Summary: Joel knows you shouldn't love him and if hurting you is the only way for you to stop, then so be it.
Warnings || angst, injury (stab wound), mentions of smut, Joel is a bit mean here, reader is called sweetheart, use of Y/N only once
A/N: lt's been a hot minute since I wrote anything on here but I really wanted to write Joel Miller angst so here's that. I have fallen down the TLOU rabbit hole and am currently obsessed with this grumpy old man I call daddy. Will write a part two for this one shot because though I love me good angst, I'm a sucker for happy endings. Enjoy!!
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Joel swore time stood still the moment those words left your lips. Suddenly the room felt stuffy, every muscle in his body aching to just run and avoid having the inevitable conversation before him.
"Because I love you, Joel..."
Joel looked away but you wouldn't break eye contact, even if it was just the side of his face. You knew the timing of your confession couldn't have been worse, but your heart needed to get it out now.
You and Joel had spent the last three years together, and for the last few months, you both crossed a line by sleeping with each other. It was supposed to be just sex, a way to meet a basic human need that, for the longest time, felt like a luxury. The set boundaries were clear.
"This is just for us to both feel good, alright sweetheart?"
You were adults who understood what the arrangement was, but no matter what state of mind you tried to keep, your heart simply could not be taught. When the three of you had settled in Jackson, it had became even harder to deny the want that kept simmering inside you.
As your found family fell into a rhythm the longer you stayed within the walls of the community, your fantasies of having an actual life with Joel and Ellie grew too. The last years have been about surviving, but now you felt like you could finally start to build a life with the only two people left in the world you'd give anything and everything up for.
It was normal for you to wait up for Joel when he was out on patrol. Despite his insistence that it wasn't necessary, your worries would not let you sleep a wink without knowing he was safe. The sound of the clock felt louder every second you stared at the front door from where you sat on the couch. Ellie offered to keep you company, but as her yawns became more frequent, it didn't take much convincing for her to retire to her own room after she had bid you goodnight.
Your eyelids were starting to feel heavy too, having spent the whole day in the garden harvesting the produce. A few more minutes pass and the sounds of footsteps on the porch made the clouds of sleep in your head clear. Before the door was even open, you were already walking to greet Joel.
The slump of his shoulders and heavy steps were enough to tell you it hadn't been the easiest patrol shift, but it was the dark patch of dried blood on his shirt that had caught your attention. The sight caused your stomach to twist, mind filling with worry over his obvious injury.
"Joel... what happened?"
At the sound of your voice, it was instinct for Joel to always find where it was coming from. Looking up at you, your eyes were soft, but the small frown marring your features told Joel your thoughts were running a mile a minute already.
"It's nothing."
The tall man tried his hardest to walk straight to the kitchen, fighting the urge to clutch his aching side. The pads of your feet against the floor meant you were close behind and Joel braced himself for he knew you were not about to let the coming conversation go.
"Joel, it's not nothing. You're bleeding. Let me take-"
"Sweetheart, I'm telling you, it's just a cut. I can handle it."
You offered nothing in reply but to let out a disappointed sigh before opening the cabinet with the medical supplies. Joel watched you move around, the corners of his mouth lifting into a small smile as he took in your small frame dwarfed by the old shirt of his you wore.
"Joel, sit down. Please."
You gestured to the dining room chairs and Joel still had some fight left in him, but the pleading look you sent his way kept him quiet. Joel would do anything for you, something the both of you knew for sure.
The walk to the dining area was short but Joel's discomfort was obvious. The quiet grunt he let out as he sat didn't get passed you. Lifting his shirt, your gasp was instantaneous as you stared at an obvious stab wound. You fought the urge to tell Joel off for passing the puncture as a simple cut as you grabbed disinfectant to clean the tear in his skin.
Joel let you work on his wound in peace. He knew you were worried, but you weren't above nagging him for being stubborn and always denying help. He looked at you like how he always has, with all the love and adoration he thinks he can no longer really give.
"Joel, you can't keep downplaying situations like this. You're hurt and this is a serious injury. I-I know you don't want me to worry, but I want to help you..."
The frustration in your words was palpable. Tension begun to set in between you two. It was becoming clear that this issue was something that needed to be discussed. Joel always had to appear like he couldn't get hurt, that he could hold his own and that he didn't need anyone. You on the other hand would bend over backwards for him. You desperately needed to show him how he didn't have to do everything alone, he has you.
But Joel was many things, one of them being stubborn as a mule. He knew you cared for him, but he refused to acknowledge what that meant. The hardened man would not entertain even the slightest idea that your concern for him may come from a place of love.
"I don't really know why you care so much, sweetheart. I've told you a hundred times, I can handle myself. Don't have to get so worked up over me."
"Because I love you, Joel..."
You couldn't love him. You shouldn't. He was old and Joel believed he was a reflection of everything wrong with the world. You, however, are a beacon of hope. Joel had watched you lighten the heart of everyone you had met, especially Ellie.
You were young and vibrant, despite having grown up in apocalyptic times. You too had lost everything, but unlike Joel, you always found the means to go on. Ellie and him loved your spirit. The younger girl had once jokingly said you were the sun itself, and Joel immediately understood what she meant. You were warmth in every sense of the word.
He didn't deserve you. Joel knew he couldn't have you, and even if you wanted him, he shouldn't. Joel was convinced he'd ruin you, let you down and loose you. It was easier to pretend he could no longer love like he once had. But you wouldn't let him.
For the past years you've been together, you wouldn't allow Joel to believe he didn't deserve good things. You'd try your hardest to show him you would not have anyone else but him, that you'd offer your heart for his a million times over.
The silence had caused a lump to form in your throat. You knew Joel took his time with processing emotions, but his lack of a response hurt you nonetheless. Before you knew it, he was pulling away.
He pushed backwards the chair he sat on, causing the legs to screech against the floor. The sound had made you visibly cringe and your mind was scrambling for a way to diffuse the situation.
"I know we agreed there shouldn't be any feelings involved but-"
"Exactly. We agreed that we were just hooking up. You can't go dumping your feelings on me like that."
"Joel, I-I have loved you almost as long as I've known you. Long before this arrangement even began. I-"
"Yeah... well you shouldn't. Don't be stupid, Y/N."
Joel abruptly stood up to leave before making his way to the front door. He could feel your stare as he paused in front of the door. Like a real glutton for punishment, he turned to look back at you. The tears had already began to run down your cheeks. Joel felt like his chest would implode seeing you so distraught, but his heart could not stop his mind nor his mouth.
"I can't be here right now."
And just like that, he's out the door and on to the street, making his way to Tommy's. As if hurting you wasn't punishment enough, your cries were the last thing he hears before closing the door and leaving.
synopsis: a story in which a depressed satoru gets sent to the future and sees just how bright it eventually becomes. meanwhile, you're reminded of how much of a brat your husband used to be when you first started dating.
cw: MDNI, time travel, smut w/ a touch of angst bc we LOVE plot, satoru's actually so mean at first lol, dad!jo (him and reader share a daughter together)
notes: hiiii we got 6.5k words for this one ❤️ comm for the lovely @sadlittlecucumber i hope u like!!!!
song rec: drag path — twenty one pilots
Satoru’s life ended up being a fucking bummer.
His best friend’s a mass murderer. Shoko’s gone off to do her own thing with medicine. Nanami left to go become a banker or whatever. Ijichi’s… Ijichi. Oh, and Haibara’s dead. Everyone who’s alive seems to have moved on— so should Satoru, honestly. But times proved that to be quite difficult.
He’s starting to understand where Suguru was coming from with the whole exorcise-absorb mantra. Except for him, it was exorcise and destroy, leaving every cursed site he’s stepped foot on looking like god himself decided to hit the reset button to obliterate the place.
Nobody says anything about it. He’s probably the closest thing to a god. Despite having tried his hardest all throughout his youth to fit in and act as if he was just like everyone else, people were still terrified to fuck with him.
And despite the chaos he’s constantly surrounded by— mainly from his own doing— the days still find a way to bleed into each other, morphing into a never ending cycle of boredom and violence. It’s quite the combo. The higher ups are lucky he’s too tired to plot anything behind their backs.
He’s exhausted.
The past is too blurry. The future’s too bleak.
Gojo was bound to fuck up sooner or later. The thought of him finally snapping like Suguru did, dangling in the back of his mind, taunting him.
He didn’t snap. It’s so much worse than that. At least in the eyes of the arrogant boy who got bested by, what he assumed to be a grade two curse because of how pudgy and stupid it looked. The thing that caught him lacking looked like a fucking blob fish that struggled with crippling anxiety, how the hell was he supposed to know that it could mess with timeof all things?
One moment he’s laughing at the way it looks, the next he’s in the complete dark.
That was the first time he’s smiled in months, by the way.
“Huh?” Satoru huffs out, trying to look around before eventually realizing that he has a blindfold on, and rips it off in annoyance. “Don’t tell me that thing knocked me out,” he begins to grumble to himself. It’d explain why he had a blindfold on… but then he realized he was in a completely different outfit, one that you didn’t put on someone who was currently in rest and recovery.
He highly doubts Shoko would even change him, anyway, at least not for this.
“Oh hey, you’re home.”
Home?
He looks around, and all he knows is this isn’t the dorm he’s continued to stay in after graduation, purely due to the fact that he was already out on missions for up to 18 hours each day. Not to mention that the penthouse he was currently standing in was too clean to be his. Too warm. Way too comfortable.
You already knew there was something deeply off in those first few seconds of looking into his eyes. This wasn’t your husband— this was the hot mess you met and still fell in love with all those years ago.
You tilt your head to the side, more curious than cautious, “Everything alright?”
“Yeah,” he snorts, literally the worst liar ever. “Why wouldn’t it be?”
“I don’t know,” you hum, holding eye contact long enough to leave him feeling a bit unsettled. “You tell me.”
First of all, who the fuck do you think you are speaking to him like that?
Second, who even are you?
Something big and shiny on your finger catches his attention, then he looks at his own hand that has an equally shiny band around his ring finger.
Fuck.
“Honey–”
Satoru physically cringes at the pet name, giving himself away once again.
“I’m not Satoru,” he blurts out, rubbing his eyes in frustration. “I mean, I am, but I’m not— FUCK– some fuckin’ curse blasted me into the future, and I need to go back.”
Well, that was quick. He’s always quick to fold under pressure when it comes to you— it’s something he’s unaware of though, as he fights back the urge to start pacing back and forth.
There’s a light smack from your mouth when you go to open it, only for the words to never even come, let alone die out. Nothing about this surprises you. This is not the craziest thing that’s happened since you’ve met Satoru.
Your lips thin into a smile as you take a deep breath, knowing you had no choice but to accept your new circumstances.
“Okay.”
“Okay?” He raises a brow at how you just… accepted it.
“Yeah… I believe it.” You respond flatly, then point at him, casually motioning your finger up and down. “Your attitude kinda sucked when we first met.”
He grimaces, taken aback by the statement. “No, it doesn’t–”
“You also liked to argue, too.”
“Okay— whatever,” he waves a dismissive hand, not at all interested in hearing what else you had to say. At this point, it just sounded like you wanted to shit on him, something he actually doesn’t have any fucking time for right now. “You’re a sorcerer… right?”
“No.”
“Christ.” Satoru sighs, turning on his heel. “You’re fuckin’ useless—“
You scoff, more humored than offended. “Where are you going?”
“To figure this shit out!” he snaps, throwing his arms out as he turns around to face you.
“Okay,” you shrug, still way too calm for Satoru’s liking, as it pisses him off even more. “If you don’t get it all figured out tonight, you can always come back. We have a guest room.”
“Yeah, thanks.” He huffs out a bitter laugh, as if that was the dumbest suggestion he’s ever heard. “I appreciate the offer.”
–
“Yaga” Satoru storms into the principal’s office, ignoring all his cursed stuffed animals, but noticing what he’s done with his hair. “What the fuck happened to you?”
The principal's brows pinch together, wishing he had locked the door to his office. Satoru fucked with him enough today by showing up to a meeting 20 minutes late with some sugary frap in his hand, and now he’s storming into his office, insulting him out of nowhere.
“Actually, nevemind.” Satoru waves a hand to stop him from even answering his question, reminding himself not to get sidetracked right now. “Look, I need your help. I got sent into the future by some curse, and I need to get back.”
Yaga inhales sharply. “What are you even talking about?”
“Exactly what I just said! I’m from 2009! Not whatever age I am now—”
“31.”
Satoru throws up a little in his mouth. “Send me back.”
Yaga lets out a long, disappointed sigh. It’s always something with Satoru. Always. Having to deal with the younger version of him was a painful reminder that he’s been dealing with his bullshit for well over a decade now. Nothing surprises him anymore.
“Let me see if some other windows would be willing to help look through the library. I’m sure you’ll be able to find information on what kind of curse you got hit with.”
“Thank you,” Satoru groans, still not very pleased by everyone’s reactions thus far, but grateful that he can at least get somewhere with Yaga… unlike a certain somebody.
Hours later, he finds himself at the school’s dusty, unkept library. It looks worse than it originally looked before he walked in. Books sprawled everywhere. Research papers were scattered all over the tables and floor. Assistants running around in every direction, more than half of them terrified at the total 180 in Satoru’s attitude.
“W-we can’t find anything,” Ijichi says, too old to be acting this scared in Satoru’s opinion.
He hums, elbows still resting on his knees, not bothering to sit up. “Hey, Ijichi?”
Ijichi gulped loudly, managing to annoy the world’s strongest sorcerer even more. “...Yes?”
“How are you even more incompetent now than you were before?”
“I tried my best! I swear!”
“Well, it’s not good enough— I’m still here!” he snaps at the nervous wreck of a man. Thank fucking god Ijichi listened to him and just became a window. He sucks at it too, but at least it’s easier for this dumbass to avoid death. “God— what the fuck am I supposed to do now?!”
“This is just one of the libraries, there’s more! And some in Kyoto too, that we’ll have the Kyoto branch check out.”
“Do whatever you need to do. I’m just letting you know right now that if I'm not back by tomorrow, you better watch the fuck out.”
The threat is followed by complete dead silence, aside from a certain someone's breath catching in horror.
“Me?!” Ijichi squeaks out.
The sorcerer doesn’t bother answering that and instead walks away, grumbling something insulting under his breath, just in complete and utter disbelief over how Ijichi truly hasn’t changed.
—
You figured your husband would eventually come back, so you set some food aside for him, and now you’re sitting at the dinner table, trying not to laugh at the pout on his face as he picks at his dinner with the chopsticks in his hand.
“Is the food good?”
“Sure.”
“I can warm that up for you, if you want?” you ask, barely trying to hide your amusement.
“No thanks,” he curtly responds before shoving another piece of karaage into his mouth. He’s known to have a sweet tooth, but chicken karaage’s probably his favorite food, savory wise. You almost want to tell him that he’s allowed to enjoy food even if his day hasn’t gone the way he had planned. “I’d appreciate it if you stopped staring.”
Your lips twitch, threatening to break out into a fit of laughter. “Right, sorry.”
“Mommy…? Is Daddy home yet?”
Oh great. As if the day couldn’t get any worse— now there’s a child.
“Yeah,” you respond in a tentative tone, shooting Satoru a look that screams ‘behave or else’, and even though you are currently a stranger to him, it intimidates him enough to behave for the time being.
A little girl, no older than 4 years old, walks into the kitchen and Satoru’s eyes nearly bulge out of his head upon seeing his daughter. It’s pretty obvious she’s his with her baby blue eyes and stark white hair. Her facial features are entirely yours, though. It’s strange to see.
“Hey… kiddo—” he awkwardly says, not really sure how to address the little girl. You clear your throat, mouthing ‘princess’ when he looks at you, because your daughter also happens to have her dad’s attitude. “I mean princess.”
It’s hilarious how unnatural it sounds right now when he was the one who started calling her that the moment you two took her home from the hospital.
“You pomis to wead bedtime stowie,” she starts to pout— same exact way he does.
“Did I?” He gives the girl a sympathetic look, albeit fake.
“Yeah,” she frowns as she walks up to you, giving him the world’s nastiest side eye. “Liar.”
Why is that the one word she’s able to enunciate correctly? She didn’t even stutter.
“Yeah— I was a little busy with work today,” he murmurs, as if she knew what that even meant. With the glare she was giving him, he doubted she’d even care if he broke down what work and the importance of it was. “Maybe mommy can read to you tonight?”
Sai wasn’t having that.
Satoru spent the end of his night reading her favorite book to her. Multiple times. He almost asked if it was some form of punishment for not upholding a promise he didn’t technically make himself, but decided against it in fear that she’d make him read it one more time. Sai fell asleep… eventually. Despite there being no way to prove it, he knows that the little girl forced herself to stay up out of pure spite.
But still, he finds himself smiling as he thinks about his nightmare of a future, not wiping it off quickly enough when you lightly knock on the guest bedroom door.
“Here’s some jammys for the night.” You smile back as you walk up and hand him a pair of sweats and a white t-shirt, both neatly folded up. “Figured you wouldn’t want to sleep in your work clothes.”
“Oh uh— thanks.” He clears his throat and forces out a laugh, pushing through the embarrassment of getting caught smiling to himself.
You’re giving him that look again. The one that’s mixed with amusement and a bit of fondness, where you look like you’re about to start making fun of him, but never do. Satoru would rather die than admit it makes him nervous.
“What?”
There’s a small pause as your smile grows. “Do you like your kid?”
“She’s weird.”
“Yeah, no— you wouldn’t believe who she got that from.”
“Fuck off.” A laugh easily slips through his lips this time, unable to stay serious at the thought of her inheriting even just a quarter of the traits he had as a child. Then it grows quiet again as he realizes she probably has the freedom to be a kid.
He wants to ask, but you beat him to it with a statement that answered the question he had in mind.
“Your duties as her father don’t end just because you managed to time travel by the way,” you say playfully, though he knows you’re being dead serious.
He can only guess what other horrors that little girl will subject him to for the rest of his time here. To put it simply, she’s not afraid of Dad.
For once, somebody doesn’t look at him as a god to fear.
—
It’s been over a month.
Ijichi and the rest of the windows are just as useless as they were when they first started trying to find answers. All that’s changed is that Nanami knows, and doesn’t seem to be too thrilled about the fact that he is now involved.
But still, the search for the fix to his predicament continues, turning every library and warehouse upside down. That’s all they could really do— aside from asking the elders for assistance of some sort.
Over his dead body.
Knowing they’d most likely do more harm than good, everyone’s agreed to keep this all a little secret from them.
So all that’s left to do, or rather forced to do, is to be patient. It’s hard. Satoru doesn’t do patient— he’s the type to snap his fingers and have a solution magically appear right before his eyes. You can only imagine how difficult it’s been for him to accept that he can’t immediately get what he wants right now.
Not to mention the fact that he had to continue working throughout all of this, but that wasn’t very surprising.
Now, what was surprising was learning that he has his weekends completely to himself. If anything, he assumed he’d just work more as time went on, but no. Turns out he threatened to kill the higher-ups if they didn’t let him have that when you two got married.
Satoru looks over your body once.
Twice.
He totally understands his future self.
He looks again for a third time, and you just so conveniently turn around, showing off your cute, frilly little apron covered in flour streaks.
It’s Sunday— you’ve been baking sweet treats all morning, and he wishes he had been a little nicer to you. Especially a couple of days ago when he snapped at you.
You had found him sitting alone on the balcony, head in his hands from yet another day of failure.
“Hey… any good news?”
“No,” he said impatiently. “If there was, I wouldn’t fucking be here right now.”
“Fair enough.” Your voice took a dip as you looked at the ground, allowing yourself to feel a little hurt for a moment before trying to lift the mood again. “Well… me and Sai stopped by your favorite bakery and got you the cookies you like if you wanted some—“
“No— no,” Satoru cut you off. “I don’t want your fucking cookies. I don’t want to do a family movie night where all we watch is Ms. Rachel. I don’t want to read some book about a mouse trying to become a fucking painter over and over again. I don’t want ANY of it. I want to fucking go home— what part about that do you not get?”
You tried to stand as straight as possible despite your shoulders growing heavier, pushing against the small frown threatening to carve itself across your face. You forgot how mean he used to be, at least during that first year of dating him. It only stings more because the man you married would never raise his voice like that, and you remind yourself that this isn’t him.
After a long pause, he looked up at you and immediately felt guilt wash over him.
“I didn’t mean that,” he tried to meet your eyes as he began to backtrack. “I’m sorry, I just— fuck. I didn’t mean any of that—”
“It’s fine.” You forced yourself to look at him again and smile. “I’ll uh… give you some space.”
The one thing about Satoru is that he doesn’t apologize. Like ever. So, one could only imagine how painfully awkward it was later that night when he knocked on your bedroom door to say he was sorry. It didn’t help that you were in a paper-thin silk slip, skin glistening from the lotion you rubbed all over it— he spent half his time trying not to stare at your tits. Had you been anyone else, it wouldn’t have felt as genuine.
But thank fuck he apologized, you probably would’ve spent all day ignoring him.
You raise a brow, and his cheeks start to pink. “What are you staring at?”
“Nothing, you just–” he awkwardly gestures at your entire body, “there’s flour all over you.”
It almost sounds like he’s offended by it. He kind of is. You keep your foot on his fucking neck— he doesn’t even know why he came out here.
“Oh, right— 'cause messes have always bothered you,” you lean over the island ever so slightly. The pink on his cheeks darkens as you do, unable to control his eyes from drifting down to your cleavage. And while he’s not exactly ashamed of looking— you are his wife after all— he can’t help but be a little flustered.
He’s always had a thing for milfs.
Especially when said milf is talking about messes— he knows a couple of places he could make a mess on right now.
“Nah,” he rests his elbows on the marble counter as a playful grin stretches across his face. “This is nothing compared to how I like it.”
You tilt your head, a small laugh escaping you as you rest your chin over your palm, curious to see where this conversation will get you.
“How do you like it?” you ask, as if you didn’t already know how filthy and depraved he could get when he’s alone in a room with you.
And you fucking miss that.
He opens his mouth to respond.
Then you hear your daughter whimpering about waking up alone. It’s nothing new, and you revert back to mom mode as you watch her turn the corner and waddle towards you.
Satoru, on the other hand, is not used to this. The slightly bruised laugh he lets out just barely masks his desire to fucking scream. What a fucking cockblock— no wonder you only have one kid.
His kid completely ignores his existence as she wraps herself around your leg, continuing to whimper despite no actual tears streaming down her cheeks. “I had a nightmawh.”
Meanwhile, there’s Satoru, who has yet to wake up from his very own nightmare. He internally sighs, then attempts to grab her attention because it doesn’t feel very good watching her give it all to you. “You wanna share a muffin with daddy?”
It’s starting to sound more natural.
“Y-yeah,” she sniffles.
Minutes later, she’s sitting on his lap, absolutely demolishing the blueberry muffin they ended up splitting— a complete 180. He couldn’t be mad, even if he tried.
His little girl was a dream.
—
Month two. Ijichi is still as useless as ever. He stopped complaining to you about him, though. You noticed he doesn’t talk about going back to his original timeline all that much anymore.
It’s not like Satoru’s given up hope, he’s just more present, as if he finally realized that wallowing in self-pity wasn’t going to send him back any faster. He’s unknowingly more like his future self— laid back, not a care in the world.
He’s even sleeping in for once. It’s not that hard though when Sai’s gone for the day. She seemed to care more about getting the hell out of the house with her grandparents than greeting her father a good morning. You didn’t push her to, either— figuring Satoru needed the sleep. He always does.
It’s too bad that his phone started blowing up at around 10:00 am. Unfortunately for you, he left his phone in the living room, leaving you to get up and grab it since the master bedroom was the closest room to it. With how thick the walls are, you doubt he’d even hear it.
With a long sigh, you rise from bed, rubbing the sleep off your eyes as you snatch the stupid phone off the coffee table.
The snores coming from Satoru reach your ears before you even open the door. You have to hold back a laugh as you walk in and take a look at him. Face down, his long limbs sprawled over the bed, messy white hair sticking out in all directions.
You reach out and place a gentle hand on his shoulder, surprised infinity is off.
“Toru?” He stirs a bit, and you cautiously attempt to wake him up again. “Toru— someone’s been trying to call you for the past 10 minutes now.”
He lifts his head, eyes still sealed shut as he murmurs, “Who?”
“Uhh,” you look at the screen, unsure of who it might be. “Your contact name for them is nerd.”
You know it’s not Ijichi because his contact name is “courage 🐶” in his phone. Someone else must've annoyed Satoru for him to change yet another contact.
Satoru shoves his head back into the pillow and groans before taking the phone off your hands.
It’s Nanami. He, of all people, should know now is not the time to be blowing up his phone right now because he is fucking sleeping. It’s a Saturday for fucks sake.
Satoru sighs and accepts the call, grumbling into the phone. “What?”
Nanami cuts straight to the chase, as he would rather be doing anything else right now.
“How long are you planning on hiding your secret from the higher-ups?” he asks in a clipped tone.
Satoru rubs his eyes, too tired to return the same sense of urgency his friend seems to have at the moment. “Forever.”
“Don’t give me that.” A vein pops up on the side of the usually stoic man’s forehead. “They asked me about you this morning. They know something’s up. I can’t keep covering for you if it means my own safety’s on the line.”
“You really haven’t changed, have you?” It’s more of a statement than a question.
“What the fuck is that supposed to mean—“
“You’ll be fine,” Satoru cuts him off. “They’re always up my ass anyway. I doubt they’re even suspicious. They just don’t know how to mind their own fuckin’ business. Seriously. You’re worrying over nothing right now.”
“I swear to god Gojo, if you—“
“Kay’ good night.”
Click.
Nanami’s probably fuming right now, but he’ll get over it. Satoru wanted to enjoy this. Lying in a comfy bed, surrounded by nothing but peace and quiet. He closes his eyes and stretches a bit, then rests his hands behind his head.
He would’ve forgotten that you were still sitting at the edge of the bed had you not lightly cleared your throat. One eye opens to look at you, then closes. The last thing he wants to do is share the reason why Nanami had been blowing up his phone all morning.
“Just because you can’t see me doesn’t mean I’m not here.” You cross your arms. “What was that all about?”
“Nothin’,” he easily says. “Just Nanami being Nanami— the guy’s a fuckin’ stickler for no reason.”
“That’s a little rude, no?” you chastise him.
“So is waking me up.”
“Sai wakes you up all the time, though.”
“Sai’s a ball of sunshine,” he says, quickly coming to her defense. “Not a grown man with depression— where is she by the way?”
“She’s spending the afternoon with my parents.”
Both eyes open this time, and stay open. “Why didn’t you go with them?”
“No way,” you wave a hand. “I need a break, too.”
“Yeah, no— I’m sure,” he agrees, feeling flustered all the sudden.
And Satoru being Satoru, he doesn’t do a very good job of hiding it, once again forgetting that you can read him better than anyone else can.
You smile, scooching closer, “You good there?”
“Yeah, m’fine,” he murmurs, trying not to shift around too much.
“I can take care of that, you know.”
“What?”
“That.” You look down at the boner he’s been trying to hide since finding out it’s just you two here.
“That’s not—“ His brain straight up short-circuits. “You don’t think that’s weird?”
“No.” You continue to inch forward, getting closer to him. “Do you think it’s weird?”
“No— never,” he shakes his head, answering a little too fast. “Fuck— won’t future me get mad?”
“Not at all. The most he’d probably do is make me show him what we did.”
“Make you show him?” he repeats after you in disbelief.
“Is that a problem?”
“No, that’s— that’s fuckin’ hot.”
Minutes later, you’re leaning forward with your hand wrapped around his base, and his breath catches as you start to slowly pump his cock.
“Feel good?”
His lids lower as he hums, “yeah— keep going.”
You lean forward, letting a string of spit fall from your lips to the tip of his cock, letting it mix with the precum that was already beading down from it. The wet sounds of you stroking him begin to grow, making the heat in between your legs start to pool.
“Can I sit on it?” You look up at him, batting your lashes as you innocently ask.
“Please,” he blurts out, just about ready to start begging you to.
You’d be lying if you said you weren’t just as eager as him after all the weeks spent pretending like you don’t notice the way he stares at you. Lustfully. The slip you’re wearing happens to be extra short today, so you forego stripping down and practically pounce on him. Your soaked panties grazing over his rock-hard length as you straddle him, letting yourself get comfortable while Satoru grows impatient.
His hands find themselves planted on your hips and pull you down. A low groan escapes him as he grinds you against him. “God— fuck me. Please.”
“Well, since you’re being so sweet—”
You reach down, hooking a finger into the fabric of your panties, pulling them to the side. He’s already lining himself up with your entrance, teasing your hole as he runs his tip through your folds, collecting all the slick. His lips part as he watches in awe at how damn wet you are.
His head tips back as you lower yourself, groaning and rambling to himself as if you weren’t there to hear it all.
"Fuck. You’re so hot.” His words come out strained as he watches you start to take him inch by inch, slowly working yourself open. “So fuckin’ tight, too.”
“Mmm— forgot how big you are.” Your voice is all soft and breathy from the fullness, nails slowly digging into his abs as you bottom out.
It takes a minute to adjust— it has been 3 months after all. But then you finally roll your hips, and Satoru almost starts singing praises at how good you are at that— lifting your hips all the way up and throwing them back, taking all of him.
"Fuck yeah– just like that," he breathes, fingers digging into the flesh of your hips. "Feels so fucking good."
You murmur back a measly, “kay,” already dizzy from the stretch. You’re able to keep up the pace on your own for a bit, until you feel his grip on you tighten and the sounds of skin slapping against his start to grow as he starts to help you out.
You wouldn’t exactly call it help though, not when he ended up doing all the work— holding you steady while he practically bounces you on his cock, pulling more and more moans out of you as the head of his cock repeatedly kissed your sweet spot with almost no effort.
"You take it so good," he groans, pupils blown wide as he starts to feel himself lose control, snapping his hips up a little harder than the last. He wants more, he always wants more— so he pulls you forward and pulls your straps down far enough for your tits to spill out. "Perfect fuckin’ tits. Been thinking about these for weeks."
You let out a surprised gasp as he pops a nipple in his mouth with no warning. You fully believe him with the way he starts sucking and swirling and flicking his tongue over your sensitive bud, all while snapping his hips up harder.
He pulls back with a pop, looking up at you for approval. “Was that good?”
“Mhm.” There’s a fucked out expression on your face as you weakly nod. “Harder.”
“You want me to fuck you harder?”
“Yeah.”
Something in him snaps. Eager to please you, he flips you over and folds you underneath him— grabbing the back of your knees and pinning them to your chest so he can drive his cock into you deeper.
“Better?”
He drives his hips forward again, knocking the air out of your lungs. “God— yes.”
“I can’t— fuck— can’t believe you’re all mine, can’t believe I get to have you,” he starts to ramble as the sounds of him absolutely pounding into you fill the room. “You’re so fuckin’ perfect— all of you.”
He crashes his lips into yours— the kiss is messy, powered by hunger. Satoru’s always been overwhelming, but it’s been years since it’s been this emotionally intense. He fucks you like he needs you, like he’s been waiting for you all his life.
Your walls begin to squeeze and flutter around his cock, pulling another groan out of him. “You close?”
“Yeah,” you whine, feeling the pressure begin to coil. “Keep going.”
He’s close too, you can tell by how sloppy his thrusts have grown, no longer trying to control himself as he starts chasing after both of your releases. He shoves his face into the crook of your neck and fucks you faster, harder— balls slapping against your ass with each lewd wet squelch.
Your orgasm hits you hard after one particularly rough thrust. Scratching at his back as a cry tears through you, and it only goes straight to his dick, not even realizing just how overstimulated you are from the way he drills into you.
“Fuck.” It’s just one word that comes out of his mouth after realizing how hard he’s about to fucking cum. He bites into your shoulder as his balls start to tighten, squeezing his eyes shut as he braces himself.
When it happens, it’s a lot. He shoves himself deep inside of you, unaware of all the weight he puts on you as hot spurts of cum begin to flood your walls. Slowly grinding against you, letting your tight pussy milk the rest of him.
You’re wrecked by the end of it. You both are— lids tired and heavy, bodies sore and out of breath.
And in the end, you just let yourself fall asleep, unaware of the soft kiss pressed against your temple as he watched you.
—
It’s month three, and Satoru doesn’t want to go back.
What was the point? It’s not like he had anyone or anything to go back to. Jujutsu Society never crumbled from him getting shot into the future. Would it really be that bad if he just never went back and continued on with his life from here?
He hasn’t uttered a word about it out loud, but the way he completely stopped asking Yaga and Ijichi for updates was telling of where he was at mentally.
Acceptance.
He likes his life here.
You’ve come to your own conclusion after these last three months.
No wonder why he was so hot and cold when you were trying to get to know him. Satoru got a little taste of genuine comfort, only for it to be ripped away from him sometime before you two actually met. It explains all the times you wondered why he even tried with you, despite being too emotionally inept to even be in a relationship. He probably went through the beginning of your relationship thinking you could disappear at any second.
With that being said, he can’t stay here. As much as you’d love to continue being the source of comfort for this version of Satoru, he needs to experience the last year he spent alone before meeting you. He needs to feel cautious around you. He needs to try and fail at opening up a handful of times before getting comfortable with the idea of truly being vulnerable with a person. Getting over that element of fear he had towards getting close to others is what made him a husband and father— he couldn’t just skip that part of his life.
You have no idea how you’re going to tell him that, though. You’re not one to kick a sick puppy, especially one as cute as him. He’s so happy here with you and Sai that the thought of doing so makes your chest ache.
He’s having a tea party with Sai right now, limbs way too long to sit in the little stool she pulled up for him to sit in. He drinks imaginary tea from the plastic pink cup she hands him, and your chest aches some more. You force yourself to look away before the tears start.
You’d do the next 11 years all over again if you could.
“Hey, Honey?” Satoru calls out to you.
There’s a pause before you whip your head around— it’s been months since he’s called you that. There’s nothing but warmth and fondness in his eyes as his gaze meets yours. “Why is Nanami’s number saved under ‘nerd’ in my phone?”
He’s back.
“I don’t know,” you laugh, despite the tear falling down your cheek. “You tell me.”
—
Satoru didn’t want to believe it when everything around him went dark once again. It’s not until his feet touch the ground with a soft thud and he finds himself back in his messy, cold dorm when reality slapped him across the face.
Something between a sob and a gut-wrenching scream rips from his throat. Grabbing the round shades he had hoped he’d never have to fucking wear again, he rips them off his face and sends it crashing into the wall, breaking into a hundred little pieces. He doesn’t stop. Doesn’t give himself a chance to even breathe or think before raising his hand and releasing a purple orb with just a flick of his fingers.
Impulsive. Reckless. Deadly.
Satoru was fucking devastated.
Nobody knew what triggered him that night. All they knew was that the east wing of the school looked like it had been hit by an asteroid by the time he calmed down. He didn’t speak to anyone for a good two weeks following the incident. Everyone wants to think he was lucky the explosion didn’t have any casualties, but then they remembered who he was: Satoru fucking Gojo.
God’s don’t get punished, nor do natural disasters— it’s hard to tell which one he was at this point.
One Year Later
“If it’s that small of a curse, why are you sending me there?” Satoru continues to argue with one of the new managers over the phone.
It wasn’t that small of a curse. It was a grade one. But still, given the sorcerer’s title as a special grade, he was overqualified for the job.
“I’m sorry, we just don’t have anyone available to take on the case at the moment.” The young woman continues to apologize over the phone. “I think we might have a grade 3 available for the job. I- I can check—”
“Save it.” Satoru cuts her off. He wasn’t that heartless to push the case off to some 15 year old. That’s exactly how Haibara died. “Send me the address.”
The mission was nothing short of an inconvenience for him. He liked a challenge when exorcising curses, and the damn thing didn’t even put up a fucking fight. He traveled 2 hours to get here just for that? Unbelievable.
He wasn’t ready to leave and sit on a train for another 2 hours just yet, so he decided to walk around the town for a bit.
It was a cute place, a little quiet. Kinda boring. That’s never a bad thing, though. Lots of mom and pop shops, a few coffee shops scattered around, one of which he decided to try. A little sugar’s always good, at least to him.
The smell of vanilla and roasted coffee beans hit him as he walked into the place. There was a decent amount of customers inside. Not too much to feel crowded, but enough to stay busy. He keeps his eyes on the menu the entire time. The line moves fast, and he figures out what he wants just in time.
“And what can I get started for you today?”
His eyes are still on the screen, reading the item off the menu.
“Can I get a white chocolate mocha frappuccino, with an extra pump of…” his words die out, and his eyes widen as he finally looks at the girl taking his order. “Hey.”
“Hi.” You laugh at the way this stranger loses his train of thought. “Extra pump of white chocolate syrup?”
“Yeah.” He exhales, unable to rip his eye off you as you write the words down on the plastic cup with a sharpie.
“Name for the order?”
“Go– Satoru,” he corrects himself. “It’s Satoru.”
He’s a little awkward, but you still find him quite charming and smile. “Alright, Satoru. Your order should be ready in about 10 minutes.”
“Awesome. Thanks,” he nods rather pathetically, then goes to sit in an empty corner of the shop with only one thought in mind:
He has 10 minutes to come up with what to say to get your number.
Genre : Enemies to Lovers, Action/Blood, Romance, Fluff, 18+ (hints of LIGHT spice) Yearning and Mid Angst, Possessive/Obsessive traits/thoughts.
Status: Oneshot
Parings : Sung Jinwoo x S-Rank Reader
Warnings: Slow-Burn (Apologies I got carried away!), Longing and yearning, angst at parts, blood and battles.
Summary: Y/N, Korea's eleventh S-Rank hunter, has been making waves across the world. But no matter how powerful she becomes her fiery rivalry with Japan's strongest hunter, Sung Jinwoo, never cools. Tension brews every time they’re near...until one mission forces them closer than ever. What happens when Y/N begins to unravel the truth behind her feelings for her so-called enemy… and what if he feels the same?
The air inside the dungeon felt different, dense, thick and charged. Like the atmosphere before a storm.
Y/N stepped through the gate, heels echoing sharply against the stone as magic thrummed beneath her skin. She looked every bit the S-Rank Hunter she was: black gear molded to her figure, blade strapped along her back, chin tilted in quiet defiance. Her presence turned heads, but she only had eyes for one person.
Sung Jinwoo stood at the far end of the clearing, shadows curling at his feet like restless wolves.
Their eyes met.
His were dark, impossibly deep. A flicker of something unreadable passed through them, surprise, amusement and maybe something darker or deeper. Y/N’s gaze stayed cold, controlled. But her pulse? It stuttered.
Of course it had to be him.
He didn’t say anything at first, just let his gaze rake over her like he was trying to decipher a puzzle he wasn’t sure he wanted to solve.
"You’re late," he said finally voice low and smooth, like velvet over steel.
A soft scoff escaped her lips as she raised a brow. "You’re welcome for gracing your little shadow party."
A few nearby A-Rank hunters coughed awkwardly. The tension was sharp enough to slice skin. No one dared to step between them. Many of them fiddled with their gear to seem busy, others watched from the corner of their eyes as Korea's newest S-Ranks butt heads with one another.
Jinwoo tilted his head slightly. A corner of his mouth twitched not quite a smirk. More like he was entertained by her. “Are you always this cocky before a fight?”
“Only when I’m paired with someone who thinks a shadow army makes up for a personality.” Y/N is quick to reply.
That got a real reaction, his brow lifted and for the first time a smirk tugged at his lips.
'Touché.'
As she walked past him her shoulder brushed against his chest, intentionally of course. She didn’t look back, but she felt it. His heavy gaze.
Then his voice came again. “Try not to slow me down.”
She paused turning just enough to give him a look. Head slightly tilted lips parted with mock sympathy, eyes alight with challenge.
“Careful, Jinwoo. I bite.”
His smirk dropped replaced with something else and more primal. A flicker of heat in his gaze.
The dungeon was hellish burnt red skies overhead, twisted ruins clawing out of the ground and monsters that screamed like metal tearing.
Y/N’s blade danced through the air precise and deadly. Jinwoo's shadows moved like a living wave, swallowing enemies whole. Their fighting styles clashed and complemented each other. Her fire verses his void.
At one point a mutated ogre roared and lunged toward her blind side. Her body turned too late and her body tensed ready for impact.
Jinwoo appeared in a blink, one hand gripping the ogre’s leg mid-swing and the other pressing her back to his chest as the creature was torn apart behind them.
“Watch it,” he murmured near her ear breath warm, fingers lingering on her waist. “You're reckless.”
She stiffened at the contact her heart hammering. Her ears burned with anger and shame. How dare he and in front of the team too.
“I had it handled,” she snapped wrenching away from his grip. Her face was flushed.
His eyes dropped to her lips, then slowly dragged up to meet hers again. His expression is unreadable but intense.
“You sure?” he asked quietly.
Y/N hated the way her stomach flipped why did he have to act so…soft? “I don’t need you saving me.”
“I know.” He said it too calmly. “ Maybe I just like touching you.” He says with a lazy smile.
Her breath hitched. Her blade clinked against stone as her fingers tightened around the hilt.
Their faces were inches apart now, and for a second, a mere second. Her resolve faltered. She saw it in his eyes too. That flicker of something he wasn’t saying.
She swallowed it down. Hard.
"Save the flirting for after we survive," she hisses turning away.
He chuckled “So there will be an after?”
She didn’t answer jumping back into the fray with more effort to ignore her wildly beating heart.
The gate began to rumble and the final boss revealing itself in a pulse of blinding magic. As the light flashed Y/N turned just enough to see Jinwoo watching her. Not sizing her up. Not smirking.
Just watching.
Like she was the only thing in the room that scared him. She gave him a smirk lips curved just enough to be dangerous. “Let’s finish this, shadow boy.”
His shadows coiled around his feet again, agitated.
He didn’t smile this time.
“I plan to,”
The dungeon’s final chamber opened like the mouth of a beast with veins of crimson light pulsing through the cracked obsidian floor.
A towering creature of molten bone and jagged stone horned, hissing, eyes glowing like lava. The air rippled with oppressive heat as its claws dragged across the ground sending sparks flying.
“It’s a flame warden,” Jinwoo said eyes narrowing. “And it’s pissed.”
Y/N cracked her neck fire licking at her fingertips. “Good.”
The ground trembled as the monster lunged. The A-Ranks scattered. It moved fast, too fast for something its size.
Jinwoo’s shadows exploded outward.
“Arise.”
The earth split as his army poured from it Beru leading the charge, Igris flanking his right dozens of shadow beasts racing behind them. Screams echoed from both the creature and the awestruck hunters.
The flame warden swung its molten arm incinerating two summoned beasts mid-swipe but Jinwoo didn’t flinch.
Instead he stepped forward hand raised like a king addressing his court. “Crush it.”
The shadows surged.
Y/N didn’t wait either.
She raised both hands one swirling with crackling lightning the other pouring with chilled mist. With a sweeping motion she sent a cyclone of steam and electric arcs toward the beast’s exposed core.
It howled.
From above, ice daggers rained. From below, fissures erupted with flame and water. Her magic danced with devastating precision. Every movement was like a storm learning how to breathe through her body.
Jinwoo caught himself watching her.
The way her hair whipped around her face. The fury in her eyes. The glow of elements bending to her will.
She was beautiful. And terrifying.
The boss shrieked again swinging wildly and knocking several hunters off their feet. Its tail whipped toward one of them a trembling A-Rank who’d fallen and couldn’t get up fast enough.
“MOVE!” someone screamed.
He couldn’t. The tail was seconds from crushing him.
And then.....
Y/N moved.
She blurred across the field body shoving the hunter out of the way just as the monster's tail slammed into her side.
The crack of impact echoed like thunder.
She flew back, crashing against a pillar with a sickening sound.
“Y/N!” someone yelled.
Jinwoo froze and time stopped.
The shadows behind him hissed and rippled. His breath caught and he was by her side in a blink.
Blood trailed from the corner of her mouth. Her body was limp. Magic flickered erratically around her fingers like a broken current. She curled up into a fetus position trying to regular her breaths, she knew she cracked her ribs.
“Y/N,” he breathed, dropping to his knees beside her.
Her lashes fluttered. “Still... faster than you,” she mumbled a faint smirk on her lips even through the pain. She refused to show weakness, especially to the likes of Sung Jinwoo. But the damage was done and she felt her vision blur. Her smile falters as the softest whimper of pain escapes her trembling lips.
And that was it. The leash broke.
Jinwoo’s expression twisted, his usual calm burned away. The shadows around him roared like a pack gone rabid.
The boss turned toward them.
'Wrong move.'
Jinwoo stood slowly, eyes pitch black face blank, except for the rage simmering underneath.
“You hurt her.”His voice was low.
The shadows responded like a tidal wave.
“Kill it. Slowly.”
Beru lunged with a howl. Igris drove his sword straight through the beast’s jaw. The other shadows piled onto it like a black sea, ripping, tearing, dragging it down. The flame warden shrieked in agony.
And Jinwoo just stood there, watching as if daring the universe to touch her again.
Within moments the creature’s screams died into wet silence. The shadows tore it limb from limb until there was nothing left but molten ash and blood on the stone.
Then, silence. The team healer was making his rounds as the rest watched in awe. Some were shaken up by how…cold Jinwoo seemed now.
Jinwoo returned to Y/N’s side, kneeling again, trembling as his hands hovered over her. Too scared to touch. Too scared to find out.
“Stupid,” he whispered, voice raw now. “Why would you…why didn’t you let me?-...”
Y/N coughed softly. “Wasn’t going to let him die. That’s not who I am.”
He closed his eyes. Exhaled sharply through his nose. Then his hand cupped her jaw carefully, like she’d break again if he wasn't gentle enough.
“Don’t do that again,” he said voice low and shaking. “You don’t get to throw yourself away like that.”
“I didn’t…” she swallowed thickly breath hitching, “…didn’t need you to save me.”
“I know,” he said quickly, his voice too soft, too intimate.
Her throat tightened. Her body screamed in pain, but it wasn’t the worst part. The worst part was feeling her guard slipping in front of him.
She didn’t want to be vulnerable. Not with Sung Jinwoo. Not now. Not ever.
She wanted to say something else. Something sharp. Distant. Something that would keep the wall between them tall and sturdy. But her eyelids grew heavy.
“I don’t-” she started, voice cracking.
Then everything dropped.
Her last breath left her lips in a shudder, and she slumped unconscious in his arms.
Jinwoo sat there frozen, holding her limp form like it was something sacred and about to shatter. He didn’t say anything. Didn’t scream. But the look on his face was worse than rage.
Around them, the battlefield smoldered. Shadows crept closer, curling protectively around their fallen queen. They knew, they knew how much she meant to their king.
And for the first time, the Shadow Monarch looked like he might burn the entire world down just to keep one person breathing.
First the weight of her own breath. Then the sting, searing pain in her ribs, her side and even her shoulder. Her body felt like it had been through a meat grinder. And finally Y/N opened her eyes with a hiss.
The hospital ceiling above her was a soft grey lit by low fluorescent lights. The sheets were stiff. The smell of the sterile environment wrinkled her nose. She was tucked in tightly... too tightly. Someone must have known she’d try to sit up the second she woke.
And they were right.
She groaned, arm trembling as she tried to push herself up. Every muscle in her body screamed.
“Don’t,” came a warm voice from her left.
She turned wincing in pain and found Guild Master Baek Yoonho sitting beside her bed. His thick brows furrowed in relief as he leaned in eyes scanning her face. His large hand cupped around his coffee cup, his expression filled with relief and concern.
“Well, well,” he said with a crooked smile, gentle and tired. How long had he been here? “You’re awake.”
She blinked hard forcing her brain to focus. She felt her ears burn her guild master and someone she respected and looked up to, sat a few inches from her. And she felt incompetent for the first time in her life.
“...Guild Master?”
He nodded. “Yeah. Though you can drop the title after what you just pulled.”
She opened her mouth to answer, but he shook his head.
“You were out for two and a half days.” His voice softened. “A shattered ribcage. Internal bleeding. Burn fractures along your left side. The medics said if you were anyone else, if your magic hadn’t kicked in and stabilized you when it did…” He trailed off.
Her eyes flicked away. Silence settled in like dust. She did feel ashamed. Ashamed she wasn't strong enough, guilt for having her guild master worry. But…at least she saved her teammate. So in hindsight there was a bright side to all this. Right?
Yoonho leaned forward. “You saved an A-Rank who would’ve died. No hesitation. That’s not something I can train into a hunter, Y/N. That’s just… you.”
Her jaw clenched. He could read her too easily.
“Don’t do that,” she muttered.
He tilted his head. “Do what?”
“Make it sound noble.” Her eyes burned. “It was stupid. I knew better. But I couldnt….i didnt think…”
He smiled softly. “You always knew better. And yet…”
She looked down at her hand. Bruised. Shaking. And yet she jumped.
Yoonho sighed rubbing a hand over his face. “He’s been here the whole time, you know.”
She blinked, looking up from her hands to meet Yoonho’s gaze with confusion. “Who?-”
A soft shuffle. A presence. And a scent that Y/N could recognize anywhere.
Her blood ran cold.
From the far corner of the room, where the shadows had swallowed everything, he stepped forward.
Sung Jinwoo.
No sound. No warning. Just there.
Y/N’s breath caught. Her eyes widened but she didn’t show anything else. Not the way her heart punched her ribs not the way the air suddenly felt thinner.
He looked like hell. Like he'd been through hell and back.
Black coat thrown open, sleeves rolled and jaw tight. His expression was unreadable, but his eyes were burning. Not the usual detached coolness. Not the teasing arrogance.
No. This was cold fire. Anger.
“Get out,” he said to Yoonho voice like steel dragged across stone.
The guild master looked between them hesitant but stood without a word, hand briefly brushing Y/N’s shoulder in parting.
Then it was just them.
Silence.
Y/n sat up straightener ignoring how her body protested. She couldn't look weak, she already felt on edge for not even noticing his presence in the room the entire time. Y/N forced her voice to work. “You were hiding in the shadows this whole time?”
His gaze sharpened. “You’re lucky I was.”
She flinched at the bitterness in his tone. “I don’t remember asking you to babysit me.”
“I wasn’t babysitting,” he snapped. “I was watching you bleed out in my arms.”
Her throat tightened at his harsh tone. Has he always been like this? Where did the teasing, arrogant and cocky hunter go?
He stepped closer. Every inch closer felt like a pressure on her chest. He didn’t look calm. He looked like a grenade still counting down.
“You were reckless.”
“I made a call.”
“You almost died.”
“I’m not your responsibility,” she shot back her eyes finally meeting him.
He stopped at the foot of her bed, knuckles clenched at his sides.
“You think that matters?” His voice dropped. “You think I care what role you are to me when I watched your eyes roll back and your blood pool beneath your head?”
Y/N looked away.The room felt tiny, the space between them felt suffocating.
He stepped even closer close enough for her to see the vein in his neck pulsing. His expression was unreadable but underneath it all was fear.
“I’ve died before,” he said quietly. “I know what it looks like. You were half a breath from it.”
Silence swelled again. The worst part? She didn’t know what scared her more, how angry he was…
…or how much of it came from something real.
She clenched her jaw. She didnt want this she didnt need for the strongest hunter to berate her like this. Not now….not when she needed comfort, not aggression and confusion. Her voice cracked. “You should go.”
He didn’t move. Her fists clenched under the sheets. “Please.”
Still, he didn’t move. But something in his eyes shifted, something small. Something devastated. He turned without another word, shadows rising around him like smoke.
Sung Jinwoo sat on a stiff vinyl chair across from Baek Yoonho, elbows on his knees, hands clasped so tightly the bones in his knuckles ached.
The only sound was the hum of the vending machine in the corner. And the ghosts in his head.
He hadn't moved since he'd stormed out of her room. His shadows curled close, subdued, like even they knew something was wrong.
Yoonho sipped from a styrofoam cup and finally broke the silence. “You look like hell.”
Jinwoo didn’t glance up. “I’ve felt worse.”
He had.
He had.
But this? This was different.
The pain wasn’t in his body. It was in his chest. In the space between his ribs that had always been empty, until she wedged herself there with a sharp tongue her enchanting eyes and the storm in her veins.
He hadn’t stopped seeing her hit that wall.
Hadn’t stopped hearing the sound of her body breaking.The thought alone made his stomach twist again. It shook him to his core.
“You didn’t have to stay,” Yoonho said voice lighter now. “I’m watching her. She’s safe.”
Jinwoo’s fingers tightened. “I don’t trust anyone else to keep her safe.”
There was a pause. Then Yoonho raised an eyebrow over the rim of his cup. “Even me?” A beat.
Jinwoo exhaled sharply through his nose. “I’m… sorry.” He looks up, his earlier words weighing him down as he makes eye contact with a surprised Yoonho.
“I was disrespectful earlier. In the room,” Jinwoo said words stiff and raw in his throat. “You were trying to help her. You were there for her.I dismissed that. That wasn’t right.”
Yoonho’s expression softened. “Wow. The Sung Jinwoo actually apologizing to me? Should I frame this moment?”
“Do whatever you want,” Jinwoo muttered, finally sitting back. His head tipped toward the ceiling. “I just saw red….I have been seeing red…”
He trailed off. Words failed him. Yoonho waited patiently, biting back the small smile that threatened to break though. He could read Jinwoo like a book.
“I can’t… think straight around her,” Jinwoo admitted finally voice quieter now. “When she’s near me, it’s like the system glitches. Everything that was simple becomes… tangled.”
Yoonho chuckles the sound vibrating through his chest as he takes a sip. “She has that effect.”
Jinwoo looked at him sharply.
“She’s strong. Smart. Intense.” Yoonho swirled the coffee in his hand. “Hard not to be drawn in. I’ve seen a lot of people crash and burn trying to keep up with her.”
“I’m not crashing,” Jinwoo said instinctively.
Yoonho gave him a look. He didn’t repeat it.
“She makes me angry,” Jinwoo said instead. “But not in the way other hunters do. She challenges me, pushes me, makes me question things I’ve already decided. And I… I hate that. I hate how she gets under my skin.”
“Sounds like someone who cares.”
“I don’t-” Jinwoo paused, jaw clenching. “I don’t know if I’m capable of that.”
Yoonho sets the cup down. “Why? Because you’ve changed? Because you’ve seen too much?”
Jinwoo didn’t answer.
“You know,” Yoonho said after a moment, “most people think anger is the opposite of love. But it’s not. Indifference is.”
Jinwoo’s gaze met his, hard and guarded.
“You don’t get this twisted over someone you hate, Jinwoo,” Yoonho continued, calm and even. “You don’t stay in a hospital for days in the shadows. You don’t remember the exact sound someone made when they collapsed.”
Jinwoo looked away as if the memory of that shattered his entire being.
“Maybe what you’re feeling isn’t hate,” Yoonho said quietly. “Maybe you’ve just never been this close to someone you could lose.”
The room fell silent again and Jinwoo stared down at his hands.
They had killed thousands.
Commanded armies.
Held nations in the palm of their grip.
But right now, they trembled.
“She made me feel something I thought I’d buried,” he whispered. “And when I saw her go down, it wasn’t fear. It was rage. The kind that swallows you whole. That unhinges something.”
Yoonho leaned forward resting his elbows on his knees. “That wasn’t rage.”
Jinwoo looked at him.
“That was the sound of something important breaking,” he said.
“Something you never want to lose.” Something in Jinwoo’s chest throbbed. He didn’t want to call it love. He didn’t know how to call it that. The word was too soft. But it sat in him now.
Not when their guilds were called together for the inter-guild elite defense meetings. Not when they crossed paths in the corridors of the HQ. Not even when their shoulders brushed in passing.
She moved like he wasn’t there. Like he was a ghost she refused to see. But he saw her, every time and it gutted him. From the far end of the long conference table Sung Jinwoo watched her speak in quiet tones with colleagues, her face composed. She was dressed in her standard combat gear nothing flashy.
He knew why she was avoiding him. He just didn’t know how to fix it. He knew he crossed a line by snapping at her for being hurt, but he couldn't help it. Her mangled body looking so vulnerable in the hospital bed…it was burned into his psyche and it made him act out.
“You’re staring again,” came Baek’s voice low beside him, dry with amusement.
Jinwoo didn’t turn. “Not staring. Watching.”
“Is that what we’re calling it?”
He didn’t answer. Because if he spoke he might say something he couldn’t take back.
The meeting continued around him strategies, territory shifts, dungeon breach forecasts. He heard none of it. His eyes stayed on her.
How she kept her gaze anywhere but him.
How she answered every question with precision but never emotion.
How she smiled, but never at him.
There had been a time, not long ago, when her voice had been fire and ice in his veins. When she had looked at him and seen straight through the armor.
Now she wouldn’t even meet his eyes.
And yet he couldn’t stop looking.
Because no matter how far she moved away from him, she still held his world in the curve of her lips and the space between her words.
And he hated that.
He hated how her absence echoed louder than any battle cry.
Later, when the meeting adjourned and people filtered out into the corridor Jinwoo stood near the back wall, alone, as always. He didn’t move as she passed, not even when her shoulder brushed the air an inch from his.
But his hand curled into a fist by his side.
In the shadows, his army was still. Quiet. Even they knew. He wasn’t the hunter in this story anymore. He was the prey. Longing, yearning and helpless.
Watching the only person who made him feel human turn to stone before his eyes.
When the Guild called in emergency reinforcements for a rapidly shifting gate, She had been ready to decline. She didn’t have the emotional energy, not with him likely being there. Not when her chest still twisted every time she thought about the hospital room she never said goodbye in. How she dismissed him when he was waiting for her, when he was concerned for her. It left her on edge, filled with confusing feelings and emotions.
But when Baek showed her the roster…
And his name wasn’t listed…
She said yes.
She didn't realize until she arrived at the site that he had said yes too.
And he was already there. Waiting.
Sung Jinwoo stood beside the Guild leaders like he had always belonged, black coat fluttering in the wind expression unreadable except when he looked at her.
Her fingers tightened on the straps of her gear. She kept her face still. She nodded at him briefly, and turned to listen to the mission briefing.
But her chest was a mess of contradictions. She could feel his gaze.
Every. Time. It didn't burn…it pulled. And once, just once, as she passed him to check the perimeter with her team, her shoulder brushed his.
Her heart stuttered.
‘Dammit’
They were ten minutes into the raid when it happened. The dungeon shifted. The air collapsed in on itself like the gravity of a dying star and the world snapped.
A flash of blinding white.
The stone walls were gone.
The dungeon map vanished.
The team was no longer underground.
They were standing in a vast, broken plain that stretched beneath a black sky. Red lightning spiders through clouds overhead. Obsidian towers rose in the distance pulsing faintly with magic. The air was thick. Everyone was yelling.
“What the hell?!”
“Where are we?! This isn’t on the scan!”
“Gate shift, this is a second layer!”
Someone started to hyperventilate. Another hunter tried to open a portal to teleport out, and failed. Panic spread like wildfire, but two people didn’t panic.
Y/N straightened. Her eyes narrowed, head lifting as she stepped forward voice sharp and cutting across the noise like a blade.
“Enough!”
The yelling stopped. She turned to the group, face steady and shoulders squared.
“We don’t know where we are, but we’re not dead. That means this isn’t an instant kill trap. Which means we can survive this.” Her voice didn’t shake. “We need a base. A perimeter. Mages in the center. Ranged on the inner circle. Swords on the outside.”
“But—”
“Now!” she snapped, and the A-Ranks moved.
Even the strongest of them a towering man with stone magic, nodded without argument. Y/N turned to scout the area strategizing the best place to anchor their makeshift camp. Maybe take out any beasts near them before she could figure out how to get out the gate. Best case scenario she runs into the boss and takes care of him with ease.
Now that she was at her full strength, she felt the urge to let loose. She takes a proposal step away from the team.
“Not alone,” came a voice behind her.
She didn’t have to turn to know who it was.
“You’re needed here,” she said flatly, not meeting his eyes.
“I’m going with you.”
She finally looked at him, her soft E/C eyes hard but held some vulnerability. A part of her stiffened when she was met with the same expression.
He wasn’t giving her the unreadable mask. He wasn’t teasing. He looked serious. Devoted and concerned. Concerned for her.
“Igris and Iron will stay,” Jinwoo added. “They’ll protect the group.”
She saw it, the shadows coiling quietly around his boots. His eyes watching her like she was the only thing tethering him to this broken sky.
Like he wasn’t here to save the world.He was here to follow her.
“Fine,” she muttered turning toward the ridge. He moved to her side with quiet grace.
Behind them, the group followed her orders to the letter as they left the clearing, Jinwoo followed her. Not out of strategy, obligation or rank. But because where she went, he would go.
They’d been walking for thirty minutes. No monsters. No movement. No sound. Just wind slicing through dead trees and the heavy weight of Sung Jinwoo’s footsteps beside hers.
The terrain was flat but broken, like something massive had clawed through it decades ago. Obsidian rocks jutted out like cracked ribs, and the sky still bled red lightning through charcoal clouds. Y/N’s jaw tensed as she scanned the area again, her elemental magic flaring briefly beneath her skin.
Her fingers twitched on the hilt of her weapon.
“This doesn’t make sense,” she muttered, more to herself than him.
“There should be something. A trace. A mana signature. A carcass. Something.”
Jinwoo didn’t answer right away. Just kept walking eyes calm, calculating. Finally he said with voice low, “There was something.”
Y/N turned to him. “What?”
“They’re hiding.”
She blinked. “The beasts?”
He nodded once. “They can sense me. So they’re hiding.”
Y/N stared at him disbelief flickering in her eyes. “You mean to tell me… this entire radius is crawling with beasts, but they’re so scared of you they won’t even peek out?”
He shrugged. “It happens.”
She stopped walking.
“Seriously?”
He turned back toward her. “Why are you angry about this?”
“I’m not angry” she snapped.
“You look angry.”
“I’m just-” She exhaled sharply pacing back a few steps. “Do you even understand how dangerous that makes you? You’re not just a hunter. You’re a damn walking catastrophe.”
“And yet,” he said, voice cooler now, “you keep getting assigned to work with me.”
She turned her back to him. 'More like you make it your mission to work with me'
“Y/N.”
“Don’t.”
He took a step closer. “Why won’t you look at me?”
“Because every time I do, I forget how to breathe,” she hissed without thinking. The words slipped out before she could catch them, and she felt instant regret when they did.
Silence.
Y/N squared her shoulders, she had to take it back. She turned slowly. His expression had changed. He didn’t look smug. He looked… stunned.
“Forget I said that,” she muttered, brushing past him.
But he grabbed her wrist.
Just enough to make her stop.
“Three weeks,” he said quietly. “You ignored me for three weeks. You wouldn’t look at me. Wouldn’t talk to me. Not even when I stood right in front of you.”
Her breath hitched. His fingers were warm around her wrist. His voice was calm, but his eyes were not.
“I thought I could stay away too,” he said. “I thought if I gave you space, you’d come back. But you didn’t.”
“You don’t get to say this now,” she snapped. “You don’t get to say any of this after leaving me like that in the hospital.”
“I didn’t leave.”
“You disappeared.”
“You asked me to go.”
“I didn’t think you’d listen.”
They were close now. Too close. She could see the shadow of stubble along his jaw. The way his chest rose and fell just slightly faster. The way his grip tightened just a little as she stared at his mouth. Her own heart fluttered, with…longing and anger. A mix that didn't blend well.
“You confuse the hell out of me,” she whispered.
“Good,” he said. “Because you wrecked me.”
That stopped her.
“I don’t know how to not look for you,” he continued voice rough now. “Every room. Every raid. Every goddamn meeting. I don’t know how to stop caring when you’re hurt. Or hating the silence when you’re not around.”
Her eyes searched his face desperate to find a lie. But all she found was the truth. Brutal and bare...
“You should hate me,” she breathed. “You should hate that I avoid you. That I shut you out.”
“I don’t hate you.”
“Why not?”
“Because I love you,” he said it like it hurt. “And I wish I didn’t.”
Her lips parted, but no sound came. And then, he moved.
In a heartbeat, he stepped forward and backed her against the nearest tree,one hand braced beside her head the other still holding her wrist.
His body didn’t touch hers. But his presence did. Y/N’s heart slammed in her chest as her back pressed against the hard wood behind her. His eyes bore into hers searching and silently begging. He looked vulnerable, The Sung Jinwoo looked lost, and the only thing he would see was her.
“Say something,” he said slowly.
“I can’t,” she whispered. “If I speak, I might not stop.”
He leaned in, forehead nearly brushing hers.
“Then don’t speak,” he murmured. “Just stay.”
His breath was warm against Y/N’s skin, the faintest tremor in the air between them sparked and sizzled. Y/N could feel the weight of his gaze filled with something that wasn’t quite anger, wasn’t quite pain. It was longing. desperate longing that sliced through all the walls Y/N had built.
Y/N wanted to look away but she was rooted there, pressed back against the rough bark of the tree the world around them fading until it was only them,two fractured souls tangled in the silence of everything we were too scared to say.
“I’m here,” he whispered, voice low and rough. “Still here. Waiting.” The ache in his eyes was unbearable, like he was holding years of loneliness and hope and pain all in that one look.
For a long moment, neither of them moved or spoke. Then he leaned just a little closer, his breath brushing my cheek, and she saw it clearly.
Not just the shadow of a man, but the man who wanted her.
Who needed her. Who was tired of waiting in the dark. His eyes said everything. And Y/N was no longer sure she wanted to look away. She wanted him, she always wanted him.
His eyes never left hers as he leaned in, slow, deliberate, like savoring a moment he wasn’t sure he’d get again.Y/N’ss breath hitched, every nerve screaming to either pull away or surrender.
His hand released her wrist, sliding gently to cup her cheek, thumb brushing over the soft skin with a tenderness that belied the fire burning in his gaze. The world contracted until it was just them, heartbeats thundering in sync.
Then his lips were on hers.
Soft at first, tentative, as if testing a truth neither dared say aloud. But the moment she responded, the restraint shattered. Heat surged between them desperate and fierce. His hands moved with purpose now sliding down to rest firmly on her waist pulling her flush against him.
Every doubt, every wall, every bite of silence melted away. they were no longer enemies. No longer distant. Just two broken souls finally finding a home in each other.
When they finally broke apart, breaths mingling and foreheads resting together, his voice was barely more than a whisper.
“I’ve wanted this for so long.”
Y/N giggled uncharastically, she wanted to say something snarky but the happiness that engulfed her was overwhelming.
“Me too.”
Y/N stood still, her chest rising and falling trying to catch up with her thoughts. The sudden shift from battlefield to domestic stillness was jarring. The dungeon that seemed so terrifying was an afterthought as she stared into his eyes, the heat between them burned brighter than ever.
Jinwoo reached up, his fingers brushing against her cheek with a gentleness that felt almost reverent.
Like she might shatter if he touched her too hard.
Like she wasn’t just someone he wanted…
But someone he treasured.
His thumb stroked over her cheekbone in slow, thoughtful circles as if memorizing the way her skin felt under his hand. His eyes traced her face, not quickly and not hungrily but like every detail mattered.
He followed the arch of her brow, the way her lashes fluttered against her cheek, the slope of her nose. He paused at the small freckle near her jaw then let his gaze drop to the soft curve of her lips.
She was so heartbreakingly beautiful.. Not just because of how she looked, but because of everything she was. Strong. Stubborn.
“You’re… unbelievable,” he whispered, barely audible.
His hand slid behind her neck, cradling it as if she was something sacred. Y/N was breathing hard, lips parted slightly eyes locked to him like she was just as overwhelmed.
And then his gaze returned, slowly to her mouth.He lingered there for just for a moment, one beat of silence that held the weight of every unspoken word between them.
Then he closed the space and kissed her again.
God, he kissed her like he had been starving for her since the moment they met. It wasn’t soft and it wasn't gentle. It was real, messy and hot and aching.
His mouth crushed against hers, lips parting hers with a low groan, his other hand finding her waist and gripping like he was afraid she’d disappear again.
Y/N melted into him her hands sliding under the collar of his coat, dragging him impossibly closer. She could feel the tension in him, the restraint.
He backed her up, slowly but firmly harder against the wood. His kisses deepened. His hands found the hem of her shirt tugging it upward in a desperate shaking motion.
She broke the kiss only to gasp for breath, her lips red and swollen and eyes glazed and wild.
“Jinwoo-” she whispered.
“Don’t stop me,” he said hoarsely, pressing his forehead against hers. “I’ve waited too long for this.”
“I’m not stopping you,” she breathed, voice wrecked and honest.
He looked at her then,truly looked. Eyes blown wide with lust, yes, but also with something deeper. Something terrifying. Something holy.
Love.
It burned so clearly in him she almost couldn’t stand it.
He kissed her again, slower now, but no less intense. His fingers traced her bare skin as if trying to memorize it.
In that moment, in that dungeon they weren’t enemies, rivals, or hunters.
They were just two people who had finally stopped running. And who had found each other in the fire.
After their tense scouting, Y/N and Jinwoo quickly locate the raid boss, a colossal beast surrounded by writhing minions that pulse with corrupted mana.
Y/N’s elemental manipulation flares brilliantly, ice shards freezing limbs flames roaring to scorch enemy flesh and gusts of wind sending foes sprawling. Jinwoo’s shadow army floods the battlefield like a dark tide, overwhelming the enemies with ruthless precision.
The raid group located Y/N and Jinwoo aiding the battle that had already been won. The team followed Y/N’s sharp commands, securing the perimeter and supporting the front lines effortlessly.
Within minutes, the boss falls, defeated its howls swallowed by the shadows. The remaining minions scatter or are swiftly dealt with.
As the group steps through the shimmering portal, the world twists again but this time Jinwoo’s hand suddenly clamps down on Y/N’s wrist.
Before she can react, a shadow detaches from his body and wraps around them like a cloak. The world blurs and warps.
And suddenly, they’re no longer standing with the others. They’re in the quiet, dimly lit sanctuary of Jinwoo’s house. The shadows fade, and the door closes behind them.
“No more hiding,” Jinwoo said, his voice slow and deliberate as if each word carried the weight of everything he’d kept locked inside.
Y/N’s breath caught. Her heart pounded against her ribs afrantic rhythm that matched the fire in his eyes. The air between them crackled, thick with tension and unspoken truth. A current charged every inch between them, sparking with the promise of something irreversible.
He stepped forward.
Before she could retreat, Jinwoo’s hands slid to her waist, firm but reverent, pulling her in with a possessiveness that made her spine tingle. His gaze met hers, dark, bottomless, burning with hunger, love, and something far more dangerous: longing so raw it made her knees weaken.
“No more running,” he murmured, voice rough like gravel dipped in velvet.
He threaded his fingers through her hair, tilting her face up as if presenting it to the gods. But he wasn’t looking at a goddess. He was looking at his Y/N, his undoing.
His eyes roamed over her face. He drank her in like she was the only real thing in a world built from illusion. The curve of her cheek. The bow of her lips. The shadow of her lashes. The subtle tremble in her jaw.
Y/N didn’t fight it. She couldn’t.She leaned into him, lips parted as if drawn to him by magnetic force. The moment their mouths touched again, the room exploded around them.
His kiss was everything at once, desperate and controlled, fierce and tender. It felt like surrender and possession tangled in one breathless instant. It wasn’t just a kiss. It was a claim.
Jinwoo’s hands roamed over her now, tugging at the hem of her shirt with a burning urgency, his touch igniting every nerve she’d buried beneath layers of armor. She moaned softly into his mouth, fingers curling into his hair, anchoring herself to him like he was the only solid thing in a collapsing world.
The heat between them rose too fast. Their bodies crashed together like waves in a storm, wild and unrelenting. And through it all, he watched her. Even with lips pressed against hers, even as his body molded against hers, his eyes never stopped whispering I see you. I choose you.
“I’m yours,” Y/N whispered against his mouth, the words trembling but raw, too full of truth to hide. His forehead pressed to hers, his breath shaking.
“No,” he breathed, voice thick with something far deeper. “You’ve always been mine.”
They broke apart only when their lungs demanded air. Foreheads pressed together. Eyes locked. Their chests rose and fell in sync, and the silence now was heavy with something holy.
Then, Y/N whispered. “I hated you at first,” she confessed, voice unsteady. “I thought you were arrogant. Reckless. Cold… like you didn’t care about anyone but yourself.” Jinwoo said nothing. He only looked at her, like he already knew the truth beneath it.
“But somewhere along the way…” she hesitated, reaching up to trace the line of his jaw, “it stopped being hate. I realized I was scared. Of you. Of how much space you took up in my head. Of how much I needed you when I swore I didn’t.”
Her eyes glistened.
“Somewhere along the way… it became love.”
Jinwoo’s breath caught. His throat bobbed as he swallowed. Slowly he reached up to cup her face with both hands, cradling it like it was something precious.
“I was angry,” he whispered, voice cracking. “Not at you. At myself. Because I saw you hurt, and I couldn’t do anything. I felt powerless. For someone like me… that’s unbearable.”
He exhaled sharply, voice trembling. “I remember the hospital,” he choked. “You looked at me like I was a stranger. Like I’d abandoned you. And I had.” A tear slipped from his eye, but he didn’t look away.
“I told myself it was better if I stayed away. That I didn’t deserve you. But the truth is… I was terrified. Of how much I loved you already.”
Y/N brushed the tear away with her thumb, her lips parting, breath shallow. Jinwoo’s voice dropped to a whisper but every word landed like a thunderclap. “I love you, Y/N. Every reckless, stubborn, complicated part of you. Every fight we’ve had. Every moment I thought I hated you, was a lie. You’re everything.”
A sob escaped her lips, but she smiled through it, radiant and broken open.
“I love you too.”
And just like that the silence shattered. They kissed again, slow this time. Worshipful.
The room was flooded with noise hunters talking, deals being made, strategies tossed around like cards. I stood in the corner, half listening, already bored. These meetings were always the same.
Until she walked in.
Small yet somehow more commanding than anyone else in the room. Baek Yoonho cleared his throat beside her. “This is Y/N L/N,” he said firmly proud almost. “Our newest S-Rank hunter. Proven elemental manipulator. Strong. Efficient. Not someone to be taken lightly.”
I didn’t hear anything after her name. Because I was too busy watching her.
She stood tall as Baek introduced her yet she was half his height, arms crossed, gaze sharp enough to make lesser men flinch. Her expression didn’t shift, not even when half the room turned to stare.
She didn’t need to assert herself. She just was.
Her hair caught the overhead light in waves, dark and unruly, like something wild refusing to be tamed. She wore her power like a blade at her side, unthreatening at first glance, but it was there, humming just beneath the surface.
And her face...
God, her face.
Not perfect in the way most people meant it. It was real. Alive. Lips slightly pursed in disinterest, eyes heavy-lidded but alert, every line etched with fire and control. And yet she stood like she didn’t give a single damn if anyone in this room lived or died. The kind of woman who wouldn’t bow to gods, she’d burn them down.
I found myself staring more than I should have. My pulse kicked harder, like something in me already knew.
Then her eyes met mine.
And that look-fuck. It sealed the deal. Because there wasn’t a hint of flattery or awe in her gaze.
Just a challenge.
Baek gestured between us. “Y/N, this is Sung Jinwoo. You’ll be working together soon.” I stepped forward slow and easy offering a respectful nod. “Welcome,” I said with a cool smile.
She didn’t respond. Instead, she tilted her head gaze cutting clean through me.
“Don’t expect me to make it easy,” she said flatly.
Her voice was low, like smoke. Cold and sharp, the kind of voice that could cut through silence like a blade. I smirked unable to help myself.
“Wouldn’t have it any other way.”
Baek chuckled softly. “Good. Because both of you are the strongest we’ve got.”
That tension, that spark, was already flaring between us. I could feel it in the air. Like something dangerous had just been lit and no one else in the room even noticed. As Baek wrapped things up, she turned and started to walk away with him. Her head held high. Back straight amd unbothered.
But just before she passed the threshold her eyes flicked toward me one more time.
Just for a second.
And it hit me like a blade to the ribs. Because in that flicker, that razor-sharp glance, I didn’t just see power. I saw the beginning of my unraveling.
The way her lip twitched, just barely as she turned away. Like she knew exactly what she was doing. Her hips moved like sin wrapped in discipline. The line of her spine is straight, unshakable. And my body responded before my mind could stop it.
Tension gathered in my chest. My skin felt too hot under my clothes. My hands itched to touch something, her wrist, her waist, her goddamn mouth.
A soft smirk curled at my lips as I watched her go, hips swaying hair swaying fire trailing in her wake.
A/N: Ahhh my first Solo Leveling fic! 🌑 This is my very first time posting outside my usual fandoms, so I hope you enjoyed it. I had such a good time writing this and I can’t wait to do more. Thank you so much for reading! 💕
You reached for another glass of champagne, your fingers trembling just enough to make the bubbles shimmer against the rim. The suite was quiet now, too quiet, after the flurry of brushes and curling irons, after the hum of music and the soft laughter of your stylist and makeup artist who had only just packed up and left. The air still held the faint scent of hair spray and roses, mixed with the deeper perfume clinging to your skin — warm, floral, soft like summer.
Your hair had been curled into delicate waves, the top pinned back with a cluster of tiny pearls that glimmered every time you moved. Your makeup was bridal perfection — a gentle glow across your cheeks, soft pink lips, lashes long and curled like whispers. You looked like a dream. You felt… like a trembling one. Nerves tangled tightly in your belly, fluttering like ribbons caught in wind. You were getting married today. Today.
The weight of it settled behind your ribs. Excitement, yes — that warm, hopeful kind — but threaded through with something sharper, more restless. The kind of nerves that made your hands fidget, that made you question if you’d eaten too much, if you should’ve worn a different shade of blush, if the weight in your chest was love or fear or… something else entirely.
You were just about to raise the flute to your lips when a knock echoed at the door — soft, deliberate.
Your heart gave a little stutter.
“Luke, I swear,” you muttered under your breath with a nervous smile, setting the glass down, “you know you’re not supposed to see me until the ceremony…”
You padded toward the door in nothing but your white silk robe — the one you’d saved for today, smooth as water and tied loosely at your waist. You pulled it tighter on instinct, fingers curling around the fabric as you turned the handle and opened the door—
—and there he was.
Joel.
Mr. Miller.
Your fiancé’s father.
🕊♡₊˚ 🦢・₊✧
Joel Miller stood in the doorway like he’d stepped out of another world and into this one just to see you — tall and broad in his dark suit, the tailored jacket pulling across his shoulders in a way that made your breath hitch for reasons you didn’t want to examine.
His tie was a muted navy, slightly loosened at the collar like he hadn’t bothered to finish getting ready yet, and in the neat fold of his jacket pocket sat a single white rose — likely chosen to match your bouquet, the detail not missed by you. His hair had been swept back, soft curls glinting silver under the room’s warm light. He looked handsome — devastatingly so — in that older, quiet kind of way that made you want to look at him just a second too long.
“Joel,” you smiled gently, surprised, your fingers tightening slightly on the robe’s sash as you leaned your shoulder to the doorframe, “I thought you were Luke.”
His brow ticked up, but the smile he gave you was warm, touched with something that felt just a little too fond. “Well… look at you, sweetheart.” He stepped closer, eyes scanning you with a reverence that made your skin burn beneath the silk. He leaned in and kissed both of your cheeks — the roughness of his stubble grazing your skin, the warmth of his hands settling lightly on your arms. “You look like a damn dream.”
A quiet breath left you as you backed up slightly to let him in, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear. “Thanks, Joel,” you murmured, turning toward the side table where the champagne and spirits were arranged, the glasses catching soft golden light. “Would you like a drink? There’s whiskey.”
He chuckled — low, gravelly, like it lived deep in his chest. “You know me well.”
You didn’t see the way his eyes dropped to your legs, how they lingered on the smooth line of your thigh revealed by the shift of your robe as you reached forward, silk sliding up just enough to test the limits of modesty. You didn’t catch the subtle way his jaw shifted or how his thumb dragged once over his palm before reaching for the glass you passed him.
“How’s your morning been?” he asked, voice smooth, conversational, but his gaze wandered — over the room, yes, but always returning to you.
You motioned for him to sit, and when he did, he chose the armchair closest to you — close enough that his knee nearly brushed yours. You sat down again, smoothing the robe over your legs as you sipped the last of your champagne, trying to ignore the sudden flutter of nerves in your chest that had nothing to do with wedding-day jitters.
“It’s been busy,” you admitted softly, your voice lighter now. “Hair and makeup only just left. Luke and I are getting photos done soon… in—” you glanced at your phone, “less than an hour, actually.”
Joel nodded slowly, the motion almost absentminded, though his eyes hadn’t left you once — eyes that held something too heavy to be casual, too soft to be paternal. There was reverence in them, yes, but also a flicker of something else, something deep and unspoken, as if he was trying to memorize every angle of you in that moment — the slope of your cheekbone catching the morning light, the gentle way your bottom lip stayed tucked beneath your teeth when you were nervous, the way you kept fidgeting with the edge of your silk robe like you didn’t quite know what to do with your hands now that he was sitting so close.
“You nervous?” he asked at last, his voice quieter than before — lower, almost thoughtful, like it wasn’t just a question but something weightier, an offering.
You smiled softly, almost bashful, eyes dropping to your lap where your fingers twisted the belt of your robe into a little knot. “A little.”
When you looked up again, his gaze was still locked on yours — unwavering, steady, and laced with something warm enough to make your skin prickle.
“Ain’t nothin’ to be nervous about, darlin’,” he murmured, his voice slow and syrupy, rich with something comforting and southern and familiar. “If anything, my damn son oughta be nervous. He’ll get a whoopin’ if he ain’t takin’ care of you proper.”
That made you laugh — the kind of laugh Joel always pulled out of you with so little effort, the kind that spilled out like a secret, the kind that reminded you of every dinner at their family home, of the way he always made sure your wine glass was full, how he always offered you the best slice of roast first, the way he always called you “sweetheart” like it meant something more. Holidays, birthdays, Sunday brunches — Joel was the kind of man who made you feel seen, held, steady in a world that sometimes spun too fast.
And now, as your laughter died down to a gentle smile, he was watching you again — like you were something fragile and golden and borrowed just for a moment. His hand moved slowly, resting gently on your knee, warm and solid where your skin peeked from beneath the silk. His palm was broad, roughened from years of work, but the way he touched you was soft, reverent, fingers still against your skin like he didn’t dare move.
You kept your eyes trained on his, breath catching faintly, though it wasn’t fear that fluttered in your chest. He smelled good — a mix of something woodsy and clean, a little cologne maybe, but mostly Joel — that distinct, masculine scent that always lingered when he hugged you goodbye.
He smiled a little, eyes soft, almost nostalgic. “You remind me of Tess on our wedding day,” he said quietly, and you felt that compliment bloom somewhere deep in your belly, warm and sharp. “She had this look in her eyes — somethin’ soft. Somethin’ like you got now. Though I don’t think she ever wore a robe like that 'round me before the vows.”
The last part slipped out lower, almost like he hadn’t meant to say it aloud, and you blushed instantly, lowering your eyes with a shy smile, your fingers tightening just slightly around the edge of your robe.
“Thank you,” you murmured, voice almost too quiet to hear.
Joel smiled again, tilting his head just a little, and then leaned forward, the hand on your knee giving the gentlest squeeze. “Now come on,” he said, voice teasing but kind, “stand up and give me a twirl. I wanna see my future daughter-in-law in all her glory.”
You let out a little giggle — partly from the champagne dancing in your bloodstream, partly from the way his voice held that proud affection, but mostly from the way he was looking at you. Like you were beautiful. Like he knew you were.
You gave a playful little twirl, champagne dancing in your veins and nerves making your limbs feel feather-light. The hem of your silk robe fluttered around your thighs, and you struck a mock pose at the end, one hand on your hip, the other lifting just enough of the fabric to wink at the lace garter snug around your upper thigh — delicate ivory and barely-there sheer, the one your maid of honor had slipped to you that morning with a wink and a giggle.
Joel chuckled low under his breath, the sound rough and warm and unmistakably male, like it was caught in the back of his throat. He leaned forward slightly in the armchair, elbow resting on one knee, fingers loosely wrapped around his glass of whiskey. But it wasn’t the drink he was looking at.
Your movements had swayed just enough for him to catch a flash of lace — and his eyes tracked it like they had a mind of their own.
“Hold up,” Joel said suddenly, his voice casual but the glint in his eyes not quite matching the lazy ease in his tone. He leaned forward in the chair just slightly, resting his glass on the side table as his gaze settled somewhere lower — somewhere that made heat crawl beneath your skin. “C’mere for a sec, sweetheart.”
You blinked, your breath catching as you stepped toward him with a small, hesitant smile, eyes soft with concern. “What’s wrong?” you asked, your brows furrowed as your mind spun — Did I drop something? Do I have something on my face? Did my lipstick smudge already?
But Joel didn’t answer you right away. Instead, he reached out with one hand, slow and deliberate, his fingers warm as they brushed against the outside of your thigh — the place where the hem of your robe had shifted just enough during your little twirl to reveal a sliver of ivory lace. His touch was gentle, almost absentminded, but his movements were precise. Like he knew exactly what he was doing.
“This,” he murmured, dragging his finger beneath the silk as he shifted the fabric slightly to the side, revealing more of the garter cinched high on your thigh — delicate and bridal and not meant to be seen by him. “Thought I saw somethin’. Damn near missed it.”
He was smiling — that sweet, fatherly smile he always gave you — but there was something else there too, something in the way his eyes lingered, in the way his thumb brushed the edge of the lace like he was admiring it for more than just tradition’s sake.
You froze, a flush blooming across your cheeks, your chest tightening beneath the satin as you struggled to find words. How were you supposed to explain to your future father-in-law that you were wearing a garter? That it was supposed to be seen by someone else — his son, no less. That it was part of some ancient wedding tradition meant to feel cheeky, fun, maybe even a little flirtatious, but now felt scandalous, intimate, exposed in front of the man who should’ve looked away the second he noticed.
Your voice caught in your throat, lodged somewhere between your chest and your lips, and all you could manage was a breathy, flustered, “It’s…” You swallowed hard, cheeks burning as you reached absently for the belt of your robe, needing something to do with your hands, anything to ground you beneath the weight of his gaze. “Tradition, apparently,” you mumbled. “My maid of honour gave it to me this morning.”
Joel didn’t say anything right away. His fingers — the same ones that had just ghosted over the soft skin of your thigh — trailed off with an infuriating slowness, leaving behind a trail of heat like a brand. He let go of the silk as if he hadn’t just touched something sacred, as if his hand hadn’t rested somewhere it most certainly should not have been — like the act itself hadn’t tilted the axis of the room just a fraction. Like it wasn’t so unbearably wrong you felt dizzy with it.
He leaned back in the armchair, the movement languid and unhurried, like he was stretching into the moment instead of trying to escape it. One arm draped along the back of the seat, the other resting on his thigh, fingers idly brushing his whiskey glass. His gaze moved slowly — dragging unapologetically from your legs, up the length of your body, pausing at the dip of your waist where the robe clung, the soft curve of your chest, the flutter of your pulse at the base of your throat — before finally, finally settling on your face again.
“Well,” he said, his voice warm and low, that Southern drawl folding over you like velvet, smooth but weighted, “it’s a real pretty little thing.”
He paused, his smile curling at the edge with something far too knowing, too intimate.
“Just like you.”
Your breath hitched. You blinked, eyes wide, the blush rising higher on your cheeks as you stood frozen in place, unsure what to say, unsure what could be said. You felt suddenly very young, very exposed — like a girl playing dress-up in a woman’s world, standing in a silk robe that felt too thin, with lace too intimate, in front of a man who should have looked away by now. A man who should have been like a father. A man who wasn’t.
You tucked a strand of hair behind your ear, your fingers trembling slightly, your gaze darting away in a poor attempt to gather composure. But you could still feel his eyes on you — the weight of them. Gentle. Heavy. Wanting.
You sat down again, your legs folding delicately beneath you, hyperaware now of the space between you — or rather, the lack of it. His knee brushed yours when you shifted slightly, and the silk of your robe clung a little too close to your skin, made you feel a little too seen. Your skin still tingled where his hand had rested moments before.
“What are the boys doing?” you asked, your voice soft, trying to ease the thrum in your chest by returning to something normal — something safe — but even as you said it, your voice betrayed you, just a little too airy, a little too unsure.
Joel chuckled, low and warm, that rich gravel sound that lived somewhere deep in his chest. He swirled the amber liquid in his glass with idle ease. “Luke and the boys?” he said, eyes still fixed on you like you were more interesting than anything happening elsewhere. “They’re just gettin’ ready in the suite down the hall. Arguin’ over whose tie’s crooked, takin’ shots behind your mama’s back.”
You smiled, shoulders relaxing a touch, but then — then Joel shifted his wrist as he brought the glass to his lips, and just as his arm brushed yours, he fumbled.
It was subtle. Believable. Performed so naturally you would’ve sworn it was real.
The glass tilted — just enough — and a slow, honeyed trickle of whiskey spilled over the rim, slipping down the side of the tumbler and landing squarely on your thigh.
Your gasp was soft, surprised, as the warm liquid soaked into the silk, darkening it in a bloom that made the fabric cling scandalously to your skin. It rolled down your leg in a slow, sinful line.
“Shit,” Joel muttered, deep and throaty, setting the glass aside instantly. His hand followed the spill without hesitation, brushing the fabric with the back of his knuckles, trying — pretending — to help. “Damn, m’sorry, sweetheart. Wasn’t lookin’. Didn’t mean—”
“It’s okay,” you said quickly, your voice thin, fluttering from your lips like it had to push through the tightness in your chest. Your breath hitched as Joel’s fingers lingered, just for a second too long, his knuckles grazing the edge of your thigh as though he couldn’t quite bring himself to stop touching you. “It’s just—just the robe.”
He pulled back, but not far, reaching behind him for the box of tissues on the table with a low chuckle, his voice roughened by something that felt deeper than amusement. “Sorry, darlin’,” he muttered as he shook his head, pulling a few tissues loose. “Old man like me can’t do nothin’ right with these damn hands anymore. Slippery glass, nerves shot, eyesight probably goin’.”
You laughed softly, unsure whether it was the champagne or the way your heart felt like it had climbed into your throat. “You’re not old,” you murmured, looking down at your lap to avoid his gaze.
Joel didn’t respond to that — not directly. Instead, he leaned forward again, pressing the tissue to your thigh with a gentleness that made the breath stall in your lungs. His hand was warm, firm but careful, like he was scared he might hurt you, or maybe scared of something entirely different.
He dabbed at the silk uselessly, the fabric already soaked through, transparent now and clinging like a second skin.
“Damn,” he muttered again, more to himself this time as his eyes followed the trail of amber staining the pale ivory. “I’m makin’ it worse, ain’t I?”
You didn’t answer, your mouth dry, because he wasn’t really asking.
Joel looked up, his eyes meeting yours with a quiet intensity, and then back down at the fabric. “This ain’t gonna come clean like this,” he said after a moment, holding the tissue up like proof. “You’ll catch a chill sittin’ in it all wet like that.”
You hesitated, blinking. “It’s fine, really—”
“Nah,” he said gently, his voice taking on that soft but insistent tone, the one that always made people listen. “You’re gonna wrinkle that beautiful dress if this soaks through. Here—” his fingers moved to the sash at your waist before you even realized, pausing just long enough for your eyes to go wide.
“May I?” he asked, and the way he said it — quiet, kind, not pushy but so utterly deliberate — made your stomach twist with something sharp and hot, something that curled behind your ribs and settled low, where your thoughts shouldn’t be wandering.
“I—” you exhaled a shaky breath, a breathy, nervous laugh tumbling out of you. “I’m not sure—”
Joel’s smile was warm, sweet even, but his hands were already ready — positioned at your waist like he was just waiting for permission he already knew you’d give. “We gotta get you cleaned up, baby,” he said gently, glancing at the watch on his wrist like this was all just time-sensitive logistics and not a private, forbidden unraveling. “You got what… twenty minutes till the photographer shows up? Tess, Lord, she dropped every damn thing on her dress back on our day. Nerves’ll do that to ya. But this?” His hand brushed the stained silk. “This’s before the ceremony. Can’t have your wedding robe lookin’ like this in the photos, sugar. People’ll talk.”
He chuckled, soft and low, like he’d just said something harmless, like this wasn’t the most dangerous thing he’d ever done. And your voice — so small and unsure and trembling in a way you couldn’t seem to stop — came out as little more than a breath: “Okay.”
Before you even realized what was happening, his fingers worked the sash loose, slow and careful like he was handling something breakable. The robe slid off your shoulders with the softest whisper of silk and warmth, pooling at your waist before slipping down your hips entirely. Joel caught it in one hand like it was something sacred, something fragile that deserved care — but his eyes…
His eyes didn’t stay on the robe.
He pretended to examine the stained fabric, muttering something under his breath about the fibers and how whiskey sets, holding it like he was doing you a favor — but his gaze lifted a second later, and when it did, it hit you like heat.
Because now you were standing in front of him in nothing but your wedding-day lingerie.
Lace and satin hugged your body, delicate and white and unforgiving, sheer in places where it shouldn’t have been, the garter still snug on your thigh, the tops of your stockings barely visible beneath the hem of the lace. You felt bare. Exposed. Like you’d been unwrapped and laid open just for him.
And Joel — your fiancé’s father, the man who’d kissed your cheek over birthday cake, who’d fixed the broken lock on your apartment door, who’d always called you sweetheart like it was your name — looked up at you then.
His eyes trailed up the length of your legs, slowly, reverently, over your hips, your stomach, the soft line of your chest rising and falling far too quickly.
He didn’t smile.
He just looked.
And in that still, humming silence — where the only sound was the soft rustle of lace against skin and the distant echo of footsteps in some far-off hallway that no longer felt real — you realized with a throb in your chest that Joel had never looked at you like this before.
But he wasn’t stopping.
Not this time.
His eyes dragged over you slowly, reverently, so intensely it made your skin feel too tight, like you were glowing from the inside out, flushed and trembling in nothing but that thin veil of bridal lace that barely counted as clothing. His mouth parted, just slightly, like the words were trying to catch up with the way his thoughts had already unraveled.
“Well,” he drawled at last, voice low and breathless with disbelief, a wry edge of admiration curling around every syllable, “hell, darlin’... I didn’t even know they made underwear like that.”
You gasped — soft, startled — and instinctively crossed your arms over your chest, trying to shield yourself with trembling hands, but there was barely anything to cover. The silk and lace clung to you like a whisper, translucent in places it shouldn’t be, tight across curves he was now seeing for the very first time, and the heat in his eyes made your knees threaten to give out.
Joel dropped the robe without looking, the silk puddling soundlessly at his feet, forgotten, like it was meaningless compared to the vision standing before him. His voice dipped deeper, reverent but laced with something unholy, something so filthy it made your pulse stutter.
“Shit, honey…” he whispered, gaze flicking down again, breath catching as he took you in from head to toe, “…this lace don’t even cover your pussy, does it?”
You froze, stunned, lips parted in a silent gasp, your body prickling with heat that had nothing to do with embarrassment and everything to do with how the words hit you — low and wicked, like something molten pooling behind your ribs.
He shook his head slowly, as though trying to make sense of what he was seeing, as though the sight of you — flushed and trembling and wrapped in lace that did nothing to hide the soft, sacred shape of your body — was more than his tired, aging heart could bear. His voice, when it came, was hushed and aching, like it had to claw its way up from somewhere deep in his chest. “You look like heaven on earth,” he murmured, almost broken by it, like saying the words out loud wounded him in some unspeakable way. “Like somethin’ God himself made just to fuck with me.”
You couldn’t speak.
Could barely breathe.
Your arms were still crossed tightly over your chest, but your hands had slackened, your fingers curled uselessly against your skin as if even they had surrendered to the weight of his gaze. Your lips were parted in shock, your mouth dry, and your heart was pounding so hard you swore he could see it in the way your collarbone trembled beneath the thin thread of satin. You didn’t know if you should run — throw on the robe, end this before it went any further — or reach for him, admit what your body had already betrayed.
Joel stood then, slowly, without a word, and took the few steps toward you with the calm, deliberate steadiness of a man who had made up his mind.
You didn’t move when he reached you.
Didn’t protest when his rough, warm hands slid gently over your wrists, guiding your arms down and away from your chest, until they hung limply at your sides and you were bare before him in a way you had never been before.
His gaze dropped immediately, and there was nothing coy about it now, nothing shy or hesitant in the way his eyes devoured the sight of you. His breath hitched audibly when he saw your chest, and his voice, when it came, was low and ragged and thick with hunger.
“Jesus, baby…” he muttered, his voice strained and reverent like he was confessing a sin, “I can see your fuckin’ nipples through that lace.”
The way he said it — not vulgar, not joking, but stunned, ruined, like it was a miracle he didn’t deserve to witness — sent a ripple of heat straight through your spine. You felt like you were on fire, like your skin was glowing beneath his gaze, like you were something holy being blasphemed.
“Joel,” you warned, or tried to, though your voice cracked under the weight of your own trembling.
Your brows furrowed, your breath shallow, but you didn’t pull away. You couldn’t. Because his eyes were still fixed on your breasts, on the way the sheer lace hugged the swell of them, your nipples peaked and visible through the delicate floral embroidery, the faint rise and fall of your chest growing sharper with each second his gaze remained. And Joel — your future father-in-law, the man who’d always carried himself with the kind of unshakable dignity only age could bring — just looked.
He didn’t blink. He didn’t flinch. He didn’t say sorry.
He just kept looking at you like he’d never seen anything so goddamn beautiful in his life — like the sight of you, soft and trembling in white lace that barely clung to your skin, had cracked something open in him so deep and buried he no longer remembered how to pretend it wasn’t there.
And then, in a voice so calm and so casual it could’ve been mistaken for small talk, he murmured, “Now you can’t blame an old man for admirin’, can you?”
The way he said it — low, warm, with the faintest flicker of amusement curling in his chest — made your stomach flip. Like this was the most natural thing in the world. Like you were the one being silly for acting like he hadn’t just devoured you with his eyes.
His hand rose, slow and unhurried, and settled against your hip — broad and warm, his thumb brushing bare skin where the lace ended. The contact was electric, your breath catching in your throat as you gasped softly, your eyes snapping up to his.
“You wear this for him?” he asked, tilting his head slightly, gaze trailing from your mouth to your breasts again like he couldn’t help himself. “This pretty little set?”
You couldn’t answer. Couldn’t even think. Not with his hand on you, not with his voice all low and close like that, like a secret being whispered in a confessional.
“Bet he can’t even fuck ya right,” Joel muttered, more to himself than to you, like the words had slipped out from somewhere dark and unchecked.
“Joel,” you said, eyes wide, voice trembling, every part of your body pulsing with heat and something dangerously close to arousal.
But he didn’t back away. Didn’t apologize. Just looked at you harder, darker, like he wanted to pull every secret from your lips one by one.
“Am I right?” he asked, his thumb pressing slightly into your hip, his voice rough now, frayed around the edges. “Answer me.”
“He’s—” you stuttered, struggling to find breath, to find balance. “We—”
Joel leaned closer, close enough that you could feel his breath on your cheek, close enough that your body instinctively tilted toward his like gravity itself wanted to betray you.
“What?” he asked again, quieter this time, more intimate. “Tell me, baby.”
You swallowed hard, lashes fluttering, unable to meet his gaze. “We’re waiting,” you whispered, cheeks burning. “I… I’m waiting for marriage.”
Joel stilled completely, his hand still on your hip, the silence stretching like a rubber band between you, pulled taut with something unspeakable.
“Is that right?” he said, his voice rasping out of him now — not mocking, not surprised, but so deep and low it made your thighs press together without thought.
And then, with a smirk so slow and sinful it felt like a hand dragging down your spine, he murmured—
“Wearin’ nothin’ but that little lace set… nipples hard and pussy barely covered… waitin’ for marriage?” He laughed under his breath, eyes glinting with heat as his thumb stroked over your hipbone again. “Sugar, you don’t look like you’re waitin’ for anything at all.”
You swallowed, the words catching in your throat before you could push them out, your body so tense it ached. “It’s true,” you whispered finally, barely able to look at him, your eyes darting toward the door, the hallway, the window — anywhere but the furnace of his gaze — “Joel… you should go. You have to leave.”
The reality of it struck you all at once — how easily someone could walk in, a bridesmaid, your mother, Luke, God forbid — how they’d see you like this, half-naked in white lace with your robe discarded, flushed and trembling in front of a man who wasn’t your groom but your fiancé’s father — and yet your feet didn’t move, your body didn’t pull away, your hands still resting lightly against his chest, clutching the fabric of his shirt like he was the only thing tethering you to the ground.
“Ain’t no one been in here?” Joel asked as the pad of his finger tapped once against the thin lace stretched over your cunt — then again, firmer this time — and your knees nearly gave out, a soft gasp escaping your lips as your entire body shuddered, the contact so sharp, so intimate, so forbidden you couldn’t breathe.
Your arms flew up, instinctive, desperate for balance, and gripped his shoulders for support, fingers digging into the fabric as your forehead dropped forward against his chest, your body swaying against his like it was trying to find safety in the very place it should’ve run from.
“No,” you said shakily, head turning slightly against him, your voice catching somewhere between shame and pleading. “I’m—Joel, I’m—no one’s.”
He stilled.
Everything in him seemed to go quiet, like your words had struck something sacred.
“Christ,” he breathed, low and reverent, his hand still cupping you through the lace, fingers twitching against the heat of you, “you mean to tell me…”
You felt his chest rise and fall beneath your cheek, could hear the raw edge of restraint unraveling in his voice.
“And you’re gonna let Luke be the first?”
You flinched, eyes fluttering shut as guilt and desire tangled painfully in your chest. “He’s my fiancé,” you said softly, almost defensively, even though you couldn’t lift your head from Joel’s chest, even though your body was pressing closer to his with each heartbeat. “We’re… we’re getting married.”
Joel exhaled, slow and heavy, his fingers dragging gently over the soaked lace between your legs, not quite touching, just tracing, feeling, memorizing.
His voice came softer now, but no less devastating.
“And still… he ain’t the one you’re tremblin’ for, is he?”
“I—” you tried to speak, to form a protest, a thought, anything — but your words were swallowed before they ever had the chance to live, devoured by the press of Joel’s mouth crashing down onto yours.
Warm, demanding, his lips slanted over yours with the kind of hunger that had clearly been simmering just beneath the surface, patient and quiet until now. His tongue swept into your mouth before you could process the heat of it, before you could decide whether to stop him, and his hands — large, calloused, far too steady — came to cradle either side of your face as though this were something sacred, something earned.
You gasped into him, the kiss knocking the breath from your lungs, your palms pressed flat against his chest at first as though you might push him away, but the moment was already slipping too far beyond your control. You were drowning in the taste of him, in the scent of whiskey and cologne and Joel, in the feel of his body against yours — broad, solid, unwavering — and before you could stop yourself, your lips parted further beneath his, soft and needy, a quiet sound escaping your throat as your hands curled into the front of his shirt and you kissed him back.
Joel groaned into your mouth, a deep, wrecked sound that came from somewhere low in his gut, and when he pulled back just an inch, just long enough to drag in a breath, his eyes were black with something feral.
“Fuckin’ knew it,” he muttered, almost to himself, voice rough with triumph, like he’d just uncovered a truth he’d been aching to confirm. “Little virgin with a mouth like sin… wearin’ lace for your weddin’, but kissin’ me like you’re starvin’ for it.”
His hands dropped then, feverish and impatient, fumbling with the buckle of his belt as you stood frozen, breathless, dazed beneath him, your lips still tingling, heart slamming against your ribs like it wanted to escape your body.
“A virgin,” he rasped, eyes dragging down the length of you like a man unwrapping a forbidden gift, “but still a fuckin’ whore for me.”
You whimpered — barely audible — but you didn’t deny it. Couldn’t. Because every inch of your body was betraying you, soaked and trembling and swaying toward him like gravity itself had changed direction.
Joel moved fast, years of control finally unraveling as he gripped your waist and guided you backwards, turning you effortlessly, and before you could register what was happening, you felt the soft brush of velvet behind your knees.
You bent instinctively, breath catching in your throat, and he pressed you down onto the couch — the same pale satin loveseat where your robe had been draped just minutes before — your spine arching as your knees folded beneath you, your chest bracing against the cushions.
Everything moved too quickly and yet not quick enough, your thoughts spinning, your skin burning, the cool air kissing your bare thighs as your position shifted, hips raised, your lace-covered ass now exposed, tilted up toward him like an offering.
You heard the clink of his belt dropping open.
And Joel — standing behind you now, belt unfastened — stared down at you with an expression so dark, so wrecked with lust and disbelief, you could feel the weight of it without even turning around. His breath came heavier now, the air between you thick and humid with something that felt like sin and smelled like cologne and sex, and when he finally spoke, it was little more than a gravel-coated whisper, ruined and reverent.
“Look at that fuckin’ view…”
The words made your spine arch involuntarily, heat crawling up your neck and pooling between your thighs, the lace of your panties so damp it clung to you like a second skin. You turned your head, looking back over your shoulder, your voice small and trembling, barely able to make its way past the knot forming in your throat.
“Joel… what are you doing?”
He didn’t hesitate. Didn’t blink. Just stepped forward, one hand settling heavy and possessive on the curve of your ass, his voice low and casual, like this was the most natural thing in the world.
“Gonna fuck you, sweetie.”
Your mouth fell open, a breath escaping so sharp it felt like a wound.
“Joel,” you gasped, your voice cracking from the inside out, but you didn’t move — didn’t pull away, didn’t protest, didn’t stop him — and that alone told him everything he needed to know.
His palm came down fast.
The crack echoed softly against the suite walls, sharp and sudden, your body jolting from the contact as you yelped in surprise, eyes fluttering shut from the sting that bloomed across your skin.
Joel’s hand returned immediately, smoothing over the flesh he’d just struck, warm and steady, grounding you through the burn.
“Gotta be quiet, angel,” he murmured, his voice rich and amused, thick with the kind of heat that made your toes curl. “Don’t wanna spook the wedding planner. She’ll come knockin’ if she hears you squealin’ like that.”
And then, with a patience so unholy it made your head spin, he lifted his hand again — and brought it down once more.
The second smack was firmer, more confident, and this time, he watched with a hunger so intense it bordered on reverence as a soft red bloom appeared across the curve of your ass, glowing beneath the sheer lace.
He exhaled like a man in prayer.
“Fuck…” he whispered, dragging his thumb along the edge of the mark, watching the skin warm and swell beneath his touch. “Look how pretty you blush for me.”
You whimpered, your cheek pressed against the cushion, fingers curling into the fabric as your body burned with shame and need, trembling under his hands, soaked through and aching for more.
“Should be sweet,” he murmured, almost to himself now, like he couldn’t believe what he was about to do, like it hurt him in all the wrong, delicious ways. “It’s your first time, ain’t it? Should be slow. Should be gentle…”
He paused above you, the solid weight of his chest hovering just shy of your back, his breath warm and steady against your ear as he whispered like he had all the time in the world, like this wasn’t happening in the bridal suite moments before your wedding. “…But you bent over so easy for me, angel,” he murmured, the heat of his words seeping into your skin like smoke, “didn’t even need to be asked — now I’m thinkin’ maybe you don’t want it sweet.”
You whimpered his name, the sound spilling from your lips before you could stop it, trembling with the need clawing its way through your chest. “Please, Joel,” you whispered, voice raw and soaked in shame and longing.
His lips brushed your ear, low and indulgent. “Please what, baby?”
You hesitated only for a breath, the humiliation of the words curling in your throat, but it was overtaken by need, by the aching, throbbing emptiness that only he could fill. “I want you to fuck me,” you said finally, your voice cracking under the weight of it, tears slipping down your cheeks now, mascara probably smeared, dignity long gone, “please, I—I need it so bad.”
Your hand moved before your thoughts could catch up, fingers reaching between your thighs to drag the drenched lace of your panties to the side, desperate to give him access, to offer yourself up in the most obscene, pleading way.
But Joel moved faster.
He stepped in, growling something low in his throat, and pushed your hand away like you were doing it all wrong. His fingers slipped beneath the waistband of the soaked panties and yanked them down with deliberate slowness, dragging the sticky fabric over your thighs, your knees, until it slipped free completely and left your bare pussy exposed, glistening and trembling beneath his gaze.
“No,” he muttered under his breath, more to himself than to you, his voice gravel-edged with hunger and reverence, “not to the side, baby — I wanna see all of it. Want nothin’ in the way of this sweet little pussy. S’too fuckin’ pretty to be hidden.”
You heard the soft rustle of fabric as he folded the panties once, then again, and without ceremony — like it was the most casual act in the world — he shoved them into the breast pocket of his suit jacket.
“Fuck,” he breathed, stepping back to take in the sight of you, bent over for him, lace bra hugging your chest, your ass bare and soft, and your pussy so slick it shone in the low light of the room. “She’s leakin’, baby. Soakin’ the fuckin’ air.”
You looked over your shoulder at him, your cheeks burning, your lip trembling, and when your eyes met his, you saw something wild and dark, something feral that had been buried under years of restraint and was finally, violently free.
Joel’s eyes dropped again to your cunt — pink, swollen, dripping — and he let out a low whistle, shaking his head like he was seeing something too good for this world. “Look at that,” he whispered, his thumb brushing along the curve of your ass, just shy of where you needed him most. “She’s just beggin’ to be filled, ain’t she? Never been touched, never been fucked, and already actin’ like she knows who she belongs to.”
His hand moved then, slow and reverent, fingers grazing your folds with barely-there pressure, teasing the slick mess between your legs. “You hear that?” he murmured, almost in awe as your body answered him with a wet, needy sound. “She’s talkin’ to me, baby. Cryin’ for it. She wants me bad — this pussy knows who she wants first.”
His fingers pressed deeper between your thighs now, soaked and shameless, and the way he touched you wasn’t rushed or careless, but slow and possessive — like he’d already decided that this part of you belonged to him, no matter who was waiting outside with a ring. He leaned in again, his mouth grazing the side of your jaw as he murmured low against your skin, every syllable thick with heat and power, “Tell me, sweetheart… did he ever taste you?”
Your lips parted, breath trembling, and it took you a moment to respond, because even now, as you knelt there in nothing but lace and sin, your body already given over, the shame still clung to your voice like it didn’t want to be spoken. “Yes,” you whispered finally, eyes fluttering closed, “he has.”
Joel’s hum was deep and thoughtful, his hand never stopping its slow rhythm as he circled your entrance with one thick finger, teasing you without mercy. He didn’t sound jealous, but rather contemplative — like he was trying to figure out how to rewrite every memory your body had ever known. And then, after another breathless pause, his voice dropped even lower, almost gentle now, as he asked, “And you ever suck him off, baby? Ever get that pretty little mouth of yours wrapped around his cock?”
Your cheeks burned, throat tightening, and you nodded once, eyes already glassy, tears hot beneath your lashes. “Yes,” you squeaked out, barely audible.
Joel exhaled slowly, like the sound of your voice had settled deep in his chest. And when he spoke again, it was with a reverence that made your stomach flip. “Then I reckon this tight little cunt’s still untouched,” he said, fingers spreading you open now, deliberately exposing the soft, slick heat he hadn’t even begun to take. “You’re gonna be tight, angel. Might hurt a little when I stretch you open.”
You shook your head hard, hips pushing back against his hand without even meaning to, your voice breaking apart on a moan. “I don’t care,” you gasped, the words dissolving into desperation, “please, Joel… I need it, I need you.”
The moment you said it — the moment that last piece of resistance crumbled — he moved like something primal had been set loose in him. His belt hit the floor with a low clink, and then you heard it — the sound of fabric shifting, his breath catching, the soft curse under his breath — and you turned your head, just barely, to see it.
Joel’s cock — thick, flushed, the tip already leaking — was heavy in his hand, larger than anything you'd ever taken, long and wide and veined in a way that made your knees shake. He looked down at you, still kneeling, still trembling, and the expression on his face was unlike anything you'd ever seen on him before — not protective, not amused, not even hungry — but possessive, like the sight of you below him, spread and waiting, had finally answered something inside him that had been restless for years.
Your eyes went wide, lips parting, and before you could stop yourself, the words slipped out — honest and stunned and burning hot. “You’re… you’re so much bigger than him.”
Joel’s brows lifted, his expression faltering for a moment like your soft little confession had caught him off-guard, and then his mouth curved into something dark and triumphant, a grin that held no humor, only heat. “Yeah?” he asked, voice soft but curling with something almost cruel. “That right, angel? My shy little girl just saw my cock and realized she’s been settlin’ for less all this time?”
Your face flushed deeper, but you nodded, thighs pressing together with need, your body already aching for the stretch.
Joel’s hand wrapped tight around the base of his cock, dragging the thick head through your folds, collecting your wetness and coating himself in it like it was something sacred. He let out a low groan, deep and reverent, as he whispered against your spine, “You’re about to learn what it means to be filled proper, baby — gonna ruin you so good, you won’t remember how he ever made you feel, and you’re gonna thank me for it.”
With one hand wrapped tight around the base of his cock, guiding himself with a precision that bordered on reverence, and the other braced firmly on your hip, his fingers digging into the soft swell of your flesh, Joel positioned himself behind you like a man about to sin so deeply he didn’t expect to walk away clean. He dragged the thick, leaking head through your folds one last time, gathering the wetness that clung to your skin like honey, before lining himself up at your entrance, pressing forward with a slow, relentless roll of his hips that knocked the breath straight from your lungs.
The moment his cock breached you — that first, unbearable stretch of thick muscle forcing you open for the first time — your mouth dropped open in a silent scream before the sound tore free of your throat, a strangled cry that buried itself in the pillow beneath your face as your fingers clawed at the cushions like you were trying to anchor yourself to something, anything.
Joel groaned above you, loud and ragged, like your cunt had knocked the air straight out of his chest, his breath hitching as he sank deeper into you, inch by devastating inch, until the full weight of his cock was buried inside your trembling body. “That’s it, baby,” he rasped, voice ruined and low, “that’s my good girl, takin’ it like she was fuckin’ made for it — Jesus Christ, this tight little pussy’s grippin’ me like she don’t wanna let go.”
Your thighs trembled, your toes curling, your eyes filling again with tears as you sobbed into the pillow, the fullness so sharp it hurt, a stretch so wide and foreign it felt like your body couldn’t possibly take it — and yet, the heat, the pressure, the weight of him made your entire body burn with something dangerously close to bliss.
He gave you barely a second, just enough to gasp for breath, before his hips drew back and slammed forward again, not with violence, but with intent — each thrust deep and punishing, like he’d waited long enough and now he needed all of you, needed to fuck you through the pain and into something filthy and perfect and his.
You screamed again, voice shaking, body arching up to meet him as he fucked into you, deep and fast and so much.
“Fuck,” you cried, the sound punched out of you, every word breaking on a moan as your body fought to keep up with the brutal stretch.
Joel leaned over you then, one arm bracing beside your head, his chest pressed flush to your back, his mouth at your ear as he growled, “That good, angel? You cryin’ on my cock ‘cause it feels that fuckin’ good?”
You could barely speak, could barely breathe, but you nodded helplessly, tears streaking your cheeks, your makeup a ruined mess, your pussy stretched around the thickest cock you’d ever felt in your life — and Joel, old enough to know better, too far gone to care, only fucked you harder.
Joel was relentless now, driving into you with a force that knocked the air from your lungs, each thrust impossibly deep, thick, and brutal, the sound of his hips slapping against your soaked flesh echoing through the bridal suite like a hymn made of sin. You were sobbing by then, not from pain but from the overwhelming stretch, the brutal pleasure that had overtaken your body like wildfire, every nerve lit up, every breath punched out of you, your throat raw from crying his name like it was the only thing you knew.
And then, without warning, he pulled you back — hard — one strong arm wrapping around your waist to wrench you upright until your back collided with his chest, your spine arched against the heat of him, your ass pressed flush to his groin, his cock still buried to the hilt inside your fluttering cunt.
He was still fully dressed — the open front of his suit brushing your bare skin, the crisp fabric harsh against your softness — and the contrast only made it filthier, more obscene, like you were some trembling little bride mounted by a man who hadn’t even bothered to take off his jacket before ruining you.
His hand slid up, slow and steady, until it wrapped around your throat, not squeezing, just holding — possessive and firm, a collar of ownership as he leaned down to growl in your ear, his voice thick with the sound of his own unraveling.
“Gonna cream all over this virgin fuckin’ pussy, baby,” he groaned, his cock throbbing inside you, twitching against your walls with every brutal thrust. “Gonna fill you up so deep, you’ll be walkin’ down that aisle with my cum drippin’ outta you.”
The new angle was dizzying — every stroke hitting something deeper, rougher, worse, dragging cries from your throat that didn’t even sound like words anymore. Your legs trembled violently, muscles going slack as the pleasure coiled tight in your belly, white-hot and blinding.
“I—I think I’m gonna—Joel—” you gasped, voice choked, your head falling back against his shoulder as your thighs began to shake uncontrollably.
“That’s it,” he rasped, fucking into you harder now, his grip on your throat tightening just enough to make your toes curl. “Come on, baby, give it to me — wanna feel this sweet little cunt clench when she lets go — fuckin’ knew you’d come all over my cock.”
And you did — with a scream so loud it barely sounded human, your pussy clamping down around him in waves, your entire body convulsing as the orgasm ripped through you, soaking him in heat and slick and something filthy and pure all at once.
Joel cursed behind you, a deep, raw sound of something breaking loose inside him, and his rhythm faltered as his hands gripped you tight, dragging you down hard on his cock one final time.
“Fuck—Jesus, I’m gonna—shit—” he growled, voice splintering as he shoved himself impossibly deeper, grinding his hips against you as his cock pulsed violently inside your pussy.
And then he came — hot and thick and overwhelming — spilling deep inside you in heavy, pulsing waves, each thrust slower now but just as deep, his breath hot and ragged against the side of your neck as he held you still, as if your trembling body could take any more. His hand remained wrapped around your throat, not squeezing now but resting there like a vow, like he couldn’t bear to let go of the place he’d claimed. Your insides fluttered around him, spasming weakly as his cock throbbed within you, every thick drop of his cum flooding your aching cunt, the sensation so warm, so full, so all-consuming, it felt like your body wasn’t your own anymore — like it belonged to him now, marked and filled and known.
You couldn’t speak.
Could barely breathe.
The heat curled through your chest like smoke, leaving you dizzy and dazed, your limbs too heavy to move as the wet, messy slickness dripped slowly from between your thighs.
Joel panted behind you, his mouth still close to your ear, his free hand still groping greedily at your breasts like he wasn’t finished, like he needed every last inch of you under his palms even after emptying himself inside you. And then, without warning, his mouth descended to your neck, kissing along your pulse point, soft and slow, then dragging lower — your shoulder, the curve of your back, the lace strap clinging to your flushed skin — every kiss a brand, every press of his lips a silent admission.
“Fucking perfect for me,” he rasped, the words spoken so quietly it felt like a confession, not meant for anyone but your skin.
Your legs gave out the moment he loosened his hold, and you collapsed onto the couch in a daze, your breathing shallow, mascara smudged, hair clinging to the sweat on your face, the inside of your thighs still trembling from the aftershocks. Joel stood, finally withdrawing from your soaked body with a low groan, his cock wet with your slick and his cum, and for a long, quiet second, he just looked down at you — completely undone, flushed and leaking, back arched against the velvet couch cushions like a vision he’d spend the rest of his life remembering.
He tucked himself back into his slacks with slow, practiced movements, the suit wrinkled now, his shirt untucked and his belt hanging loosely from the loops, but he didn’t care. He wasn’t thinking about his appearance. He was thinking about you — about what he’d just done — about the way your body still shook for him.
Then he bent down, breath still uneven, and slid one arm beneath your back, the other beneath your knees, pulling you gently until your hips were right at the edge of the couch and your legs were dangling over the side, parted just slightly from how loose and ruined you were. His large hands cradled your thighs as he looked between them, his expression dark and reverent, and he used both thumbs to part your folds, exposing your swollen, slick cunt — raw, red, flushed from the stretch — and the thick, creamy mess of his cum already beginning to spill from you.
“Shit,” he whispered, his voice cracking with awe and filth in equal measure, “look at that... she’s still full of me, baby. Still fuckin’ leakin’.”
He didn’t blink. He didn’t smile.
He just stared.
Joel leaned in again, no longer rough or wild, but slow, calm, tender, and pressed his mouth to yours with a softness so at odds with the filth he’d just whispered into your ear that it made your stomach turn with something dizzying. You whimpered into the kiss before you could stop yourself, lips parting beneath his without hesitation, and your fingers reached up to find the soft waves of his curls, threading through them like you needed him closer — like you needed him inside you again.
But just as his tongue swept into your mouth and your thighs shifted instinctively to pull him back between them, there was a knock on the door.
Sharp. Semi-urgent. A voice just outside that made your entire body lock up.
You gasped, eyes going wide, body tensing under his hands, panic flashing across your face as you turned to him in alarm, your mouth already open with a breathless, what do we do?
But Joel — calm, unbothered, still warm from the high of fucking you — only smiled, kissed your cheek once more, and moved like a man who had nothing to hide. He reached down, smoothing your sweat-slicked hair away from your face with one broad palm, and then reached for the discarded robe on the arm of the couch, holding it out with practiced ease.
“Put this on, baby,” he murmured, his voice so quiet and so casual that you almost forgot to be afraid. “C’mon now, just like that.”
Your hands trembled as you slipped the robe over your shoulders, the silk clinging to your still-damp skin, the warmth of his cum still sticky between your thighs, seeping down slowly as you stood there dazed and wide-eyed, heart hammering as Joel calmly walked to the door.
He opened it with a quiet click.
You couldn’t see much — just his body blocking most of the entrance — but you could hear the voice that followed, light and affectionate.
“Hey, honey,” Joel said, his tone so casual it made your head spin, “I was just checkin’ on her.”
And then Tess walked in.
Your future mother-in-law.
She entered the room smiling, holding a small clutch and wearing heels that clicked softly against the tile. But her smile faltered the moment she saw your face — the smudged makeup, the dampness still clinging to your flushed cheeks, the robe wrapped haphazardly over your trembling frame.
“Oh, honey,” she said, brows knitting together as she crossed the room, her voice full of concern, “your makeup’s a mess… what happened?”
You froze. You couldn’t look at her. Couldn’t speak. Could only look at Joel.
He let out a soft sigh, the kind that sounded burdened and weary, and stepped beside you like he’d been coaching you through a meltdown. His voice was soft, warm, careful — the voice of a father figure handling a delicate girl on the verge of collapse.
“Poor thing started cryin’ while we were talkin’,” he said gently, his hand brushing your shoulder like he’d been comforting you this whole time. “Think the day’s just gotten to her a bit. I was tryin’ to calm her down, but it’s all hittin’ her at once.”
Tess was already moving toward you, one hand reaching to grab a tissue, the other pulling her compact from her clutch.
“Oh, Joel,” she said with a little laugh, smacking his arm as she passed, “you always get her so emotional. You really gotta stop with all your big speeches before the ceremony, honestly.”
She was smiling, teasing, already wiping gently under your eyes, fussing with your hair, smoothing the fabric of the robe over your bare shoulders — and she didn’t suspect a thing.
But you could still feel Joel’s hand ghosting against your back.
Still feel the ache deep inside you.
Still feel the slow, hot trickle of his cum leaking from your pussy and onto the inside of your thigh.
And when he caught your gaze from across the room — his expression unreadable, calm, smug, and maybe even a little proud — you realized something awful.
You were still his.
And he wasn’t done.
🕊♡₊˚ 🦢・₊✧
maybe i am deranged and disgusting but i am free xx hope yall enjoyed
JUST KEEP LOVING ME THE WAY I LOVE YOU LOVING ME — SATORU GOJO
pairings. satoru gojo/reader
content, warnings. non-curse au, doctor au (reader), ceo au (satoru), no real content warnings, fluff, satoru is nothing but a romantic at heart
word count. 3k
notes. this exists in the post-completion au of a larger universe/incomplete fic of mine, that i will hopefully finish someday lololol but this is way easier to write than that so here you go 🥳
“There are four chairs worth a collective seventy-five hundred dollars in this office, so, pray, tell, why is your ass on my desk?”
Satoru grins at your words, too distracted by taking in the sight of you to take into consideration the underlying threat. It’s been far too long, almost three whole days since he’s last seen you and, god, you look good. He knows if he said that you’d roll your eyes and insist that there’s nothing good-looking about your worn-in business attire and lab coat that was in desperate need of laundering, but it wouldn’t change his opinion: you always look good, and Satoru really fucking missed you.
Which is why he doesn’t say the words, but makes sure to throw a deceivingly charming wink your way so that you get the message anyway. As expected, you still roll your eyes, but he doesn’t mind; you look good doing that, too.
“Seriously, Satoru, what are you doing here?” you question, closing the door behind you when you fully step into the room. You make pace towards your desk, attempting to get to the other side, but this is exactly why Satoru chose to lean against it instead of sitting on any one of your very expensive and comfortable chairs—because this way, he’s in the perfect position to intercept your path and pull you to fit neatly between his legs before you can even think about reaching your office chair and ignoring him.
He pulls you by the loop of your lab coat, but his hands quickly find their way to your shoulders, unpeeling the white layer just enough so that your blouse is exposed to him, and he can slowly rub his palms against your arms and shoulders with just enough pressure to hopefully release some tension. You won’t let go of all of it, but that’s alright, because Satoru’s got other methods for taking care of you.
“Hi,” he calls, smiling gently down at you, “I missed you.”
This close, Satoru can see the exhaustion clearly in your eyes. There’s more, too: frustration, guilt, worry—and it takes everything in him not to coo and pull you into his chest and do his best to shield you from the world forever.
There’s a beat before you speak, a small sigh, that’s quickly painted over with a tired smile and a remorseful, “I missed you, too. I’m sorry for being so short, the interim chief has been getting on my last nerves, and—”
“You don’t have to apologize,” Satoru cuts in, leaning forward to press a reassuring kiss to your forehead. He likes that he can feel you relax under his touch. “I know you’re busy. I just missed you.”
It’s not easy to share you with anything or anyone, but Satoru knows that even on the hardest days, you love your job, and that so many people need your brilliant mind. What he does mind is when people make your job harder than it needs to be, and he’s been getting an earful about this new interim chief from just about everybody—you, Kento, Yuuji, Ieiri, even some of your favorite scrub nurses have indulged him in the gossip about the newest common enemy—and he doesn’t appreciate that someone is putting extra stress on his baby. So, even if it is a makeshift massage in your office and distracting you from your paperwork, Satoru will do what he can to help you relieve tension.
You reach your arms to wrap them around his shoulders, taking a half step closer to him, peering up at him. Satoru loves when your arms are around his neck like this; he can’t quite pinpoint why—maybe it’s the way you have to crane your neck to look up at him, the way you’re perfectly nestled under his view, the feeling of being wrapped in you. He does his best to close the loop of your intimacy, resting his hands on the small of your back and pulling you impossibly closer and pressing a kiss to your forehead. He likes that he can feel you relax into his touch.
“You’re sweet,” you smile, rubbing your thumb against the shorter hairs at the back of his head. Satoru feels himself melt into you, too. It’s been too long since you’ve been this close, three whole days too long. “Thank you.”
“Nothing to thank me for, baby,” he smiles, stealing a gentle kiss. Satoru loves this the most, loves the feeling of your lips on his—and it’s definitely been too long since he’s kissed you, so he makes sure to do it again, and once more after that for good measure.
But it’s not enough. He’ll have to take you home, sit you on the couch so he can kiss you all night and make up for the lack of kisses and touches and youness he’s been deprived of these past few days. But first, he’ll have to pull you away from your work, and that’s not easy work.
“Come home,” he muses, leaning his forehead against yours, “We can order in, and share your favorite bottle of wine, and watch a movie.”
You lean up to kiss him briefly. “Every time we share a bottle of wine, we end up making out and not watching anything.”
“Do we?” Satoru feigns innocence, “I never noticed. Doesn’t sound like a bad idea, though.”
“Satoru,” you whisper, quiet but firm, with a smile that lets him know you want to, but you can’t. It’s a tone that Satoru knows all too well, and isn’t particularly fond of. “I have charts to finish.”
“Finish them tomorrow,” he steals another kiss, “Or pawn them off on Kento,” another kiss, “Or Yuuji. Residents always need more experience—isn’t that what you and Ieiri always say?”
You let him kiss you again, and again, and again. Each time a little longer, a little warmer, a little less innocent than the last, growing from a little, to a lot, to all-consuming. Satoru hums when he feels your nails raking through his hair; an unfortunate move, as the sound pulls you back to reality and away from him in a decrescendo of kisses.
“You’re really good at that,” you laugh, voice soft.
“At kissing?” Satoru dips his head down to taste your laughter against his lips, “Thanks, I’ve had a lot of practice with a very pretty girl.”
“No,” and you’re laughing again, louder this time, and Satoru counts every little giggle as a victory, “You’re good at... seducing me without saying you’re seducing me.”
“Oh, that?” he grins, tucking his pointer and index finger under your chin to meet you in a knowing kiss, “Yeah, that’s a talent of mine, too.”
You let him steal one more, and Satoru doesn’t take it for granted. “Come home,” he whispers against your lips before slotting them in yet another kiss, “I miss you.”
And he can feel it when you finally break, sighing into the kiss, and melting into his touch completely. One more, he just needs one more kiss to seal the deal, and then—“Fine,” you concede, “But I get to choose where to get dinner from.”
“Of course, sweets, whatever you want,” Satoru grins, pulling back to kiss your forehead again, “Now—shall we? If we order in the car, we can probably pick it up on our way home.”
He’s in the home stretch now, but he’s not completely free: if you catch a glimpse of your work, or someone comes in to find you, or your godforsaken pager beeps then all of his plans could come crumbling down before him. The key to transitioning from the “you’ve agreed to come home with him early stage”—if you can count 9:45pm, coming off of a 17-hour work day as early—to the “we are actually leaving this hospital and nobody can stop us phase” is swiftness. This time period is critical, and Satoru is ready for the sprint.
He shimmies your lab coat all the way off of your body for you, checking for the weight of your pager in your right pocket, before hanging it on the back of your chair. He shoos you to grab your coat, and makes sure you don’t get within three feet of this side of your desk—taking your purse out of your locked drawer and closing an open file folder in the time it takes you to slip out of your heels and into your sneakers, and by the time you’re turning back around, Satoru is already there next to you, with your purse in one hand, and his other hovering on the light switch.
He makes sure you’re out the door first, and flickers off the light with a satisfied grin. His baby was coming home early with him, and there is nothing else he’d rather do than spend time pampering you.
You must truly be more tired than you know, because you make no protest when he slings an arm over your shoulder on your way out of the elevator. Usually, you chastise him for any PDA within hospital walls, but tonight you let it be, even leaning some of your body weight against his as you walk. Satoru’s not complaining at all, maybe he’ll try his luck and sneak a kiss on your cheek.
He decides to go for it, leaning over for a kiss, when you suddenly pull away, turning and patting against your side. Confused, and disappointed, Satoru pouts, “We’ve really got to work on this fear of affection you’ve got going on, sweets. It’s the leading cause of makesatorupout-itis.”
“We’ve been over this—you can’t just add “itis” to the end of your words to make them diagnostic,” you giggle, “I was looking for my keys.”
Satoru’s frown deepens. “You have the fancy reserved doctor parking space, they can’t tow you. So, we can take my car home.”
“No, we cannot, because I do not trust you to wake up and drive me back tomorrow morning.”
“Then I’ll get you a cab in the morning, or—even better, I’ll call Ichiji to pick you up.”
“Ichiji is still in Paris,” you remind him. Satoru purses his lips. He did ask Ichiji to stay with Megumi. Damn it.
“I have other cars, you can drive one of them in the morning.”
“And park it where?”
“In your fancy reserved doctor parking—oh, okay I see the flaw there,” Satoru pulls back. You find amusement in his disappointment, but he doesn’t think there’s anything funny here.
He shakes his head. He should have taken a cab from his office, but this is okay, a minor setback, nothing he can’t think around. “New plan: we take your car, and I’ll come by to get mine tomorrow. Easy peasy.”
“Yours will be towed by then.”
“That’s fine,” Satoru shrugs, “I can afford a tow fee.”
“Satoru,” you call, reaching your free hand up to place your palm against his cheek, “We both drive home. It’ll be thirty minutes, tops. Forty if there’s traffic, but if you stop pouting and we leave now, we should be fine.”
Satoru sighs. He knows that’s the most reasonable plan of action, but the simple truth is that he doesn’t want to be away from you right now, even to go the short distance home. He’s already spent the last few days without you, and even though this is calling it in early for you, he only gets maybe four hours awake with you before you’re off again. Thinking about that makes him miss you again already. Pathetic, maybe, but he doesn’t care.
“Oh, Dr. (_____), hey!” Yuuji’s voice is an easily distinguishable interruption to your petty argument, and Satoru’s sulking, “Perfect timing—I’m glad I caught you before you left. Is it okay if I ask you to sign something before you go?”
You easily warm up to the younger boy and agree, fondly making conversation with Yuuji as he scrolls through some documents on his tablet. And just as you’ve finished scribbling your signature along the screen, Satoru has a bright idea.
“Hey, Yuuji, you can drive right?” Satoru questions rhetorically, already reaching for his wallet and car keys, “Great! Here’s two grand, it’s all yours if you drive this car home tonight.” Satoru smiles widely, shoving his keys and some cash into the pocket of Yuuji’s white coat.
“What—really? Awesome! But, why—”
Satoru dismisses his disbelief with a wave of his hand. He steps a bit closer to Yuuji, just enough to lean into his ear and tuck a couple more bills into his pocket, “And between you and me, that’s an extra three grand if you finish up a couple of charts for my lady so she can sleep in tomorrow. Not a bad deal, right?”
“Sure, no problem!” Yuuji salutes, “I’d do anything for Dr. Almost-Gojo. Plus, if I’m busy working for her, then I don’t have to babysit cells in a dish for Dr. Gakuganji.”
“Atta boy,” Satoru ruffles his hair, “Catch you later, Yuuji, I’ve got a hot date to get to. And tell Nanamin I say hello!”
You elbow Satoru shallowly, a silent warning to keep his voice down, and a verbal chastising of, “It’s Dr. Itadori and Dr. Nanamin to you.”
“More like Dr. Nanameanie,” Satoru laments, resuming the position of his arm around your shoulder, “I’ve left him six calls this week! He’s so cruel—he knows I have to leave next week and he’s depriving me of one on one time. I think I’m gonna have to sneak into his office at lunch tomorrow and confront him.”
Despite his crass words and dramatics, you laugh, and so, Satoru smiles. He finally gets that cheek kiss right as you two reach your car, bending down to plant one for you at the same time he steals your keys from your hand and banishes you to the passenger seat. He’s not much of a driver himself, despite his excess amount of cars, but you’re his baby and you deserve to be driven around no matter the case, but especially when you’ve spent all day taking care of other people.
Plus, on days like this, if he’s real careful and smooth, you fall asleep in the car and he gets to carry you inside. He makes that his goal for the next thirty minutes, and he succeeds in twenty, confirmed by your soft snores just as he pulls into the curbside pick-up spot of your favorite restaurant. He retrieves the take-out as quietly as possible, before making the rest of the journey home, taking the time to glance over at you during red lights.
Satoru loves the way you look when you’re asleep, loves to see you well-rested, but something even more dear to him than that is a fact that Nanami let slip in the aftermath of a dinner party he’d hosted about a year after you two had started dating: “She never sleeps outside of her bed, for as long as I’ve known her,” he muses, nodding to your sleeping figure on Satoru’s couch, “Not even in the on-call rooms during our 72 hour shifts. She must... she must really trust you, Satoru.”
(He also recalls the awfully strong grip on his shoulder and subsequent shovel talk Kento gave him a moment later. Not that Satoru ever had anything but pure intentions with you, but the threat of breaking Kento’s best friend’s heart was more than enough to keep his commitments in check).
Satoru peers at you fondly in his arms, held bridal style with the takeout in the grip of a pinky finger, glancing up only to nod and thank his doorman for pushing the penthouse button for him. Satoru prides himself on many things, but the one thing he always holds in his highest regards is you: call him cocky, but he thinks he’s quite good at caring for you, that there’s nobody else fit to look after you the way that he can; and knowing that you feel safe in his arms is the highest honor he could achieve in this life.
He sets you carefully on the couch once he steps inside the apartment, and places the food on the coffee table. He debates whether or not he should wake you up now; he hates to, but he knows you need to eat, and, selfishly, he wants to cash in on those few hours he has with you to hear your voice.
He’ll dish out the food first, and then wake you up to eat, he decides. He leans down to kiss the crown of your head, eyes flicking to your face, and pausing at your neck, where your engagement ring rests crookedly against your skin. You must have had an emergency surgery today, he thinks; your schedule for today was originally just to round on post-op patients and attend some meetings, but you knot the ring into your chain when you have to scrub into the operating room.
Carefully, Satoru reaches to undo it from the chain, and slips it back onto your ring finger. It looks pretty against your skin when it’s around your neck, but personally, he thinks it looks best this way, the tilt of the aquamarine against the emerald-cut diamond fits perfectly across the width of your finger, just the way he had it made to be.
Satoru bends down even further to kiss the back of your hand, before laying it to rest on your stomach. He might need to bribe Yuuji to take care of some more work for you, you two really should get a move on that wedding planning, and you’re going to need at least a week off to fly and visit his grandma’s pastry shop in Osaka for cake tasting.
He smiles at the thought. He doesn’t feel so bad about waking you up now—wedding talk seems like the perfect way to end the evening if you ask him; there would be no sweeter sound than hearing how you imagine the start of the rest of your lives to be.
pairing: vampire!gojo x fem!human!reader
summary: when you receive an offer of marriage from a mysterious wealthy lord, it’s too good a deal for your family to turn down. but nothing could be so perfect... right?
content: MDNI (18+ ONLY), dark content, nsfw, gets dubcon/noncon in some spots, yandere behavior from gojo, implied death/k*lling of a character (not reader or gojo), arranged marriage, victorian au, plot that ends with porn lmao, spooky dooky vibes, blood, blood sucking/eating, praise, biting, unprotected sex, creampie, virgin!reader, discussion of virginity, cherry popping, pain, pet names (princess/love), reader is highkey clueless about sex, discussion of masturbation, ideas of masturbation as “sinful”, very minor religious themes, fated “mates”, gojo is highkey insane, coercion and manipulation, like SO much neck kissing, ooc gojo??? (had to alter his character to match a victorian vampire lord LMAO).
a/n: PLEASE READ THE CONTENT WARNINGS. THERE IS DARK CONTENT AHEAD. is this a gojo fic or a twilight fic?? Going back to my roots fr fr. straight down to the “SAY IT, SAY IT”. this fic is also way too long my apologies bbs. i hope you like a hefty side of plot with your porn. parts of this fic feel way too cheesy to me but sometimes i eat that up, yk?? this fic was inspired by this amazing work by @rice5x! and, finally, thank you all for the support on my most recent fics. i'm just getting back into being active on this blog and it's been amazing reading each and every comment/reblog/ask. they genuinely fill me with so much joy. keep them coming hehe. anyway, i hope you enjoy and remember, ALL AGELESS BLOGS WILL BE BLOCKED.
credits: dividers by @cafekitsune. if anyone knows the artist of the middle pic plz lmk so i can credit!
wc: 11.6k (sowwy)
You remember perfectly the way your mother’s jaw dropped when Satoru Gojo proposed to you. You’d never seen the man, and you still hadn’t. He’d asked to marry you via messenger, a simple letter delivered by hand with a list of all the things he’d be willing to pay for your hand. Offers of money, land, protection, connection- anything so long as he got you. You’d thought it was a joke. Your father nearly took a shovel to the head of the poor messenger, thinking the letter was some kind of cruel prank, some sort of targeted disrespect. You’d only started to believe when you really looked- saw the Gojo crest embroidered on the man’s suit, the fine leather of his boots. If it was a prank, somebody had spent a great deal of money and effort to pull it off.
You’d asked for proof nonetheless, and you’d gotten it. Documents signed and sealed with a well-known waxen crest, gifts that could only have been purchased by a wealthy lord. The one thing you never got was the lord himself. He refused to see you, to come down from his mysterious castle on the hill. It didn’t surprise you. He rarely deemed town worthy of his presence. He had a reputation as a recluse, as a man who only ever liked to see and never be seen. What little glimpses people got of him were usually through the dark window of his carriage. Still, his appearance preceded him. White hair, light eyes… “haunting” said those who had the luck to see him. Those who went to work for the lord tended to return… changed— if the returned at all.
You accepted, of course. How could you not? You were a peasant family with no status or wealth to your name. The promises Lord Gojo had made would make your parents into aristocrats all on their own. But that left you wondering… why did he want you? You offered him no benefit. If anything, you sullied his bloodline. The question scratched at the back of your mind. It came to you while you ate breakfast, while you washed your clothes, while you weeded in the garden. Some part of you told you that you needed the answer before you ever stepped foot in that castle. You needed that answer, but you’d never get it.
Your wedding wasn’t even a wedding- just a piece of paper that had already been signed and witnessed, once again delivered by a familiar messenger. You signed at your dining room table and… that was that. You were married.
Later that night the carriages arrive. Men flood your home, all dressed in blue velvet, the Gojo crest embroidered on their chests. They seem puzzled when you tell them you’ve packed all your belongings into a measly three bags.
You say a quick goodbye to your parents, drawing them into stiff embraces. You love them, and they love you, but you can’t bear to see their faces as they send you away to a man who couldn’t even show his face for your wedding.
The carriage ride is somehow longer than you’d thought it would be- apparently, the castle’s size makes it seem deceptively close. The trip is rocky and twisty and altogether unpleasant as you steadily make your way toward the castle gates. By the time you reach them you think you’ve probably dozed in and out of consciousness at least half a dozen times.
The castle is even more intimidating up close. Spires that swirl into the clouds, sculptures that stare, doors that look more suited to being locked than opened. It’s… terrifying.
When you finally roll to a stop, you move for the door. When you swing it open you get your fair share of strange looks from your attendants and remember that you should have waited for the footman. Your face heats as you climb out anyway, unwilling to subject yourself to the further humiliation of waiting for assistance.
Your feet hit gravel and all you can do is stare- up, up, up, to where the castle’s peaks disappear into the fog. When your eye flashes to a window on the east side of the manor you think you see a swaying curtain. You tuck your arms around yourself and shiver, but it’s not from the cold.
You nearly stumble over your feet on your first step inside. The entrance hall is larger than your former house, with ceilings that stretch so high you can hardly make out the figures on the frescoes that adorn it. Silver and blue drape everywhere, the Gojo family colors. You swallow when you see a chair that is most definitely worth more than your family’s annual income.
The floors are marble and when your worn heels clack against it, you only feel reminded that you don’t belong here. That question pricks in your mind again as you pass portraits of every Gojo heir to have lived in the last three hundred years. Why me? Why me? Why me?
Your footman deposits you in your room, a place more lavish than you’ve ever seen. You have a four poster bed with a canopy of blue velvet, a window that overlooks a sprawling estate, and more square footage than you’ve ever dreamed of.
“Pull this if you need any sort of assistance, ma’am.”
You turn to see your footman referencing a silver cord at your bedside. You assume it’s one of those contraptions that rings a bell in the servants’ quarters. You try to hide your amazement- you’ve never seen one in real life before.
You clear your throat and give your most ladylike nod. “Thank you, um-” you pause, your brow furrowing. “I’m sorry, I don’t think I asked your name.”
Your footman appears stunned to silence, like he’d never expected you to care about his existence, much less his name. He recovers quickly, though, and forces a small smile. “Thomas, ma’am.”
You smile and it’s genuine. “Thank you, Thomas.”He bows and makes a beeline for the door, but you have one more question. “Oh, um, Thomas-” He freezes, turning slowly on his heel to face you.
“Yes, my lady?”
You cringe at the title. The sound of it creeps across your skin, foreign and… wrong. Why me? Why me? Why me?
You clear your throat again. “Do you know, um, well-” You shift, trying to word your question properly. “Do you know when I might see the Lord?”
There is a pause, a moment of tension and silence, and then an answer. “No, my lady.”
Thomas does not stick around for more questioning. The door clicks shut behind him and then you're left with only the sound of retreating footsteps.
You’re stunned to say the least, mouth still halfway open, more questions on the tip of your tongue. Should you seek him out? Was that proper? Would he come to you? Would he meet you for dinner, perhaps? Surely he would come to your room tonight to… consummate. Would that be the first time you lay eyes on him? When he’s over you?
You sigh. There’s nothing much to be done about it now. You find your way to the bed and sit down hesitantly. It feels like a crime to rumple such primped and polished cotton. You do it anyway- it’s going to happen sometime, right? You fall back against the mattress and don’t fail to notice how utterly comfortable it is. The silvery patterns on your canopy swirl and bend together. You’re tired. You didn’t sleep much last night, anxious for the morning… and it’s only mid-afternoon now. You had time for a nap, right? Your eyes are closing before you can convince yourself it’s a bad idea and then you’re swept away into a world of warm darkness.
You wake with a start. Your first thought is that it’s dark now. Your room is pitch black except for the stream of moonlight passing through your stupidly large window. Your mouth feels dry and your skin is cold, like you’ve just woken from a nightmare. If you have, you don’t remember it. Perhaps that’s a blessing.
You sit up, combing a finger through your hair and laughing pitifully when you realize that you left your shoes on as you slept. You hope Thomas didn’t walk in to find you in yet another unladylike position. A glance at the foot of the bed reveals he might have. Your bags have arrived- all three of them. You eye them with a combination of longing and contempt. They don't match this place. They’re worn and used- everything here is shiny and new. Still, they’re all you have, and all you have left of your life before. All you have left of home.
You stretch your arms above your head, nearly groaning at the burn in your muscles. The carriage ride did your body no favors and you suspect you’ll be sore for many days to come.
You rise, no longer content to lie in bed. You’ve had your rest and, from the state of darkness outside, you suspect your new husband might be joining you soon. The thought twists a certain tightness into your gut, but you push it aside. If that was the price you paid for all he gave your family… then you’d pay it gladly.
You start with candles, finding a box of matches at your bedside. You light every candelabra you can find. The room, the castle, seems so perpetually… black- like it soaks up every ray of light it touches. Even when you’ve finished it doesn’t feel like enough. You make a note to ask Thomas for more in the morning.
You find a meal, carefully prepared and preserved, on a table near your dresser. Judging by the fact that it’s still warm, you conclude that it can’t be much past mid-evening. You originally intend to pick at the food as you unpack, but one bite has your mouth watering. It is the most delicious thing to ever touch your lips, complete with dessert waiting on the side. You clean your plate before moving onto your bags.
You lay your clothes out on the bed. A few dresses, riding pants, undergarments, an assortment of ribbons and bows. At one time these items had been the finest things you owned- now you owned a castle.
You find an armoire that looks like a master sculptor carved its edges and grab a dress, intending to hang it. Instead, your dress hits the floor when you part the doors to find the hangers already full. Your lips part. Luxury dresses of silk and satin line the rack, fading into some that appear more casual outfits of cotton and linen. You stretch a hand out, curious and utterly… amazed. To think your new husband had gone to all the effort… Your hand brushes purple silk and-
“Do you like them?”
You screech, jumping to face the voice at your back. It takes a moment for your eyes to find him, leaning casually against one post of your bed. Your breath is stolen for a second time. Snow white hair, piercingly blue eyes, pale soft skin… you know who he is even without looking at his dress, at the air of authority he claims. He’s your husband… and he is the most devastatingly beautiful thing you’ve ever seen.
He laughs, then, and it’s a warmer sound than you’d thought it would be- rich and full. A sound that seeps into your bones and settles in your soul.
“Sorry. Didn’t mean to scare you,” he says, but the twinkle in his eyes makes you think that perhaps that’s a lie.
Your heart pounds and your eyes flash to the door. It’s shut. You didn’t hear it open, nor did you hear it close behind him. You also didn’t hear footsteps, didn’t hear breaths, didn’t hear him.
He follows your gaze and laughs again, though it sounds a bit… strained?
“I have a habit of being unintentionally lightfooted. I apologize.”
Your heart is still pounding but you find it in yourself to have some decorum. You snap your jaw shut and bow your head slightly in respect. “You must be Lord Gojo. Forgive me for my insolence.”
There’s a beat, and then footsteps– ones you actually hear this time. You clench your jaw when he stops before you and then nearly gasp when he takes your hand and brings it to his lips.
“Satoru, please,” he winks and you think you might stop breathing. “I am your husband after all.”
You force yourself to nod, to swallow, to act normal. But how can you in the presence of a man that looks like… that? There’s something too unreal about him, too perfect. It’s almost… unsettling.
“Of course… Satoru.”
He straightens and shows you a close-lipped smile that digs a dimple into his left cheek. You have to look away to avoid stumbling over your own feet.
“So, do you like them?” Your brows furrow- “The dresses,” he clarifies.
“O-oh.” Your features relax into an easy smile. You turn back to your armoire, running a hand along another gown. You don’t think you’ve ever touched something so… finely made. “I like them very much. I don’t know how to thank you.”
There’s a little chuckle as you turn to face him again and you have to steel yourself before you meet his eyes. He’s mesmerizing, too mesmerizing. You think you could probably lose yourself in those eyes forever…
“No need to thank me. If they don’t fit, we’ll call for the seamstress in the morning.”
You nod softly, still lost to the situation. There’s a beat of silence in which your husband does nothing but… look at you. His eyes roam freely and the hair on your arms stands under his gaze. He traces the lines of your nose and jaw and lingers on your pulse. Can he see just how fast your heart is pounding?
“Did you… get dinner?” It’s a stupid question, you know, but you don’t think you can bear another second of that look he’s giving you. “I fell asleep and found a plate. I hope I didn’t prevent a proper meal…” You trail off. Perhaps you shouldn’t have pointed out your own shortcoming?
He gives you another smile and you swear he inches just a little closer. “You did no such thing. I’m… perfectly satisfied.”
You nod, glad that he doesn’t seem upset at the very least. Your lips press together, unsure of what to do or say. You’ve never had a husband before. Wasn’t he supposed to just sort of… put you on the bed and… do it?
Your eyes flit to said bed and your husband must see because he hurries to continue.
“Well, I’ll see you in the morning then, hm?” His eyes flit to your armoire and back again. “Wear the blue dress with the lace to breakfast, yeah? Been dying to see it on you.” He chuckles like he’s just told some sort of amusing joke.
Your brows furrow. That was… not the topic you’d been expecting. “You’re not…” You feel your cheeks heat and tighten your jaw. “Not staying the night?”
His lashes lower a fraction and those eyes pierce you again. You don’t think you could move even if you wanted to, even with him prowling closer, each step eating up the space between you. He doesn’t stop until you’re nose to nose and you can feel his breath fanning over your cheeks. It’s cold somehow, chilling, and you shiver. He smirks.
“Not tonight.”
His head dips and for a moment you think he’s going to kiss you, but then he’s bypassing your mouth altogether and- his lips connect to your pulse. His mouth is cool, just like his breath, and you shiver uncontrollably under his touch.
His touch is just a fleeting moment, just a wrinkle in time, and then he’s gone. His footsteps are quiet brushes on the hardwood and the creak of the door even seems tamed in his presence.
“Goodnight,” is all he says, and then he’s gone.
You climb into your bed an hour later wondering what in the world just happened.
~
You do wear the blue dress to breakfast and you can only gape in the mirror when you realize that it fits perfectly. It has you second-guessing yourself. Had you sent your measurements in advance and forgotten about it? No, you’d only sent a handful of pieces of information to the Lord prior to your marriage and you remembered all of them very clearly. Everything had gone through a messenger, everything had been clear and direct– you would have remembered sending your measurements– you didn’t. So had he just… guessed?
That seemed impossible with how everything fit you like a glove, but it was the only explanation you had. The only one that made sense.
When you join Satoru for breakfast it’s in a sitting room as lavishly decorated as the rest of the castle, but perhaps organized to be a bit more… liveable. He has no plate in front of him, only a tin cup that hides the contents of whatever he’s drinking. You assume coffee or juice. Perhaps he’s just not a breakfast person.
“It fits!” he says. His hands clasp together in front of him and he smiles again, dimples and all.
You nod and fight the heat that bubbles beneath your cheeks as you take your seat. “Yes, perfectly.”
A plate is set before you and a glance up reveals it’s Thomas serving your breakfast. You smile, hoping for some acknowledgement from him, for a small piece of comfort. Instead, you get his averted gaze and quick retreat. Your brows furrow, but before you can say anything, Satoru is back to speaking.
“I hope Thomas treated you well yesterday?”
You glance up, but Satoru’s eyes aren’t on you, they’re on your footman. His smile is bright, but it’s anything but friendly. You fight a shiver.
You glance at Thomas. He’s perfectly still, perfectly straight, but you think you see a muscle clench in his jaw. You clear your throat. “Y-Yes. Thomas was very helpful.” When Satoru keeps staring the boy down you add, “-and very respectful.”
That seems to satisfy. Satoru breaks his stare and some of the tension in the air instantly eases. He shoots you another dimpled smile, this one with a little more warmth. “Perfect.”
There’s a beat and then he’s standing, draining whatever he has in his cup and then straightening his jacket. “Well, I have some work to do. I’ll see you for dinner?” He’s grinning again, like it’s so normal for a man to abandon his bride on their wedding night and then again the morning after. All you can do is nod. He chuckles. “See you then, princess.” And then he’s gone.
~
If this is to be your life you don't know how you will survive it. You spend the day milling about. Through the gardens, through the castle, through the stables. Thomas is never far behind, but any attempt at conversation is nipped in the bud by hit shortness. It’s like he fears coming too close. He’s never closer than a couple paces except when he has to bring you something, only to retreat again as soon as possible. The other servants barely pay you any mind apart from giving you a respectful greeting and then immediately averting their eyes. There is no work to be done, no guests to be had, no parties to plan… and no Satoru. You don’t see your husband once on tour around the grounds. You ask Thomas where his office is only for him to vaguely point out a window in the east tower. You don’t see so much as a ripple in the curtains.
Dinner comes around at the pace of a snail. When it’s finally time to get dressed a lady’s maid whose name you don’t even catch arrives to help you lace your dress. As soon as your corset is deemed tight enough she’s back out the door with a curtsy. Thomas leads you to the dining room and your eyes roam the whole way. Even after having spent the whole day exploring, there are halls and corridors that you’ve yet to step foot in.
The dining room is just as gorgeous as the rest of the place– filled with singular items that could feed entire families for years. Somehow, you think you’ve already grown accustomed to such things, since the only thing you truly care to look at is your husband. Satoru’s already seated, but he stands when you enter, looping around the table to pull a chair out for you.
You give him your most genuine smile, accepting a kiss to your knuckles in greeting before you settle. “How was your day?” you ask as he takes his seat again.
He chuckles. “Perfectly fine. And how was yours, princess?” Your nose crinkles. That’s the second time he’s called you that. Something about it feels wrong. You’re still getting used to being a lady. Princess feels even worse.
“It was… good.”
You watch a perfect white brow arch in the candlelight. “Oh? Just good?” You don’t miss the way his eyes flicker to the corner– to Thomas.
You hurry to elaborate. “Well, I just– I can’t help but feel as if there’s not much… use for me.” Servants flood in, some carrying wine, others carrying trays that hold more food than the both of you could ever possibly consume.
That brow arches impossibly higher. “Use?” His lips crack into that smile again, but it’s tight this time. Too tight. “You have no use. You only enjoy yourself. Surely Thomas has told you that.”
A plate of steaming food plops in front of you. Even its heavenly smell can’t quell the sudden dread in your gut. “Of course! Of course he did.” Your stomach twists and you decide that perhaps now is not the time to press the subject. “I’ll just… I’ll try riding tomorrow.” You hate riding, but it’s the first thing that comes to mind.
Satoru’s smile thaws into something less menacing. “I’m sure you’ll enjoy that.”
You nod eagerly. “I’m sure I will.”
You grab your fork, eager for a new subject. From what you can tell, dinner is roast chicken and vegetables, though it’s the luxury version as everything seems to be. The spices are intoxicating and the green beans are even arranged in a pretty little pattern that makes them look too good to eat. You do anyway. The first bite nearly makes you moan, but you chew slowly, delicately, trying not to let your upbringing show.
It’s not until several bites later that you realize you’re the only one eating. A quick glance reveals your husband has no platter, no chicken or green beans. He’s only… watching you. You clear your throat, dabbing at your lips with a napkin.
“You’re not… eating?”
That permanent smile grows a little wider and you can’t help but feel as if there’s something… menacing about it. “Ate before I came.”
Your brows furrow. “Oh. Were you on the road?”
You think you see something wild flash in his eyes. “No.”
The rest of dinner passes slowly, almost painfully. Satoru doesn’t eat a bite, doesn’t even look enticed. You wonder how that’s possible when it smells like a spice bomb went off in the dining room.
By the time you’ve cleared your plate you’ve discussed everything from the number of horses in the stables to kinds of crops grown on the estate. It’s comforting to know a little more about your new home, but it’s not enough.
“Is there a library?” you ask. You’re on dessert now. It’s the best chocolate cake you’ve ever had and it takes everything in you to hold back a moan each time it touches your tongue.
“Of course.” Your husband’s eyes flicker to Thomas again and you’re honestly starting to fear for the poor footman’s life. Everytime you ask a question it’s like Satoru is angry it hasn’t already been answered. “It’s yours to use as you please.”
You smile lightly. “Perfect. Thank you.”
He softens a bit at that. “Is there anything specific you wanted to read about?”
You shrug. “The estate, I suppose. I should know my home’s history, no?”
His eyes get that wild look again, that sparkle that you know speaks to nothing good. “Oh, absolutely. I have some personal favorites to recommend. I’ll leave them aside for you?”
You swallow and give him a shallow nod. “That would be perfect. Thank you.”
He chuckles. “My pleasure.”
When dessert is finally over, you stand slowly. Satoru’s not far behind you, saying he’ll walk you to your room. Your heart leaps at his words. Will he stay with you tonight?
He offers you his arm in the hall and your mouth runs dry when you feel the corded muscle beneath his jacket. By the time you reach your room, you’re thinking of tugging him in behind you. His denial to stay with you last night was not only confusing, but… off putting. Nearly offensive. Did he not like how you looked? Did he think something was wrong with you?
You muster all the courage you possess and force your lips apart. “Will you stay with me tonight?”
His eyes spark again and you hold your breath. He presses closer. This is it, you think. His lips hover over yours, eyes glimmering in the candlelight. And then he dips his head, his mouth pressing to your pulse.
“Not tonight,” he whispers– and then he’s gone.
~
You wake suddenly. It’s the middle of the night, you gather. The light streaming through the window is weak enough to only be that of the moon.
Your heart is pounding and your skin is slick with sweat despite the chill in your bones. A nightmare, you think. It must have been a nightmare.
As you settle back into your sheets you swear you see a ripple in the darkness. You close your eyes. If your nightmare is real, you’d rather not see it coming.
~
The library is huge. It’s sprawling and smells of paper and leather and everytime Thomas lights a candle you flinch at the idea that one misplaced spark could end thousands of years of knowledge.
The books Satoru left you are… perfect. Just what you were looking for. They’re all comprehensive volumes of the history of the estate, many of which reference each other. You’re stunned to see that several are written by very well-known authors of both the past and the present. You knew the Gojo family’s influence reached far, but not that far. You peruse the titles. The Gojos: A History, A History of the Gojo Crest, History of the Gojo Castle, Revisiting the Gojo Family: A Comprehensive History. Altogether you have well over a few thousand pages of information– but there’s one book that doesn’t fit with the rest. It’s relatively unassuming. A black cover with some sort of gold rune etched onto its front. When you flip to the title page it reads “Creatures of Myth and Where To Find Them”. Your brows furrow. You slide it to the side– must have gotten mixed in with the others, you think.
~
You ask Thomas to bring the books to your room. He does. Very respectfully. He sets them on your bedside table and then retreats like a kicked puppy with only a polite goodbye. You sigh. His behavior has only gotten stranger in the past few days. You think the servants’ coldness must have something to do with Satoru, but you can’t figure out why. Had he ordered them to stay away? Why would he?
You decide it’s a question for another day and dive into your books. You spend hours, days, reading every chapter, page, and word. The pure amount of information is dizzying. Apparently this specific estate had been in the hands of the Gojo family since the eighth century (with several razings and consequential rebuilds). You also learn that Satoru was not only the most wealthy lord on the continent, but the most wealthy man. Even wealthier than the king apparently, though that fact was kept fairly under wraps to protect the crown’s ego. The estimates of your husband’s net worth made your head spin.
Satoru joins you for breakfast and dinner every day. You never see him eat a morsel. It’s… unsettling to say the least. It’s always just that tin cup, filled with something you could never quite see. You develop a pattern of waking in the night, too, with the overwhelming sense that something is watching you. Sometimes you could swear you feel the bed shift as you jerk awake. Each time you simply close your eyes and try your best to slow your heart, convinced your mind is playing tricks on you.
Your days feel a little more productive with a book in your hands, but you’ve read them all three times over by the time a fortnight has passed. You find yourself packing them up to return to Thomas when a certain black cover catches your attention. You grab it from the pile and settle back into your seat. You’ve nothing better to do, right?
You flip back the cover, revealing a familiar title. “Creatures of Myth and Where to Find Them”. You don’t recognize the author’s name. A quick scroll through the table of contents reveals nothing particularly interesting, but you pick a random chapter on ghouls and decide to start there.
It’s fascinating. Nothing about the style is boring and the words fly by. Your silly little myth book is a page turner. By the time you notice the light has started dying you’ve read about ghosts, fairies, werewolves, and goblins– all of which have been a delightful little read. A glance at the clock reveals you have a half hour before dinner. One more chapter, you think. Your eyes skim the title. “Vampires [Vampyr]”.
You skim the first paragraphs until your eyes settle on a line that catches your eye.
“Contrary to popular belief, vampires are not always crazed blood-hungry monsters. Many live among humans quite comfortably and are able to avoid detection with a little well-placed effort.”
You purse your lips. What a… terrifying thought. You skim a little further.
“A vampire’s key characteristic is, of course, their desire and need to drink human blood as sustenance. However, a vampire can be spotted sooner if one is able to recognize their subtler traits. Vampires often have skin lacking any sort of flush. The lack of blood in their veins results in a sickly pallor, even after the most rigorous exercise. Their skin is also noticeably cold to the touch. At best, a vampire’s body will reach room temperature. Vampires can also be noted for their preternatural beauty. They will stand out as the most attractive person in any crowd. Finally, a vampire will have fangs. If one wishes to identify a vampire, one only needs a good look at their teeth”.
A chill settles over your skin. You flip ahead a few pages.
“Vampires are unable to consume typical human food. Should they attempt to, their bodies will immediately reject any and all foreign substances.”
Your stomach drops. You don’t want to think about why. You skip the rest of the paragraph.
“Vampires possess several supernatural abilities that set them apart as a human’s predator rather than their equal. Vampires are known to move unnaturally fast and are notably light footed. If a vampire does not wish to be heard, they will not be. A vampire’s strength is inhuman, well over ten times that of the average man. They also have a penchant for darkness, an ability to hide away in the shadows that cannot be explained. Oftentimes they will seem to appear from thin air.”
You skip ahead again.
“Vampires have been known to take mates. Mates usually come in the form of another vampire, but in some cases a human has been chosen. Vampires are fiercely protective of their mates, bordering on obsession. Any person deemed a threat to their bond or their mate’s safety is usually disposed of quickly. Oftentimes, vampires make these decisions with haste, with little regard for whether or not the threat was real. A vampire will do everything in their power to please their mate, but have been known to forcibly restrain their mates in situations of unrequited feelings. Above all else, vampires wish to possess their mates. Two bonded vampires will sometimes spiral into gloriously destructive fits in their endless desire to protect and possess one another. A vampire bonded to a human will show an increasingly protective nature, often isolating their mate from others.”
Your heart pounds. A bead of sweat rolls down your back. You flip the pages, desperate– desperate for a piece of information that will save you from the thoughts spilling in your mind, from the thoughts you will do anything not to believe. You reach the “Where to Find Them” subsection and nearly gasp with relief. Surely, vampires do not pose as wealthy lords of Europe?
“Vampires can be found everywhere. They do not exist in only one country or continent, but all over the world. Odds are that you have faced at least one vampire in your life, unknowingly or not. Some vampires choose to live solitary lives, surviving in the wilderness where human society will not attempt to tame their wild nature. Others choose to live among humans, some even existing in positions of very high authority.”
No, no, no. This can’t be happening to you. It can’t be real. You’re dreaming, you’re having one of those nightmares again. You’re going to wake up any second.
“One tale recounts a razing of the Gojo estate in the 12th century.”
You’re panting, hyperventilating. This isn’t happening.
“Soldiers of the enemy force recounted a singular man, the son and heir of the then Lord Gojo, taking out a minimum of 800 men. He was described as having his family’s characteristic white hair as well as blue eyes. Eyewitness accounts depict the Gojo heir as covered in blood and killing savagely and with inhuman strength.”
No, no, no.
“(See next page for only existing portrait)”
Your fingers tremble but you can’t stop them. There’s no way. It’s not possible.
You flip the page and Satoru stares back at you.
Knock! Knock! Knock!
You nearly scream. Your door rattles angrily, but you’re not sure you can answer it, not with the knowledge flooding your mind. The knocking continues. You run your hand over your face and smooth down your hair. You feel frazzled, dirty, despite not having moved from your chair all day. Another knock prompts you to set your book aside and stand. You do your best to compose yourself, to put on a straight face. You fail instantly when you pull back the door not to reveal your faithful attendant, not Thomas, but Satoru.
You bite back a shriek and instead force a smile. You’re suddenly very aware of the blood pounding in you veins and of the fact that he most likely knows.
“Hello,” he says, but his voice is lower than usually, more intense.
You force a breath into your lungs. “Hello,” you answer, but it sounds more like a squeak than a greeting.
Something flashes in his eyes, something familiar, something that is no longer interesting but rather terrifying. “Are you alright? You seem a little… flushed.” The concern on his face feels anything but genuine.
“I’m fine,” you answer, but even you can tell that reply too quickly, too eagerly. You rush to cover it up. “Is it time for dinner? Where’s Thomas?”
His lip twitches and you see a muscle in his jaw flex. “Thomas has… left us.”
No. This wasn’t happening to you. There was no way this was happening to you.
“He… what?” There’s an unmistakable wobble in your voice that only causes Satoru’s face to fall further.
“It’s no matter. He’s gone. Now it’s just you and me, hm?” He chuckles and the sound rattles your bones. “In fact, I was thinking I’d cut down on the number of servants we have entirely…”
You mind races with the memory of knowledge you wish you didn’t have. “Vampires are fiercely protective of their mates, bordering on obsession. Any person deemed a threat to their bond or their mate’s safety is usually disposed of quickly.”
You nearly stumble, but lean against the doorframe just in time. Your husband had disposed of a man, all because he brought you meals and books?
“What have you been up to today, princess?” The question breaks your trance just in time for you to see your husband’s eyes flicker behind you.
You wet your lips. “Just some reading.” You plead that he doesn’t ask anything further. He does.
“About the estate?” he asks.
You nod and try to swallow the lump in your throat. “Yes.”
His smile returns and this time it’s not forced. “You got my books, then?”
You try smiling back, but you’re fairly sure it looks more like a grimace. “Yes.”
“Anything interesting?” he presses.
This isn’t happening. This can’t be happening. Does he know? Does he know that you know? “Yes, of course. Lots.”
He pauses and you see the debate and then the decision in his eyes. You think it’s the first time you’ve felt true terror when he meets your gaze again. “I think we should skip dinner tonight. It seems we have so much to discuss.”
You don’t even have the wherewithal to scream when he steps into you, forcing you back until he’s shutting your door behind him. He doesn’t stop there, though. He keeps pressing, keeps pushing until your knees hit the bed and you’re falling to the mattress. He crawls right after you.
“Who knew my little wife was such a reader? All those books in such a short time… You must be simply spilling with information.”
You retreat across the mattress, squeaking when your back hits the headboard and his arms cage your waist. You’re trapped.
His hands find your hips and you’re all too aware of how cool his touch is. Even more so when he pulls you right into his lap.
“Satoru-” your voice is pitiful, breathless, and you’re ashamed to say it’s not just from the fear in your gut. He’s never been this close before, never touched you, held you like this. “Thomas-”
“Don’t speak his name.” His face pulls into the first scowl you’ve ever seen and the sight is enough to root you to the spot. Never have you seen anything more frightening. A creature so beautiful, so perfectly angelic, filled with an insurmountable rage. It’s wrong. “He’s gone. He’ll never bother you again.” He’s closer now, his breath skating over your skin. It’s cool and now you know the reason why.
You shake and tremble and you know– Thomas is dead. Your husband killed him– killed him for getting too close when all he did was stay at a distance. Satoru killed him. Killed him.
He buries himself in your neck, his voice a near whine. “Thought I could put up with it, just so you’d have someone to take care of you…” He groans. “I was so wrong, princess. Couldn’t stand it. Couldn’t stand the way you smelled more like him than me…”
You feel him melt against you then, relief washing over his body in a wave. “But he’s gone. And now it’s just you and me, hm? Just you and me…” He hums, like remembering that fact is all he’s ever needed.
He’s kissing your pulse again, now, and your heart is racing faster than ever. Your fingers curl into his shoulders. You should push him away, away, away. He’s a killer, of thousands no doubt. You’ve never felt at home here, never felt like you belonged. This is why. You’re not even the same species. He’s something else, something your hands were never meant to touch.
Your mind screams at you to do go, to shove and kick at him and leave this place behind. Go, go, go your gut says… but you don’t. You can’t. It’s too… good. The feeling of his cool lips against your skin, of what you’re sure is his tongue prodding at your pulse… it’s intoxicating. He is intoxicating. How could anyone blame you for wanting more of someone, something, so divine?
“Have you figured it out yet, love?” Your breath hitches and he chuckles, licking a long stripe up your neck, before he settles back at your pulse. Always your pulse. “I can feel those little gears turning. Tell me, what have they discovered?”
He knows you know. But he’s going to make you say it. You swallow and feel his grip on you tighten. “You’re…” Your breaths come faster. You can’t. Not aloud. Aloud makes it too… real.
“Yessss?” he prods. He’s licking at you again, all the way across your throat to find your other pulse-point.
“You’re not…” Something sharps nicks at your skin and you bite your lip to hold back a whimper.
“Go on, princess.” You think he’s just smelling you now, just burying his face as close to you as possible and taking you in.
You close your eyes tightly, holding back tears. “Not human,” you breathe. A piece of you breaks with the admission.
He huffs a little laugh against your skin and pulls back to look you in the eye. “That’s good,” he purrs. “But I think you can be a little more specific, no?” His lips press to your chin, then the corner of your mouth, then down to your jaw… “Tell me.”
Your lips wobble, muscles clenching tighter with each passing moment. You don’t want to say it, don’t want to speak it into existence, but you also don’t dare to disobey him.
“You’re a…” You shake and tremble. He draws a line up your neck with the tip of his nose.
“Mhm?”
You open your eyes, thinking this might be the last time you see. “Vampire.”
He chuckles and you feel his teeth press to the skin of your neck. “That’s right, princess. So smart.”
He smiles and you suddenly realize you’ve never seen his teeth before. Everytime he smiles at you it’s close-lipped and dimpled. But this… this is the smile of a predator– all white and pointy and fitted with a set of menacingly long fangs. You sob at the sight.
“Shhhhh,” he coos. He has your chin in his hand, forcing you to truly look at him, to see him for what he is. “I won’t hurt you, love.” You want to believe him so badly it burns, but his laugh washes away any fire and turns it to ice. “Not unless you want me to.” He wiggles a brow like it’s just a little joke, like he’s not an actual fucking vampire that had his fangs over your neck just moments ago.
“Satoru,” you beg. You’re not sure what you’re begging for. Release maybe? But, no, that’s not right. You don’t want him to let you go, not when you finally have him close after all this time. “Why did you pick me?”
The question slips out. You hadn’t even been thinking about it, hadn’t even noticed it scratching at the walls of your mind, but it made its way out nonetheless.
His brow creases, but not in confusion. Moreso in… thoughtfulness. “Do you think about that a lot, princess?”
You nod and you suddenly want him closer, want him to touch you everywhere, hold you like his life depends on it. You want him, no matter how horrible it might be.
He nods and hums, kissing the tip of your nose lightly. “Well…” he says. His thumb swipes over your lips when he leans in to whisper in your ear. “At first I wanted you for this.” His head dips to your neck again and you feel the familiar brush of his lips against your throat. “You smell…” he chuckles. “Like heaven. Which is a place I’ll never get to on my own, so I had to bring my own little slice home, no?” He laughs again, a little louder this time, genuinely amused. “Went into town one day and caught your scent on the street. At first I thought I must be walking past the bakery, but, lo and behold, there was no baker in sight.” He’s still kissing at your pulse, worshiping it. “Went crazy, princess. Didn’t think I was going to be able to contain myself when I found you. Thought it might be quite the scene.” He huffs a laugh and you shiver, somehow both terrified and intoxicated. “But then I saw you–” he groans and something clenches deep at your center. “And I knew I needed more than just your blood. Needed you.” He’s rocking into you now, and your breath catches when you feel something firm against your backside. “Went to you in that little room you slept in every night. Watched you. Couldn’t stay away. Knew I had to have you.” You feel him smile against your skin. “After a week I couldn’t take it anymore. Sent you that letter, married you. Made you mine.” He groans again. “Then I met you and you were so pretty, princess. Already knew it, but hearin’ you talk to me, look at me.” Teeth graze your pulse. “Needed you more than ever. Almost took you right on the fucking floor in here while you were lookin’ at those dresses.” You whine when his hips roll into you again. “Oh, but I knew I couldn’t. You’re so fragile, love. Had to wait, had to make you feel safe, yeah? Spent all this time forcing myself to stay away, ‘fraid of what I might too if I was in your presence too long. Had to control myself. Had to make you realize you could trust me.” He panting, like he’s so pent up he can hardly sit still. “Do you trust me, princess?”
Your brows scrunch. Say no, say no, say no a part of you screams. Run, run, run. You can’t. “Yes,” you breathe.
You feel him smile again, feel the pleasure of submission. “Good girl.”
You’re on your back. It happens so fast your eyes don’t even have time to gasp. You don’t see Satoru, but you feel him. Everywhere. His hands are roaming your body softly, sliding under buttons and laces and popping them off. Your dress loosens with every passing moment until Satoru reappears above you, diving straight for your neck again. “So good, princess. Let’s get you out of this dress, yeah?”
You nod wordlessly, entranced. He finds your mouth as he rids you of your clothes. His tongue presses in and you flail against him, unsure of what to do, of how to handle the intrusion. The kiss is heavy, too heavy, but Satoru can’t seem to stop. He devours you as he gives up on laces and buttons and simply shreds your dress down the back. You tremble when the cold air hits your skin, when his cool fingers dust your collarbone.
“I always forget how many damn layers they make you ladies wear,” he chuckles. His hands run beneath your shift, up across your bare thigh. You gasp at the touch. No one has even been so close to you before. You feel the threads of your corset snapping away, feel your breaths growing deeper. You tremble when he pulls your sleeve down past your shoulder and runs his mouth along the newly exposed skin.
“Satoru,” you gasp, and your hand pulls at his flowing white shirt.
He chuckles, pulling back just enough to see your face. “You wanna see me too?” You nod, lips parted and eyes glassy, and he laughs again. He lips dust over the corner of your mouth. “Alright.”
His hands shift from you to himself, working at the laces on his chest. His movements are speedy, practiced, like he’s been lacing and unlacing shirts for hundreds of years. Your throat tightens when you realize that he has.
You gasp when he reveals himself, when his shirt slides away to reveal an expanse of pale skin and carved muscle. You’ve never seen a man like this and seeing one this close up for the first time is nearly blinding. He’s art, you think- nothing less.
“Touch me, princess,” he says. You can’t. You shouldn’t. He’s too beautiful, too perfect to be beneath your insignificant hands. “Need a little help?” he asks, and there’s a lilt in his voice that makes you sure he’s grinning.
His hands find yours and bring them to his chest, running your palms over his collarbones, his pecs, down, down, down across his abs that you can feel each and every one… You whimper, watching your own fingers grope his skin. He pulls you lower, lower, lower, and you gasp when your fingertips brush the waistband of his pants. But then he’s laughing again and he’s throwing your arms over his shoulders and pulling you closer, kissing your neck like it pained him to be parted from your pulse for so long.
“Not so fast,” he says, like he wasn’t the one nearly stuffing your hands down his pants. His hands are on your corset again. You can feel it dangling onto you by a thread, literally. All he needs is a couple more pulls and you’ll be bare. By the look he gives you, you can tell he’s
thinking the same thing. “You touch me, now I touch you, yeah?” There’s a tug and a tear and then so much… cold. You’ve never realized how cold this castle is, not until you’re exposed to its elements fully. You’re naked.
Satoru sits back on his knees and just watches. His gaze is searing, burning, despite the iciness of his being. It’s too much. Your hands move to cover yourself, to maintain some modicum of your dignity-
“No.” Strong hands find your wrists and pry them apart. “Let me see you,” he says. His tongue darts out to lick his lips.
Your jaw clenches and your frame shakes, but you do as he asks, letting your hands fall limply at your sides. There’s silence for many more moments and it seems to go on so long that you can only squeeze your eyes shut under his gaze. Surely he will turn you away now, get up and leave, tell you this was a mistake, tell you that you’re–
“Beautiful,” he breathes. Your eyes snap open to find him already staring at you. “Beautiful,” he says again, and then he’s on you, lips at your pulse, hands on your skin. His touch is cool and you squeak at the chill that runs up your spine. You’re not sure it’s entirely from his temperature.
His mouth seeks yours and he devours you. You feel as if he’s sucking your soul out through your lips. “Tell me you’ve never done this before,” he begs. “Tell me I’m the first to touch you.”
You whine against his mouth, both aching for more and overwhelmed by what he’s already giving you. “Y-You’re the first,” you whisper.
His groan is deep, primal. It rattles through your chest and you whimper when his hands dig into your waist hard enough to bruise. “Yes,” he breathes, and you shiver again. “Lie back, princess.” Your eyes widen, with anticipation or fear you’re not sure. Probably both. He chuckles. “Don’t worry. I’ll be gentle.”
You pray he means that. “Just relax, love. Here, hold my hand.” His fingers find yours, twining them together. When you swallow, his eyes follow the bob of your throat. He leans back again and your body twitches when his free hand skims the skin of your thighs. His tongue darts out to wet his lips as he finds your knees and you gasp when he parts your legs, revealing you so completely to his gaze. The way he stares, like he’s committing you to memory, it’s nearly enough to make you snap your thighs shut, but a squeeze from his hand reminds you to relax, to trust.
His palm skates up your thigh and settles near your hip, his fingertips inching closer to where you can feel an embarrassing throb.
“Tell me, love. Have you ever touched yourself here?” His fingers dust low on your tummy- just low enough for you to catch his meaning, but not low enough to give you any relief. Your face heats and your teeth dig into the flesh of your cheek. You have, you have touched yourself there, but it’s the last thing you want to admit to your new husband. It’s shameful, it’s dirty, it’s- “Don’t think I’ll judge you, princess. Just wanna know.”
You gulp down a breath. You should come clean. “Y-yes,” you stutter, and the sound of your voice so weak and helpless only makes you flush further.
He chuckles and squeezes your hand again. “On the outside or the inside?”
Your eyes widen. I-inside? You’d never considered that… “J-just the outside,” you answer.
Your eyes grow even wider when his head rolls back and he moans straight up to the ceiling like your answer is heaven-sent. When he looks back to you his fangs are on full display. “Well, I think you and I are in for a little treat today, hm?”
Your brow furrows and your lips part to ask him what he means– his fingers travel those last few inches down your tummy and find your clit. You squeak and jolt so violently that he presses a hand to your hip, holding you to the mattress. “Somebody’s sensitive,” he chuckles. He holds you still for a moment and then lets your hips go free. “Try to stay still. I promise it’ll feel good.”
You nod hopelessly, but this time you’re prepared for when he touches you again. Your muscles clench at the first touch, at the foreign sensation of a touch down there that wasn’t your own. But then it’s more. It’s languid, slow circles around a spot that you’ve never been able to pinpoint so well on your own. It’s heat building in your tummy that seeps through every vein and into every pore. It’s relaxation that you’ve never known, that has you melting into the mattress despite the chill of the touch.
There’s a little huff of a laugh and then his voice. “Good girl. Feels nice, yeah?” You nod hesitantly and squeeze desperately at his hand, searching for an anchor. His head cocks to the side and you watch the smile slide across his lips. “It’s about to feel even nicer.”
By the time you realize what he’s doing it’s far too late to stop him. His mouth closes around your cunt and you yelp, trying to wiggle away from the overwhelming sensation- but he’s got his freehand on your hip again and his grip is bruising, punishing, as he holds you in place. He licks a stripe through your folds and you find yourself jolting again, uselessly so against the pressure of his palm on your hip. “Stop that, princess.” Your heart drops at the admonishment until you feel his guiding touch. “Rock into me like this.” His hand rocks your hips into his mouth and the pressure of his tongue against your clit is so delicious that you whimper. “Good girl,” he says and your heart rises right back up. “Keep doing that, now.” You don’t dare defy him. You rock like he showed you, a little jerkily at first, and then you find a rhythm that has you seeing stars. “That’s it, love,” he says, and the sound is muffled against your cunt. “Here, put your hand in my hair.” He finds your wrist and guides you forward until your fingers are tangling in those snowy locks. They’re even softer than you’d imagined. “Good girl,” he whispers and suddenly he’s taking one last long lick and lifting his head to meet your eyes. “‘M gonna put my fingers in you now, princess.” Your chin wobbles. “It might hurt a little bit, but stay still, okay?” You can’t do anything but nod.
His eyes return to your cunt and you can feel him prodding at your entrance, circling the hole as you clench in anticipation. “Relaaaaaax, love,” he says and you nod. A deep breath in through your nose and out through your mouth–
You feel the exact moment he pushes into you and a whine of pain rips from your throat. Your walls clamp down like a vice, angry at the intrusion– but it’s already too late. There’s a beat of silence, of anticipation, and then he’s– laughing?
Your brows furrow when you hear it, your head lifting to a sight that locks your limbs in shock. Satoru’s hand is lifted in front of his face, his pointer finger coated in– blood, you realize. Your blood. And he’s a fucking vampire.
“Oh princess,” he coos, and the manic look in his eyes makes you tremble. “You really are perfect.”
Things seem to slow as you watch him take his blood covered finger into his mouth. You’re sure you’ve never seen an expression more blissful, more lost to sensation. His eyes roll back and his body shivers, like he’s ascending to some higher plane. Maybe he is.
When he pulls his finger from his mouth it’s completely licked clean. You hold your breath. He’s going to go for your neck now, right? He’s had a taste and now he’ll want more of it, all of it?
“Fuck,” is all he says. His mouth is back on your cunt so fast you don’t even see him move.
Your mouth falls wide. It hurts, the way he is so desperately licking at you. You feel his finger again, pressing in, in, in, only to pull back and suddenly be joined by another. The stretch tears at you. You thrash and jolt, but Satoru doesn’t bother telling you to stop this time. His arm wraps over your hips, holding you in place. He seems immune to how hard your legs squeeze at his head or your hands pull at his hair. He’s lost. You can feel him licking, lapping, and prodding at you like you’re a fucking gold mine. He’s lost to desperation, to the need for more, more, more. Every so often he lifts his chin and you see his mouth smudged with a mixture of your wetness and your blood. He laps at his lips like an animal, dragging his thumb across his chin and sliding it into his mouth to make sure he gets every last drop.
You’re not quite sure when the ravenous pain turns to a ravenous pleasure, when it turns from terrifying to downright delicious. You don’t notice your moans filling the air until Satoru joins you, groaning and whining into your cunt and telling you to keep going, to keep making those sounds. The hand you have buried in his hair doesn’t fight to push him away any longer, only to pull him into those now practiced rocks of your hips. His fingers thrust deep, curling into a spot that makes you feel so good and his mouth has found your clit again. He sucks your nerves lightly between his lips, tongue swirling in little circles. Your thighs start to shake.
“Yes. Yes. Give it to me.”
“S-Satoru–” you breathe. Warmth and tightness pool in your tummy, and you recognize it as your approaching orgasm, though you know this one will be far different than any you’ve ever managed to give yourself. Your body shakes and your breaths tremble and then– you fall over the edge, rocking your hips senselessly, losing all form of rhythm. Warmth tingles in your spine and seeps all the way down to your toes. You think you cry out, cry for your husband, cry for more, cry for less, but if you do you don’t hear it. All you hear is the pounding of your pulse, of pleasure throbbing in your veins until the world slowly seeps back in through the corners of your vision.
Satoru is grinning. A speck of your blood clings to his chin and his fangs peek out from behind his lips. The sight makes your blood run a little colder. If any part of you doubted what he was before… well, there was no doubt any longer.
There’s a shift between your legs, his hips slotting between them, and you’re suddenly snapped back to reality. From the look in his eyes, you’re not done.
Frantic hands find his pants and he undoes each button with a quickness that is almost inhuman. You wonder if he could go even faster, if he’s holding back so as not to scare you. If he is, it isn’t working very well. Fear surges in your veins right alongside anticipation.
“S-Satoru–”
“It’s alright, love.” His hand finds yours without his eyes ever looking up. His grip is just a little too firm, a little too cold. “Just stay still.”
You whimper, but you don’t think he’s paying attention to that, and soon enough, neither are you. His pants slide down just past his hips, just enough. You gasp.
You’ve never seen a man in the nude, never even dared to think about what it might look like, though it seemed you no longer had to guess. His hand wrapped around his shaft, giving one long and slow stroke that made his breath hiss through his fangs. The tip was flushed, angry, and leaking something that looked clear and sticky. You couldn’t help but notice it was a lot thicker than a finger, or even two. If his fingers had hurt…
He moves with that alarming quickness again, leaning down to hover over you, chests nearly pressed together. “Gonna take you now, princess. Gonna make you mine.” His eyes bore into yours, blue and shimmering with something wild. His hand presses into the mattress beside your head. “Stay still, now.”
It’s all the warning he gives you. You feel like you’re splitting– straight up the middle. You wail, hands flying out to claw at his back. It hurts. It hurts.
“Satoru, p-please! It’s–”
Lips catch yours– hungry, feral. The kiss is not gentle, not soothing. It shuts you up, it keeps you quiet, it keeps you still as you feel him sinking further, deeper into you. It’s too much, you try to say, but the poke of sharp teeth against your lips keeps you silent. Your hips jolt and wiggle trying desperately to escape the stretch but it’s no use. By the time he’s fully inside you, tears are streaking down your cheeks, fat and heavy. His lips break away and his eyes reappear. You shake when you see that none of the wildness has been tamed, that you’ve only just begun.
“Good girl,” he coos, and a cool finger traces a line across your jaw. “Took me so well.” You hold back a sob when his hips shift a little, testing, prodding. He must see the pinch of your eyes, the twist of your mouth, because he’s quick to comfort. “Just hold my hand, princess.” His hips rock in earnest this time and you whimper, squeezing down on his hand with all your might. You’re panting as he chuckles. “Breathe, love. Breathe. Soon you’ll be begging for more,” he laughs. It’s not long before he’s rocking into you sincerely, setting a pace that stretches you to the brink of breaking. At first it’s all you can do to grasp onto him, to bite your lips through the whimpers and hold his hand. And then it’s… more. It’s heat and warmth despite the coolness of his body on yours. It’s sensation and… pleasure. He laughs when the first moan slides past your lips, burying his face in your neck once again. You hear him at your ear, panting his hot breath across your skin.
“Feel good, princess?” You nod, letting your hips rock against his as he showed you before. It feels good– it feels right. He chuckles, but there’s nothing light about the sound. “Wanna feel even better?” Something sharp pokes at the skin of your neck, hard enough to make you squeak, to make you freeze at what you know he wants.
He pulls himself back, pressing his forehead to yours, searching your eyes with his. Something like a cruel smile dances on his mouth. “Just a taste, love. I promise it won’ hurt.” His tongue darts out and licks across your lips, his thrusts rocking just a bit faster. “You’ll feel s’ good an’ I’ll only take a little.” He laughs again and it sends a chill through your bones. “Promise.” He sounds breathless, like he’s struggling to restrain himself. The increase of his pace makes you whine and you squeeze his hand again. He buries himself back in your neck, panting. “Come on, love. Say yes. Say yes f’ me.” Your eyes glaze over. Your body justles with each new thrust. He’s desperate now, seeking a release that you don’t think is any kind you’re familiar with. “Yes, yes, yes,” he chants in your ear. You’re not sure when his words twist in your mind, when they settle on your tongue and push past your lips, but you know it feels so right when they do.
“Yes,” you whisper.
His fangs clamp around your pulse. You scream when the sting rips through you, violent and savage– but it only lasts a moment. Pain fades to… ecstasy. You feel his throat bobbing with each swallow, feel your blood seeping from your skin and onto his tongue. You’d thought it would feel slicing, draining, like the life was being sucked from you. It doesn’t. It feels wonderful. Heat spreads under your skin, emanating from your neck and down to your toes. It feels like breathing for the first time, like sugar being pumped into your veins. It feels like heaven. Your hand tangles in his hair, holding him close. You don’t want it to stop, not ever. You could die like this, have him suck every last drop of blood from your veins and thank him for it with your dying breath.
He’s moaning now, hands curling into your hips while he fucks into you relentlessly. The pace is grueling and brutal. You know it should hurt but only feels perfect. Anything less would not be enough. Anything else would leave you wanting. You feel it building, feel that familiar twinge at your core. The ecstasy flooding through your veins has it coming faster, has you teetering on the edge in moments.
“Satoru…” You hadn’t noticed how dizzy you felt until you tried to speak. You wonder why… “‘M gonna…”
He fucks you harder, something menacing and deep rumbling in his chest. The sound makes you shiver, makes you whine, makes you come.
Your body shakes and a cry rips from your throat, cunt clenching like a vice around him. Your eyes roll back, hands scraping trails down his back. Your thighs quake with the intensity, with the overwhelming senses of pleasure that erupt throughout your body. Every nerve is firing, every hair rising. It’s an unstoppable current, one that sweeps you away, helpless to its pull.
His thrusts grow sloppy and untimed. His grip on your hips tightens, holding you in place while he makes you his. His teeth break from your neck and when you look up through blurry eyes you see his head thrown back, your blood streaming down his chin in thick little globs. You feel it when he cums, feel the thick ropes of it seeping into your womb, feel the way he keeps fucking you, pushing it deeper and deeper inside. He’s moaning, chanting your name like a prayer at the heavens.
When the moment ends he slumps over you, eyes half lidded and tired. There’s a familiar grin on his lips, one that inspires both comfort and uneasiness in your gut. You can’t help but stare at him, at the blood that stains his chin and cheeks, that reddens his lips so beautifully. You want to reach out and touch him, touch his blood-soaked skin and see what it feels like, what it tastes like. What you taste like.
His eyes slide to the side, finding your pulse again. You groan. Yes, you think. Please, yes. More. You don’t think you’ll ever get enough of that. Of his teeth in your flesh, of the euphoria flooding your veins. More, more, more, your mind chants.
He chuckles lightly and shakes his head. “No, princess.” He raises a finger to trace the curve of your neck. “I took more than I should have…” His expression doesn’t tense with worry. His cheeks pull into a smile, those little dimples shining through. “But what can I say? You just taste so good.” Like he needs to emphasize his point, his tongue darts out to trace his lips, lapping up some of the remaining blood on his chin. “You taste like mine.”
You whine. More, more, more. It’s all you can think about. You lift an arm weakly. You want to pull him to your neck, to make him drink, to make him fill you with the heaven you had just moments ago.
He catches your wrist and brings it to his lips, inhaling deeply. His lips split into another grin and you see his eyes spark again with the wildness you crave.
“Not yet, princess.” he coos. “But soon.” His smile grows even wider, until those fangs are on full display, until you’re trembling again. “Forever,” he whispers.
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Pairing: Ransom Drysdale x Fem!Reader
Word Count: 1,749
Summary: You were just trying to help alleviate your father's debt, not serve yourself up on a silver platter.
Warnings: Explicit sexual content. Explicit language. AU. Non con. Dub con. Coercion. Sex as a form of payment. Soft!dark mob!Ransom. Unprotected sex. Slight breeding kink. Implied anal sex. Anal play/toys. Ransom is kind of the worst but somehow still makes me froth - whoops! But also, he will be another "soft!dark" babe that I will ruin and make him go full soft because I'm a slut for soft bad boys ¯\_(ツ)_/¯
A/N: Prepare yourselves (and your pussies) for another new and ongoing verse. Enjoy! 😘
It was stupid.
You knew it from the moment the idea sparked in your brain. You knew it the entire drive to his mansion. You knew it as you shakily stepped outside of your car on the other side of the wrought iron gate and told his security—the scary men with guns—who you were and that you wanted to speak with him.
It was so stupid that part of you expected to be turned away, but that wasn’t what happened at all.
Instead you found yourself flanked on either side by a stoic, burly security guard as you were led through the halls of mobster Ransom Drysdale's home before finally coming face to face with the man himself.
He was sitting on the edge of his desk like he was expecting you, a glass of dark liquor in one hand, somehow looking casual yet wealthy in his gray slacks and maroon sweater.
Ransom’s gaze took inventory of you slowly, and you felt your face warm, because you could only imagine how less than he found you in your thrift store shirt dress, cardigan, and plain black flats.
You weren’t rich like him, which is what brought you here in the first place. You’d overheard him threatening your father earlier today in your family’s laundromat. From what you could gather, your father was late on a few monthly protection payments, and Ransom had seemed delighted at the prospect of destroying your father’s business. His father’s business.
One day it would be your business, not that you were excited about it, but it was what it was and you didn’t want to let your parents down.
At the end of the day, you wanted to keep them, and the business, safe.
So here you were, unable to meet Ransom’s gaze as he finished his agonizingly slow perusal of you before setting his glass on his desk and pouring himself to his feet.
“Does this whole timid submissive thing run in the family?” He drawled as he slowly circled you before standing in front of you, mere inches away. “Although I have to admit, you wear it much better than your old man.”
You startled as Ransom curled a finger beneath your chin and tilted your wide eyes up to his.
His lips curled at the fear he detected in your gaze, his knuckles caressing down the length of your throat and drawing a gasp from between your lips.
“Mmm, that’s a pretty sound.”
Another wave of heat washed through you and you fidgeted, shifting your weight as you cleared your throat before presenting an envelope, which was noticeably shaking, just like the hand that was holding it.
“I know my father owes you money," you quavered. "It’s not all of it, but it’s all I have. I’m looking for a second job and I’ll save up more and keep paying until we’re all caught up and—“
“Does your father know you’re here?” Ransom asked, swiping the envelope from your hand and quickly checking the contents.
You shook your head. “No, he doesn’t know I know about…all this. I…” you swallowed, suddenly feeling extremely foolish. “I just wanted to help. Please, the business is all he has and it’s been in our family for almost seventy years and—“
“This covers one month,” Ransom cut you off, carelessly tossing the envelope of your hard earned money on his desk like it was nothing. “Your father owes me four.”
He stepped closer to you, grinning as your eyes went big at the feel of his chest brushing yours. When you went to step back, Ransom caught your arm and tugged you against him instead.
“While I appreciate your initiative, kitten, the bottom line is your family still owes me quite a chunk of change.”
“Please, I promise I’ll pay you back—“
Ransom hummed wordlessly, his teeth sinking into his lower lip as his gaze fell to your chest, where just a hint of cleavage peeked out from beneath your sweet, conservative outfit.
“I don’t want your money,” he said after a long, tense beat.
Your brows furrowed. “But, you said my father still owes you for three months—“
“I want money from him, what I want from you is something far different.”
You shuddered at the way he purred his words at you, at the wolfish smile that accompanied them. “But—“
Ransom lunged forward and swallowed the rest of your words, then your startled gasp, with a kiss. His lips were relentless—possessive, even—as they pressed against your own, his tongue invading your mouth soon after.
At the sound of your whimper and the way you were struggling against him, trying to shove him away, Ransom smiled into the kiss before slowly pulling away.
His eyes were much darker than before as he watched you, his hand massive against your face as he cradled your cheek and teased along your soft, warm skin with his thumb.
“Please,” you trembled, a few tears spilling over as you stared up at Ransom. “This isn’t why I came here.”
“Oh come on,” Ransom laughed. “You can’t be that naive. You just waltzed in here and served yourself up to me on a silver platter. How did you think this was gonna go?”
Ransom dragged you closer, turning you both toward his desk and shoving you back against it, until you were seated on the edge and he could force himself between your legs. One big hand dropped to your bare thigh and squeezed, making you chirp, and when it moved higher, you grabbed Ransom’s wrist, begging him to stop.
“Not a chance,” he murmured against your forehead before pressing a kiss there. “I don’t think I’ve ever met a woman like you, kitten, so shy and obviously terrified of me, but determined, brave even. Throw in this sweet tempting body that was made for ruin…”
Ransom trailed off, getting distracted as he cupped your hips and slowly groped higher, mapping the terrain of your body like it was his personal territory, not stopping until he was groping your breasts hard and making you squeal.
“Ohhhh,” he chuckled, dropping his forehead to yours. “We’re gonna have so much fun.”
“Please don’t do this,” you whispered, tearful gaze meeting Ransom’s. “This isn’t why I came here.”
He smirked at your repeated words from earlier, leaning in to purr against your ear, “And you’re not leaving until I cum in here.”
He cupped your cunt beneath your dress and laughed as you started to cry, fruitlessly struggling against him as his fingers curled around the sides of your panties and began to tug them down.
“Oh buck up, kitten,” Ransom teased. “I’ll make it good for you, your father will be in the green again, and I get to have a little fun. It’s a win, win, win.”
He gently gripped your throat and tilted your head back, dropping his own to steal another kiss and grinning against your lips as he tasted the salt of your tears on his tongue.
“Now spread those pretty legs for me, sweetheart,” Ransom crooned. “I’ve got a cunt to ruin.”
Hours Later
Ransom finished the latest round of ruin, pumping you full of his cum, again, with a satisfied groan before pulling out and collapsing beside you on the bed.
When you went to roll away and curl in on yourself, he grabbed you, stopping your retreat.
“Show me.” His simple words were a smoky whisper that had a fresh wave of tears filling your eyes as you shifted further up the bed and spread your legs so he could watch his cum leak out of you.
“Mmm, I’ll never get tired of seeing that.”
You gasped as he reached out and rubbed his mess all around your cunt before his fingers dipped lower to tease at your virgin rosebud.
Your thighs snapped closed around his hand and Ransom grinned. “Don’t get all shy on me now, kitten. You’ve got two more holes for me to ruin.”
“But,” your voice wobbled as your tears finally escaped. “You’ve already…so many times. Please…”
“Should have read the fine print, sweetheart.” Ransom’s grin was shit eating as he tucked his hands behind his head. “It’s a ruined hole, not an orgasm, per month owed. Now gimme a few minutes to catch my breath, and then I want you ass up and face down so I can get started on owning that tight little asshole of yours.”
It was closer to morning than evening when you finally sagged against the rumpled, messy sheets with an exhausted, overstimulated whimper.
It was a sound of defeat, of humiliation, as tears gathered at the corners of your eyes at the snug, foreign fit of the plug filling your ass and keeping Ransom’s cum deep inside you.
“You can pretend to be a good girl all you want,” Ransom rumbled as he planted lingering kisses along your naked back, his fingers still teasing against the sparkling jewel between your cheeks. “But you came ten times harder when I fucked your ass than your cunt, kitten.”
Ransom continued to kiss his way up your back and across your shoulder, and you could feel his smile against your skin when he saw the tears wetting your cheeks.
“Be honest,” he whispered against your ear, the warm rush of his breath making you shiver. “I made it so good for you, didn’t I?”
At your stubborn silence, Ransom tutted at you, and then he was rolling you onto your back and sinking his body against yours, his hand gently pressing against your throat as your glassy gaze met his.
“Didn’t I?” He repeated.
The hint of steel in his voice has you wobbling out a broken, “yes.”
It was like the sun breaking through dark storm clouds as Ransom smiled at your answer, softness seeping back into his features as he gently stroked your cheek, enjoying the way your lashes fluttered and how your body was so sweetly pliant from hours of filthy debauchery.
“Better get some rest, kitten.” Ransom dipped low and kissed the tip of your nose. “Tomorrow’s a brand new day, and I have so many more ways I want to ruin you.”
At the sound of your choked whine, the way your chest heaved with a half-formed sob, Ransom smiled once more before cooing at you softly then kissing away your objections like they never even existed.
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mean neighbor!ellie x sunshine reader, angst / fluff / hurt + comfort, modern!au warnings: language / 18+ content (mdni!), wc: 5k
you have a hot new neighbor…too bad she doesn’t want a thing to do with you!
tagging those who commented / liked my previous interest post!: @loversreligion , @tahni-04 , @parrotpeggy , @acnologiasgf , @maybe-cece (happy birthday gemini queen ! <3)
an — first time writing for ellie ! content warnings include oral (r!receiving), fingering (r!receiving). not my first time writing 18+ content, but my first time posting eeek. i apologize for the person ellie has turned me into lmaooo. feel free to send me more ideas, blurbs, hcs, etc.
neighbor!ellie who moves in on a hot sticky july day.
ac’s busted in the common areas, elevator hasn’t worked in weeks, and she’s moved into a unit on the fifth floor.
neighbor!ellie who’s admittedly too far gone and incredibly irritated because jesse keeps fucking around and they almost drop her flat screen on the third flight of steps.
neighbor!ellie who finally gets most of the boxes and furniture settled and doesn’t even get to collapse on the couch for .2 seconds before someone’s knocking on the door.
yanks the knob so hard, the door rattles on its hinges.
eyes narrow when she sees you, all neat, not sweaty, dressed in an outfit definitely not indicative of a night in. only makes her even more annoyed because she just wants two seconds of peace.
“yes?” her tone is sharp, gaze bored because your lips part thrice before the words are spilling out.
“i know it’s miserable out, and this building can be a piece of shit, so i made some blackberry tea!”
neighbor!ellie who gives the glass, beaded with condensation, a brief glance before crossing her arms over her chest.
“i’m allergic to blackberries,” ellie says flatly.
your round eyes widen impossibly before tucking the glass behind your back.
“oh fuck, i’m so sorry,” you babble. “i have peach! or maybe mint? i—”
“i’ll pass.”
neighbor!ellie who doesn’t beat around the bush and makes a move to close the door because she hadn’t even checked into the conversation.
“if you ever need anything, i’m right next door!” you chirp. “i’m-”
“yup, yeah, got it. good night.”
and the door is shutting in your face.
neighbor!ellie who’s trying to sleep in because she stayed up all night playing tekken 4 with jesse jolting awake when she hears three soft raps against the front door.
has an inkling of who it could be so she’s only mildly surprised when she sees you standing on the welcome mat that says ‘no weenies allowed’ because jesse thought it was the funniest thing (ellie’d been only slightly amused).
“morning,” you smile.
you have a plate covered in foil in your hands and ellie gives you a brief onceover to find that you’re dressed to the nines again (admittedly it’s just a simple sundress, but the red and white ginham cuts at the meatiest part of your thighs and she has to remind herself to keep her eyes up).
“it’s…” ellie trails off, glances at the clock on the oven to find that it’s not even 9am. “…8:52am on a saturday morning.”
“it is,” you agree, extending the plate to her. “i, uh, hope you’re not allergic to pancakes?”
“…i’m not.”
you beam.
“great!”
you’re shoving the food in her hands before she can decline and ellie finds that the ceramic is still warm.
neighbor!ellie who awkwardly holds the plate up to you as a silent thanks and shuts the door in your hopeful face.
“i gotta give it to you williams, didn’t think you’d pull within 24 hours,” jesse mutters groggily from the couch he’d helped her lug up the stairs yesterday afternoon.
“oh fuck off,” she huffs, tearing the foil from the plate to find a five-stack of fluffy pancakes with two cute little strawberry-shaped containers that has butter and syrup respectively.
“who’s it from?” jesse asks, even though he knows the answer.
“girl in 5a.”
first bite in and ellie’s eyebrows raise because wow, that’s damn good.
jesse swipes a bite despite ellie’s protests and they polish off the matching plate that she puffs a laugh at because there’s a strawberry bandit painted in the center and in shoddy lettering says, “this is a strobbery”
neighbor!ellie who surprises you by washing and returning the plate later that evening, muttering out a quick thanks before ducking back into her apartment without another word.
she leaves you blinking, staring at the space she was previously standing in a moment prior before you smile and shut the door because god ellie is so hot.
neighbor!ellie doesn’t expect it to become a routine, but more often than not, you’re knocking on her door at any given hour with snacks and she’s surprised when, a week and a half in, she’s had to do minimal grocery shopping because you’re always feeding her.
little does she know it’s because you’re looking forward to the brief moments that she’s unintentionally banging on your door to return your plates and dinnerware.
neighbor!ellie who’s a mechanic and brings your goodies to work sometimes and gets teased by the other mechanics because they think she has a girlfriend.
neighbor!ellie who after revealing she works in a garage starts opening up her front door to little reusable bags with cute notes and food puns if your schedule’s don’t line up.
neighbor!ellie whose schedule does end up frequently aligning with yours and you end up taking the same elevator down.
“morning, ellie,” you greet, smiling softly at her despite being up at the asscrack of dawn.
neighbor!ellie who yawns, takes the lunch you made for her gratefully and walks with you to the elevator.
“morning, 5a.”
neighbor!ellie who could get used to only seeing you in the fifth floor halls, however, after a few weeks, you stumble upon her in different circumstances.
you’re usually out on your balcony in the early mornings to water your plants and drink your tea or coffee, but today’s been exceptionally rough at work (you’re, surprise, a café owner) so you step out to take a deep breath late in the evening after your shift.
you definitely don’t expect to find ellie perched on a stool flicking the ash from a blunt over the railing.
“‘sup,” she hums, taking a long pull.
“hey,” you sigh.
“long day?” she humors you.
the two of you don’t really have much conversation because ellie’s always finding ways to cut interactions with you short.
and it’s not particularly because she doesn’t like you, but she’s caught the vibe you’re giving off and she doesn’t want to give you any unnecessary hope, especially after such a messy break up with the last girl.
(it’s definitely not because something about you makes her nervous).
so she doesn’t really expect you to spill, but one moment you’re debating whether or not you should divulge and the next you’re talking a mile a minute about how draining the job can be especially when employees end up being unreliable and the customers are impatient.
ellie’s gone through the entire joint and you still haven’t stopped talking and she doesn’t want to be mean, especially because you’ve been so nice to her since she’s moved in, but the high is wearing off because she’s too focused on finding an out of the one-sided conversation.
“you should come by,” you say, once you’re done babbling. “to the café, i mean. bring your friends, i’ll stay open a little later for you guys.”
that catches ellie’s attention after she’d zoned out.
“i— you don’t have to do that,” she says. “and i mean, we’re all pretty busy and—”
“no, no!” you say sweetly. “i insist! i wanna test out a few new seasonal recipes and i’d love some opinions!”
ellie’s wracking her brain, but you’re looking at her so hopefully and you look too cute with a few strands of hair falling from your updo. she really doesn’t want to give in, so she gives a lukewarm response instead.
“i’ll, uh, get back to you, i guess.”
you’re grinning.
“try to clear saturday night!” you tell her. “sometime around 9:30!”
ellie opens her mouth to give one last protest, but you’re standing from where you’d been leaning against the railing.
“it’ll be fun!” you tell her. “night, ellie!”
neighbor!ellie who really doesn’t want to go because she feels like it’ll only add fuel to the fire.
the beginning of the week rolls around and you decide that this’ll be the week you’ll finally ask ellie out.
you figure that ellie’s just really quiet, isn’t the one to really put herself out there, so you wanna take initiative.
you’re thinking of all the different recipes you could try because you really wanna wow her and her friends.
little does ellie know that you’re lowkey agonizing over saturday and it’s all you can think about: what you’ll wear, what pairings you want to present, how you’ll decorate the cafe.
meanwhile, ellie’s trying to find a way out of it and jesse’s not any help because he keeps teasing her about how she must be broken for not wanting her hot neighbor who has a glaringly obvious crush on her.
everyone on the whole floor, possibly even the whole building knows. hell, even the doorman knows (and it’s definitely not because you stop to chat with him frequently when you walk your little beagle, apple, and ellie becomes a frequent topic of conversation).
neighbor!ellie who starts avoiding you because she fears that her being receptive to your kindness is giving you the wrong idea (definitely not because you’re growing on her and you’re becoming a part of her daily routine).
neighbor!ellie who sees you twice the entire week, doesn’t answer the door when you knock, stuffs your cute little post-its about saturday somewhere in the back of her junk drawer, smokes her blunts on the roof to avoid running into on the balcony.
neighbor!ellie who spends most of her time at the garage with jesse and her coworkers in efforts to get home after you do.
you figure that maybe she is really busy and you shouldn’t have been so pushy about the tasting, but you’ve grown to really like her and you can’t give this up without officially giving it a shot.
neighbor!ellie who ducks out of her apartment when she knows you’re out on saturday and leaves her lights off, so you’ll know she isn’t home.
neighbor!ellie who spends the day with jesse and his girl and gets invited to a kickback on the otherside of town.
neighbor!ellie who’s about two joints in and a couple shots out, so she’s crossed by nine and you completely slip her mind.
you’re on the other side of town, about a block from your apartment, waiting in the cafe for ellie.
you made such a pretty spread of lavender matcha cookies and lemon muffins. used your special espresso roast to brew a delicious batch of coffee to make a few lattes.
you’d even bought flowers from next door, decorated the table and light a few candles.
it’s 9:45 and you think that she’s gonna be late, but time’s passing and the pastries are going stale, the coffee going lukewarm.
it’s 10:30 when you start losing hope.
probably 11:30 when you blow out the candles, box up the treats and throw the espresso in the cooler for some iced coffee tomorrow morning.
you should’ve seen it coming, really. she did say that her and her friends were typically busy. and she hadn’t officially confirmed it with you either so you were being rather presumptuous anyways.
you decide that maybe you’ll just drop them by her place tomorrow and ask her to lunch!
it’s about midnight when you walk up the sidewalk and see that her LEDs are on in her room. it vaguely smells like weed so you figure she’d been smoking a little.
you don’t wanna bother her so late at night so you enter your own apartment, set the box on the kitchen island before padding into your room to get ready for bed.
you should’ve seen it coming, ellie standing you up, but what you don’t see coming, or hear, for that matter, are the muffled moans through the paper thin walls.
you’d been used to hearing ellie cuss at her video games, heard her getting better at playing the guitar, bickering with jesse over who got to be who during smash bros, but this was new.
you’d never heard the voice before, pitched and whiny.
your cheeks warm because whatever ellie’s doing must be good. you can’t even find it in yourself to be relieved that ellie was interested in girls. you’d initially been scared that maybe you were reading into it all wrong.
regardless, obviously you’d read everything way way wrong because ellie’s mouth is filthy and there’s no misconstruing the fact that she’s fucking someone six ways to sunday and you can hear every gory detail.
your stomach is churning because it’s been weeks and you couldn’t even get ellie outside the fifth floor’s hallway.
it’s obvious they’re thoroughly enjoying themselves and the hurt and envy that kindles is an ugly sight to see.
you end up sleeping in the living room that night.
neighbor!ellie who chases the girl out the following morning after a nasty hangover and finally coming to terms with the fact that she’d brought someone home last night.
neighbor!ellie whose stomach drops to her ass when someone knocks on the door a few minutes later and she thinks it’s you, but it ends up being jesse.
“jesus, did 5a do that?” he asks, referring to your apartment number in regards to the fresh hickies blooming up the column of ellie’s throat.
“god no,” ellie says. “how many times do i have to tell you, that’s never happening.”
neighbor!ellie who would never tell a soul that she’d been imagining a certain someone the night prior.
neighbor!ellie who doesn’t want to think of anything more than being your neighbor because she’s locked in this lease for the next two years and she’d prefer to not shit where she sleeps.
(yeah, that’s totally it).
“dude why not? she’s obviously so down bad for you,” jesse chuckles, pushing past ellie.
she huffs a breath, defensive.
“god, i don’t know how she isn’t embarrassed, it’s fuckin’ pathetic.”
oh—
you’d heard jesse’s voice, then ellie’s, and figured you could give her the pastries you worked so hard on last night.
you’d always thought that ellie was just naturally aloof, kept to herself often, but last night was the coffin and this morning was the nail.
in the stillness of your apartment, jesse and ellie’s voice carries through the thin walls.
“i mean, you could just fuck her a couple of times, get it out of your system?”
“god, look at her, there’s not a casual bone in her body.”
“you can’t run away from her forever, yknow?”
neighbor!ellie who thinks to herself that she’ll try anyways.
neighbor!ellie who doesn’t have to try, because you become an enigma after that.
it’s the middle of the week and she hasn’t had to even try avoiding you once.
you haven’t knocked on her door since the week prior and it makes her brows furrow.
neighbor!ellie who starts feeling bad for standing you up, but feels infinitely worse when she goes to dump some of her trash and finds the carton of pastries you’d baked.
they have your café’s name emblazoned on the logo and she vaguely remembers you chattering about trying lavender in one of your recipes.
she sees the purple food coloring and her heart sinks because why are they in the trash? :(
realizes that she’s fucked up and that maybe she should just be completely transparent with you.
neighbor!ellie who hesitantly knocks on your door and waits patiently for you to answer.
hears shuffling on the other side, but you don’t open up.
neighbor!ellie who tries to convince herself that you’re just busy! work is stressful right now and you’re keeping to yourself.
but you two end up bumping into each other on the elevator (she’d been lurking), and you give her a curt greeting because you’re polite and you realize that ellie doesn’t owe you anything.
“apple’s got a haircut,” she observes, leaning down to pet the pup.
“yeah,” you hum.
“she looks cute,” ellie compliments.
“thanks.”
neighbor!ellie who’s not used to you icing her out, so she takes the leap.
“hey, i wanted to apologize…” she trails off. “about saturday. i shouldn’t have flaked.”
“s’okay,” you say simply, watching as the numbers painfully descend. “you were busy.”
a blanket of silence.
“i’m sure the pastries were great,” ellie tries again. “we could always—”
the elevator dings and the doors part.
“have a good day, ellie,” you say softly, tugging apple by the leash to leave the lift.
neighbor!ellie who swears she hears you sniffling on the other side of the wall later that night, but tries to convince herself that you’ve just got allergies.
neighbor!ellie who thinks of every excuse in the book to try and talk to you, but she ends up freezing because fuck, have you always been this pretty?
neighbor!ellie who buys a succulent and puts it on her balcony. she tries to catch you in the mornings when you’re watering your plants, but it seems like your schedules just don’t align anymore.
neighbor!ellie is frustrated as fuck because she’d been avoiding getting attached, but you don’t knock on her door to deliver snacks or talk her ear off anymore and it drives her absolutely nuts.
neighbor!ellie who gets teased infinitely more at work because her coworkers are now convinced that there’s ‘trouble in paradise’.
“jesus christ, you’re actually pathetic,” jesse rolls his eyes over breakfast one weekend.
“dude, she just…” ellie lets out a frustrated sigh. “i just—”
“you miss her,” he fills in.
ellie turns red.
“fuck you, i don’t—”
“it’s okay to admit it, yknow?” he says. “she’s a lot different from your exes. she’s genuinely sweet, in it because she really likes you.”
ellie swallows, lips pursing.
“you’re soft around her,” jesse observes. “you think that if you give in, she’s gonna uncover parts of you you don’t even let me or joel see.”
“fuck you—”
“for someone who likes bitches you—”
ellie groans.
neighbor!ellie who goes home and rolls a joint because this limbo is stressing her out.
and FINALLY! you’re watering your plants on your balcony when she slides the patio door open and slinks outside.
you don’t say anything to her, just continue watering.
she slumps in her folding lawn chair, kicking her feet up on the railing to feign nonchalance, but you haven’t blinked an eye at her and she’s annoyed.
“been doing alright?” she asks finally.
you freeze for the briefest of moments before glancing at her.
you’ve got bags under your eyes and your lips are pursed and ellie’s heart squeezes.
“yeah,” you answer simply. “fine.”
ellie hums.
“how’s work?”
“same old,” you say, turning your back to her to tend to the plants housed on the other side.
neighbor!ellie who doesn’t know what to say. who’s so used to trying to break conversation, not make them.
neighbor!ellie who fidgets because you’re making her nervous. you’re usually so sweet and smiley, but this side of you makes her gut churn.
neighbor!ellie who bites the bullet.
“i’m…i’m off on sunday…” she says, scratching the back of her neck. “if you wanted to— i dunno.”
your back straightens and she thinks you’re gonna bite, but you glance at the sidewalk below and shake your head.
“you don’t have to pretend, you know?” you say softly.
it’s like a punch in the chest and ellie’s scrambling.
“no! it’s—” she realizes she’s shouting. “it’s not like that, i—”
“i’m a big girl, ellie,” you tell her, that stupid little strawberry-shaped spray bottle squeezed tight in your hand. “if i was annoying, you could have just said that.”
and god she feels so fucking awful because this entire time, you’d just been trying to be nice to her. it was a harmless crush and—
“i don’t think you’re annoying,” she argues weakly. “can you…can you look at me, please?”
your head tilts up and ellie realizes that you’re trying to stop yourself from crying.
“god, i really am pathetic,” is your watery whisper.
ellie’s crossing the balcony, fully ready to climb over the railing onto your patio, but you’re quickly dashing away the tears and throwing the sliding door open.
“goodnight,” you tell her, and you’re sealing her out in the humid air.
neighbor!ellie who’s in knots because living next to someone she used to see everyday fucking sucks now that all the two of you are reduced to is straining extra hard to hear your shuffling from the other side of the walls.
neighbor!ellie who stands in front of your door sometimes, wanting to knock, but feeling like she doesn’t deserve closure with you because it’s all her fault.
neighbor!ellie who realizes that the very awkwardness and discomfort she was avoiding to begin with could’ve been avoidable had she just been up front with you.
you were sweet and you were understanding…mature. you would’ve probably taken better to honesty than ellie blowing you off and lowkey being an ass to you.
neighbor!ellie being scolded by jesse after a couple of days pass because he’s beating her ass at smash bros without even trying and it’s hurting his ego.
“are you seriously gonna keep moping over 5a?” he asks after the fourth round won.
“i’m not moping,” ellie grumbles.
“oh c’mon dude,” jesse moans in annoyance. “you and 5a have this dad with four kids who doesn’t want a puppy but ends up loving the shit out of the—”
“i do not love her,” ellie barks.
jesse smirks.
“that’s all you took from that, ellie, seriously?” jesse scoffs.
“i mean, it’s not like there’s much that can be done, anyways,” ellie grunts, tossing the video game controller onto the coffee table’s surface. “she fuckin’ hates me and i don’t blame her.”
“5a does not hate you,” jesse sighs. “her feelings are just hurt, but you can fix it.”
“and how’s that?” ellie crosses her arms over her chest.
“you’re a smart girl, you’ll figure it out.” jesse grabs the discarded controller from the coffee table and shoves it into ellie’s chest. “now put your all into this next round, i’m still gonna beat your ass.”
neighbor!ellie who’s never felt more nervous in her life.
who’s standing a block away from the café you own with a little gift bag and a bouquet of flowers.
neighbor!ellie who’s used to effortless relationships and casual situationships.
neighbor!ellie who’s scared shitless that she’s making the wrong decision giving in like this, but maybe jesse’s right and you’re just what she needs.
neighbor!ellie whose hands shake the entire walk up to the café.
she sees you with your back turned towards the door, probably doing closing inventory or something of the like with the way you scribble quickly against a clipboard.
you look so in your element with your apron tied tight around the narrow of your waist and perhaps now’s not the appropriate time, but your work pants look exceptionally great spread over the—
“i’m sorry, but we’re closed for the evening,” your voice sounds when ellie opens the front door and the chime tinkles against the glass.
“i’ll make it quick,” ellie says quietly, paper wrap around the flowers crinkling as she shifts on her feet.
you whirl around with wide eyes, almost dropping the clipboard when you find your neighbor standing in the middle of your café.
she looks so good in a fitted brown button up rolled to the elbow to reveal the whorls of ink decorating her forearms and skinny jeans that are way too good at highlighting the muscles of her thighs.
“ellie, what are you doing here?” you ask, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear.
“i was, er, in the area?”
one of your eyebrows raise.
“well, is there something i can help you with?” you ask, eyeing the flowers and the giftbag in what ellie can only read as disdain.
it’s like the day you two first met all over again but the roles are reversed. her lips gape once, twice, then three times as she tries to find the words. but ellie’s never been good at talking about how she feels, at being vulnerable.
“i have to close up,” you prod, tone tired. “and whoever you’re visiting after this is probably waiting.”
the words after are a silent insinuation.
god knows i did.
you’re turning on your heel and ellie knows she’s losing you.
“i like you.” she says suddenly.
you freeze, fist tightening mercilessly around your clipboard.
“that’s not funny,” you say stonily. “you don’t have to make an ass out of me for having feelings for you, ellie. i get it, it’s hilarious that your dorky neighbor has a crush on you, but you don’t have to drag it. i’m—”
neighbor!ellie who’s always thought that you talk a tad too much and sets the gifts on the nearest table before crossing the distance between the two of you.
she’s towering over you and you’re looking up at her with furrowed brows as she pries the clipboard from your fingers and kisses you without another word.
“wait, wait,” you whisper, pulling away from her momentarily.
her lips chase yours, one hand splaying over the small of your back as the other cradles your chin.
“i’m sorry,” she says quietly. “i didn’t—”
“i don’t understand,” you admit. “you…you and your friend were—”
ellie shakes her head vehemently.
“i was being stupid,” she says quickly. “it’s—” she sighs. “it’s a long story.”
“but the night of the tasting,” you start. “you brought someone home…i heard you.”
ellie closes her eyes in defeat, rolls her lips as she presses her forehead against yours.
“it was a mistake, you have to believe me,” she pleads softly. “i was drunk out of my mind and high as hell and—”
she stops talking when she sees the expression on your face, notices the way your fingers hover.
“you have every right not to entertain this,” ellie swallows. “and i know i’ve been awful to you, but i…i really like you 5a.”
your head tilts down and ellie’s leaning forward in an effort to keep the eye contact.
“i’m not good at stuff like this,” she confesses. “obviously.”
you breathe out an involuntary laugh.
“but you’re different, really different,” ellie says. “and you make me feel so fuckin’ weird—”
you flinch.
“a good weird!” she assuages. “it’s good. and i really wanna try things with you if you’ll let me.”
you look hesitant, but ellie’s hopeful and you’ve always been a sucker for green eyes.
18+ BONUS
neighbor!ellie really wanted to take things slow with you after officially winning you over, but she can’t really help herself.
she takes you out a week after your heart-to-heart in your café, a nice restaurant you’d chattered about during your elevator rides to the lobby, and she’d been so close to making it through dinner and keeping it appropriate, but the dessert the two of you ordered had strawberries.
needless to say, when you’d taken a bite into the candied fruit and the juice curved down your jaw and slithered between your cleavage, ellie threw a wad of bills onto the table top and dragged you out of the restaurant.
didn’t make it far, ended up at the edge of the parking lot in the back seat of her car with two of her fingers knuckles deep in your heat while she swallowed your moans whole.
neighbor!ellie who takes you to hers after you cum twice and she tastes you for the first time.
“fuck, angel,” she whispers against your clit. “pussy’s too good.”
the sight is a devastating one, your skirt bunched around your waist and your top discarded somewhere on her bedroom floor.
one of your hands bunches her sheets in your fist, the other threaded through her brown hair as she eats you out like she’s absolutely starved.
“that’s it, princess,” she eggs you on, stuffing her fingers and curling against the walls of your spongy cunt. her tongue is sloppy against your little bud and your dulcet moans are buttery soft, absolute music to her ears.
that night seems to be the straw that breaks the camel’s back because she can’t get enough of you.
especially not when you wear that red and white gingham sundress you’d worn the second time the two of you met.
neighbor!ellie who spends so much time in your apartment now, likes to especially when you’re baking because you wear that stupidly tiny dress in your stupidly tiny kitchen and it takes every ounce of self control to keep her kisses on your exposed shoulders appropriate.
you start kneading the dough and she can’t keep her hands to herself, hooking her jaw into the crook of your neck as her fingers dance under the hem of your dress and ghosts the seam of your thighs.
“y’look so pretty,” ellie hums, tongue darting to lave at the juncture of your jaw and your neck.
“wait, ah!” fingertips trace over your mound and a semi-giddy, semi-disbelieving laugh rumbles from ellie’s chest when she finds you aren’t wearing any panties.
“you’re a dirty girl, angel,” she bites, one arm securing around your waist, the other toying with the slick coating your inner thighs. “what happened to getting work done?”
all you manage is a breathy cry when ellie skips the formalities and taps your clit roughly.
“el—ellie!” you whimper, one of your flour dusted hands wrapping around her wrist as your back arches and your ass presses into her hips.
your body stutters when you feel something nestle between the pert cheeks of your ass.
you throw a surprised look over your shoulder and ellie’s already grinning lazily at you as she continues kissing all over you.
“surprise,” she whispers.
neighbor!ellie who’s so gone. who still constantly gets teased by jesse and her coworkers. who wasn’t willing to admit it at first, but wants absolutely everything to do with you.
hello i'm not sure if you take requests i'm sorry If not 😭 but I really love your fics and I was wondering if you could do something like a long distance relationship with megumi? like reader is from kyoto jujutsu high and they met during that competition event, it can be hcs or whatever you like. Thank u in advance 💖
yes yes yes let's do some chunky hcs bc i never do them and they're fun
_
when you first meet the tokyo students, you come across as shy. which isn't really who you are, but they'd just lost one of their friends, and you didn't think it was right to mess with them like mai and todo were. so you tucked yourself behind the rest of your classmates and kept your eyes glued to your phone
(when yuuji ends up being alive and you're told that the mission here is to kill the vessel by whatever means necessary, you still keep your eyes down, but you're anything but distracted)
you don't run into megumi directly. you run into a demon dog. at first you brandish your weapon, frowning at the idea of having to defend yourself against such a fluffy creature. but it seemed the dog wasn't focused on you, as if attacking you wasn't the command it had been given. as you approach it, your steps are calculated, slow, just to be sure it wasn't going to catch you off guard.
more peculiar, when you got close enough, and you lowered your weapon to your side, the big puppy sat itself on the ground. you actually laughed, before carefully placing your hand between it's ears for a little scratch. the divine dog seemed to smile as it panted and pushed it's head further into your pleasant scratching.
"i can't just sit here all day and pet you you know," you coo to the shikigami, but despite your words you crouch down to get a better look at it's detailed markings. "but a little break couldn't hurt, could it?" you ask with a bright smile.
the dog thumps it's tail against the ground a few times, displaying it's content with your attention. again, you giggle. if only you could've been born with a cursed technique that could bring you such companionship.
"you're such a good boy, aren't you?" you praise. "or girl? i'm sorry. I wonder if you have a name..."
you're not sure how much time had passed, but you know it's not smart to stay in one place for too long. you don't know what would be worse, your opponent finding you, or your own peers.
you figure you'd rather the curses unleashed in the area would be your best bet.
however just as you're about to go back to the task at hand, you're caught. or, found, really.
"what the hell are you doing?"
your weapon in hand again, you whirl around towards the voice, and you even step in front of the shikigami as though you were it's protector.
there stands one of the tokyo students, a sword in hand but it's lowered to his side, and the most perplexed face you've ever seen on anyone.
(it's kind of cute, actually)
"dogs are my weakness" you shrug with you honest answer to his question.
it's then that his eyes shift to you, and you realize he hadn't been talking to you, he'd been talking to the divine dog. you snort.
"so you're his owner?" you think out loud. "does he have a name?"
megumi blinks, bewildered by such a question. shouldn't you be attacking him right now? he supposes he should have used your distraction as an opening to get you out first, but he couldn't help but stop in his tracks when he caught you baby talking his shikigami.
whether that was because you were so pretty and he hadn't seen you before, or he was confused as to why his shikigami wasn't following simple orders, he wasn't sure. (it was definitely both tho)
"uh, totality" he answers, and he doesn't know why, it's not like you need an answer, it's not like he owes you an answer, but it comes out before he can stop himself.
you grin, and turn back to the dog- turning your back completely on your opponent- just to scratch behind his ears and coo again.
"totality," you repeat with a smile, and the shikigami's tail waves back and forth in wide swoops on the ground. "what a good boy, aren't you?"
no, megumi thinks bitterly, he's not a good boy because he was supposed to be taking out the kyoto students, yet here you were, playing with him.
"i'm (y/n)," you say, and megumi isn't sure if you're introducing yourself to him or the shikigami, because your focus remains completely on the latter. "you're megumi, right?"
he doesn't say anything, maybe because he's been at a loss for words since he's stumbled upon this little interaction, or maybe because he's suddenly feeling... shy?
"mai's told me about you," you explain, turning to look at him again. he still has his weapon at his side, and you smile at how unguarded he seems to be. so far, he doesn't seem anything at all like you classmate had explained.
(then again, mai had tried to convince everyone her sister was no threat, but you'd met maki, and you know to keep a distance because you'd like to keep all your teeth intact)
"did you do something to him? why isn't he attacking you?"
you shrug again, before turning to face your opponent once more.
"I dunno," you shrug. "maybe his master doesn't will him to attack me, so he hasn't," you smirk at the insinuation, and your pride only blooms when megumi visibly flusters. even from a few feet away, you can see the tips of his ears go red.
and the truth is megumi is flustered. incredibly so. here you were, a stranger, an opponent, cooing to his shikigami like it were a puppy you saw in a pet store window, and now you were smiling at him and you weren't even lifting your weapon. maybe he didn't want totality to get you out of the event? were you right to assume that?
now that he thinks about it, he hasn't exactly lifted his weapon either. but that's just cause he was shocked, right?
"well, since you're not getting me out, i'll do you a favor too," you say, and suddenly you're approaching him, rapidly so. every instinct tells him to tighten his grip on his weapon and brandish it before you could get too close, but somehow you stand before him and his sword remains at his side.
this is your cursed technique, right? you must be doing something to make him freeze in place, because this was completely out of the ordinary for him.
"itadori is in danger," your voice drops in volume, and it also loses the sweet, cursive melody you'd previously used when speaking to his shikigami like a pet. "the old man wants him dead. you need to make sure your team knows"
a million thoughts and questions race through his head, but megumi remains silent, his eyes wide as he stares at you, trying to decipher if you're even telling the truth. this could be a trap after all, maybe an ambush. you have no reason to show all your cards and confess this to him, after all.
but your features are serious, hardened with genuinity. and megumi realizes you have no reason to lie, either. he swallows a lump in his throat before he nods.
he's not sure why he trusts you, but he just feels like he should. in that moment, it feels like he's known you longer than the past three minutes, like it's been years, like you're his closest confidant and there wasn't a chance in the world you could deceive him.
you nod back at him, before a small smile creeps over your lips, letting yourself indulge in his pretty features before you step away with the intention of getting back to the event.
"you get one pass megumi, i still have a game to win" you tell him with a grin. "but i do hope I can see you again!"
lucky for him your back is turned as you head off into the trees, because the comment makes the rest of his face burn hot and he knows it would be obvious if you were looking his direction.
with you out of sight, he turns his attention towards totality.
"what the hell was that?" he mutters, and for a second, he actually would have appreciated an answer, because whatever your hold on him was, hadn't seemed like cursed energy at all.
i'm loving this i'm gonna make a part two to this in a bit :3
── ◜ ⪩⪨ ◞ content : angst, fluff, dad!gojo (reader ‘n’ gojo have a daughter), set in 2018 and 2023, reunion, beach trips, established relationship ! f!reader. ･｡･ w.c. 3.7k & not proofread.
── ◜ ⪩⪨ ◞ synopsis : time remains the one enemy gojo can’t defeat. ໒꒰ྀི ´ ꒳ ` ꒱ྀིა notes: ik there’s a gazillion reunion fics but this has been sitting in my drafts since oct n i suddenly felt like finishing n sharing so i hope u enjoy <333 ‘m gna go cry over this fic now ;u;
satoru is having a damn good day.
it’s suspicious, it feels like a fever dream, and he can’t really pinpoint where the dubiousness comes from. maybe it’s because he feels as if he doesn’t deserve it, like if he allows himself to relax like this something terrible will happen while he slacks off. or maybe, it’s because he’s only ever had those truly good days in his youth when he was devil may care and his concerns for the wellbeing of the world sleuthed off his shoulders weightlessly, like sheets of rain on a rooftop. a wild and selfish kind of happiness that begun in spring and ended too quickly in winter.
but today is a good day. he forgot to charge his phone last night, he is in the best mood he’s been in all year, and he can’t stop fucking smiling. gojo satoru is thriving, on top of the world, a little bit of that nostalgic, adolescent joy warming up his chest.
and it’s all because it’s a sunny day, the water is cool, and he’s on the beach with you and his baby girl.
the three of you decided to steal away on a spontaneous trip to okinawa that forced him out of his work uniform and into swim trunks with a bare chest, simply because you burst into his office with big droplets of tears in your eyes declaring yourself a terrible mother because you realized that your daughter was already three years old and she had never seen the ocean before.
it had taken him ten minutes to book three first class tickets and secure the private family villa for the weekend, fifteen to get packed, and twenty to board after hearing that.
he would do anything to please his girls, after all.
“‘anna go into the bathtub, mama!” your baby whines impatiently from the embrace of your arms, squirming and squiggling for you to let her down as she points towards the rolling ocean waves behind you. ever since she learned how to walk, she’s lost all patience for her doting parents carrying her around— especially when something catches the attention of those big, pretty blue eyes. it didn’t take long for her to become enamored with the sea, wanting nothing more than to get out of your hold and toddle towards the shallows.
“it’s called an ‘ocean’, cupcake,” you correct her, voice full of amusement and affection as you crane your head forward to kiss the soft skin of her chubby cheek, bouncing the toddler in your arms. “too bad we’re being held hostage by dada right now.”
“i heard that,” satoru mumbles with a pout, his third melon popsicle of the day hanging from one side of his mouth. droplets of green slush drips onto the broad planes of his chest in a sticky mess as it melts but he’s wholly focused on the two of you, one summer blue eye winked closed as the other peers through the lens of the polaroid camera looped around his neck. “but wait, just one more photo of my two favorite girls!”
“you’ve been taking photos for the last twenty minutes, satoru,” you huff. “we aren’t going anywhere, you know. you don’t have to take so many.”
“our baby needs to see what the three of us looked like in our prime, before we grow old and gray together.”
“you’re so ridiculous, gojo satoru.”
but despite your exasperation, you remain put. it’s hard not to feel the same way he does on a perfect day like this— contentment, light in the heart and full of love because of this little trip. the camera focuses in on you and your daughter before the shutter clicks, each snap immortalizing the sight of you and your baby girl illuminated by the lazy autumn sun.
“and done!” he cheers, catching the polaroid in his palm as it slides from the slot. it wobbles between two of his fingers as it develops, but he can already see that it’s a perfect picture. he feels his heart sink in his chest, melting into a syrupy sweet puddle of happiness that makes him lightheaded and anxious.
oh, you’ve never looked as pretty as you do right now. like a dream, a forever kind of love he never plans to let go of. wearing that cute little swimsuit he likes so much with his sunnies perched on top of your head and his baby propped up on your supple hip. the two of you are beaming, cheeks squished together, your daughter’s hand cupping your face fondly.
it’s the kind of picture that others would coo at and fawn over if he framed it in a museum, but satoru retrieves his wallet from the pocket of his swim trunks, tucking the polaroid safely in the trifold for his own selfish keeping.
“i think she really likes the beach,” you tell him, squatting to set your daughter on her feet. she waves to you and satoru before waddling toward the shallow surf, her little legs stumbling in the thick body of sand. “this was good of you, satoru.”
“what? you think i’d miss the opportunity to spend time with my best girls?” he asks you, a hand on his chest with an affronted look on his face. you resist the urge to snort as the two of you follow closely behind your stumbling toddler, rushing towards her every time she gets distracted and attempts to eat the sand or chase one of the seagulls.
“you’ve been busy lately, that’s all,” is how you respond, the accusation washed out of your tone for the gentle words instead. you don’t bring up how many milestones, how many little memories he’s already missed, just by being who he is— that no matter what, he’ll always belong to his duty first and his family second. no, you’ve always shown patience and understanding. never complaining when his side of the bed is empty before morning or your girl requests for her father to read a bedtime story in that animated, comical way you can never replicate for her. making her settle for your offkey, wobbly lullabies instead.
“i know,” he says quietly, suddenly serious— keeping one eye on your baby girl who is currently splashing her hands around in the sand and water. “one of my first year’s a vessel so the curses are getting more pesky. i don’t think that’s a coincidence.”
“you think something’s about to happen?” you ask, looking up at him, but he presses a kiss to your temple and you wrinkle your nose at the sticky feeling of his lips.
“nah,” he replies, and you almost roll your eyes because you know he’s lying. even though satoru has done his best to keep you hidden from his world, you’re no fool. you already know why he rarely comes home at night, why he was absent for christmas last year, why your daughter has never met her paternal grandparents. you know that with the reappearance of several ancient cursed objects, there is thunder crackling among the clouds. “don’t worry your pretty little head about that.”
satoru turns up the volume on the waterproof boombox half-buried in the sand next to your belongings. he can’t stand your choice of music, finds it noise most of the time, but it’s the distraction the atmosphere needs to throw off your questioning. he pulls you to sit down between his legs, your back pressed against his chest and his arms wrapped around your body.
ocean foam splashes against the tips of your toes as the two of you sit at the surf of the tide in peaceful silence, time getting away from you both in the warm sun as your baby girl plays, her energy endless— waddling around and squealing at the different curiosities and wonders the beach has to offer.
whatever will happen, satoru won’t allow it to be today.
“satoru,” you call after a long quiet, craning your neck to look up at him. “if you—”
“what, you think i’m gonna croak sometime soon?” he shoots back, already knowing where the conversation is heading. so he holds you tighter, his strong arms a protective cage around your body as his shades slide down the attractive slope of his nose. he cracks a grin at you, another obvious deflection because he knows you can’t resist when he looks at you that way. not with his hair mussed from humidity, a strip of sunscreen on his nose as he chews on that damn wooden stick from his ice pop earlier.
“i know what you’re doing,” you shake your head. “and it’s not working. i’m just worried, i’m allowed to, as your wife. you think you’re invincible but if something happens to you that’ll… it’ll—” it will break us.
satoru’s smile fades, but he thankfully doesn’t need to reply because your daughter is waddling up to the both of you now, her sand-caked hands full of seashells and stones that glimmer in the sunlight. he wants to scoff because if anyone understands the consequences of failing those you love, it’s him— it’s all he’s ever known.
“what ya got there, princess?”
“fish—!” she cries in her sweet, babyish voice. some of the shells tumble from her hands, and you watch as her expression switches from happiness to dismay to finally confusion. you have to bite your lip to hold back laughter when instead of picking them back up, she dumps the rest of the seashells in your lap. “now i don’t have any fish.”
“i think those are seashells, princess,” gojo says with a grin, picking up a shell that rests on top of your thigh and holding it up to the sunlight. “this shell looks like it belongs to a hermit crab, like your megumi-nii.”
“you’re a terrible influence on our daughter, you know.”
“i’m just setting up future dynamics, angel face,” he grins.
“look look look!” your daughter gasps, bringing your attentions back to her. “this swee-shell looks like dada—!” she squeals excitedly, her new finding held delicately in her little sand-covered palm. she stands up on your thighs to reach her father sitting behind you, holding an iridescent blue seashell next to gojo’s eyes, her tiny mind comparing the colors in wonder. meanwhile, satoru wears a smile that burns so wide it hurts his cheeks.
“it looks like you too, princess,” he boops her nose, gently taking the seashell and holding it to her eyes next. her answering giggles sound like a sweet bell calling him home to heaven, but he can’t answer it because there are two people on this earth who laugh and smile at him like he hung the moon and painted the stars. “if you put it in your pocket now, the ocean won’t call the cops on you for stealing it.”
“no, this one ‘s for dada,” she insists, shoving the pretty blue seashell back into his hand.
“thank you, my mini angel,” he ruffles her hair, and you smile softly at the little exchange because though she may be enamored with her new discoveries at the beach, her father will always be one of her favorite wonders of the world.
“i ‘anna go find one for mama now!” she announces, and you wonder how she hasn’t run out of energy yet, but you nod and stand to your feet, dusting the sand away from the bottom of your swimsuit. your baby’s entire hand curls around your pointer finger, and she pulls you along with great effort.
you glance back at satoru and find that he’s watching the two of you head closer to the water, that uncharacteristically genuine smile still on his face, and you part your lips to call him to your side— where he’s always supposed to be.
“you didn’t think we’d let you slack off, did you? finding seashells is serious business, satoru!” you tease, pretty eyes crinkling with unbridled happiness, haloed by the waning sun and the orange dreamsicle sky that holds it. “hurry up!”
“wait for me just a little while, i’m coming to you,” he calls back, a lopsided grin spreading across his mouth before he raises the polaroid camera to his face, snapping one last candid photo of the two of you before he jogs towards his little piece of heaven.
but he doesn’t think he’s imagining things when the distance between heaven and earth keeps growing further and further apart—
“satoru, you can’t stand outside forever,” your voice is gentle as it speaks behind him, your hand laid delicately on his back in comfort; breaking the sorcerer out of deep reverie, the edges of the old memory fading, replaced by the pink paint of his daughter’s bedroom door that he’s been standing in front of for the last thirty minutes. his thumb brushes over the polaroid in his hand, the one that had been his salvation and his undoing in the prison realm. he’d taken it out without knowing, his eyes reading over the date written in his handwriting.
october 30, 2018
the picture of you with your daughter on your hip that he took at the beach all those years ago— that had been the last time he’d seen her.
four, no, five years?
his feet are nailed to the floor because change makes satoru shut down, and everything has changed since then.
while time was immeasurable and immovable inside of the prison realm for him, the clock had ticked on outside of it and just like that, his little girl is no longer three years old, giving him seashells that matches his eyes or hitting the back of his ankles with her big wheel or—
“you can’t keep doing this to yourself,” you sigh. “you’ve been unsealed for months. you’re her father, no matter what.”
“i’m a stranger to her,” and to you, but he doesn’t say it. you had waited for him, in every aspect of the word. held out on hope and faith in his strength that he would return to your side, where he’s always supposed to be.
“you’re n—” but you’re cut off when the door opens to reveal your daughter standing on the other side. the child standing before him is almost unrecognizable. she’s much taller and older, wearing track pants underneath her school dress with ribbons in unruly waves of white hair. the last time he’d seen his daughter, she had been three years old and still learning things like colors and sight words and that feeding megumi’s demon dogs her vegetable purée was against the rules. now, gojo satoru was the father of an eight year old and he’d missed everything because of a mista—
“you can come in,” she says, blinking up at satoru with an expression void of emotion. “but i’m not finished with my homework so if you stay too long, you’ll bug me.”
“how did you know i was outside?” he whistles nonchalantly, unbothered by the attitude that she gives him. it fills him with bitter satisfaction that she isn’t excited to see him, that someone is angry that he failed, regardless if he won in the end. he can handle bratty children who hate him and only look at him as a tool for their success, he can’t handle a daughter who cried herself to sleep every night waiting for him while he was losing his sanity away in a cube.
or at least, that’s what he tells himself.
“i could see you and mama through the door, duh,” she replies, hip cocked to the side in an amount of sass she had to pick up from you. “mama says i have your eyesight. i don’t really get it, but it makes it easy to cheat on tests.”
he could see it in the bright blue of her eyes, even if she hadn’t confirmed it. plain as daylight, she’s exactly like he was at that age. easily irritable and bratty, cocky and spoiled rotten. suffering from the weight of being an uncontested heir to an ancient dynasty at the age of elementary.
“i used six eyes to cheat on tests too,” he relates with pride, and then he bends down to her height, waving his palm. “sooo you probably got some questions about where i was—”
“not really. grandfather said you were sealed because you’re foolish and let weakness distract you.”
“you shouldn’t say things like that,” you scold, “apologize.”
“why? i don’t want to.”
your daughter turns, disappearing back into her room after that and seeming like she doesn’t care if satoru follows or not. your hand travels up the long expanse of satoru’s back in a soothing circle as you step closer.
“huh, that’s new.”
“sorry, she’s… i don’t know if acting out is the right term,” you say, pain in your voice. “she doesn’t really understand why she’s so different, or why you were … gone for so long. i know you didn’t want her around your family so i kept her away as best i could, but she started to have crippling migraines because she didn’t know how to use her ability and well… they were the only ones who knew how to help. filled her head with foolishness every time she visited the estate, though and it’s changed her.”
“huh,” is all he says, a broken record, tongue running across his inner lip in thought.
“do you need me?”
“what, you think i can’t handle her?”
“well, you were outside the door for a half hour, ‘toru.”
he shoots you a lopsided grin before he’s stepping into his daughter’s bedroom, glancing around at the unfamiliarity of it all. you follow close behind, watching with a heavy heart as he takes in the difference eight years can make.
her tiny baby crib has been traded for a poster bed decorated with a sanrio duvet and various stuffed animals where a laptop and study papers lay scattered on top. the angel themed decorations, along with her first ultrasound photo you and satoru had hung up in her nursery had been replaced by pink paint and pictures of her with a group of friends from school and a photo of her on a volleyball team.
he has to rip his gaze away.
“so,” he starts, standing in the center of the room and trying not to feel like an intruder, desperate for something to say— something to relate to her with. “how many episodes did i miss? did aya-chan ever get married?”
“i’m too old to play with dolls now, father,” she huffs, scrunching up her nose, and though satoru expected that exact answer, it doesn’t stop his heart from shattering into a million pieces. he feels that familiar itch, anger welling in his body until it burns at his fingertips because this is no one’s fault but his own. “don’t you know anything about me?”
“my bad, you’re a big kid now,” he snorts, even as his chest aches. he sits on the edge of her bed, flipping up one edge of the coloring book laying next to her laptop. “maybe you should start paying taxes.”
“i’m also too young to pay taxes. you really don’t know anything about me anymore,” she snaps, and she’s right— he doesn’t and it burns like saltwater on a wound. now he knows why you asked if he needed you; he’d hide behind you if he could, but he settles for flickering his eyes up to you helplessly.
you realize that neither of you can be upset with her for being angry that one of her favorite people vanished out of thin air. that while he was sealed, his clan had taken advantage of his absence and your powerlessness against them, and had begun spoiling your child rotten, teaching her how to use her ability— plumping her up for the inevitable day that she becomes her father’s successor, turning her against him.
“i think,” you say softly, leaning against the frame of the door. “that your dada— your father— would like to learn, though. he’s missed a lot, baby.”
she considers this for a long while, then she heaves a great sigh, hackles lowering. she scoots off the bed and before satoru can feel the hurt of figuring she doesn’t want to be near him, she does something unexpected. she moves one of her trophies out of the way to open her closet door, rummaging around for the longest before she yanks out a cardboard box you had labeled ‘donate one day since my snotty kid is a hag now’— it’s a box full of old dolls, covered in dust. she sits on her knees in front of the box, peering inside.
“aya-chan didn’t get married, but hinata-chan did,” she explains with an exasperated sigh and a roll of her eyes, taking out the dolls one by one and setting them on the floor in front of satoru’s feet.
“to the mailman that lived in your ugliest dollhouse?”
“you remember,” her eyes widen a little in surprise before her expression shutters again, smoothing out the doll’s colorful polyester dress before reaching back into the box and retrieving a brush covered in synthetic hairs. she looks at it for a while before extending her arm and offering the brush to her father. “aya-chan decided to be independent and explore the world. she’s planning to go on a trip soon so she needs to get ready. do y’wanna brush her hair?”
satoru is sliding off the bed and sitting cross-legged on the floor before he knows it, barely wanting to breathe because he doesn’t want to shatter the fragility of the moment between them. he takes the brush, and seconds later she hands him one of the dolls that had once upon a time been her favorite one that no one was allowed to touch. you would giggle at the delicate way he brushes the doll’s hair with utmost care and precision if you weren’t about to cry at the scene instead. “oh, and where’s she headed?”
“okinawa.”
“ponytail or messy bun then?” you don’t think you’re imagining the wobble in his voice. “to compliment her swimsuit.”
a tiny, hopeful smile twinkles over your lips at the two of them on the floor, babbling away to each other about the outlandish stories they’ve created together with her dolls. how many times had you offered to play with her, only for her to burst into tears because it wasn’t the same? you know that this won’t bridge the gap between the years that have been lost, but it’s a start. just hearing the soft murmurs of their conversation, the sound of your little girl giggling for the first time in ages, makes your heart swell.
time may be an undefeated opponent, and with it comes change that no one can control, but something tells you that as long as the three of you are together— everything will be okay.
you tiptoe out of the room, because they need time to catch up and apologize and reconnect, to learn one another once more, but before you close the door, you don’t think you’re mistaken when you hear, “can we go back to the beach too, dada?”
Summary: Aemond and Aegon both yearn for their mother's approval. It angers them when she immediately meets and favours the Princess of Dorne. They come up with a plan that ensures their mother never says your name out loud again.
Dedicated to @pluvialpoet, @bitch-biblioklept
Merry Christmas 😘😘
"I wish she'd choke on that olive and die." Aegon utters viscously.
From his spot beside his brother, Aemond almost spits his mead. If he was a man with any less self control, he might have laughed.
Instead, he turns to where his brother is watching sourly, to his mother, talking animatedly with the Princess of Dorne.
He can't deny your beauty, though he may hate you with every fiber of his being, he cannot deny that dornish dress was made for you, that your expanse of exposed skin and well done hair is anything other than breathtaking.
It's a shame that he indeed, also wanted to squeeze the breath out of you.
"Mother lets her get away with too much," Aegon continues, breaking into his brother's thoughts, "She tried to suggest to me how I should ride my own dragon."
Aemond raises a precarious eyebrow in shock and amusement.
"The worst part is the fucking bitch was right."
You were truly, proof that the gods had a sense of humour. Why else would they send someone so blood- boiling and so beautiful?
Though Aemond doesn't supply any verbal agreement of his dislike for you, he acknowledges it silently. He ached to wipe that smug smile from your face.
~~~
You liked to torment, and the Princes of the seven kingdoms had made themselves easy targets.
Like now, Alicent had promised you her younger son would accompany you through the shopping districts of King's Landing, and you were having a fun time reminding him at every moment that he'd been lent out like a hired sword.
You stayed beside him, looking up with triumphant smiles as he looked needlessly bored.
"What do you think of this colour?" You say, raising a light blue fabric to your face so that Aemond could compare them.
The Targaryen simply sighs, doesn't glance at you and turns away.
You pout.
"You're not being a very good help, Prince Aemond." You say, walking around to stand in front of him. Under his eye twitches once in annoyance.
"Ah, perhaps the import of wine and rare fruits are not as important to the Royal Family as I thought." You say in sorrow, turning away, only to grin when you feel Prince Aemond grip your upper arm to pull you back.
"Is that a threat, Princess Martell?"
"Gracious no!" You exaggerate with a smile, "I'm simply pointing out that Dorne's supplies can't be that important with the way you treat me."
You think you could hear his teeth crack with the frustration.
A shiver of pleasure floats down your spine.
Finally, he looks at the fabric in your hand.
"I hate it." He says finally, releasing your arm.
You hum in appreciation, putting it back.
"What is your favourite colour?" You ask, moving to keep up with his lengthy strides, shaking your head politely when someone tries to beckon you into their shop.
Again, he doesn't respond.
"Prince Aemond-"
"-Princess Martell." He says in a clipped tone, stopping to turn to you, "I am just a protective hand. If you require an opinion, I suggest you ask your ladies in waiting. It is their purpose."
Oh, you loved playing games.
You keep your eyes on his, wondering what's under his eyepatch.
"Leila," you call to one of your ladies' maids, you hear her step forward expectantly, ready to assist.
You don't stop looking at Aemond.
"Can you inquire as to the Prince's favourite colour?"
If only looks could kill.
There's a moment before Leila decides to open her mouth to speak on your behalf.
"Pardon me, my Prince-"
Aemond cuts her off with a look.
Pushed too far, he turns, and leaves you in the streets, disappearing into the crowds before you can say another word. You admire the sway of his hair as he walks away.
~
Aemond wasn't surprised that you'd told his mother. Sitting in his room, staring out at King's Landing, he's not fazed by his mother's sudden intrusion.
"I can't believe you," she starts, "the Martell house is a well respected and important family, the least you could do is treat her accordingly."
"You're lucky I didn't kill her." He says easily, studying the people below. Her silence speaks volumes.
"I had sought to make a match of you two, but maybe I should spare her the trouble." Alicent informs.
Aemond swivels on his mother.
"You would wed me to that spoiled brat?" He asks in disbelief.
"She is nothing of the sort!" Alicent's voice heightens as she approaches, "She is kind, and well learned and incredibly creative and if you could see that you would-"
"-Never. I would never." He spends a moment deep in thought before quietly asking, "Why do you like her so much?"
Alicent moves to his side, tucking her hand under his chin to tilt his head up from where he's sitting. He allows it to happen, because this is his mother, his blood.
She looks at him, Aemond watches some type of sorrow move over the planes of her face.
"I think she could love you. Aegon- has been forced to marry for duty, and you get the chance to marry for something else."
Aemond rolls his eye.
"I would have been happier marrying for duty." He responds.
Her grip on his jaw tightens.
"Consider it your duty to me then."
"I'll think about it." He appeases. He'd already thought about it. He would marry you when hell freezes.
~~~~
Aegon was not faring any better with you.
He'd been having his merry time with a serving maid when you'd walked into the small nook they'd been hidden in.
You'd cleared your throat, and the maid- whose name he couldn't care to remember- had slipped away and ran past you with a rushed excuse.
An annoyed sigh slips past his mouth, looking at you with droll irritation.
You didn't even flinch, smiling at him when he approached you to walk past.
"Can I ask, Prince Aegon," you blurt, humour deepening when he pauses to give you an annoyed glance, "Have you ever been with a willing woman?"
The silence is both amusing and poisonous.
You don't expect it, but it doesn't surprise you when he grips your shoulder tightly, slamming you into the same wall he'd had the other maiden pressed against.
"Do you have any idea who I am?" He growl, leaning into your space, till your breaths intermingle, "I am a Prince of the seven kingdoms and you will not speak to me as if I am your equal." He hisses, and not for the first time, the anger in his violet eyes stirs something delightful within you.
You soften your voice, tilting your head up and continuing to meet his eyes in an attempt to look more alluring.
"I meant no disrespect, Your Highness, but there's only so many times you can have your cock sucked by an inexperienced, unwilling woman before it gets boring."
He moves a hand from pinning your shoulder to the wall to wrap his fingers around your throat. Your eyes flutter with the pleasure it brings.
"Perhaps I like my women unwilling and inexperienced."
"A shame," you hit back, "When the opposite could incite pleasure you've only ever dreamed of."
His fingers tighten around your neck.
"Are you offering?" He asks, reducing his grip to allow you to speak.
"You wish." You respond, and before another word can be said, you're raising your hands to knock his away from your body, pushing him back to a respectable distance.
He hits the opposite wall with a muffled thud.
"I'll remind you, Prince Aegon, that I am a lady, and I am capable of removing your hands from your wrists should you touch me again without permission." You move to walk away, pausing in afterthought to turn back to him.
"So, have a nice day, Your Highness." You say, bowing your head respectfully, giving him a small smile, before backing away.
Aegon doesn't understand how he feels for hours after. On one hand, how dare you threaten him? On the other hand, why did it make him feel giddy on the inside?
He blames it on his mother.
~~~~~
He knows what's coming when Alicent storms into his room while he's taking a bath.
"You will not touch Princess Martell again, do you understand?"
Aegon huffs, wiggling his fingers in the warm water.
"It was harmless really, I can't believe she told you that."
"Except that she didn't tell me, the maid you'd been forcing yourself onto did."
Aegon can't help the smile that grows on his face.
Alicent leans forward angrily to dash water into the prince's eyes. He grunts in displeasure, wiping at his stinging eyes.
"I am trying to create a union between her and Aemond, I would appreciate if you would keep your filthy hands to yourself." Alicent hisses.
Aegon laughs long and hard.
"Aemond will kill her the second they are wed, mother, she is a nuisance- so- well- wait- I don't know what I'm saying, go right ahead and wed them." He smiles deviously.
She frowns, sighing, she leans against the bathtub, deep in thought.
Awkwardly, Aegon looks down at his cock, thinking that having his mother here did not inspire the debauched activities he was hoping to get along with.
"Why do you both dislike her? She is exactly the type of person I'd hoped for."
Which was the entire premise of the problem. That you had walked into the castle and earned the favour of the Queen, affection her sons could never hope to attain.
What could Aegon say? That he despised you because she loved you? The words would only get him slapped harder.
Instead, a dangerous idea rears its head. One so dark and twisted that the very thought of it had probably damned his soul.
He waits until dinner, to speak it aloud to the only other Targaryen who understands.
~
You sit at the opposite end of the table, clothed in emerald green. A colour that emphasised the way Aegon and Aemond felt about you.
Aemond hated the way the jewels sat on your skin, he wanted to cover them in your blood, slit your throat open and watch in satisfaction as you struggled to speak another word.
You laugh at something King Viserys says, and Aegon yearns to watch you cry.
Finally, he turns to his brother.
"Killing her is not enough. I want her very name tainted." Aegon whispers.
Aemond smiles at the thought.
"What do you have in mind?" He asks.
Aegon thinks for a minute.
"What's worse that getting her pregnant out of wedlock?" Aegon asks.
Aemond already has the answer prepared.
"Making her want it." Aemond supplies easily.
Aegon looks over at his brother in surprise.
"I don't know why I get called mother's worst child when you're more devious than me."
Aemond sips his mead, deep in thought.
"That's because you always get caught."
Aegon laughs.
~
You'd managed to ignore the princes tonight, having tormented them enough for the day, you only sit back and enjoy dinner peacefully.
You listen to the stories Alicent's father, Otto, weaves, and you smile along or laugh politely where necessary. You explain the landscape of Dorne when asked, and you tell them about some of the customs.
You leave out the customs you know they'd find appalling, they could never hope to understand the way Dorne holds the pleasures of the body as an important aspect of life. That you'd read books on pleasure enhancement alongside your history books when you were ready for it. Your virginity had only remained intact because of your status, as a formality to your future husband, should he be someone outside of Dorne. You knew that these people would never understand that. There was too much currency placed on a young woman's maidenhead for your liking.
You blink, refocusing, realising that your eyes have been locked onto Aegon's face the entire time. He smiles, leaning in to say something to his brother while still looking at you.
It makes you a little nervous. What could they possibly be talking about? No doubt some plot to get back at you.
You liked the idea more than you cared to admit. Aemond was gorgeous and calculating, Aegon made you burn with your desire for him. You shouldn't be thinking this way of either man.
When dinner is finished, you find your way to the library with a cup of ale. The place is almost empty at this time of night, and you enjoy the feeling of being alone and reading books by candlelight.
The words are funnier when you're inebriated, and you enjoy reading the thoughts of maesters who have clearly missed the points of the subjects they're speaking about.
When you hear the door to the library close and locks, you look up in surprise.
"Prince Aemond." You greet, standing, bowing your head in acknowledgement. When you notice his older brother behind him, you nod your head again, "Prince Aegon."
Both men look like they're up to no good.
"Princess Martell," Aegon says happily, "reading so late at night?"
"Uh, yes, I'm- actually I was just finishing up." You say, looking back at the books sitting on the table.
"Oh, there's no need, sit with us, we'd like to see what you're reading."
You don't get a chance to protest, finding yourself sitting on the wooden bench with Aemond on your left and Aegon on your right, both men closing you in.
"Is this yours?" Aegon asks, gripping the half filled cup of ale, taking a sip before you can open your mouth to affirm. He puts it down beside you, and you swallow when he leans closer.
You try to lean away but Aemond is a solid wall behind you, and you find that you can't move too far away from Aegon.
"Don't you hate when people don't know their place, Princess?" Aegon asks, and you swallow when he rests his warm hands on your knees. You don't push them off, not wanting to be disrespectful too soon.
"I'm not sure what you mean." You say softly.
"No? I can give an example." He sighs, smiling still, when you try to turn away from him, his fingers hold onto your knees harder to keep your attention.
"Aemond here is a Prince of the seven kingdoms. Third in line to the throne, rides the largest dragon in the world." Aegon's eyes illuminate with amusement, "Do you think he should act as a sellsword because the Princess of little shithole wills it so?"
You swallow, the level of trouble you're in finally sinks into your head.
"I only asked-"
"-You only asked," Aegon hisses, "and my mother agreed." He reaches up to grip your jaw, "What sway you must have on her, what influence."
You raise your hands to push him away, but before you can, Aemond has grabbed your wrists and pinned them behind you. You make a little sound of surprise, wiggling in an attempt to get out of his iron grip to no avail.
You turn your head to the side, taking your jaw out of Aegon's grip angrily.
"How dare you put your hands on me." You say lowly, struggling still in Aemond's grip, his breath in your ear, "Let me go."
Aegon laughs.
"It's time you learned, Princess, that you cannot have everything you want."
When Aegon kisses your collarbone, you gasp in surprise. He tugs your night dress a little lower so that he can trail his mouth from one clavicle to the other.
"Stop this, Aegon." You plead, trying to pull away from him.
"What's the matter, Princess?" Aemond whispers in your ear, your heart picking up its pace at the sound of his voice, "Don't like being taken advantage of?"
You whine.
"A little help, brother?" Aegon asks, and you feel Aemond's hand grip your jaw, turning your head.
You make a quiet sound of displeasure when Aegon presses his lips to yours. You try to shake both men off but it doesn't work.
Aegon laughs into your mouth, clearly enjoying your discomfort. Automatically, you begin to kiss back, trying to grab any semblance of control you have.
Aegon's lips are soft and plush, he's gentle and commanding with his mouth all at once. It's easy to get lost in it, to forget where you are when you have his tongue pressing into your mouth to trace over yours.
You hum in bliss, getting lost and enjoying it, only being brought back into your body when Aemond laughs in your ear.
"She likes it." He says when Aegon breaks the kiss, "What a whore." Aemond teases.
Your mouth drops open, you begin to struggle in his grip once again.
"Let me go." You grunt, and you try to pretend that hearing both brothers laugh lowly at you doesn't bring on a spike of arousal.
Aegon's eyes devour you, roaming over your body. His tongue traces over his bottom lip, and you feel like nothing more that a feast for the prince.
"Aemond," he says, eyes still caught on your chest, "Your knife."
Fear squeezes your throat.
"No way," you breathe, beginning to struggle when Aemond pulls a knife from his belt and gives it, hilt forward to Aegon.
You're panting, swearing, wriggling, but Aemond's grip is too tight, and you can't seem to get away.
It doesn't take much for Aegon to rip the front of your dress open. You suck in a deep breath to scream and Aemond quickly claps a hand over your mouth. You grunt behind it as you feel your nipples pepple in response to the open air.
"Fuck." Aegon breathes, and you close your eyes shut to avoid the way he admires you.
The knife drops on the table, you whimper behind Aemond's hand when you feel his brother cup your breasts.
"She is... as magnificent as I thought she'd be." He whispers in reverence.
You jerk when he pinches one of your nipples gently.
You don't see his head dip, but the next thing you know, his tongue laves lazily over your breast.
You can't resist a muffled moan.
You give another shake of your shoulders, not trying as hard to escape Aemond's grip.
You can feel your toes curl in your shoes, Aegon is gentle and precise and you shiver at the feel of his hands and his tongue on your body.
When you can do nothing more than relax, Aemond takes the opportunity to tilt your head to the side so that he can meld his lips to yours too.
It's almost too much, one Prince licking over your breasts, swirling his tongue over your skin, the other, delving his tongue deep into the hollows of your mouth, redefining every thought in your head. Your eyes closed shut, trying not to enjoy the rapt attention you're being given.
Aegon pinches your nipples firmly and you gasp in pain, swiveling your head to meet his eyes in betrayal, but all he does is lean forward and capture your lips.
"You don't have to do this." You whisper, as Aemond kisses your throat and Aegon kisses your lips.
"I do, Princess. You give me no choice." Aegon answers and you don't get a chance to respond as you feel Aemond's teeth sink into the skin of your neck.
Your entire body shudders, with bliss you can't process, you shake violently, pressed between both men.
"I think the whore likes being marked." Aemond observes. You whimper in disagreement.
Aegon cups your cheek, leaning in so that he's almost hovering above you. You look up at him with pleading eyes, he tilts your head so that he can see the mark Aemond has placed on you.
"What will they think, Princess," Aegon tuts, "When they see you all marked up tomorrow? How quickly my mother will cast you out."
"N-no. Please-"
"If only you'd been nicer, less of a brat. Maybe we could have gotten along."
He turns your head back to face him.
"Open your mouth."
You frown, shaking your head.
"Aemond." He says, and you feel a hand on your jaw, squeezing tightly and you can't help the little sob that leaves your throat.
Aegon reaches for the cup of mead. He takes a long sip just as Aemond works your jaw open.
Aegon leans in, and you squeeze your eyes shut as he lets the mead from his mouth slip past his lips and into yours.
Aemond chuckles behind you, clamping your mouth shut, and covering your mouth and nose with his large hand in an attempt to force you to swallow.
You do, gasping for air when he takes his hand away, not liking the sound of their devilish laughter at all.
"I'm going to kill you both." You hiss.
It only makes them laugh more.
"Hear that, brother?" Aegon says, reaching to cup your breasts in both hands and press them together, "She just threatened us."
"I do believe that counts as treason." Aemond murmurs.
"To which the punishment is death, but I'm sure we can come to some arrangement, can't we, Princess?" Aegon follows, his fingertips tracing down your ribs.
He grips the material of your skirt in his hands, bunching it up until it sits on your waist. Though you wriggle, he puts his weight on your legs, stopping you from kicking him away.
He pulls at your undergarments, reaching for the knife to cut them away, you whine, trying to garner some pity.
Next, he's pulling at your legs, until you're lying on the bench, Aemond holds your hands above your head, your body situated between his spread thighs.
You try to kick at Aegon, worried that he's about to take your virginity, but all he does when he spreads your legs is look.
After a moment, he laughs.
"How wet you are, Princess." He praises, you gasp when his thumb swipes over your little bud.
He takes his time, which is way worse that him being rough, his thumb rubbing at your center, pleasure swimming through your senses, until your thoughts are muddled. You sigh, mewling when he leans down, kissing the tops of your thighs.
This wasn't something you were aware men outside of Dorne could do.
Aegon is soft, doesn't rush his kisses on your skin and you wished you could pull your skirts out of the way to get a proper look at him between your thighs.
You definitely stop struggling when he presses his tongue to your center. Your mouth parts in surprise. Was this supposed to be a punishment?
You look up at Aemond, who hovers above, looking down at you with something akin to amusement. You close your mouth, trying to mask the way you feel from him.
As if that was ever possible.
"How does she taste?" Aemond asks, and you burn with the way he talks about you like you're not in the room.
It takes Aegon a moment to raise his head from between your legs.
"Like nectar." Is all he says, burying his face in your cunt once more.
He licks you till you're trembling, his tongue dancing on your heated centre, your thighs wrapped around his head. The candles that you'd brought in with you have been significantly burned down, and you can only speculate that it's somewhere near midnight, and yet, Aegon keeps tasting you, drinking from your centre in an almost desperate manner that makes you want to moan. You bite your lip so hard to stop from making any sound that you can almost taste the iron of your blood.
All the while, Aemond looks at you, his eyes devour every expanse of your skin and you think that his eyes alone is stimulating enough, but then he's reaching out, fingertips tentatively grazing your soft breast.
His touches grow more firm, and he's rolling one stiff nipple between his fingers before moving over to the next.
You whimper, kicking your legs in useless frustration. Aegon's tongue begins moving faster and you can't fight either brother and at this point you don't want to.
Your orgasm knocks the breath from your lungs, you feel your womb clench deliciously as pleasure swims through your system. You make pitiful noises of pleasure, hands in tight fists, trembling as both boys pause their torment.
After a moment, you feel your senses slowly begin to come back to you.
"The way you gush Princess," Aegon murmurs, eyes still locked on your center, "puts whores to shame."
A sad, needy sound leaves your lips. You can feel an indent on the inside of your lip where you'd been biting a little too forcefully.
"What do you think, Aemond?" The prince asks, "Has she been used well enough today?"
The man in question looks down at you, finally releasing his grip on your arms.
You don't move, confused at what they planned to do now. Would they take turns fucking you?
"I think she has." Aemond says, breaking you out of your desperate thoughts.
Before you can register anything, both Princes have stood, leaving the room with soft steps, closing the door behind them.
You sit up, confused and disgruntled and wondering what happened to make them stop. It takes you a moment before the horror of realisation overtakes you.
Summary: They say opposites attract but can profound differences really find it in them to love?
Warnings || angst but then fluff at the end
A/N: I haven't written in so long, but this man has forced me out of hiatus because he's just so dreamy. The murdering, white-haired menace that is Aemond Targaryen does things to me so naturally I had to write this long ass fic. I know it's long but I couldn't help it really. Also I was in the mood for some angst so that's that lol
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As the saying goes, hearts unalike are those most drawn to one another. Aemond thought it a ridiculous belief. He could not fathom it were possible for gentle and kind to love cold and cruel.
He was aloof and indifferent. Prince Aemond curated an image that made even the most proud of lords hesitate to interact with him. Complementary to his nature was his looks. The man stood tall and firm with his chin often upturned as if to reiterate his high status. His scowl seemingly permanent like the scar that ran across his face. Many fear what lay underneath his eyepatch that even having it covered leave people wary of the Targaryen prince.
Though he was not always this ironhearted, the young prince knew that love was an illusion and marriage a duty. Aemond believed only his mother could love him and even she could not do so fully. To some extent he understood why love for the likes of him would always sound ridiculous. Because it was far better to be feared than loved. And no one could love a monster like him.
You had.
You who is pure and spirit bright. You who is social and could sympathize with anyone regardless of status.
You were Aemond Targaryen’s antithesis. Your humility and generosity knew no bounds. Unlike the prince’s seriousness, you were lighthearted. You believed in love and never hesitated to love who you could.
Not only in nature were you and the prince contrary to one another, but also in looks. You were small and would often need to look up in order to maintain eye contact when conversing. Your head of curls the color of ink as opposed to the renowned white of the Targaryen bloodline.
You grew up with Aemond and his siblings seeing as you were the lady-in-waiting to his sister Helaena. You often left the young prince wondering how such goodness could be possessed by an individual, especially given your circumstance.
Being an orphaned bastard of House Westerling, you’ve learned to bury the pain brought by the judgment of others. You have swallowed many vile insults and hate, but never had you let it harden your heart. Your mother died in childbirth and your father you never knew. Fortunate enough, your uncle took you as his own which allowed you to be in the good graces of the king.
You arrived in King’s Landing when you were eleven and the prince thirteen. Aemond committed to memory the very moment your light filled him with awe.
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His eye was already lost and though it had already healed, the pain and anger he felt still a roaring flame.
“I want you all to treat her well.”
While his brother rolled his eyes at their mother’s reminder, Aemond simply dismissed her. In his mind, he need not be reminded because he was more or less civil and distant with everyone, especially new people.
The hinges sang lowly as the massive doors to the throne room opened to announce your entrance. A contagious smile adorned your face as you walked alongside the Hand.
Aemond could not deny that even as a child you were captivating. The grace and pureness your persona exude was what kept the room’s attention on you.
“Your Grace.”
Their mother watched with a smile as you curtsied. As you resumed standing upright, you turned your attention to each of the Targaryen children as they were introduced.
“And this is Prince Aemond.”
He seemed to snap back to attention at the mention of his name, having been admiring the dewy skin of your supple pink cheeks.
“Pleased to be in your presence, Prince Aemond.”
Your smile gave way to dimples and the prince felt his heartbeat stutter. Though you made him feel an oddly pleasant sensation between his ribs, his response was anything but. He gave only a curt nod, but your smile never wavered despite his indifference.
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With the passing of time you only became even kinder. Aemond once thought you may have been blessed to have your outsides reflect your insides. Your positivity was accompanied by beauty he has yet to see on anyone else in the entire Seven Kingdoms. He would marvel at your soft eyes and full lips before growing bitter at the thought that if you had been blessed then he must have been cursed. The misery and abhorrence he kept inside must be why he had a monster for a reflection.
Before you, it was easy for Aemond to get caught up in self-loathing and insecurity. That was until you showed him genuine affection.
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He was training with Sir Criston while you were with the princess looking to find a chrysalis she wished to take care of before it transformed into a butterfly.
Aemond was so focused on trying to dodge the knight’s advances that he failed to notice his cover had fallen to reveal his other eye. The gasps were audible but Aemond was quick to drop his sword to cover himself. You watched him storm off to the castle to his chambers. The unwanted attention had him almost in a frenzy with adrenaline allowing him so make his swift escape.
You watched the scene with a heavy heart, growing upset as the people around who had witnessed the affair started to whisper about the one-eyed prince. You noticed his eyepatch still on the ground and you took it with the intent of returning it and checking up on him.
“Princess, I believe we must be heading back. We would not want your mother to have to wait for you for tea time.”
After being dismissed, you made your way to the younger prince’s chambers.
Aemond had a tight grip on his chalice as he mulled over what had happened. By now his head felt lighter given the amount of wine he had. Drinking was his brother’s way of coping and Aemond wanted no part of him to resemble Aegon, but given the circumstance he allowed himself this bit of irresponsibility.
The sound of your knuckles against his door was so faint that he almost ignored it, but your sweet voice soon followed.
“My prince, I come returning what is yours.”
Even through his sour mood you managed to find your way past as your voice brought him a bit of peace, granting him a break from his harsh thoughts.
“May I come in?”
His mind, the sober part at least, wanted to deny your request knowing you saw his face bare. He feared the heartbreak. What if you regard him with caution or even worse, disgust?
His heart however longed for you. And so before he could decide otherwise, he said, “Come in.”
The creak of the door made him nervous. He refused to face you directly, settling on watching you from his peripheral.
You stood close to the door once it was closed, awaiting further instruction. For a few seconds you studied him. His other eye was again covered by a different eyepatch. His hair was no longer tied, leaving it to frame his face.
“You may sit, Lady Y/N.”
The prince had gestured to the seat next to him. You inhaled deeply before your small feet carried you across the room. The prince watched your every move and he noted how your silver dress made you glow, providing a contrast to your dark hair and eyes.
As you sat, you brought your hands together on your lap and only then did Aemond notice what you were holding. The sight of his eyepatch made him tense and soon an awkward tension filled the space as you sat in silence.
“You must think me a monster now.”
“Your Grace, you are no monster in my eyes. I wish you shared my opinion because it is the truth.”
Your response had him turning to face you and he felt his heartbeat pick up. Your eyes have always been so expressive and where he expected pity to lie he saw adoration and genuine concern instead.
Upon meeting his eye, your smile widened. You so desperately wanted to be there for him and alleviate whatever troubles him.
“Your eye should not be cause for judgement. It is one’s character that ought to be looked at.”
“And what is my character?”
“You are thoughtful. I appreciate how you would leave me books you believe I would enjoy or bring me pastries you’d want me to try. You are bright and respectful. The conversations you hold are of an educated man. You are immensely loyal to not only those you love but to your house as well.”
By the time you had finished speaking, the space between you two was barely there. You stared at each other for what felt like centuries before a small smile broke out on the prince’s face. You admired the way his lips curved, fascinated by the depth of his prominent cupid’s bow.
An unknown force compelled you to touch the left side of his face and your bravery raised your hand to do so. Before you could move further, the prince caught your wrist in a gentle hold.
He stared at you, beginning to feel nervous, but your will remained steadfast. Your hand landed on his cheek, caressing his scar and before the prince could react, you moved to rid him of his cover.
“Y/N-”
His protests died on his tongue as the bright sapphire was revealed to you and he watched your pupils dilate in wonder. He had never before felt so vulnerable, but your touch put him at ease.
The pair of you remained in silence like that for gods know how long. Then you whispered in earnest.
“Beautiful…”
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The sound of your laughter traveled down the hall. Aemond could feel his insides twist in delight as he drew closer towards his sister’s chambers.
“Brother? What a lovely surprise.”
Your back was facing the door when he entered. You watched the princess smile at her brother before turning to address him yourself. The sight of you knocked the wind out of Aemond.
A butterfly lay on your cheek and the other at the exposed skin of your clavicle. You looked ethereal and Aemond swore he felt giddy seeing you so lovely.
“My chrysalises have finally turned into butterflies! We opened the jar to free them but they flew to Lady Y/N instead.”
Princess Helaena was amused at how smitten the prince was with you. She had to refrain from giggling as she carefully removed the insects on you before catching her brother's attention.
“What is it you came for, brother?”
It was a physical effort for Aemond to take his eye off you and you felt your cheeks warm at the attention.
“Oh… uh mother requests to see you in her chambers.”
“Now? But I promised Lady Y/N I’d walk with her through the gardens.”
"Your Grace, we do not have to if-"
"I can walk with her! If... of course, Lady Y/N allows it..."
Prince Aemond was rarely embarrassed, but in that moment he could not avoid being bashful at how eager he sounded to spend time with you.
"I am sure you have better use of your time, Prince Aemond."
"Nonsense, Lady Y/N. I insist."
As Princess Helaena left, you and the prince made your way to the castle gardens. You prayed to the gods he could not hear the erratic beat of your heart at his close proximity.
"Let me take this time to say my thanks to you, Lady Y/N."
"What ever for, your Grace?"
"You have never failed to be kind and patient with my sister. Many see her odd, but you regard her in no such way."
Your heart swelled at his appreciation and Aemond felt his own do the same as you faced him with your wide grin and doe eyes.
"I suppose I am grateful that your kindness extends to me as well. It is rare that I am regarded with as much compassion as you have shown me."
You are taken aback by the prince's admission and he gave you a tender smile in return.
"There is no need to thank me, my prince. I only wish more people could witness how beautiful and gentle you truly are..."
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The young prince could not contain his bliss as he walked back to his chambers after his time with you. There was a skip in his step with his scowl now absent from his face. That was until he opened his door to reveal his brother waiting for him in his chambers.
Aemond slightly faltered at his brother looking at him with a sly smirk. The younger Targaryen was quick to school his features, returning to the cold expression he always wore.
"What are you doing here, Aegon?"
"I saw you with Lady Y/N and my my I could not believe what I was witnessing."
Aemond raised his eyebrow at his brother and Aegon chuckled lightly before continuing.
"I never thought a simple bastard would catch the eye of a man as proud as you, my brother."
"What are you talking about?" Aemond hissed, glaring at an amused Aegon.
"You mean to say you harbor no fondness for the girl?" his brother teased back.
"Do not dare insult me, brother. I have no intention of ever associating myself with a lowborn orphan such as her. I am a prince after all so I would be careful with implying something so ridiculous."
Unbeknownst to Aemond, you were right outside his door. You had the intent of returning a book he had lent you, but stopped short upon hearing the two princes.
You tried to hold in your tears at the offensive remarks made to your name. Your heart shattered and you felt the shards stab at your insides.
It was not easy to admit, but you had developed feelings for the younger prince. His rare smile that you thought was more common when you were around. The difference in the attention he would give you compared to any other. All these things made you believe that maybe he saw you in the same light. That maybe he too felt he could not breathe whenever you were around. At the very least, you thought he regarded you as a dear friend, just like you had him.
Only after hearing what he had to say about you did you think otherwise. You were mistaken. Blinded by your want to have your affections reciprocated, you failed to notice how different your ambitions were from the truth.
He did not love you. He may not even see you as anything more than a servant he has had to live with these past years. You had set yourself up for heartbreak by creating a delusion of loving the prince and being loved back.
The hold you had on the book loosened and before you could stop it, a small thud echoed from it falling. That snapped you out of your thoughts. As fast as your feet allowed, you made your way out of the hall and on your way back to your chambers.
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Aegon soon left his brother's chambers and the younger prince heaved a heavy exhale. Aemond did not wish to ridicule you to his brother, but he wouldn't dare acknowledge his adoration for you either. Not because he was ashamed of having feelings for you, but because he knew making it known would remind him of the rejection that is guaranteed. You could not love him, that much he knew, so he denied what he felt.
A knock on his door brought him out of his thoughts. After giving his permission, a servant had revealed herself holding the book you had dropped moments ago.
"Why is this in your possession?"
"I found it outside your door, Prince Aemond. I only wish to return what I believe is yours."
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You made it a point to avoid the prince at all costs. Your fragile heart would simply crumble to even finer pieces if you were to be in his presence again. You stopped going to the library and would now convince the princess to avoid wandering to places you knew Aemond would be. You stayed in your chambers more, only leaving when the princess was in need of you.
Almost a week had passed and Aemond thought you had vanished into thin air with how little he's seen you. He now only caught glimpses of you not often which left his heart aching. At some point he resorted to seeking you out by going to your chambers all the way across the Keep.
With the book in his other hand, the silver-haired prince raised the other to knock on your door. He waited with bated breath and his heart leapt at finally seeing you again after what felt like decades.
It was obvious you weren't expecting him and the prince's stomach dropped upon seeing how your smile faltered.
"Prince Aemond... How may I be of service to you?"
Now the confusion was noticeable on Aemond's face. Never had you addressed him with such formality.
"I thought to return this to you so you may finish reading it. You must have left it somewhere because a servant returned it to me."
"Your Grace, I am a person of no importance to have a prince make an effort to hand me books. I believe it best you no longer do so."
You made no eye contact with him as you twiddled with your thumbs and the prince could not stop his smile from turning into a frown.
"Lady Y/N, trust that I do this wholeheartedly. You are no bother to me as I am gladdened by the love of reading we share."
"Pardon me, your Grace, but there is no need for you to pretend any longer. I know what you think of me and am aware you do not want the likes of me near you."
It was a heavy task to not cry despite feeling the heaviness of your spirit become unbearable. Aemond so desperately wanted you to lift your head to face him, but as soon as you did, his heart felt like it took a punch.
Your eyes were glassy and your features forlorn. The sight of you sent the prince scrambling for a response that would comfort you.
"That could not be further from the truth. Y-You are my dearest friend, Y/N... I-"
"I believed you were a friend to me as well, but I heard you with Prince Aegon. Though I know you spoke the truth. The truth being that I am a lowborn bastard. I-I cannot deny how it pains me so to hear you regard me with such contempt."
By now the tears have flown freely down your face. The prince's chest tightened seeing you shake as you succumbed to your heartache.
"Forgive me f-for wasting even m-more of your time, Prince Aemond."
You cringed at your pathetic apology given you could not stop the hiccups from your cries. You made an attempt to close the door, but Aemond beat you to it, placing a hand on the wood and pushing to let himself in your space.
"Y-Your Grace, please... Y-You mustn't-"
His hands on your face catches you off guard, lifting it so that you may look up at him. With gentle fingers, he wiped your tears, and you couldn't help closing your eyes at the gesture.
"It is I who should be begging for your forgiveness, Y/N... I-I did not mean those words. It was not my intention to hurt you. I would never dream of hurting you, my dear Y/N. I-I simply wanted Aegon to leave me alone. I didn't want him to know..."
You raised your eyebrows as the prince trailed off. Aemond felt his heart was to burst out of his clothes soon and drop to the floor. He had to tell you now. Rejection or not, he must make it known that he would never willingly hurt you, the one person whose presence reminds him that he still has a heart and that he is worth more than his title.
"I did not want him to know that... that I care for you deeply. You have enraptured my heart and soul with the unwavering kindness you have bestowed to someone as unworthy as me."
Your eyes widen at the prince but he continues his speech as he moves to decrease the distance between you two even more.
"It is your laughter that calms me and when I close my eyes, it is the image of your smile painted on the back of their lids. When we are together and you tell me of what you've read, I find myself daydreaming of a life with you. How I would offer everything I have in exchange for your hand."
"Prince Aemond, w-what are you saying..."
"I am saying I love you, Y/N. Most ardently."
You gasped upon hearing his words and the prince moved his hands to hold yours.
"What I said to my brother was in fear of rejection for I have denied my feelings knowing they are one-sided. It was childish of me to turn to insults to reject what I feel so strongly for you and I regret having upset you. I-I understand if you wish to never speak to me again..."
With his head bowed and gaze to the floor, the prince did not see the smile that was back on your face.
"Oh Aemond, you fool!"
Before he could make eye contact to decipher what you meant, you had let his hands go in favor of wrapping them around him in an embrace as you lunged forward. The prince was quick to secure your waist in his arms. He heard you giggle in his ear before pulling back to be face to face with him.
"Your feelings are my own, my prince. I too love you a great deal."
Several emotions washed over Aemond all at once, but it was relief that was undeniable. He mirrored the bright smile on your face as your arms remained on his shoulders and his on your hips.
"I did not think it were possible for someone as beautiful and gentle as you to feel for someone like me." Aemond admitted, but you only leaned in to kiss him in response.
There was no greater pleasure than having your lips on his. Having the privilege of your love was comparable to being high up in the sky. He was in so much elation as your chest pressed to his when he tightened his hold on you.
"I love you, my beautiful prince. I am yours."
"Y/N... If you will have me... I desire nothing more than to be your husband."
Summary: jealous Aemond simply cannot help himself from making it known to everyone that he is your and you are his
Warnings || threats of violence (not to the reader), jealous!Aemond, teeny tiny mention of smut, then fluff at the end
A/N: I love the idea of Aemond being jealous and hella possessive that he can't help but make everyone know that he would do anything for you and that no other person is worthy of you so this is an imagine about exactly that. This is like a part 2 to Melting the Dragon's Heart where they're already betrothed to one another. Give that fic a read too while you're at it hehe I'm thinking of making one last imagine for this just to tie it at a trio. I'm planning on including the smut I've been planning for this storyline in the third installment so lemme know what ya'll think!!
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The sound of your laughter will never not be music to Aemond’s ears, but the hold he had on his cup continues to tighten as your smile widens. He was glad you were enjoying yourself, he truly did. This was the first banquet you had attended since your betrothal to Aemond was announced. Much anxiety had plagued you knowing all anyone would be talking about is how a prince of the realm chose a simple hand maiden as a wife.
Aemond was well aware that the whispers of judgment around court bothered you, but you tried your best to pay them no mind. Your courage is admirable and Aemond will forever be grateful for having you be the owner of his heart. He loves you and you love him, so the criticisms of others should mean nothing. Despite having asked your betrothed to turn the other cheek just as you had, Aemond made sure that any snide comments made to your name and honor will not go unpunished.
This was the first time the entire night that you had laughed a genuine laugh. Aemond saw how just moments ago your eyes had glazed over when numerous lords and ladies had looked you up and down thinking you were nothing special and quite unworthy of an engagement to a prince. He sent Ser Criston to have a word with those pompous noblemen almost instantly.
So Aemond was glad to have you smiling again, but what angered him so was that it was because of Lord Stark’s quips. He itched to slice the throat of the brunette lord as he entertained you with stories from his travels. Maybe after killing the little weasel he’d take you right then and there, not caring if a crowd this big watched as he claimed you.
“Aemond, must you sulk at an occasion like this?” His mother laid a comforting hand on his clenched fist on the table. “I’m sure Lord Stark simply wishes to amuse your betrothed. You know he is quite… friendly.” Alicent continued.
The rational part of Aemond knew his mother was right. He too has had to endure such long conversations with the lord despite Aemond showing his disinterest and irritation. He released a sigh as he raised his cup to down in drink. In that moment, your eyes met his and his heartbeat stuttered as he watched your smile brighten. Your eyes twinkled upon meeting Prince Aemond’s gaze and the Targayen prince could only smile and blush as you continued to stare.
Aemond swore he was going to let it go, his anger dissipating at the sight of you and your joy. But it proved to not be so easy, as your gaze was then again directed to Lord Stark as he extended his hand to ask you for a dance. Aemond wanted to burn the man where he stood as you took his hand in yours and walked together to the middle.
You looked to Aemond again as you swayed with Lord Stark to the music. You were trying to reassure your lover, knowing all too well he had quite a possessive side to him. As you saw his scowl, you knew it was too late. Alicent could only watch in worry as her second oldest son stood and made his way towards you.
“I must say, Lady Y/N, you are quite the character.”
“What do you mean by that, Lord Stark?”
“I only mean to say that such beauty is rarely joined by a pleasing personality or sense. Many fine looking ladies only have their looks, but you are both kind and bewitching.”
“You are too kind, Lord Stark. I–”
“You both seem to be having quite the interesting conversation. Might I join you?” Aemond was quick to cut in before you’ve even finished your thanks.
“Your Grace, I was simply complimenting your betrothed for she truly is lovely and bright.”
“Yes my wife surely is all those things and more. Many men would be blessed to be her husband and I make it known to everyone how pleased I am that I am hers and she is mine.”
The tension was palpable as Aemond kept an intimidating glare trained on the brunette man. By now, a couple of eyes were already drawn to the brewing commotion. You laid a gentle hand on your lover’s forearm and he visibly softened at the action.
Aemond turned to look at you before saying, “Might I have a dance with my wife?”
You were quick to let go of Lord Stark’s hand and shoulder before completely turning to the silver-haired prince. A small huff was heard from the shorter man as he retreated back to his table. Aemond held your hand in his before pulling you close.
“My prince, you know there is no need for jealousy. You have my heart, body, and soul. You and only you.”
“I assure you I was not jealous.”
You snorted before giggling and Aemond refused to meet your eyes. You knew him better than anyone and Prince Aemond could never be dishonest with you. He swayed the two of you farther from the center, wanting more privacy by the sides of the room.
“You called me your wife, Aemond. We are not married yet.”
“And I cannot wait for the day to come.”
“You have never been impatient, my love.”
“I have wanted to be married to you from the moment you entered my life. I think I have waited long enough.”
You stood on your tiptoes to kiss your beloved. Aemond then laid a hand on your cheek, tilting your head to the side to deepen the kiss.
hellooo, K.! How are you? ommgggg. WHAT WAS THAT Primal Urges?! soooooo hot. I loved it! Do you have plans to write another Aemond story?
hi!! I'm doing good and I'm so glad you enjoyed primal urges 🤍 right now I'm writing for Aemond based on my mood and inspiration so if you have any prompts for me I may be able to write fics about them or at the least headcannons <3 depending on my creative juices of course
Hey I love your writing 😍 could you do an Aemond coaxing his wife into letting him do butt stuff on her?
lol anon I do think Aemond would be into butt stuff but only after a while into the relationship like he wouldn't want it right off the bat but here's how I think that would go
Aemond would definitely be persuasive about it maybe even a little manipulative like his little wife would understandably be hesitant so he's sweet talking her in that soothing bed voice I know that Targaryen prince has
"I-I don't know, my prince..." you cast your gaze downward as your husband runs a soothing hand along your cheek
"What troubles you so, my dear wife? Do I not have your trust?"
"N-No... I mean yes! I trust you wholly but... Y-You're so big, my prince! Won't it hurt?"
Aemond felt guilty in passing as you looked up at him with wide glassy eyes. Ever the people pleaser, he knew it upset you not being able to give him what he wanted.
But Aemond is nothing but convincing. He wants you at ease and willing to partake in such intimate activities with him, but he can't deny how aroused he gets just thinking of having you that way.
No other man will have seen you so vulnerable and bare. His cock stirs in his pants just thinking about how tight it would be being buried in your other hole.
"I will have to prepare you, my love. We'll go slow and stop the moment you feel uncomfortable." He leans down to lay a kiss on your nose, tightening his embrace
Your eyes fluttered close at his touch. You couldn't deny the want pulsing through your veins the moment Aemond had suggested that...
You trusted him but the difference in you and your husband's sexual appetite was palpable. He was the more confident between the two of you in bed. Aemond had given you pleasure you did not know was possible, your body being an instrument and he its ardent player.
"H-How might you prepare me, my prince?"
"Well, I must see to it you've finished over and over again so you're more relaxed to take me. Perhaps have you come on my tongue till you're shaking and so that pretty little head of yours is empty of all your worries."
He brazenly squeezes your ass as he speaks, earning a breathy whine from you.
"Maybe I'll even have you sit on my face, darling. Would you like that... hmm?"
Before you could answer, you already felt his slender fingers ghosting the inside of your thighs, moving closer and closer to your heat and pulsing clit.
"A-Alright... I-I want to try."
He kisses you hard in return, making you moan against his tongue.
"You'll tell me how you're feeling throughout, yes?" He raised an eyebrow at you wanting to make sure you'll let him know him if anything starts to hurt or be too much.
"Y-Yes... please... I-I want to."
Aemond felt bliss fill his insides because you trusted him enough. He swore quietly in his head that he'd put your needs first for there was no greater privilege to him than having your confidence.
"Gods... you're perfect. Let your husband take care of you, my love. I'll be gentle. Now let me see all of you..."
AHH I didn't know how to end this but yeah Aemond could do unspeakable things to me and I'd say thank you whole-heartedly
i have no idea how community labels work here but two of my aemond fics were tagged that it needed the label aslfksdf should i be concerned??? prrr anyways aemond's so hot it's giving daddy
