#ceremony in the dark woods | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

proxima-writes · 7 months

Text

pairing: cult leader!joel miller x virgin!female reader

rating: explicit (18+ MDNI)

word count: 8.6k

summary:

You think you’re as good as dead when a band of raiders find you. In what you think are your final moments, an angel appears.

His name is Joel Miller, and he is here to deliver you from evil.

author's note: a huge thank you to my fellow cultist @atinylittlepain for listening to me scream about this. without them, we'd probably be on version 5 of this story. and to everyone who has been excited about this, i hope you enjoy!

warnings: DARK CONTENT - DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT, dub-con: power dynamics, dub-con: cult mentality, age difference - 60M and 27F, explicit sexual content (18+ minors do not interact), no use of y/n, dual POV, post-outbreak, canon divergence, canon typical violence (knife wounds, gun shot wounds, numerous mentions of blood), minor character death(s), blood cult ceremonies, religious themes, possessive behavior, emotional manipulation, loss of virginity, oral sex - f receiving, vaginal fingering, unprotected p in v, cum play, dirty talk, pet names, praise, joel really has a loose screw ok? if there are any tags missing, please let me know!

“I don’t think you should go out there by yourself,” you say, watching as your dad inspects his gun. He looks up at you with a pained expression.

“I gotta see where we should head next. I don’t want to lead you out in the wrong direction, accidentally get you in a bad spot,” he says. “I’ll be fine, buttercup.”

There’s a heaviness that settles in your stomach at his words. He sounds confident enough, but his eyes tell a different story, expose his fear. He stands with a sigh, a wince of pain washing over his face.

“Maybe I should—“

“No,” he interrupts. “I’m going. I won’t be gone long, okay? We can’t stay here forever. Who knows what’s out there in the forest.”

That’s exactly what you’re afraid of. At least inside the rotted cabin you stumbled across you could pretend you were safe. The forest is alive in a way you’ve never experienced growing up in a QZ surrounded with barbed wire and steel. You hear the snap of twigs and the howl of wolves, or the flutter of wings and the call of birds, and sometimes you think you feel the weight of eyes watching you if you venture out too far in your exploration.

“We’ve made it this far. We got out of Denver and that was half the battle,” your dad says. “You got your knife, right? And enough rations.”

You nod, swallowing around the lump in your throat. He kisses your forehead, dry lips lingering on your skin. You have an aching feeling this is a goodbye, some sinking intuition that he’s making a mistake that you can’t correct.

“Be back soon. I love you.”

Joel’s been keeping an eye on the people in the woods for the last three days. There was chatter on one of the radio stations that the Denver QZ was facing an uprising and he knows that once those walls come down, the survivors that venture out are bound to stumble across his town.

The cabin door opens and the man steps out, venturing into the forest. Joel waits to see if his female companion follows, but the door remains shut. He longs to see you, the girl who’s image has been burned into his brain since his first glimpse, but he has a duty to fulfill first.

He walks quickly and quietly through the forest, sure feet catching up with the man less than a mile from where he’d started. Joel clears his throat.

The man turns, fumbling with a gun that he clearly has no experience using, pointing it at Joel with shaking hands and shouting, “Move and I’ll shoot!”

“You lost?” Joel asks, holding his hands up and keeping his face trained in a mask of concern. “Lookin’ for somethin’?”

After a pause, the man seeming to have concluded that Joel isn't a threat, he says, “My daughter and I…we escaped the Denver QZ."

"That must've been difficult."

"We....we're running out of food," he continues, dropping his arms, limbs hanging heavy at his sides. "I-I don't know what else to do, man."

Gun no longer pointed at his face, Joel approaches the man, stopping when he's within arms reach. Up close, he can see the dismal state the guy is in -- sunken cheeks and bloodshot eyes, tattered clothing hanging on a thin frame. Joel places a hand on his bony shoulder.

"I can help you," he says. The man looks up, a brief glimmer of hope flashing in his eyes. Joel watches the slow realization, the way his brain catches up to what's just happened, a choked noise spilling from his dry lips.

Joel tugs his knife from the man's gut and steps back, watching as he collapses to the ground. Desperate hands smear the blooming red stain across his abdomen. Joel circles the man, positioning himself at his back, and pulls him close with a hand slapped over his mouth.

"I'll take good care of her," he whispers before dragging his knife across his neck in one clean slice. The man twitches once before growing limp and Joel releases him, body hitting the forest floor with a dull thud. Not one to waste, Joel gathers anything of use from his person.

Something catches the light against his neck. Curious, Joel tugs the bloodstained neck of his t-shirt to the side, finding a silver chain. He pulls, revealing the length of it.

A cross.

The clasp snaps with a sharp tug and Joel stuffs it in his pocket. Standing and shouldering his bag once more, he begins his walk back towards the cabin.

You're running as fast as your legs will carry you, lungs and limbs burning with the effort. You made the mistake of not listening to your dad when he'd told you stay where you were, to stay hidden, that he'd come back. Your nerves had gotten the best of you and you decided that you would catch up with him, but you didn't know which direction he'd gone. You figured you would travel a little ways and see if you could find him and if you didn't do so quickly, you'd rush back to the cabin and wait, just as he told you.

That's when the men saw you, two large figures with rifles that reminded you of FEDRA soldiers slung across their backs.

You duck behind a thick tree to catch your breath. You can hear voices calling out through the forest above the rush of blood in your ears, taunting tones carrying through the air.

"C'mon out, pretty girl!"

You chance a peek out from your hiding spot, only catching a brief glimpse of one man through the trees.

"Where ya hidin', sweet thing?"

His voice sounds far away and that gives you the courage to move forward, a tentative dash for another tree.

“I might be nicer to ya if you just come on out, but if I have to hunt ya down…well…you know what a hunter does to its prey, don’tcha?”

You press your hand over your mouth, muffling the cry that claws its way up your throat. You start to run again, faster, not caring if he can hear you so long as you're able to maintain that distance, hoping that if you can outrun them for long enough, he'll just give up and then maybe you can find your--

You crash into something, the world sliding out from under you and the breath rushing from your lungs as you land on your back with a pained shout. A hand wraps around your ankle, pulling you across the rough ground before you have the chance to recover.

"Gotcha," a man says, the voice different from the one that had been taunting you before. A figure stands over you, a foot on either side of your hips, looking down at you with a sinister smile. "Pretty little prize, huh?"

You twist your body, scrambling away from him. He laughs, following after you with unhurried strides.

“Now, don’t play hard to get,” he admonishes. A hand wraps around your ankle and he drags you toward him, kicking and screaming. Your foot connects with some fleshy part of him and he curses.

“You little fuckin’ cunt,” he hisses, dropping your foot. He kicks you, heavy boot colliding with soft flesh and bone, a sharp pain blossoming in your side, shooting down to your very marrow. You curl in on yourself, wounded prey trying to protect its most vulnerable parts.

A shot rings out, the sound startling in the relative quiet of the forest. You sit up, sudden movement making you light headed, and it takes you a long moment to register the scene before you.

The man that had been chasing you, the one that had caught you, the one that had hurt you on the surface but planned to do far worse, lies on the ground, eyes wide open but unseeing. Above him stands your savior, an older man with gray streaked dark curls and tan skin, broad shoulders and hard brown eyes. He reminds you of a painting you saw once in a book your dad owned, long before the outbreak.

“Death On A Pale Horse,” he explained when you showed him the painting that caught your eye. “Based on the Book of Revelations. You remember that one, right?”

“Yeah.”

“This one,” — he pointed to the central figure, a dark creature on a white horse — “is Death. And this one” — he pointed to a figure on the right that rides a dark brown horse, the dark colors making him blend among the horrors breaking from the sky behind him — “would be famine. You can see the emaciated man below him.”

“What about the other two?” You asked.

“The one of the red horse would be war.”

You pointed to the remaining figure, a man with dark curls and a determined expression. “And the white horse?”

Your dad paused. “Conquest. Pestilence. The Antichrist. The first horseman of the apocalypse.”

The man before you today looks like that figure on the white horse and despite his choice to rescue you from one horror, you fear he may be something far worse.

The man kneels and you flinch away from him. He sighs and says, “I ain’t goin’ to hurt you.”

“Who are you?” You ask, voice weak, throat on fire.

“My name is Joel,” he says. “I want to help you.”

“How do I know you weren’t with those other guys?” Your eyes grow wide and you rush to stand on shaky legs. “Wait, there’s another—“

“He won’t be an issue,” Joel assures you, wrapping a steadying arm around your waist. “C’mon.”

“I can’t—“

“Men like those two ain’t the only things in the forest to worry about, and I’m afraid we can’t sit around and find out. That gun shot could send a horde runnin’.”

“Wait!” You snap, pulling out of his grasp. He holds his hands up, as if in surrender, or maybe like he’s approaching a wounded animal. You’re not sure which. “My dad is out there. H-he went to figure out where to go from here. We were in a cabin…” Your voice trails off. “I told him I would wait for him.”

Joel’s eyes are soft as he says, “We need to get ourselves to safety. I can send someone out to look for your dad first thing in the mornin’.”

“Send someone?”

“There’s a group of us, down in the valley. Survivors, like you.”

“Really?” Relief washes over you, eclipsing even the ache in your belly and the burn in your throat and the pain in your muscles. “How far?”

“With the state you’re in, probably about a two hour hike.”

You don’t have much choice but to go with him, do you?

“Okay.”

“Where’re you comin’ from?” Joel asks, glancing over his shoulder at you. You’ve been following quietly behind him, head down and eyes fixed on the ground.

“Denver,” is all you offer in response. He knew that much already. He wants to know more.

Maybe he has to give more first.

“‘M from Texas, originally. Was in a QZ in Boston for a while before makin’ my way out here.”

“Why’d you come out here?” You ask.

“Had a friend once tell me, ‘Save who you can save’,” he says.

“What does that mean?” You ask.

“You’ll see.”

Joel had mentioned survivors, but you're shocked to discover that just past a wooden sign proclaiming WELCOME TO CRESTONE in chipped yellow paint, a whole town is tucked away, surrounded by a wooden gate that opens for you as you approach. You feel the weight of curious eyes as you walk through a town square, Joel's palm between your shoulder blades steering you towards a more residential area until you reach a two story adobe home.

Once inside, you’re led upstairs to a sparsely decorated bedroom, a large bed in the center with a faded quilt tucked around the mattress with precision and a dresser against one wall covered in yellowed wallpaper. Joel gestures for you to sit, kneeling on the wood floor in front of you to work on the laces of your sneakers.

“What—“

“You need rest,” he says, removing your shoes. He looks up at you, brown eyes full of concern. Your stomach flips.

“But—“

“No,” he says sternly. He stands and walks to the side of the bed, tugging the quilt free and folding it down. “I have duties to return to, but you’ll be safe here.”

You don’t have it in you to continue arguing. You haven’t seen a comfortable bed in more than two days and the exhaustion catches up to you in one fell swoop, eyes halfway to shut as you crawl into the space Joel’s made for you between the sheets. He pulls the covers over you, the warmth of a hand smoothing across your cheek the last thing you feel before falling asleep.

You wake to the sun high in the sky, streaming through the open window of a room that you don't recognize. You push yourself to sitting, your ribs protesting the movement and your head pulsing just behind your eyes. Your mouth is unbearably dry, so much so that you start coughing, further aggravating your bruised ribs.

"There's water on the nightstand," a voice says, startling you.

You look to your left, finding a young girl sitting in a wooden chair by your bed. Her dark hair is pulled back from her face, wayward pieces falling across pale skin. Her sharp brown eyes watch you with an intensity that makes your skin crawl.

“I’m Ellie,” she says. You mumble your own name.

“Did Joel save you?” Ellie asks.

“Uh—“

“He must have. That’s what he does,” she continues, cutting you off.

“Ellie!” A familiar deep voice calls out. Her eyes go wide and she scrambles from her seat, rushing for the door. Heavy footsteps climb the stairs, Joel appearing in the open doorway. He looks at her with a stern expression, mouth pressed in a thin line. “Thought I told you not to come up here.”

The look on her face isn’t fear, like her reaction would have led you to believe. No, she looks up at Joel with reverence as she says, “Sorry. Wanted to see her.”

Joel nods. “Head to the mess hall. I’ll bring her down shortly.”

Ellie casts a lingering look in your direction before disappearing through the doorway.

“Sorry about her,” Joel says. He takes a seat on the edge of the mattress. “How’re you feelin’?”

“Could be better,” you say honestly. “How long was I asleep for?”

“A little more than a day.”

Your eyes go wide. “My dad—“

“We’ve sent out a search party. No luck yet, I’m afraid,” he says. You curl into yourself a bit at the news, shoulders tight with worry. He reaches forward and places a hand on top of your own where it rests on the sheets. “You should get some food. I brought you some new clothes, too. I’ll let you get dressed and we can go down to the mess hall.“

He leaves the room before you respond and you drag the pile of clothes closer to you, finding a neatly folded t-shirt, jeans, underwear, and socks. It takes you a long moment to work your way out of your dirty clothes, your movements slow to not aggravate your injuries. You keep your bra on, pulling the clean shirt over your head, followed by the jeans. You're thrilled to be wearing something that's not caked with dirt and sweat.

You're working on putting your socks on when there's a knock at the door, Joel entering when you call out for him to come in. He smiles at you.

"There, that's better," he says. "C'mon. Let's get down to dinner."

You follow him out of the room and down the stairs. The first floor of the home has a kitchen that opens up to a living and dining area, the space filled with worn mismatched furniture. The walls are wood paneled and there's a massive stone fireplace with elk antlers mounted above it.

The sun is setting as you step outside and get your first real look at the town as its bathed in gold. Narrow residential streets give way to wider roads once you reach the town center, where commercial buildings are pressed together advertising long forgotten businesses, their windows dark.

"That's the butcher up there," Joel says, pointing to one of the wooden buildings. "He gets the meat from the traps prepped for us." He points to another building with a sign that says RESTAURANT. "That's the bakery."

"A butcher and a bakery?" You ask. "Do you have electricity here?"

"Sure do. Solar panels, just outside the gate."

You continue walking through the town until you come up on a large white building, people entering and exiting through a set of thick double doors. The shadow of a cross remains above the door, perhaps scorched by the sun where a crucifix once sat. People welcome Joel as he enters, heads turning in their curiosity. You press a little closer to Joel's side.

The large room is bursting with noise and activity -- a flurry of conversations, the clink of cutlery, and laughter. You've not seen anything like it before, the mentality in the QZ not conducive to camaraderie. You can count on one hand the number of people you would have considered friends within those walls, and even that was a stretch. You and Joel join a line of people retrieving plates of food from a single window.

"How long has all of this been here?" You ask, gesturing to the room. He looks around proudly.

"Ellie and I came across this town on accident after we went through hell leavin' Boston. The folks here set up their own quarantine zone and with bigger fish to fry, FEDRA sort of left ‘em alone. They were kind enough to take us in," he says. "After that, more people started showin' up lookin' for safety. Lots of people who escaped the QZs or had been on their own for a while and were tired of runnin'."

"Ellie says you save people," you comment, taking a step forward as the line moves. "What's that mean?"

"Every flock needs a shepherd."

You’re at the front of the line now, standing in front of the window. A woman appears, her face lighting up when she sees Joel.

“Joel! How are you?” She asks, leaning onto the ledge. Behind her you can see people moving quickly and efficiently around a stainless steel kitchen, large pots of food simmering on the stovetop.

“Well enough,” he says. He places a hand on your shoulder. “We have a new guest. Make her plate nice and full for me?”

“Of course.”

She gathers a plate from a precarious stack, loading it with a heaping pile of food ranging from mashed potatoes and stew to colorful vegetables that you haven’t seen in ages, not since before the outbreak when you were seven and your dad would make dinner rather than pass you a ration package. You’re speechless as she hands you the plate with a kind smile, a mumbled thank you the best you can manage to show your gratitude.

Joel is handed a plate as well and you follow him to a table where Ellie sits next to a man with white hair, her plate already empty in front of her. The man looks up at Joel as you approach, his expression closed off and wary.

“Michael,” Joel says in greeting, jaw ticking. You take a seat beside Ellie, who to your surprise moves closer to you, arm brushing yours. “You botherin’ Ellie?”

The man, Michael, shakes his head. “No, sir. We were just having a little talk.”

“What about?” Joel sits on the opposite side of the table. He rips his bread roll in half.

“Just some concerns I was having.”

“You bring your concerns to me. Not to her.”

The two men stare at each other, the tension thick and impossible to ignore. Finally, Michael gets up, leaving the table without another word. Ellie’s shoulder’s lose their tension and Joel catches her eye, the two of them seeming to have an entire conversation in just a look.

The moment passes and Joel’s features relax, a smile tilting the corners of his lips as he returns his attention to you and gestures to your plate.

“Dig in,” he says.

Joel walks you back to his home after dinner, the sky now dark. Ellie’s already closed herself in her room by the time the two of you return, having left the mess hall before you had finished eating.

“Tired again?” Joel asks when you yawn, mouth open wide as you stretch your arms above your head.

Your expression is sheepish as you say, “A little bit.”

“That’s to be expected,” he assures you. “You fought a hard fight. It’s okay to relax now. I’ve got you.”

“Thank you.” Your fingers tangle in the hem of the t-shirt he’d given you earlier. “I don’t know if I’ve said that already.”

“You’re welcome. Come on, let’s get you back upstairs. You can use the shower and get to bed.”

“Oh my god, a shower sounds amazing.”

He shows you the bathroom and helps you get the water running. Once he shows you where to find a towel, you smile gratefully before shutting the door on him.

Dismissed, Joel makes his way to Ellie’s room, knocking on the door. She answers quickly, opening up only enough for him to see her face.

“Yeah?” She asks.

“Can I come in?”

She rolls her eyes but opens the door further, allowing him inside. Her room is smaller than his but far more decorated, pages ripped out of old magazines and comic books tacked to the wall. She takes a seat on her single bed, folding her legs beneath her.

“What did Michael talk to you about?” He asks. She shrugs her shoulders. Joel bites back a sigh. Sometimes he forgets what it was like to reason with a teenage girl. “Ellie.”

“He said” — she pauses, scratching at her wrist in the way that she will when she’s anxious — “he said that you were full of shit. That your fucked up ceremony isn’t helping any of them.”

Joel’s teeth grind together. “That all?”

“Called me a stupid kid for following what you say,” she mumbles. “Said everyone in town was stupid for believing you.”

“Thank you for tellin’ me,” he says. Rage burns in his veins as he turns to leave.

“What are you gonna do?” Ellie asks as he reaches the door.

“I’m goin’ to teach him a lesson.”

He pulls the door shut behind him, tilting his head against the wood with a sigh. The click of a latch down the hall precedes your quiet, “Joel?”

Joel turns to face you, surprised to find you standing just outside the bathroom door with a towel tucked around your body. Water glistens on your skin in the low light, drawing his eyes down your neck and across your chest. He clears his throat.

“Everythin’ alright?” He asks.

“Yeah, everything is fine,” you murmur. “I…could I get some new clothes?”

“Of course, should’a given you some before you showered. Sorry about that.”

Joel walks past you, entering his bedroom and approaching the dresser. He tugs the top drawer open, full of clothing he’d gathered while you’d been asleep for more than a day. He piles together another t-shirt, sleep pants, and underwear, setting them on the bed for you.

You’re standing in the doorway when he finishes and he fights the urge to go to you, to pull you close, to run his wretched hands over your body like he’s wanted to since he first saw you in the forest.

He doesn’t, though. Not yet. You still have much to learn.

“Here you go,” he says. “Some more stuff in the drawers for you if you need it.”

Joel leaves you to get ready for bed, shutting the door behind him. He heads downstairs to grab what he’ll need, essentials shoved in a bag thrown over his shoulder before venturing off into the night.

Only a few lights continue to illuminate windows as Joel walks through the residential area. The house he approaches at the end of a street is already dark, quiet beyond the wood door that he knocks on three times. The door opens slowly, Michael appearing in the small space.

“What?” He grunts.

“Come take a walk,” Joel says. Michael rolls his eyes, moving to shut the door but Joel’s boot blocks his effort. “I ain’t askin’, Michael.”

“Oh, yeah? What are you going to do?” He challenges. Joel throws his weight against the door, catching Michael by surprise enough for him to step into the house.

Joel throws an elbow into the man’s gut, making him double over with a groan. He circles behind him, kicking the back of his knee to send him to the ground. He pulls a length of chain from his pocket, looping it around Michael’s neck and pulling the ends.

Michael struggles, clawing at the garotte and thrashing wildly, but Joel holds strong. He tightens his grip further until Michael’s fight becomes sluggish, lack of oxygen finally causing him to go limp.

Joel releases the chain and Michael’s body slumps to the ground. He removes his backpack, digging through the contents until he finds a rusted pair of handcuffs that he uses to bind Michael’s arms behind his back. Next, he places a strip of duct tape over his mouth.

When he wakes, Joel will lead him out past the gate. He will find an unassuming home that rests outside the boundary of Crestone. He will open the hidden doors of the cellar, the ones covered in a layer of leaves and grass. From the darkness he will hear the echo of desperate groans and the rattle of chains and the angry attempts to break free from bindings. He will lead Michael down the dirt steps, the smell of rot and fear and death clawing at his olfactory nerves.

He will place a burlap bag over a struggling Michael’s head and the man will beg and plead in words muffled by tape. Then, Joel will offer him for judgment.

A hand on you shoulder shakes you awake, the room still mostly dark when you manage to open your eyes. You groan, pulling the quilt up over your head.

“C’mon, we gotta get to breakfast,” Ellie says. The cover gets yanked down and she gives you a mischievous grin.

“Where’s Joel?” You ask, sitting up slowly. She shrugs.

“Probably there already.”

You swing your legs over the side of the bed and stand, stretching your arms up. You grab the same jeans and socks from the day before, changing into them quickly and sitting down on the floor to pull your sneakers on. Ellie watches you, her foot tapping impatiently.

“You can go without me if you’re in a rush,” you offer. She shakes her head.

“I’m fine,” she says quickly. “You ready?”

“Sure.”

You follow her out of the house, her clipped pace difficult to keep up with due to your lingering pain. As the sun starts to rise and you pass by more of the houses, you notice something peculiar about some of them.

“What’s that?” You ask, pausing in front of one the houses. There’s a streak of what looks like dark red paint across the top of the door. Ellie doubles back and stands beside you.

“Protection,” she says.

“From what?”

She shifts her weight from foot to foot, uncomfortable with your line of questioning. Rather than answer, she walks away, leaving you to catch up to her or be left behind.

As the two of you start to walk through the square, there’s a rush of people around you. Shouting can be heard up ahead as a crowd comes into view, gathered around the front of the mess hall building. People press in close together, craning their necks to see over each other and catch a glimpse of whatever spectacle has their attention.

Ellie pushes through the crowd and you follow close on her heels until she manages to break through the other side of the wall of people. You catch glimpses of something writhing on the ground, something animal but not quite, something failed and fetid and foul. Another peek affords you a view of an arm littered with bite marks shaped by blunt teeth, deep gouges into their skin that shine red with blood and fester with disease.

Joel appears, stepping around the side of the building. The whispers cease, the crunch of Joel’s boots and pained groans the only noise to be heard in the stale air.

His dark eyes scan the crowd. People shrink back from his gaze, pressing closer to each other for relief. He reaches down, curling his fingers into the burlap material and yanking it off to reveal a man, familiar and yet not recognizable. Unseeing eyes, ashen skin, and dark red veins now the hallmark characteristics of the man you now remember as the one who had been talking to Ellie in the dining hall.

Joel draws a gun from his back, aiming it at Michael’s head. “Let this be a lesson,” he says, pulling the trigger.

The shot rings out, making you jump. The agonized sounds come to abrupt halt and his body goes limp, eyes still open as blood blooms on the ground around him.

“No blood spilled. No blood saved,” Joel says. You look up from the horrible scene and meet his hard gaze. You step back, turning and shoving your way through the crowd.

Then, you run.

You’re frantically shoving clothing into your bag when a door slams downstairs and heavy footsteps climb the stairs at a quick pace. You can feel the burn of Joel's eyes on your back, his presence in the room thick and cloying as you refuse to turn around, even when he murmurs your name.

He moves closer, a hand on your shoulder prompting you to turn to break the connection. He holds his hands up in surrender, taking a step back as he says, "Let me explain."

"Explain? Explain?! How the fuck do you explain that?!" You snap.

"If you'll just listen--"

"There's nothing you could possibly say that will--"

"Ellie is immune!" He shouts. Your words die on the tip of your tongue, lost to ether as you stare at Joel.

"W-what do you mean? Immune?" You ask.

He takes a deep breath. "I told you what my friend said. 'Save who you can save'. The first person I saved was Ellie."

"I helped her out of Boston, kept her safe, nearly lost my life if it meant keepin' her alive," He continues. "That's what I offer here."

"So you think you're....what? Some kind of god? That you can grant immunity?"

He huffs a laugh, the noise devoid of any humor. "God abandoned his worst experiment in their time of need. There is no god anymore, just the poor creatures he left behind. Someone had to take up the mantle."

"But how?"

"The ceremony," he says.

"That’s not a fucking answer, Joel!” You shout. “What fucking ceremony?!”

“Blood spilled for blood saved. You can’t make it in this world without givin’ your everythin’ first.” He lifts the bottom of his shirt, just enough to reveal a jagged scar to the right of his belly button, shiny scar tissue disrupting smooth tan skin. “I did this for Ellie. Now everyone else has to do it for themselves.”

“I don’t…I don’t understand.” You take a small step closer to inspect the wound, raising your hand and reaching out with a tentative touch. Joel inhales sharply as you run your fingers across the puckered flesh.

His hand wraps around your wrist, pulling your hand up and holding it against his chest. “It’ll be easier to show you, okay? There’s a ceremony in a couple days.”

“I don’t—“

“You’re just afraid because this is somethin’ new, but I promise you that you got nothin’ to be scared of. I’ll take care of you.” He lifts a hand to your face, tilting your chin with his thumb. “I just need you to trust me.”

His eyes are honest, earnest, pleading with you to believe him and the longer you search them, the more truth you seem to find. He will take care of you. You just know it.

“Okay.”

Dinner is served early on the day of the ceremony, the room buzzing with excited conversation. You haven’t seen Joel much the last few days, just passing glimpses, and Ellie says it’s because he has a lot to prepare for. Tonight there’s a woman at his side wearing a white dress that flows to the floor, black hair braided down her back. She smiles at Joel, hanging on every word you can’t hear. It makes your stomach clench in a weird way when her hand curls around his bicep and her head leans against his shoulder.

“That’s Marcy. She’s volunteered for the ceremony,” Ellie says. She’s sitting across from you, a smirk on her lips. “S’why she’s been hanging around Joel the last few days. Joel’s gotta prepare her.”

“Oh,” is all you manage to reply, picking at the vegetables on your plate. “What does…what does he do? To prepare her.”

She shrugs. “Dunno.”

You glance at the pair. Joel leans in close to the woman, whispering into her ear. Your fingernails dig into the meat of your palm, your hands curled into tight fists beneath the table. He stands, a hand on the woman’s shoulder as he calls the people to attention, voices fading until silence envelops the room.

“Tonight,” Joel says, “another is to be saved. And we will all bear witness to the gift of deliverance that only self-sacrifice can grant.”

It’s only a few words, but the power in them is palpable as you glance around the room at the entire town watching him with rapt attention. His eyes meet yours.

“Save who you can save,” he intones. A chill runs down your spine.

“Save who you can save,” the town echoes back.

The sun is already low on the horizon, twilight casting a soft glow on the scene. You stand at the back of the crowd, watching as Joel leads Marcy onto a raised wooden platform. Another man joins them, passing something wrapped in cloth into Joel’s outstretched hands.

“The thing about the world today,” Joel says, unwrapping the cloth to reveal a large knife, “is that there ain’t a single guarantee.” He looks out over the crowd. “Except here, within these walls. Why? Because here you’ll make the greatest sacrifice and earn the greatest reward.”

He begins to pace the length of the platform, knife in hand. “Givin’ your blood in exchange for your safety? That doesn’t sound so bad, right?” The people around you nod their heads in agreement. “You’ve seen what that sacrifice can do. I did it for Ellie. I did it for myself. And tonight—“ he places a hand on Marcy’s shoulder “—another has made the choice to earn that gift of protection.”

A cheer erupts, spreading through the crowd through shouts and applause. You find yourself joining them, clapping your hands together as you continue to watch Joel.

“Marcy,” Joel says. “What brings you here today?”

“No blood spilled, no blood saved,” she recites dutifully.

“Are you afraid?” He asks.

“No,” she says.

“Why?”

“Because I trust in your protection.”

Joel smiles at her, beaming with pride, and that knot in your stomach from earlier returns with a vengeance. You want him to look at you like that.

He stands in front of her, blocking her from view with his body. A hush falls over the crowd and from the silence erupts an anguished scream. You flinch, the sound piercing and painful and petrifying, though it seems to have taken nobody else by surprise.

Another scream as he jerks his arm back, the knife in his hand now stained with red that slides down the blade, dripping to the wood beneath his feet. He steps to the side and you can see the woman now, her hands pressed to her belly. Crimson blooms beneath her hands, marring her pretty white dress and leaching the color and vitality from her face. She drops to her knees and so does Joel, who wraps an arm around her shoulders and gently guides her until she’s lying on her back. He holds her hand and smooths her hair from her face as she just repeats, “Thank you.”

Slowly, the strength in her voice fades. Her arm goes limp in his grasp, dropping to the floor with a dull thud as her eyes flutter shut. Joel whistles sharply, three men rushing up the platform and lifting the girl into their arms, careful not to jostle her too much. Joel remains kneeling, his head turning to scan the crowd.

“We are born covered in blood,” he says. “It gives you protection from the outside world when you’re wrenched from the womb. And it will protect you now as it is wrenched from you.”

He steps off the platform and walks past the crowd, heading for the residential street. Everyone shuffles forward, moving en masse like sheep following their shepherd or cattle to the slaughter. You’re led to one of the smaller homes and you watch as Joel smooths the flat of the blade across his hand, gathering blood in his palm.

He places his palm on the door, smearing the blood across the faded blue paint. When he’s done, he turns to face the crowd.

“Marcy has earned her protection. Those of you among us that have not yet made your sacrifice, may you return home this evenin’ and realize that each passin’ day is a wasted opportunity for your salvation.” His serious expression softens as he smiles. “No blood spilled.”

“No blood saved,” the crowd says.

To your surprise, the words fall easily from your lips.

Joel shuts the door quietly behind him. He’s just finished checking on Marcy and was pleased to find that her wound has been dressed and she’s recovering well. At the kitchen sink he runs the water as hot as he can tolerate and scrubs his hands clean.

He can hear faint footsteps upstairs, the sound of your pacing back and forth in his bedroom. He’s pleased that you stayed through the entire ceremony, didn’t run away filled with fear or disgust like you had watching him make an example out of Michael.

There’s hope for you yet.

Joel dries his hands on a towel and heads upstairs. He glances at Ellie’s room out of habit, though he knows it’s empty. She likes to help out after the ceremony, usually sticking beside the town nurse, Shelly, as she monitors the person who participated in the ceremony over night.

The door to his bedroom is shut but he can see that the light is on, the glow of it seeping out from the gap beneath the door. He knocks, three sharp raps of his knuckles, and waits.

You pull the door open, and Joel is once again struck by how much he wants you, how much he’s craved you since the first time he saw you. You look up at him with wide eyes but he doesn’t sense any fear as you pull the door open further and step back to let him enter.

“You doin’ okay?” He asks, shutting the door quietly behind him. You’re standing with your arms wrapped around yourself, nodding quietly. Joel moves closer, tentatively reaching out to tilt your chin up so that he’s looking into your eyes. “Talk to me.”

“I….,” your voice trails off. You take a breath. “I want that protection.”

He was hoping you would say that. Relief floods through him.

“I can’t do that,” he says. Your brows pinch together, hurt flashing across your features. “I won’t have your blood on my hands.”

“But—“

“Listen to me—“ his hands frame your face, thumbs smoothing over the high points of your cheeks “—you’re meant for somethin’ different here.”

“Something different?” You repeat. You shake your head slightly. “I don’t understand.”

“From the moment I saw you, I knew I couldn’t let you lose a drop,” he whispers. “You don’t need to bleed, sweetheart. Not like them. I’ll protect you myself.”

Your mouth drops open the slightest bit, drawing Joel’s gaze. He slides his thumb across your bottom lip, mesmerized by the softness of it. There’s not much about his life the last twenty or so years that he would call soft.

There was his brother, Tommy, even though they couldn’t see eye to eye and had to part ways. His daughter, Sarah, before the outbreak. She took care of him, made sure he took his vitamins and packed his lunch and didn’t miss a parent-teacher conference. She was light and joy, his heart outside of his body, and she was ripped from his grasp.

There was Tess, who was not a soft person but was a soft place to land among the carnage. Bill, ornery though he was, and Frank, arguably his better half. They were a breath of normalcy, even when Bill had a gun trained on him. Ellie, once she quit being a pain in the ass and wormed her way into his heart with her promise to follow him wherever he went.

And now there was you.

“Will you let me do that?” Joel asks. “Protect you?”

You lift your hands, delicate fingers wrapping around his wrists. He wonders if you can feel the rapid beat of his heart, his pulse pounding beneath your grip. Finally, after a long moment, you whisper, “Yes.”

Joel captures your lips with his, swallowing your gasp of surprise. You’re tentative, a bit clumsy with your movements as you kiss back and he pulls away, leaning his forehead to yours.

“I-I’m sorry,” you murmur. “I’ve never—“

“Don’t worry, baby, I’ll take care of you.”

While his words don’t stop your pulse from racing, they do calm your nerves the slightest bit. It’s not that you’ve never been interested in sex, there was just never a good opportunity. Going through puberty in an apocalypse where a militant government faction monitors your every move in exchange for basic necessities wasn’t exactly conducive to forming intimate relationships.

While you’re lost in your thoughts, Joel moves you backwards until your legs hit the mattress and he urges you to sit down. He kneels in front of you, working on the laces of your sneakers, removing them and setting them to the side. He looks up at you as he removes your socks and you’re not sure if you're supposed to find the sight of him kneeling at your feet as sexy as you do, but a rush of warmth rolls through you all the same.

He runs his palms up your legs, across your thighs, until his fingertips find the waist of your jeans, popping the button of the fly and pulling the zipper down.

“Lift your hips a bit, sweetheart,” he says, working the denim down and off your legs, tossing them aside. His hands return to your thighs, goosebumps erupting along their path to your hips.

“No one’s touched you here?” He asks, here being the soft skin of your inner thigh that his thumbs sweep across. You shake your head. He moves higher, a featherlight touch over the elastic of your underwear that makes you gasp. “What about here?”

“N-no,” you manage to whisper. He smiles at you, the same proud smile he’d given Marcy that you were so desperate to have for yourself.

“Good girl,” he murmurs. He kisses the inside of your knee quickly before sitting up higher, reaching up to lift your shirt up, tugging it over your head and dropping it onto the growing pile of your clothing.

“Lie back for me,” Joel commands. You shift up the mattress and follow his instruction, bringing your arms up to cover your exposed breasts. He makes a dissatisfied click with his tongue, pulling your arms away as he crawls up the mattress to settle between your legs.

“None of that,” he admonishes, planting your hands by your head. He kisses your lips again, butterflies erupting in your stomach when his tongue tangles with yours, hot and demanding. He palms one of your breasts, hands rough on the delicate skin. “This is mine, do you understand?”

Joel brings his mouth to your breast, tongue swirling over your stiff nipple. You cry out, the foreign sensation making more heat rush through you, leaving you throbbing between your thighs. He looks up at you through his lashes as he sucks your nipple between his lips, releasing it with a lewd pop.

“Mine to touch,” he says, leaning on one arm to trail his fingers down your stomach. “Mine to kiss.” His lips trace the same heated path. “Mine to protect.”

When he reaches your underwear, he pulls back. “Look at that,” he murmurs, thumb rubbing across the gusset, making you whimper and squirm. “You’ve soaked your panties, sweetheart.”

Your face feels hot with embarrassment. “‘M sorry,” you mumble.

“Sorry? Ain’t nothin’ you need to be sorry about,” he says with a chuckle. He sits up, working your only remaining barrier between you down your legs. He spreads your legs with his hands on your thighs. “Goddamn, you look so pretty, baby.”

“Really?” You ask. His answering grin is wolfish.

“So pretty,” he repeats. He settles on his belly, face so close to your pussy you can feel the warmth of his breath against your heated flesh. “Gotta get you ready.”

Your response to the question is cut off with a high pitched moan as Joel runs his tongue through your folds, circling your clit with broad strokes. You try to close your legs against the sensation but his strong hands keep your thighs pinned down near the mattress.

He groans as he sets a slow and measured pace, alternating attention to your clit with dipping his tongue inside of you, dragging your essence from the source. Your hands clench in the sheets, chasing and retreating from the overwhelming sensation in equal measure.

There’s a blunt pressure that turns into a slight pinch as Joel slips a finger into your tight heat. Your head tilts back with a high keening noise and you’re panting, desperate for breath as he moves his hand in tandem with his tongue.

One finger becomes two that thrust and curl and part inside of you, stretching you in unfamiliar ways. It feels good, and all you want is more, more, more.

Joel’s hand moves quickly and he sucks on your clit, swirling his tongue around the sensitive bundle of nerves until that flood of relief that you’ve only accomplished a handful of times on your own washes over you, your back arching sharply off the mattress as you shout his name like a prayer to the heavens.

His motions slow to a stop and he leaves the bed. You hear the clink of a belt and the rustle of clothing being removed before his weight returns between your legs, a new heat to be felt against your flushed skin with his clothes no longer in the way. With shaky hands you reach up to touch him, starting at his shoulders.

You trail your hands across his warm tan skin, down his hard chest and softer belly. That scar, the one that frightened you before, leaves you breathless as you run your fingers over it now. He’s so strong, so powerful, and he wants you. Wants to protect you so that you don’t know that same pain.

“Joel,” you whisper. He leans forward, hands on the mattress beside your head. He kisses you, slow and all encompassing. You can feel the hard length of his sliding through the mess he’s made of you and you gasp.

“Let me make one thing clear,” he says, face serious, “there ain’t any goin’ back from this. You’re mine. You got that?”

“I trust you,” you reply. Your response earns you a deep groan from the man, a kiss to your forehead that precedes the blunt head of his cock pressing to your soaked entrance.

His cock is thicker, much thicker, than his fingers were and you whine at the intrusion. His shushes you, peppering your face with soothing kisses.

“I don’t think—“

“You’re doin’ so good, sweetheart, I know you can handle it,” Joel says. “Take a deep breath, just a little more.”

Tension gives way, a sharp pinch that turns into an ache as Joel presses his hips firmly against yours. He kisses your neck and trails his nose across your sweat damp skin, holding still as you adjust to his girth.

You shift your hips the slightest bit and Joel’s moan echoes your gasp. “Tell me I can move,” he begs, another desperate kiss pressed to your lips. “Please, baby.”

There’s something heady about the power you have in this brief moment, a man like Joel begging you for something when he’s used to having everything. You nod and that’s all the encouragement he needs to draw back slowly, that fullness leaving you inch by inch, before thrusting sharply.

It’s unlike any experience you’ve had before — the way his body moves with yours, the flex of his muscles above you, the intense look in his eyes each time he presses inside of you.

“Made for me,” he murmurs. “Mine.”

“Yours,” you agree, moaning as each drag of his cock presses against a tender spot inside of you that has your stomach tightening rapidly.

His effort doubles, hips slamming hard enough to make the headboard bang against the wall. You dig your nails into his back, watch the clench of his jaw against the sting, and moan his name as you succumb to the feeling of free falling into bliss, clenching around his cock.

“That’s it, sweetheart, fuck,” he growls, hips stilling against yours as warmth pulses inside of you, his mouth dropped open on a groan of your name.

Joel takes a moment to catch his breath before withdrawing from you. He reaches his hand between your legs, pressing his fingers into your swollen pussy as you gasp.

He holds those fingers up, the light catching on the red staining them.

Perhaps you’d spilled blood for your safety after all.

You wake to the early morning light filtering through the window, a noticeable ache between your legs as you begin to stir. You’re naked, having fallen asleep in Joel’s arms last night, his lips caressing your neck until you’d drifted off and dreamt of blood and wolves. You stretch your limbs, encountering only cold sheets as you do.

As you sit up, you realize the sound of rushing water is the shower and surmise that Joel must be in there. With stiff movements you leave the warmth of the bed and approach the dresser, tugging open the top drawer to find clothing for the day.

You’re reaching for underwear when your fingers catch on something cold, metal in a sea of fabric. You pull on the object, unearthing it from its hiding spot and holding it up for inspection.

A cross, hanging from a silver chain. A chain you would tangle your fingers in as a child, a cross that a thumb would rub across as a deep, familiar voice muttered prayers.

The shower turns off and you take one last look at the crucifix before setting it back into the dark corner you’d unearthed it from.

Then, you shut the drawer.

Joel Miller masterlist

All masterlists

#joel miller x reader #joel miller #joel miller fic #joel miller smut #joel miller x female reader #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller x you #joel tlou #no use of y/n #joel x reader #dark content #cult leader!joel miller #cw age gap #cw dubcon #cw age difference #dark!joel miller #dark!joel x reader #dark joel miller

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allfearstofallto · 2 months

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hii! can i make a request?

I've been thinking about angsty things a bit. say if, reader got pregnant, would she hate it? how would scara/childe react? in my opinion, id like to think that scara thinks of this as a way to tie her down to him more, plus its canon he likes kids!! and as for childe i think he'd be very very happy since he has soooo many siblings, (maybe he wants a lot of kids too??)

and..what if reader miscarried? i have this thought of where scara would still be cold to her but give her breaks and more space than usual, but what if reader completely locks herself in and then when he confronts her about it they get into a huge argument, how would scara tackle that, would he resort to abusive tactics and would it increase readers hatred & distance more?

just a brainrot, you dont have to write about it if you're not comfy^_^

This took me so so so long!! I'm so sorry if you were waiting for it!!

I don't typically write for things like pregnancy because it makes me uncomfortable, but I'd be lying if I said I do not absolutely fucking adore angst and hopelessness.

Parasite

Yandere! Scaramouche x Fem! Reader

Forced Marriage AU

TW: 18+ MDNI, Dark Content, Forced marriage, Pregnancy, Miscarriage, Mentions of Dub/Non-Con

A week late turned into two. Two turned into a month. A month turned into three. And three turned into unusual cravings for foods that didn't go together. Sickness and vomiting clouded the hours of your mornings. Dread filled your body the second you realized what this was. Stress makes your cycles late, you told yourself, stress makes your entire body change, and this was a stressful situation, but stress wasn't causing this, was it?

Scaramouche could tell the changes in you immediately. As someone who constantly kept tabs on your life, it was only fair to assume that he'd noticed your slight fluctuation in weight and lack of asking for your monthly cloths. When you were called into his office, you felt a hot flash all over your body, you assumed it was fear, but it could've also been nausea.

His office was a place filled with dread. The air in the room was too thick and worst of all, he was there. The room made you feel small, the only good thing about it was that he was usually too focused on his mile high stacks of paperwork. Except today. Today his razor sharp gaze was focused on your trembling form as you bowed to him, his eyes following down, then back up.

“Answer me honestly,” he began, hands planted on the wood in front of him, “Are you with child?”

If you could throw up again, you would. Of course, you knew all this time, but you never wanted to say it. You hoped, just hoped and prayed that maybe if you never acknowledged it, it would all go away. It would all be a bad dream. But it was true. There was something disgusting living inside you. And it was his.

“I believe so, my lord,” the words couldn't even completely fall from your lips before you were a blubbering, sobbing mess of anguish and fear. Despite the fact that you were completely breaking down before him, he had a small smile on his face, like he was proud of what he'd done to you.

“That's good,” he said calmly, wiping away your tears and planting a forced kiss upon your face. His touch felt cold as ice, but his hands against you made you want to melt your skin away.

The reaction to the “good news” was immediate, whether that was good or bad was up in the air, but everything changed. The tight obi of all the kimono you owned would put too much pressure on your budding stomach, new one's were ordered to be ready as you grew more in size. Your diet was changed completely, less of the Inazuma raw delicacies and more lean meat and vegetables. Daily classes of calligraphy and tea ceremonies were switched to resting with your feet up or light stretching, everything to keep you happy and healthy during your pregnancy.

The biggest change was Scaramouche himself. A man filled with so much hatred and disgust, was suddenly being kinder. Or trying to at least. You watch him open his mouth to make a comment, only to shut it again in favor of saying something still rude, but less insulting.

The Scaramouche that believed that he could take your body whenever he pleased was long gone, even though that was what got you in this predicament in the first place. He'd taken to leaving you in the middle of the night and going to the bathroom to sate his urges. He'd come back with cold damp hands and lay next to you, a protective hand over your stomach as he kissed your cheek and told you how much he loved you.

The day you saw blood between your legs and felt an aching pain in your stomach was a joyous one indeed. A part of you wanted to scream out in glee, but you didn't want to wake your already on edge husband. The blood that coated your fingers could only mean one thing. One good thing. It was gone. You were free of it. Almost immediately, the dark air that seemed to linger over your body vanished and you let out a sigh of relief.

Scaramouche was informed shortly before breakfast that same morning. You relayed the information to a maid, who then told him, whispering the words in his ear so quietly, it sounded like she was speaking gibberish. His face, his expression, changed to one shock, then horror, then pain. You didn't even know he could make such a face, yet there he was with tears in his eyes.

“Wh-what happened?” There was that tone again. The one you were used to. The anger and distaste for you in his voice. He slammed his fist down on the desk, turning his head away from you as his voice became high and breathy, so desperate for answers, “What did I do wrong?”

You stood in his office awkwardly, even this display from a person you hated, this display of agony was hurting you as well. You thought it would be funny. Seeing the man who pulled you from your home and forced you into marriage in pain was supposed to make you happy, but you felt your own chest clenching, felt your hands tremble.

“I-i suppose…I was stressed, my lord,” you muttered, his already labored breaths hitching at those words. The few months you were carrying that thing inside your body, was when he asked for less from you. He expected you to laze around all day and relax. For your body to fall into a daze like trance of naps and delicious food. He wanted happiness for both you and his child that you carried, yet you were still the most stressed you'd ever been in your entire life, knowing that he had something inside you. Something that would continue to fester and grow, until it eventually ate you alive.

He sat back in his office chair dejected, hurt, and empty. Scaramouche's normally sharp, glaring eyes were wide as he stared at the ceiling, body limp as he bit his lip, “Leave me,” he sighed, his voice barely above a whisper. Had it not been for the quietness of the room, you wouldn't have heard him.

Leave him you did, closing the door as silently as possible and not lingering behind. You felt yourself finally stop tensing, telling yourself that all your woes were over, for now. The thing was gone. You were happy. For once, even if unintentionally, you'd won over your captor.

#mai<3 answers #genshin #genshin x reader #yandere genshin #genshin impact #yandere x reader #yandere genshin impact #yandere genshin x reader #yandere x you #yandere x y/n #yandere scaramouche x reader #yandere scaramouche #scaramouche x reader #tw pregnancy #mdni

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upsidedownwithsteve · 30 days

Text

A soulmate AU: Steve Harrington x fem!reader [3.7K]

THE TIMELINE

"There was something 'bout you that now I can't remember, It's the same damn thing that made my heart surrender. And I miss you on a train, I miss you in the morning, I never know what to think about. I think about you."

- About You By The 1975

V. HAWKINS, INDIANA: 1988

Two years had passed since the last gate had closed and despite the aftermath of the “earthquakes,” Vecna had yet to make any sort of reappearance.

Max’s bones healed, eventually, and she regained most of her sight, relying on thick lensed glasses when she grew tired or the words in her books turned blurry. Nancy went to college, Jonathan tried it for a year, Hopper took El on a month-long camping trip to see something other than the town repairing itself and Lucas went to therapy.

Soon, each kid followed suit, attending sessions that eventually helped them sleep a little better because even though they couldn’t tell the person on the other side of the coffee table about monsters and the world under their feet, there had been enough death and suffering to fill the hour with regardless.

Dustin told Steve he should go too and Robin agreed. After Eddie’s funeral, the one where they all stood with Wayne, a guy from the garage Eddie worked at on weekends and the remaining Hellfire members beside a small gravestone, they had another one.

A second ceremony near the woods behind Eddie’s trailer, close to where he died, to where Dustin had found him bleeding and proud. The kids cried and Joyce held on tight to Will while Jonathan hugged Nancy and Dustin punched a tree trunk. It felt better than the first one, easier somehow, when they didn’t have to lie and hide the guilt they had at knowing each and every one of them felt a little shame in having a hand in someone’s else’s death.

But it was closure.

The town healed, roads were repaired, houses rebuilt, new flowers planted in the park in memory of those who had been lost in the accident - the natural disaster that made headlines, the one that no one could have predicted.

Steve helped Dustin clean Eddie’s grave when the spray paint covered the dead boy’s name. Robin stopped crying when she looked in the mirror each morning. Jonathan left his room.

The kids got better. They smiled more, went to the new arcade on opening day, shared slushies and rode their bikes around town again. Joyce visited Wayne when she could, took him pies and meatloaf and eventually got him out of his armchair and into a coffee shop for a full hour. Hopper got his job back, had a ceremony that preceded the funeral he had years before and Robin managed to get her and Steve a sweet gig at the record store that replaced Family Video.

It felt fresh. New. Clean.

So why was Steve still dreaming about gates?

For the third night in a row, he woke up gasping. A yell stuck in his throat that tasted like metal, like blood, and he was drenched. Shirtless, his sheets stuck to his chest, the weight of them tangled around his legs in a sickly familiar way, vines tugging at his ankles. His room was dark, the house empty, too quiet. Quiet enough that his breath ripped from his lungs in harsh pants, his head pounding from the exertion of running in his dream, back in a place that he hadn’t seen in almost twenty one months.

At first, he dreamt of death.

Of Eddie and how they found him lifeless and in Dustin’s arms. How Max was barely conscious in the attic of the Creel House, her body broken in ways that no doctor could understand. He dreamt of how he had pulled Lucas away from her, the boy sobbing and yelling, fighting with more strength than he knew he had as Steve tried to restrain him just enough for the paramedics to get Max into the ambulance.

Then the dreams turned empty. He dreamt of losing everyone, Robin, Dustin, Hop. El was gone, Will too, Mike nowhere to be found. Nancy’s house was empty, Joyce and Jonathan didn’t exist and Steve sat alone in a town that turned grey, crumbling to dust until the vines came back and the clouds turned red.

He ran miles every night, searching for his friends, his family. Woke up to shaking breaths and sore legs like he’d really sprinted across a town that was no longer home and each morning when the sun rose, he sat with a coffee and his bare legs dipped in the pool in his backyard. He stared at the water until the ripples blurred and wondered how long it would take for Barb to come haunt him too, if she’d reappear in his dreams despite the years that had gone by, if she’d come crawling back out of his pool like she used to, dripping wet and with no eyes.

But Barb never came and he stopped dreaming of the kids, stopped hearing Lucas’ screams, stopped seeing Max in a hospital bed with blood coming from her eyes and eventually, one night, he dreamt of a gate that he’d never seen before.

It didn’t even really look like a gate.

Not the ones Steve knew. It wasn’t framed by dead vines, it didn’t pulsate, it didn’t have a red glow coming from its innards. This one didn’t look like rotting flesh, like a wound in the earth that couldn’t be healed. This one wasn’t at the bottom of a lake, lined with wet moss and cracked rocks, it wasn’t in the Munson trailer nor in the middle of the woods.

This one opened on a blank wall in Steve’s bedroom, replacing the shelves where his old basketball trophies sat, where he usually left his pile of clothes before falling into bed. In the dream, it started as a crack, a crumbling of plaster and blue plaid wallpaper and Steve watched it open, a yawning thing that split the room and bathed it in light. It was too bright at first, like blinking into a summer sun. And once the white-hot of it cleared from Steve’s eyes, he saw blue skies and he could smell the ocean.

There were trees he’d never seen before in real life, something out of a movie, tall and green and narrow as they swayed in a breeze he couldn’t really feel from his spot on his bedroom carpet. The buildings were a pinky-peach colour, like clay, with orange slate tiles and there were foundations and statues carved into the walls, water trickling from the mouths of gods and vases that stone faced women held in their marble arms.

It was like looking at a painting, a canvas between his bed and his old desk, framed with olive branches and large, red fruits that protruded from the gates mouth.

Pomegranates.

Steve could smell them, a sweetness that mixed with the ocean air, a kind of freshness that you couldn’t find between the fields and farms that surrounded Hawkins. In the dream, he wanted to move closer but found that he couldn’t, his eyes wide and his bare feet rooted to the spot as he stared at the scene. It felt like a memory the more he looked, the buildings becoming familiar, a baby blue door that looked like somewhere he’d once owned the keys to and the cobbled streets became a well walked way home.

Then, as if he weren’t supposed to really see it, he spotted something move in an upstairs window. Two houses from the front of the gate, with rusted shutters and white linen curtains, he saw a girl stand between them.

A pretty girl, with eyes he knew he’d seen before, in a white dress that he was sure he remembered the feeling of.

The sight of her made Steve’s heart hammer, the dream making him dizzy, the realisation that he knew that girl making the line between unconsciousness and reality a little blurry. He didn’t know her name, or where he knew her from. He didn’t even know where he was looking or why the gate was there.

But he stared and stared until the girls eyes met his and before he could lift his hand, or even try to speak, there was a crack that seemingly came from the sky - the one above Hawkins or the one inside the gate, he didn’t know - but something flashed, the gate went dark and the rip in his bedroom wall stitched itself back up.

He woke up feeling like he’d remembered and forgotten something all at once. Like a book he’d read back in middle school, a photo he’d once misplaced, a song he hadn’t heard in years but still remebered some of the words too.

He knew her. He knew her.

Steve thought about the girl so much, so often, that it didn’t take him long to think of her, to refer to her, as you. You were someone he’d once known, from a memory or another dream, he wasn't sure. It was the same feeling as watching a movie and seeing a pretty actress on screen, in a different outfit with different hair but knowing her face and wondering what show he’d seen her in before.

Except with this, there was an aching want that buried itself in his chest at the sight of you, an awful feeling that grew larger each night. And every time his wall cracked open again, it seemed like his ribs did too. A crushing feeling, a yawning expanse inside his body that made room for the way his heart seemed to grow and grow at the sight of you.

Yearning, that’s what he thought it was. A slow, burning build of it.

The second night, he dreamt of you in a garden. A sprawling, green lawn with a pond so green-blue it made his eyes hurt. There was an awning beside it, a pergola of sorts made of white stone and it had ivy growing between the pillars, covering the roof and reaching down to trail its flowers in the water below. You were closer than before, than you were in the window, and Steve could see the way your lashes hit your cheeks as you looked down, stitching something that you held in your lap.

There was a wicker basket beside you, a loaf of fresh bread wrapped in a cloth and he could still smell pomegranates, sweet and tart. There was a space beside you on the blanket, enough room for two but no one else came.

You were always alone.

Steve tried to talk to you, to reach out and see if this gate worked like the others, if he could walk through into this other world, this other dimension, but it didn’t work.

Not yet, anyway.

You seemed to notice him more on the fifth night, as he watched you walk along the edge of a lake. Your hair was shorter now and your clothes had changed. They look more modern, more like his, the cabins behind you reminiscent of a summer camp, a holiday lodge or something. He could hear music, a song he swore he heard on the radio not too long ago and that night, you watched him back.

It seemed like you were waiting for someone. And when Steve saw your face light up with a smile, his heart stumbled. You raised your arm, reaching out a hand to the edge of the gate, off to the side as if someone else was in Steve’s walls. He saw another hand reach for yours, larger, definitely male, with a freckle where the thumb joined the palm.

The jealousy he felt was unmatched, a burning thing that scorched his chest and his throat, hot needles at the back of his mouth. Before the man came into view, the crack in his wall trembled and the gate stitched itself closed once more, leaving plaster dust and flakes of paint on his carpet.

Apart from the small mess, no one would have ever guessed another world opened up inside of Steve Harrington’s bedroom each night.

It took him a week and half to notice his hand had a freckle in the same spot. A small beauty mark he’d never really paid attention to before, painted in the space that joined his thumb to his hand. He tried not to read too much into it, tried not to hold onto the hope that maybe it meant something - because none of this made sense, not really.

They were just dreams. Strange things, brain scrambling things. But it was a welcome reprieve from death and darkness and vines that held onto him too tight. He no longer woke up in a cold sweat, he no longer wished for morning to come, no matter how tired he felt when he opened his eyes.

Steve wondered if anyone else was experiencing these kinds of dreams. If the rest of the party were getting glimpses of other worlds, other timelines. He wasn’t sure what they were, too scared to ask, too afraid to make everyone else worry. The thought that these dreams could be a trick crossed his mind more than once, a new tactic from Vecna, an infiltration of his sleep that was meant to lull him into some kind of false sense of security.

Safety - an unknown feeling.

But everyone else spent their days talking about school and their new bosses, the fair that was coming to town to celebrate the town hall finally being rebuilt. No one mentioned Vecna or dreams or gates or girls they knew from somewhere they couldn’t place.

So Steve accepted the fact that whatever these dreams were - whatever they meant - they were just for him. Which meant that you were his too.

Weeks went by with Steve viewing you from the split in his wall, sometimes hearing music, sometimes hearing your muffled voice. Never real words, never loud enough to hear and it didn’t seem like you could hear him either. But Steve watched, enraptured, following you around different parts of the world, new countries and scenes that he could never really place but, oh my god, each one felt like home with you in it.

Then one night, he saw himself.

He felt the surge of panic flood him even in his sleep, his body jolting against his bed as he saw the familiar face, staring back at him, nonplussed. He looked a little different, maybe older. His hair was shorter at the back, cropped closer to the nape of his neck but the biggest difference was how happy he looked.

This Steve, the one in his dream, inside this gate - this Steve from another time, another life - he looked lighter. He didn’t have purple smudges under his eyes, no deep lines settling across his forehead from frowning so much. His clothes were different too, looser, less fitting, the colours more muted. He wore a pair of jeans that looked much more comfortable than his tight Levi’s, a soft burgundy sweater that had the sleeves rolled up.

Steve didn’t recognise where this dream took place, but he knew it wasn’t Hawkins. America, yeah, the street signs and licence plates on the cars in the street giving that detail away, but he wasn’t too sure where. The buildings were bigger, shinier, more glass than brick but the skies were still blue and it looked peaceful, warm.

Safe.

Dream Steve strolled down the sidewalk with his hands in his pockets, looking back over his shoulder every now and then as if to make sure the real Steve was following him. He walked past storefronts and stopped to pet a dog, a golden retriever who was waiting for his owner outside of a bakery. When he came to a bookstore, Steve could see a large building in the distance, a huge billboard atop it that looked like it was advertising a new movie, or a show maybe. It didn’t have much details on it, no actors nor dates to tell what year this was supposed to be.

Certainly not 1988.

It only had lettering across it, big and bold and red against a pristine white background: “ANOTHER LIFE.”

The bell to the bookstore jingled and then Steve saw you. As pretty as you had been in every other gate, every other world, every other lifetime. Like a figurine inside a snow globe, like something from a fairytale. Steve had never seen you this close before.

He watched your smile, the way it widened at the sight of his counterpart, this other version of him. You were so pretty that his breath got caught in his lungs, his sleeping body kicking out in shock when you lunged at the dream version of him, throwing your arms around his shoulders in greeting.

Steve watched the two figures embrace on the street, he watched how this luckier man got to bring his hand to your cheek and hold to there to kiss, how his lips - Steve’s own lips - met your own and parted them, mouths melting together in something that was so much more than a quick hello.

Steve didn’t have it in him to feel jealous then. He wasn’t sure if he was supposed to. He watched the hand that held your jaw, the thumb that caressed your cheekbone as you grinned into him, your own hands clutching his waist now. There was a freckle, the same as the one he had on his own hand, in the matching spot on yours. This Steve took that hand and kissed that very mark, smacking kisses across your palm and up your wrist until you were laughing, head thrown back, eyes bright.

Steve hadn’t seen anything so happy.

He woke up before the dream finished, before the gate closed. Steve woke up with tears stinging at the corners of his eyes, his vision blurry in the navy gloom of his bedroom. It wasn’t yet morning. There was no gate on his bedroom fall, no new city between the plaid striped wallpaper.

He thought it could’ve been Chicago, maybe New York. Perhaps Philadelphia.

He wondered if he left and went looking for that bookstore, that street, that billboard, he’d find you too. If he was supposed to, if you were real, if this life was all he was supposed to get.

Something told him otherwise, that open crack inside his chest that made him ache for hours after he awoke. He never forgot about you during the day, each life he’d watched you live, how you had grown your hair out and then cut it, how you seemed to change your clothing depending on where you were, from old petticoats to jeans and shirts with logos on them he’d never seen before.

Steve felt like he’d lived a thousand lives with you.

He wasn’t sure what he had to do to get you in this one.

After two weeks of dreaming of this life with you, one that he was so sure would happen, he spoke to Joyce. He waited until the kids dragged Hopper out into the yard to help them with some sort of rocket they wanted to make and he found her in the kitchen. It was the closest kind of feeling he had to home - bar from the sight of you, but he wasn’t really sure if that counted when he was asleep.

So he tried to sound casual when he leaned over the Byers kitchen counter, elbows avoiding the jelly stains that Mike had left after making a sandwich, and asked, “hey, uh, do you believe in soulmates?”

Joyce blinked at him, flour and butter between her fingers as she tried to turn the page in her recipe book back to the instructions for apple pie. The book flopped shut when she let go, her hands reaching for a rag instead. Her eyes never left Steve’s.

“Uh, well. I guess so,” she paused, head tilted to the side as she watched the younger man, how his cheeks turned pink and his gaze fell to the floor. “I haven’t thought about it all that much. Why’d you ask?”

Steve didn’t know what to say then. So he floundered, flushed in the face and nose scrunched as he ran his fingers through his hair too harshly, hoping that no one else walked in. What was he supposed to say? That he was dreaming of gates in his bedroom walls? But it was okay? ‘Cause these ones didn’t have monsters or creatures set out to kill him, no, these gates held something that he thought he’d once had, that they held something he was so sure he was supposed ot have again?

Maybe, just not in this life.

Maybe, this time, something was broken. Wires were crossed, cut, unravelled. Maybe the upside down messed up a timeline, maybe it ripped apart whatever plan it had originally laid out for Steve Harrington.

He didn’t know. But he knew it sounded crazy, even in his head.

So he shrugged and said, “no reason.”

And then that night, after Joyce gave him funny looks over the dinner she served him and the rest of his friends, the kitchen table full, he went home and lay on his bed, hardly bothering to pull the sheets over his bare chest.

He counted his breaths, hoped for sleep and wished for you.

Like always, his room grew darker, his lids heavier and the crack in his bedroom wall crumbled and split until the dust settled and he saw your face. You were alone this time, pretty as ever and in the same looking city he’d last seen himself in. The skies were blue behind you, the buildings still tall and shiny looking, all glass window panes and metal framework. If he concentrated enough, he could smell summer.

Hot tarmac and sunscreen, fresh fruit from one of the stores behind you, tart lemons and freshly ground coffee.

You were looking right at him and even in his sleep, Steve smiled. Your eyes were pretty, too pretty, the colour bright and your gaze excited as you gazed at him. Like you’d been waiting. You held out a hand, coaxing, kind, soft, patient. And for the first time, when Steve reached out too, his hand slipped through the gate.

He was right, about the season, about it being summer. The air inside this world was warm on his skin, like the sun was on him despite being sprawled out in the blue gloom of his dark bedroom. It felt like a July morning, right before the heat hit.

He was almost touching your fingers when he woke up alone again.

#steve harrington #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x y/n #steve harrington fic #steve harrington fluff #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington fanfiction #steve harrington oneshot #steve harrington au

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flowerandblood · 3 months

Text

Object of Desire (Epilogue)

[ dark • Aemond x Arryn • widow female ]

[ warnings: sex content, breastfeeding kink, smut, angst, domination, swearing, mention of postpartum depression ]

[ description: After a difficult childbirth and finding out what kind of man her late husband was, Aemond finally finds the strength to truly understand his wife. Their life becomes peaceful and successful until Aegon is seriously injured in battle and he is proclaimed Prince Regent. The female character has a specific eye and hair color. ]

Part 1 − Object of Desire Part 2 − Object of Despair Part 3 − Object of Delight

* English is not my first language. Please, do not repost. Enjoy! *

My other works: Masterlist

_____

For as long as he could remember, the image of himself with Aegon the Conqueror's crown placed on his head had flashed through his mind. He had never thought of depriving his elder brother of the throne, but they both knew that he was better suited to the role.

However, now, as his King lay in his chamber, with burns that caused him so much pain that they made it impossible for him to move, let alone rule the kingdom, when he was proclaimed Prince Regent, the weight of the steel pressing down on his forehead and temples seemed to overwhelm him.

His wife stood beside him, seated on the Iron Throne − she was showing her allegiance to him by wearing on her neck and fingers the sapphire jewels, necklaces and rings he had given her, her gown as usual in the colours of her lineage, blue.

He knew that she did not desire rich, shiny gifts, and his presents were not intended to satisfy her vanity − never able to express his feelings and thoughts aloud, he preferred to show his respect and affection towards her in this way, and she accepted it with calmness and gratitude.

She paid tribute to him as the last person to stand in front of his throne − she bowed and wanted to kneel, but he stopped her with a gesture of his hand, ordering her to stand up.

He did not stop her when she approached him, when her hand grasped his, when she lifted it to her lips and kissed it reverently, closing her eyes.

He swallowed loudly, stroking her smooth skin with his thumb, feeling like just grabbing her around the waist and placing her on his lap, the way he would if they were alone in his chamber.

She moved away from him, looking at him with peace − a certainty, a pride that made him feel a warm contentment, something in her violet eyes that always reassured him.

She was his ally.

Not his grandfather's, his mother's, or his brother's.

His.

The mother of his heir.

His wife.

After the ceremony, a council was gathered, led by him, to determine what to do about the situation in Harrenhal, besieged for some time by Daemon. He did not allow his wife to leave the chamber, pointing with his hand to the seat on his right hand that would normally be occupied by his mother. His sire accepted this with humility, allowing his wife to take the seat next to him, herself sitting down next to Ser Criston.

Silence fell.

"How long do we have to tolerate Daemon flying around the kingdom threatening to take the crown from my brother? He laughs in our faces, occupying a stronghold so close to the Eyrie." He said coolly, his voice deep and defiant, certain. He heard his wife draw in a deep breath upon hearing the name of her ancestral fortress, lowering her gaze to her fingers.

His grandfather grunted loudly, twisting in his seat with a quiet creak of wood, looking at the faces of those gathered with a raised eyebrow.

"In my opinion, Prince Daemon wants to provoke you, Your Grace. It is obvious that his target is King's Landing. In my opinion, Harrenhal is a small price to pay to keep the capital, let him hold this fortress if he so desires."

"Harrenhal is the bridge between the North and the South. Daemon will burn Lord Arryn's army if he chooses to come to our call." He replied impatiently, Criston Cole grunted loudly, eager to make his point.

"There is only one King. Prince Daemon must be reminded of that." He said coldly, looking at him intensely, ready to rally their entire army at one sign of his. He glanced out of the corner of his eye at his wife, who was looking at him with a gaze he knew well.

As always, she was letting him decide if he wanted to hear what she had to say.

He nodded at her, allowing her to speak.

"You are the rider of the greatest dragon in the kingdom, my king. You must remain in King's Landing. The Red Keep, unlike the Eyrie, can be conquered. Prince Daemon is just waiting for this. I'm certain that when he hears that you are heading in his direction with his army he will join his wife and they will march here together. Blockade of my uncle's army will still be a lesser loss." She said calmly, looking at her hands, his grandfather nodded, his face expressing surprise and some kind of admiration.

"Your wife speaks with great wisdom, Your Grace, and I agree with her completely." He said, and he looked away, hitting the side of his cheek with the tip of his tongue, thinking intensely about what she had said.

What if he does indeed move on Harrenhal, and finds only an empty fortress with children, old men and women?

What if Daemon humiliates him, tricks him like a little child hoping he'll swallow his bait, and attacks the Red Keep along with his half-sister knowing he won't make it back in time?

"Forgive me, my Lady, however, idleness is the domain of women, not men." Criston Cole hissed, but fell silent, swallowing hard, his lips pressed together as he met his warning gaze.

"You mistake idleness for wisdom and caution, my Lord. Like many men before you." His wife replied, and he clenched his fingers on the base of his nose and closed his eyes, sighing impatiently.

"Enough." He ordered, a tense silence fell around him, his wife looked away − he could see the vein pulsing fast on her slender, long neck, her cheeks red, betraying her annoyance.

"Mother." He turned to her, glancing at her out of the corner of his eye, as he always did, reckoning with her opinion. He saw her swallow hard, picking at the cuticles around her fingernails in a nervous gesture, her big brown eyes filled with fear, uncertainty and dread.

"I think it's a trap, Aemond. Daemon is clever, he lives to mock others. He's always been this way."

He sighed quietly, feeling that despite his deep desire to lead his army to victory, there was much right in the doubts of his wife, grandfather and mother − when his anger and desire to prove himself began to give way to common sense he recognised that indeed if he left the Red Keep, his half-sister would take the opportunity.

"Let our spies continue to watch him and report his doings to us. We should think about luring him out of there somehow. Is there any news from the Iron Islands?" He asked, Lord Lannister nodded and grunted loudly.

"Yes. They agree to a set sum. They will stand against the Velaryon fleet at our call. However, they demand that their independence from the crown be upheld." He said quickly, nervously, adding the last sentence as if on the fly, clearly afraid of his reaction. He sighed heavily and merely nodded.

Their discussion continued for a few more hours, touching on the army, its supplies and the state of the soldiers' morale, their attitudes, whether an agreement could be reached with Lord Baratheon to remain neutral in exchange for the seat on the Small Council that his grandfather had offered in place of his own, knowing that it was his decision that had caused the betrothal to his daughters to be broken off.

When he had heard all he wished he closed the council by dismissing everyone but his wife.

She looked at him with her characteristic composure, watching as he removed Aegon the Conqueror's crown from his head and placed it with reverence on the top of the stone table in front of him. He gazed at its steel surface thoughtfully, tapping the tip of his finger against it, each time causing it to make a quiet clink.

"All my life I have thought about this moment. But it's not how I imagined it." He said finally, his voice impassive and tired. He heard her sigh quietly with understanding, looking down at his hands.

"I know."

They were silent for a moment, hearing only the sounds coming from outside the windows, the loud conversations of guards and servants shouting in the courtyard.

"They'll think I'm a craven." He hissed through clenched teeth, feeling uncertainty and frustration rising in his chest − he sensed that she looked at him, her hand tightening on his, as if she wanted to give him the courage to do the right thing.

"He knows this is what you fear most. He'll laugh and mock that you're afraid to face him, but we both know he'll do it because he hopes it will break you. Don't let him dictate to you the terms of when and where you will face each other. It's humiliating." She said with a certainty from which he felt a squeeze in his throat and closed his eyes for a moment, his thumb running over her soft skin.

"I'm expecting your child."

He shuddered, looking at her with his lips parted in disbelief, his heart began to pound hard at the thought that just a month after she'd given birth to his son, despite their shared promises, he'd come deep inside her when he'd made love to her, unable to stop himself, her hands clenched tightly on his bare buttocks, her sweet moans begging for his seed.

How could he deny her?

"Forgive me." He whispered in a trembling voice, thinking of the nightmare she'd endured, of how long she'd been unable to recover from it, how close she'd come to leaving this world. He heard her hum under her breath as she smiled softly, shaking her head.

"No. It is a good omen. A sign from the gods that they favour you." She replied, looking at him as if she was the one who wanted to comfort him, his fingers intertwined with hers. "I think this time will be different. I already know what to expect and that I can count on your support, my King."

He nodded, lifting her hand to his lips, placing a loud, lingering kiss on her smooth skin.

"They have taken pity on me, sending me you as my wife. My Queen." He muttered, drawing her close to him, gripping her waist, seating her comfortably on his lap, leaning against the back of his chair with a quiet sigh, gazing at her familiar, pleasant figure with tenderness.

She smiled warmly at his words, taking his face in her hands, stroking it with her thumbs. He closed his eyes, letting his body loosen, feeling sleepy and tired even though his manhood clearly expressed its pleasure at her closeness, swelling in his breeches.

"I will order a meal to be prepared for you and brought to your chamber. You have hardly eaten or slept for days."

"Mmm." He hummed, satisfied, as always, that she was watching him, that she knew what he needed without asking him unnecessary questions.

While this would surely have caused his frustration with another woman, her initiative didn't bother him; on the contrary, it made his daily life a lot easier, giving him the feeling that he didn't have to think of everything himself.

She was the one who decided what attire he should wear for what occasion, what they would eat for their morning meal, knowing what he liked most. To his satisfaction, she also found herself in the role of mother, establishing a close bond with their son, Jace's attachment to her and how joyfully he reacted to the sight of her made her eager to hold him in her embrace, letting him watch her feed him in the evenings.

His greatest weakness, as he found out, proved to be not the lack of his eye or control over his fiery temper, but the taste of her milk melting across his palate as his son slept peacefully at night with his belly filled with her food.

He clamped his mouth over her swollen, puffy nipples, sucking on them greedily as his fat cock thrust impatiently into her slick interior, teasing with its tip the spot inside her that made her moan shamelessly with pleasure.

"− my King −" She sobbed sweetly with her thighs spread wide, letting him pound into her with deep, fast pushes, purring with pleasure into the skin of her breasts, swallowing loudly her wonderful nectar. His sound vibrated through her entire body making her walls clench against him greedily, squeezing him, his thumb teasing and trailing around her pearl, making her fingers dig helplessly into his naked, sweaty back.

"− this is a meal worthy of the ruler of the Seven Kingdoms, don't you think? − my wife's sweet, warm milk −" He murmured, running the tip of his nose over her nipple only to move his face to her other breast, repeating the same process, justifying his behaviour by the fact that he knew the excess milk was causing her pain and discomfort, and he couldn't imagine it going to waste.

"− yes − it's all yours − f-fuck −" She muttered, tilting her head back, her nails digging into the skin of his shoulders with his low groan as he felt her core begin to pulse around his manhood in orgasm, squeezing his seed out of him.

He didn't have the strength to resist and just filled her with himself, sighing in relief, licking her nipple with the tip of his tongue, as oversensitive as the rest of her body − she whimpered, trying to push him away but he wouldn't let her, busy with sucking her milk until she calmed down.

"− Aemond, please − oh gods −" She mumbled softly, completely absorbed in her fulfilment, panting heavily. He remained deep inside her, leaning on his elbow, not wanting to crush her with his body, remembering in the back of his mind about the baby in her womb.

"− what is it? − my wife is overwhelmed? − impossible −" He sneered with a grin of satisfaction − since it appeared that his attention to her breasts aroused not only him, she was soaking wet for him, her fulfilment approaching quickly and violently, making her body completely vulnerable and limp, as if she herself was shocked by how intense the sensation was.

"− I didn't even notice when you filled me again, my King − I'm inclined to think you're drawing satisfaction from my pleasure −" She cooed with a sweet smile, from which he chuckled under his breath, leaning towards her − her hand pulled him closer as their lips joined in a hot, sticky, soft kiss, her swollen breasts pressed against his chest.

He ran the tip of his nose over hers, looking into her eyes, a violet he adored − the shade of her irises slightly darker than his, warmer, shimmering wonderfully in the moonlight illuminating their bed.

He wanted to confess to her the many things that did not slip through his throat, the affection that filled his heart with heat, yet he remained silent, looking at her with a gaze she knew well. She always reacted the same way, her soft hand stroking his jaw as only two words came out of her mouth, spoken in a whisper.

"I know."

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yandere-daydreams · 4 months

Text

Title: Obedience Training.

Pairing: Yandere!Illumi x Reader (HxH).

Commissioned by the very lovely @h2o2-and-baking-soda.

Word Count: 1.6k.

TW: Kidnapping, Prolonged Imprisonment, Physical/Psychological Abuse, Pet Play, Dehumanization, and Controlling Behavior.

The ring was beyond repair.

It was the ugly kind of damage, too – the gold chipped and dented, some parts entirely flattened while others had scratched and tarnished to the point of virtual unrecognizability. The jewel itself (a diamond the color of the sky just before sunrise and the size of the nail on your pointer finger) had been pried out of its casing and polished with the blunt side of the hammer you’d pilfered from collection of one of the more forgetful servants. Any fragments that might’ve been worth salvaging were then washed down the sink of your en suite, and the near-microscopic remnants glistened against the table’s dark mahogany – twinkling whenever they caught the ample sunlight.

It'd been his mother’s ring; albeit, one of countless. Breaking it in such an obviously deliberate way had been a stupid thing to do, and a part of you must’ve known that while you were doing it. A part of you must’ve basked in the idiotic rage of it all, must’ve been dying to see what Illumi would be like when he couldn’t hide behind those big, blank eyes and that unreadable expression. As hazy as it seemed, you could remember being excited to see how Illumi would react, what he thought he could do to you that he hadn’t already put you through.

Now, though, standing next to him as he evaluated the damage, watching as those dark, glossy eyes skirted from the splintered wood to the decimated ring to the sparkling residue…

You weren’t excited, anymore.

Several seconds passed in silent paralysis. Images of braided rope and rusted chains and broken legs flashed through your subconscious, but he managed to draw you out of your spiraling thoughts with a low hum, a startling click of his tongue. Finally, he turned toward you and raised a hand, and you braced yourself for the feeling his fist around your neck, two fingers piercing the fragile bone of your skull, his pointed nails clawing out your eyes and leaving you to ble—

His palm came to rest on top of your head, petting over your hair gently. “Sweetheart,” he muttered with a tone as warm and as affectionate as a corpse in a snowstorm. “Would you come with me?”

You opened your mouth, but closed it again just as quickly. You nodded, the gesture stilted and jerky, and Illumi offered an approving smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes, letting his hand fall to your wrist. He pressed a lingering kiss into the top of your head before tugging you gently towards the door.

Neither of you spoke as he guided you through the halls of his mansion. Usually, you could count on running into one of the sociopaths that made up his family or a member of their bloodthirsty staff whenever you left your room, but today, his sprawling home seemed to be vacant, lifeless, as empty as the killers who dwelled inside of it. Steadily, you moved downward, the marble walls turning to rough stone, the filtered sunlight soon traded out for the artificial glow of dim gas lamps. He didn’t drag his feet or try to prolong your walk to the gallows, but he didn’t rush, either, didn’t seem to be in any rush to carry out your inevitably punishment. Eventually, he came to a stop in front of a simple wooden door – unremarkable in every aspect save for the deep well of dread it managed to dredge up inside of you.

With little ceremony, the door was pushed open and you were ushered inside of ahead of him. Your attention quickly fell onto the object most immediately in front of you: a dog crate.

It was almost shockingly mundane; not overly massive, but big enough for a large pitbull or golden retriever, the bars thin but close together and the bottom cushioned by a small bed with pink and white paw prints splattered across it. A handful of miscellaneous items had been laid on top of it. Your attention caught on the collar, first, the cutesy type with a bell and fake (or, knowing Illumi, very real) gemstones studded into the leather and a matching leash, and then headband with what couldn’t be—

Illumi moved past you, approaching the crate and taking up the undeniably, indisputably dog-eared headband. He turned it over in his hands once, then twice, before speaking. “Strip.”

It sounded like gibberish; partially muffled by the static buzzing over your conscious mind and made even more difficult to process by your own unwillingness to do so. “What?”

“Strip,” he repeated. “Or I’ll break every bone in your right hand.”

It was the specificity of the threat (paired with the implication that your left wouldn’t be long to follow) that had your shaking hands reaching for the hem of your shirt and hauling it over your head. You looked towards him for approval after every shed article, but he only seemed to notice your obedience at all when you stood bare and vulnerable in front of him, completely unprotected from both his prying gaze and the chill of the damp dungeon air. You started to move towards him, but he stopped you with a quick shake of his head, a new softness to his expression. “Kneel.”

With a shallow breath, you complied, lowering yourself onto your knees. Now, now, he took his time, his terrible eyes raking over your trembling form as he came to stand in front of you. The collar was fastened around your neck deftly, the leash allowed to hang loose and pool in your lap. He was more careful with the headband – meticulously lining it up with your ears, your face before sliding it into place with a satisfied hum. In a very distant, very muted way, you found that you were surprised less that your hitman-turned-kidnapper would have a pet play lair hidden away in some dark corner of his basement, and more that the aforementioned kidnapper would use that pet play lair to dress you up as a dog, rather than a cat. Illumi was as cat-like as a man could be – silent and skulking, prone to digging his claws into what he loved most – but the more you thought about it, the more sense it made. Cats were smart and sly and perfectly capable of surviving on their own, whereas dogs were stupid and clumsy and almost painfully reliant on their owners. People get cats because they want something that can choose to love them back. People get dogs because they want something that doesn’t have another choice.

“I--Illumi,” you managed, his name still awkward and bitter on your tongue. “I… I’m really sorry, and I’ve learned my lesson, and—”

One second, you were staring at his feet, and the next, your head was snapped to the side, a searing pain stitched deeply into your cheek. His open palm slipped downward, cupping your chin and tilting your head back, forcing you to face him properly. “Good pets don’t talk.” His tone was shockingly sweet, coercive, as if he was trying to explain something very simple to a very stupid child. “Good pets only follow commands. Can you do that for me, puppy?”

Tears were starting to gather in the corners of your eyes, a tight knot lodging itself at the base of your throat, but you did your best to keep both at bay. You started to nod, then thought better of it, straightening your back and squaring your shoulders, trying to communicate the only thing you could seem to think – please don’t hurt me please don’t hurt me please don’t hurt me – without giving him a reason to land another blow. In the end, he rewarded you with the ghost of a smile, his free hand held in front of your mouth. “Good puppy. Now lick.”

You hesitated, but the steady ache pounding in your cheek was enough to make you swallow your pride. Your tongue darted out from between trembling lips, and with no small amount of trepidation, you lapped over the back of his closed fist. He let you begin to pull away before moving – before forcing two fingers into your open mouth and pressing the pads of his digits into the back of your throat. You gagged, your body instinctually recoiling, but he didn’t relent, his thumb digging into your jaw as he held you in place. Your hands shot to his thighs, the tears you’d forced back resurfacing and flooding down your cheeks, but he didn’t budge, didn’t pull away until you were gasping and breathless and utterly humiliated. Finally, he drew back, wiping his spit-soaked digits on your shoulder as his eyes moved from your open mouth to your hands, still balled around the fabric of his pants. “I have something upstairs for those,” he said, voice dripping with all the warmth and affection he usually denied you. “I’ll forgive you this time, puppy, but good pets shouldn’t be able to grab.”

He reached down, taking you by the leash. You were too detached to resist as he half-led, half-dragged you towards the crate. This time, you couldn’t stop yourself from shaking your head, from stammering out little ‘no, no, no’s as his fist curled around your collar and forced you past the metal gate and into the confined space, suddenly so much smaller than it’d seemed from the outside. You had just enough time to scramble for the door before Illumi slammed it shut, letting the clasp fall into place and leaving you withering inside the makeshift cage. You couldn’t stop yourself – hands curling around the bars as you looked toward him with your most pleading expression, but Illumi only shook his head. “You don’t have to sulk. Maybe, with some time, we’ll be able to move your bed somewhere warmer.”

He paused, his grin widening into the first real smile you’d ever earned from him.

“After you’ve proved you can be a good dog, of course.”

#yandere #yandere x reader #yandere x you #yandere imagines #yandere hunter x hunter #hunter x hunter #hunter x hunter imagines #hunter x hunter x reader #yandere hxh #hxh x reader #hxh imagines #yandere illumi zoldyck #illumi x reader #yanderecore #yancore

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ilovelovewithallmyheart · 1 month

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Your clan of jujutsu sorcerors weren’t in the top three, but they weren’t far behind. They were in the top four.

In prestigious jujutsu clans, the matter of carrying the bloodline was of great importance. Your older sister, powerful, beautiful and amazingly kind was constantly getting marriage proposals left and right.

It was the night of a great banquet celebrating your older sisters 30th birthday. She was already running 40 minutes late…

Suddenly the lights dimmed and the projector started lowering itself out of nowhere. A video flashed into life-

“Hey guys. You must be wondering where I am right now. As you are watching this, I will be on a one way trip to America.”

Your older sister sat in front of the camera, confessional youtube video style.

Loud gasps resounded across the hall. You felt your stomach churn, the dinner you had earlier threatening to make a reappearance.

“Don’t bother looking for me.”

She crossed her arms. “I decided to leave for the better. After all, It was hard on me and my wife to live so far apart from eachother.”

An outrage spread all around you. “What is the meaning of this?” Your father roared.

You had no idea when your sister got married. But go her.

“To my younger sister…goodbye and good luck.”

The video dimmed, leaving the dinner hall in darkness and utter chaos.

Good luck? What could she mean by that-

It suddenly dawned on you.

Without your older sister, you were now the first candidate for marriage.

“You are seriously strange if you think for one moment that I’ll agree to marry Zenin Naoya. He literally handed me a terms and conditions folder of everything I can and can’t do if we get married!” Arguing with your father felt like arguing with a brick wall.

“He is in line to be the next head of-“ A knock on the door stopped your father from another one of his rants. You sighed in relief. “Don’t allow in any late comers. Meeting time ended two minutes ago.” Your father ordered.

For the past six, that’s right, six hours of the day, you and your father met with suitors who were asking you for your hand in marriage.

The guard at the door looked increasingly nauseous. “Sir-“

The door suddenly blasted open, splinters of wood flying everywhere. Your father ducked and you felt existensial dread. You knew who was behind that door.

“My dear, sorry I’m late.” Casually stepping around the carnage as if it was nothing, Gojo Satoru sauntered in with all his 6’3 might.

You felt a migraine coming in.

Ever since the first year of highschool, Gojo Satoru had been hopelessly besotted with you. He’s asked for your hand in marriage four different times. With four. Different. Rings.

“What is this Gojo.” You stared blankly at the ROCK sitting on a thick band of gold. You and Gojo just finished up a mission together, and, covered in a curse’s guts, he dropped to one knee and brought out a ring. “You declined the last three times so I figured you wanted a bigger diamond.”

That same man was now standing around your ruined meeting room with a sheepish smile on his face. “I-I actually didn’t get you a ring this time.” He had the audacity to look shy. “I hope you forgive me…”

“You don’t need to get me a diamond abomination to propose. I’ll reject you, ring or no ring.” You replied with a lethal smile. “Why are you here Satoru.” You wanted this man out.

“Why else would I be here? I’m asking if I can be your husband.” His face wasn’t playful anymore. He was dead serious.

You were about to reject him for the fifth time, but then your eyes landed on Naoya’s thick terms and conditions booklet, then you remembered the multitude of old, decaying men that were basically salivating while looking at you, and sighed.

“Fine.”

“YES. There’ll be donkeys and-“

“We’re having a small wedding ceremony.”

He frowned. Obviously, he had planned out the entire wedding ceremony out meticulously, donkeys and all.

“We can work on it.”

#gojo x reader #gojo x you #jujutsu gojo #jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu sorcerer #gojo satoru #satoru gojo #jjk oneshot #jjk x reader #jjk #jjk gojo #gojo oneshot

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rayassecretlife · 1 year

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How many times do I have to say it?

This is part 2 to “I hate you”. Read part 1 first!

Pairing: Aged up!Neteyam Sully x Fem!Metkayina!Reader (SMUT!MINORS DNI)

Summary: After giving yourself to him, you and his affiliation with each other didn’t change. You were still competing for that title, but don’t think for a second that Neteyam didn’t mean what he said when you were in the forest. You were his, and he was going to make sure every guy you were with knew that.

Warning(s): Mature Language, SMUT, ch0king, slight degradation, accidental mating, face riding, unprotected p in v, dom!neteyam, squ!rting, teasing, etc. (pure filth. Read at your own risk)

“Y/N! There you are, girl. I was looking all over for you” The boy calls and you look up, a small smile flustering your face as he approached. It was Kaonu, the boy you had taught to become a hunter. A very nice boy, but damn well very cocky.

“Yeah, sorry I’ve been kind of busy” You watch as he sits next to you, the small wave washing up against your feet. “You got your band!” You smile, noticing the hunters band wrapped around his arm.

“Yeah, it’s been a challenge” You listen to the boys stories, chiming in here and here until you found yourself looking around, a set of eyes set on you from afar.

Oh course it was him. The oldest sully boy himself. He was staring you down for quite some time now, seeing as it was time for your next lesson but yet you still sat there sitting with this skxawng, letting it get dark right under your nose.

It had been a month since that night in the woods, since the night you gave yourself up to the boy you hated. Nothing changed after that. You slept together until morning came and left like nothing happened. Neteyam was still the same asshole you grew to know, and you were the same attitude filled chiefs daughter that drove him crazy. Maybe it was for the best though, right? You two were polar opposites.

But were you really?

“So… your ceremony will be soon?” You nod to the boy, shrugging off the fact the sully boy was watching you closely. It made you mad. This wasn’t the first time Neteyam had been watching you, critiquing everything you did afterwards. He was always there and even if you tried, you couldn’t escape him. “Y/N?”

He turned your head towards him with his fingers, holding your chin in his grasp while your eyes readjusted to him and not the boy watching you. “You okay? You look distracted” how could you not be? The boy you hated the most was glaring at you like he was going to murder you, watching your every move.

You look around at the area, seeing as nobody was around except for afar. The bad idea creeped in your head almost instantly, and you pulled your eyes from Kaonu to look back to Neteyam, a small smirk appearing on your lips before you leaned down to kiss the boy.

Might as well give him something to watch, right?

He almost instantly pulled you closer, hands gripping at your waist hungrily just at the kiss. You made sure to leave your mark against him, praying Neteyam had been watching you the entire time. But Neteyam wasn’t watching anymore, well on his way over to you with that painfully clenched jaw and his hands pulsing into fists. Now you had pissed him off. “When were you gonna tell me you were such a good kisser?” You push the boys face from you and lick your lips, that lingering feeling against them coming to your sense.

“So are you-“

“Kaonu! My man, what are you doing out here?” You bite your lip once Kaonu looks away from you, the voice making your stomach jump in amusement. That voice you grew to recognize, that voice that whispered in your ear while giving you the best night of your life. “Tonowari sent me to get you. Said he needed your help with something down by the rocks?” You scoff under your breath at his lie, eyes rolling as you stood up along with Kanou.

“I’ll see you later, Yeah?” You hum, placing a kiss to his cheek before he could leave. Neteyam watched you closely as you turned on your heels, a small smirk appearing on your lips as you passed him. You felt accomplished, like you had just won that title.

But that was very short lived.

“Think your so smart, don’t you?” You ignore the voice, continuing to walk past the pods. Just as you were about to enter yours, his hands pulled you roughly with him, not even giving you a second to know what was happening before you found yourself inside one of the caves that the healers used, Neteyam practically pushing you inside.

“Neteyam, just wait-“ You couldn’t even finish your sentence before his lips came crashing against your own, hands pulling your hips toward him so you’d be closer. You tried so hard to talk but he wasn’t letting up. You followed him down onto the mat, thighs straddling his lap as he continued to dig his tongue down your throat. You could barely breath just off the kiss, practically breathing his own air.

You gasped at the tingling feeling between your legs, hand dropping down to grab his wrist. His thumb ghosted over your clit one more time before he pulled away, pulling you by your neck back into a kiss. “Why were you touching him like that?” You were genuinely confused. Why was he so angry? Sure, you teased him about it, but you didn’t think he’d actually care this much— “are you just gonna sit there with that stupid look on your face or are you gonna answer me”

“Touching me like what—haa!” You let out a small mixture of a moan and a gasp, your clit now caught between his pointer finger and thumb. “Neteyam… let up!”

“Sweet girl, don’t play those games with me. You won’t get very far” His hand is gentle around your throat but his fingers are still threatening to squeeze your bud, eyes staring into your own for your answer. “If I have to ask again-“

“I-I was just having fun…” You try to speak, distracted by Neteyam’s head dropping to your neck. “I’ve had a really bad day and he was there. I didn’t know anyone was watching” You continue to reason but almost instantly close your eyes once you feel his warm tongue against your skin, breathing already becoming shaky. “Why do you even care? Your my competition, not my boyfriend” Your comment made something in him flicker, and he could’ve sworn he was ready to turn you over a give everything to you right then and there. Not your boyfriend? Please. That’s pathetic.

But he brushed it off for now, mind only set on one thing at a time. He wanted to give you an ease into things before he showed you what he had pulled you into this cave for. “What was bad about your day?” He hums, leaning down onto his back. The sand adjusting to his large body.

“My parents were arguing about me…then at me and I haven’t been fishing or teaching the children. I’m tonowari’s daughter. I should be able to do this” His hands were clasping your hips, guiding you to rock against him. He was genuinely listening, but he had an idea. “Neteyam-“

“Shh, Just let me help you” He ignores your words, pushing your hips against his and you were now able to feel the growing bulge inside his loincloth, his hand reaching up to pull you down into a kiss. “Stressful day, huh?” You nod against him and only a smirk creeps on his face, tapping your thigh gently.

You looked at the boy confused as he lifted your hips, pushing you up his chest. “Neteyam, what are you doing?” Your cunt is very close to his face, almost close enough to where you’d be able to feel his breath against your skin. He strokes your thigh, reaching to your hips to untie the loincloth covering his view. “I—“

“I want you to ride my face” You look at the boy dumbfounded, ears ringing as if they were trying to comprehend what he had just said. He wanted you to do what? You wanted to argue against it, but the pool between your legs that leaked onto his chest was more then enough for him to know what you really wanted. “Come on. Don’t tell me your afraid?”

Before you could even respond, his hands moved you on their own, a gasp leaving your lips as soon as you felt his face meet your dripping wet heat, hands sitting against the floor for balance. “Nete—haa!” Your breath was took from you in only a matter of seconds, his tongue already flicking against your bud. “You could have given me a minute!”

You try to argue but the boy under you is wasting no time in eating you from the inside out. Tongue fucking you and taking your swollen clit between his lips while he held your hips down, stopping you from running away.

After your first time with him, nothing changed between you two. He was still your enemy and still an asshole—you haven’t even talked to him besides duty reasons. You wondered what the reason was for this, why he got so mad when you kissed Kanou.

But the undeniable pleasure building in your stomach had fogged your mind, making it so much harder to think about. “God…” You couldn’t help but moan, one hand clasping over your mouth as he guided your hips against him, doing exactly what he had wanted before. Sure, Neteyam was an asshole, but he damn sure was amazing in bed. “W-wait—“

You cry out as he pinches your thigh, warning you of your actions you had performed moments before—trying to get off of him in attempt to run from the amount of pleasure he was giving you. He hummed against your core, making it more wet then it had been before. This was the nicest you’d ever seen him.

But what you didn’t know, is that this was only the beginning of your very long and very pleasurable night, Neteyam’s plan only building in his head as he continued to warm your body up to his once again. He may have been doing this now, being all sweet and all, but after this? You’d finally understand why he had been so angry, and he planned to make sure you’d never pull something like this again.

“Fuck… Gonna—Nete, I-“ your legs were shaking against him but he made sure to keep his hold tight on you, knowing how close you had been just off your whimpers above him. “Neteyam…!” It was clear you weren’t getting away, only accepting your release against him because that’s all you could do.

Great mother you tasted so good, Neteyam could stay there for hours on end just savoring ever last bit of your body. He finally lets you sit up after your harsh release, your sweet slick now covering his chin. While you were off to the side trying to catch your breath, the boy that was once under you pulled you toward him with a tug at your ankle, capturing your lips into a deep kiss with his hand wrapped around your throat.

“What are you up to, Forest boy?” You question as he stands to his feet, pulling you up to your own. In under a second he already had you bent over the table next to you, his hand still wrapped around your throat with ease to silence your gasp. “Neteyam-“

“You know what, Y/N?” He mumbles behind you and you can feel his length press against your bottom, eyes shutting once you heard his voice in your ear. “I don’t think you heard me last time we did this” His breath continues to linger against your bare skin as he unties your chest covering, letting it fall to the ground revealing your fully naked body. “Tell me, why did you think it was okay to go to Kanou”

You could tell it wasn’t a question, more of a demand in which you told him truthfully, only that he had been there. “He was there and I-“

“So was I” Your braid wrapped around his hand and he tugged, pulling your head back till it was almost met with his own. “But you still went and kissed him. Right in front of me” Now his cock was pressed against your entrance, threatening to break through with the easiest thrust. Your body was going insane against him, trying your hardest not to beg.

“I didn’t know you were the-“ your words were cut off with the loud slap against your ass, skin stinging from the impact as you let out a small whimper. He pressed himself against you, pushing your back to his stomach.

“Don’t play dumb with me, Angel. You knew, you just didn’t care, right?” Now it was all starting to become clear to you. The kissing, the spying, the harsh words… it was all apart of this act he was putting on.

Jealousy.

You smirked silently, tilting your head back to look at him. “Did you ever think maybe he was better then you? That maybe your not the only mighty warrior-“

“Watch your mouth, girl” jesus, you were soaked watching him like this. You loved to get him mad. You reach back and twirl his braid between your fingers, bottom lip caught between your teeth.

“Your hot when your angry” You reach down between the two of you, fingertips ghosting over his length. “So jealous of him, aren’t you? It’s pathetic-“

He didn’t even let you finish before his hand was wrapped around your mouth with one clamp, slipping into you with force which made your eyes roll back in pleasure and a slight pain. “Pathetic? You must love pissing me off, huh?” You hum as his hands grip your hips, pulling you back onto him all the way.

So big… how the hell does he keep this all in? You couldn’t help but think, head falling over on the wood tables surface as he stroked you slower. “At least we know your good at something, Forest boy” That was it. That was when he lost his control over himself, now fully rutting into you like there was no end.

“So fucking dirty, aren’t you? Imagine what your father would say if he found out your enemy was fucking you dumb” You moan against your hand, table rocking with the movement the boy sent against you. “But you’d love that, wouldn’t you? You want people to know what a dirty girl you are”

“Teyam…” you didn’t want to give in, but this new depth he was reaching was unbearable, and you couldn’t help but moan at the full feeling. “Y-you-“

“Stuttering already? Aw, pretty girl. You call me pathetic?” Your eyebrows furrow when he buries himself deep inside your seeping wet cunt, reaching down to lift your leg up onto the counter. “So wet for me, so fucking tight and inviting on my cock—just sucking me in”

“N-Neteyam… please” You feel your pride start to slip but once again you can’t stop it, now begging the boy for him to change his position. You needed to hold onto him, to scratch up his back to show everyone you had him just months ago. You needed to mark him. “Mmph…! Your nails dug into the semi-torn wood, Neteyam’s body pressing against your own.

You start to feel pleasure burning through your body, moving you closer and closer to your end. “This pussy is mine, you hear me?” You don’t respond, only throwing your head back with your eyes already well rolled back, hand now reaching back to grip onto his skin. “I said, do you hear me” he pulled your queue, stinging the hair that connected it with your skull. You were barely even there, so cock-drunk you couldn’t even spare him one word.

“Y-yes…. God, Nete—I hear you!” You repeat for the second time this month, hearing him hum behind you with one hand still around your sensitive braid. He wondered, if you heard him, why weren’t you listening? Why did you have to make everything so hard by going to that skxawng?

Your whimpers and moans gave him so much confidence in himself, only continuing to whisper the dirtiest things into your ear, making sure you knew just how much you belonged here—with him. “Every inch of your body is mine, got it? Every inch of this beautiful skin is mine and only mine” You cry as you feel your release not too far from you, his lips trailing kisses down your back sweetly as if he wasn’t completely fucking you dumb at the same time.

“Come for me. Scream my name nice and loud so everyone knows who you belong to!” His raspy deep voice against your ear went straight down to your cunt, squeezing him harder then you had been before. Your leg was shaking against the counter but he held you steady, keeping you from falling or giving up against him. “That’s good, take it—fuck… just like that”

“Neteyam, I’m-“ he already knew. Trust in Eywa, he already knew just off the way you squeezed him. Your whole body was shuddering under his and along with his kisses to your skin, he slipped his fingers to intertwine with yours against the rocking table, skin to skin against each other. “Right there… oh my god, right there…” you let out a shaky breath but that wasn’t enough for him. He needed you to scream it.

“Come on, you can do better then that” you knew what he wanted but you couldn’t do that. You’d definitely be heard by the others, maybe even your parents if you had that bad of luck. He pulled you back up against him, his hand that was once wrapped around your next now between your legs.

“Your… fuck, Tey” You whimper and his ears peek at the nickname, your hand reached back behind your head to hold the back of his as he leaned down to kiss you. His strokes between your kisses were slow and passionate, making sure he hit every corner inside you. The kiss left your mouth tingling with need, your fingers gripping his hair for support. “Neteyam…!” You let out a small gasp but didn’t release, the pressure pushing against your stomach like no other.

“Louder” He instructs, circling your bud faster. “Louder so that fucking skxawng can hear you say my name” with only a few more thrusts, you found yourself crying his name, knees falling weak under you as your release gushed all over him and the floor. Neteyam couldn’t help but look at you in awe, it was so cute how you repeated his name under your breath hoping he wouldn’t hear—but he was Na’vi after all. “There it is, Pretty girl” Your hand grips his against your cunt, stopping his overstimulating movements.

He placed a few more kisses to your neck before turning you toward him, scooping you up into his arms to lay you on the table. You almost instantly pulled him into a desperate kiss, tiny hands clasping at his chest for balance.

You let out a small moan as he slipped back into your still very wet heat, not lifting his lips from yours for even a second before he started to find his pace. Your sweet sounds were music to your ears, your nails digging into his arms hard enough you were sure they drew blood.

“Deeper, Neteyam” You beg against his lips and he almost instantly grants your wish, pulling both of your legs up up to sit on his shoulders. At this point you didn’t care. You needed to scream—you wanted to scream. “Fuck, fuck, fuck!” You voice pinched and his head dropped down to your neck, the sound of your skin colliding and your gushing cunt filling both of your ears fairly quickly. He was so lost in you—as you were him, and in that moment you both were filled with pure bliss.

He takes the lobe of your ear between his teeth, a slight grunt leaving his mouth from the piercing pain of your nails down his back. “Any man who lays their hands on you, will die by mine” You let out a long, loud moan at his words, fingers tugging at his braids with purpose. “Never gonna need a mate when I have you. Huh, pretty girl? Gonna please me whenever I need you?” You whimper a yes, your head falling back against the wood with a gasp. You couldn’t breathe anymore, the heat radiating between you two being far too much.

“Neteyam…” He had to of been in your stomach. You were on cloud nine every stroke he took, tip kissing your sweet spot every time. “Nete—ahh!” Your pupils shot bigger and so did his, cock still plundering inside you harder now. You felt the pleasure rise through your body hot and fast, leaving small kisses against his shoulder trying to hide your whimpers. The pleasure you both felt was almost unbearable, barely keeping yourselves together. “Feels so good—gonna come…” Again? Ha. You really were a slut for him, weren’t you?

“Come for me, beautiful girl. I’m right behind you” Beautiful girl? Oh great mother how attractive that sounded coming from him. You couldn’t handle it, it felt so fucking good. He rubs circles to your clit once again and you practically lost your mind, calling his name repeatedly like it would change his speed. He was so deep, hitting you in every spot you needed. “So close—shit, Y/N. Come on, girl” He coaches, snapping his hips into your own.

“R-right there… Great mother I—“ He crashes his lips into yours with a soft moan, you can feel his cock pulsing inside you just waiting to release. You were so close, just needed one more push. “Neteyam…! I’m…” Sudden gasps left your lips and all he did was kiss you passionately, waiting for you to falter against his body.

“That’s it, good girl. Such a good fucking girl, Angel” You curse under your breath, moans filling his ears as you clenched down onto him, your release painting his cock just before his last thrust. And just like he promised, his hot release followed right after yours, painting your walls top to bottom with its remains.

The two of you laid there for what felt like forever, just trying to catch your own breath. But it felt so weird, much different from last time. You could feel his heart beating, and so much more. You felt all of him.

“Neteyam” you breathe but he only hums against your ear, not bothering to sit up to face you. “Get up… like—like right now, please” Your voice was almost frantic once the small idea of realization came to mind, tapping him urgently to release your body. “Nete-“

“Mawey, I’m going” he soothes you, sitting up with a confused look on his face. He couldn’t help but notice your own, wanting to make the biggest joke about how fucked out you looked but chose to keep quiet, seeing as you were clearly on edge. “What’s wrong?”

Your eyes strained at the sight next to you, breath becoming shaky once again but this time in a scared way, only worrying the boy above you even more. You felt your heart shatter in only a second and your whole world had came crashing down. This couldn’t be true.

“What is I-“ He caught what your eye had been on, his own knees almost falling weak. This had to of been a joke, right? This wasn’t real… maybe a dream. “Y/N… I… I didn’t-“

His voice was blurred in the background of your mind, eyes not able to lift from your connected queues. Your life was over. Your father was going to kill you before you even woke up the next morning, and now you had messed up everyone’s plans. Your queues must’ve connected on their own but how was that possible? The idea haunted your mind as a few tears filled your eyes, finally looking at Neteyam.

“Hey, hey…” His hand moves to your face quickly, cupping your cheeks in attempt to sooth you. He didn’t know what to do either, only being able to try and convince you it would be fine.

But it wouldn’t be.

Because not only did you sleep with him,

You were mated.

Ummm I kind of hate this but here’s something before I go to practice… enjoy 🫶🏼

Tagging people who asked for a part 2 + tag list!!: @neteyumyums @taleiak @moony-artemis @neteyams-wifee @muthmergya @ultimatebluff @oldfruitloop @liluvtojineteyam @venusssthings @teyamdefender17 @sweetkryptonitemoon @reggiesslut @jyoungmom @neytirishottie @jakescumdump @ex0

#avatar fanfiction #avatar the way of water #avatar #avatar 2 #avatar x you #avatar james cameron #neteyam #neteyam sully #neteyam sully x y/n #neteyam x reader #neteyam gif #neteyam angst #neteyam smut #atwow neteyam #neteyam x reader smut

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teapartyprincess4two · 2 months

Text

I. Inheritance

classification: sad, angst

warnings: death of parent

PREV, NEXT

—

The ceremonial jewels of the king’s crown glisten under the soft candlelight of Nick’s room. A heavy robe rests on his shoulders, adding to the growing pressure he already feels.

Nick’s nervous, anyone in his position would be.

A soft knock echoes through the room, the sound being followed by clacking heels against the marble floor. “Sir Nicolas, are you ready?” Johannes asks.

Nick gulps, of course he isn’t ready, he’s about to sign his life away to rule a kingdom he isn’t sure he’s ready to inherit. Johannes is met with silence.

“Everyone is waiting for you, Sir.”

‘Everyone,’ the word sends shivers down Nick’s spine.

Nick finally musters up enough courage to respond, “Give me a moment alone. I’ll be right down.”

Despite the annoyance that bubbles up inside of him, Johannes hums in response, elegantly leaving the room. As soon as the door clicks closed, Nick stares at his reflection. The longer he examines himself, the more he realizes how unfit, how unready, he is to become king.

“I can’t do this,” he says, choking on the words as he gasps for air. Nick’s fingers hook around the robe that’s buttoned around his neck, removing it in one swift motion before throwing it on the floor. He’s not sure what he’s doing, but he knows that he can’t sit in this room any longer.

Johannes hears shuffling come from inside the room, becoming more suspicious and impatient with every passing second. “Sir Nicolas! We truly cannot wait any longer!” Johannes’ voice booms, a closed fist slamming against the aged wood of Nick’s bedroom door.

No response, in fact, the shuffling has stopped altogether.

Normally Johannes would never be this bold, but an entire church of citizens, ministers, priests, and even other royalty are waiting for Nick. So, he knocks one last time before opening the large wooden door abruptly. He’s fully expecting to find Nick in the same position from before, sitting in front of his large vanity with a pained expression on his face. But instead, he’s met with an empty room and the sound of sheer curtains flapping with the cold breeze that enters through the open window.

The room is desolate, but Johannes gives Nick the benefit of the doubt. Surely he’d never be negligent enough to abandon his royal responsibility, right?

“Sir Nicolas?” He throws the billowy comforter off the bed. It’s barren, only revealing a sunken mattress and wrinkly sheets. ‘That’s fine,’ he thinks, maybe Nick is elsewhere in the room.

“Nicolas?” Johannes crouches near the bed, pressing his face to the cold floor to inspect underneath. A dark void stares back at him. Now he’s beginning to get anxious, his quickening heartbeat a clear sign of the stress Nick was putting him through.

Still, he gives Nick the benefit of the doubt, muttering, “Surely he’s in here somewhere.”Johannes scavenges the large wardrobe, expecting to find Nick isolated in a corner, but instead finds elegant suits and shoes so shiny they reflect even in the darkness.

“Nicolas, this is no longer humorous,” Johannes’ voice is stern, almost like he’s scolding a small child. He continues searching the room relentlessly, eventually entering the adjourned restroom. A large, white tub sits in the middle and Johannes takes a quick moment to say a prayer. He prays that when he peers into the tub Nick will be laying in there, in need of nothing but a pep talk to up his spirits.

But as he creeps inside, all he sees is a dripping faucet and a bar of soap. “Sir Nicolas! The coronation is set to begin soon!” Johannes shouts, busting through the restroom door back into the main bedroom.

He does one last sweep of the room in hopes of somehow, someway, discovering an unexplored area. But as he nears the window, he finally sees it, a long make-shift rope made up of fitted sheets and expensive scarves. The rope hangs on the edge of the balcony, swinging back and forth with the cold, howling wind. Muddy footprints run across the courtyard, marking a clear trail into the foggy forest.

“Oh no,” Johannes gulps, all the color leaving his face. What were they without a king?

–

A church full of people awaits the future king's arrival, and although they should also be occupying a pew, Chris and Matt sit in the lounging room near the fireplace. The flames flicker, casting orange shadows on the pair as they recount stories.

“That armor looks good on you,” Matt jokes, delivering a playful punch to Chris’ broad shoulder. It had been a long time since they’d seen each other and Chris was only granted a temporary leave from the king’s guard for Nick’s coronation.

Chris is much burlier than he was when he left, long hair cascading past his chiseled jawline. He’d been through a grueling amount of training and it showed on his chiseled physique.

“Yeah, but not as good as that council cloak is going to look on you though,” Chris jokes in return, slapping his brother’s back with a strong hand. Matt offers him a sarcastic smile, the slap causing him to jolt forward slightly.

The slap twists the color of Matt’s suit, nimble fingers quickly adjusting it. He felt so overdressed compared to his brother, but he knew Nick’s outfit would take the cake.

Moments like this were becoming scarce nowadays, especially after the passing of their father. The extenuating circumstance is the only reason Nick is even being crowned in the first place, he was nowhere near ready to become king.

“Nick’s going to look absolutely ridiculous in that crown,” Chris chuckles, glancing towards the stairs in hopes that the footsteps he hears are Nick’s. It’s been years since he’s seen anyone outside of the king’s guard and he wants nothing more than to engulf his two brothers in a strong group hug.

To his dismay, it isn’t Nick who descends the staircase, but Johannes. Nonetheless, he greets the old man with excitement. “Johannes! Long time no see, how’ve you been?” Chris shoots up from his seat, his metal armor clanging against each other as he goes in for a hug. His strong arms wrap around the man, only Johannes doesn’t hug back; his arms remain stiff and rigid at his sides, sweat visible on his forehead.

Matt notices the anxious body language immediately, “Johannes? Is everything okay? Where’s Nick?”

Johannes stares straight ahead, afraid to crack under the pressure that comes with making eye contact. He clears his throat, attempting to compose himself as he replies, “Sir Nicolas is–”

A nervous cough interrupts him mid-sentence, forcing him to start again, “Sir Nicolas is gone.”

Chris and Matt share a look, their faces painted with confusion and doubt. “Is he at the church already?” Matt inquires, peering up the stairs as if it would make Nick magically appear. But for some odd reason, he can already tell that this is more serious than Johannes is letting on.

Johannes shakes his head, too nervous and afraid to form coherent words. “Well, is he at least on the way there? The guests have waited long enough,” Matt continues, becoming visibly anxious. The guests have been waiting for over 3 hours, an hour longer and they were sure to revolt.

Once again, Johannes shakes his head, running his clammy hands down his sweaty face. This time Chris speaks, “So then where is he?!”

If being in the king’s guard taught Chris anything, it was how to scare someone and it seemed to be working because Johannes cowers away in fear, a small yelp escaping him as Chris’s commanding presence towers over him. Matt’s eyes blow open in shock, wiggling his way between the two to break the tension. Chris scoffs and rolls his eyes, crossing his arms over his chest.

Matt’s tone is much softer, slowly easing the information out of the scared man in front of him. “Johannes, where is Nick?”

The man clenches his eyes, shaking his head profusely. He lost the future king and is so unbelievably afraid to admit it out loud.

“Tell us where Nick is or so help me God!” Chris shouts, inching towards the terrified man in front of him.

When Johannes hears this, his words come out a mile a minute, “ I don’t know, Sir. One second he was in his bedroom and the next he was gone. I looked everywhere, I swear I did. You can check for yourselves, but Sir Nicolas is gone.”

“Wait, repeat the last part,” Matt instructs, finding it hard to believe that Nick would just up and leave. Johannes looks like he’s on the brink of tears.

“Sir Nicolas is gone,” Johannes repeats, his voice cracking slightly.

Chris is angry at Johannes, but mostly at Nick. His hands are running down his face as he scolds the older man for losing his brother, screaming something along the lines of “How do you lose the king?!” Each word he shouts emphasizes the importance of the day and the stupidity of Johannes’ mistake.

Matt slumps back into his seat in disbelief, he knew Nick wasn’t ready to become king, but he never realized it would lead him to make a decision as irrational, as dumb, as this. A stressed hand pushes his hair back only for it to flop back onto his forehead.

“So what are we meant to do now? Huh?!” Chris’ loud voice asks, the sound echoing through the walls of the room. It seems that the louder he gets, the brighter the roaring flames becomes. Chris holds Johannes by the collar, waiting for a response worthy enough to prevent him from becoming violent.

“Answer me!” Chris shouts, pulling the man up higher. Johannes whimpers, turning his face away from Chris’ piercing, fiery glare.

“If Sir Nicolas fails to return within three days, his coronation process will be nulled and the responsibility will fall on the next of kin,” Johannes’ voice is so high-pitched from fear and the information is so foreign to Chris that it might as well be another language.

“Stop using big words! What does that mean?!” Chris exclaims in frustration, his grip loosening on Johannes’ collar enough for him to fall to the floor. The many scurries away, opening his mouth to respond, but he’s quickly interrupted by Matt’s figure slowly standing from his seat.

Matt’s not dumb, he made the realization as soon as Johannes went on his nervous ramble. He knows that if Nick doesn’t return as soon as the third day comes to an end, the responsibility of this kingdom will be handed to him whether he likes it or not. So, for the past couple of minutes his mind has been racing. How could one small moment determine something as significant as his future?

“What does that mean, Johannes?!” Chris exclaims again, the question painfully bouncing around in Matt’s mind. What did it mean?

“It means that I would become king,” Matt says, jaw clenched. He’s upset beyond belief — Who wouldn’t be?— but somehow he can’t find it in himself to hate Nick for this. Matt knows that, if presented with the same situation, he’d do the same; he’d grab all his things and run, never daring to look back.

Yet, he finds himself in the same position and instead of being granted the freedom to run, he’s backed into a corner with no escape.

“Oh fuck,” Chris whispers, the gravity of the situation finally settling.

This was the inheritance Matt never asked for, but what were they without a king?

—

The air outside is hot and stuffy; it always is in Solara. It’s ironic how a feeling as comforting as warmth can feel so suffocating. The tears that stream down your face are the only thing cooling you down, but they also blur your vision as you watch knights lower your mother’s casket six feet under.

You knew this day was coming, but that didn’t make it hurt any less. The worst part, though? You couldn’t even allow yourself to fully grieve because there were so many wandering, judgmental eyes. Everyone here who didn’t know your mother personally viewed her death as a transaction; as a the loss of one queen, but the gain of another.

A singular sob, or even a strained whimper, would send these vultures into a hungry frenzy. They’d eat you alive if they could, but they’re waiting to catch you in a moment of vulnerability before they feast. So as the tears flow, your face holds a stoic expression.

Your younger sister Selma, the only other person you can still call family, sits to your left. Loud cries rack her small figure as her delicate hand lays on yours. Maybe if you were her you’d do the same, but you’re not and you never will be.

You wish you didn’t have to, but you pull your hand away urgently because the longer it stays there, the quicker your resolve is bound to break.

Martina, your handmaid, sits to your right with a handkerchief pressed against her face. She switches between sniffles and sobs, murmuring something along the lines of, “Oh what a tragedy.”

“Princess— Your highness, any last words to share about your mother?” the priest asks. He doesn’t even know what to call you, and the slight slip up makes your teeth grit. You keep your composure though, elegantly standing from your seat and preparing to summarize your mother’s life in a few words that everyone was sure to forget.

A part of you knows that no one here cared enough about your mother to listen to a heartfelt speech, and her passing was so devastating that you couldn’t bring yourself to prepare a eulogy, so you keep it short and simple.

“The Queen, my mother…” your voice falters. There’s a small pause as you gather yourself before the emotion can consume you.

“My mother was a fearless, relentless leader. She lead the people of Solara to greatness for decades and as her eldest daughter, as the heir to the throne, I hope to uphold her legacy.” A distasteful applause follows, the people watching grossly unaware of the sad twinge behind every word.

“All hail the Queen!” one shouts. The rest follow, breaking into a unified chant. The new title feels like a slap to the face but you don’t say anything, you can’t say anything.

After all, what were they without a Queen?

—

Three grueling days have passed since your mother’s funeral and the first summer rain is showering the ground. Your black dress soaks the rainwater completely, weighing the material enough to force you to collapse onto the muddy ground. Your mother’s tombstone stares back at you, urging you to be strong, to get up and be the Queen you’re meant to become. But you can’t do it, not yet at least.

Her name is chiseled in the marble, each letter reminding you of the great woman she was and the legacy she left behind; a legacy that you’re not sure you’ll be able to live up to.

Now that you’re finally alone, it’s easy to finally let loose and cry. A mixture of emotions is swirling inside of you, and in this moment you wish your mother would resurrect and engulf you in a hug.

“I can’t do this without you,” you whisper, fat tears flowing freely. Of course you couldn’t do this without her, you had no clue what it was like to rule an entire nation. And to top it off, you were now made responsible for your sister as well.

“Isn’t it ironic how I can’t do this without you, yet I wouldn’t have to if I still had you?”

It’s the cruel reality of your life, a reality you’d never be able to escape no matter how you flipped it.

A loud clap of thunder resonates through the kingdom, the bass of the sound vibrating in your chest. “Please… come back,” you whisper, resting your head on her tombstone like it would change the fact that she’s gone.

For a while all you hear is the pouring rain and your own cries. You’re wallowing in grief, the mourning color of your dress become darker the more water it absorbs. The faint sound of sloshing mud brings your attention towards the far end of the cemetery.

“Sister?” Selma calls out, her voice is drowned out by the thunder, but you still manage to hear her. She uses her hands to pick up the front of her dress, but the long train drags on the cakey ground. Martina walks beside her, quick steps attempting to keep up with Selma’s long strides. Martina holds a black umbrella, an extended arm casting it more over your sister than herself.

“Princess?” Martina speaks this time. Her voice sounds heartbroken, almost like she can feel everything you do.

They stop in front of you, feet sinking into the plush ground. Your disheveled appearance paints sad smiles on their faces. Selma kneels next to you, completely abandoning the security of the umbrella and bringing you in for a strong embrace.

As soon as her arms wrap around you, you’re burying your head in the crook of her neck. Loud sobs, strained breathing, and a string of hiccups is what you’re reduced to as you hold onto your sister like your life depends on it.

“Shhh, it’s going to be okay,” Selma murmurs, putting on a strong front as she delicately caresses the back of your head. You need her and she knows it, but all she wants to do is join you in crying.

“It isn’t fair,” you hiccup, finally pulling away. The rain gets stronger, camouflaging your tears. “I know, sister. I know, and it’s never going to be fair. But you need to be strong, okay? For Solara… for mother.”

Selma holds a firm grip on your face, forcing your glossy eyes to lock with hers. You take a deep breath, nodding your head as you try pulling yourself together. “Now come on, everyone is waiting,” Selma whisper, planting a gentle kiss on your forehead before standing up.

She extends her arms for you, serving as your support as you stand up as well. Your dress is soaked and muddy, your face is red and swollen, and your hair is so drenched that it’s stuck to your face. Martina watches with a sad smile, taking in the bittersweet sight in front of her.

“I look pathetic.”

The three of you have begun the walk back to the castle and for the first time in your life you’re grateful for the mud, it makes the already long walk that much longer.

“You look beautiful, Sister. You’re the most beautiful Queen I’ve ever seen,” Selma says, whispering the last part. You appreciate her motivating words because without her you’d surely be lost.

“Selma, look at me,” you gesture towards your dress. She glances down, a tiny giggle escaping at the sight, “Okay maybe you do look a little crazy.”

“Yes, I’m the craziest Queen you’ve ever seen,” you reply with a dry chuckle, grateful for the mood shift.

“Oh that’s nothing a good bath won’t fix, Ma’am. Then you’ll be the cleanest Queen we’ve ever seen,” Martina chimes in, earning another giggle from Selma. You smile too, realizing that you’re at least not alone in all this; that your sister’s dress is as dirty as yours and Martina’s as drenched as ever.

But one thing remained true; you could be the prettiest, craziest, or even the cleanest, but you’re still the Queen regardless of the rest, and that was the inheritance you never asked for.

—

MASTERLIST, SERIES MASTERLIST

a/n: whoopeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee 💃🏻 we just getting started & I would love feedback babies 🌹

- L.A.MB👼🏻💗

—

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pedroshotwifey · 3 months

Text

To the Flame chapter 6

Series Masterlist

Pairing: Dark!Javier Peña x afab!reader

Word count: 2.6k

Chapter tags/warnings: smut, piv sex, breeding kink (kinda, more like territory kink), possessiveness, oral (f receiving), talk of m oral, pwp, manipulation, rough sex, rough oral sex, nipple stimulation, squirting, stuff I'm definitely forgetting, dirty talk, manhandling, stupid amounts of making out/kissing

Chapter summary: You arrive at your new home and spend some quality time with the man of your dreams

A/N: Hey y'all! Hope we're still liking this story! Gotta be honest, 90% of this chapter is pure smut lmao. Can't go wrong there! (or can we?) Thank you for putting up with my bs and for staying tuned while I get some more served up!

***

Javi’s house is almost exactly what you had expected it to be. It’s not too big, and not too small. The Spanish style home is tucked back behind some woods in the middle of a small plot of land, which is apparently owned by his father.

There’s a pasture on half of his property filled with cows, which he tends to in return for living in the house. It’s peaceful and cozy, reminding you of the man who lives in it.

It doesn’t take long for you and Javi to haul your things inside, placing your clothes in his room, and any extra belongings in a hall closet. Your stomach makes nervous flutters the entire time, keeping you giddy with happiness despite your current situation.

Within just a few hours, you’ve gotten engaged, and have moved out—well, been kicked out, but it sounds better the other way—of your house and into Javier’s. It seems like a dream come true when you really think about it.

You fiddle with the ring on your finger as you bite your lip to hide the smile that’s creeping across your face. It’s absolutely the most beautiful ring you’ve ever seen, and it fits you perfectly. How did he even figure that out?

It’s a simple ring, but intricate enough to hold anyone’s attention. The plain, gold band comes up to mold into a thorny vine design near the top, where it holds the perfect sized diamond. Not big or obnoxious enough to be gaudy, but keeping on the delicate side.

You also appreciate the way the vine design doesn’t continue all the way to the bottom, instead flattening out so that it doesn’t make you uncomfortable if it scratches or digs into your skin. It seems like Javi really thought this out, on top of knowing that he was going to marry you one day. Never have you experienced something so romantic in your life.

As you’re staring down at it, completely enamored with your thoughts, Javi comes up behind you. He admires the piece of jewelry over your shoulder, putting one hand carefully on the side of your head to pull you to him so he can place a kiss to the opposite side.

“It’s so pretty, Javi,” you tell him without taking your eyes off of it. You hadn’t gotten a good look at it until it was on your finger and Javi pulled back onto the road, and you’ve been in a trance since then. You lean into him, finally looking up to see him gazing adoringly back down at you.

“You deserve pretty things, pretty girl,” he says, wrapping you in a hug as you lean your head into his chest. He sighs and rests his chin on your head.

“I hope you know we’re not going to be able to have a big wedding at first, but I promise you that we will when the time is right. I want everything to be perfect for you, bebecita.”

You smile at that. You don’t mind that you can’t have a ceremony. You know that he will keep his promise, and you’ll get the fairytale wedding you’ve always dreamed of one day. He would do anything for you, he told you so.

HIs hand comes up to your chin, and you allow him to tilt your head up to capture your lips in a slow kiss. He slips his tongue between your lips, gently licking into your mouth in a way that makes your entire body light up with the sensuality of it.

Sparks jump in your belly, and you can feel wetness seeping into your panties. It’s almost embarrassing how quickly your body responds to his touch. You moan into his mouth and bring your arms up to circle his neck, leaning on your toes to deepen the kiss until it feels like you’re trying to consume each other.

Javi lets you push him backwards to the couch, keeping his mouth on yours and pulling you back with him as he takes a seat. Your thighs bracket his, and the position immediately reminds you of just last night, when the two of you had been in the back of his truck, you giving your body to him for the first time.

Is it weird that you already want him again?

You decide it’s not as you start to grind down on him, and Javi definitely agrees with that assessment by the way he groans into your mouth.

“Shit, baby, lay down for me. Gonna do this properly this time,” Javi pulls away from you to say, his lips still close enough to be brushing against yours.

You eagerly comply to his request, letting him place you down on your back across the seat of the couch. He takes his position above you, giving you a few more teasing kisses before he starts to trail down your body.

Your eyes widen as you realize what he’s doing, a gasp tumbling from your swollen lips as he sharply nips at your neck. His hands are slithering up your shirt, and you subconsciously arch your back to help him get it off you.

He grabs hold of the hem and raises it up until your stomach and your breasts are exposed, his mouth worshiping each inch of skin as it’s revealed to his greedy gaze.

“So pretty and soft for me, sweetheart.”

Javi’s lips are so close to your skin when he says it, that you can feel the moisture from his breath. You whine and wiggle, trying to get some friction somewhere. Your nipples are almost painfully hard against your bra, and you wish he would take it off.

“Please, Javi,” you beg, bucking your hips up while simultaneously trying to keep your hands planted on the couch. He didn’t give you explicit instruction to keep them there, but you see the game he’s playing, and you know he would if you moved them right now.

The look in his eyes can only be described as feral, fed by the carnal desire to have you above all. Seeing your struggle, he reaches his hands up again, and you lift up so he can undo your bra and then pull it off.

As soon as the article hits the ground, his hands are on you, fondling your breasts and thumbing over your erect nipples in a manner that makes you keen. You close your eyes as he moves up enough to seal his mouth over one of the buds, sucking and flicking his tongue harshly.

You moan his name wildly as he grasps you so that you’re unable to move, stuck with nothing to do other than take the assault on your sensitive flesh. You feel a heat stirring between your legs—which you didn’t know was even possible without direct stimulation—and when Javi lets one hand sneak down to rub tiny circles on your clit at the same time as he bites down on you, you’re coming undone in a matter of seconds.

You’re distracted enough by the blinding pleasure to be almost unaware of Javi pulling his mouth from your breast and snaking down even lower. His thumb stays on your clit as he spews bouts of encouragement your way.

It’s only when he removes his hand and pulls your pants and panties down that you open your eyes again to watch him scoop up your thighs, and dive into your cunt like a starved man. Your hands immediately fly to his messy hair, already damp from his efforts.

Javi moans into you as he tongues in and out, not wasting a second before going full force, alternating between your overstimulated clit and your weeping pussy. You’re getting light headed, your entire body heating up as he begins to pull another orgasm to the edge, just waiting for that one push. Just as you think he’s about to give it to you, he pulls away, breathing heavily as he looks up at you with hooded eyes.

“You have no idea how fucking good you taste, sweetheart,” he says, and you don’t know if you’ve ever heard him say anything with so much conviction.

Despite the crudeness of what the two of you are doing right now, you feel your face flush at his words. He licks a quick stripe up your seam before coming up again, and you almost come untouched at how much this look puts the last to shame. You’ve heard the term “pussy drunk”, but this might be your first time truly seeing it.

“Maybe I’ll fuck you with my cock and make you taste yourself on me after I make you come, would you like that, baby? See how god damn sweet you taste?”

Your jaw completely drops. You didn’t even know he could talk this dirty. You just keep getting luckier with this man. Your head nods frantically before you can even think about it. Javi chuckles lightly from between your thighs.

“Dirty fuckin’ girl,” is all he says before dipping down to continue feasting on you.

It only takes a couple of strokes for you to be coming on Javi’s tongue, though he moans and squirms enough for it to sound like he’s the one getting his second orgasm today. He only pulls away once you’re whining and tugging on his hair from the overstimulation.

For a moment, he looks like he’s going to get up and strip, but you see something flash across his eyes, and he just reaches down instead. Your head falls back as you hear the sound of his zipper going down, just the thought of him fucking you naked while he’s fully clothed makes your cunt pulse with need.

You look down, and your mouth goes dry when you see that he doesn’t have any underwear on. He keeps his eyes on yours even though they’re trained on where he’s pulling his thick, throbbing cock from the opening in his dark jeans.

Your eyes flicker back up to his as he lines himself up, wasting no time in pushing into you. Your jaw goes slack at the stretch as he leans over you completely, putting his palms on the couch on either side of your head as he sinks in all the way. Your own arms wrap beneath his to cling and claw at his back. Just by his body language and the hungry look he’s giving you, you have a feeling you’ll need something to hang on to.

Somehow, it feels even better than the first time. You feel stuffed to the brim, but also complete. Like Javi’s been your missing piece this whole time, and now that you’ve found him you feel whole. When you’re staring into his big, deep, brown eyes, you see nothing but adoration for you. Lust. Love.

And it’s in this exact moment that you know you’re in love with him.

Javi hisses as he rears back enough for just the tip to remain inside you, and he captures your lips in a feverish kiss as he thrusts back in, already nailing your g-spot. You gasp and he steals the air from your lungs. You can taste a hint of yourself mixed in with his saliva, and you had no idea until this moment that something like that could turn you on so much.

He quickly picks up the pace, and you find yourself too weak to do much more than whine and moan for him, much less continue kissing him. Javi brings one hand up to hold your chin and make out with you even though you can’t reciprocate. You don’t mind, the feeling of his tongue exploring your mouth is an orgasmic feeling in itself.

You just focus on breathing through your nose, keeping a hold of the man who’s sending you up the couch with his cock, and the feeling of his thick tip pummeling into your most sensitive spot. Your entire body is shaking with the intensity of the sheer force he’s slamming into you with.

There’s a strange but good feeling starting to tug at you someplace between your pussy and your abdomen, making your desperate sounds come out wobbly in addition to being smothered by your fiance’s mouth.

He makes a strangled noise and suddenly moves on to sucking the skin on your throat. You wonder if he can feel the way you’re tightening around him in anticipation as this new feeling grows and spreads.

“J-Javi,” you warn, unsure about what’s happening. You almost feel like you need to pee, but this sensation is far more intense.

He must not hear you, because his pace doesn’t falter and he doesn’t look up at you. He just keeps jackhammering his hips to yours and sucking hickeys on your already-sensitive skin.

It wouldn’t have mattered anyway, because you’re already feeling that coil snap, crying out as you tighten like a vice and gush all over Javi’s dick.

It’s unlike anything you’ve ever felt before, your body tensing as you ride out what has to be the longest orgasm you’ve ever had. You barely even hear Javi talking to you through your foggy mind. It’s like you’ve been transported to another place completely, a place where you can only feel pleasure.

“Such a good f-fucking girl, squirting all over my cock like that,” Javi praises as he nudges your chin up to make room for more sloppy kisses.

As you begin to come down, you can hear the steady slapslapslap that comes from where your bodies connect, each collision now aided by your juices and Javi’s heavy balls smacking against your swollen cunt.

It’s a disgusting sound in retrospect, but it turns you on even more when you hear your whines and Javi’s grunts blended into it. You can tell he’s starting to get close by the way he isn’t pulling out as much, and his noises are becoming more frantic.

“R-remember to p-pull out,” you breathe into his ear just in case he forgot. He, again, shows no sign of having heard you. You must be speaking even quieter than you thought.

“Javi, please pull out,” you say, louder this time even though it’s a task to do so through your exhaustion. This time, he hears you.

“Please, baby, it’ll be f-fine, gonna marry you, let me come in this pretty cunt,” he says, though you’re unsure of the correlation between those two things.

“No, Javi, it’s not safe.”

He’s pumping himself harder and faster, getting up to the edge.

“Buy you–fuck—buy you a plan B,” he grunts, his voice strained.

“No, n-not this time. C-can’t risk it,” you squeak, clawing at his back as he pushes you even further up the cushions.

You hear him mutter a curse as he pulls out just enough to grasp his dick and splatter rope after rope of cum on your damp stomach. You let out a breath when he finishes and lays back down on you, his cum spreading between your sweaty bodies.

You’re both breathing heavily, trying to come back down to earth. The ceiling fan above you is spinning slowly, pushing just enough air your way as you close your eyes and toy with Javi’s curls where his head is resting on your chest.

“I love you, Javi.”

You don’t know why you say it, well,you do, but you hadn’t known the words were even on your tongue or even on your mind. They just slipped out without a thought. Javi tenses against you, and you feel a ball of dread drop into your stomach.

Was it too soon? Does he not love you back? Are you being too clingy? Too immature?

When he looks up at you, your breath caught in your throat, there are tears in his eyes along with another emotion you can’t quite place. One corner of his lip twitches, like he’s resisting the urge to smile too hard.

“I love you too, sweetheart,” he says, obviously a little choked up.

You grin at him as he climbs up again to kiss you, this time soft and slow, with care.

“Going to take such good care of you,” he promises when he pulls away.

*** Thank you for reading!! I would love to know what y'all are thinking so far!

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sourcherryandsprinkles · 3 months

Note

Marrying Thor but being in love with Loki. Have her go to Loki’s room at wedding night so he can finish what his brother failed to…if yu know what i mean

Old work I dug from my wip, I hope you enjoy it <3

Warnings: 18+, smut, infidelity, oral (f receiving)

my taglists are here + you can send requests here at any time

—

Sometimes, life doesn’t go according to plan. Sometimes, it rains and you have to wear a cloak over the pretty dress you wanted to wear that day. Sometimes, you get a terrible headache and have to go to bed early. Sometimes, for political reasons, you have to put duty before heart matters.

One is the heir to the throne, the future king…and the other one is the king of your heart.

Your father had forged this arrangement with Odin in secret, with hopes of uniting realms. Though such alliances through marriage were nothing new, neither you nor Thor had been consulted beforehand. You were quick to voice your displeasure to your respective parents, but they didn’t care. You and Thor were going to marry.

Your future husband didn’t care too much. Duty was duty.

Loki, however, had a different perspective. When the news of the marriage got to his ears, he was furious.

He didn’t show up to the marriage, which was expected and better that way. No one wants to see the person they love marrying another.

After the ceremony, you snuck out of Thor’s quarters and ventured to Loki’s. You were mindful of the guards all around the palace, knowing that if you were seen there would be consequences.

You knocked on his door, your fist delicate against the thick wood. You could hear some shuffling, followed by footsteps coming to the door. He was out of his day clothes and wearing a dark green soft, silk shirt and lounge pants.

The corner of his mouth curled into a smirk when he saw you in your delicate robe and hair undone, cascading down your back in loose waves caused by your wedding hairstyle. ‘’What do we have here? The future queen of Asgard sneaking from her dear husband’s bed on her wedding night. Marital troubles already?’’

You fought the envy to roll your eyes at his remark. ‘’I braved the guards to see you, don’t leaving me standing in the corridor.’’

Loki stepped aside and you walked in, closing the door behind you. Inside, everything looked the same as it always did; the bed was perfectly made, the thick curtains were shut and shielding the room from the glow of the moon, and the desk was stacked with parchment papers and bits of used charcoal.

‘’Don’t you have better things to do than clandestinely visit your dear husband’s brother in the middle of the night?’’ Loki's voice was laced with a bitter edge as he spoke, his back turned to you as he walked back to the velvet green couch he was sitting on before you interrupted his reading.

You couldn't help but respond with a touch of sarcasm, trying to break through the tension that hung in the room. ‘’Like listening to Thor’s snores that could make a trumpet sound quiet?’’

You walked over to the couch and took a seat beside him with your back against the cushioned armrest. It wasn’t very lady-like to sit with your feet on the couch, but no one was there to scold you. The red silk of your robe contrasted with the jewel tone of the couch, a silent reminder that you shouldn’t be there. Red was Thor’s color.

‘’How was the bedding ceremony?’’ The prince set the book he was reading on the table, his head turned from you to hide how he truly felt about the thought of you and Thor having sex.

Shifting uncomfortably, you casted your eyes down. ‘’Can we not talk about that—’’

Loki ghosted his hand slowly up your ankle, shin, then stopped right below your knee. ‘’Does he touch you like I do?’’

The answer was easy.

You wouldn’t call Thor selfish, but when it came to sex, his performances weren’t what you would expect from a god. The rumors were true, even a good dick doesn’t guarantee you good sex. No foreplay or any kind of fun, just plain old missionary…for five minutes. The liters of Asgardian Ale he had drank during the wedding celebration were possible to blame for that terrible experience. Hopefully it won’t always be like that.

With Loki, sex was completely different. He knew your body like the back of his hand, the exact ways that had your back aching and screaming. And there was a connection that just wasn't there with Thor.

You shook your head.

Loki laughed, genuinely amused from hearing of his brother's incompetence. ‘’You have no idea how hilarious it is. Thor, the mighty God of Thunder and heir to the throne, failed to satisfy his wife on his wedding night.’’

‘’I knew it would amuse you. Knowing there’s something you’re more skilled at than him.’’

A sly smirk played on the prince’s lips, flattered by your compliment. ‘’Tell me more.’’

‘’Don’t be greedy.’’ Your eyes longed on him, how beautiful he looked in the glow of the lamp.

‘’Me?’’ Loki leaned back on the couch, his eyes gleaming mischievously in the dim light. ‘’The only thing I’m greedy for is sitting right in front of me and wearing a color that’s far too overpowering for her complexion.’’

His words only strengthened your guilt for taking the hand of a man you didn't love. It was killing you inside to know you'll never get to hold Loki's hand arm in the gardens or kiss him in front of the inhabitants of Asgard.

Turning a blind eye to your new marital status, you let your fingers glide down along the lapel of your robe, and traced teasingly the seam of your belt-tie. ‘’Shall I take it off?’’ you said in a near whisper.

‘’And what of your new husband?’’

‘’He’s sleeping until morning.’’ You pulled at the belt-tie and undid the knot, letting the silk slowly fall and expose your breasts.

A silent growl caught in Loki's throat. He's mouthed and worshiped those so many times, yet he was still in awe every time you undressed.

Without withdrawing his eyes from you, he made the robe vanish with a snap of his fingers, leaving you completely bare on his emerald green couch. ‘’Green looks better on you.’’ He delicately grabbed your ankles, and spread your legs before crawling between them.

A sigh left your lips when he kissed the insides of your thighs, giving attention to what had been neglected in Thor’s quarters. Loki was right, no man touched you like he did. He looked up at you as he kissed higher and higher on your skin, making the situation more sensual. You bit down your lip when he

placed a loving kiss against your sensitive clit, and grip his dark curls as his tongue swirled and suckled your sensitive bud.

‘’Ahh, Loki!’’

His name was the only one on your tongue, echoing through the wall of his bed chamber and down the corridor.

—

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professional-yapper · 4 months

Text

Proximity pt. 2

Neteyam x Olangi! Reader

Warnings: none just fluff and bonding, reader is kind of shy because they already messed up and don't wanna do it again, reader is in denial

"This will be our home," Neteyam said, ready to pull back the beaded curtain covering the entrance should you want to go inside. He hoped you would, at least. "I built it myself," he adds, trying not to sound like he's bragging but wanting to impress you nonetheless.

Kiri had made the curtain, after much pestering from Neteyam, who, though he hadn't been entirely onboard with the union, still wanted to give you a good first impression, both of him and the home he had built for you both. Kiri was more gifted with that sort of thing anyway.

You touched the beads, eyes widening a little as you turned a few strings over in your hand, admiring the way they sparkled in the sunlight.

There were many different kinds of beads. Some were shaped from glittering stones found in the river, others carved from wood and polished until they gleamed. Some were painted, some left to their natural colour.

All were painstakingly threaded onto numerous strings for Neteyam to hang up over the entrance of what he prayed to the Great Mother would be a happy home, even if there was no love in it.

"You like it? My sister Kiri made it for us," Neteyam said eagerly, ears angling forward as his golden eyes searched your face.

"Yeah," you hummed, still looking at the beads. "It's beautiful. Where do you get beads like this?"

Neteyam smiled. "Some Kiri found in the river, others were carved by Lo'ak, and some Tuk brought back from her exploring."

"That's sweet of them," you said, smiling back, ears drooping a little bashfully. "We don't get to have pretty things like this. Because we're nomadic. Everything has to be practical, durable, easily packed away and transported."

Neteyam noticed one of your braids had fallen across your face, the pearly bone beads bumping against your cheek. Without thinking, he reached out and tucked it behind your ear.

You stiffened under his touch but didn't say anything, just kept looking up at him.

"Sorry," Neteyam said, but didn't pull his hand away, instead letting his fingers linger on the curve of your jaw.

The world seems to hold its breath, and you wonder for a brief moment if he's flirting with you or if all Omaticaya are simply this affectionate, regardless of whether you're a fellow Omaticaya or the sheltered Olangi royalty they're being married off to.

You don't want to make another stupid assumption and look like an idiot in front of Neteyam again, so you smile again, tighter this time, lips pressed together in a thin line, and duck away, brushing past the bead curtain and into what is to be your home.

And his, you suppose, but the mating ceremony isn't for a week yet, so you'll be alone in this hut till then.

The beads clack together behind you, and you're dimly aware of Neteyam's burning gaze on the back of your head, but you're distracted by your new surroundings.

It's large and airy, sunlight spilling across the wooden floorboards. A stark contrast to the compact, airtight, dark tents you grew up in. You quite like it, though, if you're being honest. There's a beautiful view of the village on one side, and of the forest on the other, a nameless bird singing in the undergrowth. A warm breeze shifts through the space, carrying with it the heady scent of summer.

You're almost entranced, turning in a slow circle, feasting your eyes on everything. Something hanging in one of the windows catches your eye, and you pad across the floor to touch it. It clinks and rings out merrily under your fingers, and you find yourself looking back to Neteyam for answers.

Neteyam is standing by the entrance, watching you with an unreadable expression, arms folded as he leans against the frame, tail coiling and curling in the air behind him. You wonder what that means. Omaticaya tails are so much more flexible than Olangi tails, and you're pretty sure they use them to convey emotion. You're just not sure which motion means what.

"What is this?" you ask politely, closing your hand around what seem to be slender, hollow metal pipes to stop them from making the sound.

"A wind chime," Neteyam answered, voice warm with barely-hidden amusement. "My mother thought you might like it. Do you not? We can take it down if-"

"No, I like it!" you assure him, taking a final glance at the foreign object before releasing it and continuing to explore the hut.

Everything in it is so solid. So permanent. You've never lived in one place for more than a few months- half a year at a stretch. It will take a while to adapt to not packing up and moving every so often.

At least it's well-built, or as well-built as you can make out. "It's good," you murmur, tilting your head back to look at the roof. Tightly woven plants of some kind, to keep the rain out, you presume, over wooden beams. You wonder if they've ever tried it with animal skin.

"I'm glad you like it," Neteyam says from behind you, and you can hear him moving across the floor, coming to stand beside you, his shoulder brushing against your own. "It will take some getting used to, I guess."

You just hum in confirmation, not moving away, finding that you kind of enjoy the warmth of his arm against yours.

"Your paint's smudging a little," Neteyam added, giving your face a sideways glance.

You frown, hands flying to your face, though you know you won't be able to feel the paint, so carefully and lovingly painted onto your face by your mother for your union. You knew it wouldn't last and you'd have to redo it yourself before the actual ceremony, but the sentiment meant the world to you.

"Careful!" Neteyam said, catching your hands in his, grinning. "You'll smudge it more. It's not-" He pauses, scrutinising your face paint. "It's not that bad. Just a little smear. I'll get it."

You hold your breath as he takes ahold of your face with one hand, gentle but firm, and rubs his thumb across your cheekbone, leaving a red streak down the side of his digit and hopefully cleaning your paint up a little.

"Better," he murmurs, tilting his head, braids spilling across broad blue shoulders.

You didn't realise how attractive he was before. You wish you had. You could've looked at him more, appreciated his beauty more. But no matter.

You could stare at him now, since he didn't seem to be letting go of your face any time soon, and you did, drinking him in greedily, your eyes roaming across big, warm, golden eyes, soft, flat nose that was slightly pink at the end, thin lips that seemed to perpetually be hinting at a smile.

Neteyam took a minute to realise you were staring. Probably because he was staring too. He smiled.

Neteyam smiled a lot, you noted. Kind of like your oldest brother Ru'pa, except Ru'pa smiled at everything because he was an idiot. Ru'pa irritated you. Neteyam did not.

Neteyam smiled and his eyes flickered to your lips. At least, you thought they did. You hoped they did.

His lips parted, and you sucked in a silent breath, praying to the Great Mother that he wouldn't break the serene, warm silence that had fallen over the hut with something commonplace or boring, like more questions about your tribe.

Not that you minded the questions! Just that, for the first time in your life, you realised you wanted to kiss someone. Very badly.

"Do you think I'll smudge your paint more if I kiss you?" Neteyam murmured.

You blinked, then smiled a little too eagerly to be dignified. "I don't mind," you whispered.

Neteyam covered your mouth with his, warm and sweet and tasting of yovo, cradling your face almost reverently.

You were unsure of what to do with your hands, and settled on hooking your fingers into his neckpiece, inadvertently tugging him down a little.

Neteyam made a startled noise against your mouth, eyes flying open briefly, before he kissed you deeper, one arm shifting to slide around your lower back, tugging you closer in turn.

You were glad you two had your own home, honestly. And that it was far from your home, which was rich with exasperating older brothers with no sense of boundaries, who would delight in bursting in this very second and ruining it if they could.

You found kissing was better than you had imagined. More experienced friends back home had regaled you with tales of their own romantic experiences, though at the time it had just seemed dumb and kind of awkward and gross.

It wasn't so bad being proven wrong.

Neteyam's lips warmed you right down to the tip of your tail, and you instinctively tightened your hold on him, seeking to be closer even if it wasn't possible. Your action made him smile against your mouth, like your almost-childish desperation was funny to him.

Finally, he shifted back a little, resting his forehead against yours- which definitely would smudge your paint and possibly get it on him too, but you couldn't bring yourself to stop him. Blinking slowly, reminding you of a palulukan lazing in the sun, he draped both arms around your waist, and smiled again down at you.

You couldn't help laughing as you looked up at him, going a little cross-eyed as you found your paint had indeed smeared on his lips a little.

"What?" Neteyam demanded playfully, catching your tail in his hand and squeezing.

"Nothing, nothing," you said, trying to contain a smile, squeaking as he tugged on your tail lightly.

"C'mon, tell me," he coaxed, releasing your tail and running his thumb across your jaw to your chin, pressing into your bottom lip.

"It's just-" you began, beginning to laugh again, lifting your own hand in an attempt to wipe it off his face. "You've got paint on your face."

Neteyam just shrugged. "Worth it."

Mid-wipe, you registered it properly. The significance of your ceremonial paint on his face. Neteyam's ears pricked forward at the resulting flush creeping up your neck and ears. "What?" he prompted again, tilting his head in that irresistible way.

"You- oh, Eywa," you huffed, turning away, covering your own face. You just couldn't look at him anymore, his pretty fucking face, his hands with your paint smudged all over. Too much of a reminder of what awaits you in a week's time.

It made you hot all over just thinking about it.

I'm just making stuff up as I go along 😞 istg i feel like im repeating lines from other fics but 🤷 share your thoughts please! I love knowing people enjoy my writing!

Why do we think reader is having a mini freak out over Neteyam getting her paint on him?

@rivatar @lunamochii @luvv4j4ybe11

Part 3 >

#avatar #avatar x reader #atwow #avatar 2 #avatar fanfiction #loak #neteyam #avatar x you #neteyam x you

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