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onlybeeewrites · 3 months ago

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Finding Magic

Request: May I request a hunger games request Haymitch x wife reader, she is a district 12 victor from the laye 50's games. She is around 4-8 years younger than him. It is set in district 13, we see him with their young daughter named after his fellow 50th game tribute and just fluff, please Pairing: Haymitch Abernathy x Fem!reader

Pairing: Haymitch Abernathy x wife!reader

Word count: 1.7k

Warnings: SUNRISE ON THE REAPING SPOILERS, characters mentioned

A/N: the first of many Haymitch requests UGH I loved this and seeing soft Haymitch. Enjoy!! <3 ~~~~~~~~

The quarters in District 13 weren’t much—gray walls, stiff bedding, and a distinct lack of anything that could be called personal. Everything was practical, assigned, and strictly regulated, from the meals to the uniforms to the way time itself seemed to tick by in rigid blocks.

But somehow, you had made it feel like home. Haymitch wasn’t sure how she did it. Maybe it was the warmth she carried with her, the way she never let the weight of their reality smother the small joys you still managed to carve out of the days. Or maybe it was the way you saw things—not just for what they were, but for what they could be.

Even here, underground, you made the world seem bigger.

Your ten year old daughter, Louella was sprawled out on the cold floor, utterly lost in the book she held, her small fingers gripping the worn pages as if they contained the secrets of the universe.

Haymitch could see the crease between her brows, the slight parting of her lips as she whispered words under her breath, tasting them as she read. Whatever world she had discovered in those pages had its hooks in her now, and nothing short of an emergency would pull her out of it.

And you sat nearby, your head bent over a needle and thread, patching up yet another hole in your daughter’s jumpsuit. It wasn’t the first tear she’d fixed this week, and it sure as hell wouldn’t be the last.

Louella was always running, climbing, sneaking into places she wasn’t supposed to be. She had the boundless energy of someone who had never known anything but motion.

Haymitch liked to pretend he didn’t know where she got that rebellious streak from, but between your quiet defiance and his own tendency to do exactly the opposite of what people expected, the girl hadn’t stood a chance.

He leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed over his chest, watching them for a moment before speaking. “What’s she reading this time?”

You didn’t look up, but there was a small smile on her lips. “Poetry. About magic.”

Haymitch raised a brow and pushed off the wall, making his way over before flopping down beside Louella. “Magic, huh? Didn’t think District 13 allowed that kind of thing.”

Louella shot him an unimpressed look over the top of her book. “It’s poetry, Papa. Not spells.”

Haymitch smirked, leaning in as if she had just admitted to something scandalous. “Still sounds like nonsense.”

Louella let out a dramatic sigh and held up the book. ��Just listen.”

She cleared her throat, straightened her back, and read aloud:

“The wind hums secrets through the trees,

The river sings to passing bees.

The sky bends low to kiss the land,

And leaves spell stories in the sand.”

She closed the book with a decisive little snap and looked up expectantly, waiting for his reaction.

Haymitch tilted his head. “Huh. Not bad.”

Louella beamed, victorious, and turned to her mother. “See? Even he likes it.”

You chuckled, tying off the stitch with practiced ease. “Took him long enough.”

Haymitch rolled his eyes but turned back to Louella. “So, you really think there’s magic in all that?”

Louella nodded eagerly. “Mama says magic is just seeing things the right way. Like when the sun looks like melted gold, or when the air smells different before a storm.”

You take a pause, setting down the sewing, stretching your fingers before smiling at your daughter. “My family always believed in magic,” you said, voice soft with nostalgia,

“We grew up in the fields, and we saw it in everything—the way fireflies danced like little stars, the hush of the earth before the first snowfall, the way seeds always knew how to find the sun.”

Louella’s eyes widened in that way only a child’s could, full of wonder and longing for things just out of reach. “I wish I could’ve seen all that.”

You smiled fondly, brushing a curl from Louella’s face. “You still can, sweetheart. Magic’s in the little things. You just have to know how to look.”

Haymitch snorted, shaking his head. “That why people used to call your family wild?”

That caused you to smirked at him, the corners of her eyes crinkling with amusement. “Of course. You’d know that. You’d also remember that people often said we were odd for believing in things you couldn’t hold in your hands. But it takes special people to see the magic in little things.”

Louella grinned. “Good thing I’m special, then.”

Haymitch hummed, “yes you are, sweetheart,” he said glancing between the two of them—you, his wife, with your quiet strength and stubborn belief in things bigger than themselves, and his daughter, practically glowing with excitement at the idea of unseen wonders hiding in the world around her.

Louella yawned, rubbing at her eyes but still stubbornly gripping her book. “Can I read one more?”

You glanced at the clock on the wall—lights-out was soon, and rules were strict here. But sighed, a small, indulgent smile on your lips. “Just one more.” How could you deny one of the few pleasures you were able to indulge in?

Louella grinned and flipped through the pages, searching for the perfect poem. Haymitch, meanwhile, leaned his head back against the wall, one arm draped lazily over your shoulders.

He wasn’t much for poetry, but he liked the sound of Louella’s voice as she read, soft and full of belief. Reminding him so much of you.

“The stars will shine beyond the dark,

Their light will never wane.

A whispered wish, a hopeful heart,

And magic stays the same.”

Luella looked up, blinking sleepily. “That means magic is always there, right? Even when we can’t see it?”

You ran her fingers through Louella’s hair. “That’s right.”

Haymitch huffed. “Poetry’s got a lot of nerve making promises like that.”

Louella giggled, pressing her face into his side. “You just don’t get it, Dad.”

He smirked, pulling the blanket up over her. “Guess not.”

She let out another small yawn, and this time, her eyes didn’t open again. Haymitch exhaled, shifting to pick her up. She made a sleepy sound of protest as he scooped her into his arms, but she didn’t fight it, just curled against his chest like she’d done since she was little.

You stood and followed as he carried Louella to the small cot she called a bed. He tucked her in, smoothing down the blanket while you brushed her hair back, pressing a soft kiss to her forehead.

Haymitch stayed there a moment longer, watching as Louella breathed slow and deep, already lost in dreams. He reached out, tucking a stray curl behind her ear. “Sleep tight, wild thing.”

She didn’t stir. You slipped your hand into his, lacing their fingers together as they stepped back from the bed.

Haymitch pressed a kiss to you temple as they settled onto their own bed. “You’re gonna turn her into a dreamer.”

You smiled against his shoulder. “Good. The world needs more of them.”

Haymitch didn’t answer right away. He just held you a little tighter, his fingers absently tracing slow, idle patterns against your arm.

Even after all these years, it still felt surreal sometimes—having this family, having you.

He thought back to the first time he saw you, standing on that stage at seventeen, trying to keep your face blank as your name was called. He’d been your mentor then, five years after winning himself. And he had been forced to watch 10 kids die since then. He was sure you would be the 12th.

And so he was forced to watch as you stepped into the arena, as you fought. But this time you proved everyone wrong as you won.

He had known, back then, what kind of person would walk out of that place. What it took to survive.

But you had come back still you, against all odds. You had come back stubborn and sharp and kind in ways the Capitol couldn’t kill. You still held onto who you were. And that alone was the perfect act of rebellion.

And somehow, in the years that followed, through nightmares and rebellion and the slow, aching process of trying to be something more than just survivors—you had found your way to each other eventually. And then became more.

Then two, became three. You had sobbed in his arms when you found out, fearing the day that she too would have to be reaped from the bowl of names. With a high chance of her dying in that god forsaken arena. The guilt, Haymitch remembered, took such a toll on you.

“How could I do this? Bring a child into this world?” You had once said. But after some time you had come to terms with the baby—Luella. Light in the dark. And a memorial name after the one of the tributes from Haymitch’s games. A sweet little girl you remembered from the Seam.

But now, you all were here, in a dimly lit room beneath the earth, with the most incredible daughter who believed in poetry and magic, in a place where hope was hard to hold on to.

And yet, somehow, you still did.

Haymitch exhaled, pressing his forehead against your hair. “You know,” he muttered, “I always knew you were trouble.”

You laughed softly, shifting closer. “Oh? Since when?”

“Since you looked me in the eye after they called your name and didn’t cry.” His voice was quiet, thoughtful. “Since you gave me an attitude that first day on the train. And especially afterward,”

Your fingers brushed against his hand, lacing together. “Guess that means you didn’t do a terrible job as a mentor.”

Haymitch huffed a small, dry laugh. “Didn’t do a great one, either.”

You squeezed his hand, tilting her head at him. “I’m still here, aren’t I?”

He didn’t answer, just pulled you against him, pressing a kiss to your hair.

You were here. You were still you. Even after everything you both had gone through.

Maybe that was magic too.

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traveler-at-heart · 2 months ago

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Stuck Together - Part 6

Summary: After Westview, Wanda and her children go into hiding. She's not happy with the person in charge of protecting them.

Wanda Maximoff x F! Super Soldier R

A/N: This is a short chapter! There will be another one and that will be it for this series :) Ty all for reading!

A cold hand squeezes your neck, and you know that a normal person would be dead by now.

It isn’t human, that’s very much obvious. Looks like Vision, but you remember him differently. Definitely not all white, with those unsettling blue, void eyes.

“I have to kill you”

“Hey, man, we can work it out. Is it because I kissed Wanda?” you try to joke, holding on to his metal arm, hoping there’s a way he can let you go. The lack of oxygen is blurring your vision, but you have to do something.

You have to protect the kids.

“Wanda. Where is she?” he says in that monotone voice that you always hated.

“Not gonna tell you, you freak” you say. “Kids, run back…”

But he’s squeezing your throat, probably trying to make you speak.

Good luck with that, fucking toaster.

A second later, you drop to the floor, gasping for air. As you look up, there are red threads of magic around the synthezoid.

Wanda.

“You ok, detka?” she says, looking at you.

“Yeah, I guess he got a little too jealous, huh?”

“That’s not Vision” she says, looking away. “Take the kids, get out of here”

“No, you get out of here” you say, standing up. You notice the robot is struggling to break free, Wanda’s hand trembling with the effort of keeping him still.

“I’m the only one that can stop him. And I created this mess”

You recognise the guilt in her voice, the burden of thinking every wrong thing that happens must be some kind of punishment.

But that’s bullshit.

Wanda’s not alone, and you won’t leave her.

“Please leave” she repeats, and you know she read your mind. You shake your head no.

“I’ll buy you some time. Take the car and the kids. Drive as fast as you can. I’ll stop him”

“Ok” she finally nods. She twists her hands, throwing the robot as far as she can. Before she runs, though, she turns to kiss you, holding on to you like it’s the only thing keeping her sane.

“I…”

“I know” you smile, pecking her lips. “See you soon, love”

The kids reach for their mother, and you whistle at Riley.

“Go, fetch!”

Your dog runs back to the shed where you keep all your weapons, and you hope training actually paid off.

As for you, you brace yourself for the return of the robot, who seems to be flying back at full speed. You try to remember the few times that you trained with Vision, kicking yourself over being so dismissive of him.

Truth be told, he never really engaged in hand to hand combat.

So, maybe that’s it. Keeping him close will make it harder for him to fight.

Or easier to get yourself killed.

Well, you’re about to find out.

This time, you are prepared for the hand that reaches for your throat, and you punch it away. He’s faster than you remember, and even if you keep him busy, there are a couple of blows that land, and you feel the air leave your lungs, ribs cracking.

“Riley, hurry up, please” you mutter, grabbing the robot by the cape to hold him back.

In that precise moment, you hear a bark, and turn to find your dog excitedly dragging your old shield. All those frisbee jokes paid off in the end.

“Good girl, I owe you a treat. Now out of here”

Sliding down the pier, you grab the shield, turning around just in time to block one of Vision’s attack. It comes back to you like second nature, throwing and catching the shield while you defend and attack.

He begins to anticipate your movements, and at one point blocks one of your punches, sending the shield flying back.

“Fuck, that hurts”

It’s also been a while since you’ve felt your nose breaking. Last time was probably during training with Steve. That was an accident, but it’s very clear that Vision wants you out of sight.

Cold hands reach for you, throwing you against a tree that snaps in half. Before you can stand up to jump and dodge his next hit, an arrow flies past your head, exploding right in his face.

“Bet you’re happy to see me”

Barton.

“You know what? Hell, yeah” you say, catching the shield when he throws it back to you.

“I got someone on the line for you” he says, throwing you a com as well. You place it in your ear, testing it.

“Y/N?” Maria says, and you adjust the shield in your arm while Clint keeps shooting arrows at Vision.

“Hill”

“Hayward sent Vision. Or not Vision. Whatever he is”

“See? I told you to let me kill him”

“We’re trying to hack into its system, but it might take a while. Can you distract him?” Maria says, and you hear her typing at full speed.

“Fine. Hurry. He’s here to kill us, and he ain’t messing around”

Your point is proven a second later, when he throws a boat your way. Clint manages to shoot an arrow straight to his shoulder, an electrical current going through its system.

Vision falls to the floor, weakened, and you take advantage to throw yourself at him. You fight, Clint unable to shoot an arrow as you’re too close to the robot to have a clean view.

Vision takes advantage of this, using you as a shield when Barton decides to shoot, the arrow going straight through your abdomen.

“Shit, Y/N!” Barton says, hurrying to your side. Vision blocks his path, but you can’t be too concerned with that, not when there’s a freakin arrow coming out of your stomach.

With a grunt, you pull it out, feeling the wound heal as you stand up. Your face is full of bruises, a testament of the synthezoid’s strenght. You bounce your shield against his head, attracting attention back to you so Clint can take some distance and shoot from another spot. Unlike you, he won’t survive hand combat against Vision.

“Clint, I’m running out of ideas” you shout, still fighting.

“And I’m running out of arrows”

Great.

You have so many wounds, cuts and broken bones that it takes longer to heal, and Vision looks fine. He doesn’t have a body, so he is not tired, not even out of breath.

“Maria, status”

But you don’t get to hear her answer, Vision covering his ears and grunting. It seems like she’s finally breaking into his systems.

Or making him more lethal, as he grabs you by the collar of your shirt, flying you to the middle of a mountain. You land in a cloud of dust, face inches away from a cliff.

“Did it work?” Maria asks.

“Nope”

She curses, but you’re starting to realise his system is too advanced to hack into. As you look at the rocks above your head, an idea forms.

“Barton, can you shoot at a spot above me? Anything that causes an explosion”

“Not from here”

“Then find a spot and wait for my signal”

“Are you sure?” he says, folding his bow. He already knows what the plan is.

“No, but we don’t have many choices, do we?”

He sighs, knowing that the plan might work, but you won’t survive it. Though you have been through worse sometimes.

“You don’t have to kill them, you know? They’re kinda your family” you try to distract the robot.

“I don’t have a family. Only a mission”

“Your loss, they are pretty damn cool kids”

Finally, you trap one of his arms with your shield, getting suck in a pile of rocks. You try to make time, waiting for Clint’s confirmation.

“I’m in position”

“Shoot above my head”

“You’ll get trapped too”

“I’ll manage” you grunt, trying to keep Vision from flying. He can escape, but only if you let him. “Barton, I don’t have time! You owe me, for Natasha. So just do as I say”

You don’t wait to hear his answer, panicking when you notice Vision is freeing himself. You jump on his back, locking his head in a tight position. He pushes you both to the edge, and you bring him back to the other side, waiting for the explosion.

That’s when you realise how strong he is. He crushes your arm, but you hold on through the pain, even when tries to twist one of your knees.

Finally, you hear an arrow flying close to your head, and the explosion shakes the mountain a second later. Boulders begin to roll, but you don’t move. One hand is above your head, holding your shield and hoping it’s enough to protect you.

Rocks bury the lower half of Vision’s body, but you can’t let go just yet. It isn’t until you see a giant rock rolling your way that you free him, stumbling backwards.

Something hits your head, blood spiling down your forehead as you jump into the river, hoping the fall won’t kill you.

But you pass out before reaching the water.

—

There are bright lights. A constant, beeping sound. Something in your arm.

Not again.

Your mind begins to race, haunted by the memory of years of torture and betrayal, done by your own government.

But then, there’s quiet. You feel a warm touch in your forehead, the softness making your body relax.

“It’s ok, detka. You’re safe”

Wanda.

You open your eyes, looking around the hospital room.

“Hey, witchy”

“I hate it when you call me that”

“I know” you say with a smile. “But could I possibly get a pass? Seeing as I’m in recovery”

“Sure you can, sweetheart” she says, hand in your forehead.

The way she gives in so easily has you worried. There’s something wrong.

“How are the kids? What happened after?”

“They’re fine. Staying with Clint. I just wanted to make sure you recovered before…”

“Before?”

“Before leaving. It’s for the best”

“Wanda” you try to straighten in the bed, grimacing. “Come on, don’t do this”

“You got hurt because of me. It just… this follows me everywhere I go. Death and chaos. I can’t put your life on the line, I’d never forgive myself”

“Wanda, please” you ignore the pain in your side, stretching your hand, searching for hers.

But she moves further away.

“I’ll be ok. And you’ll be better off without me”

“Wanda” you ask once again, but your eyelids feel heavy. You try to stay awake, even as your body is shutting down, and pretty soon you’re fast asleep again.

You know it’s her doing. She’s keeping you from asking her to stay.

Because she knows she’s not strong enough to say no to you.

#wanda maximoff x you #wanda maximoff x y/n #wanda maximoff x reader

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beloveds-embrace · 5 months ago

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(In which you are a witch living in the woods, and yet the crown’s knights, rather than bringing you to be executed, have taken to protecting you in exchange for your services. Inspired by @nightunite, so all credits to them! (I forgor to add this at first im so sorry </3))

The forest had always been a place of mystery, its ancient trees and thick undergrowth concealing stories older than anyone alive. Deep within its heart, where sunlight filtered in golden beams through the canopy, stood your cottage. Ivy curled up its stone walls, and a garden thrived in the clearing. Wind chimes, crafted from bones and stones, tinkled softly in the breeze, their melodies laced with protective enchantments.

You were a witch, but not the kind whispered about with fear and suspicion. The knights of the realm knew you well- not as a threat but as a keeper of secrets, a healer, and a source of quiet, unassuming power- a companion to turn to when things got rough. You gave them charms and potions, warded them against misfortune, and offered refuge when the weight of their duties grew too heavy. In return, they brought you herbs, rare ingredients, and protection from the crown.

And now, that very same forest seemed to hold its breath as Captain Price approached your cottage, his figure blending seamlessly with the shadows of the trees. You felt the subtle hum of your wards shifting, recognizing the familiar presence and allowing him to pass. By the time his knuckles rapped softly on the door, you were already reaching for the latch with an eager smile.

“Evening, Captain,” you greeted, as warm as the crackling hearth, and stepped aside to let him in. “Come in before the chill settles.”

He nodded in thanks, ducking under the low frame of your door. “Evening, love,” he murmured, setting a small bundle wrapped in cloth on your table. “Brought you some chamomile and wild mint. Picked it near the south clearing on patrol and thought you’d probably have better uses for them than me.”

“Always so thoughtful,” you unwrapped the herbs and inhales their fresh, earthy scent, while John simply watching, a satisfied gleam in his eyes. “These are perfect! Thank you, John, truly.”

Your fingers moved with practiced ease as you began sorting the herbs, placing them into jars and tying some into small bundles to dry. The rhythm of your movements seemed to ease the tension in Price’s shoulders as he sank heavily into one of the wooden chairs by the hearth, his eyes on you and only you.

“Tea?” you offered, even though you were already reaching for your collection of loose leaves. You bustled about, waving a hand with a glittery, starry shimer left in the wake of your movements; teapot and teacups toddled around in formation, going to their stations.

“Aye, tea sounds nice. Thank you, love.” He said, removing his helmet and setting it on the table.

You chose a blend of lavender, chamomile, and a hint of rosehip, brewing the mixture in the pot that had seen countless evenings like this. As you poured the steaming liquid into a cup, you murmured a soft incantation under your breath- just a touch of magic to soothe his weary spirit and exhausted body. A soft ting! came as the spell took hold, and for a split second, wispy hands curled around the cup before disappearing.

“Here,” you hummed, handing him the cup. “For peace of mind.”

Price sipped the tea, his gaze fixed on the fire crackling in your hearth that waved at him. The silence between you was comfortable, filled with the unspoken understanding that had developed over years of quiet visits and late nights spent together.

“Long day, John?” you asked gently, breaking the stillness. Your brows were furrowed, leaving creases in the skin of your forehead.

He nodded, hand curling around the cup, and sighed. “Long patrols, longer nights. The crown’s getting twitchy, and it’s falling on us to keep the peace.”

Your face softened. “And yet you still find time to bring me herbs. You’re too good to me, John.”

He glanced at you, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “You’ve done more for us than you realize. The men sleep easier knowing you’re out here, keeping watch in your own way.”

You looked away, focusing on the charm you’d been crafting earlier in the day. Made of braided black thread and adorned with tiny iron beads, it hummed faintly with the protective magic you’d woven into it.

“I made this for you,” you said, holding it out. “It’s for endurance- to keep you strong during the long days ahead.”

Price extended his arm, letting you tie the charm around his wrist. “Thank you, love.” He said, his voice low and sincere. His eyes lingered on yours, a quiet warmth in their depths.

When he stood to leave, you followed him to the door, pausing as he adjusted his armor. As easy as breathing, he tilted his head down as you stepped closer, pressing a kiss to his temple. The bristles of his beard brushed your cheek, and he stilled, letting the moment stretch.

“Take care, John.” You whispered, your hand lingering on his arm.

He nodded, his expression unreadable as he placed his hat back on his head. “I’ll make sure no one stumbles too close,” he said, tone firm- a promise he’s repeated many times, and never once broken. “This place stays yours, and no one will ever know.”

As he disappeared into the trees, the wards around your home seemed to settle, reassured by the promise of the man who had always been your quiet protector. You returned inside, the faint scent of chamomile lingering in the air, a reminder of the steady presence that kept your world safe.

It was not just him, of course, and you eagerly awaited the visit from the other knights who have kept your secret.

Masterlist.

#noona.writes #cod x reader #cod x you #cod #tf 141 x reader #tf 141 x you #tf 141 #cod imagines #john price x reader #john price x you #john price drabble #john price imagines

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lunajay33 · 4 months ago

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Against the Group

•🐺🩵•

Summary: Klaus was the big bad guy and your friend group wanted to kill him but you had a secret, one that they would forever hate you for, being his soulmate

Pairing: Klaus Mikaelson x f!reader

•Masterlist•

Klaus came into town as the big bad wolf and since everyone is obsessed with Elena and saw she could do no wrong they despised Klaus but the first time I met him was like magic

•flashback•

Everyone was fighting over how to get rid of Klaus I went in a walk through the forest it always relaxed me, hearing branches snap I turn quickly seeing the most magnificent man I’ve ever seen and my heart was light and something snapped within me

“What’s a little bunny like you doing all alone, you know there’s a big bad wolf running around Mystic Falls” his accent did things to me

“And you must be the infamous Klaus, you don’t seem so scary to me, quite lovely actually” he steps forwards until I’m backed up to a tree as he looms over me

“This town might not be so bad after all, found myself a sweet little mate”

•flashback over•

After that he told me everything about werewolves having mates, they’re like soulmates, tied to eachother and he treated me like I was a goddess but we kept it a secret because I didn’t want to others to hate me

I woke up to a knock on the door and there stood Klaus with a bouquet of my favorite flowers

“Come in! What do I owe the pleasure my bad wolf?” He smirks laying the flowers on the table and speeding both of us to my room where magically there are pedals everywhere and candles

“How did you do this?” I ask smiling as he gently lays me down and crawls ontop of me

“You’re a heavy sleeper” he laughs as he kisses down my neck

“I want you Klaus” I gasp when his fangs lightly graze my shoulder

“And you’ll have me my love, for all of eternity”

That night he shows me all the ways he loves me, showing me exactly what I’ve been missing all this time, gasping he rolls over and pulls me to his chest holding me tight

“I love you Klaus”

•

Weeks went by and our secret remained that, a secret except Rebekah and Elijah knew, they took interest in me after they saw how I changed Klaus’s behaviour

Siting on the couch of the Salvatore house with the others scattered about just relaxing for once

“Y/n I have a question?” Tyler asks grabbing the attention of the others

“Yeah what is it Ty?”

“You smell different”

“Excuse me?” My eyes wide

“I just mean, your scent it’s changed like, this is gonna sound weird, but it’s the smell females get when they’re mated” my cheeks become red and I’m a blubbering mess

“OH MY GOD! Y/N WHY DIDNT YOU TELL US WHO IS IT?” Caroline asks super excited knowing i was never with a guys before

“I ummm…..it’s nothing don’t even worry about it” I laugh awkwardly now everyone is crowded around me

“Y/n come on I’ve told you all the details about my first time come on” Elena groans

“I…..I can’t you guys won’t like it” I rub my hands together anxiously as I stand up and try to leave making my way past them and running out the door

“Wait!” Stefan calls out worried but I’m already in my car driving off to the mikaelsons, getting to their door I knock and there my lovely mate stands

“My lovely bunny what’s got your heart littering so fast?” He asks as he takes my hand and brings me inside

“The group were badgering me about who my first time was with, Tyler could smell that I’m “mated” I got flustered and had to get out of there” I sigh plopping down on the couch

“We could always tell them” he smirks as he brushes my hair back

“Let me just try and ease them into it, tell them all the amazing things you do for me, the amazing things you make me feel” I smile laying my head on his chest as he lays us down

“I think I can live with that little bunny now let me take care of you”

•

I wake up to Klaus’s arms around me holding my head to his chest and his other hand around my back

“Klaus wake up…..I have to go I have a doctors appointment” he groans sleepy as he rolls over to make me lay ontop of him

“You promise to come back”

“Of course I always do my love”

I got ready and he walks me to the door, opening it but pulling me back for a moment pulling me into a deep kiss

“Drive safe my angel” he whispers

“What….. the….. hell” I turn to see Damon and Caroline

“I…..can explain”

“Are you…..is he the guy you’re sleeping with?” I look back up at Klaus and he’s smirking which settles me a bit

“Maybe”

“Y/n how could you he’s trying to kill Elena, we’ll all of us for that matter” Caroline whines

“I can’t deal with this right now I have to go to the doctors” I walk past them to my car but Damon speeds infront of me and slams me against my car making me cry in pain

“Damon stop” Damon is flung off me as Klaus lifts me to my feet holding me gently

“Are you okay?” I hold the back of my head and nod

“I’m fine I gotta go to the clinic I’m gonna be late”

“I’ll come with you, make sure you’re okay” I nod and he drives me to the clinic, I check in and we sit in the waiting area

“So why are we here again, I didn’t here anything about you being sick before today”

“I just haven’t been feeling normal, thought I’d check just in case”

“I could just give you some of my blood”

“It’s not something blood can fix” then my name is called and I go in alone, after some test the doctor comes back

“Well the results are in, congrats you’re pregnant!” My heart drops I didn’t know whether to me happy or worried how could I be pregnant

I walk out and Klaus is by my side immediately and walking me to the car

“My love you’re as white as a ghost what did the doctor say”

“Let’s just go back to your place and I’ll tell you” we got back quickly and he speed me to the living room where Rebekah and Elijah we sat

“Y/n you don’t look so good” Rebekah says bringing me a glass of water

“How is this possible I’m so confused”

“Please tell me you’re worrying me”

“I’m pregnant” and they all gasp

“You cheated on me” Klaus yells

“No I swear you know I’ve only ever been with you, maybe…..maybe it’s your wolf side right you’re a wolf first” I say panicked

“She’s right Niklaus you can smell your scent and only you’re on her can’t you” Elijah said as Klaus breathed me in his eyes growing wide

“It’s true, so….this baby is mine” I nod as he settles down

“I’m going by to have a niece or nephew!!” Rebekah chimes in excited

“How will it come out, wolf? Vampire? Human?”

“I guess we will have to see my little bunny”

#klaus mikealson x reader #klaus mikaelson #klaus x reader #klaus x pregnant reader #tvd #the vampire diaries #elena gilbert #elijah mikealson x reader #rebekah mikaelson #caroline forbes #bonnie bennett #stefan salvatore #damon salvatore #the vampire diares imagine

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rlimagi · 11 months ago

Note

Can you do bridget with a villain GF. Like major Sunshine x Storm or whatever

Perfect Revenge

Pairings: Bridget x Villian! Reader

Genre: Fluff with a splash of reader being a menace <3

Warnings: evil activities?

Note: Hi!! Thank you for your request, this is a bit short but this is the first time I’m writing for Descendants so hopefully you’ll enjoy this! Also thank you everyone else for the requests, I’ll start writing as soon as I get more ideas<3

“Sweetheart, you need to stop being so nice to people who don’t deserve it!” You frowned, voice raising higher and higher the longer you thought of Uliana who recently dropped a bucket of green paint over Bridget’s head.

It was humiliating for Bridget but she still forgave her, the thought made you more angry by the seconds.

“Calm down, baby. The school’s going to flood soon if you don’t, just…it’s fine just stop thinking about this.” Bridget being the angel she was, intertwined your hands with hers to calm you down even when she was the victim of a petty prank.

You sighed, your emotions got the best of you to the point that you didn’t realize that you summoned heavy rain upon the school grounds.

You lifted your eyes off the ground to see other students running inside the school, trying their best not to get too wet.

“Okay, fine…sorry but really, if she touches even an inch of your body again, Ursala might need to come on land to find her precious baby sister’s remains.” You said, smirking as you eyed Uliana and her gangs who were strutting to god knows where but you know it’s not to etiquette class.

“That’s well…good enough! Thank you baby, now stop sulking and go back to class!” Bridget smiled gleefully, giving you a kiss on the cheek before running off to her class before giving you a chance to respond.

Your face reddened at the sudden kiss even if it was only on the cheek. Bridget had always had this effect on you, even in the darkest of days she’ll somehow make it all brighter.

But just to your dismay, Uliana appeared in your sight again but this time she was alone. A smirk rose up your lips. “Sorry, Bridget. You’ve let Uliana off way too many times. She wants to play with fire, but I’ll give her all the elements.”

You silently followed her into the forest, waiting until she was too far from another living being aside from yourself to strike.

You stood on one of the branches of a tree, luckily the trees in the magic forest was big or else you wouldn’t have been able to hide so easily. “Uliana~” you sang out, your voice echoed into the darkness, scaring the living soul out of the villian.

“Who’s there!” Uliana shouted, trying to seem threatening but you could read her like an open book. She was trying her hardest not to tremble

“Is that how you speak to a friend?” You pouted, faking an innocent look as you jumped right in front of her.

“You!” Uliana screamed, her body fuming in anger but before she could utter another word you snapped your fingers. Then her lips was moving but no words came out.

“I?” You asked, pointing to yourself as you tilted your head to the side. “I what, Uliana?” your smile grew wider as the speed of her lips moved faster and faster, yet no words seemed to be coming out.

But clearly, Uliana wasn’t about to let you off so easily. She glared at you and was about to sprint to your way when you ordered the vines on the ground to pull her onto the ground, tying her whole body to the sharp grass.

Let’s say what happened next wasn’t very pretty.

“Yn! Guess what! Uliana hasn’t been bothering me at all lately, I think she liked the cookies I gave her!” Bridget smiled joyfully, placing the plate of cookies aside before running up to you to give the warmest hug ever.

You melted into her touch, nodding to everything she said. “Of course, who wouldn’t like my princess’s famous choco chip cookies.”

Bridget blushed at what you called her, “Your princess?” she pulled away from the hug for a bit to look right into your eyes, it was filled with love and adoration.

“Only mine, got it?” You claimed in a joking manner, grinning when she playfully pinched your cheek.

“Of course, silly.” Bridget cupped your face before pulling you in for a sweet kiss, a kiss sweeter than all the sweets in the world combined.

After pulling away from the sweetest you wished to never be apart from, you saw Uliana from the corner of your eyes. She looked like a deer caught in headlights after noticing your eyes on her, immediately she ran out of your sight.

It was you who made Uliana stop her bullying towards your girlfriend but no one needs to know about that. Especially Bridget, your girlfriend should never know that you tortured someone for hours just for her.

#wlw #rise of red #descendants #Descendants: The Rise of Red #Bridget x reader #descendants 4 #Bridget #queen of hearts #fanfic #descendants x reader

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lazyjellyfish300 · 4 months ago

Text

𝑭𝒊𝒓𝒔𝒕 𝑺𝒏𝒐𝒘~𝑷𝒂𝒓𝒕 2 ✼

Synopsis: you share a passionate and intimate night with your husband, Kento Nanami, after he returns to you, his pregnant wife, in your farmhouse in the countryside after being away. Sequel to Part 1.

Words: 8k 💕

CW: X PREGNANT FEMALE READER, READER HAS LONG HAIR (no other physical descriptors used), POST SHIBUYA SCARRED!NANAMI KENTO, light angst with body insecurity, SMUTTY(PREGNANT SEX, P IN V, ORAL SEX, HANDJOB, BLOW JOB CUM EATING, SOMNOPHILIA), PREGNANCY SYMPTOMS/ATTRIBUTES-STRETCH MARKS, CHEESY FLUFF, SELF INDULGENT HELL, THIS IS FICTION. MAKE SURE YOU PEE AFTER HAVING SEX.

a/n: posting this late for a certain anniversary...but hope it's worth it! Ty for reading.💕❄️ dividers: @/saradika-graphics . Pics from pinterest

12 days of Smutmas Masterlist 🎄🎅🏽

Your cows, chickens, goats, and pig were fed and tucked in. The sear of the cold was no match for the warmth from the golden nests of hay inside the barn. The lowly bellow from the cows spun a countryside lullaby that thrummed distantly outside your frost painted window.

The Christmas tree glowed in multicolored stalwart jubilee downstairs, freshly adorned in the new Campbell's ornaments collection of your very own amongst the forest of other sentimental trinkets like a fond patchwork quilt that emitted the cleansing smell of pine.

The air of your bedroom tonight was silent, barely moving. The glow from the incandescent bulb of your lamp on the nightstand bathed the scene in a relaxing yellow while the singular candle on the windowsill shed its scent of gingerbread and cinnamon vanilla.

"Let me help." He utters to you in the subdued light.

And you could only watch as the faithful warmth of Kento's palms sought the underside of your wooly sweater, working over your baby bump.

While your mind was at ease, your cheeks burned with a fever that reminded you that you were simply weak to the magic way that he venerated you. It was like muscle memory that could revert you back at any point in time to your relationship where your love scorched with an intensity comparable to the present moment.

The coursings of affection fueled by the intimate element of familiarity were making their way in potent shivers up your spine as the sweater was lifted up and over your head in careful assistance, where it joined your dress, followed by your underwear, then your bra in a heady pile on the creaking wooden floor, the muffled sounds causing your thighs to press together.

"Beautiful..." He remarks reverently. "You're so breathtaking." He beckons you a little closer with a traced love note from his fingernail on the small of your back, so that your bodies meet slightly pressed in the middle, only prevented by the ample swell of your belly.

"So handsome..." You whisper in turn as he trustfully allows you to gently slip away the black cloth from where his left eye used to reside, unveiling the scarred texture underneath.

You wet your lips, the rise and fall of your ribcage began to feel heavier as his hands cupped the sensitive swells of your breasts in tender preoccupation while you began to quietly undo the buttons of his shirt.

This was your way of seizing time back with him that still loved to crawl between you like a thief. Showering Kento from head to toe in the heaven of your loving gaze as every gradual inch became slowly revealed to you.

The lack of reunion between buttons pushes both flaps of his shirt open, revealing the canvas of texture underneath which you do your best to take in despite him closing off the distance, leaning in as his fingers sweetly graze your pert nipples.

You admire the expanse of scars, the ridge you've traced over countless times where the marred skin of his left side bled into the right. You contemplate as you drink him in slowly how such a beautiful, strong being was made to exist and breathe in your orbit.

"Just as you are..." You remember whispering to him that first night you made love in this very room, when the creaking roof over your heads still had leaks in it and the windows still carried a draft that made you seek the warmth in each other while the rainstorm ravaged the flooded levy outside.

He wonders, as he watches you, bare in front of him, belly swollen with his child, how such a lovely thing as you were permitted to gift him your presence.

The tenderness in your eyes that crept out when you didn't will it to, the graceful dance of your fingers over his skin with complete indifference to the imperfections they explored, the wistful cadence of your voice that would bubble like the butterflies in his stomach when you released a laugh at his doing, would quiver like silk with the honeyed utterance of his name against his throat during precious moments like this, would warm him from head to toe from a place deep seated inside his bones like the rich mocha that settled at the bottom of both of your mugs in the mornings you always shared together.

His mind sometimes wandered in moments such as these into brief bouts of insecurity. Wondering if you ever wished to know what his skin looked like when it was whole, when there wasn't an imperfect half of him, when he still had a left eye, before his life changed that dreaded night that felt like a lifetime ago.

But, he never stayed there for long when your reassurance and love poured over him like the beginnings of the soothing warmth that trickled from a faucet and into his scalp, anchoring him back to the present.

Right now, he adores how you worship all of him, how your featherlight touch writes a love letter sealed with the ink pen of your kisses as you lean in and press them generously to his stomach, ribs, and chest, indiscriminate about where they land, so long as not an inch of him remains uncovered.

It's his turn to sigh your name, and he mutters silent approval with the subtle arch of his spine as his fingers lose themselves in the shadows of your hair.

"Darling, please. Don't tease..."

His grunts grow more heady as the path you're blazing with your lips only begins to travel more south.

You love seeing him like this, watching him slowly lose all inhibitions and eventually giving into his wanton desires that you knew only you could wring out of him. You love being the reason for his unraveling, relish being responsible for the furrow in his brow from pleasure that had previously been plagued with worry.

He gazes at you with parted lips and lust blown eyes. The clinking sound of his unraveling belt only keeps that switch in your brain steadily turned on, and his dress pants join your clothes on the floor, the only other place you both loved to see them besides each other.

As you lower yourself down, you begin to knead slowly at his cock through his underwear with your lips, kissing them to the pulsing life you can feel building in his already well endowed size underneath the thin fabric as your hand gently begins to rub the underside of his balls.

"Fuck, please, my love..."

He releases a sound somewhere between a whine, widening his stance a little bit more that only goads you into nuzzling your nose further into his lengthening cock, immersing yourself in his scent, his musk, his essence. So that every greedy push of your nose and press of your lips conveys how needlessly you desire him at all times. How the duration of an entire week apart and the few hours he had been at home with you when you were forced to receive and not worship him had you so pent up.

"Kento, honey, love..." Your breathy pleas smolder him and travel straight to his cock. He chases the intonation of his name and your sweet words sliding from your lips greedily with the movement of his own hips, his hand cradling the back of your head while the knuckles of the other clenched into a fist against the peeling wall.

"Need you..."

"Aaah....ah, darling, I..." He rolls his head back in blissful surrender with a smile, before snapping it to meet your sultry gaze, almost losing himself completely before he meant to. The tops of his fingers trace along the fragile edge of your jaw.

"Baby, haah...n-not yet." He rasps, swallowing his choppy breaths as he pulls back just a bit, cradling your face in his hands, pink blush dusting his cheeks.

"You're pregnant, my love. I don't want you to hurt yourself." He helps you stand, but keeps his hands in suggestive fashion, right in the middle of the swell of your ass, to let you know he had every intention of revisiting where you'd leave off.

"We should bathe first. Then we'll get comfortable?"

"Okay." You smile and pause with an exhale, allowing the dust to settle as he kisses your forehead before wrapping you in the comforting escort of his embrace as you make your way to the master bathroom.

---

He notices the goosebumps on your arms and throws a fluffy towel over you as the water begins to patter from the faucet and into the large ivory claw foot tub that overlooked the stained glass window in your bathroom, streaks of snowflakes running in silent trails outside the dewy exterior.

He guides you warmly into his naked chest, as he lays his chin in your hair, absentmindedly swaying you to an invisible melody while the water slowly begins to heat up.

You smile at him from your view in the mirror and he smiles back, before turning to him again and indulging him in more kisses to pass the time between the trickling water.

When the water is ready, he helps you slip the towel off. You fix and clip your hair in the mirror as he removes his watch and places it on the counter next to you, before slipping the towel into the dryer across the hall where it can toast while you bathe together.

He returns and strikes a match, carefully lighting some lavender almond candles on the windowsill to relax you. He reaches out with a careful hand to check the temperature of the water, then holds you steady so you don't slip as you step inside the tub, before he helps you comfortably sit against him with your back to his chest.

You sigh with relief as the bath douses and turns the texture of your skin silky with its warmth, completely stripping you of any lingering chill from earlier, seeping in your bones to provide much needed relief to your swollen appendages, the mild candlelight and wafting floral scent with notes of vanilla from the almond adding to the soothing atmosphere that caressed you on all sides.

Kento watches you fondly, loving how gorgeously relaxation was worn on your face, the subtle sheen that the heat kissed into your eyelashes, the glimmering shine on your lips from your lip oil, how supple and pliant your breasts felt underneath his fingertips.

He shifts to allow you to lay your head backwards in the space between his shoulder and his neck. He cradles you against him, pressing his cheek to your forehead as the water sloshes in faint ripples around you.

You talk quietly amidst the cacophonic echoes of the water trickles and still hum of the steam around you.

"Any news from the school?" You ask with your eyes still closed.

Kento allows a small offering of water from one of his palms to roll off your shoulder before leaning down to kiss it.

"Nothing noteworthy." He paused, thoughtfully chasing a pathway from a drop of water that trickled slowly down your neck with his finger.

"Masamichi mentioned he was seeing someone new."

"Really, who?" You perk up.

"I neglected to ask."

"Kento." You groan, pinching his thigh with no malice underneath the water. "We've been over this lesson before on collecting half cups of tea."

You point an accusatory finger from the floating cloud of bubbles over your chest, aimed at his face from where he's smirking out of your view.

"I collect only what's necessary." He teases as he attempts to move it away.

"Those ARE necessary details!" You turn around in his lap and he scoops you into it like you're weightless, welcoming this abrupt closeness with his flaccid cock resting on your belly underneath the water.

"We have very different ideas on what that is, my dear."

"Well, get it right next time!" You splash him playfully and he scoffs.

"How rude." He splashes back. Not too much to soak your hair, he was a gentleman after all, but he had no problem with matching your moods when you found them to be more playful.

"Me, rude?? You sputter incredulously. “You're the one edging me with all this important information with no details."

"Nonsense."

You cross your arms with dramatic flair. "You might as well make a sandwich with no bread."

Kento's expression darkens ever so slightly, however the mischievous intonation behind his words carries no threat. "Watch your tongue."

"Mmmm, lettuce wraps." You taunt, leaning in closer.

Behind his calm exterior, flames were being stoked, one by one as you tested his patience.

"You wouldn't do such a revolting thing."

"Wouldn't I?" You tilt your head.

"You're being coy." Kento replies cooly, gazing at the sheen of your lips.

"Because you know you love it." You purr, inches away from his face. "Think I know what I'm making for lunch tomorrow..."

"You're not to step foot within a mere vicinity of our kitchen, Mrs. Nanami."

"Oh yeah?" You raise your eyebrows.

"Yes.” Kento answers, lifting his chin. “Not unless you abandon these... atrocious ideas."

"Don't like my recipes, sweetheart?"

He huffs, leaning in dangerously with a sultry mutter, "If you can even call it that."

He captures your cheeks in his fingers, before reuniting his mouth on yours without wasting another moment.

Suddenly, the source of pettiness from your banter is long forgotten, as his lips delve you headfirst into focusing on returning the slow, teasing rolls and flicks of his tongue as you made out in the rising mist of the heated tub.

His hands find their home in your hair, driven to chase after that intoxicating velvet sensation of your lips, before his hands dance down to feel and measure the warm weight of your wet breasts and those delectable nipples that had become more enlarged since the day he got you pregnant, sensually forgoing what started your squabble in the first place.

"Still planning on making those ridiculous wraps of yours?" He breathes as he nips your tongue.

"No..." You pant. Your lovely, heavy eyelids and withering tone give him an irresistible edge of smugness.

"Good."

He kisses you much more deeply than before, and it's clear that the place that you stopped earlier is making a swift return, as he guides your wet body against his lap, your sweetly throbbing clit slowly rubbing along the veins of his hard length.

He moves his lips with intention to devour you like honey, the motion of his tongue gliding over yours triggers a series of soft grunts that contain less restraint than the previous, as though your kiss was an aphrodisiac that chipped away at his composure. The wet, soaking warmth you're grinding all over his cock is almost too much to handle combined with the steam and the sweat being conjured by passion on the slippery surface of both of your bodies.

You grip both sides of the tub as he concentrates on controlling your hips and following them back and forth in agonizing rhythm with the reciprocation of his own. His cock becomes impossibly hard underneath the surface, and he brings his finger back to your throbbing pearl again while the fingers of the other bruise into the squishy flesh of your ass.

“Fuck, Ken…”

“Ah…” He seethes with want and gritted teeth as you hump each other in the water, the ache in his balls returning that desperate desire to be emptied inside your warm pussy, perhaps dripping down the valley of your tits, maybe even in a gorgeous trail down your chin and neck, or on your tongue where he could have a taste if he was feeling more filthy.

You coo angelically, a smirk growing on your lips as you reach down to stroke him.

“Let me...” You beg him.

“God...” His resolve is all but hanging on a thread, but he doesn't want to take anything away from you in this passionate moment you were enjoying together.

“You don’t have to, darling. It felt good when you were riding me…”

He tries to move you closer where he had you in his lap, but you shake your head, pressing your forehead assuredly against his.

“Please. Let me, I need to...” You kiss him, smiling again as the lilt in your moans oozed with allure.

“You're so hard for me right now, sweetheart.”

He exhales and holds your face as the hinge in his jaw slackens as you slowly pump him in your hand.

“You…” He struggles, Adam's apple bobbing in his throat as he swallows, more sweat dotting underneath his blonde locks that hang over his eyes as his hips seem to move on their own accord, utterly enraptured under the spell of your eyes, your voice, your beguiling touch.

“You kill me.” His lungs freeze with an abrupt intake of breath, before releasing a heady groan, his toes curling away from your vision as he resigns himself to the sheer ecstasy that was wracking his body.

“Fuck…” the white of his good eye peeks out as he rolls it back.

You love it when he slowly becomes greedy, when he becomes so far removed from how selfless he really was outside the mellow allure of your bedroom, when he allows his passion to indulge himself to be a little rough, but never to the point of hurt, no. You know he'd rather deprive himself before ever thinking about hurting you, rather using it as a vehicle to convey his profuse passion when all words in the dictionary paled in comparison.

The look on his face emulsifies as he thrusts wantonly into your hand, ripples of the bathwater splashing over the edges of the tub. You giggle, and he can't stop the pink from showing in the tops of his ears, knowing that this is far from the first time that this has occurred.

He takes the liberty of repaying you in the frantic caress of his hands all over your body, squeezing, groping, and kneading every inch of softness available to him: your breasts, the globes of your ass, the slope of your shoulders, before seizing the back of your neck and sucking intermittently on pieces of your throat in the hopes to leave love marks in his wake while his cock throbbed and pulsed in your palm as you worked him closer and closer to his inevitable fall.

“I love you so much.” You whisper, cheek pressed against his throat.

Those words hit him with the gravity of a typhoon, surges with an urgency that catches him by surprise, and his hold on you grows impossibly tighter as he nearly cums on the spot, only delaying it so he can respond with the expression of his mutual, undying love, catapulting his pleasure and the overwhelming feelings in his body to an almost sear-like ache.

“I love you. God, more than anything.”

His hips buck upwards and scorch with white-hot lust, the silky texture of his cock glides in your hand until he buries his face in your neck, loud groans falling and becoming trapped in the soft skin near your pulse as his slick cum leaks in thick, milky bursts underneath the expanse of bubbles in the bath.

He trembles as he embraces you close while he rides out the dizzying tide of aftershocks, emptying himself completely.

He turns your chin, and kisses you as he eases you both back down from the clouds and off his lap. Somehow, the embers of the fire you lit inside his ribs linger still for him to want to burn off the remainder in the bedroom properly, if you were up for the occasion.

But, from that nubile pout you wear on your face as he kisses your head while wrapping you in your toasty towel, he can tell you certainly are.

-----

Wrapped up in your fleece pajamas while he stands next to you in just the bottoms of his matching pair, you brush your teeth, hips occasionally bumping side by side.

He can't help the twinge from the pangs of adoration pulling at the heartstrings in his chest at the sight of you and your baby bump that now skimmed over the countertop, the buttons of your pajamas that fastened much more snugly.

You finish brushing before him, and you turn and bring your hands to his face, brushing the skin of his right side, intentionally skimming with more precisional care over the scarred of his left.

"Are you sore tonight, sweetheart?" You ask, eyes searching for signs of discomfort from his reflection in the mirror and back to him while he wiped his mouth.

You know him though, and how he'd most likely say no. Not with dishonesty, just always characteristic of that way of his that always put his well-being second.

"I'm alright." He answers just as you predicted.

You give a click of your teeth.

And he knew you wouldn't buy it, either.

"We should apply your cream." You state, turning towards the medicine cupboard.

He catches your fingers before you can reach for it.

"Not after you've been on your feet all evening, darling."

"It won't take long, sweetheart."

"No." He insists and you look at one another in playful stalemate. He sighs, the first to raise the white flag.

"Not while standing. Let's sit down, then we can."

---

As you straddle his thighs, with his back against the headboard of your master bed, he wonders what this scene will look like mere months from now, when sleep would evade you due to the daunting new schedule a tiny baby demanded both of you, when the flames of intimacy would need to be extinguished temporarily and you had to cultivate and navigate the new form your love would inevitably take on because of the changes. He thought about the tension and stress that no doubt would plague you both, testing you to the point of possibly breaking entirely under the weight of such an irrevocable change in your lives.

"Something's on your mind." You whisper as more of a statement of fact as you work the cream into the creases along his cheek.

With how well you could read him on any given day of the week, most of his worries are dispelled at once from that fact alone.

"Just thinking about when the baby arrives." He answers, letting his hands resume the soft kneading he had neglected moments before when your nurturing touch and the soothing cream on his skin made him forget what he was doing.

"Are you excited?" You ask gently, moving back to the planes of his chest, spreading the ointment into a thorough lather.

"I am." He answers truthfully, and he opens his eye, confirmation and hope glimmering tenderly in that strong brown iris. "But I am nervous, too."

You pause, dropping your hand to rest in your lap, holding his gaze as you sense the shift in his tone. It was not to the point where you were overly worried, but he emitted that feeling that carried a more serious undertone when you were dealing with important matters that seized your attention.

"How so, sweetheart?"

"I'm…nervous to be a father, to be responsible for our child's upbringing." He continues in his honesty, thoughtfully chewing on each word as he speaks. He holds your thighs steady, punctuating each line with a tender brush of his thumbs, as if to calm you for your sake.

"I'm nervous about the stress parenthood might put us under, but mostly for you." He pauses, and you pause with him to sit quietly in solidarity with his vulnerability.

"I'm worried about the toll this will have on you and your health. So l need to do everything I can to make sure that doesn't happen."

Realization slowly pulls at you the longer that you ponder together in your mutual reflection. But his caring admission stirs that tender spot in your heart that had his name burned into it.

Always thinking of you, even in the troubling midst of his own worries. The fog was never enough to cloud his focus from what he would eternally revere and honor above himself:

You, his wife.

"Thank you, sweetheart." You smile, and lower your head as you realize you must be his anchor in this moment too. He would stack burden after burden on his shoulders without ever thinking twice. It’s how he's always been, and how he always would be.

It was an unshakeable piece of Kento's foundation that you gracefully accepted with no conditions, just like the rest of him. However, you understood the role of your place by his side, holding his hand and letting him know that this journey was never meant to be embarked nor this trial shouldered alone.

"I'm scared too, Ken.” You look at the brown freckles dusting the point of his shoulder blade that sprinkled just above his collarbone, like a displaced constellation that found itself pulled from the sky and embedded in his skin.

“…for breastfeeding, getting enough sleep…."

“Don't pressure yourself, love." He whispers with a shake of his head. "What matters is that our child is fed. But I know you want to try, so I'll support you in every way that I can."

"Thanks, sweetheart." You whisper and your lips reunite, reveling in that unspoken strength you fed one another that always rose to the occasion, empowered at each other's side.

"Look at us, all afraid. When we're the best team the world's ever seen."

He smiles, fondness seeping in the crow’s feet by both eyes, even in the vacant left side that the scars could not obscure completely.

"You're very right about that. But you've seldom been wrong about anything."

"You mean to say, never?" You wink.

He beams, knowing better.

"Of course I did, my love. Thank you for correcting me."

-----

Soon, you were laying on your side as the night mellowed closer to sleep. You were naked on the velvet surface of your pale blue pregnancy pillow you cradled between your legs, fleece pajamas discarded when the latent warmth under Kento’s skin became a far more enticing prospect.

Kento peels off his pajama pants, letting out a slight huff of amusement and frustration behind you as he tried his best to fit in the pillow next to you, but to no avail, which causes you both to land in a fit of giggles like you were kids.

Now, the small cardboard book was open as you read aloud, your husband spooning you from behind. You had heard from your doctor that reading and speaking often to your little one inside your belly could be a fulfilling exercise for both parents-to-be.

Tonight's selection was Goodnight Moon.

Kento's hands skim over the delicate bumpy lines on your belly that run vertically and weave like the vines that grew over the cobbled exterior of your farmhouse.

"Goodnight stars. G-goodnight…" your cadence weakened as the appealing press of Kento's naked body against yours steadily made the words a bit more labored on their way out, his presence warming you from where he laid.

"Go on." His lips continue their prolonged kiss over the juncture of your jaw while his fingers start their gentle dance over your belly lines and the dimples embedded in your hips in reverent appreciation for the goddess they belonged to.

The sensual cascade of your hair over your shoulder was slowly driving him wild as your beautiful voice continued in that hushed tone that begged him closer, like a curtain concealing a treasure he yearned more and more to pull back and unveil. He holds back for now, although precariously positioned on a wire-thin thread as you begin to respond more sensitively to his experimental touch.

It started with the innocent drumming of his fingers over your belly and hips, and then it trailed suggestively along the length of your ribs, leading with the tip of his middle finger, teasing the base of the swell of your left breast.

“There's still a few pages left...” Kento murmurs in your ear with that unmistakable, husky inflection that both confounded and aroused you.

He knew very well what exact implications it carried, and the indecent effects it had on your beautiful body. He gloats to himself as you let out a groan of defeat, concluding that, in his mind, it was only fair retaliation for the shaky mess you reduced him to earlier.

“Are you going to let me finish reading?” You breathe softly as his nose tickles your hair, licks just behind your ear before sealing it with a kiss, his index finger and thumb so slyly tracing the perky bud of your nipple.

“I am.” He replies, dragging the surface of his seeking palm over your belly in a seductive descent, loitering closely near your sex.

“But it would appear that you're getting distracted. I wonder why?”

The book tumbles out of your grasp as he starts to slowly rub your clit, pressing his lips to the column of your frantically rising pulse.

“Ken-”

“Keep going, love.” The heat from his voice sinking an octave is almost visceral as the pet name rolls off his tongue in coy delivery, his face directly against your cheek as the rhythmic circles on your clit deepen.

You arch against him, trying to find some reprieve as you press your thighs together in feeble resistance, but you feel the inside of his foot ride up along your calf, until he parts them easily with his knee, holding you open.

“Shall I assist?” He whispers.

Now, he's being just plain smug, asking all of these questions he knows the answers to, pretending like he doesn't know the ending to a simple story you've read together several times.

A helpless whine becomes ragged and breathy as he tears it from your throat, throwing your head back so it rests on his shoulder.

“Goodnight stars…goodnight air…” He breathes, coaxing two fingers past your glistening folds. “My, my, you're unbelievably wet tonight. Was it because of what I did to you earlier?”

“What part..?” You moan and bite your lip.

“When I had you on your back on our couch?” He purrs, pushing his middle and ring finger knuckle deep into your dribbling pussy.

“Those beautiful sounds you made and the way I had you look at me as you came all over my hand…” His jaw tenses at the erotic memory fueling his ministrations in the present moment.

“Or was it from when you were getting so aroused from stroking my cock in our bath this evening?”

“Sweetheart, too much…” Your fingers curl into a vice-like grip on the hair at the base of his neck.

He moans unabashedly at the sensation. The action moves his head down, just a little, and he chuckles as he realizes what little control you're doing your best to take back.

“Ah, ah.”

He sits up, his lean muscles flexing in his stomach, veiny cock raging pink at the tip that slightly curves to the left, thicker girth on that side from the scar tissue. He hitches your left leg over his shoulder, kissing the arch of your foot, ankle, and a pathway from your calf to the bend of your knee. He drags one of the spare pillows down, tucking it under your hips in a fluid motion.

Before you can protest, his lips are on yours again, while he fondles your breasts with greedy abandon.

“I can't wait until you're lactating…” He utters, humming as he rocks his hips in tandem with the circular kneading of your breasts, the underside of his cock teasing along the soaked seam of your folds.

“Yeah…?” You slur before your train of thought dissolves into mush as he begins taking them in his mouth.

“You've always had such stunning tits…” He moans in between sucks as he feels the apex of your nipple harden and pebble against his tongue.

“But I'll appreciate them particularly when you're milking for our baby that I fucked into you. And these hips, these thighs…” He acknowledges them with passionate squeezes as his cock throbs with every haphazard thrust against the wet surface of slick dripping out of your pussy.

“And this gorgeous ass of yours.” He whispers through gritted teeth, before landing a sharp smack against your soft flesh.

Warmth trickles between your thighs in heated ripples at how crude he was being, a side of him he revealed only on a few select occasions. (chiefly that long, passionate afternoon in the bed and breakfast following your wedding nuptials by the seaside). Usually, Kento wasn't so talkative. You noticed he gradually became more ravenous, more insatiable to scratch that everlasting itch he had for you ever since those two lines appeared on the pregnancy test.

“You're so sexy…” You giggle, watching him with an endearing gaze as he intoxicates himself with his preoccupation with your pregnant body as he moves lower, slotting between your thighs. “What's gotten into you lately, baby?”

He chuckles, keeping his eyes on you as his tongue makes that first slow, languid lick between your folds, wringing a delicious sigh from your lips.

“I'm not sure…” He presses a dainty kiss to your clit, before nuzzling his nose against it as he takes a deep inhale of your arousal, the scent contributing to that heated pooling in his stomach that unlocks something primal in his mind.

“I just desire you with an intensity that I didn't know was possible.”

“Ah, so it wasn't there before?”

He scoffs. “Don't be silly, darling. You know what I mean. It's just, seeing you like this…” He groans as he kisses along your pussy, coating his lips before he sticks out his tongue, a low “aah” sound grumbles from his throat as he begins to flick it back and forth.

“Oh, Ken…” the knot hovering over the fire that builds along your spine tightens impossibly fast. He knows every sensitive spot you possess, and this time he goes for them directly without giving you a chance to breathe.

“Ken, please.”

“Shh…shhh, darling, please, just feel it. Let me do this to you…”

His tongue explores and delves in your warm silk, creating an overflowing pot of honey in his mouth. He sucks and spits, nuzzling his face impossibly deeper into your warmth. You watch him hump the mattress, his heavy, scarred, veiny cock leaking and pulsing pink at the tip surrounded by his uncut skin, slowly thrusting into the sheets.

The scrape of your painted nails against his scalp only fuels the gasoline being poured on his fire and doesn't pull him out of his pussy-drunk stupor. His warm, velvety tongue strokes and fucks your slick pussy in long, deep flicks. He takes intermittent pauses, pulling back with a slurp as his tongue darts across his lips, adding his fingers instead to gaze at your pretty face while you fall apart underneath him for the second time tonight as he pumps his fingers against your soaking walls.

“So beautiful.” He says that word like it's your name, and the possessive feeling almost overwhelms him to no return as he takes note of your shiny arousal sinfully bathing the silver of his wedding ring, the physical representation of every vow he swore to you that day.

“I can't…” you cry underneath him, breasts still marked with his spit, hair spread on your pillow like a halo behind you, tears brimming the curve of your lashes, your pregnant silhouette only emphasizing your femininity in this moment that only intensified his existing ruminations of you that never ceased, your skin kissed in alluring sheen of both your sweat, illuminated so sensually in the golden glow of your bedroom.

He knows you’re close, and even though you found your way into this position from what transpired in the bathtub in this passionate back and forth that started in your living room, he loves you too much to make you ride it out alone.

He brought you to the edge and he'll hold your hand as you fall over.

He moves your hand gently, before seizing it tightly, murmuring to you.

“You will, love. I'm right here.”

He dips his head down and goes back to feasting on the oasis between your thighs, drowning in his favorite sea, moving his tongue with more urgency.

You cry out louder and your hand that is holding his hand winds up in his hair, those silky locks of blond, seared permanently into your eyelids peeking out between the steadfast glint of your complementary rings.

You say his name and it's immortalized in the air around you as you cum in his mouth. He laps greedily with a low groan, not wasting a drop of nectar and devouring it like he was long deprived of sustenance. Despite having it earlier, it was an unquelled thirst that could be momentarily satiated, for now.

You gaze at him and he gazes back in the tame silence that washes over you both in contrast to the heightened throes of pleasure that overwhelmed it before, a love blown lustrous expression in his good eye.

You could stare for a lifetime of this, of seeing him like this. Your scarred husband bathed in the dim light of your bedroom, low thunder rumbling beyond the walls of this old house in the country, until the love bleeds in the streaks of grey that eventually claims your hair.

“You alright?” He asks, leaning over you, before giving you a lazy, deep kiss.

“I'm wonderful.” You chuckle and sigh at the taste of your nectar that clung to his tongue. “Couldn't let me go without tasting?”

“You know I never do, darling...” He purrs as he lays down behind you again, scooping you close as he pulls the quilt over you both. He turns, bringing the glass of water from the nightstand to your lips.

“Drink.” He lovingly instructs, and he strokes your hair as you take several generous sips.

You're sleepy now, cozy and safe with the dwindling night that's been nothing short of carnal and passionate, but tender all the same. A soft flutter settles in your belly and Kento smiles against your neck as he feels the shudder of your little one against his hand.

“I adore you.” He whispers.

“I adore you…” you whisper back. The word “more” hangs on the tip of your tongue, and he chuckles because he knows you so well to the point that he can sense that you want to say it, and you know him well enough to know that it will just lead to another disagreement with no clear-cut winner.

“Sleepy?” He asks, his tone hushed as he presses his nose into your hair on his way to kiss your neck. You feel the subtle prod from his hard cock against the globe of your ass, and you can't deny the warm stir that lingers.

“A little, but…” You tone drips with sultry mixed with the slow clutch of sleep. “Not enough to not take care of you, first.”

He sighs, and he can't deny the seething ache that rushes through him, either. He would normally swallow down his desire, hold you close if that's what you really need, but this assurance from you that you're not opposed to the idea…This entire evening he was dying to be inside of you, to wrap his soul up in yours as he'd feel your warm, glossy cunt grip him until he was dripping down your thighs, a proper reunion of sorts that a devoted husband like him should bestow on his darling wife after being away for a whole week.

“Should I fuck you to sleep?” His bottom lip brushes the shell of your ear before giving it a kiss, his finger tracing the vein in your neck.

“Mhmm…”

He presses his lips to your shoulder while he pumps his cock, sitting himself up on his forearm so he leans above you, eye simmering, and mind overcome with fuzzy reprieve.

His bridles loosen as he feels the sea of slick wet the tip of his cock, before sliding in slowly, and then all at once.

He uses your breast to pull you closer, stretching your silky warmth around his pulsing head. You moan softly into the pillow as he begins thrusting, slow and deep as his shaky breath gently fans your ear.

The sound is so wet, messy, and quiet. His cock sweetly squelching, sliding and dripping between the soft lips of your pussy. He groans huskily as his hips recede like pale blue waves ebbing from the shore, the girthy tip kissing your velvety entrance, before it ripples back to land and he pushes into you, deep and hard.

“Kento, fuck..." You breathe like a siren with the eyes of a doe.

He murmurs your name back to you in the shape of a heart with his kisses on your neck, measured and rhythmic as his thrusts begin to slow, taking your chin softly in his fingertips as he turns your head, kissing you deeply as he drinks the sweet melody of your moans.

The mild tempo and cozy feeling from being filled and fucked so softly while cradled against his chest has you melting like a cloud. His lips are on your temple as he tenderly rocks you with his hips, until his warm, milky cum gushes deep inside of you, and you're both eventually drifting out to sea with the beguiling tides of sleep.

----

A cozy feeling rustles you deep in the heart of the night some time later. You fell asleep connected, his left hand on your belly, white gold ring with the muted diamond in the middle, his cock still buried inside you.

The room is shrouded in indigo, and the precipitation from the clouds outside have ceased with the wintry quiet, all the warmth trapped inside your shared bedroom.

You bite your lip as you can't miss that electric sensual sensation blooming up your spine. Staying naked was a dangerous idea, much less falling asleep in such an intimate position. You sit up, gentle as he barely stirs as he slips out of you.

You look at him asleep in the midnight shadows, how breathtaking he looks when he's dreaming. Golden hair in a sleepy tousle that will bear that endearing cowlick he can never tame when the sun crests in the rain-laden clouds, cast over his weary yet peaceful expression on his relaxed brow free from his eye patch, a sight you never took for granted.

You trace the ridge of scars over his heart, tentatively exploring until they come to rest on his belly, just above his softening cock which barely twitches, still latently warm with your webs of slick that mutely glisten as they cling to the shaft.

You smirk as you tease a lick to his belly before taking his length in your palm, careful swipes with your thumb to the slit in the lopsided tip from scarring.

You notice his jaw tense from where you're kneeling, but his chest rises and falls again with that soft rhythm of carefree dreaming.

Kento feels warm, so warm as you envelope him in your mouth, comparable to laying in the sun that starts in his toes until it washes over him completely. So sinfully soft as he brushes the coaxing plush of your cheeks.

The cadence of his breathing halts, as you begin the slow rise and fall of your head, bobbing at a gentle pace as little twines of drool leak from the corners of your lips and they run down the veins of his cock. You can taste the mixture of you and him from earlier, some of the scent lingers in his dark pubes that becomes venereous in potency the longer you keep him inside your mouth.

You notice his lips part, until a heady groan slides between them. Your eyes water as you try to take him as deep as you can, but that unmistakable lump at the back of your throat makes you pause, the increased gag reflex a rather unwelcome side effect from your pregnancy.

His breath stills, but you're eager not to let up from the edge you were slowly pushing him towards. You focus on the tip and work him up with a tantalizing tease. You flatten your tongue and lick him starting from the girthy base, burying your nose in his pubes again until you reach the crest of his curved blooming pink tip that pokes out elusively from the sensitive foreskin around it.

You trace and softly kiss over the sections of marred flesh where some of the scarred tissue remained, your clit starting to throb when you remember how their texture felt when he was slowly pumping his cock inside you from the side with your thighs open.

Kento shudders, and his stomach muscles tighten as he becomes closer to being stirred awake. It was like being showered in rain after crawling for months in the desert, collapsing into a warm bed at the end of a long day while the weather raged outside. He finally moans, and the ragged sound travels straight to your pussy, the baritone pitch being committed to memory for you to retrieve at a later time.

“Sweetheart…” He sighs but his hips betray him as he slowly thrusts to meet every bob of your head.

“Oh…..fuck….” The corners of his brows scrunch together, his beige cock shiny and smeared with spit and slick that fuels another filthy record of wet sounds, his weak breathy sighs, and your angelic coos that disrupt the mellow air of the nighttime.

It was a common occurrence anyway that had merely doubled in frequency since you became pregnant. But sometimes, particularly in the summer, you two could stay naked and fuck like animals at will. The location of being here in the quiet countryside made it all too easy to let the soundness of solitude take you both to not-so-innocent places, amplified by the indulgent satisfaction of knowing that you two could be as loud as you wanted. There was scarce a surface that remained on this property that had not been christened from your love making.

“Don't stop…” he mumbles as his hands seek your hair once again. He's letting himself get carried away, but it's a realization that a more awake version of him will have to make. Right now, he's far too locked inside heaven as he deeply yet eagerly fucks your mouth.

You chuckle as you slobber and drool, sticking your tongue out to collect what you left at the base and drip along parts you neglected near the middle. He feels leathery from the veins, but he tastes even more heavenly from your slick.

You use your hand to pump him in tandem, while the other made work of his heavy, sweaty set of balls. You bob faster and he moans louder. Your sweet, tender kitten licks focused around the tip of his cock make him melt, and he almost cries when you dip into his slit.

"Cumming…” He moans to you and you taste the warm, dripping salt as he cums inside your mouth.

These moments between you were as certain as the crest and fall of the sun, of the clouds that would never run out of rain and as long lasting as your wrinkled fingers passing over the other as you'd one day sit in accompanying silence with grey in your hair and a legacy of love and posterity behind you both.

And, especially in moments like these, the flame would swell and burn, carnality pouring out of his skin and onto yours in such an irrevocable manner that you couldn't recognize its origin.

He slowly opens his eye, only to see the goddess responsible for his undoing kneeling innocently at his feet, pregnant with his baby, your breasts squished together with an alluring bounce, soft lips covered in your favorite lip gloss, hand wrapped in a ring that once belonged to his mother, soul pouring out of your body and ripping at his in your siren-like stare.

Now, you and him are even, but then again, that discussion would just need to wait until the freshly brewed coffee in the morning.

---

@ambiguouslady42 @actuallysaiyan

#jelly's 12 days of smutmas ✼ ｡ﾟ･ྀི𓈒 ݁⋆#from my trees . ˚ 𖧷 ·𓇥 ° . ♡#nanami kento x reader #nanami kento x fem!reader #nanami kento smut #nanami smut #jjk smut #jjk fluff #jjk x reader #nanami x reader #nanami x you #nanami x y/n #nanami kento x you #nanami kento x y/n #x female reader #x fem!reader #cw pregnancy #tw pregnancy #dividers by saradika

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yourlocaltreesimp · 2 months ago

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I would like your opinion on something! So for the chain by themselves, we know at least some of them (cough cough Time and Twilight cough cough) are family oriented and want to have their own with kids, right? And even more so for yandere chain. Because a baby would just bind you guys together even more, right? But like… what if darling can’t/wont have kids?

I was writing when that thought occurred to me. I was trying my hand at yandere stuff myself. My OC has severe trauma related to pregnancy that ended in the death of her only child. So she turned off her ability to conceive (magic~) and made the decision to never have another child. (I’d like to say that she’s an amazing aunt/godmother tho.)

So yeah, from the yandere Chains pov… how would they react to their darling not wanting/can’t have children? Especially if it was trauma related?

AHHH OMG TOTALLY!! This is actually a really cool concept and I got almost a little too into it with the whole yandere dynamic. It’s been so long since i’ve made any yan! content, so I hope it’s good by you :]

Synopsis: Yan!Chain’s darling doesn’t want kids and they all deal with this in their own varying *totally* normal ways.

warnings n’ such: Cringe links, Yandere, mentions of murder, light baby trapping, use of trauma as ammo, potentially disturbing content

You see, the best thing about Yanderes is that their top priority is and always will be their darling. You want steak for dinner? He’ll kill the cattle. You want a house? He’ll fell the trees, cut the lumber, build you a house that they know all the hiding spots. You want a family? You’ll have however many kiddos you want running around, giggling as they weave through your feet.

Of course, naturally, the family life is what most Yanderes want because it gives them control. It gives them an opportunity to show how good they are. To flaunt their happy family to the world, to obsess over being the perfect lover and parent, to show you just how good they are.

And You can’t exactly leave (at least not easily) once you have a family. And especially not when everyone knows you’re the lucky spouse to the hero.

So flipping this dynamic to where this isn’t the case definitely complicates things a little. I see things splitting in a few ways depending on what their darling is comfortable with… at least with some varying degrees (given that some yan!links are bound to be more controlling than others) Still, at the end of the cycle, it’s your word that they hang onto as gospel

Pseudo adoption

(Twilight, Sky, Time, Legend, Warriors, Courage, Koridai, Mayybe Four)

This would ideally be in the situation where their lover is either healed from their trauma to the point they’re comfortable being close with children. This is either being the village babysitters, or just flat out picking up a child off the side of the road to, *ahem*, “foster” until they find a home. (Yeah that child is not leaving.)

The whole idea behind this one is more for the yandere’s own self assurance that he is of service to and close to you. He is the image of a doting husband and father, waiting at your beck and call, hand and foot, every syllable of every word, to make sure that you are content and not leaving. It’s more for himself and for the perception of being your one and only rather than actual care for whatever it is you’re looking after.

Maybe, in some fucked up way, he doesn’t care as much because the kiddos aren’t his, and doesn’t have that same weight tying you down. But that’s depending on just how dark we’re making our yanderes.

I’m really extreme, fixated cases, I can imagine them going off the rails and flat out killing the parents of some child you felt close with so he could swoop in and have a perfect happy family. I only really see this for Twilight and Time, though, and maybe Sky if he’s at his limit.

Fur babies

(Wild, Legend, Sky, Time, Twilight, Maybe Hyrule)

As the name implies, you are now the owner of several dogs/cats/birds/snakes/lizards/horsies/ordonian goats. Slightly different than lightly kidnapping children, this one is a little more involved than simply babysitting. Where the last solution focuses more on the yandere’s own need to prove his worth to you and the perceived family to others— this is more in alignment with him trying to actually foster a family relationship in some sort of way.

He can’t raise a child, but you both to love and care for some amount and form of animal, and you bet your ASS that pet will be the best cared for. Pampered. Best food, brushed daily, best bedding, all the pets, you name it. Vicariously, that pet will become the closest thing to a child you can effectively think of to fill any voids left behind in his heart.

He’s also not naïve to the fact that a pet is something you’re emotionally attached to, and thus has value.

It makes you happy, it keeps you around, and it makes you a team.

An animal makes it harder for you to leave.

And on top of that, the idea that it’s valuable because of your attachment to it opens the door to the idea which that pet also doesn’t matter to the yandere in question. He only keeps it around because it amuses you, even if he doesn’t see why. Afterall, he only loves his Darling.

But again, that’s darker au and stuff you take as you please.

Perfectly happy having you to themselves

(Hyrule, Legend, Wild, Four, Warriors, Courage, Koridai, Maybe Time)

I personally left this to the most possessive of the yanderes or the ones who I would imagine wouldn’t want kids to begin with. This has varying levels of toxicity.

On one hand, he’s perfectly happy keeping you to himself. Sure, some kids for the sake of convenience or closeness wouldn’t hurt, but this is fine too. You probably won’t be able to work through the trauma (if there’s trauma, there doesn’t have to be) that led you to no longer wanting children, as your obsessive doting husband gushes about how glad he is that it’s just you and him. Guilt is the name of the game. He wants you to himself. And he sure as hell ain’t sharing if he doesn’t have to.

(Hyrule, Four, Courage, Koridai)

And for those who didn’t really want kids to begin with, things are certainly much tamer. You might actually have a chance to work though your trauma (if any). And if, later down the line, you decide that maybe you want kiddos, congratulations, he’ll probably do a full 180 on the no kids.

The only real risk with this is that the longer and less careful you are with him, the more likely he is to switch to possessive type. And in THAT case, i’m sorry. I truly am. If you confided in him your trauma, that is absolutely ammo. And he will 100% bring up the ‘dream’ you’d built together of growing old just the two of you.

Basically, there’s a chance he’ll become the former, just so much worse and so much more overbearing.

(Legend, Warriors, Wild, Four)

#linked universe #legend of zelda #link x reader #linked universe x reader #x reader #yandere legend of zelda #yandere loz x reader #yandere link x reader #yan!chain #yan!chain x reader

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aventurineswife · 7 months ago

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can you do under the mistletoe with the side characters too please? maybe with luke as a platonic parent/son one? ty!!!

All I Want for Christmas is You

Tags: Side Characters x Reader [Diavolo x Reader, Barbatos x Reader, Solomon x Reader, Simeon x Reader, Luke x Reader (PLATONIC‼️), Raphael x Reader, Thirteen x Reader, Mephistopheles x Reader], Romantic, Platonic (Luke!), Christmas, Mistletoe, Kisses and Hugs, Winter Special, Affection, Sweet Moments, Playful Interactions.

Diavolo

You and Diavolo are standing by the grand Christmas tree in the Demon Lord’s castle, both admiring the beautiful decorations. The soft glow of the lights flickers, and a mischievous smile crosses his face as he looks up to see the mistletoe hanging just above you both.

“Ah, it looks like we’ve found ourselves in quite the festive situation,” Diavolo says, his voice warm with amusement. He steps closer, his hands gently cupping your face, his golden eyes sparkling with affection. “I can’t resist the chance to share a kiss beneath the mistletoe, not when it’s with someone as wonderful as you.”

He leans in, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to your lips, savoring the warmth of the moment. “This is the best part of the holidays, don’t you think? Sharing special moments with you.”

Barbatos

Barbatos, ever so graceful and composed, stands beside you in the lavish dining hall. The room is filled with laughter and the sound of cheerful conversations, but your eyes are drawn to the mistletoe above you both.

Barbatos smiles, the faintest glint of playfulness in his eyes. “It seems we’re at a crossroads, my dear. Mistletoe, after all, does have a magical way of bringing people closer.”

He gently takes your hand, guiding you toward him as he leans in. His lips meet yours in a delicate kiss, soft and tender, as though savoring the moment. “Merry Christmas,” he murmurs after the kiss, brushing a strand of hair from your face with the utmost care. "It would be impossible to celebrate without you by my side."

Solomon

The holiday festivities are in full swing at the Purgatory Hall, and as you wander through the halls, you find Solomon waiting under a sprig of mistletoe with a roguish grin on his face.

"Well, well, it looks like fate has decided to intervene," he teases, his eyes twinkling mischievously. “I’d say it’s practically a sign that we should share a kiss, don’t you agree?”

You laugh, shaking your head at his playful attitude. Solomon steps in, closing the space between you, and plants a soft, teasing kiss on your lips. “Consider that a Christmas gift, my dear apprentice. Who knew your teacher could still surprise you?”

Simeon

Simeon watches you with a fond smile as the two of you walk together through the peaceful garden, where Christmas lights twinkle like stars. His expression softens as he notices the mistletoe above you both.

With a gentle chuckle, Simeon holds your gaze. “I suppose we have no choice, do we?”

He steps closer, cupping your cheek with one hand, his thumb brushing across your skin in the most tender of gestures. He presses a sweet, lingering kiss to your lips, his heart warm with love. “Merry Christmas, My Dove. I hope this season brings you all the joy you deserve.”

Luke

You catch sight of Luke, the little angel, near the mistletoe hanging in the hallway, looking up at it curiously. When his eyes meet yours, his face lights up with an innocent smile.

“Hey, MC! There’s mistletoe above us!” he exclaims excitedly. "That means I have to do something, right?"

You chuckle, squatting down to his level, and he hugs you tightly. “I may not be old (physically and mentally) enough to kiss anyone yet, but I can definitely give you a big hug!”

Luke wraps his small arms around you in a warm, sincere hug. “Merry Christmas, MC! You’re like family to me.”

You smile, giving him a gentle pat on the back. “You’re like family to me too, Luke. Merry Christmas.”

Raphael

Raphael is walking through the halls of the Purgatory Hall, lost in thought, when he notices the mistletoe hanging above you both. His brow furrows slightly, but there’s a softness in his gaze as he looks at you.

“Well, this is a bit unexpected, but I won’t complain.” he says with a rare, shy smile.

You can feel the warmth of his touch as he gently takes your hand, guiding you closer. His lips brush yours in a gentle, tender kiss, his eyes closing for a brief moment as he savors the closeness. “Merry Christmas, MC. You’ve made this season truly special for me.”

Thirteen

Thirteen’s chaotic energy fills the room, and you can hardly keep up with her constant bouncing around. As you walk under the mistletoe, she suddenly stops, eyes gleaming mischievously.

“Well, well, well, looks like the mistletoe has spoken, huh?” she grins widely, all teeth and sparkle. “I guess we should make it official then, shouldn’t we?”

Before you can react, she grabs your face and pulls you into a kiss, her energy infusing the moment with a playful spark. When she pulls away, she winks. “Merry Christmas, MC! You’re the best!”

Mephistopheles

Mephistopheles stands by the fireplace, a glass of wine in hand as he watches you approach. His lips curl into a sly grin when he sees the mistletoe.

“Well, this is quite the festive sight, isn’t it?” he says, his voice smooth like velvet.

You raise an eyebrow, but before you can respond, he’s already closing the distance, his fingers grazing your arm as he leans in. His kiss is slow and deliberate, full of a smoldering intensity that leaves you breathless for a moment. When he pulls away, his grin only deepens.

“Merry Christmas, MC. I’ll be sure to make this a holiday you won’t forget.”

Posting this a month before Christmas 🫣🎄

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damneddamsy · 9 months ago

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second sight | cregan stark x oc (part i)

a/n: I suppose this series will be a short one, 4 parts maybe? I just love Claere so much - she's my little unhinged weirdo :')

It was a rather secluded and quiet affair, the marriage between Claere Velaryon and Cregan Stark. There were no great halls crammed with noble witnesses, no bright banners flying high to announce the union of two ancient houses—only the low rustles of the breeze through the pines and the crackle of a distant hearth as the vows were uttered.

The ceremony took place beneath the watchful eyes of the old gods. The holy weirwood tree loomed with its gnarled white bark, etched with time, and ruby leaves swished in the cold Northern breeze. Claere, a priceless dream draped in rare emeralds, silver silks, and white furs akin to seafoam—a nod to her Velaryon heritage—eclipsed against the stark landscape of Winterfell. She made up for the glitz and grandeur that this lifeless gathering lacked.

Cregan Stark, silent and relentless, took her freezing hand with the kind of sworn resilience that marked Northern might—his bold grey eyes sceptical of the bride before him. Though the match had been arranged by the Sea Snake, the union between them was regarded as special—one for the histories. Theirs was not a marriage forged in the fires of splendour but in the subtle rendition of what they each represented: a union between sea and snow, Velaryon and Stark.

No songs were sung, and no cheers erupted, but in that stillness, something more meaningful lingered.

Cregan was first informed of Rhaenyra's second child and only daughter as if she were a fleeting nymph from a fairytale, a cold mystery whispered from beyond the Wall. "She is adrift in dreams," his maester had told him. Claere Velaryon possessed all of her mother’s fabled graces—from her haunting violet eyes and white-gold hair to the sharp, aquiline features that marked her as pure Valyrian. Her skin, fair and translucent as glass, only furthered the ghostly aura that surrounded her.

If summer snow had ever reincarnated in his time, it would have been Claere Velaryon. The rumours spoke of a 'beautiful freak', chiselled like an ice sculpture, who sang like the sweetest lark, whose fingers danced effortlessly over the harp, filling halls with melodies as delicate as her presence. She was drawn more to solitude and the quiet company of the stars than to her brothers, most of her nights spent soaring high above the world on her silvery dragon, Luna—hatched in her cradle and enormous beyond her years.

The whispers had reached him long before he’d ever seen her. She doesn't eat food, prefers the taste of human flesh and blood, they had said, each rumour darker than the last. She once tried to stab her uncle in the heart. She dabbles in blood magic with that wretched dragon of hers. Some claimed her visions could only divine the worst of futures, and that she would cut herself to the bone just to understand pain. It was said everything she touched withered into the gloom.

Cregan swallowed against the rising dread. He had been pragmatic in agreeing to this union, believing the support of the ancient Targaryens would strengthen the North. Yet now, as he stood face to face with the girl cloaked in a bizarre silence, he wondered if he had invited his own destruction. The North had weathered many storms, but this... this felt different. He had faced wildlings, dire winters, wars, and beasts, but Claere Velaryon might be his greatest unknown yet.

Perhaps this alliance, this bond forged for power, would be his ultimate undoing. The Sea Snake must’ve played him for a fool, tying him to a sorceress masked as a Valyrian princess.

As if her touch had stung him, Cregan recoiled and returned his hands to his sides, a flicker of unease settling beneath his skin. The girl’s violet eyes stayed distant at his reaction, focused on some invisible realm beyond the godswood, oblivious to the accusations that swirled around her name like storm clouds. Never meeting anyone’s gaze, she stood perfectly still, frigid as the legends surrounding her, the direwolf sigil on his chest holding her attention.

When the quiet ceremony was over and it was time for goodbyes, the weight of the moment settled heavily on them all. Soft whispers filled the air as hands were clasped, and final glances exchanged. The warmth of shared vows had already begun to fade whilst the mother and daughter, her three brothers and their grandsire traded farewells. Cregan wavered close by, observing his new wife's interactions.

No one cried except the youngest brother, Joffrey, who had refused to let go of the princess. Everyone around her, her own kin, had kept their distance in approaching her.

"Who'll sing to me now, Claerie? The moon song?" Her little brother wept, shedding his tears into her fair silk gown.

Claere’s eyes moved from her tear-streaked brother to the rest of her family. Her voice was glacial, her expression more bored than curious.

"Why does he cry?"

A brief pause passed between the lot of them.

"Because he... we will miss you, sister. We might not see each other for a long time." It was young Lucerys who eventually answered her, his tone painfully understanding. He must be the forbearing one among them.

"Then do not miss me," Claere said to them simply. "It is not my wish to cause you pain till then."

Her certainty unsettled them, a silent dismissal that left her words hovering unanswered. She seemed unaware, perhaps unconcerned, that her family could not comprehend her detachment.

"I love you, Claerie." He buried his face deeper into her gown, as if afraid she might vanish from his arms. Claere remained still as if brooking her brother's overflowing love.

There it was—a twitch in Claere’s blank eyes, a flicker of something almost human. She glanced down at Joffrey, and with visible reluctance, patted his head. The gesture was mechanical, lacking the warmth he sought. A moment later, Jace stepped forward, his hands firm as he pulled Joffrey away, his actions laced with an unspoken fear that any more time in her presence might invite something unwanted.

"Will you stay with me?" Claere asked them, though her voice, usually collected, wobbled just enough to betray the edge of apprehension.

"Not for long, my girl," Rhaenyra said to her, her smile strained, hiding some secret discomfort. "Your home is here now. You will grow to love this place and your husband. I am sure."

"A cage of stone and ice," she murmured, her gaze distant, as if already relinquished to the cold halls of her future.

Rhaenyra's smile faltered, her eyes narrowing slightly. She was unduly firm. "You speak too soon, Claere. You are a Velaryon and a Targaryen—power runs in your blood. You will learn your duty in time."

"And you'll have Luna on your side," Luke appeased her in vain. An unspeaking, fire-breathing beast for a companion. His tender heart did not hold a candle to his blind faith.

But Claere said nothing more, her expression as stony as ever. The distance between her and the life she was meant to embrace felt as vast as the sky beyond.

Cregan watched the exchange in silence, the chill in his chest deepening with each word. His worst fears were confirmed. Claere was a stranger, even to those who should have known her best. They spoke to her as if she were something fragile, something... unnatural.

A freak.

And now, she was his.

No one was more reluctant than Cregan to spend his first night with his new bride.

As far as obligations went, he had managed to ban the sickening tradition of a "bedding ceremony" from the occasion, much to the disappointment of some. The thought of parading the princess through a crowd of leering men felt like an abomination, yet even without that outlandish formality, he still felt the burden of duties and expectations ploughing down on him like an axe.

His familiar chambers felt chillier today, the fire crackling weakly in the hearth as Claere stood near the window, her silver hair gleaming in the moonlight. She was silent, as she had been throughout the feast, her face betraying little emotion. She refused to eat, revel in wine, or even speak. She had managed a quiet nod after well-wishes, sometimes pressing her lips tight to pass for a smile.

He recalled, with an involuntary tremble, the black rumours that had plagued him during the dinner. The mention of how his wife’s tastebuds were supposedly tempted not by the fine meats and ales of the North, but by the flesh of those who dared to covet a single glance from the Velaryon beauty. Fattened soldiers who sought her favour and found only their doom.

It was absurd, indeed. And yet, as he glanced at Claere, so still and detached by the firelight, Cregan couldn't shake the disturbing thought. What sort of woman had he brought into his home?

The distance between them felt more than just physical—it was as though she existed in another world entirely, one he had no access to. He didn't know what troubled him more: her silence, or the eerie calmness with which she met her fate.

As Cregan set down his ancestral sword and shrugged off his heavy fur cloaks, Claere moved to him with quiet resignation. Her fingers began to undo the delicate laces of her nightgown, her motions disconnected as if compelled by some unspoken assignment. The fabric slipped, gathering at her shoulders, poised to fall, when Cregan's voice broke the tense stillness.

"There is no need for that," he said sharply, cutting through the air between them, the words coming out quicker than he intended.

He stepped forward, his rough fingers gently, yet firmly, adjusting the cloth back over her bare skin. Every inch of paleness he touched was smoother than the silk she adorned, warmer than the ice-cold fingers he had held in the godswood.

Claere blinked, startled, her violet eyes searching his face for the first time that night. The vigour of that shade disarmed him for a moment before he looked away. Yes, she was his wife, but more than that, she was a mystery. And he was a man who distrusted what he could not comprehend.

"Rest. That is all for now," he added, softer now, the command awkward in his throat.

Claere scrutinized him still, her sharp gaze unrelenting as if she could unearth the truth behind his stoic mask. When she spoke, her voice was flat, devoid of emotion.

"Is there another you hold dear, my lord?"

He sighed, sinking into a cushioned seat by the hearth. "No," he replied, his tone careful, meeting her eyes with conscious composure. "And you?"

A strange smirk flickered across her face, the barest twitch of her lips. "Everything I hold dear gave me away like a pawn on a board."

Her words struck him like a blow, twisting his gut with an uncomfortable pang of pity. He allowed for her loneliness as if somehow, he was responsible for it. Yet, a strange foreboding hung in the air and kept his response locked in his throat.

Instead, he turned his gaze to the flames, fists clenching against the armrests as the fire danced and crackled, its warmth doing little to ease the cold knot of guilt growing in his chest.

"I understand you favour peace and quiet," he began carefully, his words lingering in the space between them. "But would you consider sitting with me tonight?"

Claere, staring at the shadows cast by the firelight, turned her gaze to him. Her eerie eyes, unnervingly calm, gave no indication of her thoughts. For a moment, he regretted speaking.

The pause stretched, and Cregan felt the silence chew at his nerves.

"Why?" she asked finally, her voice as undisturbed as it was empty, as though the idea of companionship was foreign.

He hesitated, searching for words. "I thought it might ease... the strangeness of the night." His eyes flickered to hers. "For both of us."

Claere’s lips barely moved as she gave a soft hum of acknowledgement. The stillness in her made him wonder if she felt anything at all, and a deeper anxiety stirred in him.

Without answering, she crossed the room, her movements as fluid and graceful as a phantom. She sat across from him, her gaze never leaving the flickering flames. Even now, such a short distance felt insurmountable.

"Ask away, my lord," she said quietly, reading into him deftly. "I do owe you many answers."

Cregan’s gaze faltered as Claere contested, and for a moment, the heat of the fire did nothing to chase away the chill crawling up his spine. Something was unnerving about the way she stared at him, something impenetrable, as if her pale eyes held some ancient secret he wasn’t meant to uncover.

"Do you hear them?" His voice was low, almost lost to the sound of the crackling wood. "The whispers about you."

Claere’s expression remained unchanged, her face as still as a porcelain mask. "What do they say?"

"They say that I was a fool to take a girl like you," he said, keeping his emotions hidden. "A girl who walks in dreams, who doesn’t belong to this world. They fear you."

Her gaze did not move an inch, unaffected by his claims. "People fear what they do not understand."

Every rumour, every whispered story of her strange tendencies crept back into his mind, grinding at his resolve. The tales of oddity, rituals, and things best left unspoken—they clung to the air between them.

"Are you afraid of me, my lord?" Her question cut through the silence like a blade.

Cregan swallowed the lump in his throat, his heart lurching in his chest. He wanted to say no, to deny the concern that gripped him, but something in her gaze made him feel exposed, powerless in a way he had not been before. He forced himself to meet her eyes, but the intensity there—the dark, unfeeling stare—made him feel as though he were sinking into a frozen lake.

His jaw clenched for a moment, as though wrestling with the words he ought to say to her. He leaned forward slightly, his voice quieter, but no less intense.

"I will not be made to live in dread of my wife," he countered firmly. "Though, beyond question, those words waver my trust for you. Upon your integrity. Time will tell."

For the first time, a glimmer of something passed over her face—a brief crack in the mask. Hurt? Confusion? Whatever it was, it was fleeting. Claere tilted her head slightly, studying him from head to toe like one might a curious specimen. He shifted back into his chair, unease unfurling in his stomach.

"You should be afraid of me," she said softly. It wasn’t a threat, but a statement, as if she were merely acknowledging a truth he had yet to accept.

Cregan did not sleep a wink that night. His ancient sword, Ice, lingered closer to him than expected, leaning on his bedside. He laid utterly still as Claere slumbered gingerly, uncaring of the shadows that danced around her, like a tarrying chill that would not leave him alone.

As the sun crested over the horizon, spilling its golden light into their chamber, there was one thing he made certain: Cregan understood that his fear was not of Claere herself, but of what she represented—an unknown force that defied everything Winterfell was. Truth and unity.

As the days wore on, Cregan Stark found himself perpetually on edge, his mind halved between the secret suspicions that crept through Winterfell and the cold reality of his new wife. Claere moved through the castle like a careless sprite, floating just beyond reach, drifting from room to room, always apart from the people around her. She left a wake of uncertainty in her path, tales trailing behind her like a fog.

Scarcely did she remain grounded; more often than not, she soared into the skies with Luna, her dragon, a creature so tremendous that many in Winterfell whispered it had outgrown the older beasts of war—Vhagar's equal in size and perhaps ferocity. The sight of it, gleaming silver scales slicing through the frozen air, sent shivers through the keep. Claere’s infrequent appearances at suppers left the hall feeling incomplete, her absence punctuated by muttered resentments from the courtiers and smallfolk alike. The duties of a lady to Winterfell—tending to the hearth and home, overseeing the castle’s workings—were not simply ignored but utterly abandoned.

And yet, Cregan could not bring himself to care. As long as Claere caused no disturbance, as long as she kept to the law, she was no hindrance to him.

As it went, Cregan had not slept in her bed since their wedding night. In fact, they had barely spoken. Claere had quietly suggested moving to a nearby chamber, giving him "his breathing space," as she put it, and he hadn’t objected. He offered up the one with arched ceilings, for when she dabbled in her music, and nearest to the enclosure where her dragon was housed.

Her peculiarities deepened with every passing day. In the dead of night, her harp’s haunting refrain would echo through the passageways, its melody weird and hypnotic. At other times, he would hear her soft footsteps racing through the corridor, out into the courtyard, lost in her dreams until dawn. Most of his courtiers noticed her out on the ramparts after nightfall, laying across the roof—how she got there was a mystery—and staring at the sky for hours on end, speaking to herself. But most unsettling of all were the obscure songs she would hum—songs that danced on the edge of his consciousness, unnervingly poignant, yet cruel in the sweet voice they reached. As if she were singing of things far beyond this world.

Blood and shadow, ice and flame, Sing the tune without a name In the frost, their voices hum Of dead unseen, of eyes aglow Of footsteps deep beneath the snow Ice will crack, and winds will wail, Have you seen the end unfold, the secret that never sleeps?

Claere's songs instilled an image of the most unspeakable cold he knew, distant woods beyond the Wall, where horrors awaited, ready to engulf the unwary. Sometimes, the songs became too much, stirring a dread in him so deep he would storm down the hall, ready to confront her. But each time he did, within her room, like a figure of utmost naïveté, she went by weathering her own storm.

This time, she had ensconced herself by the hearthside, rent of her sleeves, weaving dried winter roses across a vine.

"Did I wake you?" she had asked up at him.

His words faltered. Rather a hollow noise whooshed out his lips, his resentment fleeing at the sight of her. How could someone so callow invoke such unease?

"The hour grows late, princess," he would reply stiffly, the reprimand hollow even to his own ears. "It would be wiser to find some sleep before the morn."

"I adore the night," she had said to him. "Without it, you cannot see the stars. There are no shadows, too."

Cregan had expected to hate her. He had expected to find her burdensome, a hardship forced upon him by duty. But he did not. Indeed, he endured her and accommodated her. As unfamiliar as Claere was, there was something fragile beneath the mantle of her mystery. He found himself unable to despise her, though neither could he truly be fond of her. A part of him, born of compassion, wanted to protect her from the world that had turned its back on her. Perhaps, buried beneath her oddities, she yearned for some semblance of a connection she had never known.

It was one of the handmaidens who had come to him, trembling with unease, to speak of her lady’s growing detachment.

"She barely eats, my lord," the young girl had said. "I fear she grows weaker by the day, surviving on little more than water and grain."

"Have you asked the princess what she would prefer? Surely, our larders are rife enough to sustain her... distinct palate," one of the lords from Cregan's council interjected before he could react.

Cregan shot him a sharp, warning glare. He had long since grown weary of the whispers—the looks exchanged behind his back, the way people averted their eyes when his wife entered a room. The court treated her as if she were a curse, a spectre they wished to avoid. It only stoked his resolve to defend her, to ensure she was not devoured by their disdain. Claere was different, but she was not an object to be mocked.

The maid shifted uneasily. "I have spared no effort in this. Though, there is another issue, my lord."

The Stark lord sighed. "Aye, go on."

"Her ladies have dwindled to nought. I am only charged to tend to her meals, if not no one."

Cregan's heart sank at the thought. He wanted to believe that Claere was merely adjusting to her new life, that in time she would settle. But with each passing day, it became harder to ignore the isolation tightening its grip around her.

"And what, pray tell, has come over them to spurn their service to the Lady of Winterfell?" His voice was low but the threat in it was unmistakable.

The handmaiden lowered her head, unwilling to speak the truth aloud, yet the answer was clear enough. Fear. The court, the smallfolk, her own attendants—everyone was frightened of Claere.

When his eyes bore into her, she hesitated whilst wringing her hands. "We see strange things where the dragon sleeps. My lady's songs... people say they hear them echoing in the courtyard when there is no one."

"These slights must cease at once," he hissed, his voice barely above a murmur, but the weight behind it made the girl flinch. "Claere is a princess of the realm, moreover your lady. Any who fail in their duty will answer to me. Am I clear?"

She nodded hurriedly. "Yes, my lord," she stammered, bowing before retreating from the hall.

And when the next issue reached him, it was, once again, centred on the most pressing concern: Claere's dragon.

"We are unable to feed the beast, my lord," a nervous steward reported, his voice trembling as he stood before Cregan. "The men refuse to go near it. Even the bravest among them say they hear odd noises from its holding."

Cregan's brow furrowed deeply. "Are they afraid of a dragon doing what dragons do—eat?"

"It's not just that, my lord," the steward began, his voice shaky. "We simply do not have the numbers to sustain it. We've lost livestock faster than we can replenish, and there is not enough game in the woods this season. Our people will be left with nothing if it continues like this."

Cregan stood from his chair, pacing toward the hearth as the steward’s words sank in. Feeding Claere's dragon was becoming a task fraught with superstition and suspicion—neither of which he could afford in Winterfell. And now that dragon was a looming menace not just for its size, but even for its insatiable appetite. If they couldn't meet its needs, there was no telling what havoc it might wreak.

"I will take her out to hunt on the morrow," a hushed voice spoke up from across the room.

Cregan turned sharply to see Claere standing in the entrance, her pale little figure silhouetted against the dim light of the corridor. No one had even heard her approach.

A rush of murmurs, of "my lady" and "your grace", went across the sparse crowd in the hall.

For the first time, he noticed how discomfited she seemed with the attention on her. She had courteous bows for the little council of lords before she stood before Cregan, silvery hair left dishevelled and her thin lavender silks trailing by her feet. The toll of her attendant's dearth was evident, how she had to cope alone these past days.

“You heard all that?” he muttered to her, trying to mask the unease.

Claere nodded, unruffled. Then she mellowly addressed the rest of the council who was seated and the anxious steward.

"Luna will no longer be a burden to you," she assured. "Thereafter, I will fly her beyond the Wall. There must be plenty of wild herds there that would satisfy her. And it will keep her from Winterfell's rife supply for a time."

While the disparaged lord hung his head, Cregan's breaths began to constrict. The idea of Claere—of anyone—venturing beyond the Wall unsettled him, but the alternative was just as threatening. It was dangerous to let someone so young, so inexperienced roam in the ancient, Northern wilderness. The risks were too great, even for a dragonrider. His argument would be proved right by the last Targaryen who visited the wall, Claere's own great-great-grandmother, the Good Queen Alysanne and her dragon, Silverwing.

His gaze never left Claere as the lords around them voiced their concern, exclaiming how unwise it was for her to embark beyond Castle Black in such perilous times. Yet, she stood before them as cold and unbothered as ever, her violet eyes betraying no hint of fear or doubt.

"You plan to hunt beyond the Wall alone, as winter draws nigh?" Cregan asked, laced with tension. "You would risk that?"

One of his bannermen, old and discerning to the dangers of the North, came forth with an incredulous look. "A Southerner such as you would have no idea of the true perils beyond Whitetree, my lady. Five hundred years have passed since the last great threat, and still, we are not entirely certain what lurks in the darkness. If it isn't the cold that claims you, it might be wildlings or worse—barbed, spindly creatures, drawn from the blackest legends."

Claere tilted her head slightly as if the lord’s words were of little consequence to her. As if she knew something about the Land of Always Winter that he did not.

"Do not fret, ser," Claere replied, gentle yet astute. "Luna is fearsome when she needs to be. She is not just any dragon—she is the last living relic of Old Valyria, a mere egg when Aenar the Exile first claimed Dragonstone. She will protect me."

Her words should have been reassuring, but they left Cregan with a hollow pit in his stomach. It wasn’t her confidence in the dragon that troubled him—it was her complete lack of concern for the threats she would face. He had seen fear in men’s eyes before, but Claere’s violet gaze was barren, as though no amount of danger or uncertainty could touch her.

"You speak of Luna’s strength as if it is enough," Cregan finally said, his voice low. "But what of your own?"

"You needn’t concern yourself with my safety," she replied, her tone as impassive as her expression.

He studied her closely, weighing his options and her obvious solutions, searching her enchanting face for some flicker of apprehension. There was nothing. It irked him to no extent. Did nothing shake her? Did nothing put her off?

"I am the Warden of the North," he bit out. "Your safety is under my jurisdiction."

She shrugged one side of her shoulder. "Then it appears we have reached an impasse, my lord."

Her words were calm and detached, as though she were discussing the weather. Cregan's patience wore thin, his protective instincts clashing with her indifference.

He strode to her side, towering over her, his imposing figure blocking them from the view of the council. Claere leaned away, her eyes dipping down, her face contorting in disquiet at his proximity. Yet he pressed on, tucking a finger under her chin, forcing her gaze back to him.

"Don't," he tried to protest.

"Look at me," he urged, his grip tightening as frustration bled into his words. "I cannot risk you for something as feckless as a hungry pet. Do you understand me, Claere?"

Her gaze flicked up to meet his. For a brief moment, it was as if she were on the verge of revealing some hidden truth, some implicit fear or vulnerability.

"You do not risk me. 'Tis I who take the risk," she said, her voice painfully even.

Cregan's jaw clenched, his exasperation palpable as he released her chin, stepping back but still glaring at her. He could protect Winterfell, the North, and his people—but her? He was not so convinced anymore.

"Fine. Do as you wish," he surrendered. "Ride past the Wall."

She offered him nothing more than a parting curtsey as if she had already said too much. With that, Claere turned to leave the room but his words stopped her dead in her tracks.

"However, I will ride with you."

For a moment, she remained still, her back to him. Slowly, she turned her head, glancing at him over her shoulder. And finally—there it was.

A flicker of astonishment in her violet eyes. A break in the mask of indifference she so carefully maintained. Her lips parted, but no words came. Something deeper, more vulnerable, flickered in her violet gaze, a shadow of doubt or unease, quickly concealed again behind her calm facade.

"Why?" she asked, her foremost intuition to always suspect goodwill.

"It's not a request," Cregan replied, his tone brooking no arguments. "If you are to face danger, you will not do it alone."

Claere’s gaze lingered on him for a beat longer before she gave a slight, almost imperceptible nod. Without another word, she turned once more and left the room, the heavy doors closing behind her with a quiet thud.

Cregan stood still, watching the place where she had just been, and where no one could see him, broke out into a triumphant smirk. This was it then, a game at which two could play. If she was a tempest, then he would be the steadfast mountain, immovable against the storm.

thank you for reading! idk how a taglist works but I'd love to hear your thoughts <3

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patchouii · 3 months ago

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NBC’s Hannibal and fantastical realism: feats beyond the pale of human limitation

Nobody can deny that NBC’s Hannibal is especially unique and exemplary in its use of surrealism and elements of fantasy in a universe otherwise set in a version of our modern real world. These elements of mysticism and their loose yet easily understandable explanations provide both aesthetic and plot-driven benefits— this fictional universe isn’t as bound by physics and logic as ours, and that’s that, there’s no need to ask how a man grafted onto a tree as a public display was only found when dawn broke or how two violent and conflicted lovers have been confirmed to have survived a fall into the freezing ocean, bleeding from wounds we’d call mortal. NBC’s Hannibal elevates and abstracts Arthur C. Clarke’s statement that “magic is just science we don’t understand yet” on a revolutionary level, and the way that applies to certain characters is no different.

From what we see over the course of the show, some of the most fascinating and most obvious elements of this are the fantastical abilities and skills that various characters display. Will Graham, Hannibal Lecter, and Elliot Buddish (aka The Angel Maker) are the best examples of this. We can assume that rare abilities fall somewhere along a sliding scale that runs from favoring heightened physical skill to mental skill, and it’s possible that the strain these gifts put on the people who possess them can morph them into curses— from Will’s bout of encephalitis to Hannibal’s psychopathic urges to Elliot’s brain cancer, it seems that toeing the line of human limitation doesn’t come without its biological costs.

Will Graham is introduced to us as a troubled star profiler with an “empathy disorder”, a “pure empath”, as Hannibal phrases it. But this isn’t empathy in a real world sense, Will doesn’t just consider how others feel about things, in fact, he can be incredibly cruel and selfish. Will’s empathy is an ability rather than a trait— he can literally take on the perspectives and emotions of those he “empathizes” with as a form of telepathic psychometry. His empathy also allows him to envision whatever he wants, closing his eyes or willfully dissociating and entering a world of his own creation. He can will himself into hallucinations while still entirely lucid. This is something that’s psychologically and scientifically impossible. People’s brains just don’t work like that. It’s fantasy, straight up, and the psychologists of the show’s universe are seemingly unruffled by it other than in terms of its understudied rarity.

I’d wager that Elliot Buddish sits at the mid-point of that sliding scale of rare, heightened physical and mental abilities compared to Will’s more mentalistic leanings and Hannibal’s more physical and sensory-based ones. Elliot killed and displayed his victims as “angels”, believing that he could sense who was a sinner. But a state of psychosis can’t explain how every victim of his happened to be a killer, violent criminal or sexual predator. The BAU team had to run his victims through their database to reach the same conclusion, and Elliot distinguished sinners from average people through seeing their heads wreathed in flames, a visualization reminiscent of the “light bar” Will uses to visualize a crime scene from the start. The reason I think he falls in the middle of the abilities spectrum is because his suicide— suspending himself from a barn’s beams, cutting and tying wings from his own skin before bleeding to death— and the impossible pain tolerance and strength it required matches Hannibal’s more physically centered abilities too.

Hannibal Lecter is practically a monument to carnality in all its flavors and forms, from his incredibly violent past to his love for manipulating minds and bodies with equal dedication and his preference for human flesh. It makes sense, then, that his elevated abilities should lie within the realm of the physical instead— or perhaps his inclinations are partially a result of the nature of the skills he was born with. Hannibal’s senses are elevated beyond that of any human and even those of some other animal species— his sense of smell is so precise that he can detect particle traces of corn husk on the body of a killer’s victim who was covered in resin, blood and dirt and jumped into a river before being found bloated downstream in the midst of the bleach-laden BAU lab. He can pick up on hormonal fluctuations as well in a related way and can recognize certain mixes of hormones, which is just impossible in real life. He says that he could smell the stomach cancer on a teacher of his and recognizes that Bella Crawford has cancer too, and he picks up on the changes in bodily chemicals that herald Will’s encephalitis and the fear of his victims. The senses of smell and taste are somewhat intertwined, and he can “taste the fear” in Randall’s flesh as a result. His exploits stalking around houses, roads and neurology offices in the pitch-dark seem to imply better night vision, and his pain tolerance is simply inhuman, silent and stoic as he’s branded by Cordell and fully mobile even after being shot in the side by Dolarhyde.

These slightly supernatural reality-but-to-the-left elements in the world of the show have always intrigued me, honestly, and they really put the cherry on top of an already wonderful series. To me, they seem to pay homage to the occasional flashes of surrealism and thrilling unreality that run through Thomas Harris’s original novels, matching the crisp, straightforward prose in the show’s visual medium in a way that’s delightful to watch. I’ve never watched any other piece of media that twists and stretches the world of its story as captivatingly as this, and I don’t think I ever will.

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berrryparfait · 3 months ago

Text

masterlist — ★

✉ — requested work

all

shower head [nsfw] — feeling curious, playful, and pent-up, you decide to surprise him by stepping into the shower and giving him head. you've never done anything like this before.

why is he in my bed ?! [nsfw] — you're woken up in the middle of the night by something hard and warm between your legs... what on earth is going on?

lick my conch ! [nsfw] — "beach day", or so he said. little do you know that he's about to eat you out to the point of tears!

sex pollen [nsfw] — spring is here, and the "thorny" flower is in season. beware, unsuspecting farm visitor, lest you inhale the evil flower's pollen and fall victim to its whims...

my online pervert [nsfw] — his secret obsession. his private fantasy. when he needs a little release, he knows exactly where to go...

take my cock, milady ! [nsfw] — you are the beloved countess of a prosperous noble family, cherished for your innocence and grace. but no one is perfect, for in a secluded room at tonight’s social ball, something rather ungraceful is unfolding…

who came before me? — who were the girls who came before you? what were they like? did he love them? one night, your thoughts and insecurities get the best of you, and you decide to face them once and for all.

not my first, but my last ✉ — he knows about your ex-boyfriend, and he isn't dealing with it well. if only he knew how much you love him...

cherry blossoms in edo japan — you are the sheltered daughter of a powerful clan leader in edo period japan. beneath the boughs of the cherry blossom trees lurks a mysterious shadow who keeps you safe...

misty sunsets in edo japan ✉ — you are the sheltered daughter of a powerful clan leader in edo period japan. life in the estate sure would be boring without your samurai to keep you company...

you belong with me — he's in an emotionally-abusive relationship with his girlfriend. what a waste—you're the one he truly has feelings for.

take a break with me ✉

"you're sleeping on the couch tonight." — how he reacts to you telling him to sleep on the couch after an argument.

"i don't look good in this dress..." ✉ — you don't think this dress looks good on you... he begs to differ.

sylus

give in to me... [nsfw] ✉

wishful thinking — feelings were hurt, hearts were broken. and now you fear he might have found someone new. you screwed up big time, and it just might be too late to take it back.

friendly competition ✉

amortentia ! ✉ — oh, how marvelous your school days were—going to class, brewing potions, befriending magical creatures... and getting tormented by that awful (and infuriatingly handsome) slytherin boy!

honey sugar you ! — a record of the highs and lows of your time as a fresh-faced pâtissier under the renowned chef sylus—two unforgettable years marked by burnt sugar, stolen glances, and the kind of lessons that shape both your craft and your heart.

zayne

doctor's first check-up [nsfw] — dearest dr. zayne has just recovered from a bad cold and is in major need of rest, so it's only logical that you decide to ensure he gets a night of quality rest by...tying him down to his bed!

give in to me... [nsfw] ✉

wishful thinking — feelings were hurt, hearts were broken. and now you fear he might have found someone new. you screwed up big time, and it just might be too late to take it back.

rafayel

coming soon...

xavier

sweet, sweet dessert [nsfw] ✉ — the food is delectable, the ambience serene. your first date with xavier is going perfectly—so much so that you just might decide to grab dessert on the way home instead.

caleb

friendly competition ✉

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hongjng8 · 10 months ago

Text

My Kind Of Heaven.

Pairing: DemonHybrid!san X Mortal!Reader

Feature: DemonHybrid!Seonghwa

Genre: Fantasy, mystery, dark.

Wc: 4k (4065)

Warnings: nsfw(18+)MDNI, CNC, light violence, Blasphemy, blood, knife play, manipulation, oral sex (f receiving), vaginal sex, overstim, restraints, intoxication, possession.

Hongjng8’s notes: Can’t say no to a bit of twisted demon action can we my sweets. ;) I’m also making this to treat a friend of mine !! (@sansangel ) hehe. Make sure to enjoy to your hearts content <3

Tag list (DM to be added): @slvtiny @sugarnspice630 @yuyusolivebranch @taegi1016 @batw00yo @acescavern @yunhoscutie @atzaurora @littlefireball @crimsonbubble @jjoongstar

San Masterlist | main masterlist

“Hff~ I’m so exhausted.”

Your voice emitted a murmur, knowing that you needed to take a peaceful break. Which conveniently your home was a beautiful bungalow placed in the middle of the forest, and of course, you being a spiritual person who was connected with nature, this was a perfect opportunity to go for a stroll — you know, to take your mind away from reality.

You exhaled calmly, sliding into your skirt. Your shirt, whilst comfortable, tucked underneath. Lacing a white corset around your waist, finishing with bunny tying your shoe laces.

“Phew.. okay..”

Rushing outside, grabbing a thick warm blanket in your hurry. You clung to the bag that rested under your arm. Immediately being faced with the calmness of the wild; various flowers, tangling trees, wispy grass, and wind chasing bushes.

The quiet and riveting environment had always intrigued you, and you’d often venture deep into the dream-like land. Completely unaware what tales lie ahead..

“Beautiful..”

You spoke a breathless whisper, eyes fluttering as you spun around to take in the wonders that engulfed you. Yellow and blue butterflies dancing like fairies, pretty love birds singing in the tall trees — It really felt like your very own wonderland.

Eyes twinkling, you found your usual spot. The spot that radiated that homey sense of warmth and comfort. Where you could ponder for days on end. With a tug of strength, and a firm flap, you laid out your blanket; As white as winters snow, and as soft as a rabbits coat.

Perfectly flattened under an oak tree that could have been big enough to hold centuries worth of secrets.

“Perfect.. so warm..”

You delicately placed yourself down, legs nestling into the coziest of fabric. Gentle hands adjusting the hem of your skirt to cover your thighs. You finally relaxed.

There was one small thing about this so called ‘wonderland’, that you wasn’t so familiar with.

The forest you called home, was somewhat magical. Well, that is what you’d say if you were to sugarcoat the reality of it.

Ideally, this forest was a realm — A portal for many different entities to come forth into the land of mortals.

This nature fueled soil was enchanted.

Peaceful. Was how things were going. You hadn’t felt so in touch with nature in such a long time. Your eyes had been closed for a hot second, taking in the sounds and drowsing in the scents around you.

Unknowingly, a faint mist was beginning to display it-self around the environment, decorating the air with twinkles of star dust. An uneasy ambiance dizzying your mind.. assuredly feeling a pair of eyes feasting upon you.

The wind grew a sudden strong, a cold breeze dangerously tugging at your skirt, snatching your attention away from daydreaming.

Sitting up, you scanned the unfamiliar scene in-front of you;

“what the fuck-“

You rubbed your eyes, examining the swirls of twinkly mist, blending perfectly within the air. ‘What a weird abomination.’

Trying to shrug it off, you pulled your phone out to check the time. It was getting later and later in the evening. Eyes rolling back, you let out a frustrated sigh, unappreciative about the journey back home. That was until the sweet scent of tangerine filled your nostrils: One of your favorite smells.

It was addictive, you felt pulled into some kind of bliss. You stared forward as the starry mist formed a trail, eagerly yearning for you to follow. To which you obeyed. — who could resist when the scent you got drunk on, only got stronger each step you took along the path.

The trail led you somewhere quiet and unusually closed off. Anyone else would have been suspicious, but the daze this mist and scent brung you only pushed you forward. You were hooked: Just like a fish being reeled in like mindless prey.

Hands draping to your sides, completely struck by the unrealism of what was unfolding in-front of you.

The foggy mist swarmed like a tornado. The stardust becoming more evident the bigger the mist got. Your jaw was hung, sheepishly stepping back from what began emerging.

A sleek outline.. such a tall figure exposing itself.

“I’m going cra-“

you were cut-off by this strange-being revealing himself; eyes sharp, plump succulent lips forming into a mischievous grin, his silk white hair that drooped infront of his brown, heavy eyes.

“Id hope it’s over me~..”

The strangers voice sent shivers along your soft skin, trembles running down your spine.

Your breath was taken away, stumbling over words that you were struggling to spurt out. To which you almost tripped in response. Only for this mysterious man to catch your fall, his hands soft yet they held a firm grip on you.

“Shh sh sh.. Don’t be afraid of a harmless Demon.”

His words were allusive, voice venom-like. You were spooked for sure, but you couldn’t deny the fact this demon was drop-dead gorgeous.

“Demon..?”

You questioned, your body tense as his hold on you tightened, sharp nails scratching against your clothes, as he cradled your body against his toned build.

“Correct.”

He was confident, straight to the point.

“I haven’t had such an opportunity to visit this side in a while.. what do they call it? Ah! The mortal realm.”

You blinked, examining this man in-front of you. You had always been a spiritual person, but witnessing a demons presence first hand was not on your list.

“Call me Seonghwa, pretty. Think of me as any other guy.”

Seonghwa spoke with pride, his long fingers began caressing your chin, lifting your head just a little to meet his eyes. The type of eyes that sucked in your soul, with intention.

“Consider us.. new acquaintances.”

He hissed with a smirk, fangs peaking as his lips curled, hands moving down to caress the curves of your waist once again.

You attempted to read this man carefully, but he was for sure a tough one to get through.

“What are you here for..? What made you approach me..?”

Your words tried to come across stern, but your voice came out quiet. It was clear as day you were nervous, to which he only got a rush out of.

He inched closer to you, siding you off to where you originally rested under the large oak tree.

“How could I resist such a welcoming treat, all alone.. in the woods..”

His eyes flickered to you, gazing up and down. He sought for the advantage in the situation.

“I’d assume some company wouldn’t be any trouble now, would it my pet.”

You inhaled a sharp breath, though before you could speak, you felt his broad cold hand against your bare thigh, swiftly making his move. He was quick, an unpredictable predator pouncing onto his prey.

“Seonghwa.. wait— no.. sto-“

Your mouth was covered by his spare hand, causing you to whimper, powerless. The demons strength was not unknown either, as he had you pushed against the hard bark of the tree, his body pressed against your back.

“Hush now, little human. You’ll love being my toy. How does it sound? A demons plaything?”

His sleek fingers curled under your skirt, prodding at the fine laced panties that covered your heated cunt.

You squirmed, shaking your head in denial to reject the hell spawn, which clearly didn’t phase him at all. You were only met with a stronger scent of that familiar mandarin orange. However this time, it left you in a deeper dreamlike state, incapable of thinking for yourself. The smell was captivating.. poison.

The demons lips ran over your ear, soon leaving a hopeful kiss against the nape of your neck.

“I’m so sorry.”

The specimen whispered sweet nothings and false apologies, as his fingers continued violating your clothed heat. Your body reacting against your wishes, as your soft panties dampened to his touch.

“I just can’t help myself..”

He growled lightly, tugging the wet lace of your panties aside, exposing your smooth, plump pussy to his digits.

“N-no..”

Your voice was shy to a whisper, unable to fight against his touch. You were dreading what could happen next. Seonghwa, whilst completely unwelcome, was exploring your now, throbbing underneath. Yet why was your body enjoying this feeling? It felt unbelievably filthy.

“Any demon would thrive to have a pet mortal like you. so beautiful.. so needing of such attention..”

His voice flowed smoothly, and you hated the way it gave you goosebumps of excitement.

Your eyes suddenly shot wide open, feeling his fingers scissoring your sensitive folds — gliding around your doused slick.

“How inviting..”

Over the faint murmurs of his words, and the dizziness from the transe you were under, all you could hear was the pathetic, squelching of your unacceptably wet pussy.

Seonghwa chuckled, satisfied with the reaction your body gave him. The sound echoing through your ears as your body sunk against the textured brown wood.

He slipped his hands out from under your skirt— fingers sticky with your unwanted arousal, pulling out a feather, tenderly stroking it along the back of your thigh. At least, to a mortal, it appeared to be a beautiful white feather. But under that enchanted disguise, a sharp steeled blade rested between his finger’s.

“I won’t hurt you.”

His words were anything but promising.

He was ruthless, sadistic. Yet something about him was drawing you in.

Your legs trembled as you felt the tickle of the feather against your skin, though that tremble soon turned into a cold hiccup of realization, the pressure he was applying to your skin was nothing to what a feather could achieve.

“Hold still, sweet thing.”

Body trembling in fear, your nails scratching against the tree bark. You felt the sharp rushing sting of the blade beginning to delve into your skin — eyes shutting tight to brace yourself for that anticipating pain.

That was until Seonghwa suddenly stopped. Unusual.. what’s happening?

The stardust mist that surrounded you both dangerously swept away. Just like wind picking up from a helicopters rotor blades.

Seonghwa’s guard was put down as he examined what was going on, his face full of clear concern. You instantly fell down to your blanket, hugging your knees, snapping out of the daydream this star demon laced you in.

“Fuck..”

Seonghwa growled defensively. You noticed for the first time the anger and irritation that brewed inside of him. ‘Is this what demons were?’

This new aura that dominated the horizon was stronger — even you, a powerless human could feel the intensity that was at steak. Seonghwa turned to you, head tilting as he concealed the fact he was intimidated. He knew what was coming, who was approaching.

“We need to leave, kitty.”

He attempted to bribe you, although you on the other hand: frightened, completely clueless. Your body was frozen, you could barely even hear Seonghwa talking to you. This new, musky Aura was paralyzing.

“You can trust me. You don’t need anyone else.”

Seonghwa himself winced, eyes jolting to the trees that golfed you both in. Vines manipulated themselves, branches cracking as the green stems slithered forward. Seonghwa’s abilities were useless against this hostile entity.

And he knew it.

Your eyes stilled, watching as vines approached the demon in-front of you, lips trembling as you shuffled backward slowly,

“What’s wron-“

Seonghwa’s words were put to a halt with a threatening choke, his neck strangled tightly by the vines. The poised demon groaned, nails grasping at the veiny wires of nature, the stardust that radiated from his body crumbled into Smokey. You on the other hand, were struck, barely able to form a thought.

Another demon, one who was broader with a menacing presence, came closer to you and Seonghwa, who was still restraint by his neck. This new being simply raised a hand, the vines lifting Seonghwa enough to face him.

“San..”

Seonghwa yelped, his breath short. Irritation spread all over his expression. Though he knew his place when against this rival.

“Seonghwa.”

San responded, his eyebrows furrowed with displeasure. You watched carefully as the two had an obvious distaste for one another, your attention drifting to the dangerous man.

‘San.. I see.’ you tried to gather some courage, being sure to collect as much information as you could just from listening to their small talk.

San’s hand reached out to glide two fingers up Seonghwa’s temple, before grasping his hair, tugging his head back with spite.

“You’ve had your fun, pixie. Get lost.”

His words spilled out like venom, letting Seonghwa go with a thud. The starry man grunted, picking himself up and wiping his lips. He was smart enough to know he wouldn’t stand a chance against San— forced to return to the opposite realm with a longing desire for your taste.

Left alone, the silence was eerie. Your tummy twisted, nerves pricking your spine and sending you into shivers. San undoubtedly held something in his manner, something that caught your true attraction.

This was the weirdest day of your life.

“Y/n, hm?”

You froze. ‘how did he know my name?’.

Your legs trembled, laying out as you stared up at the large man. Breath hitching at the sound of the vines crackling closer towards your limbs.

“I know many things, Princess. Like reading your little mind. You’re forgetting what I am.”

You began to notice that these demons seemed to have one similar trait: scents.

San secreted the musky fragrance of sage — god, another one of your favorites. However, this scent had a complete different effect. You wasn’t hypnotized to a stand-still, no. You coughed as the smell filled your lungs, your body willingly relaxed, legs parting. Your mind being filled with sinful, dirty thoughts.

“Tsk, I’ve never met someone who slips into traps so easily. Such a clever girl.”

His praise felt almost like mockery, your eyes clouded with desire as San closed in, hovering over your frame.

“Please..”

‘What am I saying?’ Your thoughts raced. For some strange reason, you craved the touch of the demon that stood in-front of you.

“You pitiful angel. I’d say the lord would be looking down at you with shame. You really want a demon to take care of you?”

Your cheeks heated with humiliation, whining as the demon controlled the vines, wrapping them securely over your ankles, tugging your body forward and forcing you onto your back.

Holy fuck he was enticing.

“You don’t mind if I treat myself, right baby girl?”

His red eyes drank up your kind pupils, and with a click of his fingers, the vines forced your legs apart. Your panties still damp from before, the lace suckled against your folds. You let out a breathy whimper as the cold air reached between your thighs, unfocused as San leant down, knees between your legs.

“I think this little deer needs a helping hand, hm?”

San teased, watching as your hips wiggled, your lips sealed as your heartbeat increased. You could feel his heavy presence inching closer to your warmth.

“Speak up, my little slut. Use that sweet mouth of yours.”

The demon slapped your desperately swollen clit, which was throbbing underneath your panties. Your body was covered in goosebumps, excitement pumping through your bloodstream. You couldn’t believe this was actually turning you on.

“Yes.. yes.. please San, please help me.. I need it.. please..”

He grinned, pleased. Wasting no time as his thick, long fingers slid under the sides of your soggy panties, hurriedly tearing them off of you with ease. He stumbled forward, latching his lips onto your cascaded mound. He groaned, tugging the vines to pressurize you against his face as much as he could. Mouthing you hungrily, licking between your folds, taking his time to explore every crevice. — eager to find your sweet spots.

“S-san!”

Your body shook, Lower back arching from the sensational assault against your gushing cunt. Now that the demon has got the taste of your sweet nectar, he indefinitely can’t stop.

In San’s mind, he grew heated at the idea of having a human like you under his sleeve. His personal little slave — a pretty toy he could mould into his very own property. An uncomfortable tightening shaped in pants at the thoughts, forming a hood at his crotch. He moaned at the fantasy, sending vibrations into you that only added to your pleasure. Your body shivering and trembling under his curse.

He pulled away momentarily, lips detaching from your drowned pussy with a pop. He panted, animal-like. Crazed from the smell of your arousal. He fluttered kisses against your thighs, hands caressing your delicate legs.

You were aching for more.

“Fuck.. you’re so wet. For me? Really?”

San was smug, admiring how your sensitive cunt throbbed and grasped around nothing. He knew exactly what you needed, and he damn well was going to take advantage of it. Without any question, he pumped two of his thick digits into your pretty little pussy. Curling them repeatedly, angling his wrists to explore your gummy walls, soon finding that sweet spot, causing a lucid moan to emit from your mouth.

You reacted perfectly to his touch, exactly how he wanted. He abused your frail, gasping cunt, violating that sweet spot — leaning down once again to suck your clit as he finger fucked you. Your hips jolting as you were edging closer to your release.

“That’s it, let go. Just for me.”

San murmured against your pulsing heat, shaking his head as he lapped you up like a fucking dog. As soon as he felt your walls clamping down and gushing on his fingers, he pulled them out just in time, frantically rubbing your sensitive bud with his hand — forcing an orgasm from you.

“Fuckkk! C-cumming.. mm!”

A high pitch cry poured out of your cords, San growling in response, a deeper moan passing his lips as he watched you squirt all over his hand, slapping your cunt one last time before he savored your high with his tongue, drowning in your pleasure.

“Such a good girl. Giving into a demon.”

The demon had pulled away, leaving you drenched and ready. Gasping for air as your chest raised up and down. San’s eyes stared down at your heaving chest, tongue gliding over his swollen lips to collect your sweetness that stained.

Your gaze met his, cheeks flushed as you watched him remove his clothes. A thick fog caved you both around the blanket. No one could see you like this but him. Your pleasure was for his eyes only.

Whilst removing the clothes that covered his lower half, the vines under his spell swiftly began tearing your clothes away from your skin.

“You’re so pretty like this.”

You gasped, the plants behind San’s strength handling your body with ease, flipping you onto your stomach and tangling around your waist to hang your hips in the air. San’s hand landed a rough slap against your ass, kneading the flesh within his large palms. Your face was pressed against the soft blanket, hands restrained behind your back. The power the demons vines withheld was more than surprising.

Before you knew it, you were on display — ass up face down. Tangled within the curse of nature.

“Delicate little princess. You belong to me. I’ll break you open and mould you into my very own cocksleeve.”

San finally positioned himself behind you, your knees either side of him as he gave his dick a few long, wet strokes — His breathing heavy.

Your legs felt weak, though San had no problem assisting, pulling your hips closer to his. The demon began to rub his length against your sex, making sure to gather and spread all the juices. It was obvious how needy and ready you were; you were leaking, dripping to feel San’s cock deep inside you.

After painfully being teased, he started to push his cock into your begging hole. The stretch was intense, pressure being more than anticipated. He was big, length and girth considered. Your walls hugged around him perfectly, like you were made for this. Both of your moans danced in the air together, his length completely sheathed inside you, the bruised-pink tip kissing your cervix.

“Shit.. you’re such a tight fuck-toy.”

San grasped the vines that tied your hands, pushing down against your middle back to deepen your arch, as he began setting a fastened pace, grinning to himself; you were losing yourself in this demon.

Unable to form a sentence, simply letting out wails of pleasure. Your pussy fluttering from the sensation — San’s cock plunged against the sweet muscle deep inside you. His dizzying sage aroma filled your lungs, becoming more addictive than any drug.

“You’re taking me so fucking well. Have you done this before? My little whore.”

The sadistic spawn spat rhetorically, eyes dark and heavy as he delve into you with such depth and speed, your tummy twisting with a tight knot. You swore you could feel a bulge in your lower belly each time he fucked into you; Babbling pathetic nothings as he ruined your pretty cunt. The high San was giving you, allowed you the energy you so badly needed to take his cock even after already hitting such an orgasm before.

“G-good.. so go-ood”

You managed to drool some words from your lips, tears rolling down your rosy cheeks. He kept you pushed down, giving several long strokes which gained your eyes rolling back, your nails digging into the stemmy ropes.

“You’re loving this aren’t you? Taking demon dick.”

He fastened, letting out a lengthy moan feeling you tighten around him. His balls were slapping against your wet core, the sound echoing through the fog that clouded around you both.

San’s arm snaked around your waist, the vines tightening against your skin, surely leaving a mark. His fingers dipped between your folds, swirling and brushing over your hard clit, all whilst his thrusts grew animalistic — The overwhelming sensitivity had your hips bucking repetitively.

“That’s it. Take it. Take all of me.”

The friction the two bodies created surely had the blanket dirtied underneath by the earth it had been resting on. You began feeling a burning twist forming in your aching tummy, breathing unsteady. The ruthless pounding only sent you deeper into your arousal, your muscles stiffening as your spine bent the furthest it could; bringing you to another orgasm. It hit you hard, your throbbing cunt squeezing and gushing around San’s cock.

“Oh g-god!”

“Scream for the lord. Let him hear you.”

As you release, relishing into a moaning mess. San grabbed a blade that the vines had hauled towards him, his hips still rolling rhythmically as you twitched and flushed against him, milking your high out of you.

Without a word, he carved his singular initial into the back of your thigh — his breath shuddering as he watched your crimson blood tickle down your already shaking leg.

“N-ngh! F-fuck yes y-yes!”

San threw the blade aside as you came over him, cursing as he sharply swatted your ass, sending your body into trembles. Fucking into you feverishly, getting drunk off your squeals and sobs. You loved this feeling of being used; having this deep need to give yourself over to this demon. A success for him.

His groans turned into feral, desperate grunts. Frantically pumping himself in and out of your drowned pussy, sending you into overstimulation. His orgasm peaked, head leaning back dreamily as his moans laced with your cries — his hot seed spewing over your walls, painting your crevices.

“Oh.. oh yes, fuck..”

The last thing you could feel was his pulsating length, only then for it to slide out. Leaving your pitiful hole gasping and leaking with the sinful fluids. The demon caught his breath, slicking his hair back, flocking the vines back to their origin.

“I hope you realize, you belong to me, y/n.”

His words weren’t threatening, but more of an honest, possessive statement. He had great intention in his tone. Your body was weak, limbs lifeless like jelly as you finally rested against the white coated, liquid drowsed blanket. San leant down with you, hands caressing over your tender curves, admiring his newly claimed property.

He fluttered gentle, wet kisses along your shoulder, and then to your neck — Cradling you in his large arms as you rested, completely fucked senseless. Although you had the lasting trace of this demon imprinted in your mind.

“I’ll be sure to visit you often, my angel.” ~

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