#he's fascinated by the fish wall

[where-is-zoro-one-piece]

Today Zoro got lost in an aquarium shop, and is currently being sold as an actually moss ball. (Remember to keep your moss balls in cold water with some current, or roll them every so often to help them keep shape <3)

Today Zoro is: visiting his marimo brethren at the pet store!

[weasleyreidstyles]

between the shelves

for @thatdammchickennugget's hogmarch challenge!!

prompt 1: "is it that, or is it because you're in love with me?"

pairing: theodore nott x reader (no house specified)

warning(s): none

~∞~ a short little drabble – i've never written anything for theo so i thought i'd give it a shot.

There are many beautiful mysteries within the castle walls. That includes Hogwarts' expansive library that holds every book one could think of, and more. It's earthy tones and the smell of ink on parchment paper permeates the air at all hours of the day and the rustle of books is the only sound, besides idle chit chat that fills the vast room.

Right now, you despise the library.

The table that you and your potions partner had chosen was small and crammed into a corner of two towering bookshelves and the heat that magically swept through the room seemed to be set to sweltering hot as you sat, clinging to the fabric sleeves of your cardigan, which you refused to remove. There are potions books strewn across the table, which you absolutely abhor to look at, especially as his deft finger trace featherlight patterns against the worn covers as he jots a note down onto a separate piece of parchment for the assignment the two of you have been tasked with completing.

It all seems physically impossible. The fact that you're totally abysmal at potions, paired with the way Theodore Nott made you so nervous. Sitting in the sweltering library with him, is the last place you want to be right now.

He was one of the most popular boys in your year. Star quidditch player; top of all his classes without even having to try; he had more friends than you had fingers and he was just so godsdamn attractive. Everyone either wanted him, or wanted to be him in some capacity. Sometimes when you looked at him, jealousy festered in your gut because how can he sit in lessons so nonchalantly, but still remain just below Hermione Granger in all of them? And how can someone be made to be that fucking attractive?

It was not fair.

But more often than not, when you catch yourself staring at him (it happens more frequently than you'd care to admit) you find yourself constantly picking out the little things about him that make your heart soar.

Like the way his nose twitches irritably when his slightly curled hair falls over his eyes, yet he refuses to get it cut shorter.

Or the way his mouth tilts into a devious smirk that has people swooning instantly.

When he's on the quidditch pitch, his agility could rival the professional. He was truely a real talent and he could have an amazing future career, you think.

But the most fascinating thing about him are his eyes. Theodore has the most captivating eyes you've ever seen. They are a kaleidoscope of blues and greys that you find yourself wishing to get lost in.

Unbeknownst to you, Theo looks up from his note taking and watches as you stare off into space, the potions book in front of you long forgotten. His lips lift into that arrogant smirk that you seem to admire quite a lot as he abandons his own work in favour of staring you down.

You must be miles away in your own mind because you barely concentrate on the fact that he's looking so deeply at you, that he may as well have been staring right at the makings of your very soul.

"Have you got a staring problem, dolcezza?" he asks, his deep voice a mixture of smooth and raspy. It makes your heartbeat pick up in speed as you're jolted from your wandering thoughts.

"I'm bored." You mumble, moving your hands, which are resting on your lap, to lay upon the table so that you can lie your head down. "Potions is so draining and it's so bloody hot in here."

"Is that it, or is it because you're in love with me?"

You sit up abruptly, eyes wide and mouth threatening to gape like a fish out of water as he merely stares back at you with his brows slightly raised. His smirk is widening, almost to a full blown grin. Gods he's so pretty, is all you can think as you roll your eyes at him.

He lets out the lightest of snickers as you ignore him and open your abandoned book, in favour of evading his gaze. But he could already see the blush crawling further and further across your cheeks.

"You can admit it if you want to, darling." He says teasingly, his voice is arrogant and silky and it makes you blush even more. "I don't blame you. Everyone seems to be in love with me."

He smiles prettily at you as you glare at him from across the table.

"No one like an egotistical brat, Theodore." you retort, but there's no bite in your words – there never is when it comes to him. And as he stares you down, you swear you can see the reciprocation in his gaze, but it's gone almost instantly when he turns back to his own notes.

One day, you'd tell him how you felt.

Today was not that day.

[mochinomnoms]

A random thought I had that would be funny is having a zoo/aquarium date with a beasty/fishy boy and they end up seeing their animal counterpart and it stares them down or gives the two of them a lot of attention.

I think Azul, Floyd, and Jade are probably used to interacting with their animal counterparts as the ocean is pretty open and free. I like to imagine a little Azul talking with cuttlefish and other small cephalopods, venting about school and his bullies as their tentacles held onto his own in a comforting squeeze. Jade and Floyd would often be warned to not interact with their animal counterparts, as they could be more aggressive and mean than their merfolk counterparts. They didn't care and would delight in bothering an old giant moray that lived near their grotto. He was a grumpy thing, but surprisingly kind, sort of anyway. He'd rough them up, sending them home with bruises and shallow bites, to get the twins to toughen up and learn to fight back.

They'd probably enjoy the aquarium date, trying to impress you by speaking with their animal counterparts. It only works out until he (Azul and Floyd most likely) are arguing with the fish about who would make the better partner for you. Jade straight up lies and tells you that the moray isn't feeling up to conversation, and why don't we go look at the jellyfish instead :).

Leona and Ruggie probably didn't interact with their animal counterparts growing up, as Sunrise City was a rather metropolitan area. Zoos are a rather foreign concept there, as Sunset Savannah's culture is set on setting up wildlife reserves. The closest you'll get is conservations for endangered species, or rescues for wildlife that were illegally sold as pets. I personally think that lions and hyenas would be held in high regard, due to the lore connected with the King of Beasts. Jack would've seen wolf packs as a kid in the Shaftlands, but wasn't allowed to run around with him until he was a bit older. For the most part, Jack was fond of them and felt a kinship with his animal counterparts. Especially running around with the cubs, it really helped build his endurance!

Leona and Ruggie are a bit concerned and confused about the concepts of zoos. People in Sunset Savannah would not be allowed to interact with the wildlife in reserves unless they were wildlife scientists, conservationists, or veterinarians. Both are staring down the animals, the closest they've ever been to them, curious and maybe even a bit fascinated. While they may not agree with the zoos, they are enthralled with seeing their counterparts so close, even with a thick glass wall between them. Jack is actually going to bring you back home to introduce you to the wolf pack! The youngest of the pack is but an old man in wolf years, but they remember Jack and his family fondly. The same pack and its children have been hanging around them for 3 generations, so Jack is eager to introduce you to what is basically his extended family, especially if you're to join them in the near future.

[highonmarvel]

You Can Cry

Bucky Barnes: Biker!Bucky takes a liking to a sensitive girl. 18+ only!

content warnings here!

You wipe away tears as you impatiently wait for your ride to arrive, tapping your foot and hugging yourself. You don’t know why you always get so emotional, get brought to tears so easily, and your sensitivity slightly angers you, being irritated that you still cry like a child at the most silly things.

Your date had only laughed when you stared at him blankly, asking him to explain his joke again, and the rational part of you was sure he didn’t mean any harm, the rational part of you was sure it was lighthearted—he was a nice guy—but still you felt that familiar sting in your eyes at the response.

Even when you brought the night to a close, you refused a ride home from him, denying it so harshly he was stuck at the table for a bit when you stormed out, hot tears staining your cheeks, and you didn’t see him leave—maybe he was still inside and talking up another girl who didn’t take every little thing so personally.

“You sad, pretty girl?”

You startle at the voice and snap your head up to follow the sound, leading your eyes to a tall man wearing a leather jacket, leaning against the wall of the next building over to the restaurant you had stomped out of. He cards a hand through his hair and steps forward, and instinctively you step back, feeling an air of danger about him, darker than just a mugger in the night.

You wipe away the last of your tears and sniffle softly before quickly bring your focus back to the street, mentally pleading for your driver to pull up, too scared to fish your phone back out of your bag to check how far he was, and clutching your purse tighter.

He groans, “Please, sweetheart, I’m talkin’ to you.”

“No,” you reply, quietly, not making a move to look back up at his captivating blue eyes, a slight fear that if you look back at him, you’ll never be able to look away again. Or he’ll be the last thing you see, “I’m not.”

“You sure, princess?” he takes another step toward you, and this time you can’t muster up the courage to move away, frozen still, “Looked like you were cryin’.”

You grow irritated not with him but more with yourself, for somehow having shown such weakness to a man in the shadows—but how could you have known?

“I wasn’t,” you lie, finding yourself holding back tears again, begging any higher power out of the dozens believed to help you out just this one time and have your driver pull around the corner. The streets are empty and quiet, the only two people in the world you and him, and the only noise his painstakingly slow footsteps towards you, and your rapidly beating heart, “I wasn’t,” you repeat again, predicting you would sound more confident, but your voice cracks, and you wince at the sound of his sigh in response.

“Aw, don’t cry,” you gasp as he suddenly pulls you flush against his chest, caging your body to his with his right arm pressing into your lower back and his left gently gripping your chin, forcing you to look up at him. A smile spreads across his gorgeous face as your tears well up. You want to look to the sky to stop drops from falling, but you can’t, not because of his light grip, but because of that sadistic glint in his eyes, absolutely fascinating you.

A drop spills from an eye, and he tilts his head, watching it roll down your cheek. Your eyes glisten with tears and his glisten with delight, relishing in each drop that rolls down your cheek, as you can do nothing but stare up helplessly at him, paralysed by fear.

He leans down and presses a light kiss on your cheek, one you might have found loving if given to you by someone close.

“You’re so pretty,” he remarks, bringing his other hand up to cup your face, unconcerned with keeping you near, knowing you can’t move if you tried. He rubs calloused thumbs across your cheeks, wiping the tears away as he admires your features, “So pretty, doll,” he murmurs, gaze roaming your face until they land on your terrified eyes, and he smiles again.

“What? Never learned how to take a compliment, princess?”

You blink up him, starting to tremble very slightly, your mouth slightly agape. He raises an eyebrow at you, and you manage a meek, “Thank you…”

“Bucky,” he mumbles.

“Thank you, Bucky,” you repeat, just wanting him to let you go, at this point completely disinterested with where your driver is, just him to leave you alone.

“Now, won’t you tell a nice guy like me why you’re cryin’? Did someone hurt you?”

You shake your head weakly, willing yourself to just stop fucking crying.

“Don’t lie to me,” he grips your face slightly firmer, not hard, but enough to make you understand his determination, “Did some guy make you cry, angel?” he asks, gently.

Despite your better judgement, you nod; maybe that is the best judgement, to just respond the way he wants so he might just leave you alone. No, your compliance is only seeming to spur him on, as shown by a pity frown taking shape on his face, and you can’t quite place if he’s mocking you or trying to seem more empathetic in some weird way.

“No, a sweet girl like you?” he places a kiss on your forehead, “You’re precious, angel.”

You shift uncomfortably, unable read the situation, unable to tell if he’s just fucking with you or if he feels bad. And you don’t have to, because just as he pulls away to look at you, you hear tyres against gravel, a car pulling around the corner, snapping you out of your… trance, and whipping your head to see a white corolla.

“Stay beautiful, doll,” Bucky says, and he slips into the shadows before you can grasp it. Cold air rushes against your cheeks—you hadn’t realised his hands were relatively warm—making you feel more exposed. For good measure, you quickly wipe away tears before hoping into the car with a smile to your driver.

Your date texts you the next morning, apologises for upsetting you—even though he doesn’t know how—and asks for a redo, or a second date, kinda, he puts it. With a clear mind, you do feel bad for being so dramatic and overly sensitive last night, and thinking back on it, a little rude with how short you were being with him when all he did was laugh lightly, it wasn’t malicious. He was a nice guy. You’re still shaken from the previous night, but maybe a casual date will relax you.

You agree, and he immediately responds, suggesting another restaurant for that evening.

You feel very pretty in your dress as you enter the restaurant and sit at table. You had arrived only 10 minutes late, so maybe you should just give him more time to show up. You didn’t want to order, but the waitress seemed to be getting impatient, and so you order something light and ate alone. An hour and he still wasn’t here. Your plate is cleared away, barely anything touched, and a few teardrops splashed at the edges.

You’re sniffling in the corridor of your apartment as you fumble with your keys and stumble in, trying not to completely break down as you kick off your shoes and head straight for your bedroom, thinking that you could escape some crying if you just fell asleep.

You’re sobbing quietly as you enter, pushing the door behind you, not even caring that it didn’t really close, ready to flop onto bed.

“You sad, pretty girl?”

You gasp and spin to the sound of that familiar voice, the same words being spoken in the same tone as the previous night.

Bucky pushes the door and this time it clicks shut. He looks up at you, and his blue eyes catch the moonlight in a soft yet sinister manner, causing you to stumble back. You can barely see him through the tears blurring your vision and the dark room.

“Bucky?” you whisper, unnecessarily, seeing as of fucking course it’s Bucky.

He bends his head back slightly with a smile, “I love the way you say my name, doll. Can you say it again for me?”

You take a few steps back, heart racing faster than you ever thought it could, and let out a quiet shriek as your heel hits the foot of your bed and your fall back onto it. Bucky is hovering over you in a flash, one hand propping him up and his right slipping under your dress to rub soothing circles on your thigh.

“Did he stand you up?” he leans down, lips between your ear and neck, “He doesn’t like you, princess.”

You try not to let out a sound, but you can’t stop a choked sob from escaping, and he smiles against your neck. You turn your head away, but he stays near, his voice hovering just above your ear, “He doesn’t like you, and he can’t take care of you, sweetheart, he can’t.”

Despite your efforts, another choked gasp escapes you, and you squeeze your eyes shut, hoping he’ll just go away.

“You’re shaking,” he notes, changing his circular motions from clockwise to anti, “Are you scared, doll? Am I scaring you?”

“Yes!” you gasp as he kisses your neck.

“No…” he replies against your skin, faux-disbelief coating his tone, “But I won’t hurt you, angel; he will.”

He lies down next to you and brings his left hand up to stroke your face, “It’s okay, you can cry,” he coaxes, and you do, breath escaping your lungs in short gasps as tears fall and he wipes them away, kissing your neck and still rubbing circles on your thigh, “You can cry…”

His thumb slides to your inner thigh and you squirm, but he quickly stops you by harshly gripping your thigh. Once he’s sure you won’t twist again, he runs his finger up and down your inner thigh with a sigh.

“You’ll learn to love this, doll, but for now… you can cry…” he shifts downward and pulls your dress up, “A sweet girl like you’s gotta taste sweet too.”

✪

[konigsblog]

mmf' , i just want eldritch/cthulh!könig to take care of me. headcannons for him because he rots my mine, day and night ... :(

cthulhu!könig who finds himself crawling towards you with his lengthy cock hanging heavy, smelling your period blood from a mile away. he eats fish and dead men, sunken boats that dare to cross his path, along with deceased sea animals. he can't help himself from wrapping his long, murky tentacles around your thighs, keeping your cunt against his mouth as he drags his tongue up and down between your wet, sloppy slit.

“please, sonne, just relax against me. taste so good, so good for me..”

cthulhu!könig and his jealousy issue. he can't stand seeing other sea gods flirt with you in an attempt to swoon over you. but god, he loves making you ride his tentacles after declining them, easing down onto his thick limp, suckers grazing against your gummy walls.

cthulhu!könig who orders you to chant his name while he fucks you. usually, his sex is slow and sensual, with one tentacle stuffed inside youe sweet, precious pussy and another silencing your whiney sounds. but, he adores your stuttered sounds as you chant his name like a prayer to an ancient god.

cthulhu!könig and his breeding kink. he's so fascinated with the idea of breeding you, to see you with a human/octopus hybrid, cradled in your arms. but, due to his issues with jealousy and your attention, he prefers it just being you two. though, he does mention getting you pregnant while you cockwarm a tentacle, his suckers leaking out their substances into your womb, making you sob out in a mixture of pain and pleasure.

“gott, ich möchte dich geschwollen mit meinen babys sehen, einen kleinen oktopus, der in diesem bauch wächst ... meine süße meerjungfrau, du bist so naiv, du weißt nicht, was du mit mir machst, keine ahnung, oder?”

cthulhu!könig being overprotective and possessive of you. you're his most prized possession, a mortal, a human soon to be turned to immortal once he impregnates you with his offspring. he hates whenever other sea gods have their eyes on you, glaring at the before snarling, brushing the wet hair stick to your forehead as he eases your head into the water, washing your hair.

cthulhu!könig who always buys you proper pearl necklaces, as well as other shells. the faint sounds of the ocean in the distance, the sun just rising above the horizon, breathless from könig's tentacles wrapped tightly and securely around your waist. he definitely scolds you whenever you complain, hissing at you and being strict, keeping you from ever leaving.

“don't, meine schatz ... still still, sonnenschein.”

he has a fear of someone taking you, so he usually stays with you. he'd kill for you, other sea gods, do anything to keep you from going back to society.

cthulhu!könig and how he coos at you for being so grumpy and pissy about being away from your friends and family. why do you need anyone else? let the 10ft muscular giant with a gut keep you safe!! your life isn't in jeopardy or danger, just spread your legs and let him treat you right.

⭒ if you want to correct any german, please do so! im not educated on the german language so i have to use a translator for it, but i don't mind constructive criticism to help with it :)

[calcifiedunderland]

Spare Change

Azul x GN Reader (they/them)

—In which you win Azul’s friendship with the loose change in your pocket.

Notes: I tried to keep the coin description vague so it could be from any currency!! I had this idea for a little while now. Enjoy shrimpies~

—

You were going to buy Azul’s friendship at the cost of a gumball.

Well, maybe that was an exaggeration. By all accounts, it would’ve been impossible to do that, even with a large sum of money. You didn’t think that you’d ever be back in his office making a deal with the merman who almost turned you out of your dusty dorm. But this time, it hopefully would go in your favor.

Earlier that week, you’d been cleaning out your knickknacks, and came across some loose change you’d had in your pockets when you arrived to NRC. Honestly, you forgot about it - it wasn’t like you could really use it here.

Still, you recalled some offhanded comment Jade made - something about Azul’s coin collection, and his fascination with human trinkets. Once, when you’d visited Azul’s dorm room while he was recovering from his overblot, the framed coin showcase on his wall had caught your eye. The coins shimmered, and despite some wear and tear, you could tell they were now kept in meticulous, pristine condition.

This went through your mind as you stride into Octavinelle, feeling the coins in your pocket thump against your skin.

You sucked in a deep breath and knocked on his office door, and, not waiting for a response, you opened it. If you waited, you’d lose your courage. Azul looked up irritably, adjusting his glasses. “Please wait a moment, I’ll be wi-” he stopped mid-sentence, mouth hanging open when he saw you. “Well- Hello, Prefect,” he clasped his hands over his desk, discreetly shoving a contract into a drawer, “what brings you here today?” He coughed slightly, clearing his throat.

Wordlessly you sat down in front of him, change jangling in your pockets. You looked at him intently, searching his eyes and thumbing a coin in your pocket. This could go really well or really not well. Still, you’d made unlikely friends with Riddle and annoying acquaintances with Leona. Besides, you thought as you rubbed the coin, what you wanted wasn’t anything material. Rather, it was genuine and immeasurable - less to you, but more to him.

Azul was pensive, looking at you carefully. You unsettled him. After what happened before winter break, when he overblotted, he’d had a hard time making heads or fins about you. You were a walking paradox - a magicless human who somehow had so much power over strong housewardens. By all accounts, you shouldn’t have been able to one-up his contract to gain Ramshackle. And yet you somehow did, with Leona and your friends.

In all honesty, you had every reason to be upset with him. So why were you in his office now? His eyes zeroed in on yours. What was your angle? What did you have to gain? He hated this feeling of being indebted to you after his overblot. Like he had to make it up to you, somehow. Would you hold it against him?

You fidgeted slightly under his gaze, feeling a little unnerved. Wordlessly, you fished into your pocket and pulled out one of the larger coins from your currency. You put it on the desk between the two of you, the tether between you and him. And if all went well, a symbol.

He looked down at it, curiousity getting the better of him. He picked it up carefully in his gloved fingers, holding it up and turning it around. He rubbed his fingers over the dips and engravings, analyzing the text on it. He held it up to the light, admiring it. Strange, he thought to himself. A childish fascination grew in him, and he carefully flipped the coin around in his fingers, admiring the way it glinted and reflected the light. You smiled, watching the awe in Azul’s eyes grow.

At last, he spoke, not taking his eyes off it, “I’ve never seen anything like it. I’d have to look into it’s origins if you’d want me to appraise it.” He couldn’t think of any other reason you’d be here, giving this to him. Was this your way of getting him to repay you? Have him auction off this coin? His mind halted, why did you show this coin to him? To lure him in and then take it away?

You shook your head, “you won’t find any information on it.” He rose an eyebrow at you, and you continued, “this is a coin from my world. Where I’m from.” He glanced back at the coin with new interest, enraptured. A one-of-a-kind, limited commodity? A coin that only you would have? His heart skipped a beat.

He’d be lying if his businessmer side wasn’t salivating, but a part of him didn’t want to sell it. Deep down, he knew he wanted to keep it for his collection - after all, it wasn’t often that he came across rare coins.

Still, Azul knew better than others that you couldn’t get something without payment. “…what would you like for it?” He asked so quietly, you would’ve thought you’d imagined it if he wasn’t looking at you. He braced for the worst, thinking you’d demand something wild as revenge for his overblot.

You took a deep breath, “Nothing.”

Weeks ago, you would’ve disbelieved the idea of befriending the same person who almost ousted you from Ramshackle. Especially offering him your friendship in the form of spare coins you’d found in your pocket.

Being in his office, trying to offer your friendship to him in the form of a coin of a lost world, was the last thing you thought you’d be doing. But here you were, the subject of scrutiny, sitting in the lavish armchair in front of his desk, trying to show him that you weren’t as ill-intentioned as he thought others may be. That you genuinely did want to connect with him.

Which was hard to do when he was looking at you intently, hands clasped under his nose, presumably staring at you uncomfortably. The look on his face was unreadable. Nothing? They want… nothing? Azul was no fool. All his clients wanted something, no one would ever do something nice for nothing in exchange. You had to have some ulterior motive. Right?

“What… do you want?” He asked again, straightening. A few weeks ago, you might’ve been a little ruffled at his straightforwardness. Now, you only knew he was trying to compose himself, as he lifted his head and offered a debonair smirk, adjusting his glasses. “I understand that the headmaster has still not given you proper accommodations for you. I’m sure, as a non-magical student, I could offer you assistance in exchange for this rare commodi-“

“I really don’t want anything material,” you cut him off, crossing your arms. You would’ve thought you’d have insulted him, from the way his face contorted. “That- that’s preposterous, Perfect. Surely you’d want something in exchange for this coin!” Otherwise why would you be here? was silently said between the two of you.

“I wanted you to have it. It’s a gift. I’m giving it to you.” That’s what friends do!, you thought exasperatedly.

Azul’s eyes bored into yours, and you noted that his pupils were slightly square rather than round. He said, “nothing is free, now Prefect. Surely there’s something you want?” You sighed through your nose. “I just…” you swallowed, looking at him, “I thought you’d like it.” Your tone was genuine, and you squared your shoulders. Azul’s tone softened, “do you not want to keep it? It’s from your world, after all.” You angled your head in wonder.

A few weeks ago, Azul probably would’ve taken the coin without regard for you, or done something underhanded. You were curious (and maybe a bit hopeful) why he was considerate to you now.

“It wasn’t the only coin I had,” you responded, fishing for an identical coin in your pocket and pulling it out, “I had another. It’s the same thing, see?” Azul glanced at it, indeed it’s the same. He asked, “regardless, wouldn’t you want both?” You shrugged, “I can’t exactly spend it here, and I have no need for two of the same. Besides,” you smiled at him, hoping he’d understand, “I… thought you’d appreciate it.”

A lump rose in Azul’s throat as he turned the coin over in his fingers, noting every small scratch and engraving. “I…” he cleared his throat, composing himself. “Thank you, Prefect. I want to give you something in return,” he looked up. You were about to insist you wanted nothing (even if you did start out wanting something), when you saw the look in his eyes. You supposed old habits died hard - he would keep insisting on compensation for you until you accepted. So, you supposed it couldn’t hurt to be honest.

You smiled at him, holding out your extra coin to him. “How about your friendship?” His eyes widened, and you saw his adams apple bob. “I mean it,” you said softly, “really. Please?”

His eyes searched yours for any foulplay or malice. Feelings surged in him - memories of other merchildren making fun of his tentacles or his ink, times when they’d fooled him into being ‘friends,’ hiding in a crevice from bullies. Still, he found no reason to doubt you, as you smiled at him. How could you forgive him?

A poor, unfortunate soul is he, to refuse redemption.

He held his coin in his fingers, “It’s a deal,” he declared, and tapped it against yours.

——

[callsignmarz]

MDNI | 18+ : Keegan x Reader | Fem

TW- sexual content, degradation & humiliation.

“Social Media.”

"Take it down...now."

Keegan goes to snatch the phone from your hand but some how you were quick enough to dodge him.

He saw the picture on your story.

Not on your wall, where you strategically uploaded pictures of fond memories and alluring selfies, decorating yourself to be some eccentric individual.

No, it had to be your story. Which was meant to post for temporary reasons.

All damn day, you've waited for Keegan to get home from work, excited to unwind the night away with your boyfriend.

Only to get turned down because he wanted to play his fucking video games.

So, in retaliation...

You posted a mirror selfie, posing to draw attention to your curves in nothing but a thin grey sweater and simple black panties. Of course, to make it more classy, you add a black and white filter.

"Don't make me repeat myself, y/n." He warned you with another attempt to grab your phone, but to no avail.

"I'm not taking it down." You scoffed at him, finding amusement in pestering him, "A thirst trap never hurt no body. Besides, not like you're giving much attention today."

"Are you fucking with me right now? Your 'little followers' don't need to be thinking you're single..." there was a dangerous edge to his words as he spoke. It took every ounce in him to not flip out on you.

It was nauseating to him how much your life revolves around your Instagram.

Each moment had to be shared, every comment enlivened you and the likes that flooded your notifications gave you fulfillment.

You practically were a whore for attention.

The two of you continued the power-play battle for your phone with Keegan's sculpted chest bumping you back until you were pinned against a wall.

With a spontaneous reaction, you shoved your phone right into your panties. Keegan's eyes met yours, fully aware what you were doing. You were provoking him in the right ways, even if it did piss him off.

"Do you think that's supposed to stop me?" He let out a unwarranted chuckle."You're playing with fire, princess."

Before you could respond, his fingers slipped beneath the waistband of your panties, grazing teasingly close to your clit. Your breath hitches with anticipation, as you allowed the phone to be retrieved from it's hiding place.

Unlocking the phone, he scrolled around until he had reached your post. His thumb hovered over your sultry picture.

Before pressing the delete button, Keegan had sent the picture to his phone.

And instead of giving you back your phone, he holds onto it. "Are you happy now?" You say as if bored.

"Very but, I'll admit it...you looked damn good in that picture." Keegan said with a smugness in his tone as his eyes now raked over your body. "But let's be crystal fucking clear about one thing..."

His hand crept up and lightly trailed your throat, sending electrical jolts of pleasure throughout your body. He could see a flicker of impish desire in your eyes, expediting his own arousal.

Keegan leaned in, his lips hovered over your ear and with a husked voice he whispered,

"Don't think you're getting out of this. When I tell you something, babygirl...I expect you to listen."

You can feel the cool surface of the wall behind you, heightening your senses and making you acutely aware of the close proximity. A wicked smirk tugged at the corner of his lips as his hands dropped to his pants, easily maneuvering to undo them.

"Get on your knees." He commanded and your body follows. Your obedience fueled his dominant nature. Keegan's hand fishes out his needy cock, unveiling himself before you.

You could feel your mouth watering at the sight of his dick, ready to take him into your mouth. He saw the hunger gaze of yours, and he tilted his head slightly to the side, looking down on you with his own avid fascination.

As he guides his cock to your waiting mouth, his finger comb into your hair then finding a firm grasp as he descends down your throat. The taste of him on your tongue was a delicacy.

Keegan let out a low, throaty groan as he lost himself within the depths of your mouth. "That's it, baby...fuck..." he rasped, before pulling out your phone. The flash of the phone illuminated your face, capturing your attention.

He was recording...

You try to pull back, but the vice grip Keegan had on your hair, anchored you in place as his hips bucked into your mouth.

"Not so fast, babygirl. Mmm.. you're going to show everyone who you belong to. So, take this dick like a good little slut." Keegan's voice was laced with mischief and seduction.

With that, his thrusts quickened and moved with power, the sounds of your gagging mixed with his moans echoed of the walls.

Keegan watched you through the phone, making sure to get the best angles. You were putting on a performance of a lifetime as your lips and tongue worked their magic.

Within a matter of seconds, you were a mess. The sight of your disheveled state, inched him closer to reach his climax.

"Fuck, y/n... I'm about to come...argh."

He yanked your hair back, pulling himself from your mouth, leaving you gasping. His cock glistening with your saliva and your chin coaxed in his fluids. His hand continued to stroke his throbbing shaft, the tip of his dick turning bright red.

"Here it comes baby...mm.. fuck, f-fuck...yes, god y/n..argh!~" Keegan growled through his teeth.

You patiently waited, eager for him to consumed by his tantalizing orgasm. It wasn't long until ropes of milky white cum, shot out onto your face as if he was painting a canvas.

His groans of ecstasy sounded like a symphony to your ears. As he slowly caught his breath and stopped recording. His attention fully into the video, making sure it met his standards. Then with a press of a button, Keegan uploaded the video to your story.

"I'm sure you'll have fun with the comment section later." He laughs as he pulled you up onto your feet, handing the phone back to you.

"Now let's get you cleaned up."

[bucknastysbabe]

You can be my daddy tonight - L. Bodecker

If you’re seeking heaven then you’ll want to come and get it.

Rating: Explicit

Tags: DADDY AND BREEDING KINK OUT THE WAHOO, age gap, size kink, crying during sex, Frottage, pnv!sex, The Great Outdoors, she’s a brat he’s a Man what happens next, infidelity, they’re kinda both assholes, soft and fluffy Lee literally and figuratively, smut-tacular, totally glossed over Lee’s 400 red glaring flags

A/N: It’s about time I did something for my big country boy. No Pepsi cups sorryyyy

Everyone knew the Sheriff used to drink like a fish. Everyone knew the Sheriff had a wife that hadn’t popped out a baby yet. Everyone knew the Sheriff played with bad men and dirty money. Your Pa, the county judge, told you to stay far away from the Sheriff. In fact, you planned on doing the opposite.

‘Vote for Bodecker,’ read the pin. You picked it up and thumbed across the lettering, thinking. You had a senior internship with the little paper in Meade. Although more interesting things tended to come out of Knockemstiff. You were fascinated by the surly law man, he was cute. Sure, a little pudgy and a lot older but he had killer eyes and the prettiest smile. You’d be lying if he wasn’t your sexual awakening.

Your boss rolled his eyes and said, “Sure, write a puff piece on the asshole, but he’s gonna make sure you write what he wants.” You cocked your head against the door with snicker, “Not even a little feminine wiles will sway em’?”

Henry pushed his glasses up a crooked nose and blew smoke at you, “If the man has to pay people to be quiet about his sister selling ass out the Tecumseh, whatcha think your lil’ pink tweed skirt is gonna do? He’s all about reputation.” You opened your mouth in faux shock and retorted, “I’ll show you what a pink tweed skirt can do. I’ll have an interview by tomorrow!”

“Whatever you say! Get on home. Night darlin’.”

“Night Mister Henry,” you chirped.

Maybe Henry had a point. You’d called the station four times today. The receptionist would answer, you’d state your intentions, she’d say, “Sheriff Bodecker is not in the station, try again later.”

On the fifth try the receptionist sniffed, “Look girlie, he’s busy. I’d suggest giving it twenty-four hours.”

You put on a smile as you gritted out, “Thanks, girlie!”

Slamming the phone against the wall you watched your dog jump up and stare at you. Turning on your heel you made it up to your room, filtering through your dresses. You’d wear the light pink shift dress, like the one Twiggy had in the magazines. You pulled on some stockings and thick black heels to match your collar.

Eyes made up big and shiny you eyed the clock. He’s probably in his little office, yelling for the clerk to shut the damn phone off like he was important or something. You drove to the depot, slinging rocks as you pulled into a parking spot. You didn’t want to ‘pull my pa is the judge card’ but push might come to shove.

You checked your meticulous hair and makeup in the car mirror, popping a smile. You sprayed a bit of perfume and grabbed your smokes. Staring back in the mirror you chided yourself, “You gettin’ nervous? No ma’am. C’mon.” Pinching your thigh a couple of times you hopped out your light blue Mercury.

You stalked into the depot, resting your hands on the receptionist’s desk. The lady seemed shocked, gasping, “Lord have mercy! I told you the man was busy!”

You waved your hands, “It sure don’t look busy round here!”

You lit up a cigarette in annoyance, listening to her nasally admonishment. A gruff tone came from behind your right shoulder. “I have been busy all day filling out reports, but I guess some people got no patience.” You exhaled and ashed into nearby tray, glancing over your shoulder at the Sheriff. Turning and holding out a manicured hand you offered your name and a polite, “I’m here on behalf of the Meade Daily News to request an interview.”

His big hand engulfed yours, blue eyes flicking down your body before returning up. He hummed deeply before laughing, “You’re the judges girl aint’cha? Like father like daughter.” You pouted and asked, “Can I ask a couple questions or do I need to go to your opponent?”

He didn’t like that, jaw clamping down and twitching. Bodecker ran a hand through his short hair, other hand on a soft hip. He grumbled, “Naw, we don’t need that. Cmon into my office. Damn fire-ant.”

You perched yourself on the couch across the small room. It smelled of cigars and candied something. He had quit drinking so you guessed sugar was filling the void. And his shirts, you thought as he grunted while sitting down, belly straining his white button down.

Leaning back he lit up a cig and leveled you with an annoyed look, chubby cheeks bunching as he puffed on the tobacco. You went straight to the point.

“Are you aware of the accusations against you being made? About hush money and your sister’s doings.”

His eyes narrowed, fingertips digging into the wood of his desk. Bodecker suddenly smiled and said, “My poor sister was being used by her husband. She’s receiving treatment upstate Ohio. Truly a shame, but I can’t allow that to happen in our county. No hush money involved, it can be blow to the ego but she was sick.”

“Mhm. That is sad. Do you consider yourself a family man?”

He was getting more irritated by the second. You grinned, knowing you had the upper hand. Untouchable was written up and down your body, lest he get on bad with the magistrate and Mayor. Lee took a deep breath and sighed, “I’ve been wanting to have a family since my daddy upped and walked out on us. My wife has been…ill…so it’s been a slow process. We’re thinking about maybe adopting.”

You opened your mouth but Bodecker barked, “Nuh-uh. I pick this question and ya’ pretty lil’ self is gonna write it all down, ‘kay?” Feeling your cheeks heat up you nodded. It was only fair to write down some bullshit on behalf of Bodecker. So you did, unwillingly and oft with dramatic sighs.

You frowned at the Sheriff’s smug expression as he leaned back in that office chair, creaking in the quiet room. You stretched out yourself, the hem of your dress climbing higher and higher. He cleared his throat, blues locked on you. You kept your legs together and hummed, “Off the record question Sheriff— if you answer I’ll give ya’ a peak.”

He grunted softly, “Whassit’ sweetheart?”

Rubbing your thighs together tantalizingly had him begging like a dog for a bone with his eyes. You rolled your hips and asked, “So you gonna adopt some babies? You don’t go home and fill your wife’s pussy up every night? She’s mighty pretty but y’aint gettin’ any younger Sheriff.”

He groaned and palmed his swelling prick, cheeks flushed with embarrassment.

“What? Looks like y’got no problem getting it up?”

Lee Bodecker stood up, braced over his desk, and growled, “She’s a lockbox. Thinkin’ I’m fucking lil’ girls like you.” You dropped one of your legs to the floor, exposing your naked slit, cooing, “Really now?” He stepped closer, breathing hard. You could see the war in his mind but he couldn’t control the licking of his lips.

You knew what the man was imagining.

He stood still, hands on his hips as almost if he was stuck. You lounged idly, curls falling out of place. You slid your hand down your body, so, so, so slowly. Lee made a soft noise when you swiped your fingers through slippery slick. “She don’t get all wet for you like this Sheriff? Don’t take much for me.”

You rubbed a bit faster, breathily moaning, “I remember when you was just a deputy, hah, I was thirteen. Such an ugly duckling then. F-fuck but you were so handsome helping me when those boys were being mean.”

Lee had drawn closer, kneeling at the end of the couch, a hand near your calf, barely grazing it. His orbs were dark with arousal. The man desperately goaded, “C’mon- finish the story, c’mon.”

You arched your back, spreading yourself wider for him, circling your clit. “W-well, ya’ helped me out and you were just out the national guard, all young and trim- don’t matter shit! So when I went home I rode my pillow thinkin’ it was you.” You finished your dirty little story with a cry, shivering in pleasure. Lee looked wrecked, hand tightly wound around your ankle now, rubbing his ringed finger over his face.

You slid upward, batting his hand off. Lee gruffed, “Yer’ gonna give me a heart attack sweets— ya’ can’t stay much longer.” Close enough to smell his aftershave you pressed close, tucking yourself into a soft jawline, pressing some kisses.

You grabbed his big left hand and eyed the gold band. Playing with it the question rolled out, “When’s the last time you got a blow job Sheriff?” He gulped down a moan, shaking his head. You lapped at his thick ring finger, swallowing the digit down. He gasped and jerked at the sensation, eyes wide. You ever so gently eased his wedding ring off a slight hassle as his fingers weren’t so slim since the bells rang.

You pulled it out of your mouth and placed it on the side table, staring up at the bigger man, still kneeled outside the couch. Lee’s internal war seemed to be made up, he had a look in his eye now, jaw twitching. He stood up, cock flushed and thick against those tight slacks.

His big hand held your cheek, thumb stroking your cheek. You whimpered softly when he brushed the bottom lip. The sheriff murmured, “Can you be a good girl and follow along?” You nodded and suckled on his calloused thumb, watching eyes roll back.

He managed in a low rumble, “You’re gonna straighten up and walk your pretty tail to your car. Then head to the Seven-Eleven where the truckers park,” he bent down and nipped your earlobe, “Then I’m gonna come by and we’ll have a real interview— up close and personal.”

“Yessir,” you poorly whined. You shifted your thighs together to hold back the neediness still arising. You stood up on shaky legs, smoothing down your dress, wiping any stray makeup, putting your headband back on. Before you walked out the door he pressed his big body into yours, lips crawling up your neck.

“Haven’t had a blowjob in years. But I can’t resist any sweets.” He smacked your ass and you stumbled out the door, pen and paper in hand. The receptionist and a cop standing by her stared oddly but you chirped, “Have a wonderful night!” There was a skip in your step to the Mercury, you driving like a bat outta hell to the quickie store.

Then the waiting begun.

You contemplated rubbing your clit outta boredom and sheer need but went over your notes instead. Deep in thought, a knock at the window shocked you, sending the pen flying. The sheriff was clad in a leather jacket now, grinning like a maniac down at you. You tentatively opened the car door and asked, “Where we headed Sheriff?”

You were both parked behind a stationary truck. He had his hat on, brim low, arm slung around your waist. He hummed, “Not sure yet. Somewhere quiet. Probably one o’ those old lover’s lanes when I was young.” You stifled a laugh, “In a place like this it’s changed?”

He side-eyed you with a smirk, “Yep, y’know how many times I’d had to bust up little bad girls like you out past bedtime?” You rolled your eyes and stated, “Don’t got a curfew, my parents think I’m at Darlene’s.” He opened the side of the cruiser for you, getting a nice feel as you sat down.

He slipped in the driver’s side, turning on the ignition. He hummed, “This lover’s lane s’better, gotta pretty crick to run around in.” You stared in horror, “But what about bears and snakes?” He patted your thigh and cooed, “Don’t worry your pretty little head, not like I ain’t use a gun before.” His huge hand settled on your thigh, squeezing and rubbing maddeningly.

You whimpered under your breath, been on edge too long. Rolling toward a dilapidated stop sign he made a noise of faux concern, teasing, “Poor doll baby, you riled up huh? C’mere and sit a little closer.”

You practically leapt to his side, plastered to his warmth. He grinned again and held you snug into his soft midsection. Cruising at a leisurely pace he admitted without looking, “I wanna’ baby so bad. Fill the house with kids. Be better than my shitbag of a Daddy.”

You wanted that too. Real bad. Just thinking about it made you needier. He grumbled, “I don’t know if it’s me or her but ain’t nothing clicked. We been to the doctor in Cleveland, my spunk’s all fine.” He groaned in annoyance, “Why am I even telling you all this?”

You shrugged, “Obviously it’s been weighing on ya. I’d have your babies. Ones with big blue eyes and pretty teeth,” you placed a hand on his soft stomach and whispered, “You’d be a good daddy. I’ve seen ya at the town gatherings.” Bodecker sharply inhaled, hand gripping the steering wheel so hard his knuckles turned white.

His driving sped up some, ducking down into an old trail to a holler. He didn’t respond, jaw tighter than ever. You asked, “Sheriff? Bodecker? Did I say something?” He growled, “Babygirl…nah, you said everything I wanted to hear.” He placed a gentler hand around your knee, giving a squeeze.

He put the cruiser in park, settling back with a sigh. You eyed him with wide eyes, utterly transfixed. In the moment you trembled, a bit out of your element, but the ache between your legs was throbbing and persistent. You helped him undo his tight jacket and throw it in the back. You tossed his wide brimmed hat with a little giggle.

Lee rolled his window down and you copied him. The silence was stagnant until the sounds of the evening filled in. The energy was still charged. He turned to you, blue eyes intense. The sheriff asked, “You really mean all that? About the babies and shit?” You nodded, reaching a hand out to grip his bigger one.

“You’re a goddamn angel. Shit baby- how old’re you now?” He ran a frantic hand through his dark hand, biting that damned lip again. You warbled, “M’eighteen. Been that way for a couple a’ months.” He shook his head, laughing lowly, “I’m old enough t’be ya’ daddy sweet cheeks.”

“You can be my daddy. I don’t care. I’ll put all the babies you want in that big empty house up in Brewer Heights.”

He pulled you by your thighs, his bulk keeping you wide open and pinned. Lee hissed in your ear, “Can’t say shit like that. I’m a married man, divorce not good for the election baby.” You pouted and turned away, annoyed. He grabbed your cheeks and cooed, “That don’t mean we can make some arrangements after I win and you’d be the biggest prize.”

You rolled your body against his softer one and petulantly replied, “You promise? Y’gonna be my daddy Lee?” He smiled while peppering kisses along your jaw. “Mhm. I’ll be your daddy, dress you up, take you around, fill ya’ up with my babies.”

“Good. Being on the judge’s bad side would be sticker in your heel for winning,” you said lightly.

He glared you down, fear filling your veins before Lee laughed, “Don’t I know that? Bratty lil’ girl, bout’ as slick as those gangsters at the Tecumseh.” You retorted, “You like it, I know it.” Lee sat back on his haunches, kicking open the car door behind him. You surged forward with a whimper, seizing his plump lips.

You batted his hands away to loosen his tie then unbutton his top. While unpinning his badge you hummed, “Nah. This’ll be my job when you get home after a long day.” Lee simply groaned and panted while you plucked the buttons off. You commented, “Daddy needs a bigger size.”

You ran your hands down his soft belly and hips, squeezing. They settled on his belt, pudge slightly rolling over. He scoffed, “Eatin’ too many sweets. I’ll be a Fuckin’ hog by the end of the election.” Loosening his belt with a jingle you shrugged, “Not when you’re fucking your pretty girl all the time, that’ll get some cardio in.”

Button popped and you stroked him through his underwear, earning a strangled moan. You couldn’t help but whimper, “Oh- you’re big.” He shucked off the rest of the pants along with the whites— cock rudely slapping against his tummy. You blushed and cried out when he reached behind your neck to unbutton your collar.

In a flurry of muted pink you were on your knees in the buff. Lee rumbled, “Oh little girl, fuck, pretty goddamn baby.” You whimpered, “Touch me, c’mon daddy, s’been too long. Huuurts.” He laid you down on the seat, big hands rubbing you gently, cooing, “Ain’t you just a darlin’? Daddy’s gonna take care of ya.”

His cock slotted against your oversensitive pussy, making you cry out again, hands wrapping round his broad shoulders. He leaned in from an angle, taking your lips sweetly. You shyly moaned into his mouth, rutting against him in excitement. All your dreams come true. Lee Bodecker would be yours.

He shifted in the tight compartment, hand cradling you for better access to your mouth. He kicked into your lax mouth, panting, “Been s’long, taste so sweet.” You lapped back, wet smacks filling the cruiser. His tongue playfully danced against yours, kissing rough then pulling back to smile at you.

You tried to close the gap, only for the bastard to back off further. You whined his name in annoyance, squirming. The brunette shushed you, “Hold on now, lemme love on you some.” Your eye roll turned into a real one when his lips sealed over your nipple, flicking his tongue naughtily. Billy from down the road didn’t know jack shit about this, fucking boy.

You ran your hand through his thick hair, panting and mewling softly. “Lee, oh f- Christ!” He hummed amusedly around your bud, sending you reeling again. Then switched to the other one, rough fingers twitching and pulling. He was rolling his thick cock between your folds quicker now, making you a mess of nerves and emotions.

For some reason tears pricked at your eyes as you cried his name, your belly awash with heat, orgasm taking you by surprise. Clinging to the man, you sobbed into his sweet smelling neck, shaking like a leaf. Lee groaned low and long, caught up in pleasure before he realized.

He enveloped you into a tight embrace, shushing and cooing sweet things. Lee softly spoke, “Oh honey, s’too much? Poor baby never been with a real man like her daddy. Shh now, s’okay sweet pea. Breathe for me, c’mon.” You blinked more tears into his neck, trying to stop your shuddery breathing.

He was doing a good job of holding you tight, feeling safe nestled against his soft belly and hard arms. You croaked, “S’sorry daddy, didn’t know what came over me. Didn’t even let you get to come.” He nuzzled the crown of your mussed hair. “You’re fine pretty girl, I know ya’ been keyed up for hours. Why don’t we take a dip in that crick, sure is hot out here.”

You nodded slowly, wiping your eyes while da-Lee loved up on you, big hand leading you to the babbling water. He grinned, “S’gon be cold. Better hold tight.” You managed a weak tease, “Did’ja tell that to all the girlies back in the day?”

“Maybe. Only if they was special.”

“Was your wife special?”

He remained quiet for a beat, only the sound of water rushing by. Lee shook his head and sighed, “Nah. That was a between patrol hookup and she had money. Thought it would be a good idea.”

“Fuck er’ let’s get in daddy,” you swore.

His forlorn expression brightened under the moonlight, him stepping in the water first. He whooped, “Whew it’s brisk! Good for ya, that’s what my momma used ta’ say.” You stepped in ankle deep, yelping. Lee barked out a laugh and waded further, submerged to his thighs. He sat on a flattened boulder, pulling you in.

Much shorter than Lee you cried out in shock at the coolness hitting your overheated nerves. You hopped to him and whined, “Goddamn Lee, that’s cold as hell!” He grinned and retorted, “Get up here then, up ya’ get.”

You were on top of his spread thighs, his unflagging prick between you two, pulsing. The water lapped around your feet and his shins. Lee’s tone grew darker as he asked, “You gonna let daddy stretch that pretty pussy out?” Arousal flooded your system like a ton of bricks again.

“Yessir, I ain’t a virgin but take it slow, yeah?”

“Slow as you want sugar, you’re on top after all.”

You kissed him again, pressing your forehead against his while you lifted up on quivering thighs. He steadied his cock as you descended, gasping as the thick tip began to breach your still soaked core. He hummed, “That’s it, real slow baby girl, no rush.” You slid down further, whining at the stretch, about halfway now.

You took a break to pant in his mouth, soaking up those sweet nothings. The pinch died down and you slid flush to his lap. You were full, stretched, split. You gasped and shuddered. “Lee. Daddy. Oh god daddy- you’re so big ah hell, feeling you everywhere dadddy!”

He pressed down on your lower belly, eyes blackened with lust. Lee murmured, “Mmmm- yeah sweetheart, shit, tight, I can feel me through ya’.” He looked dazed, forehead still stuck to yours as he panted. The sheriff slurred, “Oh fuck sssweetheart, s’been s-so damn long for daddy. Don’t want it to end.”

“Fuck me then, get it out, I got mine,” you pleaded while pecking his lips. Pushing the man back against the rock you laid on top of him, letting Lee plant his feet on something solid. Lee moaned long and low, fucking into you roughly with heavy slaps, something that’ll make a whore blush.

He babbled, “Yeah, baby, gonna be your daddy, fuck you all day and night until that belly is round, take care of ya’. Everyone gonna be jealous of ole’ Bodecker. We’ll build our own- fucking hell- place!”

You nodded along, your daddy’s cock rubbing spots you didn’t know existed inside your pussy. “Yeah, yeah, fuck me, love it!” He let out a weak noise, sucking in a breath. You could tell the man was close, he was whimpering almost imperceptibly, strokes growing sloppy.

“Awh fucking- baby,” he warned.

You pulled off of him and let the seed spurt against your belly and tits. Lee scrunched his cute face up, soft tummy twitching as he unloaded on you, moaning unabashedly. He blinked a couple of times, smiling at you like you’d hung the moon.

“How’d I get so damn lucky huh?”

You shrugged, cock drunk and giddy. “I just knew you’d have a nice cock and decided to hunt you down.”

He guffawed, pulling you both into the freezing ass water. You spluttered, gasping from shock. He howled again, laughing. Lee held you tightly, locking your hips around his waist. You nuzzled into his embrace, hearing his chest vibrate as he promised, “Gonna be your daddy, all mine now little girl.”

“All yours,” you promised.

A year later Sheriff Bodecker started the groundwork on his new home, right next to that creek where it all started. He stood behind you, rubbing your slightly rounded belly. Lee hummed, “See, what I tell you Mrs. Bodecker?”

“Everything you said, Mr. Bodecker,” you winked,

“Daddy.”

[polakina]

the finest whiskey

pairing: steven grant x reader

rating: explicit

outline: thinking about what happened in the hallway, Steven decides to do something about your little...fixation

warnings: dirty thoughts, hand kink, steven likes to tease, orgasm denial, edging, spanking, hair pulling, fingering,

requests are open! hope you enjoy, petals <3

masterlist

II

It looped through his mind. Like a car on a racetrack. Over and over again it played out like a movie. Your eyes, drifting down to his hands and focusing entirely on them as he spoke. He knew that you weren’t really focused on his words, but he didn’t care. He cared more about the way your eyes followed the movements of his fingers, completely entranced as he purposefully twirled his keys between his digits deftly. He probably shouldn’t have done it…knowing that it would get to you, knowing that it would do something to you. But he still did, revelling in the way you were so entranced, obsessed. It turned him on more than he wanted to admit. Knowing that it turned you on too...it set something alight in him.

Pacing his apartment, he chewed the nail on his thumb as he mulled it over. For days he’d been mulling it over. The idea. The thought that consumed him. Should he? It could ruin the friendship you two shared. Or…it could fast track it to something he had wanted for months.

The two of you hadn’t seen each other since that day, you being on night shifts at work meaning he’d never see you on the staircase as he normally would. It had been killing him, not being able to see you, see how you always acted around him. He wondered if you had thought about him at all, like he’d been thinking about you. He was ashamed to say that most of his thoughts weren’t exactly family friendly, sleepless nights of picturing you. You and your particular fascination, of what he could do with you, to you, about that fascination.

It was all he could think about was where he could touch you, tease you, make you writhe and whine, beg for him. He’d want to make you beg, see how pathetic and needy he could get you before he finally gave you what he wanted. His sweet and quiet demeanour always switched up whenever he thought of you. It was as though something took over him. Something darker.

His thoughts and pacing were interrupted when he heard the keys to your apartment turn in the lock, clicking to alert that you were arriving home. It was the weekend, and you had gone out with some friends for an engagement party. He remembered you mentioning the gathering a few weeks ago, you hadn’t seemed exceptionally eager about it, but had gone reluctantly under the account of the hostess threatening to bring the entire party to your apartment if you didn’t show. Your walls were pretty thin, and since your apartments were attached, it was easy to hear the other shuffling around their apartments. Thinking for a further few moments, Steven decided fuck it, grabbing his keys and moving to the front door of his apartment.

-

Kicking your shoes off into the corner next to your front door, you let out a long sigh. Note to self, never agree to go to an engagement party again. You thought it would be small. No-you were promised it would be small. “A little gathering, nothing too fancy,” your best friend had told you. Liar. It was as though half of fucking London had shown up to this private event. So you tried to shake off the stress of the party, running your hand through your hair and taking off your jacket before hanging it on the hooks besides your front door.

Still in your outfit from the day, you sank into the plush couch cushions in your living room, stretching your legs out onto the table before you. You had half expected to see Steven at some point on your way upstairs, knowing he was a bit of a night owl on weekends. You’d heard him shuffling around most Saturday nights, talking to someone, most likely himself or his fish.

You were a little sad that you didn’t see him. Yes, you had been ignoring him and avoiding him…but since that one day, it was as though things had shifted. You didn’t feel the need to want to avoid him, but as fate had it, you hadn’t seen him since that day, much to your dismay. It didn’t mean that you hadn’t thought of him. Privately. Probably in a way that you shouldn’t think of a neighbour.

Your mindless scrolling was interrupted by a knock at your door. At this hour? You stood from your place on the couch and made your way to the door, peeking through the little circled peep hole. Steven. Stood there, waiting for you to answer. Why the hell was he here? You didn’t really care, happy to see him nonetheless. Unlocking your front door, you came face to face with your neighbour. This time, you only kept your eyes on his face.

“Hi, Steven,” you greeted him with a small smile which he graciously returned. “You alright?”

“Yeah, hi! Yeah, I’m good. Just heard you open your door, so I thought I’d check how your party went.” He was sweet. His smile a clear tell that he was happy to see your face once again.

“Yeah, it went okay. Not really my thing though,” you admitted, watching cautiously as his hand ran through his hair, separating the curls as he pushed them out of his face. His fingers trailed down, scratching his cheek and then his neck. Stop looking stop looking stop looking. You already failed at keeping the promise you’d made to yourself.

He saw. He noticed. He made a note of it. t made him smirk how quickly you caught yourself and looked back at his face. “Yeah, big parties aren’t my thing either. How’ve you been lately?” He asked, leaning against your doorframe, arms crossed over one another. That stance…made it hard for you to concentrate.

“I’ve been alright, I guess…” you continued making small talk, eventually finding your eyes drift down to the rings on his fingers. The ones he kept playing with, twisting them on his finger. When did he start wearing rings? Had he always worn rings? You didn’t fucking know.

His voice sort of blurred in your mind, words muddling into one as you kept flitting between his rings and his face. Until you felt a finger under your chin, tilting your head up to look at him.

“My eyes are up here, sweetheart,” his voice was husky, eyes looking darker as he gazed down at your mildly shocked face. “Unless there’s something else that catches your attention a little more?” You were speechless, to say the least. Attempting to formulate a coherent response in your head wasn’t going your way. “Oh come on, darling. I know you get all flustered when you see me.” Shit. His brow cocked, waiting for a response from you. “Well? Are you going to tell me what it is?” He knew. He had to. He just wanted you to say it.

His grip on your chin tightened, moving to hold your jaw in his palm, thumb digging into your cheek. “I-it’s just your…your hands,” your voice was meek, quiet. You were hesitant to say it. “I like them.”

“Hmm? Oh yeah? And what do you like about them?” His smirk told you everything you needed to know. He loved this. Hearing you talk about this. About him. He wanted more of it.

“How big they are,” you whispered, your eyes never leaving his, looking for any indication in his face of what he was feeling. “How…pretty they look.” Your words escaped you after he smiled down at you, tipping your head higher and leaning in closer to you, his nose almost brushing yours.

“Oh, sweetheart, if I’d have known sooner, I could have done something about it. About your little fixation.” His lips were on the verge of touching yours, a sliver of air remaining between you. But it still felt like too much space.

“What would you have done?” You whispered, almost afraid of the answer, but equally just as intrigued.

“I would have indulged your little fantasy, my darling. I would enjoy it just as much as you,” he admitted, growing harder in his pants just with the way your eyes lit up.

“…you would?”

“Oh, yes. Using my hands on you, the way I know you want me to, would turn me on just to hear your noises when I do. Is that what you want? For me to make you feel good with my hands?” Was this really about to happen? Fuck, you hoped so. “Yes, yes please, Steven. Make me feel good,” you begged, legs almost buckling at the lustful glint in his chocolate eyes.

That’s how you ended up on your bed, clothes tossed aside, bed sheets scrunched and strewn across the bed messily as your bodies laid on top of it. Limbs entangled with one another as Steven crawled on top of you, wedging his thigh between your legs. No piece of clothing remained on either of your bodies, stripped from your skin and collected in a messy pile on the ground.

“Sweetheart, I’ve wanted this for so long. Wanted you. Now I finally have you, I plan on showing you just how much I’ve wanted you what I’ve wanted to do to you.” His lips ghosted past yours and went for your neck instead, latching onto your skin just where your pulse point was. It was as though he already knew your body perfectly, his hands roaming across your bare skin, one gripping your hip and his other palm next to your head, pushing into the mattress to hold his weight above you.

Your head was hazy with need, with want. You craved Steven, all of him. And this new side to him, more desperate, his way with words, it all went straight to your core. You never knew that he could talk in such a dirty way that made you practically dripping for him. Tumbling pleas and begs fell from your tongue, praying for his touch on your skin, his lips on yours, his hands on you. You felt his fingers trail up your skin, past your stomach, ghosting through the valley of your breasts until they reached your face. “Open up, sweetheart,” he ordered as he tapped two of his fingers on your bottom lip. You obliged, more than willingly, opening your mouth and moaning as he slid his fingers in. “Now be good, darling, and suck.”

You did. He internally groaned over the sight of your lips wrapped around his fingers, rolling your tongue along the length of his digits. It was a heavenly sight for him, sending all the blood flowing down to his dick. Fuck, if just using your mouth on his fingers turned him on this bad, he couldn’t imagine how it’d feel to have your mouth around his cock.

But today wasn’t about him. It was about you. He was more than prepared to make it all about you. so once he felt as though his fingers were coated enough, he removed them slowly from the warm cavern of your mouth, despite your vocal dismay.

“Don’t worry, I’m not done with you just yet. We haven’t even gotten to the good part and you’re already whining for me, how pathetic.” His wet fingers drifted down your body until they reached the apex of your thighs, teasing your folds. “Now let’s see just how whiny I can get you, shall we?” Steven didn’t let you respond before you felt one of his thick fingers run down your slit and push inside you slowly. Your mouth fell agape at the feeling, just one of his fingers felt like almost two of your own as they worked inside of you, searching for that one spot to make you writhe. Your wetness practically sucked his finger in, creating no resistance as he added a second finger, moving them inside of you at an agonisingly slow pace. Little whines and groans escaped your throat to fill the empty room, music to Steven’s ears as he fucked you with his fingers. “Oh come on, sweetheart. I know you can be louder than that.” But he knew what you needed. More. That’s what you needed. But he wasn’t ready to give it to you. not unless you asked. So he waited, baiting his time and continued his slowed pace, no matter how much he wanted to speed up and fuck you rougher with just his fingers inside you, his thumb teasing your clit. Resting back on his haunches, he glanced down as his fingers moved in and out of you slowly, but he could see you try to push yourself onto your elbows. He did nothing to stop you.

“Please, Steven. Need more. Please, faster,” you begged, the words coming out in a breathy gasp as his fingers curled at the perfect angle. Steven’s pace didn’t increase, it stayed at his sluggish desired speed.

“Sorry, I couldn’t hear you, princess. What did you say?” There was an evil smile in his voice. He was loving this, pulling these pretty moans and pleas from you, he drank them in like the finest whiskey he’d ever tasted.

“Please, I’ll be so good for you, just please move faster.” Your words choked on the last few words as his fingers brushed against a part of your body that made you see stars. Steven smirked as he knew he’d found that spot he’d been looking for, it was written all over your face and in your voice, “oh, faster, huh? Right there?” his fingers brushed it again this time, harder. “You’re going to be good for me, sweetheart?” You nodded eagerly, meeting his eye as he gazed down at you in all your beautiful glory, your chest heaving with a dim shine to it, your face flushed and eyes desperate for him.

“Yes,” your voice almost a whisper. His unoccupied hand moved further up your body until it reached your neck. His fingers wrapped around your throat, not applying too much pressure yet, just squeezing briefly to get your attention even though it was all already focused on him.

“You’re going to behave?” He waited for your confirming nod before he smiled. “Good girl.” That was when his fingers moved faster inside you, hitting that heavenly spot harder and harder with every thrust. Your mouth fell open and your elbows slipped from underneath you and your head hit the pillows. But his hand never left your throat. It stayed wrapped around your neck, his palm feeling how your Adam’s apple bobbed up and down beneath his touch. “That’s it sweetheart, you’re doing so good for me. Feel good?”

Your words had practically escaped you, but you somehow managed to find them buried beneath the blissful fog clouding your mind. “Yes, fuck yes, Steven. Feels so good, please don’t stop.”

Steven just chuckled, his voice dipping low, nestling in the pits of your stomach. “Oh, princess, I’m not going to stop. I won’t stop till you’re begging beneath me, begging for release until tears are falling from your pretty cheeks. I bet you’d like that, wouldn’t you sweetheart?” He really did have a way with using his words to make you so malleable to his every touch, desire his every advance. You said yes. That was all you could say. Over and over again as his words and his fingers brought you closer to feeling the most pleasure you’d ever felt. Your hand fixation had always been in the back of your mind, aching for its time in the spotlight. But now it was all on show, and Steven was using it to his utmost advantage, drawing moan after moan from your lips in the darkness with only the moonlight watching over you as a light in the descending twilight. “Atta girl,” he groaned as you clenched around his fingers, practically feeling how close you were getting. But Steven stayed true to his word. The second he heard that breathy gasp, saw your eyes roll and your back arch beneath his hold, his fingers slowed, not stopping completely, but enough to wash away that pleasurable feeling he knew you wanted to consume you.

“What did I tell you, sweetheart? You’re not getting it that easily. Not when I know how long you’ve wanted this. No, you have to earn it.” His British accent grew coarser as his words grew filthier, dirtying your mind with their meaning. He held up his end of the deal, his fingers working hard and fast inside your aching pussy, desperate for some sort of release, yearning for your denied orgasm to finally course through your body. But it never came.

Your eyes grew watery, your voice breaking into a poorly stung together selection of words to beg for him to let you cum. It felt as though hours as passed, as though you were going to begin hearing birds tweeting outside your window as the sun creeped above the buildings outside your window. But somehow the sky was still painted a deep black and there were no birds outside. But you were still on the brink of bliss that you felt would never come.

“Oh, princess, growing desperate are we? You want to cum that badly?” Steven forced himself to hold out longer, ignoring how his cock throbbed at the sight of you, at the sounds you were making. “Ask for it then, if you want it that much.” It was almost amusing to him how quickly and needily you begged for him to let you cum, to make you orgasm just on his fingers alone from the sheer amount of rapture he was bringing you. “Okay, sweetheart, you can cum. Let yourself go on my fingers and make those pretty noises you’ve been making all night. If you’re good and can do that, then perhaps you’ll get more than just my fingers tonight.”

As though a switch had flipped inside of you, one that only Steven’s words could activate, you felt a bubble burst deep within you. You practically came on command, crying out Steven’s name and gripping his forearm that was by your chest as you did. You gave no fucks as to whether your neighbours would hear you, That would be tomorrow’s problem. Right now you were just caught up in the moment, caught up in the violent waves of ecstasy ripping through your veins and dragging out the most obscene noises from you.

Steven could feel you release onto his fingers, so violently that it dripped out of you and down his hand. It was the hottest thing he had ever seen and it took everything inside him not to cum with you. His fingers fucked you through your orgasm, only stopping when you had to physically push him away, your knuckles still white from when you’d been gripping the disarrayed bed sheets so tightly. “That’s a good girl, you did so well for me,” he mumbled to you, removing his fingers and bringing them up to his mouth, indulging himself in the taste of pleasure that had tumbled from your body, caused by him alone.

You laid there, cheeks stained with tears and heaving heavy breaths to regain some air into your lungs. You welcomed the feel of Steven leaning down to press his lips to yours, moaning as you tasted yourself on his tongue. The kiss was soft, but there was a certain passion to it. A certain hunger. You had a feeling he wasn’t quite finished with you yet.

“You okay, sweetheart?” Steven asked, his voice more sincere this time. He smiled sweetly as you breathed a yes against his lips. “Yes,” you replied, cupping the back of his neck to pull him down for another kiss. “More than okay.”

Steven graciously returned your kiss with just as much vigour. “Good. But I’m not done with you yet. Not when I promised you more.” In seconds he had you flipped over, manhandled so your ass was in the air and your cheek was pressed against the pillow. You were still trying to regain your breath, but neither of you particularly cared anymore. His hand that once was wrapped around your neck was now tangled in your hair, pulling it into a makeshift ponytail. He pulled on it, less gently than you anticipated, but the sting sent shivers down your spine. His other hand caressed your ass, slapping your left ass cheek to create a pale pink mark on the skin as he leaned down to brush his lips against your ear. “But now it’s my turn to indulge in a little fantasy of my own. Listening to you scream my name for all our neighbours to hear while my cock is deep in your sweet pussy. And you’re going to take all of it like the good girl you are.” You were right. He certainly wasn’t done with you yet.

[byhees]

polaroid memories.

엔하이픈 형선 ・ female reader + word count 400 genre fluff established relationship warnings not proof-read kissing skinship — more

a/n. requested!

heeseung

would probably take you to a cute little fair for a date; him showing off his carnival game skills by winning you heaps of prizes— there’s the prettiest smile etched on his features when he catches sight of your grin, your arms full with different stuffed animals; standing by street-food carts, and waiting for your orders to be churned out— him stealing a peck on your cheek, head turning to look away from your widened eyes almost immediately after; going on the ferris wheel, and sitting close to one another, hands interlocked and rested on his thigh— his eyes subconsciously shifting to gaze at your side profile every so often, admiring the fascination imbued in your features.

jongseong

would probably take you on a night hike for a date; it’s so comforting to just enjoy the tranquility of the city— there’s the chirping of cicadas, and the occasional honking of faraway cars; lying on the grassy expanse— him offering his arm for you to rest your head on; pointing out the many constellations above, and simply enjoying one another’s company; he’d pepper your face with soft kisses, and shower you with pretty affirmations; him offering to piggyback you on the way down, not wanting you to tire yourself out.

jaeyun

would probably take you to a pottery studio for a date; he’d help you tie a knot at the back of your apron, fingers lightly brushing against the fabric of your shirt. returning the gesture, you’d do the same, a small smile blossoming across your features; him guiding you through the moulding process, his hands lightly resting on yours, your back softly brushing against his chest; carving one another’s initials as a memento for the cute date; him resting his chin on your shoulder, looking over at the little finished product on the tabletop with the prettiest smile.

sunghoon

would take you to an aquarium for a date; carries a little camera around with him— takes pretty candid photos of you, eyes twinkling as he views the picture in the image gallery; pointing out peculiar sea creatures, and horribly butchering their names; playing around at those interactive exhibits, and watching in amusement as projected beams of light paint the walls of a room, small fishes now being illuminated; him buying cute souvenirs from the little shop by the end of the aquarium— winds up getting a matching set of stingray headbands.

taglist open! @halcyoni-ki @wondipity @yjjungwon @shysakuno @niktwazny303 @vnsux @minhosify @haechansbbg @yeomha @stepout-09-15 @chansburgah @sona-verse01 @lilly-bubblelops @smouches @mrchweeee @luvistqrzzz @nwjws @ibsysbsfsunsbs @rikisly @amyysfics @mixtape-racha @berry-and-kkami @rikislady networks! @kflixnet @enhanet @k-labels

[softshuji]

Izana has never done this before.

Not the shopping, not the pushing the trolley, and definitely not the preparations for a new home. And if you asked him perhaps two years ago, you'd never have seen him dead pushing a silver trolley packed to the brim with food and homeware, clicking his tongue in faux annoyance when you wander off to look at something else, his hand now cold with the breeze that comes from the absence of yours in it.

And maybe, just maybe, he'll stop to look at a small coffee press, a frying pan set, a chopping board that somehow he can envision hung up on the wall in the kitchen, and he'll take it down to look at it- as if it's fascinating, as if it's all so new. Truth be told, his nerves are fried from the anxiety, all these new things you're exploring together, all of the newness and novelty that seems so foreign and so welcoming at the same time. Maybe it's the stress of moving that has him jittery, the first time you'll be sleeping under the same roof for longer than a night- or maybe it's you, and his willingness to not be a disappointment, to live up to something he knows you would want of him, even if you never mention it.

Because truth be told again- you never do and he wishes sometimes you would. Mention when you're angry, upset, disappointed in him- more willing to chastise him. He would feel less guilty perhaps of being so in love with you.

'Hey,' you say now, handing him a set of small white towels and holding up a set of very extremely cliché "his" and "her" cream and grey bathrobes. 'What do you think? Cute right?'

He raises an eyebrow quizzically, steering to the side of the walkway to rearrange the contents of the trolley, the white towels now primly stacked on top of the sealed set of pink and blue mugs and plates, daisies painted onto the ceramic because 'they're cute Izana! Can we please get them?' and he never has the heart to say no to you like that, and any other time too, when you're always so diligent and good to him- in all the ways he asks and even those he doesn't either.

'"His and Hers" is kind of typical isn't it?' he says and scrunches his nose, in the way you like and he knows you like, even though he's already decided that maybe matching bathrobes is not such a bad idea anyways. He is yours and you are his after all. Cliche things suddenly seem a lot less of an issue with you.

You tut under your breath and move to lift them on top of the towels anyway. 'You are no fun sometimes,' you say with mirth and tuck the matching bathrobes underneath the towels and a pair of fluffy white slippers now sitting neatly on top.

You move to hold his arm then, your gloved hands now intertwined again, a soft smile gracing him that he tries to return, albeit awkwardly, setting for a squeeze of your hand while he pushes the trolley on. You rest a hand on your tummy then, over your coat, your cheeks puffed with the effort to keep up and he slows to a gentle walk, fishing the water bottle from your handbag slung over his other shoulder and handing it to you while he runs his thumb over the wedding ring on your finger.

You like that it's this easy, that it's so natural like this, that almost two years later, you have no qualms or reservations about your decision to marry. It has not been easy and he was always open about that fact- that he was dangerous in the entirety of him, that your relationship would be unconventional to say the least. But you find that loving him is as easy as breathing, easier in fact- and you wish he knew it more, wish you were more able to be honest about how much he's changed you, for better or for worse that is. You had not considered happiness to be on the cards previously. But maybe with him it's a possibility.

'Are you alright love?' he says, a hand now rubbing at your back, eyes furrowed in concern, a tilt of his neck to watch you dab at your lips with the corner of a tissue.

'i'm okay,' you say with a hand on his wrist, a dizzying wave that passes as quickly as it comes, and him coming back into focus again, murmuring praise against the shell of your ear, hair tucked behind and gently moved free of your neck.

'We can go home if you want to.'

'No, it's okay. I'm having fun 'Zana, I don't want to go home just yet.' And you manage a watery and placating smile that he returns easier this time, adjusting your coat with a squeeze of your hand that he lifts to his mouth to press a subtle kiss to.

You move on, products here and there, a murmur of assent or a shake of his head that you roll your eyes at- especially when you take it anyway and he sighs, a playful chuckle as he bends to rearrange the order of the trolley as he follows you ambling down the aisle.

'Oh I just remembered, the coffee table!' you exclaim, your hands coming together in surprise.

'Hm?'

'We need a new one. The last one was too small remember?'

He backs up, cranes his neck around the corner towards the home appliances section, the frown melting when he sees them on the far side of the department store. 'I think they're over there Love.'

And you walk together, slowly, an arm around his, your hand squeezing at his bicep with a girlish giggle, a flippant comment about how he looks 'so sexy and hot today' that he hates to admit still makes him flush this many years later.

Or maybe he doesn't hate it and just likes to pretend to. Because when he thinks about it really- the future in which the two of you are not together, the future in which you go through these motions with someone who isn't him, sharing a bed, sharing a home, a baby with a man who isn't him, and the sweat breaks out instinctively across his forehead with a anxious thump of his heart against his ribs. He likes that you're his, that for all his faults, he has this one saving grace, an angel maybe, all for himself.

'How's this one?' you say, gingerly touching the mahogany wood, a dusting of shiny gloss that you catch your reflection in- a scarf pulled up to your neck and a hand on your tummy, hand gliding along the gilded edges.

He comes up behind you, the swing of his hair kissing at your earlobe. 'Mhm it's nice, but not sturdy enough.'

You turn, a quizzical frown, a softened pout. 'Not sturdy enough? What do you mean?'

And he kisses your cheek, discretely, a brush of dry and soft lips against the apple of your cheek, a little cold, a little pallid to the touch. 'I think you know what that means don't you love?'

He watches the realisation settle across your eyes, your jaw slackened and a teasing smirk pulling at the corner of your upturned lips, the blossom of heat now licking at your neck as it always does when his voice drops with subtle innuendo. 'You're a very bad man Izana.'

'I've definitely heard worse.'

And you shake your head, a smile fighting across your lips, a squeeze of his hand as you move on and you love him like this. So carefree, so natural, so in his element here where the claws of the world can no longer touch him, where everything feels right and a little less scary.

Where he is yours as he always is.

Reblogs appreciated!

Bye I was feeling sad so :// I love my pookie

[kitorin]

journal.

in which, itoshi rin's midnight writing exposes what he's kept concealed from you.

contents. itoshi rin x reader, 2.878 k words, fluff, angst (in the past), itoshi backstory spoilers (mixed with a few headcanons), 1st person rin pov for a bit (journal entry), regular highschool au

a/n. is this my best? no. but is it the best i have for today? yes. happy birthday to rin <3 after assignments are done i'll definitely rewrite this (i gave up on proofreading)

10 / 09 / 2023 : SUNDAY, 12:04 am - 3:21 am

Solitude has never been a foreigner.

In fact, he's quite a familiar individual, an old companion that never seems to leave.

Even before Nii chan left for Spain, solitude was still there for me. During class I wouldn't utter a word to anyone else unless necessary, and contrariwise for said classmates. People still spoke to me; just not to the extent that they'd know what my favourite foods were, or what I liked to watch in my free time, not even bothering with it. I've never been invited to hang out with anyone after school, or been to someone else's house (not that I particularly cared, I was just sure that I was the only one).

But I was okay with it. I didn't want, or need anyone else when Nii chan bought me ice blocks, giving me the bigger piece as we'd watch the sun's warm hues bleed into the sky; the saccharine iciness contrasting how warm is was to be swallowed by sunlight together. Dad took us fishing a lot, he's always been well acquainted with the sea, taking us to locations well populated by bream; my favourite. On our way home we'd harvest kelp (Nii chan likes it in rice, salted) and take photos together on our yacht, admiring how the sun greets the world farewell, sinking into the aquamarine. Mum makes amazing food, I'm constantly astonished at how she manages to memorise every preference, from my love for ochazuke to being able to pour the perfect amount of tea; the rice never becomes too soggy (even I can't pour the exact amount I like). Solitude was close to me, but my family were closer.

There's a lot I could say about them, they've done more than remember what I love and ensuring I was happy; I'm thankful they've delivered the right for me to be comforted, to have a shoulder to cry on, to be able to freely ramble on about whatever fascinated me.

I've always been happy, even if I'm alone outside of the walls I call home. Because whether I laughed my heart out or sobbed to the point I couldn't form a coherent sentence, I'd always come home running to my family. Nothing can beat dinner; where we all relish mum's food, ask each other about our days' and offer solace or advice when necessary.

I miss that. Terribly, to the point my heart aches.

I knew that Nii chan's departure to Europe (Spain, to be exact) would change a lot. I'd have to score without his guidance, walk home alone and buy my own popsicles. Dinner time would have one less soul to laugh with, and home would have one less to embrace.

I just never expected it to be painful change. I never predicted that his return would result in losing us entirely. I didn't think his homecoming would cause my immortal resentment towards the snow, or how my eyes prickle a bit at the mere thought of an ice block. I'd say it was the worst thing that had ever happened to me, separation from him following it on the list of my worst experiences.

Solitude avoided me at home, but wasn't enough.

One time on the way home, I was overhearing the team's conversations (nothing particularly new really) and it was a discussion about the future. It was honestly surprising to find out only some of us intended to become soccer players; Nagi would rather stream or compete in professional gaming, Kurona wants to study marine biology in uni, and Yukimiya wants to give acting a go along with his modelling career. Even Isagi has a plan for if professional soccer isn't an option. He said he wanted to help others achieve their dreams if he fails to do so himself.

I remained silent as always, but had a lot more thoughts racing through my mind. Retreating to my room immediately that night, my first thought was to lie in bed, to neglect the clips I planned to analyse, to ignore muscle training for today and to slack off a bit. That's when I realized how sad the life I was living. I was sad because I was reminded of my reality.

I'm a mere myriad of distinguished achievements, though a hideous attempt of replicating genius Itoshi Sae. I'm a collection of formidable accomplishments, basking in the spotlight of glory and honour. The trophies and awards adorning my room prove it, standing tall with pride and flaunting my hard work.

That didn't mean anything. I had remained in a constant cycle of training, eating, and sleeping. My teammates were just as ambitious yet still worked hard on other things; Yukimiya enjoys modelling and Reo has a passion for economics, That must've been where I was lacking.

That's how I ended up writing again. It was an attempt to break out of this cyclical torture of constant training and sports.

I don't know how I remembered it, but I found my notebook from primary, all the stories messily scrawled yet legible. Scarlet adorned narratives birthed from child-like imagination, eulogising the prose, even though I almost flinched out of embarrassment.

Flipping through the pages, I had found the paragraph my teacher left me, insisting that I keep writing. Obviously, I never did. After getting into soccer I ignored everything school related, and would've found words on a page foolish anyways.

Many years later, I finally followed that advice.

The end result wasn't pretty. I paused a lot, struggled a lot, and almost gave up, a lot. It may have been hideous, but it was mine. A piece birthed from curiosity and memories from the past turned into another attempt. Another attempt morphed into extensive reading, I wanted to observe what was considered worthwhile or meaningless.

Writing rewove the early nights into late night reading, fully immersed in the author's thoughts translated into prose. Reading was the push to giving academics a go. Academics pulled me out of the endless cycle of soccer, there was more to life than training and diet regulation.

Books I can read. Words I can write. Exams I can study for and sports I can practice. Weights I can lift and competitions I can train for.

But to be loved, is so difficult.

It's not like an exam that you can study for and simply memorise the answers to. Or a match that has the security of a referee and reinforced rules. It's not something that can be guaranteed with a mentor.

People treat Isagi to his favourite whenever he has a bad day (he likes kintsuba). People advocate their favourite novels to Yukimiya and Chigiri, even going as far as memorising their preferences to curate their recommendations flawlessly. It must be nice, for someone to invest that sort of effort in you, even if it's simply remembering a hobby.

As my peers savoured the allure of love, estrangement and desolation constantly haunted me; a pest habituating the sleepless nights where I try to escape with a cup of coffee that's long gone cold.

It's lukewarm, praying for another's attention, care and love, to be hungry for one's time. I pathetically plead whoever manipulating my fate to provide me some sort of human connection. I shouldn't be so hopeful of others, yet I find myself dying of curiosity; what would it be like for someone to remember my birthday? Or tell me about the horror movie they adored?

I despise solitude's clinginess. But I hate how it makes me sob endlessly when no one watches.

I have myself. I have my thoughts which I've transcribed to oeuvre. I have the pile of books resting on my bedside table which sleep alongside with me. I have the trophies and awards I've won, I'll always appreciate my own talent and diligence, even if playing soccer brought me so much pain.

I think I'm somewhat pretty. I find my prominent eyelashes special to me, it's something unique to both me and Nii chan. My physique isn't too bad, either. I like the way my legs look, and my shoulders as I dry my hair.

I've always been proud of myself. I've always been enough and I always will be. Just not for others.

That's why I never expected my bond with solitude to be severed so easily. Especially because of y/n out of all people.

I still don't get how it happened. The oblivion to their presence became a peculiar first impression. An odd first meeting turned into abrupt yet regular greetings amidst hallways. Soon, I was sitting with them in every class, passing notes during tedious lessons and discussing our favourite media on the bus ride home.

Before I knew it, passionate rambles about books turned into watching movies together in my room. Whenever they greeted me their friendly wave was replaced with a tight hug, passing notes in class were accompanied with subtle kisses on the cheek.

Our relationship as friends was reimagined to lovers.

Something must've possessed me to blurt out the stupid crush I had on them, and I thank whatever drove me to do that. As awkward as I was it doesn't compare to the skip of my heartbeat when they accepted my feelings.

It's been almost a year since I met them, yet I still feel hot whenever they hold my hand, and flush red at every compliment they whisper. I still find myself stuttering sometimes whenever they're showing me a new outfit they've styled.

I love the way they smile, the creases of joy that adorn the outer corner of their eyes, and how they squint with glee and the sweet, melodious laughter that accompanies it; how breathless they sound whilst laughing. The expression they wear when deep in thought fascinates me, even if it's midway through an exam or them simply observing a video Bachira sent them. I adore their late night thoughts they text me at 3 am, the fatigue itching my eyes seem to evaporate when I notice their name on the notification. I treasure the notes we've scrawled on spare sheets of paper, they're still in between the pages of my books.

Even now, they're sleeping soundly in my bed, arms wrapped around the plush I bought them; I keep getting distracted by the sight of them so relaxed, chest rising up and down with each breath.

I would die for them. Because now I don't need to pretend to be invested on my phone to look less lonely. Now, I don't need to put my bag on the seat next to me to make it look like I sit alone by choice. I don't have to persuade the teacher to let me do group projects alone, or have to observe others with jealousy. Someone defends me from disparaging comments.

Because now, I'm not alone.

7:15 am

THE ENTRY COMES TO AN END, AND EMBARASSMENT DUSTS Rin's face a faint tint of pink. His eyes avoid contact with yours— as he waits for your input his latest piece.

"Well? What do you think?"

You're not sure where to start. You've always known about his strained relationship with his older brother, and how his friendship with his teammates wasn't the same in the beginning. But he never explained it in detail; you wouldn't've guessed that he had some sort of chionophobia, or even cried because he felt so secluded from others. The thought of him concealing his tears and pain from the rest of the world made your eyes prickle and sends your heart racing miserably.

"Doesn't matter—" He reaches for the notebook, closing it and tossing it onto his desk. "Forget it, you didn't see anything." He plops backwards again, head hitting the pillow and groaning as he covers his face with his forearm. "It was shit anyways, I'll rip it out and toss it later."

"It wasn't."

Rin stays silent.

You lie down, mimicking his current position and cup his cheeks with your hand. "You'll never be alone again—, I promise you that." Your voice falters ever so slightly, the thought of his pain makes you feel weak in the knees and sick to the stomach. "You're more than enough, you always have and always will be. You don't need anyone's validation to be beautiful, you never did."

Rin sighs, "I'm only like that because of you." Yet something seems to throb in his heart, the small but overpowering part of him that insists he requires another's approval to be important— someone finally proving that wrong.

"That's not true."

"Yes it is, our classmates still loathe me, so do people who barely see or speak to me." There was no lie in that; but it wasn't Rin's fault. "Yoichi and the others only spend time with me because of you."

"I was only the push for them to speak to you, you know they've always cared, they were just too nervous to speak to you. As competitive as he gets, Yoichi really admires you, to the point he gets so heated and ends up rambling about your skills." That's a secret that was supposed to remain in your private messages, but Yoichi doesn't need to know.

Satisfaction momentarily appears on Rin's face at the thought of his rival's great respect, though it doesn't last very long.

"He's my teammate so it's expected... everyone I speak to at school seems to have something against me, even our English teacher." The mistreatment at school is undeniable, it's not exactly bullying but there's no respect or human decency in how people behave towards him.

"Rin, love, you've done nothing wrong, hate isn't always rational. There will always be people who can't stand seeing others more successful, and that's not your fault."

"Really?" His eyes light up; despite having a sophisticated and cold demeanour all the time, he looks like a child again, hope dances in his wide eyes.

"Really." Your fingers take advantage of the opportunity and pinch his cheeks gently. "Don't listen to all those stupid rumours and assumptions, idiot. I'd fight anyone who tries to hurt you and win every time."

When your fingers let go he immediately kisses you, and it leaves you breathless; the way he pulls you in flexes his well toned biceps and his hand supports your head.

"Thank you." Rin whispers, pulling away a bit. "Thank you for appreciating me. Thank you for everything." It's a rare occurrence for him to sound so frail, same goes for the tremble of his bottom lip.

"Of course, I love you more than anything."

"I love you too." It's escorted by a peck on your nose, and a soft expression sculpted on his face.

Before Rin can throw a blanket over the two of you again, you interrupt.

"You shouldn't throw that entry away." You still haven't forgotten his initial intention with it. "I don't get why you think it's shit."

"It's rushed. And it's just me waffling on about my feelings and the past. There's no proofreading, and it's rushed. It's not even complete either."

"That's the whole point of writing, no? It's the expression of our words and thoughts." You reach towards his desk to pick up the notebook. "Not everything has to be written in one sitting, too."

Rin doesn't bother stopping you from looking through the notebook at this point. "It's still stupid. It's just that I had the urge and motivation to write in the dead of night."

"Well. I like it."

Rin's stoic expression crumbles, revealing the bashful side he keeps concealed from the world. "Then that's good enough for me." The red on his cheeks tell you that you've won the argument.

You turn back to the entry page, impressed with his barely legible yet pretty handwriting. "You should've slept instead."

"I don't get tired anyways." He's quickly betrayed by the yawn clawing out of his throat.

"Liar. Why would you stay up writing so late... your sleep is important you know?"

"Because you are love itself. I won't get a wink of sleep if it means I can think and write about you instead." Rin's pulls you in again, tossing his notebook elsewhere as he leans in. "I promise I'll finish that entry, no— I'll write a book about you one day."

"Writing this, writing that, sleep first dumbass." A smile tugs at your lips as you pull Rin back into the position you were cuddling in a few hours ago. Even though you were the one who slept a lot more, fatigue itched your eyes, and a yawn spilled out too.

In response, Rin tosses a blanket over the two of you, whispering good night as you begin to nod off a bit. He should rest too, he has training tomorrow and has to go to the gym as well.

The Itoshi Rin from before would've slept immediately. In fact, he wouldn't've stayed up in the first place, let alone date someone. But the Itoshi Rin now instead stares at you, admiring each and every feature of yours. You're his savior, the luminescent moon irradiating his world, guiding him away from the grasps of solitude and embracing him with love instead.

Tagging: @yuzurins (yumi you inspired this fic btw lol)

© kitorin : do not repost, plagiarize, change, or translate

[hiemaldesirae]

Thorn here:

Oh...ohhh!! Vox arrives in hell but instead of legs he just has a Shark's tail! He has a TV head and a Shark's tail and Alastor is instantly smitten.

He gathers this new sinner up, protectively taking him to his house/radio tower and setting up aquarium and putting Vox in it, eyes warm.

Vox isn't amused. Why is this weird stag demon nuzzling him and calling him his muse? Vox is no one's anything!

Alastor adores how his muse attempts to shock him! (He has to buy shock resistant glass and he learns Vox does much better in salt water then fresh-(he brutally killed the Imps at the pet store that told him sharks would do fine in fresh water. His poor mate's gills were messed up for days!)) He is a bit irritated on how His beloved muse prefers only fish (fish sinners, but what his precious mate doesn't know won't hurt him)) but he can get past it.

HAS NO ONE TAUGHT ALASTOR NOT TO PICK UP RANDOM ANIMALS HE SEES ON THE STREET ????????? oh my god . this little FREAK i cannot believe he sees a pretty fish on the street and immediately takes him home. i really want to pry his head open and study him

i might snatch this concept to make mermay oneshots if ur okay w that btw. and im STILL working on the killer au i prommy i just have. wayyy too many wips and work to do irl lmfao. but for now. Snippet of writing because i love you /p(arasocial and platonic) (that first part is a joke. legally)

"You still haven't told me why you decided to keep me," Vox frowns as he hangs over the edge of the tank, watching Alastor steadily as he prepares a cut of sinner meat for the shark demon.

"Frankly, my dear, it was a burst of sudden inspiration on my part," Alastor hums. "It isn't every day you see someone as unique-looking as you, after all!"

"Is this about the TV head?" Vox frowns deeper.

"Well, not exactly--"

"It's about the TV head, isn't it?" Vox ducks underneath the water of his tank when Alastor doesn't reply, taking the others silence as an affirmative answer.

The deer demon sighs as his companion's body slowly becomes too ensconced in the murky depths of the tank for him to properly monitor, focusing his efforts back on making sure the fish sinner's corpse was prepared properly for Vox to ingest easily. Keeping a pet was much harder than Rosie had made it out to be- but in fairness, it was a burden he had decided to take upon himself.

After all, the day that Vox had appeared in Hell, it had been *his* arms that the sinner had fallen into- a stroke of luck, truly, as he had been vicariously gesturing to Rosie the motions he'd made for a recent and more theatrical hunt and been in *just* the right position to catch the poor dear- which was clearly a sign that Vox was meant to be his. And now, with the fascinating darling having been swimming around in the expansive tank of his living room for more than six months now, Alastor could confidently say that he had never made a choice more correct in his life.

Well, maybe not. Killing his father in cold blood had also been a pretty correct choice- maybe he should amend that to *afterlife*? Yes, that would work.

Alastor hums as he finishes the plating of the fish sinner, turning around to the tank with the finished meal in hand. He knocks on the glass wall- not expecting an answer, he goes to place the tray down next to the little window next to the bubble of air, only to be met with a much more- *human* looking face than expected.

Two glowing eyes, one the striking blue of larimar and another the rich brown of axinite, meet Alastor's own. Glowing marks stripe along the remarkably human face, as the shark sinner in front of him grins nervously. "I got rid of the TV. Will you let me go now?"

Alastor blinks.

Once, then twice. In the silence, he can see the nervous hopefulness on the demon's face flicker slightly as he breathes slowly, carefully setting the tray of food aside as he traces the outline of the other's face in the glass.

"Let you go, my dear? ...Oh, dear. I think I've been quite misconstrued. You aren't going anywhere, my lovely siren."

[creedslove]

there’s a certain scenario in my head that I think you’d like hearing about.

you’re dating/married to joel, and you both take Sarah to the aquarium. while she’s mesmerized with the fish and other sea animals, joel sneaks a hand through your dress and slides your panties to the side, fingering you right there, in the aquarium, telling you to be quiet and a good girl.

No outbreak!Joel Miller x f!reader

A/N: you're completely right anon, I LOVED this scenario, I loved it so much I couldn't help to think about it all.day.long and now I had to turn it into a dirty headcanon because I can't stop myself 😭 I hope you like it ❤️

When you and Joel were dating, you would often take Sarah to the aquarium, she absolutely loved that place and it didn't matter if she'd been there hundreds of times, she would still get thrilled and fascinated by all the animals

In fact, the very first time you had a family date with Joel and Sarah, you guys went to the aquarium, it'd been a special day for the three of you, because you felt accepted by Sarah, Joel was sure you would be the right fit for the family, and Sarah was glad his dad's new girlfriend was nice to her 

And quickly the aquarium became a family thing, if it were up to Sarah, she'd go there at least once a month, and she never wanted to go with only her dad or uncle Tommy, she wanted you to be there because you were part of the family 

After you and Joel got married, you still went to the aquarium frequently, but as the time went by Sarah got interested in other things, Joel didn't want to admit but he got a little sad, as he interpreted that as his little girl growing up 

But one day she asked him if you three could go to the aquarium again, and he immediately said yes, relieved to see that maybe his little Sarah wasn't all grown up yet 

And then the three of you woke up early and headed for the Aquarium, but you just to pick that summer dress and make Joel's trip turn into hell 

He didn't know how to explain, he supposed it was a nice dress because a lot of people - Sarah included - it complimented you on your dress, but to Joel it was just driving him crazy 

There was something about how it hung to your body in the right places, and it was short and tempting, because you looked so innocent, but all he could think of was feeling you up under that dress 

So the drive to the aquarium was long and torturous, of course he still placed his hand on thigh and stroked it softly, but it was very innocent, as his daughter was just right there 

So once you got to the aquarium, Sarah was once again mesmerized, she just loved that place and she already knew it by heart, walking all over the place, being so attentive to the animals 

In the meantime, Joel walked next to you, his hand protectively touching you all the time, either placed on the small of your back or his arm wrapped around your waist 

You and Joel walked into one of the final halls of the aquarium, the lights were dim so people could properly appreciate the animals swimming around, but Joel only had his eyes on someone: you

He would start by rubbing your ass under the dress, which caught you by surprise and you sort of jumped, looking at him with wide eyes 

"What are you doing, Joel?" 

He chuckled and kissed you, as he pressed your body against the wall, in a darker corner and squeezed your ass, making you whimper and groan into his mouth 

Without any warning, he shifted his hand to your thighs, groaning at the feeling of your painfully thin panties and Joel could bet his life you were matching colors

He tries touching your pussy, but you widen your eyes and hold his wrist in place 

"Not here, Joel, we can't…" 

He scoffs at how you look around worried someone will walk on the two of you 

"This place echoes, if someone is coming we'll hear the steps…" 

You still aren't convinced, so you still hold his wrist with a strong grip, even digging your nails into his skin softly, so he knows you mean it 

But Joel only laughs and tilts his head 

"You've always been such a good little wife for me and now you're gonna act up? Come on, darling, be a good girl for your husband" 

He nuzzles your neck, his beard scratching down your skin and you whimper softly, finally letting go of his wrist

Joel's fingers pull your panties to the side, his thick fingers feeling your slit parting to reveal your clit and how he strokes it softly, dragging moans from you 

He runs his finger up and down your slit, spreading your wetness and going a little further into your pussy hole, stretching you up with his thick finger before adding a second one 

You ask Joel to stop because it's dangerous and you're worried someone will walk in even if he's super chill and relaxed about it, he doesn't stop and he doesn't slow down either, two fingers deep into you and his thumb teasing your clit until he feels your internal walls clenching around his fingers 

You cum all over his hand but Joel isn't satisfied yet, he helps you straighten your dress and takes you to the restroom, fucking you in one of the stalls, loving how you looked being fuck in your pretty dress and how you obediently took all of his cum inside 

When you two finally left the restroom, you were holding hands and Sarah was looking for the two of you, asking where'd you been. Joel chuckled and told her he was distracted by a beautiful mermaid he spotted in the aquarium

Sarah rolled her eyes as you blushed softly, wrapping your arm around Sarah's shoulder and asking her to show you her favorite fish just like she did the first time you all went to the aquarium together ❤️

_____

A/N: what do I have to do in order to be Joel's wife? 😭

[itsagrimm]

He Who Comes from under the Water

Chapter 2 - A Caring Man

Monster!König x she/her afab reader

CN: patriarchy & sexism, arranged marriage, speaking animals, dead fish, mentions of cannibalism, harassment, ableist speech, woohoo another drowning reference, toxic masculinity village edition

eventuell smut.

Beta-read by the wonderful @queenquazar

Cultural context notes:

I’m basing a lot on central and eastern european fairy tales.

The heron is a figure from an old fairy tale called the heron & the fox.

Masterlist

“What’s it like being married?” the king asked.

“Lot’s of work if you are doing it right.” The old man leaned back and fixed his pipe. 

The wooden ceiling above your bed was familiar and simple. Since you were a child, you had woken up to this sight since you could remember. Now, it was the most fascinating thing to stare at.

Cracks, textures, knotholes in the old planks– all of it was better to look at than to face the world outside of your little room.

You closed your eyes. Maybe you could summon back the night, the past days, the… quite a lot of time actually since you last been happy.

A sunray danced over your face.

Saichiki – as your mother had called them, little sun rabbits jumping around and reminding you that it was indeed day no matter how much you tried to pretend otherwise.

You took a deep breath, opened your eyes and got up.

Swinging your legs over the edge of your bed before-

Wet.

You jolted back and peaked over the edge onto the floor.

A puddle of water covered the ground before your sleeping space. A trail of little puddles leading away from the water at your bed and out of the room. Careful not to step into the water again, you got up and traced the trail out of the room, into the empty kitchen and finally out of the door.

Confused, you looked into the garden.

In the middle of the path was a pile of freshly caught, still wriggling fish.

Quickly, you slammed the door.

König, you thought to yourself while sliding down the wood door, plopping on the floor.

You heard yourself choke as the memories as they returned: Your family was gone, your grandfather had promised your hand in marriage to a strange inhuman being from the swamps, you nearly drowned yesterday, and the people from the village you had grown up with, wanted you gone because bad things happened around you. Maybe they were right and you were cursed.

Maybe you were cursed not like in the old tales but as simple as an unlucky charm, drawing the worst lot out for everyone including yourself.

You buried your face in your hands, allowing yourself an honest moment to cry.

A knock on the door made you jolt back up again, jumping away from the door and staring at the tarnished knob

You listened.

Another knock.

“Go away!” you cried, hoping that König or whoever from the village had come to your house, would just leave.

Another knock.

Groaning, you got up and ripped open the door while reaching for the broom next to the door.

“I said go away!” you cried again, ready to swing the broom at whoever harassed you, before stopping in your tracks, the door bouncing slightly against the wall.

A heron stood before your door, next to the pile of fish.

“Huh?”

The bird looked at you before looking back at the pile of fish.

Confused, you raised the broom to shoo away the bird.

“Shoo! Shoo! Go away!”

It danced a few steps back before returning to its spot and looking from you to the fish and back again.

You grimaced, shivering in only your chemise in the early morning breeze.

“Listen, heron, if you want a fish, just take some. They are not mine!” you tried, feeling out of your debts. Why were you even trying to talk to an animal?

Naturally, the bird said nothing.

“Of course,” you mumbled, more to yourself than to the bird, as you turned to close the door.

The bird rattled, as if laughing.

“Girl,” it cackled, and you froze in horror at the sound of the speaking bird, “I’m not eating the fish the king caught you. He tasked me to make sure you eat them. ‘My bride is so light to carry,’ he said. ‘Make her eat some fish,’ he said.”

Horrified, you kept staring at the bird.

“Take the fish!” it cried, “Don’t make me wait on you, girl.”

You blinked in surprise at the slightly annoyed heron.

“R-right. Sorry,” you mumbled before remembering your grandfather’s tales and warning about speaking animals. Bowing slightly to the bird, “Can I get you something in return for looking out for me, master heron?”

Another rattle from the bird.

“You can leave me a chalice out in the garden with some of the fish you are going to cut. It would be much appreciated.”

“Will do.” You bowed again before putting down the broom and quickly grabbing a big bowl to collect the fish.

As you returned to get the fish, you were alone. The heron was gone. Alone in the garden, you picked up the fresh trout and one big carp from the ground, feeling the heavy weight of watching eyes on you.

You kept inside the house as much as you could for the rest of the morning, only leaving to get firewood and water to wash and cook the fish. The thought of having more eyes watching you made your stomach turn. And having to face one of the same villagers who thought you cursed? The thought alone sealed your convictions to keep to yourself. You traced the wooden chopping board before sliding your fingers over the used counter. Home, it was all home, even the slightest dent felt like it belonged there just like you belonged with this house.

You let yourself fall onto one of the chairs, taking a break.

Why did I take the fish?

You could not help but wonder why you had allowed a bird to intimidate you so much before getting up and filling a chalice with a bit of fish for the heron as promised.

Because it spoke and birds don’t speak.

You grimaced to yourself as you placed the chalice onto the windowsill. Better not test your luck with speaking animals.

The fish König got you was fatty, fresh, and delicious.

You could not help feeling slightly grateful for the food. Maybe König was not as bad as you had assumed, and he did not want you any harm.

Maybe-

You froze at the thought of König feeding and fattening you up only to eat you once it fit him. The memory of one of many of your grandfather's tales rose up in your mind, like the pieces of fish rose up in the cooking broth.

“Open up, Wench!”

You flinched under the harsh words as someone knocked against the wooden door.

“Open up!”It was Ivar. Back in the days, he had been a friend to your father. Now, he was the first to terrorize you as the cursed girl.

“What do you want, Ivar?” you called through the closed door while stepping closer, clutching the broom again. It was better to ask before letting the mob leader in. And it was better to be armed with a broom than regretting not to.

“What do you want, wench?” he shouted, “I told you to leave yesterday. Yet, here you are! Nobody wants you here, bitch!”

Bile rose in your throat. It was bitter to discover the people you had grown up with turned against you so easily.

“This is my home, Ivar!”

He snorted dismissively, “This was your grandfather’s home - an honorable man. And you cursed and killed him, just like you killed all the others! I am not waiting for you to kill the rest of the village!”

“I have not killed anyone!” you cried. Fear, sadness, and anger – a lot of anger – tinting your voice.

“Don’t lie to me, witch!” Ivar spat, “You killed them! You killed them all. And now all that is left is you in this once honorable house. Leave or I’ll make you!”

You flinched.

“This is my home,”you whispered before raising your voice, “This is my home, Ivar! I’ll never leave!”

Cold and hot shivers washed over you as you felt tears well up in your eyes.

“Ha! You are a woman!” Ivar retorted with spite, “Only men can own land. You are so vile that no one even wanted to marry you for your family’s land. You are cursed! Leave before you kill us all!”

Hot tears spilled over your face.

Anger boiled in your stomach. But sadness kept you from shouting back at Ivar, sadness, and betrayal. It was as if Ivar did not need to drag you from your own home to punch all fight out of your body. With shaky hands you gripped the broom, trying to calm your agitated breath.

“Why would anyone marry for land?” a different voice asked.

Your eyes widened in recognition.

König.

“Now, marrying for water that I would understand,” König mused, “but land?”

A confused pause transfused through the wood door to you.

“Are you an idiot?” Ivar finally asked angrily, “Who are you, stranger?”

“König. The question is rather who are you to shout at my fiancé, little man?”

Another powerful pause before Ivar broke with a loud and dismissing, “What? You are lying!”

This was it, you realized, this was your chance of getting rid of Ivar and the villagers.

With a swing, you opened the door, wiping away your tears.

Ivar nearly filled out the door frame, but König easily loomed over Ivar, standing a couple of steps away in the garden. He stared down with an amused smile, cold blue eyes transfixed on the smaller man.

“No, he is not,” you declared while pushing your way past Ivar and stepped close to König, “This is König, my fiancé. Leave us alone, Ivar.”

“As if anyone would marry the cursed girl,” Ivar remarked despairingly.

“A curse?” König peeped curiously while slightly leaning into the space between you and Ivar.

You shifted around uncomfortably. “They say I am cursed because my family died, König.”

He turned his head and eyed you for a moment. You returned his curious gaze, he looked different now – human.

 “Intriguing. I’m a truly lucky man.”

“Are you insane?” Ivar gasped.

A quick smile flashed over König’s face.

“Insane?” he asked with a friendly tone that indicated entirely not friendly intentions, while stalking closer to Ivar, “Tell me – Ivar, right? Tell me Ivar, is it smart to harass the girl that you say is so cursed, she brings death to anyone close? Yet, you can’t get enough of yelling at her from as close as possible?”

Another step closer.

“Or, tell me, is it smart to anger the stranger who is willing to marry this cursed girl? Am I not the dead-man-walking then who has nothing to lose according to you?”

He straightened up, towering massively and glaring down at Ivar. You couldn’t pry your eyes from König, large and imposing, silent as a whisper as he unfolded the foolishness of Ivar’s so-called reasoning. 

“Or is my fiancé not cursed and you have no reason to be here, making you nothing but a petty man preying on those he can target easily? Uh, Ivar, tell me? What will it be?”

Another quick smile danced over König’s face, dangerous, entirely inhuman.

You shivered.

Ivar, feet still firmly planted, had leaned his shoulders from König, trying to create distance, and in his attempts, shifted around slightly, before looking around and finally, to the ground.

“This is not over, Good day,” Ivar mumbled and stepped away before turning around and walking out of the garden.

You both stayed and watched him trott off until he vanished between the trees and bushes, breathing a slow exhale once out of sight.

“What kind of curse is it?”

You turned your head, facing König.

“I’m sorry?”

“What kind of curse is it?” He repeated, “is it by a witch or by another human or something else? And how does it work?”

“I don’t know?”, you huffed, stepping away and crossing your arms before you defensively while fighting the incoming tears. “I am not cursed. I think. I hope. It’s only what Ivar says to make me leave the village. He wants my family’s fields and my home. It could be nothing but a convenient lie.”

“How disappointing.”

You blinked in surprise. Disappointing?

“You would have preferred me to have a curse, König?”

He shrugged, “I certainly wouldn’t have minded it. How dangerous can a little human curse be after all? And it could be practical to have curses to keep annoying men like Ivar away, don’t you think?”

You considered his words. It’s not like you wanted to believe him, but the thought of keeping anyone away with a curse - real or not - felt more comforting than you would have wanted to admit.

“Maybe,” you conceded, “But I would prefer not to be cursed, or have Ivar show up at my doorstep claiming that I am.”

“Do not worry about Ivar anymore, my bride,” König said before turning to the house. “I smell fish cooking. Is that the fish I got you?”

Your head whipped around. The Soup!

“Oh no, I forgot it!”you cried before running back to the house and to the fire. Quickly, you grabbed a rag before taking the hot iron pod to move it off the hot flames. It smelled fine, not too burned. Yet, the bottom of the pot felt like it had started to burn slightly as you stirred and tasted the meal.

At least one good thing today, you thought to yourself while taking a deep breath.

A little knock on the door made you look up. König standing in the door frame, looking all green and tangled again like you remembered from the pond. Briefly, you wondered how he did that.

“Everything alright?” He asked, peeking into the house, his skin shimmering like water reflecting sunlight before appearing nearly human again.

“Uhm,” you tilted your head and looked away, “It’s fine. It’s all fine.”

He eyed you silently, clearly not believing you before finally mumbling, “Alright, you are as good of a liar as an otter. Don’t worry, my bride, I’ll have the heron watch your house in case Ivar returns.”

“Oh, so that’s how you knew he was here,” you stated dejectedly. Even the bird was watching. Was there any way to escape all this with so many eyes on you?

He grumbled before stalking into the room.

With a shriek you stepped back but he was before you, bowing down to you.

Terrified, you froze in your spot.

“Don’t worry, bride,” he said, “I may not know much about your human customs. But, I know that I am expected to keep you safe. No harm will befall you anymore.”

You stared up at him.

Blue, watery eyes you did not understand. Eyes, so profound. You felt like falling into deep waters. As you stared, it recalled the calming waters of the swamp, the gentle sway of laping rivers. Waters that carried the same oaths and secrets and security you were almost granted the day before as you stared and stared and stared-

He blinked and smiled, his eyes suddenly just blue eyes, the profane dissipating like fog in the bogland.

You gasped for air, suddenly feeling your lungs constricted and your skin going cold and damp.

“I’m glad you want to marry me,” he said and straightened up again, “I worried that I might have scared you yesterday. But you called me your fiance, so you must not fear me.”

He chuckled darkly while drawing your form into a hug.

“Ivar on the other hand, has plenty to fear now after picking a fight with the king of under the water.”

[irenadel]

And if the devil... 3/9

Smut, Aemond x Maid!Reader

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9

“Is he going to marry you?”

You were home again for your fortnightly visit, had left your bag of castle cast offs with your cousins for them to recover old fabric and mend whatever could be mended and hurried to help your aunt with the scrubbing and the cooking and the late night bread making. You were still hauling water for her, conscious of her bad shoulder and your uncle’s temper simmering as he sat by the fire and sulked. You were only too glad to carry heavy buckets and stay out of his house and his sight as much as you could, when your aunt had intercepted you still on your way in, out of your uncle’s hearing, taking her chance with Angus away at his master’s and the older girls out running errands.

“Whoever has got you washing your hair twice a week and smiling even when you’re gutting fish… is he going to marry you?”

And she had said it so kindly, so glad for you in that moment, had not even eyed you suspiciously when you blushed furiously and told her you weren’t stupid enough to get distracted by such a things, that you hadn’t had the heart to tell her any of it.

You haven’t had the heart to tell her anything since you were sixteen and had been desperate enough to do whatever had to be done to get money for your family’s passage to Westeros. Sailed a smelly, old ship in boy’s clothes (paid in more than coin for the chance, in pain and sleepless nights for your moonblood to come). She’s known though. Somehow, she always knows, but you are sure if she knew the extent of it now she would pull you out of castle service, no matter how good the position or how precious the coin you earned was.

A prince was a dangerous thing. A prince’s lust more so, no matter how profitable some fools thought it. But a prince’s heart…

You know better than to let this continue, more aware even than Prince Aemond himself, of the monstrous danger you both court, and who the consequences of it will fall upon. Because this isn’t a man you tolerate to survive. This isn’t the frivolous fun other girls had told you about when you had been too busy and too smart to risk the squalling, tender results a roll in the hay could get you. This has gone far beyond dire need or bullheaded resignation. 

Because Prince Aemond sneaks you out of kitchen duty not to fuck you against a wall or bend you over his royal bed, but to ask you if punches are all you can throw and daggers are all you can hold.

And you know the wise choice. You’ve known what the wise choice has been all your life, dashed your heart against it, over and over, just to quiet the bloody, pulsing thing. 

But he wears you down. In heart-hammering fear and fascination, not with coin or sweet words but with the delicious, sheer stupidity of his courage. He wears you down. Because you’ve never let yourself be this, this thing he doesn’t even think to fear, a thing he wears with pride as if it were his due, along with beauty, and dragons and a life without hunger.

And you can’t turn away from it, metallic and sulphurous, the way you’ve come to know Valyrian skin tastes. Because Aemond’s easy freedom rips from your depths those long forgotten parts of yourself that had been better left dead and buried. 

You remember an arakh your father had been too sensible to teach you, explain to your prince, that precision had never been something you could count on, your eyesight being what it was. So no bow or whip for you, but your father had given you a staff and told you, the closer the better, so you would be able to use your height and strength to your advantage, but still see the face you were aiming for. And Aemond takes up the task, knowing something of blindspots and making up for perceived weakness. He teaches you the ring of metal sword on metal armor, the echo of footsteps on cobblestones and dirt floors instead of grass ones. All the other little tells, so different from the ones found in the Dothraki Sea.

He teaches you the smell of reptile and charcoal that means dragon and laughs when you complain a great big lizard blocking the sun cannot be too hard to miss. You do not know how precious his cruel laughter is or the way he describes the clouds and storms he and Vhagar have lost themselves in.

In return, he drinks in stories of a father who taught you how to break a horse, how to throw a rope without trusting your poor, dead eyes but the thunderous gallop of hooves coming towards you. The father who had yelled at you through his laughter to stop trying to break your neck climbing wild stallions you had no business riding and let you whack him liberally with a quarterstaff just so you’d know what to do if an enterprising boy were to be tempted to haul you onto his saddle. A father who sounded to him, less like a king than a weapons master. But also, in stories of scarves wrapped around your head, rice extract for sun-burnt skin stolen at arakh-point from fat merchants and evil spirits kept away from your crib with knife and deception, Aemond finds his own hungry memories of his mother’s tender care whenever he had fallen sick and been secretly thrilled to get her attention.

He steals these hours to spend with you like he steals your memories of the Great Grass Sea, furtive and guilty in the knowledge that none of it belongs to him. That Ser Criston must be wondering at this sudden renewed zeal for his indoor studies, away from the practice yard, where he had previously been so eager to be.

But one doesn’t question a prince. Especially a prince who grows no duller in his sword drills, in spite of persistent disappearances.

Ser Criston need not know where Aemond takes the practice swords or that he lets Princess Helaena’s chambermaid have a go at him with a dull blade. Not bad with a sword but still better with a quarterstaff you use to put him in a chokehold that leaves him hard and aching for you. He elbows you in the stomach and takes the chance to throw you unto the soft grass of the little secluded garden you have taken over. Laughs at your outraged struggle and pins you down just so he can watch you bare your teeth at him, ferocious and angry like a dragon hatchling.

And it is you who kisses him first always, because he is not his brother, because he is better than that… but most of all because the thrill of your legs around his waist, your nails against the back of his neck, your hunger matching his, is better, a thousand times better, than the cheap satisfaction of unopposed conquest.

He will stubbornly refuse to think of this when he is dragged to the Grand Sept with his family, to pray for his father’s ailing health. He will look straight ahead and will not meet his mother’s or his siblings’ gaze. Will fiercely despise Aegon who can so easily ignore every reminder of temperance and decency thrown his way, and stare serenely at the candles lighted in their father and king’s honor. He is nothing like his brother, Aemond will think desperately, as he hears the prayers to the Mother, extolling them all to piety and chastity so that her gentle hand will ease the king’s burden. He will tell himself, this has no bearing on him, that it means nothing, even as he remembers the keening sound of your voice the first time his hand found its way into your cunt. 

He’d known nothing but what the women of the Street of Silk had done to him and found himself drunk on the knowledge of his power, this new prowess he could pursue, the moment his fingers had slipped inside you and his thumb had found your nub. He had not known when to stop once he had realized he could make you scream. Not even amidst the incense and candles of the sept, because nothing here could make him forget, and he wondered contemptuously if Aegon could so easily keep a straight face during service, because he had never known what it was to make a woman fall apart for him without his coin.

Gentle Mother, strength of women…

But Aemond Targaryen does not hear the Mother’s Hymn. All he hears is his own cruel voice against your ear, riding too high on his mastery of your body to remember to be afraid of his own, “Tell your prince where you want his fingers.”

And you keen and struggle to steal another kiss from his smiling lips, thin like a blade and twice as sharp.

“Beg,” he had told you as he had rubbed your cunt with his whole palm watching you come undone under him. And it had almost been the end of him when you had choked back a delirious, my prince, right when he had slipped his fingers inside you again and felt your sex clenching around them. He had wanted inside your cunt so badly in that moment, he thought he would go mad of it.

But he couldn’t, had found within himself an uncomfortable excess of prudishness he could not seem to shake off. Because even drunk of the smell of your sex and the sound of your moans, still Aemond knows he is not his brother. He knew it in the brothel even as he refused to back down from the challenge of a grown woman beneath him, consuming his eager, hard sex so quickly and thoroughly he had found himself spilling into her with a child’s delirious cry of joy instead of a prince’s firm edict.

Aemond is not his brother, has far less tolerance for humiliation or a woman’s pain than Aegon ever did… but still, he is only human

“You’re not a whore,” he had hissed against your skin, choking back the angry moan you had ripped from him that day you had tried to take him into your mouth for the first time. He’d yanked you back up, panting wildly, half-outraged, half-terrified, all aflame. He had not known how to tell you that you were more than this to him. The thunderous beating of his blood, in his lower belly, taking root in his cock still hard and ready against your thin skirts. He’d wanted to tell you he did not need your obeisance or degradation, but could not, because even now he craved them so hard his mouth watered at the thought… And he should have known how far from the mark he was because you’d grabbed a handful of his Targaryen silver hair and pulled so hard his prick had jumped for joy. Hauled him to eye level and kept him there just so you could look into his eye while you milked him dry. And it was everything Aemond had never known he needed, panting madly, feeling himself lose control of his own teeth-clenched defiance. His hands burying themselves in your hair, almost smiling, eye wide as you’d reached out for his chest, for the place where he had shown you, and held your hand to, as he came all over your fingers, balls empty, still hard, too far gone to the think of his duty or his crown or anything that wasn’t the burning heat in his groin and your merciless grip around his heart.

It was Aegon who found out first. Unsurprising given his brother’s proclivities and the appalling lack of subtlety Aemond himself was capable of, unused as he was to hiding anything but his resentment. And lowly and larval as he had always been, his brother had not chosen to deal this blow to him when it could have done him the greatest harm, in the Sept or around their mother or their lord father even. No. Aegon had chosen to go for the throat flat on his back in the training yard, Aemond’s mind already far from the brother he had just quickly disposed of, thinking as he was, of you.

Stripped to your small clothes because they were the closest thing to dothraki riding slacks you possessed. Legs splayed apart, firmly planted on the ground, center of gravity low, both hands on the pike Aemond had found for you, akin to, but more deadly than a quarterstaff. Braid hanging severely behind your back, strands of its coarse, heavy hair falling all over your sweat-soaked neck, making Aemond swear to himself and all the gods that he would take it apart the moment he had you on your back on the ground, just to see the stream of pale hair falling over your naked shoulders.

Small clothes and borrowed pike and already a more formidable opponent than Aegon had ever been.

It was his mistake. The memory of you making him feel generous enough to haul his brother back up, suddenly close enough to hear Aegon’s poison right up close to his ear.

“Fucked her yet?”

Aemond had clenched his teeth so hard it hurt.

“Better fuck something other than your hand first, little brother,” he’d said, barely holding in the laughter, Ser Criston already fast approaching at the set of Aemond’s shoulders, arched and poised to strike like a panther. “… if you don’t want to shame yourself the moment you wet your wick in her.”

He should walk away. Scoff. Give it no importance and just carry on. If Aegon could do it then so could he.

He did neither, would will himself not to flush angrily if he could keep his pale Valyrian skin from betraying him. He thought coldly, rationally, he told himself later, considered how much further he could expose himself to humiliation as he heard his brother’s half-heartedly restrained giggle. He didn’t even register when he shrugged Ser Criston’s hand off his shoulder and came to rest his own on Aegon’s neck as his practice sword clattered to the ground.

He squeezed, not much, just enough to make a point, didn’t realize Ser Criston was talking to him, steadily but urgently, didn’t think much of his brother choking back his giggle along with his breath. He smiled, he thought he did, but Aegon’s quickly darkening face and evaporated mirth should have told him otherwise.

“This hand you mean?” He asked and squeezed some more. A faint whistling sound coming from his brother’s throat and Aemond found the corners of his mouth hurting from being pulled too tautly against his teeth. “Spend more time worrying about your training and less time worrying about my sheets, brother.”

Then Ser Criston did pull them apart, Aegon crumpling against the kingsguard, coughing to allow sweet, precious air back into his lungs. Aemond, paying it no mind, walking away, hands clasped behind his back so they would stop trembling.

He is not his brother, he knows. He is better, stronger, more disciplined. If he kisses your lips and hair and not your sex, it is because he understands this. If he has yet to see you unclothed, or even let you undress him, undo him… it is because he knows what he owes his honor, his family, his kingdom… his future lady wife.

It isn’t fear, he tells himself, it isn’t shame. He hasn’t known fear or shame since the day he stared down dragon and death. It is respect.

You are not a whore, he had told you, and proceeded to behave like one himself. He’d known it couldn’t last long, should have been aware always how there was no future to it.

But he thinks of your head laying on his belly, under dappled sunlight, his fingers caressing another darkening bruise on your collarbone. He had promised to take the hand off whoever had dared, with a lazy cat-like smile that had made you smile back. He thinks of Helaena’s laughter behind the closed doors of her rooms, shrill and unexpected, even for her. He thinks of you carrying little Jaehaera, spinning her around the gardens until she shrieked in delight. The mottled red bridge of your nose, the velvet-soft hair of your temples.

He is not like his brother Aegon. Has never been. Could never do the things he does. But Aemond finds himself surprised to discover how much worse he has managed to become.