still intact and untouched, but then one clearly does not know the horrid tales that befell Brown Wood.

I rip the sheets off the bed, coughing as dust flew around. I do my best attempt at changing the sheets and chuck the musty ones by the edge of the bed.

Once I gave up in fitting the sheets the way Lucy did, I huffed and undid my dress, remaining in nothing but my shift. I then hid under the covers.

My exhaustion should have made it easier to sleep, but the setting was triggering my memories. It wasn't long until I was recounting the one I hated the most. Fear was clawing at me, and soon enough, my mind was playing tricks.

The next thing I knew I was frozen in bed, too petrified to move, but wanting nothing more than to get up and flee, to where, I did not know. I begin to feel tears stream from my eyes, but I'm too scared to make a noise, too scared that it will bring forth the darkness lurking in the shadows.

Somehow, I eventually manage to convince myself to call a name, I do this against a pillow though. Slowly, I call the name louder and louder until I was screaming into the bed, "SANDOR!"

I burst into a shriek when I feel something touch my shoulders.

"IT'S ME! It's me!" he groans, ripping my blanket down, turning me to face him. I sit up and grab hold of his arms. I look at his face, I look at Sandor's alarmed expression. He was in nothing but his breeches but that didn't stop me from grabbing his bare shoulders as I sobbed.

"What's wrong, squirrel?" he pushes my hair away from my face, "why are you calling out to me like this?"

I feel him wipe my cheeks. I miss the gentleness of his touch because I'm too wrapped up in my terror.

I shake my head, "I can't do it."

"Do what?"

"Sleep on my own," I choke out, grabbing his wrists, "please."

Sandor remains still as I move closer to him.

"I swear to you I will stay on my side," I shake my head rapidly, "I will not move. I will not make a sound. I will make myself as small as possible, but I beg that you sleep with me, that you stay with me."

Sandor considers my desperation in silence.

I whine when he pulls away. I repel his actions and throw myself onto him, "please-"

"I'm just going to get my shirt."

"There are shirts here!" I say as I grab his arm and stand from bed. I drag him towards the closet and hand him my one of my father's old shirt. I get on my tiptoes and begin to put it on him. He grunts as I do this, but lets me do it anyway.

"I got it," he quips when I try helping him put the sleeve on.

I watch him put on the shirt. It looked a bit tight on him but I couldn't care less, he would have to make due. I grab his bicep, "so, you'll stay with me?"

Sandor eyes me, pushing his hair back, "I don't have much of a choice, do I?"

I release a breath, "I swear," I shake my head again, "I will not make a fuss! I am a light sleeper! If I do something, simply wake me so that I do not both-"

"I get it," Sandor says, pulling his arm away. I follow him closely as he steps into bed. I quickly follow after him, taking the smallest portion of the bed possible.

"I'm not that fucking massive, girl," he grumbles once he's on his side.

I turn to him, "I don't want to-"

"I'm bothered with you sleeping so on edge that you're going to roll off any second."

I scoot a tad closer to him.

Sandor makes himself comfortable. I slowly let myself do the same.

I anticipate an interrogation from him. I'm sure he wanted to ask why I was crying, why I wanted him here, why I'm so scared, but they never come. He just lays there with me in the quiet. I instead find myself focusing on the sound of his breathing as a distraction to my racing mind. I eventually tire myself out and slowly doze off.

I wake up with a groan. I bite my lip and reach out to the other side of the bed. Empty again.

I sigh and roll under the covers. I freeze when I feel a dampness between my thighs.

I push myself up and pull the sheets down as I sit up. A pool of red was seeping through my shift. A panic shoots through me. I clutch my belly, mortified as I rip up my skirt and see how much blood I've lost. Was this...

I lie back down and try to count the days that I last bled and the day Sandor and I laid together.

I release a breath. The counting is both calming and frustrating.

I sit back up and call, "Lucy!"

I stand from the bed and pull the sheets off, "Margaret!"

I walk to the closet and fish for a change of clothes, "Annetta!"

A voice from afar calls out, "coming, milady!"

Lucy was the one that responded. She gasps when she walks in, eyes immediately on the red of my otherwise white attire, "you're-"

"Not with child," I finish for her, looking over my shoulder, "is a bath prepared for me?"

Lucy takes a moment before nodding, "yes. It's why it took me a while to get here," she walks over to the sheets, "the girls didn't prepare the bath the way you like it."

"I do not mind not having lavender," I pull out a dress from the closet.

"Well, I mind," Lucy turns to me, "you have been aching for a two days now."

I hum, "and now we know why," I motion to the bed she was fixing.

Lucy takes my arm before I can walk off to the bathroom. She speaks my name; she says it in a soft and wary manner. I purse my lips and turn to her. I raise my brows expectantly.

She clenches her jaw, "do you think it is monthly blood or..." Lucy's face hardens.

"My love," I shake my head and offer a smile, "it is simply my that."

My handmaiden is unconvinced, "it's been three moons since you've bled."

"And has that not happened to me before when I was a maiden?" I tilt my head and brush her hair behind her shoulders.

The both of us turn to the door when someone knocks. I tell whoever it is to enter and in comes Annetta. The young farmer's girl was one of the now many servants in Brown Wood. Her eyes widen when she sees the red on my clothes. She scrambles to get something to cover me. I chuckle and assure her it is alright because I will be bathing anyway.

This haunted place lost its ghosts once we took in people to employ. The estate now resembled something like that of my childhood; plenty of rooms were now being used, people were bustling in and out, only except now, all the responsibility was glaringly obvious to me for it was my responsibility... and Sandor's.

It was tedious work, managing a house, managing an estate, managing the whole expanse of what was within the Brown Wood and the Sterling River. The Hound was keen on being obvious to how tedious it was.

I am partially grateful that he was doing his duties-- no, I am grateful that he was. But-

"My Lord," I rise from my seat on the dining table when I see Sandor march down the halls towards me. I smile softy and nod, "good morrow."

"Nothing's good about morrows," he grumbles. Sandor draws the chair at the head of the table back with a screech. He looks down at the table. He turns to me and asks, "where's the grub?"

I decide not to respond and only look over to where the kitchen was, calling for the servants. I sit down and smile when I turn to him, "I was hoping you would join me today."

Three servants walk in carrying our plates of food and an ewer. The Hound watches them place it down and leave.

I stand up again when he takes his plate, "please."

"You know I've got no time for this," he hisses in annoyance, "I have a bunch of sorry fucks' complaints to listen to-"

"I can do that!" I place my hand on my chest, "I can fill in those duties for you."

Sandor freezes.

I turn to the table, "I wanted to speak to you about these things as we ate."

My belly swirls at his silence.

I turn back to him and catch the way he rolls his jaw and wrists. I manage to repress the way I jolt at how he roughly sits himself down. I take a deep breath before sitting down.

The Hound immediately feasts. He makes soft sounds as he chews. The cutlery clanks against the china.

I begin to eat as well, "did you wake before sunrise again?"

He responds by stuffing more food in his mouth.

I look at him as I chew. I look at his burn scar, where his hair started and ended on that side of his face. I notice at how, though he is quick to eat, he is mindful not to get anything on his beard. I notice how he not once looks back at me.

"You needn't wake so early," I offer softly, "you can have someone else-"

"None of the sorry fucks in this town know how to use a sword, not properly. Once I train a few of them, they can train themselves," he takes the ewer and pours himself a cup of wine. He mutters as he brings the cup to his lips, "they keep complaining about the woodland monsters stealing their sheep, but I reckon it's them thieving on each other."

I put my silverware down, "you might not believe it, but the woodland monsters are real."

The Hound sets his cup before him and continues to eat.

I feel a frustrated ire build in me, "I've told you, those creatures are what killed my family. You saw my scar. You know why I cannot sleep without you."

"I didn't say I didn't believe your story," he finally turns to me, "I said they're stealing each other's sheep."

I turn back to my plate and cut up my food, "will you investigate the theft then?"

"What for?" he continues to eat, "I scared those pricks shitless. If anyone is stealing, now they won't."

My face twitches at the thought.

Sandor notices.

He chews for a moment before asking, "what?"

I tense as I turn to him.

He looks expectantly.

I purse my lips tightly before curving it into a smile, "you have been working tirelessly and have... very surely established lordship to Brown Wood, a role that is immensely different to the one you used to have. I know that this is not the life you want or ever thought of having, but I am grateful for your a-"

"You don't have to shield my heart and kiss my ass, squirrel," he leans back on his chair and waves impatiently, "get to the point."

I lick my lips and huff, "your time in service has hardened you, as it would any other man. It has helped you become the valiant warrior you are, but--" I cut myself off to gently mutter, "I feel your way is a bit too coarse."

The Hound says nothing.

I straighten up, "that is why I would like to take upon your load of relating with the people," I reach for the ewer and pour myself some wine, "in this way, you will not have to rise so early to fit all your errands in a day."

He places his hand atop my cup when I try to pick it up.

I pull my head back as he straightens up, "you know I used to wake at the ass crack of dawn for the stupid boy-king, doncha?"

My stomach drops when he leans in.

"So, what?" he narrows his eyes, "you'd do all the talking by yourself?"

I gulp, "ideally-"

"Ideally," he chuckles and pulls away.

"-so that you may use that time for your other responsibilities, your patrols. That is something you're much more accustomed to."

My skin pricks as when laughs harder. It felt like his amusement was laced with poison.

He shakes his head and sighs deeply. He looks at me for a good long moment then tilts his head, "you think I can't do it."

I furrow my brows.

"You think I'm an imbecile who can't solve petty arguments between illiterate boneheads," he begins to flare, "and you don't want the pretty memory of your dead fucking family to be tainted by my monstrosity."

I am appalled by his words, "that's not what I said!"

"You didn't need to," he nods, "shackled to a Hound, you ought to use him like one, right? Never mind giving him a chance."

I feel like a stake pierced through my ribs. His low chuckle squeezes my heart. I rebut, "that is not what I meant."

"And what did you mean?!"

"I want to help you!" I fight back the way my eyes wanted to water, "I want to share your burden! I grew up watching my uncle speak to his people in his house, while you grew up learning the ways of the blade. What I offer is a more logical setup."

"Just like it was logical of you to keep a three legged dog," he quips back.

I scoff in disbelief.

"I suppose you want me to hunt the creatures that butchered your family next, huh?" he scratches his beard.

My face drops at the thought. I rapidly shake my head I disagreement.

He clenches his fist and grits his teeth, "why not? Maybe then you can have your kid with that pretty boy-lord across the meadow."

His words make belly contract. I clutch my belly, painfully aware that I was bleeding between my thighs this moment.

"I'm not with child," I blurt out, unable to contain my tears any longer.

Sandor is freezes, at the sight of the tears and the statement.

"I woke up bleeding," I say between cries, "I've never been regular bleeder. It's not unusual for me to skip through multiple moons."

The next words he says butchers me.

"Maybe it's the gods' will for you not to be a mother."

I stare at him in horror after hearing this. His blank expression is chilling to the bone.

He suddenly stands, "there's always something awry when we speak, and you always end up weeping."

Is this why he thinks I shouldn't be a mother?

"In any case, we ought to not speak to each other at all."

My jaw drops. I nearly choke on my heart, "now you don't even want to speak to me."

"Look at yourself," he raises a hand, "you don't want to speak to me."

"Because you are treating me so cruelly!" I spring up from my seat.

The Hound shakes his head, "I'm treating you just fine. I'm doing you a favor."

Sandor tenses as he watches me shove my chair back and walk away.

620 notes · View notes

bunny-lily · 16 days

Text

Tether Me - Chapter 2

Pairing(s): Geto/Gojo/Reader

Summary: “Hey! Didn’t keep you waitin’ too long, did we?”

“No, not long,” you assured, fighting hard to keep your eyes off his friend for however long possible, vainfully clinging to your sanity. You knew that as soon as you centered your vision on him, your ability for conscious thought would evaporate.

You wanted to present yourself as at least marginally normal as a first impression, though you doubted you were achieving that by avoiding the obvious third presence. You were surely coming off as rude, you really should–

“This one's Geto Suguru,” Gojo introduced the noiret by his side, nipping your overthinking at the bud.

At last, your full attention was guided to him.

Oh.

Oh. That was a mistake.

AN: there's a couple mentions of emotional eating (in thoughts). Degrading words towards self (slut, whore, etc) but not self-degrading. I think that's it? Lemme know if I missed something, it's 5:50 am at time of posting and I am eepy, so I'm sorry if I did ♥

Ch: Prologue | Ch: 1 | Ch: 2 | Ch: 3 | Ch: 4

WC: 12.9k

The scent of something marvelously delicious wafting through the air had you groggily rolling over from your stomach to your back in bed, stretching your arms above you and practically vibrating the way a cat would as you eased away any sleep-induced tension from your muscles.

You honestly hadn’t slept that well in a long while. You were bleary-eyed, sure, but refreshed. You didn’t have any heavy bags under your eyes, you didn’t experience any nightmares of being hunted. Just calm, good, dreamless sleep.

As much as you wanted to laze around in bed all day, though, the watering of your mouth couldn’t go ignored. Or the rumble in your stomach, for that matter.

With a sleepy groan and big, feline-like yawn to match your stretch, you shuffled out of bed and rubbed the crusties from your eyes as you pulled on some comfortable clothes. Hell if you knew what you were going to do for the day, you could figure that out after you sated your appetite.

You were downright drooling when you left your room to do your morning routine and groused like a toddler that didn’t want to brush her teeth before devouring her weight in breakfast. But you were a grown ass woman that quite preferred to have good hygiene, thank you very much. The intoxicating call of sustenance would have to wait until after you scrubbed your face and polished your teeth to perfection.

Catching sight of yourself in the mirror made you choke when you saw how chaotic the nest of hair on your head was. You felt like a cartoon character that got zapped, your tresses sticking in every direction.

You must have slept really well, then.

You combed your fingers through the messy strands, trying to smooth the misbehaving locks. It took some effort to tame them into a somewhat presentable fashion, which was the most you cared to do when you were dying to eat already.

Your eyes flickered towards the remaining bottles you left on the sink countertop from last night and you nearly lost your shit.

Just what did Satoru put Ijichi through to get you high end skin products like these? And in such a short amount of time? You guessed the poor man broke a few speeding laws to get these in time for you to use. That, or maybe Satoru had informed him earlier, when you initially agreed to take him up on his offer to stay at his place. Or he already had them and was keeping them around for this kind of situation? Did he use the same brand?

Well, whatever. You were going to use those zealously, so help you god.

And, by the heavens above and seas below, they were fucking incredible. Your face was baby-skin soft. Lustrous, dewy, you were glowing, and certainly felt like it, too. You couldn’t stop touching your cheeks and forehead, they were just so smooth.

No wonder rich people always had the clearest skin. If you had these while growing up, you never would have had to deal with getting acne in your teens and into your adulthood.

So fucking unfair.

Lamenting how Satoru was born with a silver spoon in his mouth while you were robbed by the universe, you followed the delectable wisps of the tasty aroma in the air like a drunk cupid with tiny wings and a dazed veneer on your face. There you found the man himself in the kitchen, humming an unfamiliar song to himself.

You continued to be baffled that he knew how to cook. It seemed almost unnatural, in a way. He was the prime example of a rich boy that you could find reclining on a poolside chair, hands behind his head as a servant hand fed him grapes. Yet here he was, cooking away, an apron tied around his neck and waist (with frills and little hearts, too, the flashy ass). You wouldn’t be surprised if it had ‘Kiss the Chef’ written across the front and oh, would you look at that, you were right.

“Goooood morning!” Satoru exclaimed, turning away from the stove to greet you. The apron was even flashier than you thought. For fuck’s sake, it had sequins on it. “How’d you– whoa. Nevermind, your hair answers that question.”

You subconsciously tried to flatten down your frizzy tangles once more, grumbling and pulling your gaze away from the atrocious fabric covering his chest that you would totally wear as well, gods, it was horrific. Your morning hair never liked to cooperate with you. “Morning.”

Yawning against the back of your hand, you climbed onto one of the barstools at the kitchen island and veered your body to the side, trying to see what he was cooking around his arm. It smelled sweet, the kind of sweet that was almost enough to make you nauseous, but wouldn’t actually cross that line. Kind of like dessert after you’ve filled yourself to bursting with dinner.

“What are you making? It smells really good,” you said.

“Pancakes!” He exclaimed, sliding an already finished plate to you, soufflé pancakes stacked high atop, drizzled in chocolate and syrup. He even added fruit slices in an arch around the back, just to make it extra fancy.

Someone had a sweet tooth, it seemed. That, and it was obvious he was trying to show off his culinary skills, having the perfect reason to do so now.

But who were you to point that out? You were getting free food, and not even for the first time! Of course you were going to stuff yourself sick with these. Because, honestly, they did look incredible. You would have felt bad about devouring such art if your stomach wasn’t going nuts.

“Wow, these smell amazing,” you said, scooping up a bite with the fork he passed you. You admired it, tilting it a few degrees in the light, then chomped down on it.

The noise you made was downright unholy. Straight to the Second Circle with you, don’t even think about looking at the pearly gates of Heaven.

“Fuuuuck,” you keened as you immediately shoved another piece into your mouth. You savored the delectable meal with chubby cheeks, letting the sugary and fluffy delight overtake your senses. “This is so fuckin’ good.”

He cackled at your reaction as he finished cooking and styling up his own plate, ditching the eye-bleedingly ugly apron, and you realized a trice too late that you just stroked his ego considerably. “I didn’t know you could make those kinds of sounds,” he quipped. The sunlight pouring through a nearby window caught the lenses of his glasses when he slid into the seat beside you, making them glint the same way his eyes would if you could see them unobstructed. “Makes me wonder what other noises you can make.”

You almost choked on the pancake you were greedily wolfing down.

Okay, he was not allowed to say things like that while you were eating. And especially not in that voice, the one that lowered a couple octaves and had you squirming in your seat. Barely 10 minutes into the morning and you were already struggling to keep your composure around him.

You swallowed down your food stiffly and patted your sternum with a wee cough. “You’re going to be the death of me.”

“I’m not opposed to that.”

“You promised you’d let me use your hot spring first.”

“I can be patient!” Exclaimed the man who very much could not be patient.

You deadpanned, but your lips quivered as you tried to restrain a grin. “Somehow, I doubt that.”

He moped like he was told he couldn’t go to the park today. “You’re so mean to me. How could you? And right after I graciously agreed to house you, too.” Wow, he wasn’t kidding about not letting you live that down.

To make up for it and bring the whiny baby back into a good mood, you let him have a few bites of your food, and he lit up like a damn firework, scarfing them down without a second thought. He had this sort of boyish charm that was difficult to resist in a way that made you want to tease and taunt him endlessly. His statuesque features certainly aided his charisma.

“By the way,” Gojo began, speaking around a piece of syrup-covered strawberry from his own dish. “There’s someone I want to introduce to you later. You’ll like him.”

You gave him a sidelong glance. Was this the second ‘someone’ Granny mentioned the day before? You shuddered at the thought of dealing with two Satoru’s. You barely knew the first one, and he was already a handful and a menace. You chewed quickly and swallowed to answer.

“Is he anything like you?” You asked, doing your best to be ladylike and eat the way a normal person would. You weren’t really succeeding.

He grinned wide. “He’s the best! Second to me, of course.”

“That does not answer my question,” you pointed an accusatory fork at him.

“Pshh, don’t worry. He’s cool. Well, not as cool as me, but very close.”

That still didn’t answer your question. More so, it put you on edge. You were already mentally preparing to get acquainted with this potential twin, doppelgänger, and/or clone.

“Can you at least tell me his name?”

“Geto Suguru,” he responded.

Geto Suguru, huh?

Same initials as Gojo Satoru. Same amount of syllables, too.

You were so fucked, weren’t you?

The thought of having two copies of the gremlin beside you had you preemptively putting your hands on your nape to ease the tension. Figuratively, but possibly literally, depending on if height was something they shared.

“Alright,” you said. “When do you want me to meet him?”

“Oh, the time will come, you shouldn’t worry your pretty little head.”

Well, if that wasn’t the most cryptic shit that definitely had you worrying your pretty little head. Asshole, he was doing that on purpose, confirmed by that cunning expression he had as he observed you with his temple resting on his fist, elbow on the counter. He liked toying with you.

You narrowed your eyes at him. “Don’t look at me like that.”

He raised his brows. “Like what?”

“Like you’re planning some shit.”

Satoru pressed his fingers to his chest, feigning innocence. “Why, I’d never!”

He was absolutely planning some shit. All you could really do now was brace yourself for whatever was to come, though you were certain that no amount of readying yourself would keep you from getting swept off your feet. “I’ve got my eye on you.”

That was the wrong thing to say, considering he fucking swooned and tipped over, resting his head on your shoulder and closing his eyes, sighing like a schoolgirl. “I knew you thought I was handsome.”

You gave a long-suffering exhale and poked his cheek. “I said no such thing.”

“Yeah, but you looked it.”

“The hell does that even mean?”

“Just keep your eyes on me, pretty baby,” he directed and sat back up, reaching for his fork. “What’s on the agenda for you today?” He asked as he scooped up the rest of the syrup on his plate with the last bite of his food.

You coughed to cover your blush, grateful for the topic change. “Well, I guess take stock of all I’ll need to do with my house. I got a job at Granny’s store, so I’ll start working there in a few days.”

“Shit, really?” He gaped at you. “That fast?”

You nodded around your final piece of pancake, closing your eyes to savor the sublime flavor. You’d have to make him teach you to cook like that sometime, too.

A ‘whooh’ sound left him. “Impressive.”

“It’s weird,” you said. “Everything’s worked out so far, and I’ve barely been here for two and a half days. I’m getting suspicious.”

“Why?”

Your shoulders lifted and dropped. “Seems too good to be true. Gotta stay on my toes, y’know?”

Satoru ruffled your hair as he stood to stack your empty plates into the dishwasher. “You think too much, sweetheart.”

You crossed your arms over your chest. “Let me be paranoid.”

“You’ll just give yourself worry lines like that,” he cautioned, returning to press his index finger between your brows, “riiiight here. You gotta relax, princess. Chill out, do something fun.”

It was hard to, after spending so many years escaping metaphorical ghosts. Old habits die hard, you supposed.

He was right, you could really use a break from non-stop wariness. This was supposed to be a fresh start, after all. You washed your slate, unmarked of everything on purpose, keeping next to nothing but your name and the clothes on your back. No contacts, nobody waiting for you somewhere, no responsibilities or obligations holding you back. Who knew how long you’d get the chance to let go like this? Might as well take advantage of it.

You weren’t sure what would qualify as ‘fun’ here, but you were a new sprout, after all. What better way than to learn firsthand?

“Alright,” you agreed. “Recommend anything?”

“Hmm,” he lolled his head side to side. “Go to the bakery. It’s not far from Granny’s store, a couple streets north. Hard to miss, it’s got a big sign. We saw it on the way to Granny’s yesterday.”

You scratched through your memory, trying to remember exactly where it was. You had a fuzzy idea, but the benefit of living in such a small locale was that it wouldn’t be too difficult to find. “Will do, thanks. I’ll go after I check out my place first. I’ll need the emotional support after that.”

“Fair enough, I saw why,” he chortled. Oh, the exterior was nothing compared to the interior, sweet summer child. “You want a ride there?”

You considered it, then shook your head. “Nah, it’d be better for me to walk there to get more familiar with the town.”

“You sure?” He raised a brow, a teasing, lazy smirk crawling up his lips. “Won’t get lost?”

“Probably,” you snorted, “but experience is the best teacher, eh?”

He chuckled low in his throat. “If you do get lost, don’t be afraid to call me. I’ll be your prince in shining armor.”

You made a ‘pffft’ noise and glared at him. He just smiled back like the dork he was. “It’s knight in shining armor.”

“Prince is better. I’m not some lowly knight.”

Drama queen. “Alright, whatever you say, prince. I’ll see you–” In the midst of slipping off the stool to get ready to leave, you stopped, remembering a key piece of information. “Hey,” you spoke up, rotating to scrutinize him with a squint. “How did you know my back door doesn’t have a lock?”

He shrugged nonchalantly. “My friends and I would go there on dares when we were younger. Believed it was haunted, dumb kid shit, you know how it goes.”

Oh.

That– yeah, that sounded way more plausible and understandable than whatever ghost stories about kidnappers and serial killers you came up with. But he still could have phrased it better than he did, he didn’t have to go creepy-mode to convince you to stay with him for the time being.

“Why?” He chortled. “Thought I was gonna kidnap ya?”

“Yes,” you replied automatically, scratching the spot behind your ear sheepishly. “Sorry about that.”

He snickered at your expense, bending down and lowering his voice into a rumbling murmur. “You never know. Maybe I will.”

“Har har,” you replied flatly. “Very funny.”

His lips curled further, eyes gleaming behind his shades. “Better keep your guard up, princess. Someone might just come and snatch you up when you least expect it.”

You scoffed as you swiveled and headed towards the front door. Satoru followed you in a way that reminded you of a puppy, or a mischievous cat, observing you as you tugged on your shoes. “I’m sure I’ll be fine. I can scream really loud.”

“And if they cover your mouth?”

“I bite,” you grinned toothily.

He crooned. “I’ll keep that in mind. You sure you don’t need a ride?”

“I’ll be fine,” you dismissed his uncertainty and double checked your purse as you put it on. “I’ll catch you later.”

“Ah, wait, before you go,” he halted you, reaching out to search through a bowl on the console table pushed up to the wall. After a second or two of digging around, he pulled out a key attached to a ring and held it out to you. “Here, in case nobody’s home when you get back.”

You took it from him and turned it over in your palm, evaluating its untarnished sheen. “Thanks,” you tucked it away safely into a pocket in your purse. “Is it new?”

“Just a spare,” he stuffed his hands into his pockets. “Put it to good use, yeah?”

“Sure,” you agreed.

He patted your head and you scowled at him. “I’ll be awaiting your call for when you need to be rescued.”

You stuck your tongue out at him as you opened the door and stepped out of it. “Dream on.”

His rolling laughter was the last thing you heard as you closed it behind you. The purity of the air awed you again. It was like a medium between you and nature, tickling every one of your senses. There was this certain liberating power in this valley, one that swelled behind your heart and spread out like hot tea on a cold winter morning.

It swirled in your stomach and radiated from your chest in time with your pulse, lulling and salving. Why had you never considered going to the countryside before?

You were a city-hopper, bouncing from metropolitan hellscape to metropolitan hellscape, where the streets of downtown reeked of anything sickly, apartments were expensive to rent, and you only ever felt like a side character.

Restaurants there were always jam-packed, cafés were less of early day respites and more places of palpable depression. The bars were grimy and boozy, ear-piercingly loud and sweltering with the body heat of dozens of people pressed too tightly together, but at least they were good for one thing.

They were good for shutting down your brain. When it got too loud and too full, when the alcohol burned too much and the people were too touchy, that was when you went into autopilot and thrived in the bliss of silence created by the endless droning of the bass vibrating from your feet to your scalp. You hated liquor, just the thought of it made you queasy, but you craved the buzz it gave you back then.

You didn’t have that luxury now, but you didn’t need it. You hadn’t so much as thought about partaking in that vice since moving, actually. Had you known about the kind of life you could find here, you would have ditched the neon streets a long time ago.

The placidity of mostly untouched vegetation and of the tightly knit community provided a different kind of solace, one that distracted you with things far more interesting than paranoia and anxiety-driven overthinking.

You didn’t feel lost here. Not in the metaphorical sense. Literally had yet to be seen. It remained unfamiliar, but your panic had smoothed out from the first steps you had taken off the train. You could breathe without feeling like there were matches being held too close to your lungs, or needles aimed at your heart.

You didn’t hold onto hope, though. The pattern remained the same. Once you got used to this place, you’d hop on the next train and be on your less-than-merry way.

Will I ever stop running? You asked yourself frequently.

Nobody ever answered.

That’s alright. For now, you were okay.

Choosing not to indulge in those ideologies, you followed the curving road back down the incline, noting that the car Ijichi had brought you in was gone. You’d need to find a way to thank him, as well as Granny. You didn’t like being indebted to people, especially if it put you at risk of getting tied down.

Satoru was a different problem entirely, since he was letting you live with him. Chores, rent, maybe another thing or two to keep the score level. You weren’t great on brainstorming ideas on how to return favors, but you’d figure it out. A good walk always helped make the creative juices flow.

You ruminated on who he wanted to introduce you to later, coming up with ideas about what he might be like. Hopefully a counterpart and not a duplicate, you weren’t sure how much you’d be able to handle if that was the case.

If he was friends with Satoru, though, the likelihood of him driving you insane in one way or another was highly likely.

“I bet he’s disgustingly handsome, too,” you muttered cattily under your breath. “I’m gonna see him and the last brain cells I have are gonna explode.”

It didn’t help that you had no idea when you were going to meet this ‘Geto Suguru’. Would you have time to anchor yourself mentally? Would it be today, or a week from now? Could you even prepare at all?

Ugh.

Satoru was right, you thought too much.

As you roamed around, the shrine caught your eye once more, and you stopped to take it in. You hadn’t been to a shrine before – not this kind, anyway. The bigger ones in Tokyo didn’t count. You vaguely remembered how to pray, though you weren’t sure if you should. Paying respects, though, that was fine.

You nibbled on your bottom lip, debating. In the end, it wasn’t a hard choice. You would take any chance to procrastinate and delay facing the disaster awaiting you as much as you could. Except for the bakery Satoru recommended, you were saving that for after you made a plan for your house. You figured you’d want to stress eat afterwards to balm your troubled heart.

Besides, you weren’t sure if you’d have the time to visit after you got started on everything. You had a few days to use up, why not use them to check things out?

The trail leading up to it was easy to find, and though clearly well-traveled and requiring some exertion to traverse, it was clear that it was loved. The flowers on either side of the path were tended to with a compassionate hand, blooming and fragrant. You took a break on several occasions just to sniff a few, admiring them.

Usually, you were picky about flowers.

Most were less redolent and more bitterly pungent for you, such as roses. They were elegant, no doubt, but their scent always bordered on perfume-y in a way that reminded you more of an old folks’ home rather than pleasant and subtle beauty. Generally, florid notes made your face scrunch up like you ate something unexpectedly sour.

These flowers were just right, though. They still had those floral undertones, of course, but presented salubrious and fruity essences atop it. It made you mull over why every other flower you smelled before wasn’t palatable.

Soon, the shrine entrance was in clear view. You traced your finger along the edge of a petal one last time before standing up from your squatting position and making your way over to it. The tower itself was mostly vertical in terms of size, decently small in contrast to the typically larger ones scattered about Japan, but it fit in perfectly with everything else here.

There were two stone benches on either side of the archway leading in, pressed up to the sturdy cobblestone foundation, and lanterns situated at the corners of both, reminding you of a few animated movies with similar designs you’d seen in the past. They were slightly shaded, turned a few degrees away from the sun, and you imagined it would be nice to read there and watch the sun fall asleep beyond the horizon.

The doors were open, guarded by dog-like statues, a bit crudely carved out. Satoru had mentioned it was a shrine dedicated to the wolves that used to roam the mountains, so the statues were likely meant to resemble them. You were curious about the interior, wanting to see the altar up close, since each place of prayer had their own uniquely made one, but the sight of a person clad in white and red kneeling in front of said altar within had you nixing that idea. You could do it another time.

She must have noticed your approach as her head lifted and she peeked partially over her shoulder. She rose up and rotated to face you, and you withheld your exasperation.

Right, this was just fucking ridiculous now, what the fuck.

Why was there another criminally attractive person in this godsforsaken valley? You got scammed, you wanted your money back. Everyone here was so out of your league, you felt like the dog that caught the baseball bat after it’s thrown rather than a player in the game. What, was there going to be an additional good-looking person, ready to knock the wind out of you?

Probably Geto.

If any of these people told you to get down on your knees and bark, you would have without question.

Seriously, why?

You should have been relishing existing in the presence of so many charming folks, but in reality, it just made you feel self conscious.

“Hello,” she greeted as she walked over to you, bringing you out of your internal raging monologue. “May I help you?”

“Oh,” you fluttered your lashes and stammered minutely, trying to recollect yourself. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to distract you. I just wanted to see the shrine.”

The shrine maiden’s lips tilted up politely. “You’re fine, don’t worry. Are you a tourist?”

“No,” you fidgeted with your thumb and index finger on your right hand. “I moved here recently. I’m checking around to get more acquainted with the area.”

Her brows rose a millimeter short of being comical. “Really? That’s surprising. Did one of the villagers leave that I didn’t know of?”

“Also no. I bought the house on the outskirts, uhh,” you twisted to scan behind you and pointed in the general direction of it. “That way.”

“That house? I thought they’d torn it down a long time ago. Why that one?”

You lowered your arm. “It was cheap. Gave me an excuse to move here properly.”

“I hope you’re not staying there, it’s dangerous,” she frowned, using a stern yet caring voice.

“I’m staying with Gojo Satoru while I fix it up.”

Immediately, the woman’s face twisted into a sneer of repulsion. Scorn shadowed over her honey-brown eyes, causing yours to widen as hers narrowed. “Run away while you still can,” she told you firmly.

Well, that’s not worrisome at all.

What the hell did he do to her?

“What? Why?” Your brows furrowed.

She sighed as if the mere mention of Gojo had stripped a few years off her lifespan. “He’s the devil in disguise.”

Was anyone ever going to give you a straight answer about him? “Did he…do something?”

Her scorn turned to ire and agitation in a snap. “He’s so obnoxious! And arrogant, I can’t stand to be around him, he pisses me off to no end,” she downright snarled, heat rising to her cheeks from her anger. “He acts all high and mighty when he’s just a spoiled brat that refuses to respect his elders!”

“Oh–”

“Me!” She pointed harshly at herself. “I’m his elder! Well, I mean, not the only one, but still! He was raised like a golden child, given everything he wanted. He loooves getting on everyone’s nerves, especially mine. Get away from him or he’ll send you to an early grave, miss.”

You didn’t know what you were expecting when you came to view the shrine, but a rant from a peeved miko definitely wasn’t anywhere on your list of possibilities. His name alone sent her into a tailspin, and you would have regretted it if seeing her go off about the man wasn’t more entertaining than it had any right to be. You did feel bad, but madly interested, too.

“I…see,” you reacted stiltedly, stifling a laugh. “Are you, like, exes or something?”

She gaped at you as if you had informed her of her puppy’s passing. “What? No! Absolutely not! I– how could– never even mention–” She abruptly stopped herself, took a few intensely deep breaths to calm herself, then she was smiling kindly again as if nothing had happened. “Where are my manners? I’m Iori Utahime, a miko. It’s a pleasure to meet you. And you are?”

Left reeling from her unexpected 180 in demeanor, you stuttered out your own name in response, to which she nodded in approval.

“A lovely name. You said you moved here recently? How fun! What brought you to this valley?”

Satoru had several questions to answer for the next time you saw him. If you had a notepad and pen, you would have been writing them down like a P.I., bobbing your head with a solemn face as you asked Iori to recount her history of events.

“I came to study abroad in Tokyo a few years back, and fell in love with the country,” you said. “I’m not big on cities, though, so coming here seemed perfect.”

Maybe you were embellishing your story a bit, but in all fairness, you didn’t know her. Besides, clean slate; you had no story before this, why not paint one now that you had the freedom to?

You weren’t going to whip up some grand tale about how you were this astonishingly intelligent, leading programmer in your country that did impressive work for science (that was your mother), but it didn’t hurt to fib the truth a small amount. The part about studying abroad was true, anyway.

She appraised you with an interested visage. “I see, I see. Where are you originally from?”

Man, people loved asking that, huh?

It’s not like you could blame them, you’d do the same in their place. You were a foreigner, they were going to treat you like one.

“Ah,” you told her of your place of origin. “It’s nothing special. I mostly traveled.”

“Oh? How did you make money?”

“Freelance,” you answered. “Odd jobs here and there, enough to keep myself afloat. Have you traveled before, Iori-san?”

You could see the overjoyed spark in her eyes that someone was finally respecting her. “Only within the country,” she responded, somewhat somber. “I’ve always wanted to see what it’s like outside Japan.”

You tilted your head back to see the sky and think of suggestions. What do the stars look like here? “Depends on where you go. Some places are very packed and have lots of things to do no matter where you go, like Europe. Other places are more sparse, like the States.”

“But the States have more people,” the woman pointed out.

“Yeah,” you confirmed, “but that country is massive and people there tend to group into major cities, rather than be spread out. California is technically bigger than the entirety of Japan, but has way less people.”

Her eyes bulged in surprise. “Really?”

“Yep. It’s why you might hear Westerners say ‘there’s nothing to do here’,” you glanced at the structure behind her. “You guys revere wolves here, right?”

Utahime clapped her hands twice eagerly. “That’s correct! How’d you know?”

Based on her reaction to you merely mentioning Satoru, you figured it’d be best if you didn’t tell her the source of your information. “I’ve heard about it. I was curious, I haven’t been to a smaller shrine like this one before. Only the bigger ones in Tokyo, but those were part of my assignments, rather than for leisure.”

“Oh, it’s not much,” she espied at it from over her shoulder, but you could see the pride in her eyes. It was well taken care of, with love and chariness. It easily passed off as something constructed more recently, given its meticulous maintenance.

“How long ago was it built?”

“Around the same time the settlers first came here.”

This time, your eyes were the ones that opened wide. It had to have been at least 350 years old in that case, based on a rough estimate. “That far back? Wow, it’s in seriously good shape.”

The woman puffed up her chest. “Though the wolves have long since died out here, we still honor them. They helped us with hunts and allowed this village to thrive when we needed it most. They protected us from cursed spirits, as well. It’s only right we treat them and the bounties they’ve given us with respect.”

Oh, there was that term again: cursed spirits. “Could you tell me more about cursed spirits?”

Enthusiasm bubbled up in her the way it would in a child about to tell their parents about the story they wrote up. She skipped over to one of the stone benches and plopped down onto it, patting the spot beside her. You slid onto it, a chill shooting up your spine from the cold temperature. Being shaded from the sun made the rock gelid, go figure.

“Now! Let’s start from the beginning as we know it,” she cleared her throat and took on the role of a teacher. “The origin of cursed spirits and jujutsu sorcery as a whole is largely unknown. It’s speculated that spirits have lived alongside humanity from the beginning of it, as cursed energy is formed by negative emotions, and cursed energy is what spirits are born from.”

She was very animated when teaching, you noticed. Lots of hand movements, facial expressions, and a bouncy attitude to boot. It made for a very entertaining show, and did well to keep you engaged.

“Curses were invisible to humans. Only a select few could see them, and even fewer could actively interact with them in some way or another,” she continued. “Smaller curses would typically leech off of people without them knowing it, feeding off their bad emotions. Stronger curses, however, could be incredibly powerful. Sometimes to the point of standard weapons being completely useless against them, which is why jujutsu sorcery came to fruition. We needed some way to fight back against the spirits, so we developed a way to do just that by manipulating the natural reserves of cursed energy we had within us.”

Folklore from other countries always captivated you. From the creator of mankind in some Chinese mythos named Nüwa, to the counterpart of the equivalent of Santa in Germany, the origin of Halloween and turnip lanterns – even the oddly terrifying ones without nefarious intentions, like Mari Lwyd.

You adored hearing about legends, stories, and tales passed down through oral and written history over the centuries of life existing in each respective land. To say she had you hooked would be an understatement.

What were curses like? Assuming they were real, of course, and that jujutsu sorcery didn’t follow the same ideology as hanging witches. Were they ugly? Bipedal? Humanoid at all?

“Many natural disasters are blamed on curses, even to this day,” she began lifting her fingers as she counted off a few examples. “Earthquakes, tsunamis, droughts. Pretty much anything you can think of.”

“Were they kinda like demons?”

“Eh,” she tilted her hand side to side a few times. “Yes and no. Depends on who you ask, really. They could be different from demons of hell, or they could be one and the same.”

“I see,” you pinched your chin. “So, where’d they go, then?”

She grasped one of her pigtails, running her fingers through the open and loose portion at the top of it. “Nobody really knows. Some think that sorcerers were able to eradicate them at the source, and died off since they weren’t needed anymore. It could be that the curses have simply lost power due to the progression of mankind, and particularly therapy, though it’s…still kind of taboo. Some claim they’re still around, we just don’t notice because we aren’t able to see any of it.”

Satoru’s words on the matter echoed in your mind. ‘Even if they are real, there's no way they'd beat me.’

You bit your cheek to hold back an unwitting snicker. Leave it up to Satoru to say some brazen shit and have it pop up in your head at random.

“What about you? What do you think?” You asked.

Utahime flicked a piece of invisible dirt off the front of her hakama. “I believe they exist. It’s part of why I’m a miko, and one of the reasons I maintain this shrine. It’s my duty. Curses may not be the same now as they were back then, but that’s no reason for me to slack off. Complacency breeds contempt.”

It was heartwarming, in a way, to see someone still holding onto traditions like these, working to keep her friends, family, and home safe, upholding the rules within and outside places of prayer. You admired her for it.

Not that you would personally want to be a shrine maiden, but you held them in high esteem nonetheless.

“And you?” She peered at you. “Do you believe in the supernatural?”

You closed your eyes for a moment, stretching your legs in front of you and idling back on your hands. “I’m agnostic, neither here nor there. I respect spaces that are considered sacred, I’d rather not get hexed, but I don’t go out of my way to hunt down, let’s say, ghosts.”

“I commend you, many could stand to learn a thing or two from you,” as she spoke, she stood up and brushed off the back of her kosode. “You are good company, though I fear I should get back to work soon.”

“Ah,” you got up as well and bowed to her. “Thank you for sharing your stories with me, Iori-san. I’m sorry for disturbing you.”

She waved her hand. “You didn’t, don’t worry. Come visit me again soon, okay? I’d love to hear stories of your travels as well.”

“Sure,” promised easily, more than content to exchange tales with her. “Stay safe.”

“Likewise,” the noirette disappeared back into the shrine with a final word of parting, leaving you to your devices.

While you didn’t get to see the altar inside, you considered the visit worthwhile, and got a new acquaintance out of it, too. You could come back to check it out another day.

Having burned through all the reasonable amount of procrastination time you allowed yourself, you voyaged back down the path, appreciating the blooms the whole way down the same way you had when you went the other way. You had to ask Utahime if she was the one tending to them next time you saw her.

You were proud to say that you only got lost twice. But you did find the bakery on the way, and memorized where it was once you located the path home. Not bad, not bad at all. You managed to find your way around, and you didn’t need to embarrass yourself by calling Satoru to come to your rescue.

It’s sad how low your standards for happiness had fallen, but you’d take any crumb of serotonin you could find.

You noticed the trip to your house was shorter whenever you actively didn’t want to go there, as if it was a living creature that purposefully made you arrive faster, just so you had to give it attention.

It stood, looming, mocking you. Taunting you, the monstrosity. What an asshole.

The outside matters came first, the less time you had to spend inside, the better. You pulled up the notes app on your phone and began the task of drafting everything you needed to deal with, denoting it as the ‘Outdoor’ section in your native tongue.

Fence, you typed down, scribbling sporadic thoughts as you went. Tear down? Repair? Replace?

You checked the ends and noted that the fence only went back about halfway into your property, leaving the back uncovered. Covers only front. Built like that? Collapsed/removed in the back?

You felt the stalks of yellow-ish green leafage with your palm, the tips reaching your hips. Cut down grass and weeds. You should plant pollinator flowers if the yard was ever cleared out well enough. It’d be nice to have some butterflies and bees around to help everything grow nice and healthy.

You lightly nudged a piece of a busted plant pot with the toe of your shoe. Dispose of broken pots. A slight stumble had you leering down to see a strangely shaped tile. You tilted your head in confusion, then peered up at the edge of the roof, deducing it was a shingle that had fallen off. You stepped further away from the roof, just in case. And fallen & loose shingles.

Rounding the side, you waded through the overgrown flora, poring over the condition of the rundown house’s environment. Remove ivy from walls. Set up trellises. Lattices to form a backyard/patio/garden/thing?

Angling your chin up, you placed your hand over your forehead and assessed the roof. From on the ground, you wouldn’t be able to completely acknowledge the damage done to it over the years it sat untouched, but you were reluctant to climb on it to see first hand. You didn’t have a ladder, for starters, and you liked having unbroken bones and working shins.

Get a ladder.

The back of the estate was in the same condition as everything else. Which is to say, disheartening.

“What’ve I got myself into…” You muttered.

You spotted a narrow garden plot built into the back of the house. Overgrown, yes, but it’d be perfect for planting stuff when you got it all cleared up.

It wasn’t a question of ‘if’, unfortunately. You had no other real choice besides mending what was left in your hands.

You were still miffed at the real estate agent. You likely wouldn’t have purchased this piece of land had you known what was ahead. Or if you were in a better state of mind, honestly, rather than being in the middle of your fight-or-flight phase of living.

“No good dwelling on the past,” you whispered to yourself as you circled back to the front. “Can’t change it now.”

You took a deep, long, full breath, enjoying the fresh and crisp air while you still could. You savored the temperate hints of nature and the clement weather, treating it like it would be your last time experiencing such comfort. You didn’t know if your nostrils (or you) would survive the excursion into hell you were about to go on, so you weren’t risking taking the breeze for granted.

Exhaling all in one big puff, you steeled your shoulders and pushed open your front door, your free hand covering your nose in anticipation. Replace hinges and/or front door.

It managed to punch you in the gut regardless.

New section in your notes open, you got to work typing. The most obvious issues came first, such as the floors, the peeling walls, and exposed boning and pipes. A lot would possibly need to be replaced, such as the counters in the kitchen, cupboards…

Floor rotted(?) and sticky. Wash?

Spackle for holes in walls? New drywall instead?

Check insulation.

Your spirits fell more and more with each additional item of note you wrote onto the list. Could any of this be salvaged? Were you better off tearing it down?

Remove tatami. Replace? Don’t?

Stepping into what you assumed was the master bedroom, you made your way over to the sleeping bag you left behind and cautiously rolled it up, maneuvering around the grime stuck to it, and placed it against a corner. You’d toss it when you got the chance to.

M-bed closet missing doors and shelf.

Seeing the window, you tip-toed to it, hoping to open it to air out the room. Your nose formed bunny lines at the cobwebs littering the sill and edges. While there weren’t any spiders – as far as you could see – you still did not enjoy touching them in the slightest.

Pushing up from the center of the window proved to be futile, the frame wasn’t going to be budging anytime soon.

Windows stuck.

Remove spider webs.

There was litter here and there – torn pieces of paper, a ripped open baggie, fabric – that you decided to leave as is. Along with not having gloves to pry them off the ground, you didn’t have anything to throw them away into. They got to live another day.

Toss out trash.

The shower and bathroom had a cupboard tucked off to the side, but opening it showed the middle platform separating the top and bottom within was crumbly and would break if you put any weight on it. Replace shelf in bathroom cupboard.

The tiles were all fucked up, too. Some were chipped, others were outright broken or missing. Rust had gathered around the tap and drain in the tub, likely from years of having a leaky faucet before it ran out of water to drip.

Clean out rust in bath/pipes. Throw away broken floor tiles. Replace.

You pulled the left handle of the sink faucet and waited for a few seconds to see if the plumbing was functional.

Which was a big, fat no.

Plumbing. Faucets.

Limescale on shower head, wall tiles.

You scrolled through what notes you had already created and chewed on the corner of your bottom lip, thinking of what else you might have needed to write down. You fixated blankly on the wall in front of you as you went over everything, then quickly typed out a few more things.

Electricity.

Check for asbestos, lead in paint.

You figured the tasks you needed to do would pop up as you went along, considering your notes to be a simple skeleton outline. You could jot down other things as needed, and work through them one by one.

Having done as much as possible while staying inside for as long as you could tolerate, you walked back outside and dug around in your purse for the piece of paper Granny had given you, the one with names and numbers of people that could help you in this endeavor.

To say you were beginning to panic would be an understatement. You already bought the damn thing, and doubted you’d be able to resell it and get all your money back. You also didn’t want to subject anyone to repairing the thing when it was both a health hazard and an embarrassment.

You had some reserve money, but it wasn’t a whole lot, so you required that job Granny gave you.

Gojo said you could stay with him for however long you needed, but that was with the expectation that you’d leave once your house was fixed up. Given the village’s size, it was unlikely that you would find another place within it to live in, even after saving up some money working for Granny. You didn’t want to piggy-back off anyone and be an imposition; the only reason you felt less guilty about staying with the moon-haired idiot was due to the sheer amount of space he had in his mansion.

You were swiftly running out of options.

Your lips paled as you pressed them tightly together, trying to wrack your mind for ideas. You couldn’t sell it, and you didn’t want to deal with the humiliation of having strangers work for you. In such a small town, word spread like fire on a dry wick. Who knows what they would say about you?

Realistically, it wasn’t your fault, you knew this. The house hadn’t been built under your name and, hell, was likely older than you by at least a decade or two. It didn’t fall to ruin because of you, but you were the owner of this house now, the responsibility rested on your shoulders.

You read through the list of handymen under your thumb, the paper shaking slightly from the death grip you had on it.

Repairing it on your own was technically an option, but you would be basically begging for severe injuries or even death by attempting that. You wouldn’t even know where to start. Foundation? Floors? Structure? Roof? You didn’t fucking know how to do any of that shit!

…Or you could just burn the damn eyesore to the ground ‘til there was naught but ashes left.

No, that was a stupid idea, but you were out of any good ones.

The thought you had previously of tearing it down and buying a garden shed to reside in was feeling more and more tempting by the hour. It was unreasonable, you knew, you simply…didn’t know what you were supposed to do.

You were used to doing things alone. You relied solely on yourself, trusted only your own words and intentions. Letting people in was not something you did for many reasons. Maybe you did crave closeness and camaraderie at some point in the distant past, but the concept was out of the question entirely now. It made uncomfortable butterflies sit heavy in your stomach, the urge to vanish into the treelines and never be seen again increasing with each extraneous person you invited into your life.

You sighed. “I should have just moved into the woods and turned into a witch,” you grumbled low, then scoffed sardonically. “Right, as if I wouldn’t accidentally poison myself with a weird mushroom on day three and die a horrible, painful, slow death.”

The two lists you had remained in your somewhat reluctant hands. You knew you were way in over your head, and you’d probably unintentionally curse the house sooner than you managed to make a positive change, but…you weren’t used to asking for help. Always the type to manage shit on your own, get things done yourself, be independent. Could you really be faulted for having a hard time reaching out to anyone else?

Especially since you hadn’t even met any of them yet. That would be disconcerting, asking folks you’d never seen – let alone spoken to – before to work for you.

Your phone singed your fingers. You did know someone, and knew that he was just a phone call away, but did you really want to deal with him of all people? He would take this chance to rub it all in your face and then some.

You carefully weighed your choices.

Rebuild the house yourself with no former experience with anything beyond shitty popsicle stick bird huts.

Call someone on the list, explain your situation, and ask for help.

Call the prick.

…By the gods, you really hated making calls to people you didn’t know.

Shamefully carping to yourself, you dialed Satoru’s number, trying to ignore the contact name he had set up for himself. It was so glitzy, the ✨❤️ Satoru ❤️✨ sitting at the top of the call screen making you stifle a short laugh, ironically lifting your spirits. “Here goes nothing…”

He answered within three rings. “Yo, been a while, princess” Satoru purred as if you hadn’t seen him that morning, and you rolled your eyes, despite not being there in person for him to see.

“You greet every girl like that?”

“Nope, just you,” you could hear his grin. “Whatcha need?”

Now came the part where you set aside your pride and voiced what you very much did not want to. Again. You’d known this man for barely 24 hours and he already had several wins over you. In…whatever game you decided you were losing. “Look, I…I need your help.”

“Oho? What’s this? Is the princess finally admitting how much she misses me?”

Smug dick.

“I did not say that,” you immediately berated him.

He simply hummed, unaffected. “Same thing.”

You ran your hand down your face, already exasperated just 30 seconds into the call. “You– ugh, just, can you help me or not?”

“Depends on what you need, sugar plum. Did ya get lost already?”

This man was going to be the cause of your madness. The bridge of your nose ached where you pinched it. “Granny gave me a list of people to call to help me with my house and I really don’t want to call any of them.”

“Then don’t.”

“And, what, do everything by myself?”

You could envision him shrugging. “Why not? I could help you.”

“Satoru, I trust a wild forest fire more than I trust you with a hammer.”

“Ouch,” he sucked air through his teeth, faux whimpering. “You’re such a bully. Fine, I’ll help you with contacting everyone.”

Oh, that took less fighting and groveling than you expected. You exhaled in relief. “Thank you–”

“On,” he interrupted you, “one condition.”

There it is.

Your skin began to sting as you dug your nails harder into it, leaving curved indents between your eyes. “Y’know what, I think I’ll be fine–”

“Ah-ah-ah, hang on a second there, pretty girl. Hear me out.”

Conceding, you sighed and urged him to make his request. “Fine, what is it?”

"Cook something for me,” he requested. “Consider it evening the score.”

Your face scrunched up into a question mark. “Wait, that’s it?

“What, do you want it to be more?”

“No, no, I can do that,” you quickly declined, biting on the edge of your thumbnail as you tried to think of something to prepare for him. “Do you have any preferences?”

“Sweets.”

Sweet stuff. Okay, you could work with that. You could bake some pretty killer macarons. You didn't know what ingredients he had at home, or how to operate his oven, but you'd just figure it out, right?

“Alright, I can do that,” you answered.

“We have a deal, then?”

You took a moment to consider. You could back out, but your introverted personality made that notion null. It was only baking, too, rather than the ghastly demand you were expecting him to make. Baking it is. “Deal.”

“Great! We’ll be over in a flash!~”

“Okay–” wait. “‘We’–?”

He hung up before you could ask. You groaned and contemplated smashing your phone against the ground, but decided against it. You needed the thing, unfortunately.

Since you had to wait for however long, you chose to add in some thoughts to what you’d already written down, brainstorming how you wanted to proceed. It was difficult to tell at this stage, before you started on anything. But you could pick out what you might want to plant; flowers, vegetables, a fruit tree or two. So what if you were fantasizing? It helped keep you calm. Escapism was a valid coping mechanism.

It was too hard to picture anything given the state of the house, though. You’d need to snip down the field first and go from there, when you could see everything clearly.

How much did contractor services cost in Japan? What about the people Granny knew, how much did they charge? What kind of services did they provide? Your toe tapped repeatedly as you stepped outside your fence, trying not to pace.

Would you need one, or multiple? Were you going to have to get materials from the nearby city by yourself, or would they do that? If the former, how?

“I need an adult,” you lamented, your shoulders slouching and arms folding over your chest. “I wanna die. I’m not mature enough for this shit.”

You recalled what your mother told you often when you were younger: ‘not everything at once.’

Easier said than done. Sleep on it, one step at a time, break it down into shorter tasks, nothing was taking the edge off your stress.

“I’ll just start with the grass,” you muttered, eventually succumbing to the need to pace. “I have to start somewhere, and I’ll need to get rid of that before anything else can be done. Oh, but, fuck, there’s so much of it…not to mention debris, rocks…do they still make scythes? Can’t launch a pebble with a scythe. No, wait, that’d be so much more effort and take more time…”

A flicker of alabaster down the road caught your eye, halting your hurried back-and-forth roving and hushed bleating.

Satoru was always easy to spot from a distance. It was hard not to see him when his hair redirected the sun like a mirror, blinding anyone who saw him from the wrong angle. He was the angel on your shoulder with the personality of the devil, urging you to dive into your most heinous and blasphemous thoughts. The light bouncing off his head created a glowing aura around it, resembling a silver halo, further pushing that deceptive angel motif.

Would the halo turn gold in the light of the crimson rays of fading day?

You uncrossed your arms, ready to greet him, only to notice the man beside him. They were conversing, and the latter must have said something funny, as the former guffawed hysterically. It echoed off the mountains on either side of the valley, reaching you with no concern for distance.

Did such bellows reach across the entire settlement, or was it localized, feeling louder than it actually was due to an echo chamber effect?

Gojo’s cachinnation dissipated when the pair were close enough to you, at which point he waved his hand high in the air to greet you avidly, like you weren’t only 20 feet from them.

“Hey! Didn’t keep ya waitin’ too long, did we?”

Truthfully, the fifteen or so minutes you had been waiting for them had gone by in a flash when you were so deeply buried in your spiraling thoughts while remembering dumb shit sprinkled into your internal ranting. The only evidence of your anticipation for their arrival being the barely present ache in your heels from where you rested most of your weight on them.

“This one's Geto Suguru,” Gojo introduced the noiret by his side, nipping your overthinking at the bud.

At last, your full attention was guided to him.

Oh.

Oh. That was a mistake.

‘This one’ was breathtaking.

His midnight hair caught the sunlight in a scintillating iridescence that shifted between the deepest phthalo blue you’d ever seen and a mesmerizing sheen of violet when the light caught it just right, like the feathers of a raven. It struck you how glossy and luxuriously silky it was, and you wanted to pull it out of the high bun he kept it in to run your fingers through it endlessly. That one loose section of his bangs that hovered over his eye was just so cute, your digits itched to tug on it.

And, speaking of, those eyes.

Sharp enough to cut diamonds and make you stand straighter. Heat rose to your cheeks as he observed you, head cocked to the side with a smooth and sweet smile that absolutely melted your insides like soft-serve ice cream, lily-livered and defenseless against the blazing sun incarnate in the form of a man.

They were dark, yet warm; a rich chocolate in hue that you could swear had flecks of gold within and rings of wisteria coiling around his abyssal pupils.

He was tall and foreboding, just like Satoru, but in a completely different fashion. He was the radiant Sol, pacifying and precious heat licking at your skin, soothing away the frostbite of winters long past.

Beside him stood the Moon, reflective and brilliant and so goddamn cocky that it made your cheeks hurt – whether from biting the insides of them to hide back a smile, or to prevent yourself from smacking that shameless attitude out of him, you didn’t know. It didn’t matter.

Satoru’s pearly locks contrasted sharply with Suguru’s obsidian lace, providing a striking visual. These godly beings towered over you, imposing and otherworldly and too good to be true, yet you knew your imagination could never come up with men like them.

And you?

You poor, dear, sweet, dumb little lamb. A pathetic speck caught in the gravity they created. Two black holes, eager to suck you in and rip you to shreds, and you were tempted to let them, practically falling into them without their overwhelming influence affecting you.

Their presence, their power, their very existence that demanded you drop to your knees to worship and beg like the tragic whore you were dominated your consciousness, filling it with fantasies you hadn’t experienced in…gods, ever. Nobody exuded the same aura they did, nobody made you weak-kneed and aching between your thighs, not like this. They created a desire in you that you wanted to have fulfilled – needed, even.

The pop of your knuckle in your fist that you had subconsciously created managed to snap you from your revere and back into the present, reminding you that, perhaps, you should do something, rather than drool like an idiot.

You’ve gone fucking crazy. That was it, the last straw, the last hauntingly magnificent person. Why, oh, why did you move here?

With no small amount of embarrassment at the realization that your panties were a bit more damp than they were a minute ago, you clenched your jaw hard enough to anchor yourself, and made a mental note to get rid of the problem between your legs as soon as you were alone and could succumb to the pleasure, the yearning, you hadn’t experienced in ages.

As well as pretend it wasn’t caused by them, the iconic duo that had you in a mental fit.

Hoping you hadn’t made a total fool of yourself, you turned and bowed respectfully, saying your name in return as you stared at the ground in an attempt to clear your mind of the filth it created on its own, unprompted. “It's a pleasure to meet you, Geto-san.”

Suguru studied you for a few seconds (don’t look at me like that, please, I’m begging you, spare me), then faced the male beside him with an amused expression. “Are you sure this is the same girl you were telling me about? The brat?”

Oh, heavens, that voice.

Fire exploded across your cheeks and pooled deep in the lower pits of your stomach when you heard him say that word; enunciate it clearly, croon it in that damned tone that had electricity jolting up your spine.

Not now, slut. Focus.

It was significantly easier to ignore the unholy fantasies plaguing your sanity when you centered all that pent up energy into being annoyed at Satoru, questioning your already questionable friendship when you learned of what he called you in private. Your eyes narrowed into an icy glare, primed and deadly. To your agitation and further chagrin, he only smirked boyishly at you.

“That’s the one,” he replied with a widening grin as he tucked his hands into the pockets of his pants.

“She's far too polite,” Geto countered.

Satoru snorted. “Trust me, she's a spitfire.”

“Is that so…” The onyx-haired man bent down to come closer to your face, and your breath hitched in your throat, refusing to come out properly. His scent embraced you. Mild, pleasant, like warm chai and jasmine, making your muscles instinctively loosen.

His eyes softened into closed curves as he beamed at you. You really hoped he couldn't read your mind. There was nothing holy or sane in there.

“Your name is lovely as is,” he murmured as his voice lowered into a roguish octave, “but I think I have a better one in mind.”

“W-What?” Your own vocal cords strained just to get the one word out in a wimpy squeak, and of course you just had to stutter. Whereas the air Satoru emitted naturally made you want to tackle him to the ground, Suguru’s wrapped around you like wisps of incense smoke, soothing and gently demanding your obsession with its fragrance. It inexplicably made you want to thaw into a puddle, to give him your full and undivided focus.

His canines peeked through from the way his lips curled further, entertained by your sudden timidness. He remained quiet, merely viewing your reactions as he lifted a hand to loop a strand of your hair around his finger and by the gods, don’t look at his fingers and how long and big they are and how perfect they’d feel–

“Angel,” the man said, practically cooing it at you.

You stifled a croak, verbally cuffed out of your totally, positively, very wholesome thoughts. “What?”

If you could die from embarrassment and be let out of this hell hole, you’d keel over on the spot when he simpered. “Angel,” he so graciously repeated for you. “I believe it suits you quite well. Wouldn’t you say so, Satoru?”

Satoru was having the time of his life, you were sure of it. You could feel him staring into you, see that stupid sexy fucking smile on his face from the corner of your eye as he teased you and, shit, why were you in the middle of this? Had you committed some heinous sin? Was this your punishment?

“I don’t know,” he hummed in deliberation. “I prefer bunny. Or mochi.”

“Mochi?” You and Suguru questioned at the same time, swiveling to regard the alabaster man.

Gojo nodded. “Small, probably tastes sweet, squishy.”

“Squishy?” You gaped incredulously, relocating your befuddled scrutiny to Geto when he burst out into laughter.

“I can see it,” Suguru coincided, earning himself a pretty nasty glare, too.

You groaned and tilted your face up, pleading with the sky to give you strength. “Don’t you start, too. One Satoru is enough, thanks.”

He hummed and smirked, something mischievous twinkling in his eyes. You didn't like that countenance. Not one bit. “Well, it’s a pleasure to meet you, too,” he bowed his head towards you, changing the subject. Thank fuck. “You moved here recently, yes?”

“Yeah,” you affirmed, molling the racing of your heart that was just a few beats short of being uncomfortable. “Technically the night before yesterday.”

“You had a safe trip, then, I hope?”

You sent the stone stepping path partially hidden by the overgrown grass a particularly scathing grimace. “I almost ate shit and died on my own porch, but I did, yes.”

His husky laugh was messing up your insides. “Glad you’re in one piece. It was the stepping stones, wasn’t it?”

“Yes, oh, my god. They’re out to kill me, I swear.”

“They’ve gotten me a couple times, too. It’s good to see this house will finally be getting some love.”

“I think you’re the only person that’s been positive about this so far,” you scratched your cheek with your index finger. “Everyone else has told me it’s grossly dangerous. Wish I’d known that before I skimped out on finding a place to stay for the first night…”

Suguru’s browline furrowed in disquietude. “You slept in there?”

You exhaled harshly and hung your head. “Don’t remind me.”

“You aren’t feeling sick, are you?”

You shook your head and patted his arm reassuringly. “No, just humiliated.”

His expression relaxed, the hardness in his deep maroon eyes tempering. “That’s good. If you do feel ill, don’t brush it off. Excess activity can worsen your health and prolong sicknesses.”

Aww, a mother hen? He was in your good books now, you felt all fluffy, being cared for by him. “I’ll keep that in mind, thank you.”

Satoru pushed his way between you two, resting one arm on Suguru’s shoulder and the other on your head, coveting your attention. “So, what’s the plan, mochi?”

“Good question,” you said.

There was a brief pause, as if you were all waiting for someone else to speak, before he leaned down towards you. “Well?”

“What?”

“The plan? What’s the plan?” He lifted a brow.

“Oh,” you darted your eyes between them. “Oh, no, I don’t have one. I just said it’s a good question.”

Suguru frowned. “Nothing at all?”

You pulled up your notes app and scrolled through it. “I guess cut the lawn, and call up the folks on Granny’s list for starters.”

“Can I see her list?”

“Mm,” you held out the paper to him, cringing when you saw how your fingers wrinkled the corner of it out of stress.

A crease in his forehead formed, deepening the more names he read, making you nervous. On top of how nervous you were already feeling. You were nervous-squared now.

“What is it?” You asked.

“It’s nothing. Just…I don’t think any of these guys will have enough free time to help you out. Not for a while, anyway,” he returned the sheet to you. “However, I grew up assisting them, so I know a thing or two. Mind if I go inside?”

Well, if that wasn’t soul crushing. “If you have a gas mask, go ahead. The smell inside could knock out a grown man. I don’t want to trouble you, though.”

“It’s no trouble at all. I’ve been needing something to do these days, this could be the perfect excuse for me,” he assured you. “I’ll be quick.”

“Oh– hang on, there might be asbestos in there,” you warned.

“There isn’t,” he assured confidently.

Satoru narrowed his eyes. “How do you know? Huh? Were you there when this house was built? Didn’t think so.”

Suguru leveled him with a vacant lour. “Asbestos wasn’t used in the construction of any houses here. Besides being expensive to import, our village was constructed with traditional methods. This building was Western inspired, but it wasn’t built with Western methods.”

You crossed your arms over your chest, nervously picking at a spot on your forearm. “Who built it?”

“From what I know, it was someone from either Kobe or Osaka that visited a state in America on vacation and fell in love with the architecture. First thing they did when they came back was buy this plot of land and build an imitation house on it,” he answered.

“Why’d they leave?”

He raised a hand, then dropped it in a half-shrug. “Any number of reasons. Some of the older folks say that their spouse fell ill, and they had to return to the city. My mom says they moved out because they got sick of driving an hour and a half one way to get to work every day. Dad says their sister gave birth and they had to return and assist her since she worked full time. Who knows.”

“Eh?” Satoru’s expression twisted into one of confusion. “I thought the owner just died or something. Hence why the house is haunted.”

“The house isn’t haunted, Satoru. Don’t scare her.”

You cracked your knuckles one-by-one. “If it is haunted, I’m gonna give that realtor hell. He promised it wasn’t. He also promised it hadn’t been touched in only ten years, so he’s already on my list,” you growled, then deflated and wilted. “I suppose I’m not in any rush, I’ll need to save up anyway. I’m bumming off Satoru for now, but I don’t wanna prolong that.”

“I already told you,” he patted your upper back. “Stay as long as you need.”

“Thanks, Satoru. I really owe you,” you said. I hate owing people. “Oh– be careful, Geto-san.”

He gave a pacifying hand wave as he pushed past your open gate, heading towards your house. Satoru hopped up and hurried after him. “Oi, wait up! I wanna see, too!”

“Satoru, you’ve already been in there before,” Suguru reminded him as you followed them about halfway, wanting to steer clear of the inside for a while.

Satoru twisted the door knob and pushed inwards. “Yeah, when we were kids. Imagine how much it’s changed!”

“I doubt it’s changed much,” their voices grew muffled and eventually silent to you as they disappeared into your home.

You began counting in your head. If they were gone for more than two minutes, you were going to assume they died. Then you could officially label the house as haunted and hunt that realtor’s ass down. After you set up a prayer altar for the boys who so bravely sacrificed their lives for you, obviously, they deserved that at the very least.

You’d have to check with the villagers to see if either of them practiced any particular faith to ensure you provided the correct funeral services for them, and to know if you needed to follow any specific spiritual rules when it came to the deceased.

Should you leave their bodies in there? Probably not, no, but it wasn’t going to be you fishing them out. You were tiny compared to them, you wouldn’t be able to drag them out yourself, even if you wanted to and tried really hard.

Your peculiar funeral fantasies were cut off then Suguru came back outside, still very much alive and well – from what you could tell.

“You lived,” you congratulated him.

“That I did,” he affirmed and stopped beside you, turning to face the house as his arms folded neatly.

“Is he still alive?”

“Last I checked, he was. I’m surprised he didn’t leave as soon as he went in. I think he’s trying to out-man me and impress you,” he teased, making you laugh.

Out came Satoru right then, dusting his hands off, acting like he did anything more than recce. “Alright, I’ve got good news and bad news. Which d’ya want first?”

“Good news,” you requested apprehensively.

He clapped his palms together. “Good news, the interior condition isn’t as bad as it seems.”

Well, that was good news. But you were wary to celebrate. “And the bad news…?”

“There are, indeed, a shit ton of spiders.”

You squealed, racing to hide behind Suguru’s tall frame. The man himself chuckled at your reaction, his arms still crossed over his chest as he tilted his head back to peer at you from over his shoulder, way too relaxed for the situation. “Not a fan of spiders?”

“Fuck no!” You cried out, clutching the back of his shirt in tight fists as you buried your face against his spine. “Fuck that! Burn the damn thing down!”

Gojo grinned darkly, eyes lighting up with mischief. “All you had to say, princess.”

The noiret (the only reasonable one among you) sighed and shook his head. “No, we’re not burning her house down.”

“Boo,” Satoru whined. “You’re no fun.”

“You aren't afraid of spiders?” You peeked around Suguru's arm to leer up at him, still using him as your shield.

“Nope.”

“You monster,” you hissed.

His best friend snorted. “Look on the bright side. It means he can get rid of spiders for you.”

You paused to consider his words, squinting up at the poised man you hadn’t let go of.

“Okay, nevermind, I take it back,” you declared, doing a complete flip in behavior, “you're my god, now, Geto-san.”

He showed you that shut-eyes smile that had hummingbirds dancing the tango in your stomach. “Don’t worry, angel. I’ll protect you.”

Blush dusted your cheeks at his pledge and you averted your eyes. Having either of them in your field of view for too long was not good for your heart.

Satoru wouldn’t be Satoru if he didn’t go and embarrass you further. “Aww, she’s blushing!”

“I am not!” You barked back.

“I think it’s cute,” Geto’s cheek dimpled and you were flashbanged by the faces of not one, but two ethereal beings.

Mama, you thought, if you can hear me, send help. I don’t think I’m making it out of this one.

You gulped, the noise far too loud in your ears, and tried to subtly cover your face with your hand to retain some dignity while releasing Suguru’s shirt from your death grip. “A-Anyways, uh…should probably start calling people.”

“I’ll handle the calls,” Suguru announced, already pulling out his phone and dialing numbers. “I know these guys well. I’ll try to work something out with them.”

“Oh, you really don’t–” and there he went. You knew you asked for help, but you felt bad inconveniencing Suguru. Satoru, not so much.

“What’d I say about worrying?” Speak of the devil, the milk-haired boy bent down to your height and nudged his pointer finger between your brows. “Relaaaax, princess. It’ll work out.”

You worried your bottom lip as you watched the other man chatting some distance away. Detaching yourself from your perpetual anxiety was…difficult, to describe it in the least amount of words possible. Your guard was stuck to you, pinned, screwed, and soldered into place over time. Letting it go meant undoing years of work.

It was there to shield you. You needed it to hold your untempered heart and keep it safe. If it got hurt, you weren’t sure you knew how to recover.

But you weren’t really letting them in by allowing them to help you, right?

Yet, as you sized up the small incline and the shack falling apart on top of it, you couldn’t shake the impression that the world was about to tilt on its axis. The tides were receding, tectonic pressure was increasing, the winds were stirring, and you were in the middle of it all. Mama, you reached out one last time. I think it’s too late.

banner by cafekitsune ♥

#Tether Me #jjk x reader #gojo x reader #satoru x reader #gojo satoru x reader #satoru gojo x reader #geto x reader #suguru x reader #geto suguru x reader #suguru geto x reader #satosugu x reader #chimera writes

115 notes · View notes

kingofbodyrolls · 5 months

Text

Sprout | knj | four (fin)

← previous | s.masterlist | m.masterlist |

Summary: You love your plants, you love your garden, you do not love your new neighbor. You hate him with all your might— he wrecks everything you hold dear so you do the only reasonable thing: retaliate.

Pairing: Namjoon x female reader

AUs: neighbors au, gardening au, non!idol au → strangers to enemies (mostly one sided) to friends to lovers

Genres: slice of life, smut, humor

Rating: explicit

Word count: 8.2K

Warnings: (somewhat) rough smut; degrading name calling (bitch), hair pulling, spanking, very brief anal fingering, some cockwarming, throat fucking, breast and nipple play, sexual tension, stupid innuendos, oral (both receiving), multiple orgasms, unprotected sex (please don’t be stupid), praise kink, begging, exhibitionism, slight dom/sub themes 👀 big dick Joonie, creampie, aftercare — I think that’s it!

Disclaimer: I do not own BTS or know them personally and this work of fiction is purely fictional and for entertainment purposes only. The actions and personalities described in the story do not reflect those of BTS— it’s just fiction. Also, if you would kindly read the tags/warnings before reading, that would be lovely: and if you don’t like whatever is described in the tags, just hit return and find something else to read. Thank you 🌸

Author’s note(1): time for smut!!!! 😝

Taglist: @svnbangtansworld

It’s been cross posted to AO3 if you prefer to read there 🙂

You jolt awake to the insistent rhythm of a knock on your door, your senses instantly heightened as you wonder about the unexpected visitor. With a sense of urgency, you practically sprint down the stairs, only to be greeted by a wide-awake and smiling Namjoon at your doorstep.

“Good morning,” he greets with a voice that's too cheery for the early hours, making you grunt in response while you run one hand through your tousled hair, attempting to rub the sleep from your eyes. Your gaze lingers on him, clad in a loose-fitted black shirt that hints at the impressive contours of his chest, paired with beige shorts and sandals. In stark contrast, you become acutely aware of your own appearance, standing there in your revealing sleepwear—a slutty top with your breasts on the verge of spilling out and extremely short shorts that do nothing to hide your ass.

As you glance down at your attire, the realization of what you're wearing hits you. A subtle chuckle escapes Namjoon, and his eyes briefly trace the curve of your breasts before meeting your gaze once more.

“What are you doing here?” you inquire in a gruff tone, adding, “And this early?” You rub your tired eyes, trying to shake off the remnants of sleep.

“I was thinking we could hit up the plant store, just like we discussed? It opens at 8,” he suggests, flashing you a wide smile that showcases his dimples – the kind of smile that should be declared illegal.

“‘Joon, it's 7:30, and I'm not even awake yet,” you sigh, fully aware of what your answer is going to be, “but sure, let's go. I just need to get dressed and maybe caffeinate myself first.”

His eyes sparkle, eliciting a soft smile from you. “Come in and make yourself comfortable,” you invite warmly.

You guide him into your home, shutting the door gently as he slips off his sandals. Leading the way to the kitchen, you sense your shorts riding up higher on your ass. In your tired state, you don't care much, pressing forward into the kitchen.

You motion for him to take a seat, the worn chair creaking slightly beneath his weight as you get ready to brew some coffee. “Care for a cup?” you inquire, your voice warm and inviting.

He offers a gentle shake of his head, a smile playing on his lips. “Not today, but I appreciate the offer,” he responds, his eyes reflecting a grateful glint.

“Mind finishing up the coffee? I'll go change real quick,” you request, a smile gracing your lips as you set the water and kettle in motion. “Absolutely,” he responds with a nod and a warm smile, prompting you to dash upstairs to your room.

As you hurry into your room, grabbing clothes in a rush, you dive into the bathroom for a quick shower, slipping into a simple yet chic mini dress. Emerging from the bathroom, you almost collide with Jungkook.

“Woaw, you’re up early,” he chuckles, deftly avoiding a collision with you amidst your swift movements. “Yeah, Namjoon’s waiting in the kitchen,” you explain in a hurried tone as you dart past Jungkook and descend the stairs, but not before catching the suggestive dance his eyebrows perform, a mischievous tease lingering in the air.

You descend the stairs and enter the kitchen, announcing, “I’m ready now,” accompanied by a warm smile as you assess Namjoon. He gestures toward a pot, indicating the ready coffee. Swiftly, you grab a to-go cup and fill it with the aromatic brew, expressing your gratitude, “Thank you.”

As you head towards the entryway together, the anticipation lingers in the air. With synchronized movements, you slip into your shoes and jackets, and you grab your purse, the door creaking open under your anticipation.

“My car is more spacious; we can take that,” he suggests, gesturing towards his sizable SUV. Despite the practicality of his choice, you can't resist a playful eye roll and a theatrical sigh. Nevertheless, you follow him towards his car.

You settle into the car as the engine roars to life, and he skillfully maneuvers out of the driveway and onto the road. It becomes evident rather quickly that driving might not be his forte. He chuckles, breaking the silence, “Apologies for the driving skills; I’m not behind the wheel often,” he confesses, taking a turn down a road. You can't help but chuckle to yourself. “I usually opt for my bike, better for the environment, you know. The only downside is the limited space.”

Your laughter grows louder, imagining Namjoon on his bike, attempting to navigate with an armful of plants. The mental image paints a comical scene, and you find yourself amused by the thought of him juggling between green companions and handlebars.

Your laughter continues, and you playfully suggest, “I can take the wheel on the way back, unless you trust your driving skills with the precious cargo.” Namjoon grins, “Maybe that's a good idea; I wouldn't want to risk any harm to my leafy companions.”

The plant store is a vibrant kaleidoscope of nature's wonders, with a plethora of beautiful specimens beckoning you both. From delicate baby plants to towering giants, the colors span the spectrum – a mesmerizing dance of greens, reds, purples, yellows, and blues. Armed with a cart, your excitement and giddiness know no bounds as you traverse the aisles, eagerly exploring the rich tapestry of botanical treasures the store has to offer.

With swift determination, Namjoon seizes bundles of essential soil packages, and inspired by his decisiveness, you follow suit, eager to replenish your own gardening arsenal.

As your gaze flits over the indoor greenery, nothing quite captures your interest. However, Namjoon's discovery of a tempting citrus tree triggers thoughts of the fruit trees lingering in your mind. Eagerly, you venture outside to explore the vast array of possibilities. Amid the selection of fruit trees—apples, pears, cherries, and beyond—you hone in on the apple varieties. With purpose, you seek out two distinct types, envisioning a harmonious pollination dance between them.

Namjoon eagerly adds to his haul with a selection of berry bushes, opting for the exquisite allure of blueberries and the tantalizing vibrancy of raspberries.

After a rewarding three-hour exploration through the vibrant aisles of the store, your shopping adventure concludes with a car filled to the brim. Grateful for Namjoon's spacious vehicle, you navigate the challenge of fitting an assortment of soil packages, fruit trees, and bushes. Some of the taller trees find refuge in the backseat, a testament to the abundance of greenery that now accompanies you on the journey home.

Namjoon casually passes you the keys, muttering, “It's better for the plants that way.” Amused, you respond with a chuckle, taking control of the wheel. Upon reaching home, a collaborative effort unfolds as both of you unload the treasures acquired during your plant-filled escapade.

Namjoon's housewarming party looms ahead, and you find yourself both excited and slightly jittery at the thought of mingling with his rowdy and boisterous friends—individuals you've been quietly cursing under your breath since he first moved in all those months ago.

You've spent hours contemplating what to wear for Namjoon's housewarming party, seeking Jungkook's fashion expertise. He meticulously evaluates every dress in your closet, categorizing them from boring to sexy. Jungkook insists on opting for something enticing to captivate Namjoon's attention, and thus, here you stand, navigating the fine line between alluring and elegant.

Maintaining a deadpan expression, Jungkook casually throws you a bold question amidst his dress scrutiny. “Do you know if Namjoon’s an ass or tits man?” His gaze remains fixated on the dresses, and you're momentarily taken aback by his crude inquiry. However, given the unfiltered nature of your friendship, you offer a nonchalant response, “I don’t know. I’ve seen him staring at both before,” accompanied by a shrug, unsure if that tidbit helps him in any way.

Jungkook continues his quest through your closet, finally emerging triumphant with a suggestion, “Then I suggest a bodycon; tight fit that shows everything.” After thorough searching, he presents a black dress that strikes the right balance, revealing just the perfect amount of cleavage and boasting a midi length that adds a touch of elegance.

You let out a groan of frustration as you eye the bodycon dress on the bed. “You know I hate bodycon dresses,” you sigh. Jungkook chuckles, “I guess that’s why you only have one of them,” he teases as he throws the dress onto your bed. Undeterred, he continues rummaging through your closet, emerging with a pair of purple glitter boots. “Since your dress is black, pair it with these purple glitter heels,” he suggests with a mischievous grin.

You share a laugh with Jungkook, realizing that the vibrant purple glitter heels add a playful touch to the overall look. The dress, initially exuding a somewhat somber vibe, now seems to embrace a more lively and celebratory feel, thanks to Jungkook's unconventional styling suggestion.

Jungkook playfully teases, his eyes dancing with mischief and a mischievous grin revealing his adorable teeth. “I think you’re gonna get laid tonight,” he adds, punctuating the statement with a suggestive wink of his eyebrows.

“It's a party, Guk,” you reprimand him, a playful glint in your eyes as you try to hide the hopeful anticipation that bubbles beneath the surface. You don't entirely dismiss Jungkook's playful prediction, secretly hoping that amidst the lively atmosphere and Namjoon's friends, a spark might ignite between you and Namjoon.

“You never know what's gonna happen,” he shrugs, leaving you to prepare at your own pace. While he swiftly readies himself – donning a simple white tee that accentuates his sculpted physique, showcasing biceps and muscles chiseled in hours at the gym, paired with leather skinny jeans that emphasize his powerful thighs – you can't help but admire the effortless appeal he exudes.

“Planning to seduce someone?” you chuckle, your gaze roaming over him. “That outfit is killer, you know.”

“Nah, maybe. You never know,” he laughs, reveling in his undeniable charm. Jungkook has been the same ever since you met him when he moved in. Always drawing attention, and over the years, he's become your trusted fashion advisor, helping you enhance your outfits to capture the spotlight. You cherish him like the brother you never had.

You knock on Namjoon's door, but the pulsating beat of the music suggests he won't hear it. Rolling your eyes, you glance at Jungkook, who chuckles and casually swings the door open, ushering you inside the lively atmosphere.

The crowd is surprisingly small, creating an atmosphere of intimacy and warmth among friends. As you navigate through the living room, you exchange greetings with familiar faces, some of whom you remember from that memorable BBQ where Namjoon inadvertently wreaked havoc on your fence and garden bed.

Several of his friends cast you a knowing glance, a silent acknowledgment of the shared memory when Namjoon accidentally wreaked havoc on your fence, and you didn't hesitate to give him a stern scolding.

You stride into the kitchen, boldly interrupting the banter between Namjoon and his friend who's manning the stove. “Hey,” you greet, causing both Namjoon and his friend to pivot and direct their attention toward you and Jungkook.

“Oh, hi,” his friend, Yoongi, greets you, offering his hand. As you shake it and share your name, you detect a subtle recognition flicker in his eyes. It clicks. “Ah, you're the one Joon has been telling us about,” he observes, scrutinizing you from head to toe. In that moment, you feel strangely exposed, wishing you had chosen a more modest outfit. The realization that Namjoon has been discussing you raises a mix of curiosity and uncertainty within you.

Namjoon pivots fully to meet you, and as his eyes roam your entire figure, his steps stutter to a halt. From your face down to those ridiculously purple glitter heels, he takes in every detail. The noticeable gaze sends a tingling warmth across your skin, and you're acutely aware of his thorough inspection. In a breathless, warm tone, Namjoon greets you, “Hi, I'm so glad you came,” his words hanging in the air. Yoongi chuckles, Jungkook joins in, and the atmosphere seems to shift with Namjoon's lingering gaze.

“Dinner’s almost ready, you can take a drink if you want,” Namjoon gestures toward the assortment of beverages as Yoongi orchestrates the final touches to the meal.

You and Jungkook make your way to the kitchen table, where he expertly pours the two of you drinks. As you head back to the living room, the hubbub of the gathering surrounds you, and you notice the diverse crowd filling Namjoon's space with laughter and conversation.

He teases you with a sly grin, “He was totally checking out your ass,” as you both approach a group of people you greeted upon arriving. You respond with a playful chuckle, dismissing the comment but secretly reveling in the idea that Namjoon's attention might be focused on you.

An audacious man points his finger at you with a big boxy smile and declares, “Hey, you're that bitchy neighbor, right?” The desire to react with anger simmers within you, but instead, you offer a forced smile and reply, “Yeah, that's me.” The guy's friend beside him shoots him a disapproving look, muttering something about politeness.

“Don't mind him, I'm Jimin,” the guy who intervened extends his hand for a shake. You grasp it firmly, exchanging names not only with him but also with Jungkook, who lingers at your side.

“I'm Taehyung,” the guy who boldly labeled you the ‘bitchy neighbor’ introduces himself, still wearing a wide grin. Unfazed by his straightforwardness, you flash a warm smile in return, appreciating the honesty.

“I'm Hoseok,” the guy beside them chimes in, a radiant smile lighting up his face.

Before you know it, Yoongi, the guy crafting the delicious dinner, sets the final masterpiece on the dining table. As you all converge around the table, you find yourself seated next to Jungkook and Taehyung. Conversations flow effortlessly, everyone sharing stories about how they know Namjoon – college buddies, coworkers, childhood friends. The atmosphere is warm and inviting, making you feel surprisingly at home in this new circle of acquaintances. Despite the brief encounter, these individuals excel at weaving a sense of inclusion and hospitality, effortlessly transforming strangers into companions.

Despite the lively chatter and delicious food, you can't help but catch Namjoon stealing occasional glances in your direction. Determined to maintain your composure, you divert your attention to savoring the flavors on your plate, pretending not to notice the warmth of his gaze lingering on you.

As lively conversations intertwine with the clinking of cutlery and empty plates, you gradually become aware of the music's subdued presence. Jimin initiates the plate-clearing ritual, and you join in to assist. Meanwhile, Hoseok, with a mischievous gleam in his eye, strides into the living room and cranks up the volume, signaling an imminent eruption of rhythmic movements, suggesting he's ready to unleash some dance-floor magic.

With a playful smile, you turn to Jimin and inquire, “Is it always like this?” Your gaze follows the fluid motions of Hoseok, who has seamlessly transitioned into a mesmerizing dance routine, eliciting a spontaneous chuckle from you.

“Pretty much,” he replies with a chuckle, arranging plates in the dishwasher.

“It's a pity that Taehyung's girlfriend and Hoseok's couldn't make it today. Hoseok's girlfriend loves to dance, and watching her and Hoseok dance is always a blast!” he shares with a smile. Jungkook has now joined Hoseok in dancing, while Namjoon and Yoongi unwind on the couch. Taehyung is pitching in, helping you and Jimin clean up.

“Your friend Jungkook, what's his story?” Jimin inquires, his eyes tracing Jungkook's muscular frame as he effortlessly matches Hoseok's dance moves.

You chuckle, and then Taehyung interjects, “He's wondering if Jungkook is single.” He clarifies for Jimin, who blushes as he shuts the dishwasher.

You turn to Jimin, “Well, he is single. I've never seen him with a man before, but you should give it a shot,” you say, smiling at him. His face brightens, a wide smile forming until his eyes disappear into small slits. Both you and Taehyung chuckle as Jimin heads into the living room to join the dance.

You both follow him, seamlessly joining the dancing crowd. You instantly locate Jungkook, who winks suggestively with his eyebrows as he grips your hips, swaying you to the beat of the music. You understand his intentions – to help you grab Namjoon's attention. It seems to be working, as you feel a pair of hazel brown eyes igniting your skin with warmth.

Jimin effortlessly joins the dancing, grinding up against your body. With the attention of the two men, you can't help but laugh as they're on a mission to make Namjoon jealous.

You catch sight of Namjoon on the couch, his fists clenching intermittently as he struggles to maintain eye contact with you, alternating his gaze whenever he senses yours on him.

Worn out from the lively dance and the touch of both Jungkook and Jimin, you retreat to the kitchen for a much-needed break. Amidst the array of alcoholic beverages, you choose a refreshing sip of water to rejuvenate your senses.

A soft “Hi” catches your attention from behind, and as you turn, there stands Namjoon. It seems like Jungkook's strategic plan to capture his interest might just be unfolding before you.

“Hi,” you reply to Namjoon, turning gracefully to face him, a soft smile playing on your lips as your eyes meet his.

He envelops your personal space in an instant, but the proximity feels electrifying rather than intrusive. His gaze sweeps down, the height difference smaller because of your heels. “You look incredibly sexy,” he murmurs, his words sending a subtle shiver down your spine.

“Thank you, so do you,” you reply, your eyes tracing the contours of his fitted gray shirt, the black dress pants accentuating his silhouette, and his hair styled in a soft undercut. A subtle gulp betrays the sudden rush of arousal that courses through you. Damn, he looks more than nice; he looks irresistible.

His lips brush against your ear as he leans in, his husky whisper sending a shiver down your spine, “I bet you look even sexier without those clothes on.”

A barely audible, breathy moan escapes your lips, your agreement conveyed through a subtle nod. His intoxicating scent envelops your senses, electrifying every inch of your body. Yet, the hunger for more lingers, an insatiable desire pulsating within you.

With a teasing and audacious tone, you declare, “There's only one way to find out.”

As a provocative invitation, you lower the neckline of your dress ever so slightly, offering him a tantalizing glimpse of your cleavage. His gaze quickly descends, and he licks his lips in response, muttering a husky “Damn.”

He leans in again, gently nibbling on your ear, his breath hot as he pants, “Fuck. I want you so much.” A mischievous glint in his eyes, he adds, “Do you want to take a look at my seedling collection in my room?”

A playful chuckle escapes your lips, yet your body responds with a cascade of tingles, every inch of your skin on high alert. “Yes,” you moan, pressing your body against his, acutely aware of the undeniable evidence of his erection.

He seizes your hand, a magnetic pull guiding you out of the bustling kitchen and into the mysterious path leading, you presume, to his bedroom.

Surprised, you stammer, “What about the others?” as he whisks you away from the lively gathering.

Confidently, he declares, “They have their music, and they won't mind us disappearing for an hour,” pulling you through the hallway with a mischievous grin, “or two.”

You can't help but chuckle, but as his words finally penetrate your foggy mind, a new surge of arousal courses through your core. You gulp, groaning at the anticipation of what his words imply.

In no time, you reach his room. He swiftly opens the door, pulling you inside, and without hesitation, he pushes you against the nearest wall, hovering over you. His eyes search yours for any sign of hesitation, but finding none, he dives into a kiss. It's a blend of softness and intensity, his lips feeling inviting as you instinctively open your mouth, welcoming the dance of his tongue with yours.

The kiss lingers until you both reluctantly break apart for a much-needed breath, chests heaving in sync with the rapid beat of your hearts. His gaze, now hooded, remains fixed on your lips, and his hands firmly grasp your hips, the intensity between you growing with each passing moment.

He breathlessly murmurs your name, his desperation palpable, “You have no idea how much I want you.”

It sends shivers down your spine as you bite your lower lip, anticipation building. “Show me,” you pant in a ragged voice, yearning for the intensity that awaits.

He pulls you towards his bed, the air thick with anticipation as he slowly eases you down onto the soft sheets. Your gaze locks with his, desire burning in your eyes; an unspoken plea for him to ravish you, to consume the hunger that has been building between you for so long.

His fingers trail over your body, igniting a symphony of shivers that course through you, causing a hitch in your breath as he explores the landscape of your body.

His voice, laced with a hunger that mirrors the intensity in his gaze, whispers a question that sets your skin ablaze.

“Can I taste you?”

The air thickens with anticipation, and you're certain that if he doesn't touch you soon, you might just combust.

“Please,” your plea, drawn out in a breathless moan, echoes in the room, and you feel your toes curl with anticipation, a symphony of desire playing between every gasp and heartbeat.

He wastes no time, swiftly dragging your dress up your hips to your stomach. A pause lingers as he appreciates the sight of your black lacy underwear, before he skillfully tugs them down your thighs and lets them pool at your feet and drags them to the floor.

“What about my shoes?” you playfully remark as you attempt to kick them off, but he swiftly captures your legs before you can make much progress.

“Keep them on. They're cute.”

He murmurs, a low, seductive tone that sends shivers down your spine. Your breath catches, and a wave of need tightens your core, leaving you aching for more.

He pulls you to the edge of the bed, spreading your legs with a hungry gaze, absorbing the sight of your glistening pussy, ready to explore every inch of it.

“Fuck, you're already so wet,” he groans, his hands kneading your thighs, eliciting moans of delight as his skilled fingers inch closer to where you need him the most.

He inches closer and closer with his hands, teasingly tracing the contours of your thighs, but then, with a seductive glint in his eyes, he redirects his attention to your core. Your gaze locks with his as he licks his lips in anticipation before finally sealing the deal, his mouth enveloping your slick, pulsating pussy.

“Ahhh–”

His tongue skillfully explores your folds, sending a shiver down your spine as you involuntarily arch your back off the bed, caught in the electrifying sensation. As he moves to your clit, a wave of tightness starts to coil in your stomach.

His expert mouth engulfs your clit, creating a tantalizing suction that has you gripping the sheets, your mind teetering on the edge of bliss. He hasn’t even done much yet an overwhelming sense of ecstasy washes over you, pushing you to the brink of sweet surrender.

Simultaneously, his skilled fingers continue their rhythmic massage on your thighs. “Fuck, don't stop,” you moan, lost in the intoxicating blend of sensations that envelops you.

He devours your clit with an insatiable hunger, his tongue moving with an expertise that leaves you breathless. Every flick and swirl sends shockwaves of pleasure through you.

Then he pulls off, “You like that?”

“Fuck, yeah.”

He returns to his task with newfound determination, his tongue expertly dancing over your throbbing clit. Your fingers entwine in his hair, tugging at the strands as he skillfully sucks and laps, each deliberate move coaxing euphoric sounds from your lips, punctuated by the desperate call of his name.

Embarrassment is a distant thought as pleasure courses through you, driven by the divine dance of his tongue on your sensitive bud. Wetness coats your core, and in the throes of ecstasy, you abandon all reservations. “I'm so close, Joon,” escapes your lips, a raw admission of the impending climax.

As his tongue continues its tantalizing assault on your clit, a single finger joins the sensual ballet, probing the entrance to your pussy. Your walls eagerly envelop the intruding digit, the dual stimulation propelling you perilously close to the edge of climax.

Your moans cascade into the air like a melody as he rhythmically thrusts his finger in and out of you, a symphony of pleasure coursing through your body. The withdrawal of his digit leaves you yearning, but the anticipation peaks as his slickened finger teases your untouched hole. Shivers dance along your spine as you feel the subtle pressure against the resistance of your muscles, inviting an exhilarating mix of pleasure and anticipation.

“N-Namjoon…”

You whimper, unable to tear your gaze away from the sight below. His eyes are darkened pools of desire, mirroring the intensity of the sensations he orchestrates with his skillful tongue. The explicit symphony of wet, rhythmic sounds reverberates in the room, a sinful melody that only adds to the fire between you both.

His insistent finger nudges at your hole, and you instinctively clench, a mix of anticipation and slight discomfort coursing through you. Yet, his agile tongue at your clit becomes a captivating distraction, a skillful dance that forces your focus away from the pressure building elsewhere. As you struggle to ease the tension in your body, your breath quickens, and you transform into a panting, quivering mess beneath his intoxicating touch.

In a haze of pleasure, you're suddenly aware of the delicate pressure of his teeth on your clit. The sensation is subtle yet electrifying, sending shockwaves through your body. Your voice echoes in a cry of his name, the walls of your core clenching around the emptiness, while your senses blur in a whirlwind of ecstasy. As you struggle to regain control of your breathing, the world around you fades into a euphoric abyss.

As your climax courses through you, he withdraws his finger from your tight hole, but his fervent attention on your folds persists. His tongue dances with expertise, devouring the sweet juice that envelops his taste buds.

“You taste so sweet.”

Savoring the lingering taste of your sweetness, he licks his lips lasciviously as he withdraws from your core. Gazing upon your breathless and flushed figure sprawled on his bed, he can't help but chuckle, a low and satisfied sound, at the intoxicating impact he's already had on you.

“Dammit, Namjoon.”

Frustration and desire intertwine as you sit up, urgently pulling Namjoon between your legs to seize his lips in a passionate kiss. In the heat of the moment, you inadvertently taste yourself on his lips, but you don’t mind.

With a sultry gaze, you break away from his lips, locking eyes with him as you confess, “I want to suck your dick.”

As your seductive words hang in the air, you notice his pupils dilate even further, and he inhales sharply, taking a deliberate step back, visibly affected by the promise in your desire-laden confession.

“I don't know,” he begins, and you raise an intrigued eyebrow at him.

“You haven't exactly been a good girl,” he adds, his tone taking on a tantalizing edge. You gape at his unexpected words, your mind racing to comprehend the sudden shift in his demeanor.

“Why should I let you suck my dick when you’ve been so bad?”

Your jaw actually drops, and you're left perplexed by the sudden change in his demeanor. “I don't know what you're talking about. I just want to make you feel as good as you made me feel,” you respond, your voice a mixture of confusion and desire, trying to navigate the unexpected turn in the conversation.

A mischievous smirk graces his lips, and he offers a soft smile. “If I remember correctly, you glued my mailbox together,” he utters, and as the words escape his mouth, a realization hits you like a ton of bricks — is he still holding onto your past antics from when he first moved in?

A sly grin plays on his lips. “And threw eggs on my windows,” he teases, and you're left dumbfounded. His arousal is evident with a prominent bulge in his pants, leaving you puzzled as to why he's resurrecting this conversation now.

“Wanted to blow my tire,” he chuckles, his hand casually finding its way to his erect cock, inviting your gaze. “If you want this,” he gestures to his throbbing dick, “you'll need to apologize and beg like a proper bitch.”

You inhale sharply at his audacious demand, a shiver coursing down your spine. The challenge is clear. Two can play this game, and you're more than ready to meet his provocative request head-on.

You bat your eyes at him, rising to meet him at the foot of the bed, a playful smirk dancing on your lips. “So it's going to be like that, huh? What if I don't want to apologize, because I already have?” Your voice drops to a sultry whisper as you tease him, fingers boldly grabbing the outline of his cock outside his pants, eliciting a sharp hiss from his lips.

His tone oozes mock disappointment. “Fine, I suppose I'll just go join the others,” he declares, a smug smile playing on his lips, leaving you to wonder if he's bluffing or genuinely preparing to walk away.

“With this tent in your pants?”

With a teasing smirk, you glance down at the noticeable bulge in his pants and then meet his eyes again. Chuckling nervously, the realization dawns on you that he might just be speaking the truth.

“I don’t mind,” nonchalantly, he shrugs his shoulders as he backs away from you, and a sense of panic creeps in because, damn, he wasn't kidding about walking away!

But an overwhelming desire surges through you, an urgent need for him, for his intimacy. You crave to taste him, to feel him deep inside. Damn it, you'll have to surrender to the yearning and beg for the pleasure you so desperately crave.

Your voice is a breathy plea, eyes locked onto his, a mixture of desire and vulnerability.

“Please,” you implore, the longing in your eyes laying bare your desperate craving to taste him.

“Please let me suck your dick.”

He saunters over, a playful glint in his eyes. “And?” he drawls, his gaze lingering on you, leaving you biting your lower lip in a mix of anticipation and frustration.

You take a deep breath, your admission hanging in the air, “I'm sorry, I was a bitch to you.”

His satisfaction evident, he swiftly lowers both his pants and underwear in a single motion, unveiling his impressive cock—long, thick, with a captivating crimson hue at the tip. Your breath catches at the sight, a gasp escaping your lips as it comes into full view.

“Good girl. Then suck it.”

He commands, and you gracefully descend to your knees. Your tongue darts out, tracing your lips as you fixate on the glistening bead of precum adorning the crown of his cock.

With purposeful intent, your hands envelop his pulsating cock, eliciting a guttural groan of longing from him as your fingers methodically traverse its rigid length.

“Don't toy with me,” he cautions, his voice imbued with a mixture of desire and command as he utters your name.

You playfully scoff at his attitude, but your boldness shines through as you extend your tongue, sliding it beneath the swollen tip of his dick. Locking eyes with him, you tease away the glistening droplets of precum. His sharp intake of breath transforms into a low moan when you engulf the head of his throbbing cock with your warm, wet mouth.

“Fuck!”

You skillfully trace your tongue around his frenulum, causing a visceral reaction. His head arches backward, and his fingers instinctively weave into your hair, applying a gentle, insistent tug as if he’s unable to contain the escalating pleasure.

You release his cock from your mouth, allowing saliva to pool and gather as you sensually prepare for another round. With deliberate intent, you envelop him once more, eliciting breathy pants from him as your wet, warm mouth expertly glides up and down, leaving his dick coated in a glistening sheen of your saliva.

With a firm grip on his hips, you delve into the art of pleasuring him, expertly creating a vacuum with your lips that draws out moans of pleasure. As you suck him, the wetness between your thighs intensifies, a tangible manifestation of your arousal responding to the symphony of his reactions.

“Fuck, you feel so good.”

As his moans echo in the room, his praise serves as a potent catalyst, igniting a fiercer desire within you. Eager for more, you boldly take more of his cock, skillfully deep-throating him until the meeting point of your nose and his coarse pubic hair.

“Ah, fuck.”

As you skillfully relax your mouth, the enticing vibrations of your hum reverberate around his throbbing dick, eliciting a deeper response. His hands, entwined in the makeshift ponytail of your hair, tug with a mixture of urgency and pleasure, amplifying the intensity.

Breathless and with desire darkening his gaze, he implores, “Fuck. WIll you let me fuck that pretty mouth of yours?”

His eyes linger on your face, adorned with the evidence of your oral prowess, your lips glistening with your saliva by being filled to the brim with his thick cock.

You echo your consent with a sultry hum around his dick, your subtle nod accentuating the deliberate relaxing of your throat and jaw, inviting him to explore the depths of your mouth.

“God. You’re such a good girl for me.”

He forcefully tugs at your hair, eliciting a hiss around his cock. With a firm hand, he guides your face deeper into his pubic hair. You concentrate on relaxing, taking slow breaths to stave off the impending gag reflex. Just as you feel the sensation building, he withdraws, leaving you to glance up with anticipation, wondering what's wrong.

“You’re doing so good.”

His tender reassurance, accompanies a gentle brush of his fingers, wiping away a lone tear cascading down your cheek. A genuine smile graces your lips in response. The warmth of his praise sends a delightful flutter through your stomach, your core responding with an involuntary clench.

“I’ll fuck you real good after this,” his promise hangs in the air like an electrifying vow, resonating with a potent mixture of desire and anticipation. The command in his pull at your hair is met with your compliance, as he deftly aligns his dick with your waiting mouth. A mutual understanding passes between you, and you intentionally relax, allowing him to dictate the rhythm and intensity.

The tempo of his movements becomes an immediate onslaught, a relentless pace that leaves you breathless. His thrusts into your mouth are a whirlwind of intensity, each one demanding your full attention and challenging your ability to keep up.

The room resonates with a symphony of wet, slurping sounds, a visceral accompaniment to the mingling of your tears and saliva that forms a slick, glistening sheen on his cock. The dance of his relentless thrusts is now an unhindered glide, running smoothly over your lips.

Amidst the ecstasy, he moans appreciatively, “You've been a real bitch,” yet his words carry a tone of undeniable pleasure. “But, fuck, you look divine like this.”

He continues to thrust into your mouth, a sly smirk playing on his lips. “Can't talk back with your mouth full, huh?”

Damn, his menacing words send a shiver down your spine, igniting a wild fire of arousal pooling within your core. Attempting to respond, only a muffled hum escapes your lips against his pulsating cock, prompting him to moan your name in ecstasy.

“Fuck. I’m so close.”

His thrusts intensify, desire burning in his eyes as he seeks permission, “I really want to come inside your pussy, can I?”

Your muffled hum around him ignites a primal response, “Fuck. You’re so good for me, baby girl. I want to fuck you so bad, you won’t be able to walk out of here.”

Your pussy tightens in response to his words. Fuck, the thought alone sends a shiver through your body. You can already sense the wetness trickling down your thighs, aching for more of his intoxicating touch.

As he withdraws from your mouth, you gasp for air, inhaling in rapid breaths. His gentle touch caresses your cheek, accompanied by a soft smile. Transitioning from the kneeling position, he releases his hold on your hair, bringing you to a standing position before him. A hiss escapes your lips at the pull, yet it ignites a torrent of arousal, leaving you groaning in pleasure.

His command slices through the air, “On all fours,” he orders, a subtle gesture guiding your movements toward the bed. Swiftly, you comply, positioning yourself on hands and knees, anticipation coursing through every nerve.

His breath catches as he admires the breathtaking sight, “Fuck, your ass is incredible.”

A pause lingers as he indulges in the moment, his hands gently caressing the curves before a sharp slap echoes through the room, eliciting a moan from you—a sound that draws a light, satisfied chuckle from him.

As he sheds the last of his clothes, standing there in raw vulnerability, he motions for you to rise and shed the remnants of your dress. With a swift motion, he pulls the fabric away, revealing a matching lace bra that barely conceals the anticipation underneath. Skillfully unhooking it from behind, he lets it join the growing pile on the floor, laying bare the desires that crackle between you.

His hands envelop your breasts from behind, skillfully rolling and tugging at your sensitive nipples, coaxing a hiss that transforms into a sultry moan.

“Get down,” he commands, releasing your breasts, and you obediently return to your hands and knees, anticipation coursing through your veins like an electric charge.

As you arch your back, pressing your ass into him, the electric jolt of sensation courses through your body, the meeting of your ass with his throbbing cock igniting a fervent desire within. The yearning for him to fill you overwhelms your senses, aching for the ecstasy that awaits.

With a firm grip, he parts your cheeks, molding them as though shaping the most exquisite sculpture, and a prolonged moan escapes your lips, echoing the building tension between you. His touch, both commanding and sensual, sends shivers down your spine.

“You like it when I grope your ass?”

His teasing tone resonates with the intimate caresses on your backside, creating a delicious interplay of sensations. As he playfully gropes your ass once more, a moan, laden with desire, spills from your lips.

“Yes, Joon.”

As his hand connects with the curve of your ass, a jolt of both pain and pleasure surges through you, a visceral reminder that each spank is a tantalizing dance between ecstasy and a hint of sting. You can't help but release a breathy exclamation, caught in the intoxicating paradox of pleasure and the fiery imprint of his touch.

“Fuck!”

His fingers trace the tender spot left by the impact, a gentle contrast to the impending intensity. The warmth of his touch lingers just long enough before the other cheek receives the caress of his firm hand. With a husky promise, he murmurs, “Such a good girl. I’m gonna fuck you so good.”

In response to his tantalizing vow, a needy moan escapes your lips, fueling the building desire within. Eager for his touch, you press your ass further toward him. He complies, his hand skimming over his throbbing cock before parting your slickened folds. With an electrifying precision, he guides his dick to the brink of your quivering entrance.

Sensations surge through you as the velvety tip of his cock teases your folds. Surrendering to the impending ecstasy, you bury your breasts and head into the bed, anticipating the irresistible intrusion. With a deliberate and tantalizing pace, he eases himself into the welcoming warmth of your eager pussy, setting off a cascade of pleasure that envelops you both.

“Fuck! You’re so big, ugh!”

Ecstatic moans escape your lips as the sheer magnitude of his size overwhelms your senses. You're acutely aware of the delicious stretch coursing through your core, a blend of pleasure and challenge. Summoning every ounce of willpower, you command your body to yield, coaxing it to embrace the monumental intrusion and paving the way for him to delve deeper into you, transforming lingering discomfort into a symphony of desire.

“Damn. You’re so tight,” his grip tightens on your ass, fingers sinking into the flesh as he thrusts himself deeper into the velvety warmth of your pussy. A guttural moan escapes his lips, resonating through the room as he relishes the tightness that envelops him. With each inch, a shared ecstasy unfurls, culminating in a breathless admission, “Your little pussy is taking me so well.”

An electrifying fullness courses through you as he seamlessly integrates into the heated embrace of your slick folds. The initial stretch fades into a delicious satisfaction, a testament to the perfect fit between your bodies. His whispered inquiry, “Are you good?” hangs in the air, a prelude to the rhythmic dance about to unfold.

“Fuck, yeah. Please fuck me Joon.”

Your impassioned plea reverberates through the room, a desperate cry into the sheets. Almost in response, he retreats, teasingly withdrawing before plunging back in with a force that elicits an unrestrained cry, the fusion of pleasure and intensity echoing in the air.

“Ahhh!”

He propels into a relentless and rapid rhythm from the outset, causing your fingers to curl tightly around the sheets. As the pace intensifies, a thin sheen of saliva from your parted lips marks the bedding.

His voice, rough and primal, reverberates in the room as he plunges into you with unbridled intensity. “Fuck. You feel so nice around me, babe,” he rasps, each forceful thrust hitting that exquisite spot, setting off a symphony of moans that escape your lips in a relentless, intoxicating cadence.

Your uninhibited moans echo in the room, a symphony of pleasure that drowns in the pulsating beats of the music. In the haze of passion, you're blissfully unaware of how loud you are, and with each intense thrust, you find solace in the hope that the music's thunderous rhythm conceals your shared symphony from the prying ears of his friends—although, in this heated moment, who gives a fuck?

“Namjoon, shit!” you pant, surrendering to the primal rhythm, arching your back and meeting his dick with fervor. Every thrust becomes a shared dance, an intimate symphony where your movements mirror his, creating a crescendo of pleasure that resonates through the room.

“Fuck. You’re such a good girl for me. Fucking yourself on me like this, fuck.”

His hands, explorers on a sensual journey, traverse every curve of your body with a possessive grace. With a firm grip on your hair, he elevates you onto your knees, commanding your body like a masterpiece. His skilled hands then trace a tantalizing path, cupping your breasts, and his fingers dance over your nipples, coaxing forth a symphony of pleasure.

“Oh, fuck.” Your moan harmonizes with the relentless rhythm of his hips, each thrust orchestrating a crescendo of pleasure that leaves your core drenched in a fresh cascade of arousal.

His fingers dance on your sensitive nipples, an exquisite melody that resonates with the building intensity of your pleasure. You're on the precipice, teetering on the edge of ecstasy, breath hitching.

“Shit— I'm close!”

As he releases one of your tender breasts, that liberated hand embarks on a journey south, landing at your aching core. His skilled fingers find your swollen clit instantly, tracing circles that send electric shocks of pleasure through your body. A raw, uninhibited moan escapes your lips, a testament to the sweet agony he effortlessly orchestrates.

His voice, a low and husky melody, reverberates in your ear, electrifying your senses. “Just like that, babe,” he moans, each word a caress, sending shivers cascading down your spine. “Cream my cock,” he implores, his desire echoing in the air like a sultry command.

Overwhelming sensations surge through your body, a symphony of pleasure orchestrated by his skillful touch. The relentless rhythm of his thrusts, the expert manipulation of your nipples, and the teasing strokes on your clit become a sensory overload. It's an intoxicating concoction, pushing you past the edge. The coil within you finally unravels, your walls contracting around his cock, squeezing him tight. In the symphony of ecstasy, he releases a strangled moan, a harmonious blend of desire and fulfillment.

Your body becomes a vessel of pleasure, every gasp for air feels like an accomplishment. Namjoon relentlessly maintains the pace, a symphony of passion playing between you. “Namjoon,” you whimper in a strangled voice, the intensity leaving you sounding distant even to your own ears. Your vision blurs with white spots, a kaleidoscope of sensations overwhelming your senses. The weight of ecstasy takes hold, your body feeling both heavy and weightless.

Unable to sustain yourself on your knees, you surrender to the intoxicating euphoria, slumping your head onto the bed, finding solace in the soft embrace of the sheets.

Namjoon holds your ass up, his thrusts becoming a frenzied dance, each movement a passionate punctuation in and out of your convulsing pussy.

“Almost there, babe. Fuck. You just clenched around me even tighter.” he seizes your hips with a firmer grip, plunging into you with more depth, and you muffle your moans into the sheets, desperately clinging to the sensations coursing through you.

He trails his fingers along your spine for a fleeting moment, and then, with a sudden slap to one of your ass cheeks, he accentuates the contrast by tenderly stroking the very spot he just struck. “You're incredible,” he breathes, his touch a symphony of pleasure and pain.

With a final series of deep, powerful thrusts, he slams into you, releasing a torrent of warm, white fluid that coats the walls of your pussy. His subsequent thrusts, though slowing down, maintain a sensual rhythm, drawing out the euphoric connection between your bodies.

“Fucking hell. That was mind-blowing,” he pants, his hands finding a temporary refuge on the curve of your ass as he endeavors to catch his breath. A few beads of his sweat cascade from his forehead, tracing a path down onto your skin. You tilt your head, still recovering your own breath, and respond, “Yeah it was.”

He tenderly strokes your ass cheeks, his softened dick still nestled within you. The gentle caresses feel exquisite, though you become aware of his essence gradually seeping out, tracing a languid path down your thighs.

He remains embedded within your warm pussy until you murmur, “Joon, I'm too exhausted to stay like this.”

He chuckles, his fingers tracing patterns along your ass and spine before withdrawing his cock, leaving you to groan in the void it creates. A cascade of your combined releases trails down your thighs, and as Namjoon spreads your ass cheeks, he admires the aftermath.

“Damn, you look incredible,” he murmurs, his lips descending to kiss the intimate blend of his essence and your arousal on your pussy.

You moan, your body still tingling with sensitivity, and you slump onto the bed, utterly spent. Namjoon chuckles, joining you in a languid sprawl beside you.

Lying side by side, you both catch your breaths while Namjoon spoons you. The intimacy is soothing, his rapid heartbeat against your back almost lulling you to sleep. Suddenly, you feel his hand trace a path from your hips down your thigh, sending a shiver through you.

“I'll clean you up,” he murmurs, breaking the post-passion silence with a promise.

He ascends from the bed, retrieving towels from a drawer to delicately cleanse the intimate aftermath between your legs. Each touch elicits a moan, and you're grateful for the tender care he showers on you.

“Thank you” you sigh, the words carrying a weight of appreciation and a lingering sense of intimacy.

“No problem,” his response comes effortlessly, and he settles onto the edge of the bed, a casual ease in his demeanor.

He breaks the silence, a hint of nervousness in his voice as his hand grazes the back of his head, then he pops the question, “I was actually thinking... if you want to go out on a date with me?”

You shift your body to face him, a tender smile playing on your lips as you reply, “I'd absolutely love that, Namjoon.”

As your fingers intertwine with his, a genuine smile lights up his face, revealing those adorable dimples. “Great. You can call me Joonie by the way,” he says, and seals the moment with a soft kiss on your temple, leaving you breathless once again.

Author’s note(2): Thank you so much for reading! 🌸 I appreciate every like, comment and reblog, and please don’t be afraid to let me know what you think; your kind words makes me extremely happy 💜

← previous | s.masterlist | m.masterlist

153 notes · View notes

takaraphoenix · 4 months

Text

Polympians Event!

Clarifying right off the gate: This does NOT mean exclusively Percy x poly Olympians, it means any god/Percy ship.

EDIT: I made a sideblog for the event: @polympians-event

EDIT 2: Here's the link to the AO3 collection!

What is the Polympians Event?

What I have in mind is an open event for any and all god/Percy ships. You ship Percy with only one god? Fill the prompts with only that ship! You sail many different god/Percy ships? Fill each prompt with a different ship, if you want! A full Percy/Olympians poly ship, OT3 or any poly constellation? Primordial gods, titans or non-Olympian gods? Any god(s)/Percy ship goes!

I've seen, in recent years, that god/Percy ships have gained quite some traction and I love that, so much. But while there are bigger ships that do have their own events, there are also the tiny rarepairs that don't get these chances, and even with the bigger ones, not everyone has the time/energy to participate in all their ships' events. So one blanket event, where the biggest of god/Percy ships and the rarest of god/Percy ships are equally welcome.

Are there rules to this?

Yes, but only the most basic. No ship bashing or harassment of other participants. The event is open to all god/Percy ships, which means people will participate with your NOTPs too. Don't like them? Don't read them. Instead, focus on the new content to your own ships! If you can't be a civil, normal person about this, then this event isn't for you.

Whether you want to write smut or not is entirely up to you, but you ought to tag appropriately!

What's the plan?

I chose the dates of the Lightning Thief quest for this event! Meaning it will run from May 28th (Percy waking up at CHB) to June 21st (Percy returning the Master Bolt and Helmet).

That length works out well for there to be 12 prompts, and you would have two days to post each prompt, plus an additional 13th prompt on the last day, to keep with the theme of the Olympians.

I'll get an AO3 collection started to which you can submit your entries on AO3 and, if there would be interest in it, I could start a sideblog specifically for this event to which entries (with proper ship tags so you can filter out your NOTPs) will be reblogged as a signal boost.

What are the prompts?

May 28th/29th: Roman

May 30th/31st: wedding/marriage

June 1st/2nd: The sea does not like to be restrained

June 3rd/4th: family focus

June 5th/6th: jealous/possessive [god]

June 7th/8th: role-swap AU (god!Percy/demigod![god])

June 9th/10th: Modern AU/no powers

June 11th/12th: metamorphosis/shapechange

June 13th/14th: godly gifts

June 15th/16th: Aphrodite ships it

June 17th/18th: Percy accepts godhood

June 19th/20th: yearning/pining

June 21st: Mythology

And because I'm bad at phrasing short prompts, here some explanations on what I had in mind with them, though you are of course free to interpret them in whatever manner you read them!

Roman: could mean the Roman aspect of the god, a Roman!Percy AU, or whatever else you want to make of it!

family focus: Are Percy and the god married with children of their own? Percy as step-parent to campers? The god meeting Sally, Paul and/or Tyson?

metamorphosis/shapechange: the gods have a track-record of turning people into animals or plants. Does this mean full animal, or catboy/other hybrid? Is this angst or fluff?

godly gifts: magic powers granted to Percy, or literal physical gifts to court, or something else?

Aphrodite ships it: Aphrodite as wing-woman, hyping and helping, can also very much include Aphrodite/Percy since she would be her own biggest shipper

Mythology: could be a mythological AU where Percy takes on a role from the past, or specific elements of a tale that recur, anything

Let me know if you're interested so I know I won't be hosting this just for myself!

126 notes · View notes

effortandmore · 1 year

Text

worth all your while (ch.1) | knj x reader

summary: you know kim namjoon from your work, but running into him outside of seoul tips your relationship into new territory and your world upside down. eventually, you wonder how there can be a million ways to say "i love you," and namjoon, a literal genius, can't manage a single one when it comes to you. or: 5 times namjoon can't make himself say "i love you" but thinks you understand him anyway (you do not), and then the one time he gets it right

pairing: namjoon x f!reader

rating: explicit (18+ please)

genre: smut, fluff, light angst, au: famous, but not an idol

warnings: smut, swearing, alcohol, here are the specific smut tags for this chapter: kissing, penetrative sex, fingering, spanking, sex in an airport bathroom (do not recommend, fwiw)

word count: ~5.5k

a/n: idk what to say! i needed to write a fic for yoongi's birthday, but i can't for some reason, so i'm writing this. i hope you enjoy 💜 i'll update chapters probably weekly, maybe bi-weekly, isn't it fun when some things in life are mysteries? the title is from "static" by steve lacy - i love him. thank you as always to the cabal: @ugh-yoongi, @hot-soop, and @the-boy-meets-evil for putting your eyes on this for me. love you all. this is posted to ao3 here if you like to read fics there.

next chapter

Unpopular opinion: airports are magical places.

You didn’t always think that, but you’ve changed. Opinion swayed. All it took was one delay on a layover in London for you to start singing a different tune.

Seoul to anywhere feels like a long flight lately. You love it there, but getting out, back to where you’re from, takes literal days. The short break at Heathrow is welcome, a chance to move around a little before you get on another almost ten hour flight. It seems like a nothing thing, to wander through the concourses and shops after you’ve made it through the customs check. Each time you’re here is the same as the last. Until it’s not. You’ve done it a hundred times: sniff different scents at Jo Malone, look for a bag you shouldn’t spend the money on at Louis Vuitton, talk yourself out of buying duty-free scotch because you know you’d never drink it in front of your mother anyway… Maybe on the way home, you think (but you never do).

“Excuse me.” You’re staring at the Balvenie you can’t really afford, thoughts drifting, when someone startles you.

“Sorry,” you mumble, stepping to the side.

There’s a man there, right there. He’s stepped up close so that your arms are practically touching. He’s tall, with dark hair under a beanie, an expensive jacket that’s made to look like it isn’t, and his face hidden under a mask that isn’t required here. There’s something about him, even though you can only see a stripe of his face, that looks familiar. For some reason, neither of you move; he keeps staring at the thousand-pound bottle of scotch, and you keep staring at him.

“You can’t drink it on the plane, you know?” You say it more than you ask it, and of course he knows. Everyone knows. But you see the corners of his eyes crinkle a little and you think he’s smiling under the mask. He finally turns to look at you.

“Was thinking I’d get it as a gift,” he explains, shrugging his shoulders.

“Nice gift,” you remark.

“Yeah…” he replies, turning his attention back to the bottle. “It’s pretentious, isn’t it?”

And at that, you smile. “Maybe a little. Depends on who it’s for.”

“No one special.”

“It’s none of my business,” you say, “but I wouldn’t buy ‘no one special’ a hundred-pound bottle of scotch, let alone a thousand-pound bottle.”

The man laughs, and you notice another guy walk up, right next to him. He’s bigger, older, and way too serious looking for your taste. They seem to have a silent conversation and then the would-be whisky buyer turns back to you. “Time for my flight,” he says. “Thanks for the advice.”

“Anytime,” you nod, still smiling even though you can’t tell anymore if he’s smiling back. Can’t hurt to be polite.

After he goes, you realize you aren’t going to buy the scotch, either, and it’s probably about time for your flight, too, so you start the scramble to your gate.

One of the bad things about flying all the time is that you feel like you see more than your fair share of delays. And this trip is no different. When you make it to the gate, you can sense the panic before you even see the notification. There’s a particular brand of hysteria that sets in with people when their flights are delayed, and it’s amplified with inter-continental flights in your experience. All of the things that make airports romantic and interesting are the same things that make people think they can behave any way they want and it won’t matter. It's like upon entering, people think they get carte blanche to be raging assholes to the poor airline counter guy who’s just trying to make sure everyone gets where they’re going and probably only makes enough to barely pay his rent.

So, you know before you’re told that there’s a delay, and you can tell by the level ten panic around you that it’s probably a long one. It’s confirmed when you see the headlines across one of the large televisions at the gate. Big storm off the coast of the Eastern US. All flights are delayed from what you can tell. Yours looks to have a delay of about six hours, but you know from experience it could be more. You’ll just have to wait and see. You’re lucky, you want to get home, but there’s really not a huge rush on your end, so you can wait it out if you need to.

There’s a quiet spot at a gate with no pending flight, near yours and a few of the other gates with international flights scheduled to leave. You hate sitting, knowing you’ve done it for a half a day already and have another long flight (eventually) in front of you, but you don’t know what else to do and at least you have a couple books in your carry on.

Maybe thirty minutes passes of you reading when you look up, just to see how things are settling around you as people start to either (like you) become resigned to the fact that they’re not going anywhere for a while, or let their anger hit a fever pitch with the gate agent.

You see a familiar fancy jacket waiting near the ticket counter, his friend from earlier having an animated chat with a woman who doesn’t seem like she speaks enough Korean to be keeping up. Fancy Coat is watching, looking amused and not chiming in, even though you know firsthand he can speak English perfectly well, and could probably be a help to his travel companion.

Because you’re one of those people who can never do things as subtly as you think you do, you’re caught out—Nice Jacket turns his head and his eyes lock with yours before you can look away; he knows you’re watching. He tilts his head, eyes widening with what you hope is amusement and not terror that you were looking. Slowly, he brings his hand up and waves at you, then gives you a gesture like he wants you to wait for something before he leans in and says something to his friend.

You turn back to your book, embarrassed.

A considerable chunk of whatever willpower you have is used in Not Looking when you hear (and feel) someone plop into the chair next to you.

“Good book?” Nice Jacket asks.

“Mmhmm,” you murmur, trying not to make things any weirder than you’ve already made them by staring. It is, in fact, not a good book. But your colleague wrote it, and he’s the special kind of narcissist that will ask you what you thought of it every day you see him until you provide some sort of satisfactory feedback kissing his ass.

“That guy’s a jackass,” he comments.

And that gets your attention. You turn to him, a little surprised. “You know him?”

Nice Jacket nods, eyebrows raised. “Do you not remember me?” he asks.

“From the duty-free shop?”

He laughs, louder than he means to judging by how he stops himself and looks around self-consciously. “No… I think you’ve interviewed me before…”

Things begin to snap into place rapidly. Because now that he says it, he goes from looking vaguely familiar to being instantly recognizable. You don’t really keep up with him or his music, but you have interviewed him, when your asshole colleague had passed one of his assignments to your desk, assuming you’d “like that kind of thing.”

At the time, you’d tried not to let yourself assume the worst about what he meant, and you did the interview over Zoom with no protest to your coworker or your boss. It wasn’t the kind of thing your magazine usually wrote about, but the article was focused on his art collection, and it gave you a good opportunity to learn something you wouldn’t have in a gossip magazine, and a chance to look good for your boss. The whole thing hadn’t lasted more than eight minutes, professional and easier than most of your interviews. Since then, you’ve been in the same room as him a few times at events you’d covered, exchanged greetings and appreciations on both sides for the article, and obviously, you know who he is.

He’s famous, but not like… idol famous. Stage name RM, he’s a rapper and producer who works with a small collective. You see him in magazines and on TV, his popularity growing over the last few years less for his music and more for his work in art preservation.

“Oh my god…” you say, closing your book and dropping your voice to a whisper. “Kim Namjoon. I’m so sorry, I didn’t realize it was you.”

“Good,” he says with a wink. “That’s the point.” He gestures vaguely to his beanie and his mask and the sunglasses he took off when he sat down next to you.

“How are you?” you ask, because it’s polite, and that’s what you should do, even though you’re not even sure why he’s sitting here speaking to you.

“Alright,” he says, but you notice he seems a little amused.

“What?”

“Nothing.” He raises his hands defensively.

“No, what? Why’s it funny to ask how you’re doing?”

Namjoon doesn’t say anything for a second, just watches you with his head cocked. “I guess no one ever really asks me that,” he says.

You scoff. “That’s ridiculous.”

What’s more ridiculous is that you’re sitting in Heathrow having a conversation with this sort of famous person who you kind of know, but not in a “run into you in the airport and have a casual chat” kind of way. Or maybe it is like that, because that’s exactly what happens.

You talk about how he’s doing (pretty well but tired from traveling and ready to be settled in his hotel). Then you talk about your asshole coworker and his not-very-good book. You laugh at a story he tells you about said coworker, and you feel your face heat up when he says how relieved he was that you interviewed them instead of anyone else from your magazine, and how much he’d liked talking to you that day. He’s bluntly honest with you about his preference for doing interviews with Korean-language publications, which you completely understand. He tells you that he didn’t mind doing an interview for your small English-language one because you at least greeted him in Korean and tried out a couple questions in the language.

“It’s my job to make people feel comfortable,” you say flippantly. It’s true, it is your job, and you talk to a lot of sort-of-famous people and their people, so you know that at the end of the day, they’re just people. You get better results and better interviews when you treat them as such. When you tell Namjoon that, you can see him grinning under his mask, you can tell for sure this time by the way the corners of his eyes pinch.

“That’s a nice way to think of it,” he finally says. “It’s good to be treated like Namjoon and not RM sometimes.”

“Happy to be of service,” you say.

Before you can say more, you’re interrupted by his friend, who you now understand isn’t exactly a friend but a manager or a bodyguard or some combination of both. He explains that it’ll be a few hours, that there aren’t any other flight options, and that he and Namjoon can go make themselves a little more comfortable in the airport lounge. It’s spoken like a suggestion, but the way he side-eyes you as he speaks makes you certain it’s more of a directive. Namjoon nods along until his manager tells him, in hushed Korean, that he can’t just sit out in the open talking to strangers.

“She’s not a stranger,” he says, clearly pleased with himself.

After a brief explanation that you’re an acquaintance (which is how Namjoon puts it and is a little more generous than you would have been), his manager lightens up, and even keeps his mouth shut when Namjoon invites you to come with them to the lounge. He does, however, insist on walking alongside you when you agree to go with them, making Namjoon walk a little ways in front of you both. Better safe than sorry, you suppose, even though no one seems to be paying any attention to the three of you.

At the lounge, his manager has a brief conversation with the airline employee at the desk, and then the three of you are whisked through the entrance, past the service desk and the bar, and into a small, private room at the back of the lounge. Namjoon puts his bag down and moves to the coffee machine, pausing to ask if you want anything as he fumbles with the stack of cups there. Cute. The professional in you hates that you even had that thought pass through your mind, but the rest of you doesn’t mind. He is cute, he gets paid to be cute (at least partially), he knows he’s cute. You have eyes, so obviously you see it, too.

His manager unceremoniously pulls an eye mask and headphones out of his bag, seats himself in the corner, and announces he’s going to try and sleep and to wake him up if anything interesting happens, leaving the two of you essentially on your own.

When you have your drinks, you pull your masks off, settle into loungers in the opposite corner of the room, and start talking again. It comes easily between the two of you—you’re used to asking questions and he’s used to answering them. He’s going to New York for a “personal schedule,” and you don’t ask for more details because you know he wouldn’t give them to you anyway. His whole face lights up when he tells you about an exhibit at the Whitney he’s hoping to catch, about how he’s willing to suffer through the jet lag for a glimpse at a certain Hockney that he probably won’t ever see in Korea.

Eventually, the tables turn a little, and he starts asking you about your own life. It’s less interesting (in your opinion) than his, but he’s a good listener, and asks good questions. He seems really excited (and remembers, to your surprise) that you’re an arts reporter, asks what you’re writing about lately, asks if you’ve seen anything new that caught your eye, even asks you for gallery recommendations around Seoul. You have a few, and he actually jots down notes in his literal notebook while you speak, claiming he’ll forget which you recommended if he doesn’t write it down. Cute again.

Hours pass, and you’d swear it’s only been a few minutes. It’s been a long time since you talked with someone like this—leisurely, candidly (or as candid as he can be, anyway). You get food brought to you by an airline employee, and you know it’s an upgrade from what’s being served in the rest of the lounge, but Namjoon isn’t phased at all. You suppose this is his normal, so there’s nothing out of the ordinary for him.

“I can’t believe you get special food,” you say when you’ve finished.

“Special food?”

“Well yeah, they’re not serving anything other than soup and crackers out there. Maybe carrot sticks.”

“Oh…” he says quietly, brow furrowed, like he’s really thinking about it. “Do you think I should ask them to bring barbeque to everyone else?” You actually think he means it. So fucking cute, you think.

After you talk him out of wielding his influence, mostly using the argument that it would be an immense amount of work for the airline staff, you settle in again. He produces a blanket from a cabinet against one of the walls of the room, and it’s an obvious sign this whole experience is totally typical for him. When he hands you the blanket, you can’t help it, you smile at him and probably look a little smitten. You might just be.

You offer him part of the blanket, and he accepts, pulling it over his lap and asking you if he took too much. (He didn’t). You talk more, and you feel relaxed with him—it’s so easy to forget he’s who he is and you’re who you are. It’s just like getting to know any other casual acquaintance better except he’s stupid good-looking and you start to notice that your faces are a lot closer together than they started out as you talk about Marci Kwon and the interesting work that the Asian American Art Initiative is doing. It was the last article you’d written, and you’re surprised to hear he’s read it.

You’re saying something about non-hierarchical modes of presenting research in art when you realize he’s not listening anymore, just staring at you intently. You’ve been talking a lot. For a while… Maybe talking too much; maybe he’s bothered.

“Are you okay?” you ask.

His eyes widen like he’s the one who’s been caught-out this time. “I’m really good,” he says, almost like he’s surprising himself.

It makes you beam. “Good,” you say. “I’ve liked talking to you.”

He nods. “I’ve liked talking to you, too. You have a lot to say.”

The fact that you can feel his breath on your face when he speaks makes you certain that you’re sitting too close, that something is happening that probably shouldn’t be. It makes you forget that “you have a lot to say” isn’t always a good thing. You think that everything might sound good when it comes from his mouth, that even the worst insult would trickle out like honey. Your heart rate has picked up, you now notice, and you both keep just staring at each other—you don’t know why you don’t move or look away, it’s like you can’t even though you know you should.

Namjoon’s eyes flick up behind you to where his manager is, and you can hear the man snoring, so you know he’s not aware at all of what’s happening right in front of him.

“They don’t have cameras in here,” Namjoon says. “It’s why we come here.”

You nod, nothing to say to that—you’re not even sure why he said it unless…

“Can I kiss you?”

That is the exact moment when every coherent and rational thought you have ever had rushes out of your brain like a waterfall. You’re not even sure how you manage to respond, but this very cute, very smart, very interesting person has just expressed interest in you of all people, and you’d be an idiot not to say yes.

“Oh my god, please,” you say all in one hurried breath.

And before you’re even finished, his lips are on yours. It’s soft, more chaste than you’d expected, but it doesn’t stay that way when he nips at your bottom lip and licks into your mouth. One of his hands comes to the back of your neck, fingers teasing at your hair and pulling you closer as you practically melt into him. It’s a good kiss, a fantastic kiss, and all you can think is more, more, more as the two of you try and do your best to be as close as you can over the armrests of the stupid lounge chairs.

When you part, his eyes are a little wild, and you think yours must be, too.

“I have to wake him up soon,” he says, looking past you. “It’s almost time for our flight.”

You glance over your shoulder at his manager who’s still totally unaware of what’s happening around him, and then stand, offering a hand to Namjoon, too.

It’s a rare moment of boldness, but something’s come over you, and you’re acting with very little thought as to what you’re doing and how stupid it probably is. “Come on,” you say, tugging him up. When he’s standing right in front of you, you put your hands on his chest and raise up on your tiptoes to whisper, “Let’s get out of here for a minute.”

He wipes across his bottom lip with his thumb, pausing probably to think about what you’re implying, and then he bends to kiss you quickly before he agrees. “Okay, yeah, let’s go.”

It’s not your fault that you know where the ‘family restroom’ is—you passed by it on the way to the back of the lounge and you notice things, you remember things.

You hope he doesn’t think you do this kind of thing all the time, or ever, although you don’t know why you care what he thinks since you’re also willfully oblivious to any looks you might be getting from any passersby who see you tug him into the room behind you.

It’s sheer luck that your go-to travel outfit is a fairly basic knit dress. It takes him no time to have you pinned up against the door, lips on your neck, hand rucking up the front of your dress so that he can get a hand under your tights. God, it feels good. He feels good, large and solid and his fingers… fuck. They’re long and nimble and he’s clearly not new to this, but neither are you, so you roll your hips forward and moan at the contact when he slips his hand under your tights.

“You’re already wet,” he says, surprised, pulling his head back so he can look at you properly, his fingertips skimming between your legs.

You nod and pull him back in to kiss you again—you only know a few things about Kim Namjoon, but you already know you like talking to him, and now you know you like his lips on yours even more than that.

“Come here,” you say, and slide away from the door, pulling him with you so that you can bend over the small vanity where you can see yourselves in the mirror above it. He’s been polite, almost too nice for what you’re in the mood for, and you don’t know if he’ll take the initiative, so you lock eyes with him in the mirror and slide your tights down from under your dress, stepping out of them one leg at a time.

In the mirror, you watch as he tentatively sticks a hand out to feel you again, groaning when his fingertips slide against you so easily. One, then quickly two fingers enter you, slowly moving in and out, and he studies your reflection, like he’s trying to learn what you like. It’s a lot of effort for a one-night stand in a Heathrow airline lounge. He pulls his joggers down; he’s already hard, feels big against your ass and the back of your thigh.

“God, you’re gorgeous,” he sighs. It’s apparently not lost on him how you watch him in the mirror, pupils blown, because then he asks, “You want to watch me fuck you?” He winds the fingers of his free hand around a handful of your hair and tentatively pulls your head up so he can look you in the eye through the mirror.

You watch him focus on you nodding and pulling your bottom lip between your teeth; he drops your hair as he stares. He has to know already how much you want it, but he makes you say it anyway.

“Tell me you want to see me make you come,” he whispers into the back of your neck, breath hot against the shell of your ear. Behind you, he’s rolling on a condom that seems to have appeared out of nowhere—you wonder if he had one in his pocket ‘just in case.’

You smirk, widen your eyes, and nod again. “Please? Will you fuck me? I want—” You pause to turn your head over your shoulder and kiss him again. “I want to watch you make me come.”

Holding onto your hip, he pushes his cock, thick and flushed, into you quickly; you don’t have much more time before his flight.

He groans as he starts thrusting, pulling almost all the way out slowly before snapping back into you.

“Oh shit…” you whisper each of the first few times he pushes into you.

Your head falls as he fucks you—It’s so good, he’s deep deep deep, and you feel so full, and you might cry it’s been so long since someone’s fucked you like this… But he wants your attention, so he brings a hand up and slaps you lightly along the back of your thigh to get you to look up.

It wasn’t hard, but you’re barely acquaintances, so he seems to hesitate, looking to your reflection for reassurance. In return, you look him straight in the eye and let out a moan.

“You wanted to watch, so watch,” he whispers.

“Do it again... please,” you plead softly as you raise your head and push your hips back against him.

He lifts the other hand and strikes the swell of your ass this time, harder than the first slap, making you suck in a breath. White knuckles grip the sides of the sink as your skin turns pink, but you’re still smirking and soaking wet, asking for more as he grips your hips to fuck you harder.

“Harder… I need you… feels so good,” you pant.

You move to lean on an elbow and bring your other hand down to your clit. His hand follows yours and moves it out of the way as he leans forward to whisper, “I thought you wanted me to make you come.”

“Then do it.”

Namjoon slows the movements of his hips to focus on you, rubbing circles over your clit with his fingertips and sucking on your neck, right against your pulse point, sending shivers along the length of your spine.

He rolls his hips into her as you grind against him, whimpering quietly, “Fuck, Joon… yes… oh, fuck…” You trail off, not able to focus on anything except his hands and his cock. You don’t even care that you’re already using nicknames with him.

“Finally got you to stop talking so much,” he teases as he works you nearer to orgasm.

You’d laugh, okay with being teased, except you’re practically shaking now, close to release, so he puts more pressure on your clit and moves his cock in you a little less deep, hitting you exactly where you need him each time.

God, you look good together. There’s a sweat sheen on your foreheads, his cheeks are painted with a rose blush, and your eyes are wide, watching yourself with curiosity in the mirror as you start to come.

You’re close, so close, tightening on his cock as he lets go of your hip and puts a hand over your mouth just in time to muffle the loud cry you make when your orgasm hits.

Your cunt pulses around him and he drags his hands slowly away from it and your mouth, back to your hips.

“You ready?” he whispers.

“Good girl,” he affirms as you nod, and that absolutely shouldn’t have you ready to come on his cock again, but maybe you have a praise kink you didn’t know about. You whimper when he starts fucking into you again, resuming his previous faster pace.

It doesn’t take long for Namjoon to come after that, with you babbling nonsense about how good his cock is and begging for him to come inside you. He thrusts into you one last time and releases into the condom, watching in the mirror as you give him a satisfied grin and roll your hips with his.

When he pulls out of you, he drops to his knees and kisses you where he’d left a handprint on your ass. It makes your breath hitch, feels too intimate for people barely know one another and who’ve just fucked in an airport bathroom. But then he pulls you up to standing, smoothing your dress around your legs. He grabs a bundle of toilet paper and hands it to you to wipe up.

“Look at you,” you tease, “what a gentleman.”

He pulls his joggers up and watches you flush the tissue while he discards the condom. You fiddle around for your tights and slide them on under your dress.

When you’re finished, you lean against the sink and watch him—he’s cute like this: face still flushed, hair mussed, and most of all, he looks as nervous as you’re starting to feel.

“I don’t do this kind of thing,” you say. Your voice is a little wobbly, and you wonder where any of the self-assurance you’d had earlier when you dragged him into the room has gone to.

Namjoon laughs, bright and dimpled, before he replies. “Fuck, me either. I mean… people sometimes… know who I am and I have to be careful.” The last words come out in a rush.

“Careful how?”

He looks fully embarrassed now. “LIke my manager is going to kick my ass when we walk out of here and… well, people back home would have a field day with this if someone saw.”

You’re not even sure what to say to that. Because of course you know who he is, you get that he’s famous, but the thought of talking about this with anyone just seems… It’s not like it makes you look very good either, so you’d never. It would be professional suicide; you’d never be taken seriously again. You spit out the next words mindlessly, just trying to make it less awkward. “You think this was the ‘something interesting’ we were supposed to wake him up for?” Namjoon just looks at you like you’re nuts before you both burst into laughter.

When you catch your breath again, you get a little more serious, your voice softer. “I’ll sign something. Whatever we should have done before, we can do it now, you can email me or whatever. God, this is crazy…” You trail off, consequences of what you’ve done starting to sink in.

“Okay… Thank you,” he says. “I hate how awkward this is. I’m sorry.”

You cross your arms over your chest, suddenly feeling a lot more vulnerable than you can ever remember feeling. Is he sorry that you did this together or is he sorry that it’s awkward? You don’t really know. Maybe it’s both.

“This was a mistake,” you say without thinking, and his face falls.

“You think that?” he asks quietly, stepping into your space and reaching out to stroke your arms gently. “Because I really don’t. I know things are complicated with me? But… I liked you when I met you for the interview, I liked you today, and I’d like to see you again. I really wouldn’t have done this if I didn’t think anything would come of it. I’m not that kind of guy.”

“Aren’t all guys that kind of guy?” you ask, wondering if he’s even for real.

“No,” he says. And you think he’s sincere. “Really. I’ve never done something like this before.”

You nod, uncrossing your arms and letting your hands slide into his. “So, we should go though… You have a flight to catch, and I guess I have an NDA to sign.” You’re trying to tease, but you think you probably just sound fucking terrified.

“Can I have your number?” he asks.

“For the NDA,” you affirm, taking the phone he’s sticking out to you and typing in your contact info.

“And for a date, maybe?” he says. And when you look up at him, he looks bashful, nervous even, as if you could ever say no to this man with a big brain and a dick to match who has just made you feel at least twelve new things in the last few hours.

“I’ll be back in Seoul in two weeks,” you say, handing him his phone back.

He smiles wide at that, and leans in to kiss your cheek. Cute again.

“I’ll call you,” he says eagerly. “And someone will be in touch about the paperwork… Sorry again.”

“Not your fault.” You shrug. “But you should head out first so it looks less weird, probably. I’ll freshen up for a minute and then be out in a bit.”

“Right,” he agrees. “Okay. So… I’ll see you in Seoul?”

You can’t help but be endeared to him; the fact that he seems to think you might actually not want to see him again makes you go all squishy inside. “It’s a date,” you confirm.

“Great! Okay… I’m gonna just… go now.” He points at the door, fumbling behind himself for the latch, like he doesn’t want to break eye contact with you.

“Okay, Namjoon… It was good to run into you and…” You hate that you can’t say anything coherent, your sentence just ending in, “stuff.”

He laughs and pulls his mask back on. “It was good to run into you and stuff, too.”

Finally, he’s got the door unlocked, and before he slips back into the lounge he says, “I’m really going to call you, okay?”

You aren’t sure why, but you believe him when he says it even though you know better, and all the weird feelings you’ve been having about him come together in a bright firework feeling in your chest. Something like hope, maybe.

“Talk to you soon,” you say quietly.

And then he’s gone, and you’re left breathless, wondering what you’ve just done.

next chapter

#bts fanfic #namjoon fic #namjoon smut #namjoon imagine #bts smut #namjoon x reader #namjoon x you #bts fic #bts writing #fic: wayw

700 notes · View notes

late-to-the-party-81 · 1 month

Text

Answer the questions and tag five fanfiction authors you know!

Thank you @metalbvcky. NPT for @mrs-illyrian-baby @doasyoudesireandlive @km-ffluv @labella420

🍓 How did you get into writing fanfiction?

As a teen I was a voracious reader and tried to write my own stuff based on other books I'd read. I also loved ST:TNG and wanted dearly to be in an episode and had lots of the books. I wrote my own ST stories with OC's (gratuitous self inserts), but they never went anywhere. In my late teens I read some Xena fanfic on the internet. But that was it for a great number of years.

At the beginning of 2021 I sat and watched the entirety of the MCU films in chronological order (I'd seen most of them before and was mainly a Thor gal.) I fell down the Stucky rabbithole. Deep. I decided to look up fanfic. AO3 was now a thing! I wrote (a very poor) Stucky fic and here we are, almost 3 years later

🍇How many fandoms have you written in?

As my ST stuff never made it further than my parent's old PC in the days of dial-up, I won't count it.

I've written for MCU, various Chris Evans and Seb Stan Characters and one fic for RWRB. I've been toying with writing a one-off Criminal Minds fic as a gift for a friend.

🍈How many years have you been writing fanfiction?

Three in July since I first published anything on AO3.

🍎Do you read or write more fanfiction?

I try to balance it out. If I have a period of hyperfocus writing I try to then go through a period of reading. I read on both Tumblr and AO3, so try to keep that even as well.

🍌What is one way you've improved as a writer?

Getting betas to pick me up on tense changes, overuse of words and rogue commas. Reading more. Practising. Writing outlines for longer stories so I don't go off-piste.

🍑Do you have any bad habits as a writer?

Getting bored half-way through a long fic, especially if the first few parts haven't had a lot of interaction. Which is why I try to write the whole thing before I start posting.

🍍 What's the weirdest topic you researched for a writing project?

Engineering courses at MIT and, for a separate fic, Violet wands, including the ways to use them and the differnt types of accessories you can use with them. I even watched a Youtube video.

🍉What's your favourite type of comment to receive on your work?

Any comment! Anything that gives me the validation I need!

🍐What's the most fringe trope/topic you write about?

I wrote a transformation into Tsum-tsum fic that was both cracky and smutty. That's pretty niche.

🥭What is the hardest type of story for you to write?

Action scenes. I loathe them. I'm constantly wondering if they are long enough, and make sense.

🍏What is the easiest type?

Short things that are either PWP or fluffy slices of life.

🍑Where do you do your writing? What platform? When?

Mainly on my elderly laptop on G-Docs, and in every moment I can - normally afterwork before dinner and on Mondays when I don't have work.

🍋What is something you've been too nervous/intimidated to write, but would love to write one day?

There are a few characters and ships I haven't written that I'd like to. And I suppose I'd like to write a proper long, over 100k fic at some point.

🍇 what made you choose your username?

When I made my AO3 account I felt as though that at 40, and only really starting in Fandom in this way, I was late to the party, so that is who I became.

#tag games #getting to know you #jen answers

70 notes · View notes

measuredingold · 2 months

Text

i think i’m in love

author's note: hi all ! something short and sweet for our boy folio :) inspired by “i think i’m in love” by taylor acorn, so listen to that if you wanna get a feel for this. really loved writing my last piece for him and i adored his relationship with reader, so i wanted to expand on that a little. i may continue writing in this universe if more people want it :) as always, please enjoy !

pairing: nick folio x reader ( fallingforyou universe )

cross-posted on ao3

word count: 1k~

cw/tags: fluff, literally nothing but tooth-rotting fluff, feelings realization, nick is so smitten soooo in love, 18+ minors do not interact

Nick feels like he can breathe much easier again the second he's off that damn plane.

It was a full flight, incredibly fucking stuffy, and he had been anxious the very second the plane took off. He was counting down the literal seconds in the air until they were finally on solid ground again. Flying wasn't one of his favorite things, never had been, but especially when he was anticipating something much more exciting upon his arrival. You never left his mind, even when he tried to sleep, the moment his eyes shut you were the first thing he saw.

Being excited about going home and sleeping in his own bed for the first time in weeks is one thing, but being even more excited just because he gets to have you in his arms again... it's a whole other feeling.

He never expected this to happen - you and him. Relationships are never easy, especially being in the road majority of the year, and most people run when he even utters the words that he’s a musician. You didn’t, though. You stayed, and the two of you learned how to deal with the distance together. It was hard at first, trying to get the times just right to FaceTime, even a quick phone call. It got easier as time went, but the ache in his chest grew more and more as the thought of you passed his mind.

And you were on his mind a lot.

He sees you before you see him and his heart soars out of his chest, lodging itself in his throat. He swallows it down with a smile and his legs move before he can think about it.

Holy shit. He missed you so much.

It's right when you're just barely out of arm's length that you finally turn around and see him, and he watches the exact moment relief washes over you. Your eyes widen, lips stretching out into a smile, and you barely get a word out before his arms are slipping around your waist.

"Hi." You squeak before settling in his arms, wrapping your own around him.

He takes a deep breath through his nose, emotions running high, and he just holds you closer to him. This is what he was needing - craving. Having you in his arms was something he had thought about the second he left you, and to finally have that again after almost three months is... a lot. A new feeling he can't explain, but there's been a lot of new things when it involves you.

"Hey." He says quietly, pulling back just enough to get a good look at your face.

You're smiling, eyes crinkled at the end, and that’s when he sees the first tear fall. He laughs, reaching his hands up to cup your cheeks to wipe it away.

"Sorry." You mumble, clearly embarrassed, but the tears don't seem to stop. "I just missed you a lot. Really glad you're home."

"I missed you too, darlin'." He hums, thumbs stroking over your cheeks before letting his arms wrap back around you, pulling you into his chest. "And I'm really fucking glad to be home."

You fall into him naturally, face burying against his shoulder. The two of you stand there for a few moments of silence, soaking up the embrace, and Nick realizes why it's hard to have someone at home. These reunions are rough - emotional, almost too emotional for him. And maybe if this had been Nick from a year ago, he'd run. He could never put himself through this, you through this, because it hurts so much to be away from the person that you love.

But coming home to you, knowing that you'll be here waiting for him... something inside Nick's chest squeezes, his stomach swirls, and he thinks it might be worth it. It's too early to say if this is for the long run, if he and you were end-game, but maybe you were. Maybe this was the real deal, and maybe he actually was in love with you. He can't seem to find a justifiable reason to break this off because it hurts too much. He's willing to put himself through this, if that means he has you.

And who knows, maybe one day Bad Omens could get big enough to where he can support you both, bring you out on the road with him. The thought makes him feel giddy, even if it may not become a reality anytime soon.

"Ready to head home?" You finally speak up, pulling away from him.

Your eyes showed no more tears, which he was thankful for, and the softness in your gaze has him wanting to just kiss you right in front of everyone. At the mention of home, which would involve a bed - hopefully yours - he nods, before yawning loudly.

"Fuck yeah." He says mid-yawn and you laugh, reaching out to pat his chest. "Yours? I like your bed better than mine."

You wordlessly grab his suitcase, waving him off as he tries to take it from you before sliding your free hand into his, gently tugging him with you.

"I think you've slept in my bed more in the last 6 months than you did your own." You tease, giving his hand a squeeze.

"Like I said, I like yours better than mine." He shrugs. "Also, it's just... very you. And I like you. So, I like sleeping in your bed."

"Didn't realize you liked me that much, babe."

"I like you too much," He hums. "It's concerning."

Your cheeks flush and he watches you turn your head to try and hide it, but he sees it. He always sees it. He feels giddy, hand squeezing yours as you turn your head to look at him again, lips stretched into a wide smile and a slight pink coloring to your cheeks.

"I think I like you too much, too."

Your eyes meet and he realizes there's something else under those words, and the smile the two of you share is one in understanding. He won't say it now, thinking he'll wait a little bit longer, but his chest twists in a way that he knows that you feel the same. He gently tugs you closer to him, lips finding the side of your head.

"Let's head home."

#bad omens fanfiction #bad omens fanfic #nick folio fanfiction #nick folio fic #nick folio fan fic #mine

57 notes · View notes

deadpoolsoci3ty · 3 months

Text

so you're the a (alastor x reader) ch 1

(a/n: so i've been posting this on ao3 for about a week and just decided to post on here too now. also i do not have a posting schedule im busy lol sorry)

summary: finding the radio at that thrift store may have completely changed the course of my life, but really i'm not complaining at all.

word count: 1,789

warnings: none i think (let me know if should add some!)

ao3 link

masterlist

Chapter One: thing of beauty

The cold wind of Chicgo bit at my face as I walked the short walk from my apartment to the thrift store. I’m not totally sure what I was going there to look for, but I just needed to get out of my apartment. The walk was pleasant because I’m a college student home at one o’clock in the afternoon on a Tuesday, so the sidewalks are barren. The store finally comes into view, and then I’m walking in. I greet the woman at the register, and immediately book it towards the trinkets in the back. I look through their selection of shot glasses and mugs, not seeing anything that I just had to have. I pace around the back of the store until I see this gorgeous antique radio. A radio would be great for background noise when I’m reading, and plus this was a thing of beauty. I may not have a lot of money, but I knew in my heart whatever price this radio was, it was coming home with me. I rushed over to pick it up so I could find the price, but before my eyes could land on the price tag they first saw a small ‘A’ carved into wood in the corner. Maybe it was like an Andy Toy Story situation, a cute little memory from a previous owner. Then I found the price, a solid $60 which I am truly willing to part with for this beautiful radio.

With an extra pep in my step, I made my way to the register to pay for my lovely new friend. I greeted the employee at the register once again, and she looked somewhat excited that I put the radio on the conveyor belt. “Has this been here long?” I asked because I was confused how someone would pass up this piece of art.

“Longer than me, pretty sure,” she shrugged, “all the employees here have made up our little stories about the history behind it.” She rang me up and the screen prompted me to put my card in, and I knew I wouldn’t be able to get a sweet treat for a week or two but the radio was worth it. “It has been bought before though,” I furrowed my brow because what was wrong with this damn clock? But, to be honest I didn’t care if the radio even worked or not (I was hoping it did though) it was just beautiful. “The people always come back in basically begging us to buy it back, don’t even care for how much. One guy sold it to us for fifty cents one time.”

Now, normally I would not be caught dead with an object that people had been begging to return, and with the way the employee had been describing the situation the radio was definitely scaring the shit out of everybody that purchased it. But, for some reason I needed this radio. A little about me, I’m a textbook snobby english major. I love all things vintage, I think the classics are the greatest works in English literature, and hold a deep detestment for many aspects of modern culture. Yes, I am annoying.

“Mmm, something tells me I’ll be keeping it for the long haul.” I don’t know what possessed me to say something like this, but I’m just gonna go with it. I thank the employee and make my way out of the shop.

The walk home was much less brisk now that I was carrying this heavy radio, but I didn’t think about it much. I was just so excited. My roommate was out filming for some school project so I could fiddle with it when I got home.

After what feels like forever, I see the fence in front of my apartment. I whip out my keys, and put them in the lock of the first door and lock it behind me, while putting the key into the next door which leads to my apartment. I take off my shoes and lock the door. I walk over to the dining room table and put my purse down along with the radio so I can take my coat off. Once coatless, I grab the radio and set it down on the coffee table in front of the couch. I mess with the knobs and dials until I hear a crackle. “Yes!” I yelled, as I began switching through the stations, most of the stations I knew from the radio in my car were entirely static. After a couple of minutes I heard someone speaking, the voice was filtered through what sounded like a microphone from the early days of audio.

“Hello dearie!~” the strange voice spoke, I assumed it was a prerecorded file a station was playing. Like a radio version of the history channel. So, of course I didn’t speak back to the radio. Then, the voice came back, “I said…” a loud static started to emanate from the speaker, “Hello!”

My first thought was ‘fuck me, if this is a demon in here, I’m definitely going to fall for one of his traps’ I had just though about this a couple days ago, I want things! Sue me! And I’m not fucking with you two days ago I had been thinking about this shit and now here I am. Welp, I’m fucked, but still I carry on. And now I was sure I had completely lost my mind, so since that had already happened and I was obviously in the middle of an episode of psychosis, I decided to reply, “Oh! Umm I didn’t think you were speaking to me. My apologies!” Whoever this person who was speaking was, I definitely did NOT want him to be upset with me.

“Oh dear, oh dear! Far in the past now! You’ve got my radio!” I could tell whoever was speaking was smiling, I could hear in their voice.

“This is yours? It’s gorgeous, I can assume you’re the ‘A’ on the bottom of it.” I could have asked so many questions, but I went with this one. I’m not totally sure why, but I really want to know more about the strange voice.

“Alastor! That’s my name, sweetheart!” He seemed excited to introduce himself, and honestly I was just as excited as him.

“Hello Alastor! My name is Y/N! It’s nice to meet you! Where do you live, Alastor? I found the radio in Chicago!” Why was I telling this strange voice over a creepy radio where I live.

“Oh when I was alive, my home was New Orleans. Absolutely fantastic! It made it all the way to the Windy City!” My heart froze after his fifth word, hair standing up, goose pimples all over my skin, and a shock through my spine. When he was alive??? What the fuck does that mean? He’s definitely a demon, yep fuck me.

“Just to clarify, you did just say ‘when you were alive’ right? That wasn’t me hearing things, right?” I was hyperventilating out of my damn mind. I absolutely understood now why people had returned this freaky fucking radio

“Oh yes, of course, dear! I’m coming to you straight from Hell.” The way he said it like it was the most casual thing ever, had me feeling like I was overreacting to what he was saying.

“And you’re not messing with me?” After it came out of my mouth I heard him clench his teeth.

“Oh, now what is your impression of me that says I would do that to you?” He seems frustrated with my question, and that did not sit right with me. I was quick to appease him.

“No, no, no, I’m sorry, that’s not what I meant by that, I promise!” I try to stop myself from spilling my guts to this man who I believe might be a demon, because the voice in my head was telling me giving personal information to a demon was probably not the best decision I could make, but I just couldn’t stop myself. “It’s just I never believed in an afterlife or a religion, so it’s just that you have just told me that hell is real and that is absolutely insane to me because now I’m terrified hell is horrible. Is it horrible? I mean I guess that’s the point?” I took a deep breath before I continued my word vomiting, but before I got the chance, Alastor began speaking again.

“Sweet girl~ please stop with the yammering…” His voice seemed like nectar to me, I could listen to him speak all day, “before we continue with our little back and forth, I am going to need to know what I’m getting out of this?” I immediately started thinking about the things I could offer him, not my soul. Wasn’t there just yet.

“What could you possibly want from me?” This was the most genuine question I had asked in a long time, I had absolutely nothing to offer him. I had money for groceries, rent, and utilities. Most of my possessions were books, he was in hell what use could he have for anything I could give him.

“I just adore your voice, little deer!” He was back to being his chirpy self, and it rubbed off on me making me feel a little calmer. “I’m sure you would love to continue our little chats, and in return I’d just like for you to read to me, from a book of your choosing of course.” I was trying not to let off how excited I was, I wanted him to feel like he was getting more out of this than he was. “I’m trusting you have immaculate taste, but give a couple of your favorites just so I can tell.”

After a few quick beats I respond with, “My favorite book of all time is Wuthering Heights by Emily Bronte, I’m a big fan of the classics, nineteenth century literature.”

“Oh how swell!” he seemed like he was buzzing with glee, “A beautiful voice with even better taste!” He seemed to chuckle to himself and as his laugh faded out his voice came back, “Well, dearest, I’m afraid I must be going for now! I’ll excuse your payment for today, but be ready for next time, my dear,” I took a deep breath at the thought of a next time, “When you want to contact me again, just tune back into this station, I’ll be able to tell. I won’t always be able to talk, but when I can I’ll be there in a jiffy!”

Before I could respond to him the static that accompanied his voice faded and it eventually became silent in my apartment once again. I released the breath I hadn’t realized I was holding, and leaned back into my couch.

(a/n: i've written five chapters so far i'll be posting the other four asap)

#alastor #alastor the radio demon #hazbin hotel #alastor hazbin hotel #alastor x reader #alastor x you #alastor imagine #hazbin imagine #hazbin x reader #hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin hotel imagine #alastor fic #hazbin fic #hazbin hotel fic

65 notes · View notes

afrowrites · 17 days

Text

~What A Difference a Day Makes~

High noon, blistering heat scattered across the wastelands. Rolling waves of heat come off of the scared man. His weathered coat and hat absorbs the warmth of the sun. But a man like him doesn’t mind it. He clings to its warmth like he clings to radiation it’s familiar and after 200 years of life that’s the first thing that gets him going. As he traverses the weathered ground and picks from the weathered weeds he’s home and home is wherever he lays his hat. And today his hat lands right at your home.

Word Count: 3,102

Warnings: Hostages, Explosions.

Tags: The Ghoul/Black Plus-Sized Reader, Fluff, Domesticity, Banter, Slowburn(Kind of, not really)

Read on Ao3

The Ghoul enters an old dilapidated town,“Well, well, what do we have here?”

He trips and before he can figure out what it is that he tripped on he hears music, a song from the past. “What a difference a day makes”

The Ghoul pauses for a moment, letting the song wash over him. He hums softly to himself before his features fall back into the familiar sardonic smirk. “Well, ain't that just a day late and a dollar short.”

Suddenly the record stops then it rewinds, a haunting and demonic sound ringing through the speakers from that turntable. It explodes and sends him hurling towards some old rickety building.

He slowly gets back up, rubbing the back of his head. His expression changes from amusement to annoyance. “Well, ain't that just a real humdinger. What's a ghoul gotta do to get some peace and quiet around here?”

He suddenly feels the barrel of a gun at the back of his head "Now I don't know who you are and what your doing here but you have about three seconds before I blow your head to smithereens"

He turned slowly to see a beautiful brown figure, she had luscious full lips that were twisted in a scowl, a sharp stare that could cut glass, and a body that would make any man fall to his knees. Which is what our cowboy wants to do so bad but he also doesn’t want to get shot.

“Well, ain't you a proper little ray of sunshine, darlin'? If you want to know who I am, just call me The Ghoul. As for what I'm doing here, well, sometimes a fella jus' needs a little excitement, know what I mean?”

"And what pray tell would that be?" you looked at him, gun nudging his forehead.

“What do I want? How ‘bout a damn drink and a decent meal. Maybe even a little bit of friendly conversation that doesn't involve pointing a gun at my head?” The Ghoul's tone is cool and calm, unruffled by the threat of violence.

You take his bag from him and motion him to hand over his weapons, after all your modified grenade launcher is much scarier then some dinky pistols, after collecting the items you bind his hands with rope tightly and make you decent to your base of operations.

"Alright if food and good company is what you seek then I guess you can follow me, but don't think you can escape or I'll make sure you face my music."

All while you're talking he for some reason can’t stop staring at your lips, The Ghoul raises an eyebrow, his smirk turning into a wry smile.

“Well, looks like I'm just a damn dog on a leash now. But, if that's what it takes for a little vittles and banter, I guess I can't complain. Lead the way, darlin'. I'll try not to bite.” He shows you a grinning smile.

It takes half a day's journey to get to a dilapidated house on the outskirts of the shady sands. We walk in and it smells of mildew and dust.

"Welcome to my abode, rough skin." I tie him securely to a sturdy post of the house. He has enough room to sit at the dinner table without causing too much of a fuss.

The Ghoul glances around the dilapidated house, taking in the dusty surroundings. He doesn't hide his surprise, but masks his discomfort with sardonic wit.

“Well, ain't this just the picture of comfort and luxury. Mildewed walls, a chair that's seen better days, and the distinct smell of desperation. It's like a damn holiday.”

"I'm sorry this house is 250 years old and has survived two nukes safe to say I think I'm doing just fine, besides it's not like you know any better.”

The Ghoul laughs, a raspy, guttural sound.

“Two nukes, you say? Well, now we're talkin'. But hey, maybe I just prefer the finer things in life, like a decent roof over my head and a bed that doesn't squeak louder than a dying Radstag. But who am I to complain? After all, I'm sittin' at the table of a bonafide wasteland celebrity. And the company ain't half bad, either.”

"You're funny, what's your name?" I squint and I lean in closer to his face.

The Ghoul gives a crooked grin, revealing yellowed, pointed teeth. “They call me The Ghoul, sweetcheeks. But you can call me whatever you damn well please. Just don't expect me to be all sunshine and butterflies every damn minute.”

“You idiot I already knew that,” You chuckle and hit his arm playfully, “But you do look awfully familiar, I can't quite put my nose to it but I'm sure I'll figure it out soon enough"

The Ghoul's lip curls into a smirk as he leans in close. “Well, darlin' if you recognize this old mug of mine, then you must be one hell of a fan, considering how much more handsome I used to be.”

He takes a moment to relish in this compliment before his sarcasm returns. “Now, are we gonna talk about my good looks all night, or are ya gonna get a fella somethin' to eat?”

"pushy, much" I rummage through my cabinets to open my secret stash of food behind my fake out cabinets

"Alright I have some cram and mac'n cheese and drum roll please"

The Ghoul's eyes light up at the sight of the canned meals, He quickly returns to his usual sarcasm.

“Well, hot damn! Look at you, pullin’ out the good stuff. I reckon I’ll take a bowl of that there “mac and cheese” you mentioned. Gotta tell you, darlin’, nothing says fine dining like canned crap.”

"You didn't even let me tell you what was for dessert, hmph." In your pouty frustration, he finds it endearing which is awfully close as he remembers that one you have him tied up in your hide-away, and two he barely even knows who you are.

The Ghoul chuckles, enjoying this brief interaction with someone who isn't actively trying to kill him.

“Desert, you say? Well, now you have my full attention. Let's hear it, darlin'. What's the sweet treat you're hiding in that stash of yours?”

"Fancy lads snack cakes, they are actually good which worries me because that means they put all sorts of chemical crap in here. But beggars can't be choosers can they?"

The Ghoul's eyes light up again, and he almost seems enthusiastic.

“Well, now we're talkin'! Fancy lads snack cakes, huh? Sounds like a piece of pre-war heaven. Hell, I've tasted dog food that was better than some of the slop I've come across in the Wasteland. But, you're right, darlin'. When you're out here scavenging for scraps, you gotta take what you can get.”

"I'll heat this stuff up then." You turn away blushing,and you honestly don’t know why?

The Ghoul gives you a sly smile, noticing your flushed cheeks, and nervous nature.

“Well, ain't that a sight for sore eyes. Here I am, tied to a chair and at your mercy, and you're the one gettin' all flustered. Careful now, darlin'. If you keep givin' me these heated stares, a fella might start getting some ideas.”

"Now what kind of girl do you take me for?" You raise my brow and smirk.

The Ghoul's eyes twinkle mischievously as he looks you up and down.

“Well, darlin', let's see. You're a proper little badass, ain't ya? Tying me up, feedin’ me grub, givin’ me the eye. I reckon you're the kind of girl who knows how to hold her own in this here Wasteland, and if provoked, could knock a fella flat on his ass with just the force of your glare. Hell, I'd say you're the kind of girl who could kick my ass while lookin’ damn fine doin’ it.”

"That's real cute but flattery will not get you untied." I get closer to whisper in his ear "Mister~"

The Ghoul chuckles, the hairs that would be on the back of his neck rising at your touch. “Well, ain't you a sly one? Look darlin', I'll gladly sing your praises from here to the Grand Canyon. But you're right, there ain't a compliment in the world that could charm these ropes off me. And don't get me wrong, I ain't complainin'. A pretty lady, good food, and I'm tied down at her mercy? Sounds like a hell of a good time to me.”

"Your just in luck because the food is ready." You take the macaroni and cram off the fire and plate it on the mis-matched plates and cutlery.

The Ghoul's eyes light up as the food hits the table. Well, isn't this a sight for sore eyes? You ain't pullin' any punches, darlin'. Canned mac and cheese and cram. It's like a damn feast for a Wasteland king. I appreciate the effort, darlin'. You've got me hooked. He grins, his stomach rumbling in anticipation.

"You really better be glad I'm wasting my food on you, if I didn't have other food drops and suppliers you'd be starving."

The Ghoul gives a hearty chuckle, his sharp teeth glinting in the light. “Oh, darling, I'm aware. Believe me, I don't take your generosity lightly. But hey, I'd say I make up for it with my sparkling personality. He winks playfully. If you wanted to leave me hungry, you would have done so already. So, why feed me? You gotta be expectin' somethin' in return.”

"Honestly I don't know why I'm helping you, you just feel familiar to me and I don't know why. It's like in my mind I know who you are. But I don't know I might just be talking out of my ass."

The Ghoul's grin falters for a moment, his thoughts racing. He can see the confusion and memory in your eyes. “Ah, familiar, eh? Well, I won't lie, darlin'. I've been around these parts for a damn long time and have met more than my share of fascinating folks. It could be I've got a face that sticks in the mind. But, who knows? Maybe it's just a coincidence. The Wasteland is a mighty big place.”

You abruptly pause and think for a moment, “Would you want to watch a movie with me?"

The Ghoul's eyebrow arches in surprise and amazement. “Now, that's a damn fine suggestion. It ain't often a ghoul gets an invitation to watch the latest Hollywood flick. But, if you're askin', I'd love to join you. As long as it's a proper action movie, none of that romantic crap. I wanna see things blow up and people kick ass, you know what I mean?”

You laugh at his response, gritty and rough, “"Oh yeah you can watch my favorites with me. I only really have a cowboy cooper so I hope you don't mind." You give him a sheepish smile.

The Ghoul's expression grows intrigued. “Cowboy Cooper, eh? Sounds like the kind of movie fit for a true Wasteland outlaw. As long as it's got that proper Wild West charm, I'm in. You better believe I'm ready to sit back and enjoy the show. Let the explosions and bullets fly, darlin'. Hell, it might even make me forget about my current predicament.”

"You're such an old man." You chuckle to myself as I turn on the movie.

The Ghoul lets out a low chuckle, a smirk tugging at the corners of his lips. “Well now, aren't you the little firecracker? I ain't called old man in years. But hey, if it gets me a front row seat to this flick, I'll wear that label proudly. Now, let's get this show goin'. Nothing like a proper Western to get a ghoul's blood pumpin'”

You watch the movie together on your dilapidated couch on a tv that somehow works. "Now I know who you remind me of."

The Ghoul nods, his eyes flicking between the movie and you. He can tell you’ve got something on your mind. “Go on, darlin’. I could use a good mystery unraveled. Who do I remind you of?”

You make this somewhat off connection in your mind. "Cowboy Cooper, your voices are somewhat similar and you both have the same teeth which is shocking considering you're a ghoul."

The Ghoul's expression is unreadable for a moment as he processes your statement. Then, a slow, sardonic smile spreads across his face.

“Well, now, isn't that something. Cowboy Cooper, huh? Guess it makes sense, given this ole’ rugged good looks. I'll take that as a compliment, darlin’. As for the teeth…well, I guess you could say life's been rough on them. But it just gives me that extra charm, don't you think?”

"I guess." you chuckle to yourself, as I start to rest your head on the ghouls shoulder.

The Ghoul's smirk softens slightly as he feels you rest your head on his shoulder. He can't help but let out a low chuckle, the sound rumbling deep in his chest.

“Well, ain't you somethin'? Here I am, all tied up and helpless, but somehow I end up playin’ the role of your personal pillow.”

You nuzzle into him, “Well you are comfier than you look.” You smile to yourself, this is honestly the first time you’ve felt anyones touch in a long time.

The Ghoul's smirk widens into a wolfish grin. He leans against the ropes, allowing you to use him as your makeshift pillow. “Well, darlin', if I knew I’d end up as the Wasteland’s next hottest pillow, I would have tied myself up years ago. But I gotta admit, you’re onto something. Maybe it’s these rugged good looks that make it so comfy. So, is this my new job? Just stayin’ put so you can rest your pretty little head on my shoulder?”

"Whatever you say cowboy," you yawn and stretch off of him. "Hey I don't know if you ghouls need to sleep but I will be doing that upstairs. i'll even tie you to my bed so I can sleep easier"

The Ghoul can’t help but chuckle at your bold invitation. He gives you a sly look, his eyes gleaming in the dim light.

“Well now, ain't you the forward one? I haven't slept in years, so you don't gotta worry about me gettin’ into mischief while you catch your rest. As for the whole "tying me up to your bed" shenanigans, well, I won't say I'm opposed to the idea.”

You chuckle and give him a sleepy smile. "I bet you aren't, come on cowboy" As you lead him upstairs.

With a low chuckle, the Ghoul follows you up the stairs, his steps slightly hindered by the ropes. Despite his predicament, he can’t help but feel a bit excited at the prospect of spending the night in your bed. “Well, darlin', if you're offerin', who am I to refuse? Just don’t hog all the covers, alright?”

"Ah ah take off your shoes" You grin with your hand wide open motioning him to give them to you.

The Ghoul pauses for a moment, confusion flickering across his face. “My shoes? Look, darlin’, I ain’t one to question a lady, but this seems like a bit much. If I take my shoes off, then the next thing I know, you’re gonna be demanding I sleep naked and give up my guns.”

"That's not a bad idea, hand em over cowpoke" You knew he had extra weapons you were honestly confused as to why he hadn’t tried anything.

The Ghoul raises an eyebrow at your suggestion, but can’t help but chuckle, clearly amused.

“Oh now, darlin’. Don’t get me wrong. I’m a wild one, sure, but takin’ off my shoes and sleeping naked? You keep making me an offer like that and I’m gonna start thinking you’ve got plans for me beyond just restin’. Maybe I oughta keep my weapons within reach, just in case.”

"Relax if you think I'm thinking about doing anything of that nature you're surely mistaken" this next part you say under your breath "I've never even done that."

The Ghoul quirks an eyebrow at your muttered words. “Now wait now, hold up. That sounded like a mighty important confession you just let slip there. Are you tellin' me that you’ve never done any of that?” His eyes rake over you for a moment as a slow, wicked grin spreads across his face. “Seems like some fellas in this world are missing out on a good time.”

"Oh be quiet" you throw a pillow at his face and you take his weapon and throw it at the far side of the room. "And if you don't mind I'll be sleeping with my gun, is that ok?”

The Ghoul catches the pillow with a smirk, setting it aside. He watches as you move his weapons away, a flicker of amusement in his eyes. “Oh trust me, darlin’, I’m perfectly fine with a lady keepin’ her weapon close. In fact, I’d say it’s a mighty smart move, even when you’re sharin’ a bed with a fella like me. Can’t be too careful in this Wasteland.”

"Hmmm you're too eager and I don't like that, but I'll keep you around. I need a guard dog after all" You smile cheekily at him.

The Ghoul's smirk turns into a wolfish grin, revealing a hint of sharp teeth in the dim light. Your wink doesn’t go unnoticed, and he can’t help but appreciate your boldness. “Oh darlin’, you’re playin’ a dangerous game. Keep givin’ me those looks and making comments like that, and you just might find yourself tangled up in somethin’ more than just bedsheets.”

You roll my eyes "goodnight Cowboy"

The Ghoul watches you roll your eyes, a smirk plastered across his face. He can’t help but laugh as you bid him goodnight, his deep chuckle filling the air.

“Alright there, darlin’. Goodnight~” With a wink, he settles down on the bed, his gaze never leaving you.

#fallout #the ghoul #cooper howard #fallout tv series #he's kinda #black reader #the ghoul x reader #the ghoul x you #plus size reader #The ghoul x black reader #fluff #domestic fluff #Like what if he relaxed #that would be nice

41 notes · View notes

just-some-random-blogger · 7 months

Text

Bright Eyes | 1

Part 2

Prince Aemond's marriage was borne out of necessity and political advantage. Let it never be said that he did not know duty, for duty was what kept Aemond Targaryen grounded. But in truth, the prince felt cheated by the match, for he felt his wife was getting scraps as her dowry. After all, she was chosen for him because of her family's wealth and resources. It was then rather scandalous when the icy prince became temperate to his bride.

Aemond Targaryen x Reader | 2k+ | cw: fem!reader, arranged marriage au, smut (virginity loss, vaginal penetration), reluctant lovers ig, typos, etc.

A/N: HIIII THIS IS PART OF THE HOUSE OF THE DRAGON BIG BANG CELEBRATION 🎉🎉🎉 I split mine into 3 parts but I can only post the other 2 parts here on Tumblr after the whole event has ended to respect and give way for the other submissions. It will be available on AO3 to read though so yeah! Thank you so much to the love of my life @ewanmitchellcrumbs for making the art for me (and in such short notice too cos my artist unfortunately deactivated their Tumblr). I'm so luv youuuu Also i haven't written anything for hotd in a while so i don't remember who I'm supposed to tag so kejhshs surprise! And enjoy ig!!! HIHIHI

Tagging: @pinksirensong @aralezinspace @sloanexx @delicious-xx @deniixlovezelda @targaryenmoony @risefallrise @slavyanskiyahui @thebullship @sa3losa

"Perhaps," I extend a hand to him, "you ought to hold my hand."

Aemond straightens from where he stood, lone eye darting from his feet, to my hand, to my face. He finds offence in this offer, a line threatens to dig deep between his brows.

"The-" I trail off and look away, my gloved hand, however, does not retreat, "-terrain is quite bumpy." I look back to him expectantly, "I know the land well. It would be easier for me to lead you through-"

"Then lead me," Aemond cuts, both hands going behind him, "skip the fussing."

I purse my lips and watch him for a moment.

The wind strengthens. It blows past me yet I do not move with it, even with my thick dress pulling me back. In contrast, Aemond shuffles in his spot, his coat catching the gush of wind and his hair raking his skin. I had offered to braid Aemond's hair to keep it out of his face and he said he could manage because what was the breeze on a meadow compared to the ripping air at the back of a dragon?

He realizes meadow was too kind a term for this patch of land I was showing him. It was a hellscape, not lush or flowery like a meadow at all. The field stretched out to a cliff, and below it laid viscous waves that added to the horrible weather.

I nod and bring my hands to my skirts instead, "please watch your step. A few more paces, we'll reach the area that has many-"

Aemond grunts when he steps on a hidden divot. His heel digs into the mushy surface and he nearly twists his ankle.

I whip my head back and look at him, finally completing my thought, "-holes in the ground."

He clenches his jaw and yanks his foot out of the muck. I silently turn away and continue walking.

The prince mumbles to himself as he follows me.

Finally, I reach the top of the slope. I situate myself atop a rock and look down at the land. I clasp my hands together as I feel the man walk up beside me. I make it a point to really just let the silence simmer, to let him take in the view, though in truth, there really wasn't much of it. It was just-

"Dirt as far as the eye can see."

I turn to Aemond when he says this.

"How good," he purses his lips and brings his hands behind him, "I've always wanted a hill of dirt all for myself."

I slowly step down from the rock and lift my eyes up to my husband-to-be.

"Vhagar might even like it," he says, lone eye scrutinizing me then the land, which was part of my dowry.

It was the worst pickings from my family, that much was clear. But with my three older brothers set to inherit much of my house's estate, I couldn't really complain, after all, I was the youngest... and a woman.

Aemond, of course, would do the complaining, as he has been.

"I am glad to hear that, my prince," I offer a smile.

The look Aemond gives me is one of astonishment. I can practically make out how his covered eye widened underneath his eye patch. He mutters under his breath, "gods, she's fucking thick."

I pretend I don't hear it and follow after the man when he begins to walk away.

The long haired blonde struggles yet again against the uneven terrain. I no longer make the mistake of offering my assistance. For his sake, or perhaps my own, I leave a good distance between the two of us, so that if he were to topple, even if I did instinctively reach out to him again, he would be too far to reach.

I mirror his steps, right leg moving only after his did. Of course, I did not step in the holes and bumps that were so obvious to me. Still, I tail him diligently.

This was why I froze when he turned back and scowled at me.

"What are you doing?" asks the prince with furrowed brows.

I part my lips, "I-"

"Come here," he reaches out, "I have things to discuss with you."

My eyes turn to his extended hand. I look at his large, ruddy palm and feel my belly swirl in reaction. Apprehensively, I place my hand in his, and he rather discourteously snags me close to him. It nearly costs me my balance, but I'm glad it doesn't.

I watch as Aemond links our arms together before he walking off. My eyes dart from his bicep to his profile. I take in the shape of his nose and think about how our children would inherit it. I press my lips into a line at the thought.

"Our marriage is that of convenience," he turns to me, "and duty."

When Aemond does not continue, I tighten my lips together and nod.

He looks away and walks at a slower pace, "we are to be married in a few days time, and after that, you will no longer belong to your house, you will belong to mine," I notice how his expression hardens, "you will belong to me."

"I understand this," I retort.

He tilts his head, "do you?"

I nod, "I do," I tighten my grip on his arm, "my whole life I have been groomed to be the perfect wife. Once I am yours, everything that I am will be for you."

Aemond's face is blank when he looks at me, and yet I can tell he wishes me to clarify.

So I do, "I will be your wife, your princess, the lady of your house, the mother of your children. I am for you... and you for me."

"Mmm," he looks away and adjusts my grip on him. He loosens it, "yes."

For a moment, we both simply walk on the rocky ground.

Aemond draws a deep breath and turns his head to gaze upon the façade of what would be his castle after our marriage. It was a shabby little thing, run down and without servants, but it was situated in a strip of land that would prove to be beneficial if, say, war came.

"Your father is character," Aemond starts, "a rather ambitious man, wouldn't you agree?"

"He is," I chew my lip, "if he could, he'd take the stars and put them on his walls."

The prince hums, "do you share in his ambition?"

"I-"

He squeezes my arm. He throws a look, as if displeased that I would answer so quickly.

I raise my brows, retaining what I meant to answer, though saying it much slower than I would have, "I have no other ambition than to be a dutiful bride. My ambition is your ambition."

Aemond does not respond nor speak up until we make it back to the carriage.

There, both our mothers are waiting, both equally pleased by our return.

"There they are," my mother says with a smile, "I trust you enjoyed your stroll, my prince."

Aemond eyes my mother as he breaks away from me to walk over to his. Queen Alicent smiles at his son and brushes the hair that was flying to his face.

"The walk was too aggravating to be enjoyed. There was not a single patch of leveled ground," the prince say, "I doubt even sheep would enjoy it here."

I play off my agitation while my mother laughs, "you needn't worry about the ground being level, prince Aemond. You'll have peasants to do that for you."

I walk towards my mother when she reaches out to me. She smiles and takes my hand, "come, my daughter. Today will be your last day as my baby."

I lock gazes with Aemond as my mother kisses my temple.

I feel embarrassment creep up my cheeks.

The honest truth was, I don't remember what happened between that moment and when my husband was undoing the back of my dress. I vaguely remember the wedding, sharing dances with my brothers, with Aemond's brothers, with Helaena. I can recall King Viserys retiring early because of his headache, but then again, he did this often, so it could simply be a memory from another day.

All I know was that Aemond's fingers were hard, hot, and nimble. What would have taken me ages to take off my dress, he did so in a few seconds. I do my best not to breathe heavily, but even though I was not facing him, I couldn't seem to keep from heaving.

It was quite dark. The few candles that were lit did not really help in illuminating the room, but that did not make the idea of being naked in front of a man any easier for me.

My hammering heart commanded my eyes shut as the feverish dragon stripped me bare before him. I swear his touch burned my shivering skin as he slowly revealed my body to himself. I feel him brush his palms down my arms as he pulled my dress down my shoulders. Soon enough my entire body prickled as my shift dropped to my feet.

I cover my breasts with my arm and block my sex with my hand.

"Would you like to undress me, wife?" he mutters.

I feel the hair on the back of my neck raise when I feel his hot breath hit my skin. It was such a plainly worded question, yet it made me want to jump out of the window.

I slowly turn my head, opening my eyes to steal a look of him from over my shoulder. I don't know why, but I say, "yes."

The fact was I didn't. I didn't want to undress him. I would like to think it was quite apparent with how I slowly turned and apprehensively uncovered myself to be able to undress him.

I did not know why I was so shocked that he was unabashedly eyeing my body. I did not know why I was so shocked when his hands reached out to my waist, when his fingers pressed into my flesh, and his nails left marks on my skin. I let out a squeak and fidgeted with his shirt as he did so.

He only releases me when I pull his top off. I step out of my shift, bunched by my ankles, and walk closer to him to undo his breeches. I do not look at his face once, but I know he is still looking at me.

Once his ties were loose, I ghost my fingertips by his waistband, uncertain and hesitant of what to do next.

Recognizing this, he takes my wrists, but he freezes the next moment, clearly not expecting me to do what I did next.

I kissed him. I tilted my head and pressed my lips against his. It was chaste-- probably how I kissed him when we were proclaimed man and wife, but gods did it make my body burn.

I lick my lips after pulling away. I think about clutching his face, and so I do. I reach out to his cheeks and shift on my toes, leaning in for another peck.

I whimper when he pulls me flush against his chest. The contrast of my softer, colder body on his leaner, warmer one was something welcome. Apart from his hands tugging me close, it was like his very essence was drawing me into him.

We do not break our kiss even as he pushes me towards the bed, not even as I topple back and land on the mattress. There is a desperation in his kisses, as if the act of ending it would cause him harm.

He guides me underneath him. He parts my legs and makes room for himself between them. He rubs against me, and it is then I am reminded that I had failed to strip him fully naked. He immediately moves to remedy this, which is then when he pulls away.

When he does so, he rips at his trousers, hell-bent on freeing himself in as little time as possible.

Aemond gets on his knees and gracelessly pulls his remaining clothing off. It may have been dark but I could see him. I could see all of him now. It made my core pulse with excitement, dread, anticipation, and apprehension all at once.

I sigh when he sinks down and presses against me. He kisses me again and I feel his hardened length press against my belly.

I mold my body against him, curling myself in a way that fit snug with his form. I bring my thighs against his hips and feel encouraged when his hand squeeze and pull them closer to him.

He breaks our kiss to draw in a much needed breath and the haze that built in my mind grows thicker when Aemond begins to trail his lips down my jaw and neck. My nails find their way to his spine when he begins to buck his hips into me.

My skin prickles and my heart pounds when he whispers something into my ear. I did not know what he said, but I was certain it was High Valyrian. I was also somehow certain it had something to do with the way I felt.

Aemond hums and sinks his nose behind my ear. I whimper in response, arms tightening around him. I embrace him like I did not intend to let him go, and it truth, I really didn't.

"You make such pretty sounds for me."

I feel embarrassment creep up my cheeks. I am glad he does not see it.

I make another sound when I feel Aemond's hand trail between my thighs. We both hiss when his fingers find my sensitive center.

He pushes himself up on one arm and lifts his body. Aemond grabs himself and makes me yelp when he rubs his cock against my folds. It was then I realized how wet I've become.

He does this for a while. He coats himself with my dampness. He continues until I feel my body drip with sweat and arousal, until the arm keeping him up tires, and then I feel him slowly push into me.

When he does so, he sinks down and fits into me oh-so perfectly. The intrusion was not at all uncomfortable, in fact, it made my belly burn with need.

I find myself kissing the crook of his neck as he laid atop me. I feel him sigh in response.

"Please," I whisper, thighs rubbing against him, "I need more."

Aemond wastes no time in attending to my plea.

I mewl when he begins to thrust his hips. His movements are short and tight; he barely pulls out. He continues like this then changes pace when he grabs the back of my knees and pushes them close to my ribs. His movements grow bolder, more deliberate and harder.

He, himself, makes pretty sounds as he moves into me.

I feel sweat begin to build on my skin. I feel a pressure begins to tighten in me.

"Take my seed like a dutiful wife," he kisses my jaw, "I'll put a dragon in you."

My back arches, "Aemond."

"I wish to see you full of me," his one hand comes up to my breast and squeezes it, "I wish to fill you with me."

"P-please fill me," I respond with a shaky voice.

Aemond grunts, "I will."

My heart nearly stops when I feel burning pleasure break into me. My mouth releases the remaining air in my lungs as it calls out my husband's name.

Aemond makes gutteral noises as his movements grow rough and eventually stop.

I bury my face into his shoulder and catch my breath. Aemond follows suit but takes only a few breaths before lifting himself up and rolling off me.

He brings my legs together and covers my form with a blanket. I tense when he stands and walks off, feeling a panic come over me when he disappears. It only intensifies when he does not come back quickly.

I am about to sit up but then I freeze when I see him walk over to me. He is now clothed and had something in his hand.

"Clean yourself up," he places something on the bedside table, "you will not enjoy it when you wake," he turns to me, "I suggest you get dressed as well. You are rather cold."

I feel my body burn as Aemond walks off, circling the bed, coming under the sheets on his side.

I do as he says, slowly pushing the blanket off, feeling a chill run down my spine when my bare feel touch the cold ground. I stand and see that there was a wash basin on the table, as well as a towel.

I take in a deep breath and wipe myself down with warm water that was prepared for me. Once I was done, I examine the floor and pick up my shift. I put it on and put out the candles.

I climb into bed and do my best not to touch Aemond. My voice breaks when I call out, "good night."

He does not respond so I tell myself he was asleep. It takes a while for me to do the same.

394 notes · View notes