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lialacleaf · 10 months

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To Care For A Woman

Chapter 3

Simon Riley X Reader

Summary: You join the army as a last-ditch effort to avoid destitution, but when you sustain an injury protecting Lieutenant Ghost and earn yourself a medical discharge, you're stuck all over again. Or maybe not...

Warnings: Tension, Simon wants to care for you, small reader, a little bit spicy but not NSFW, man worrying about a woman's safety, typical cannon violence, deception, I'm sorry it's unedited...

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 chapter4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8

Reader’s POV

You weren’t sure why Ghost had to drive you out to your new home. He’d been insistent on seeing you there safely rather than letting quite literally anyone else do so. In fact, he’d almost seemed jumpy, stating that Simon wouldn’t like strangers near his home, and that you ought to keep that in mind.

How you were supposed to feel like this was anything but an elaborate plot to murder you and scatter your remains in the woods was unfathomable to you, but Ghost trusted Simon. While you weren’t entirely sure where you stood with the Lieutenant, he’d been the only one to stay back with you and ensure you got out alive.

“When will he be home?” You asked as Ghost focused on the road ahead. He’d given no indication how far the drive would be, and you’d left base about forty minutes ago.

“Tomorrow,” Ghost answered plainly, giving no indication as to what Simon was doing that would have him preoccupied elsewhere.

You let out a soft hum and leaned back in your seat. The humvee would occasionally jostle you, and you hissed at the pain in your knee. The pain medicine was beginning to wear off, but you were too afraid to bring it to Ghost’s attention.

Instead, you closed your eyes, and focused on your next steps. You would need to get some new clothes, having little more than the clothes you’d been sent off in. Maybe if Simon wasn’t too opposed to taking you into town, you could visit the second-hand store.

When you were young, your mother used to take you to pick out patterned tablecloths that had been donated, and would take them home and see you little sundresses.

You recalled a white one with frills that you wore down to the neighbor’s strawberry field, and hadn't lasted the morning before it was an unfortunate mess of red strawberry juice and mud after you had burrowed beneath the strawberry patch and clawed the fruit off the vine like a little, white mouse taking refuge in the cool dirt.

Your mother had called you a little troll for your bad behavior, and made you wear the stained up dress to school anyway.

The Humvee jostled you again, knocking your knee against the vehicle, and you nearly choked on the breath of air you inhaled. You couldn’t help but roll your eyes. Ghost was anything but gentle, even in his driving.

Simon’s POV

He left you settled on his large, plush couch, your only bag on the floor by the door. The cabin was a single story, so he doubted you’d have much trouble maneuvering around as long as you had your crutches.

He’d given you his cell number, not that you knew it was his. You looked…lost as he walked out the door, and if he didn’t have work to finish for price before his leave, he’d have been tempted to tear the mask off his face and assure you that you wouldn’t have to spend the night alone.

It was still hard for him to comprehend that he was now a married man, even if this had been entirely his plan. It didn’t occur to him until you were seated on his sofa, looking as if you felt out of place in your own home that he didn’t know what he was doing.

He had a rough idea of how he wanted things to be. You’d get to know Simon, a second chance for him to redeem himself in your eyes as someone more patient and gentle, and with time you’d forget about the harsh treatment of Lieutenant Ghost. He didn’t try to fool himself into believing that you could ever love Ghost, but maybe he could convince you to love Simon.

The hour drive back to base didn’t feel real. It was still early, and he needed a cup of tea, something he would have preferred to indulge in alone, but alas…

“How’s married life?” Soap asked with a poorly disguised grin, and Ghost glowered at him from the sink.

“Not now, Johnny,” he warned, rolling his eyes. He hadn’t necessarily wanted Soap to know, but he’d also wanted a second opinion on his decision to offer you a bloody marriage contract.

Johnny had thought he was pulling a joke, until he’d seen it with his own two eyes. Once Simon had rather stiffly explained that he had some very confusing feelings for you that wouldn’t allow him to abandon you, the Scotsman had patted him on the shoulder and told him he was a good man. A bloody mad one too, but that was besides the point.

“Difficult drive with the Mrs.?” He asked, that grin still ever present on his face.

“Something like that.” Not at all like that. More accurately he simply didn’t want to leave you there all alone.

“Cut her some slack, L.T., one minute your her boss, the next your her husband, probably a real doozy for the lass.”

“She doesn’t know,” he said softly as Johnny popped a biscuit in his mouth.

“Doesn’t know what?” He asked over the food in his mouth.

“Doesn’t know she married me.”

The Scottsman choked on his biscuit. “Bloody hell!” He exclaimed, wiping a palm across his face. “Ghost, you’ve gotta be yanking my leg here, mate!”

Ghost shook his head.

“Who does she think she married?” Johnny asked, eyes blown wide.

The Lieutenant shrugged. “Simon Riley.”

Johnny sputtered for a moment and shook his head. “That’s so wrong, Mate. She’s gonna be bloody pissed when she finds out-“

“She’s not gonna find out, Johnny,” Ghost hissed. “She’s gotta forget about all of that. Move on with her life.”

“People don’ just forget that kinda trauma, Simon. She nearly lost her leg,” Johnny said.

Simon sighed, pushing his mask up over his nose so he could sip his tea. “Let me worry about my wife, Johnny.”

It was six in the morning when Simon was finally relieved from his post. He found himself spacing out all too often on the road home, pulled out of his thoughts only when the asphalt turned to gravel.

He liked having his home so secluded. He hoped you liked it too. He’d stopped for groceries shortly after leaving base, planning on having breakfast ready before you woke up. He probably should have paid attention before to how you liked your eggs, but it was too late for that now. He’d just have to guess and go with it.

He pulled up to the cabin, the gravel beneath the car grumbling a greeting to his return as he slowed to a stop.

Simon took a deep breath, hooked his fingers beneath his balaclava, and pulled the mask off before stuffing it in his duffel bag. He unpacked the groceries, storing most of the meat in the deep freezer in his garage before finally entering his house.

He kicked off his work boots at the door, his eyes scanning over the room as if he expected things to be out of place. He paused, however when he noted your small form curled up right where he’d left you, your bag still by the door and your crutches against the wall. You were curled in on yourself, likely trying to keep warm as he’d forgotten to turn on the heat for you.

Shit. He’d left you alone for hours in a cold, unfamiliar place. You were supposed to have slept in the bed. He’d expected you to acclimate yourself over the past twenty-four hours, and instead you had curled up on the couch and succumbed to an uncomfortable sleep.

That wouldn’t do.

He moved to your side as quietly as possible, kneeling next to you on the tan rug. His palm gently brushed the side of your head as he watched you closely. “Y/n?” he murmured, his hand moving to squeeze your shoulder.

You gave no sign that you were awake, and Simon sighed, lifting you up as carefully as he could. Once you were properly tucked into bed, he let out a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding.

His shoulders sagged, and with a soft groan he leaned back into the mattress, only just now noticing that he only had one pillow and you were using it. Not that he minded. He needed to take stock of just how unprepared he was for this endeavor.

He switched between staring at the ceiling, and staring at you. You didn’t move much in your sleep, which was a relief. You did, however, let out a soft whine, alerting him to the fact that he’d rested you on the side of your bad knee.

He frowned, internally scolding himself for not thinking of it sooner. It was easy to roll you onto your back, but the action caused you to stir, and Simon stiffened.

It must have been early when you woke, because the room was bathed in a soft glow from the sun barely rising outside the window.

It took you only a moment to realize you no longer dozing on the couch. Your eyes settled on the massive figure beside you, traveling up his waist to his chest and shoulders, before finally finding his face.

Simon, or rather you assumed it was Simon, had ruffled blonde hair, with deep set brown eyes and a strong jaw. Handsome for a soldier. You’d expected him to be plain. You were very wrong.

You sat up slowly, and he watched you like a hawk. You expected him to greet you with something, anything, even if it was just snapping at you for crawling into his bed, not that you remembered doing so. Instead he simply stared at you.

“What time is it?” you asked softly, your voice hoarse from sleep.

“Almost eight,” he murmured, and you blinked in surprise. He had an English accent, very mancunian, just like Ghost’s. The similarity was actually rather uncanny. “You can go back to sleep, or I can make breakfast.”

This felt very strange. You were in a stranger’s house, in their bed and said stranger was offering to make you breakfast as if you weren’t an intruder. You felt tears prick your eyes, suddenly feeling very out of place.

Simon’s brow dipped, a look of panic crossing his face as he tried to figure out what he’d done this time as tears spilled from your eyes.

“Y/n?” He asked, a shaking hand brushing your hair behind your ear.

“I’m sorry, this is just…really overwhelming-“

Simon was quick to pull you against his chest, pulling a soft gasp from you.

“You’re safe, I promise. M’ not gonna let anything happen to ya,” he murmured, those deep brown eyes gazing at you as if he’d loved you for a lifetime.

You blinked in surprise, taken aback by his response, your body slumping as your head dropped onto his heavily muscled shoulder.

“Why…why are you doing this for me?” You whispered.

“You made a sacrifice for one of my mates. You could have gotten killed. He felt responsible, wanted to see you taken care of, and…I wanted to help,” he said gently, stroking the back of your head.

You sniffled softly. “Is Ghost important to you?” You asked, gazing up at him curiously. Simon stiffened, unable to hold your gaze.

“Let’s leave the topic of Ghost alone for now, yeah? Give you some time to recover from what happened.”

You tilted your head at him in confusion, but nodded in agreement. It was his house after all. If he didn’t want to bring up work then so be it.

“You’re in good hands here, I promise.”

Two weeks went by, and you found that it wasn’t as difficult to adjust to Simon’s presence as you expected. He worked on base twice a week when he wasn’t on mission, and spent the rest of his time caring for you.

You couldn’t help but feel like a pet that was being spoiled more than it deserved. He’d bought you one of those nice, memory foam pillows, despite your insistence that you could just sleep on his large, plushy couch.

Truthfully you were a little frightened at the idea of sharing his bed, but he kept a respectful distance away from you, and there wasn’t even the mention of sexual expectations.

He slept on his back, or facing the door, something you assumed was an ingrained behavior.

He let you sleep in the mornings, but once you’d had breakfast he was practically dragging you out of the cabin to take a walk with your crutches, encouraging you not to stay in bed all day.

You supposed it was a good thing, as you’d likely become depressed if left to your own devices. He took you to town only once to find some new clothes, and gave you a very displeased look when you tried to insist on the thrift shop rather than the department store he pulled the truck up to.

“No wife of mine is walking around in a stranger’s hand-me-downs”

With that, he’d helped you inside and gotten you an array of loose pants and comfortable tops to spend your recovery in.

He was certainly committed to his promise of taking care of you.

He didn’t talk much, and you still found that a little unsettling, but his lack of words was matched by his aptitude for actions, making sure you didn’t so much as lift a finger unless you adamantly wanted to.

You hadn’t told your parents about the arrangement, and had been worrying just how you were going to go about keeping the situation on the down low. They’d call eventually, and you had to think of something to keep them from going into a panic.

You watched Simon from the corner of your eye as he started the truck, having helped you into your seat and gotten you buckled moments ago.

You weren’t sure if he was anxious about your check up, or if he was simply displeased at the thought of having you back on base. He seemed to dislike the idea very much if his hesitancy to bring you back to Dr. Radcliffe was anything to go by, but the doctor had insisted on it as he was the one to handle your knee surgery to begin with.

“Simon?” You called as the gravel road disappeared and gave way to paved asphalt. “Do you think Ghost will be available today? I never got to thank him for everything,” you said softly.

Simon tensed, and you couldn’t help but frown a little. “I’ll ask him,” he assured you, taking your hand in his and giving it a light squeeze.

A smile lit up your face, the first one he’d seen since the ordeal at the warehouse, and his heart aches for it. “Thank you, Simon.”

He nodded in response, but his stomach was in knots. He didn’t deserve your thanks. Not as Ghost, and not as Simon. Maybe someday, when you had forgotten all about what had happened to you, and lived a carefree life. Maybe then he could deserve it.

“I’ll be honest, I’m not entirely pleased with the results so far,” Dr. Radcliffe said as he looked over your x-rays.

“What does that mean?” Simon asked, his arms crossed over his chest.

“Is it bad?” You asked as you sat on the paper covered table.

“It means unless we get you set up with a physical therapist you’ll be on those crutches for the rest of your life.” The doctor explained.

Your eyes widened, and you were about to exclaim that you couldn’t possibly afford that when Simon cut in.

“What are her chances with the physical therapy?” He asked, placing a hand on her shoulder.

“Slim, but better. Might have a limp, but definitely more mobility.” Radcliffe assured him.

“I can’t afford Physical Therapy,” you cut in, and the two men glanced down at you.

“Yes, we can,” Simon said gently, brushing your hair behind your ear. You simply gaped at him in astonishment. PT was expensive, especially for such an involved injury. You couldn’t expect him to pay for that, but the warning glance he sent your way said that the two of you would not be discussing it now.

“I’ll send out a recommendation for the practitioner closest to you.” Radcliffe said. “However I’d still like to see you back here a month from now.” You nodded, and Simon ‘tisked’ in response.

Thanks, doc,” you said, offering him a small smile that didn’t quite reach your eyes.

Simon left you to your lunch in the mess hall with the excuse that he had some paperwork to do, and you didn’t question him once he set a burger in front of you. He was quickly finding that a good meal was all he needed to keep you in a good mood.

He felt ridiculous, slipping into his office and shucking off his civilian clothes in exchange for his uniform and mask, before turning around and thundering back to the mess hall.

He didn’t plan on this double-life mess, but he was going to put an end to it. His eyes landed on your little form happily munching away on your lunch, and he let out a deep sigh, clearing his throat as he approached you.

“Ghost?” You looked up in surprise, wiping the condiments off the corner of your mouth on a napkin. He always saw you use your shirt sleeve, and he felt a swell of pride that you liked the little green sweater he’d gotten you enough to preserve its newness.

“Simon said you wanted to see me?” He asked gruffly, crossing his arms over his chest.

You nodded vigorously. “I wanted to thank you for your help. I don’t know what I would have done otherwise-“

“This is what you called me down here for?” He asked, and your face fell. He felt the absence of your smile as an ache in his chest.

“I…I just thought…you’d want to know that I’m safe,” you said.

Simon felt his heart swell at the words. It was a relief to hear you say it, and it made what he was about to do even harder.

“One less thing to worry about then,” he stated grumpily, turning on his heel with a roll of his eyes and leaving you to gape at his back.

He felt like a kid in a play, switching costumes depending on his role in the moment. Price raised a brow when Simon passed his door four separate times in two different outfits.

He could have sworn he heard Johnny mutter “you don’t want to know.” To his captain. They were going to give him hell for this.

He was nearing the mess hall when his phone chimed the very specific sound he’d set for you, and was quick to open his messages.

I want to go home.

He wasn’t sure if he should be glad you viewed the cabin as home, or worried about the damage control he was going to have to do.

He entered the mess hall, preparing himself for whatever state of disarray you’d be in, only you weren’t there. His head whipped around the room, looking for any sight of you, but you had seemingly vanished.

Shit.

Where are you?

He rushed out of the mess hall, looking for any sign of your presence. He didn’t see your crutches, so he could only assume you’d left on your own.

I’m in the truck.

He let out a breath of relief, pulling the keys from his pocket. He probably would have put the whole base on lockdown if you hadn’t replied.

He made quick strides to the parking lot, opening the door to the driver's seat and hauling himself in as quickly as possible.

“Everything alright?” He knew it wasn’t, but it felt polite to ask anyway.

“M’ fine,” you mumbled, leaning your head against the door.

Simon bit his lip as he watched you wilt. You looked as if the life had been sapped out of you. Maybe he’d been too harsh.

“Y/n?” He called, placing a hand on your shoulder. You didn’t acknowledge it and he sighed. “Let’s go home,” he mumbled.

You were silent the entire drive back, and Simon was genuinely starting to question if he’d broken you. You had just gotten some rather bleak news.

“We could stop at that bakery in town,” he offered, glancing at you to gauge your reaction.

“I’m not really in the mood.”

Simon pursed his lips, his brow ticking slightly. He was trying to make things better, why were you fighting against him? Ghost was supposed to be the villain here, not him.

Your mood only seemed to worsen as the day went on, and Simon couldn’t wrap his head around it. At least until you snapped.

“Can I please just do one thing for myself!”

He’d just wanted to take up your dinner, shooing you out of the kitchen so he could do so when you decided you’d had enough.

“You do everything for me. I’m not a child, I’m a grown woman! For fuck’s sake it’s like I’m a prisoner or something!”

Your tirade was followed by a pathetic hobble down the hallway and slam of the bathroom door. He was fairly certain he heard muffled sobs before the tub faucet was turned on to drown them out.

Simon crossed his arms and leaned against the kitchen counter with a frown. You weren’t just upset about Ghost, he realized. You were upset about your leg, about the feeling of losing your autonomy, and his dismissal of you in the mess hall had been the proverbial cherry on top.

You had said you felt safe, but what you really felt was stifled.

He let out a deep sigh, running his hands through his hair. It seemed while keeping you in bubble wrap suited him just fine, it was slowly eating away at you.

This wasn’t what he had wanted for you. He’d wanted you to be able to do things that made you happy, not be stuck doing nothing at all.

You may have been small, and fragile compared to Ghost, but you had still been a soldier, and it was something you took pride in. He hadn’t meant for you to lose purpose, but if you were really going to be happy here, he needed to help you find a new one.

You felt terrible. You shouldn’t have snapped at Simon. You should have just calmly explained that you needed him to give you some space, but after Ghost had reminded you just how useless, how much of a burden he saw you as, it had triggered the rage that had been building in you for a while now.

None of this was fair. You had done your job well, despite being at a higher risk, you’d put the well being of your teammates above yourself to the very end, and your mind was still just as sharp.

Despite all this, it seemed both Ghost and Simon thought you were useless. The difference was Simon didn’t seem to tack worthless onto the list of things you were as well.

You didn’t feel right sleeping in his bed that night, or taking advantage of any of the kindnesses he’d given you for that matter. You were tempted to go sleep outside but it was freezing. Instead you curled up under a blanket with one of Simon’s chess books and read until you fell asleep.

At some point you heard him get up and put on a kettle for tea, before venturing out through the back door. You pretended to still be asleep if only to avoid the impending confrontation.

You eventually heard the telltale sound of a saw in his work shed, and supposed the coast was clear to make a cup of tea.

You went back to reading your book, not sure what else to do, until Simon’s footsteps sounded on the back porch, followed by the door opening. You tried not to stiffen when he stopped right in front of you. Maybe he’d been out there making the coffin he was going to bury you in for being an ungrateful little-

“Could use a hand if you’re not busy.”

Your eyes flicked up to meet his. “With what?” You asked skeptically.

He held out a hand to you, a gentle smile spreading on his face. “You’ll see.”

He walked slowly, acting as a crutch so you wouldn’t need to get them out of the kitchen. He led you to a portion of the yard that had been sectioned off with wooden planks. There was a chair seated beside it, along with a small shovel and a rake.

“What’s this?” You asked as he helped lower you into your seat.

“Garden box. Gonna start growing stuff,” he explained. “Fresh tea is good for you, especially in the colder months.”

He pulled a pair of gloves on and handed you a slightly smaller pair, along with the handheld shovel. “You can start pullin’ dirt out of those bags and droppin’ it in here,” ge explained.

“Wouldn’t this go faster if you just dumped these in yourself?” You asked as he picked up the rake.

Simon shook his head. “You could use some fresh air, and you might as well accomplish somethin’ instead of sittin’ like a bump on a log.”

You could tell he was excited about his little task by the way his accent got thicker, and you had to admit it was a little cute.

“Fair enough,” you murmured, shoveling dirt into the box for him to spread out with the rake. It was a little mindless, but the sound of the birds was nice, and the sun slowly rising in the sky casted a warm glow on your face.

Once you’d emptied two bags of dirt Simon went inside to grab you both a bottle of water before planting the seeds. He handed you the bottle, and a little packet of electrolyte mix, but he didn’t mix it for you, and instead went about opening the little seed packets after having downed his own water.

You had to admit that Simon was quite the sight in that tight gray shirt with a shovel in his hands. You bet he looked even better with a rifle.

“I’m sorry about yesterday,” you murmured as he passed you a small packet of seeds. Simon paused, looking up at you in surprise, before nodding at you.

“I…I’m sorry that I wasn’t paying attention before,” he began, taking a step towards you and cupping your cheek with his large hand. “I see you now,” he murmured softly, bending down to place a kiss on your forehead.

You let out a sigh of relief, leaning against him as your arms wrapped around his middle. “Thank you, Simon,” you whispered as he returned your embrace.

AN: wow this ended up being long~ Lots of drama to come!!!

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miniwheat77 · 11 months

Text

Brat. (dbf!Captain Price x Reader.)

!CW! NSFW, Smut, oral sex (f receiving), using worms as bait, age gap, (sorry if I missed any)

Your body feels warm, the hot sun beating down on you as you swam with one of your friends in her swimming pool. You had one as well but her parents weren't as strict as yours so you spent most of your time there.

You had just turned 18 but since you still lived with them for the time being you had no other choice but to follow their rules. You still had a curfew, had to tell them when and where you were going and what time you would be home. They still had to approve of it of course. Although they rarely ever told you no anymore since you were 18.

Your dad sat at an old wooden bar in and old dive bar him and his best friend, John Price liked to hang out in. They've been neighbors for years and years and it's essentially how their friendship started. They spent every holiday, game day, barbecue, and family get together with each other since then. They got along well, never fought. John was invited to everything and since he didn't have a family of his own it wasn't too hard for him to show. He wasn't married, had no kids, and lived too far away from his parents and siblings to plan the flights. He also didn't know when he'd be deployed but since he took on a job on the base and was only backup for missions, he was always home. Usually worked a 9-5 on the base. It was out of the ordinary for him and apart of him felt useless but it paid the bills. He was still there if they needed him anyways.

You dad was tipping the whiskey back like it was water which only meant one thing. Something was stressing him out.

John smiles after drinking some of his own bourbon. "Something going on mate?" He asks your dad. "Ah yeah. Y/N has been driving me crazy lately." He groans. "Me and her mom." He laughs. John tilts his head in confusion. "What's been going on?" He asks. "If you don't mind me asking of course."

"To be honest? I don't know. She's just been a real grouch lately. Has an attitude, doesn't listen, complains all the time. We've given her much more freedom since she turned 18 so I'm not sure where it's coming from." He shrugs. John nods his head. He's still listening. "I mean.. we convinced her to go to the doctor to get a few scans and blood work done, thinking maybe it was hormone imbalance or a mood disorder but those all came back fine and seemed to piss her off even more to be honest." He shrugs. "She got something going on in her personal life? Maybe she's fighting with a friend or boyfriend?" John asks. Your dad shakes his head. "She hates guys her age. Hates pretty much everyone she isn't close with anyways. She always said she won't date until she's older after her first boyfriend but I mean. She was like 12 so it was stupid anyways. She's only got a couple close friends and that's where she is right now. I don't know what it is." He tips back another shot of whiskey.

"Must just be moody. Maybe you guys should come out to the lake with me this weekend. I’m taking the boat out.” He shrugs. “Yeah that sounds good.” Your dad smiles. “Maybe getting out of the house will help her out.” He shrugs.

“I don’t know, I just know she’s in my damn nerves.” He laughs. Once they finish up their drinks, they part ways. Driving down the same roads to get home since they were neighbors. They’d usually carpool together but they’d met after work. When your dad arrives home, you’re home already. Watching a show on the couch. He closes the door behind him as he steps inside, smiling when he sees you. “Hey. John invited us out to go fishin this weekend. I said we’d go.” He smiles. “Do I have to?” You mumble. “Yes.” A grumble leaves your lips. “I’m not sure what the attitude is but it better quit young lady.” You roll your eyes, going upstairs to your room. Throwing yourself back on your bed with a groan.

—

John smiles at your dad, he’s sitting up at the front of the boat. You’re laying on your stomach, bikini leaving little to the eyes, you’ve got a pair of sunglasses on and you haven’t spoken much the entire trip. “John, you mind letting me off at the doc? I’m gonna go get another case of beer.” He nods his head, starting up the boat and making his way to shore. He lets your dad off, letting him know he’s going to go back out with you and to let him know when to come get him. When he’s back out on the lake and the anchor is down, he flips his hat around. Scooping up some water with his hand and flicking it all over you. He draws a gasp from your lips and you turn around, “John what the hell!” You gasp. Wiping the water down. “Cmon kid. You’re driving your poor ol’ man nuts. What’s with the attitude?” He crosses his arms, lazy smile playing at his lips. “I don’t have an attitude. Why does everyone keep saying that?” You roll your eyes. “Oh come on. The eye rolling, talking back, ignoring people when they talk to you. Being a real brat little lady.” He teases. You grumble, laying back down. “Nope. Cmon. You’re gonna try fishing. You’ll have fun.” He picks up a fishing pole. “We’re using worms. I mean.. you can use power bait but the stocked fished are smaller than natural spawn fish. It’s up to you.” He shrugs, holding out the styrofoam container that has the worms in it. You sigh, taking it from him. “You want me to show you how to put a worm on?” He asks. “Yeah sure.” You mumble. “Alright, here. You basically just thread it through the top.” You watch him hook the worm and thread it on, watching as it squirms. You take the pole from him, casting it out into the water and waiting.

Pretty soon, there’s a boat full of younger guys creeping up near you. They cat call you, yelling out obscenities at you. You ignore them, rolling your eyes. John is a little amused because he knows what your dad has said about guys your age and how you hate dating. They leave just as quickly as they come. “Can we just home? This is boring.” You roll your eyes. “No, not until we catch some fish.” He laughs.

This is where he starts to see it.

When you think he’s not paying attention, you’re adjusting yourself. Sliding awkwardly on the seat, rubbing up against your fishing pole for any sort of friction. Acting more and more bratty as the time ticks on. It’s amusing to John really, to see just how frustrated you are. “Where is my dad? He’s been gone a long time.” John shrugs. He pulls out his phone. He notices a text from your dad, seeing that he’s received a text from him a few minutes before.

You mind giving Y/N a lift home? Her mom texted me and said she took a bad fall at work and is in the ER.

Yeah no problem at all, see you later mate.

“He said your mum fell at work so he’s going to go see if she’s okay. It’s just me and you kid.” John sits down. “So we can go home now?” You ask. “No.” He laughs. You mutter something under your breath. He laughs. Your fishing pole bobbing startles you and John perks up. "You got a fish!" You set the hook, yanking the fishing pole and starting to reel it in. The fish puts up a pretty good fight and when you reel it closer to the boat, John scoops it up with the fishing net for you. Helping you get it off the hook. "Look at that darling." He smiles as you pick it up. "Good girl, see? This is fun." He smiles. His statement takes you off guard, cheeks heating up. "Uh.. Yeah. Whatever." You shut down quickly. He thinks it's odd at first. Once you've thrown the fish back into the water, he sits down across from you at the front of the boat.

He looks around, making sure no one else is around. “Look. I know what’s going on.” He smiles. “Yeah? And what’s that?” You look at him. “Well.. I’m putting two and two together here. The attitude, the never wanting to go out.” He smirks. You look up at him. “I mean.. you’ve been grinding up against your fishing pole since I gave it to you. Rubbing your thighs together when that boat full of guys came by.” Your lips part slightly, cheeks going red. "And when I called you a good girl." He chuckles, seeing how you start to squirm from his watchful eyes on you. “Do you not know how to make yourself cum sweetheart?” He laughs. "T-that's inappropriate John." You look away from his gaze, thankful your sunglasses help conceal your embarrassment. He laughs. "Oh come on, what your dad doesn't know won't hurt him, besides. You've been on his nerves lately and if I help you out, maybe he won't be so stressed out. So talk to me." He smiles. You stay quiet and he moves across the boat, sitting right next to you, throwing an arm over your shoulders. "You can talk to me darling. I can help you." Your heart rate picks up, it's racing in your chest. "I.. I don't know what you want me to say." You breathe. You're one step away from panting at his close proximity. The only thing you can think about are his hands on you. "Have you ever had sex before?" He asks. You shake your head. "Have you.. done anything at all?" You shake your head again. "I've tried to it myself but it makes it worse." You look down at your hands nervously playing with them.

He smiles. Right now, John is thankful there is a room below on his boat. "I can show you." He rests his hand on your thigh, feeling you stiffen up under his touch. "O-okay." You breathe. "Come on." He grasps your hand. There aren't many boats left on the water, it's getting late in the day and everyone is going home thankfully, you might get a little loud. He pulls you down the small set of stairs into the cabin of the boat. It's really small. He makes sure to wash his hands before he touches you, having you do the same.

There's a small bed and a table and chairs and that's it. "Lay on your back." You swallow hard, getting up onto the bed. His deep voice has your clit throbbing at the attention it knows it's about to get. You're sure you've soaked through your panties. He leans onto the bed, helping you remove your bathing suit. When your bottom half is exposed to him, he wants to drool. "God you're beautiful." He groans. He glides his hands down your exposed thighs, causing chills to rise on your skin. You're panting now, small gasps leaving your lips. "Relax." He chuckles. "I'm going to help you, try to calm down sweetheart. You're too eager." He runs his fingertips over your skin, his touch is searing, it burns your skin as his fingers move across you. You want his hands on you. You want them inside of you. He takes a deep breath of his own, trying to ignore the way his cock throbs against his cargo shorts. "Start slow. Little circles on your clit." He reaches forward. "Like this." He breathes. He uses his thumb, rubbing circles over you. Your lips part slightly, a whimper leaving your lips. It’s different when he’s touching you. You can feel your lower stomach swirling, something is building already. “You try.” He draws his hand away. Resting your hand over your mound, rubbing circles over your clit just as he said. The sensation is gone just as fast as it came, causing you to whimper out at the loss, your touch feels like nothing. You draw your hand away. “This isn’t going to work John, it doesn’t work.” You blush.

You try to sit up but he pushes you back. “Have you ever cum before?” He asks. You shake your head. “Oh darling.. no wonder you’re so bratty.” He smiles. “All of that sexual tension and no way to release it. Poor thing.” He’s teasing you, but at the same time actually feels really bad. He knows it’s harder for you to cum. “Stop it John.” You try to push him off, tears gathering in your eyes from frustration. “I’m just teasing darling, let me help you.” He moves himself up further, grasping your thighs and pulling you down on the bed further, you let your head rest back on the pillow, looking up at the ceiling. The boat rocks back and fourth over the water. You’re nervous. You don’t know what he’s going to do to you. He moves himself between your legs, and you don’t understand what's going on until you feel something warm and wet against your entrance. You lift your head up, jumping at the sensation. “Oh f-fuck!” You gasp. He glances up at you. He’s still got his hat on, but he’s flipped it backward by now. Giving himself room to devour you. He moans into your opening, you taste sweet. You’re breathing hard, clutching at the sheets as he flicks his tongue over your clit. He starts slow, letting your sensitive nub get used to the sensation of his tongue, not wanting to overwhelm you. You clutch at the sheets, melting further and further into him as he laps at your entrance with his tongue. It's clear that he's had a fair share of experience. You feel something building in your stomach and you know you're about to cum.

You're getting louder and louder, crying out his name and he's never imagined himself in such a position.

This is just to help her dad, so that he isn't so stressed out.

That's all.

John rocks his hips into the bed, cock hard and throbbing against his shorts. Begging for some kind of friction. He imagines your pretty lips around his cock, maybe your pretty eyes looking up at him as you take him further down your throat. He groans into you earning another moan from your lips. When you're wet enough from his spit and your arousal, he slides a couple of his fingers into you. Feeling you tense up around him, all of the air leaving your lungs, you've never had anything inside before and he can't help but smile into you.

He sucks against your clit, swirling his tongue around it, you're squirming, struggling to stay still beneath him, even his grip on you doesn't keep you completely still. He sucks your clit into his mouth one more time, lapping his tongue over you, his fingers curling into the sweet spot inside of you and you lose it, lips parting as moans leave your lips. A mewl leave your lips and you squirm out of his grasp as he desperately laps up your arousal from your orgasm. You push him away, closing your legs. You're looking at him with a look of pure shock, panting, a little sweaty. The look you're giving him it's unsettling how fucked out you look. He wipes his lips of you, looking up at you. "Do you feel better?" He laughs. You nod your head. "Good. Try to relax." He smiles. "Still got about an hour of light left, let's make it worth while and try to catch some fish yeah?" He smiles, standing up. When he's out of your line of sight, he sucks the taste of you off of his fingers. Groaning at himself.

What has he just gotten himself into?

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writeforfandoms · 11 months

Text

Glitter and Gold

Find the CoD masterlist

As the princess, you always knew you'd marry for power and politics. What you did not expect was to be married to the dragon.

My own take on dragon!Price because I love dragons and I love Price and I went a little feral. Sorry not sorry.

Warnings: Swearing, political discussion (brief), mostly glossed over wedding ceremony, oral sex (f receiving), piv sex, unprotected sex, mention of pregnancy, brief violence (not towards reader), dragon!Price.

Word count: 7.7k

You stood on your private balcony, torn between disbelief and anger. Not that you should have been surprised, really.

Your father, the king, was a stubborn man. For as long as you could remember, he hadn't much liked either of the neighboring kingdoms, speaking of them with contempt. Your kingdom was the smallest of the three, but strategically placed, with access to the sea and rivers and mountains. Yours was a kingdom of natural wealth.

But even so, you'd never have guessed that your father would go so far in his quest to spurn the other two kingdoms (and try to attract a more lucrative offer from a further away kingdom, undoubtedly) as to offer you to the dragon!

The dragon lived just on the border of the kingdom, and had for centuries. He mostly kept to himself, only very rarely making an appearance when he deemed it necessary. You could remember the last time you'd seen him - you'd been much younger, staring up in awe at the massive form flying high above the capitol city. From the distance, it had been hard to tell what color he was, or how big he really was.

And your father had offered your hand in marriage. To this dragon.

You blew out a sigh and shook your head. It was unlikely the dragon would reply. This was just a political move.

A breeze rustled your skirts, and you frowned a little. Actually, the breeze was picking up. Looking out over the city, you could see flags beginning to snap in the wind.

Shouting drew your attention, and you looked down into the streets, only to see people clutching clothing and staring up at the sky. You followed their pointing and froze.

A dragon was coming down from the mountains, heading straight for the city. Sunlight gleamed off him, all reddish-copper, and every beat of his wings sent wind gusting down to the city. Baskets fell, curtains whipped, and one or two people even fell from the force of the wind.

Being elevated above much of the city was worse - you clung to the balcony railing to keep your footing, eyes narrowed against the sheer ferocity of the wind.

You'd been wrong, you and your father both. The dragon was upset, and he was coming to punish you, to destroy your city for your father's arrogance–

The dragon was nearly to you now, so huge he eclipsed the sky, dark and foreboding. The dragon tipped his head, one jewel-bright eye staring down at you. Smoke plumed from his nostrils, thick and dark and completely obscuring the sky for the longest moments of your life as you waited for the fire and the screaming.

But it never came.

There was a thump almost directly in front of you, and the smoke cleared enough to show a man crouched, perched, on the balcony railing. Jewel-bright blue eyes held your gaze for a long moment before he blinked once. A hat was perched on his head, obscuring much of his hair, but he had a full beard in dark auburn, hints of gray peppering it. His clothes were sturdy but out of date. Those eyes drew you in again, too bright to ignore.

"You must be my beautiful bride," he rumbled, low and rough as a rockslide.

"Bride to be," you corrected him crisply, lifting your chin a little. Nothing about this made sense, so you may as well stand up for yourself and what you wanted.

His lips quirked in amusement. "Bride to be," he agreed, gaze raking over you in a way that felt far more intimate than it actually was. A faint curl of smoke escaped from his nose when he breathed out.

The door to your room burst open, you could hear it even from the balcony. "Princess!" Half a dozen guards trooped through, although really only one of them fit on the balcony with you and your draconic fiance. "Uh."

"I suppose we'll need to talk to my father." You straightened your shoulders, looking at those blue eyes again. He was smirking now, apparently amused. But he hopped lightly down from the railing, nimble for a man of his size. And oh what size he had - easily taller than your father, with broad shoulders that spoke to his strength.

“If you insist,” he agreed, motioning for you to go first. When you stepped ahead of him, he placed a proprietary hand at the small of your back, light but warm. The warmth seeped through your layers, too warm to be human. The little reminder sent a thrill down your spine.

But it wasn’t fear. Not quite.

The guards all moved out of your way, and you didn’t even glance back to see if they were following. They were.

This time of day, normally your father would be in talks with his advisors. But, given the very recent upset of having a dragon arrive in the city, it was possible he’d be in his receiving room instead.

At least, you hoped he would be.

The dragon-man kept up with you easily, long strides unhurried despite the pace you set. His hand never left you back, ensuring you stayed close to him.

You snuck a glance at him only to find those blue eyes already focused on you. But you refused to duck your head, refused to look away, refused to be embarrassed.

After all, if he was to be your husband, what was the harm in looking?

One of the guards got ahead of you to pull open the door to the receiving room, and you swept in first.

"Father," you greeted, finding him already standing, staring, a little pale.

"Welcome," your father greeted, focused on the man next to you. "I wasn't expecting you to respond so quickly."

The dragon's lips quirked in amusement. "I can see that."

"Perhaps we should discuss the necessary arrangements privately." The king glanced at you, his two advisors already standing to leave.

"No." The dragon didn't move, the one word short and sharp. Everyone froze. You barely dared to breathe. "She stays. It is her life, after all."

Your father frowned, just for a moment. "If that is your wish."

"It is." The dragon was calm, confident, unhurried. And his hand hadn't left your back.

The door closed softly after the advisors, leaving the three of you alone.

"Well. I assume you're here to accept my offer." Your father didn't spare you a glance, instead focusing on your dragon.

"Yes." He prompted you forward with gentle pressure at the small of your back. "I will take her as my bride."

"Of course." Your father eyed him shrewdly, calculating. "I will need some time to arrange everything–"

"Send it after us." The dragon shrugged, unconcerned. "We will depart shortly."

You turned to look at him, frowning. "Without a wedding?"

He shifted with you, keeping his hand pressed to your back. "Do you need one?"

"Yes, I do."

He huffed in soft amusement. "Very well, my bride." He tugged you closer, gently, coaxing.

"It will take time to make such arrangements," your father started slowly, calculating.

"You have three days." Your dragon was colder with him, less patient.

"But–"

"Three days." His eyes narrowed a little, a wisp of dark smoke escaping with the words.

Your father paused and swallowed. "It will be done," he agreed.

And that? Seeing your father back down and bend to the dragon's will? That sent a thrill down your spine, made your pulse pick up.

"Any other supplies needed will be sent after us." The dragon looked down at you again, his expression softening. "You will tell me if there is anything specific you need."

You blinked at him but nodded. "I will," you agreed in a murmur.

His lips twitched and he nodded. "Then we should have nothing else to discuss."

The king stiffened a little but apparently decided it wasn't worth potentially angering the dragon, because he nodded.

The dragon nudged you out ahead of him, hand still against your back. "Do you need to prepare?"

"I should," you agreed, looking at him. "But…"

"Yes?" He raised one eyebrow at you.

"What can I call you?" You shifted slightly closer to him. "Since I am to be your wife."

His lips twitched in that little smile again, private and pleased. "John."

"John," you repeated. "Will I see you again before the wedding, John?"

"You will." He smirked, stopping when you did. "I'll see you soon." His hand finally left your back, leaving you almost cold, and one big finger tucked under your chin. Eyes wide, you tipped your chin up at his insistence, your gaze locked on his. He leaned down, sending your heart pounding. For a wild moment, you thought he was going to kiss you.

But he simply nosed your cheek, gentle and warm. He stepped back, releasing you from the sheer pull of his gaze, and dipped his head to you in the only sign of respect you'd seen from him.

Leaving you warm and flustered and chilled all at once, standing outside your rooms.

The rest of the day and the next passed in near-frantic preparations. You directed some maids to pack up the things you decided you could not live without, and fortunately a dress had already been in the works. There was no way to get any other dignitaries or even leaders from the other towns in your kingdom.

It was going to be an unconventional wedding, for an unconventional marriage.

But you couldn't deny the stirrings of excitement in your veins.

Especially after John came back to visit you.

He found you outside in the gardens, walking slowly, letting the familiar paths help settle your mind. You didn’t even hear him approaching - one moment you were alone, and then he fell into step next to you, startling you.

“Apologies, princess,” he murmured with a smirk.

You huffed. “You’re quiet,” you observed, glancing at him. “I’m surprised.”

He shrugged. “Habit,” was all he said on that. He reached up to adjust his odd hat, gaze interested as he looked around the garden. “Have to admit mine doesn’t look this good.”

“You have a garden?” The thought was so surprising that you stopped, blinking up at him.

“A garden was left behind,” he corrected gently. His hand landed at the small of your back again, gently pushing you into walking. “I don’t do much to maintain it.”

“Hmm.” You eyed him curiously. “Where do you live?”

He glanced down at you, openly amused. “You’ll find out,” he murmured.

“Do you live alone?” Curiosity had reared its head now, refusing to relent until you had at least a few answers. He hadn’t gotten mad at you yet, after all.

“Yes.”

“Why?”

That got him to pause for a moment, considering how to answer you, even as he kept walking. “Never taken a mate,” he said finally. His teeth flashed briefly in a grin. “Never been offered a bride, either.”

You couldn’t help but laugh a little at that. “Then I suppose this will be something new for the both of us.”

“Suppose it will.” His fingers flexed against your back before he tugged you closer, close enough to feel the heat pouring from him, the scent of smoke seemingly a permanent fixture around him. “And what does my princess think of marrying a dragon?”

You warmed at the easy, possessive way he referred to you. “I think I will not be bored with you.” You tipped your head, playful but still watching.

He chuckled, rumbling and delicious. “No,” he agreed, his voice even lower than normal. “You won’t.”

The pair of you paused near one edge of the garden, although you couldn’t look away from him. He wasn’t upset with your testing - if anything, he seemed to be enjoying this as much as you were.

You would need to go, and soon, but first, one more thing…

“You know,” you started, casual, watching him intently, “I have heard a few rumors about dragons.”

“Oh?” One eyebrow lifted in clear invitation to keep going.

“As much as I don’t think this one is accurate, I still feel I should tell you…” You risked taking one step closer to him, trying to hide your humor. “Just so you know… If what I heard is true… If you eat me, I will give you indigestion.”

He blinked at you, eyes wide, apparently stunned with your daring. And then he tipped his head back to laugh, loud and unrestrained, baring the long line of his throat to you.

Oh, that was an absolutely lovely sound. You could get addicted to that sound far too easily.

“You are a feisty one,” he murmured, finally looking at you again with a smirk. “Good.” He looked back towards the castle, eyes narrowing, before he huffed. Smoke plumed out of his mouth with the exhale, thick and dark. “You need to return before they come searching for you.”

“I suppose so.” You couldn’t hear anything, but perhaps his hearing was better than yours. It wouldn’t truly surprise you.

“I’ll see you in the morning, princess.” He leaned in again, slowly but surely, his hand big and warm at your waist. But this time, his lips brushed your cheek, so light you could just feel the touch.

And then he was gone, turning and walking away from you.

The remaining time passed too fast until you found yourself at the ceremony. Since everything had been rushed, the ceremony had been opened to the city - people were gathered outside the pavilion, jostling and shifting to get a better view.

Not necessarily of you. But of your soon-to-be-husband.

John stood tall, shoulders straight, hat gone to show the horns arching from his head. Those did make you blink, at least until those blue eyes met yours again. Then everything else just… faded into the background. The crowd didn’t matter. Your family didn’t matter. Even the droning of the priest didn’t matter.

All that mattered were those blue, blue eyes.

The ceremony finished, and you had to blink yourself back to the present. Right. You still had to sit through the rest of the celebration.

Except John took your hand, tugging you closer to him. You blinked up at him, caught off-guard.

“Time to go,” he murmured, ignoring everyone else as he began to walk.

“Already?” You debated seeing if you could get him to relent to you again, or if that would be pushing your luck.

“I’ve already waited three days for you,” he rumbled, amused. “Got everything ready for you before I came to get you.”

And that? The knowledge that he’d not just received the offer and immediately come, but had put thought into this? Had something prepared for you? That melted you, just a little, sent your heart thudding into your ribs.

“How are we getting there?” You thought that was a fair question, once again focused on him to the exclusion of the rest of the world. Vaguely, you noted people getting out of his way, well-wishes yelled to you both. But you ignored the lot of it.

The smile he slanted at you was amused and more or less hidden by his beard. “You’ll see,” was all he offered, taking the fastest route out of the city. You stumbled once, not exactly attired for a quick walk through the city. A moment later you were scooped up in his arms, held securely there. Your gasp made him smile.

“You don’t have to–” you started to say, uncertain, hands gripping his shirt.

“I’ve got you,” he murmured, just for you. “You’re fine.”

You’d only known him for days, and yet you believed him. You didn’t protest again, simply curling further into him. The deep, pleased hum from him was something you felt more than heard.

He didn’t stop until you were outside the city, the walls well behind you before he finally set you on your feet.

“Now you’ll see how we’re getting home.” He grinned briefly, taking a few big steps back, away from you. You blinked, curiosity overpowering anything else, and watched him. He breathed out smoke and there was a low sound, like distant thunder. Suddenly pressure in the air made you take a half-step back, wrinkling your nose and shaking your head briefly to clear it.

A low rumble drew your gaze back to where John had been. The smoke was clearing slowly, but enough that you could see the outline of something much, much bigger. Your heart slammed against your ribs and you went very still, caught in the ages-old terror of a predator much bigger than you.

The dragon moved slowly, making a low noise almost like a purr except much deeper. His head snaked forward, long neck straining a little, before halting right in front of you. His head was bigger than you were tall, thick horns curving back over his head. But his eyes were still that same jewel-bright blue.

"John?" Your fingers trembled as you held out one hand, still moving so slowly.

Those big, bright eyes blinked slowly and he pushed his snout into your fingers, more gently than you would have thought him capable. Copper-red scales were warm and smooth to your touch, and touch you did. Your fingers started on his snout but moved up until you were on your tiptoes to explore, curiosity quickly overriding your fear. The ridges above his eyes were a little tougher, but he leaned into the touch when you scratched gently, and something in you melted.

"You're not so scary," you teased him gently, scratching harder at his eye ridges to watch his eyes close in clear enjoyment. "Are you?"

He huffed, smoke blowing out his nostrils, but you just laughed.

"Okay. How are we…?" You trailed off, uncertain how to ask the rest of the question.

He nudged you very gently with his snout, pushing you towards his shoulders. There was a spot you could just see, at the end of his neck before his wings, where you could hold on.

It would not be the most dignified way to travel, but… who was there to judge you anymore? Who would even dare?

Your lips stretched into a slow grin at the realization, heart fluttering. You had a dragon for a husband. Nobody would dare to mock you now!

He huffed again, nudging you gently. You patted his nose.

"Yes, alright, let me figure out how to get up there." You eyed the vast expanse of scales and muscle in front of you. There were, of course, no clear handholds, or places to put your feet.

You did shriek, just a little, when he suddenly picked you up by the back of your dress, teeth closed very carefully around fabric only, and deposited you into place.

One new observation: your husband was impatient. Or at least not currently willing to indulge your curiosity. You pouted.

Until he stood up, the sudden motion making you cling to his scales, hunkering down. He rumbled again, the noise vibrating through his chest and straight into you, at once comforting and electrifying.

That was all the warning you got before he started moving, loping several strides until his wings snapped out. One flap of those great wings nearly unseated you, and you were quick to adjust your seat and grip before he beat his wings again, and you two were in the air.

Wind whipped at your hair and clothes, and it took you a few minutes to find a comfortable place to sit and cling to him securely. You made the mistake of looking down only once, the trees far below you bending and swaying with the force of his passage. A little sick now, you closed your eyes tightly and just hung on tight.

You weren't sure how long the two of you traveled. Longer than you liked, certainly. Much shorter than it would have taken on foot, or even on horseback.

The sun was still bright out when he flew lower, aiming for the side of a mountain. You squinted, trying to see where he was going. But the wind was too strong and he was going too fast.

The sun was suddenly gone and you gasped, blinking rapidly, even as he slowed and then landed more delicately than you would have thought.

Finally giving you a chance to look around.

The cavern was big, easily big enough for him to fly into or out of, and fairly dark. You tipped your head back, looking up at the rough ceiling above, awed.

A soft grumble from the dragon made you blink and look back at him to find his head turned to look at you. One big eye blinked, and he slowly lowered himself all the way to the ground.

Guess it was time to get down.

Very carefully, you slid down his shoulder until your feet touched the floor. But your first step was wobbly and your knees nearly gave out under you. But you remained upright, more or less, until you could stagger against one wall of the cavern.

The air around you shivered and shifted again, and a moment later you heard footsteps.

"Easy, princess," he murmured, voice even raspier than normal. "You're alright."

"I'm fine," you agreed, still a little shaky. "Just… not accustomed. That's all."

Big warm hands settled at your waist, holding you steady. "Hmm. Your shoes are no good down here. I'll have to fix that." His hands left you for a moment before he was scooping you up into his arms again.

"I could manage," you protested gently, though your hands were already curling into him. "You've already carried me a lot."

"You're fine," he insisted, holding you a little tighter. "I've got you."

You hummed and relaxed into him, enjoying the warmth after the chill of the flight here. You did hold a little tighter to him as the light all but vanished as he walked down a hallway.

"Almost there," he assured you, rumbling soothingly.

You swallowed but nodded once, waiting a little anxiously for the light to return.

Which it did with grandeur.

You gasped as John turned a corner, light streaming down from above, tinged gold as it bounced off strategically-placed mirrors and shields of gold. The entire space was large, and somewhat open around what you could only assume was his hoard. Gold and gems piled up in the center of the room, jewelry spilling out onto the floor. A goblet lay on its side on the floor, little red gems set into the precious metal.

"Welcome to my hoard," John rumbled, walking closer, still not letting you down. "You will have plenty of time to explore to your heart's content, princess. You should see this first."

You blinked, shaking yourself a little out of the momentary daze, and looked up at him. "Oh?"

He merely hummed, walking around the long side of the hoard to the back. You could see another hallway leading to a set of stairs, but your attention was quickly diverted.

Tucked between the back of the hoard and the back wall was, for lack of better term, a nest. A long piece of blue fabric had been stretched over the top to allow for some privacy, while pillows and blankets had been piled into a rough circle.

"Oh." Your eyes went wide as you examined the space, gaze darting everywhere. "Is this…?"

"For you," John agreed, setting you on your feet.

You stepped forward slowly, pausing at the edge of the blanket nest before you knelt down to feel it. It was softer than you'd expected, well cushioned. You could sleep here easily. Surprised and undeniably touched by the thoughtful gesture, you turned to him with a smile.

"This is amazing," you murmured. "Thank you."

"It's my pleasure." He smiled, the corners of his eyes crinkling. "Have to keep my princess comfortable, hm?"

You warmed a little at the possessiveness in his voice but stood again. "Show me around?"

His hand settled at your back again, his warmth welcome now in the cooler air of the cavern. He didn't take you all the way around the hoard, saying you'd have plenty of time to explore that on your own. Instead he took you up the stairs, lighting a torch to carry along with you two.

The stairway opened up into another corridor, this one relatively short. An open doorway showed a very old-fashioned kitchen, quiet and empty now. Beyond that were the pantries and cold larder, also all empty.

Another set of stairs brought you up to a servants corridor and then to a formal dining room. The furniture was mostly gone, although the table remained. But the windows remained, mostly intact, and your lips parted in surprise.

"Where…?" You couldn't quite finish your question, gaze darting around, steps slowed to almost nothing.

"My home." John puffed up a little in obvious pride at your reaction, gently tugging you forward. "You will see."

You allowed him to lead you forward, craning your head to try to see everything at once. Although it was old and clearly much depleted, it was easy to see the once-grandeur of this place. Mosaics still remained on the floor, one wall although cracked still showed a mural: a mountain towered over a castle, a fertile valley stretching below.

"Oh." You blinked at the mural. "Oh, this is the old castle, the abandoned one."

"Been abandoned for a long time," John agreed, coming up behind you to rest both hands at your waist. "Before I moved in, certainly."

"And how long ago was that?" You tipped your head a little to one side, still drinking in the mural.

"A long time ago." His voice rumbled through you, making you shiver.

"I'm surprised it's still standing." You leaned back, just a little, into his warmth.

"Not all of it does," he murmured, lowering his head to speak close to your ear. "Parts of the castle have crumbled, and parts of it are unsafe. But some of it remains intact. I have not had much use for it, but perhaps you would."

"I just might." You smiled, tilting your head back to look up at the ceiling, still in good repair here. "You don't mind?"

"Not at all," he agreed.

You spent a good little while exploring with him. John was never more than a few steps behind you, letting you lead but always warning you if you got too close to anywhere potentially dangerous. It was, actually, quite a lot of fun. These ruins hadn't been inhabited for a long time, John excepted. And you suspected he didn't spend a lot of time up here.

This was not how you'd expected to spend your first day as a married woman, but you were not going to complain.

Eventually, though, the sun dropped and the temperature with it, leaving you fighting off the chill in the air unsuccessfully. John huffed softly and gathered you in close, his warmth absolutely delightful now.

"Need to get you somewhere warm again," he murmured, lips pressing briefly to the shell of your ear.

"I can walk," you insisted.

"Very well, my princess." The amusement was clear in his tone, but he let you walk back through the castle and down the stairs back to the hoard. And, more importantly, to your nice warm nest.

You paused, though, glancing at him. Normally this first night was… more than simply sleeping.

He didn't seem to notice your trepidation, instead stepping aside and over to a small goblet set aside from the rest. You watched him curiously as he pulled a dagger from the same short table the goblet rested on. Before you could ask what he intended to do, he sliced the end of one of his fingers, merely grimacing.

"What…?" You gasped, watching with wide eyes as blood welled and dropped slowly into the goblet.

"You will need this." Sharp eyes glanced at you and away again. "This will help to keep you warm, as well as to protect you."

"Protect me?" You took a single step closer to him. "From what?"

"It gets much colder here than you are used to." John breathed in slowly, gaze fixed on yours. "It will also protect you from me. I run too hot to couple with a human more than once."

You warmed but refused to look away from him. "I see."

He looked away first, looking down into the goblet and wrapping a spare piece of fabric around his finger. "Drink."

The goblet was warm to the touch and you peered into it, a little apprehensive. The blood inside was dark with a shimmer, almost, on top, a shifting slide of colors that changed as you tilted the cup back and forth gently.

Well. You were already here, had already done this much. You just had to trust that he wasn't trying to hurt you.

You tipped the goblet back, drinking the contents down in one go.

It was warm, just the right side of hot. Not unlike a good cup of tea on a chilly evening, only the flavor was all wrong. Iron and something burnt and metal. You swallowed, shivering briefly, the warmth traveling down to your stomach. But it didn't stop there, continuing all the way to your extremities until you were warm, too warm, fever warm. Shaking hands went for your dress to start getting your layers off - you were suffocating in them.

"Easy," John rumbled, catching your hands and pulling you in close. Oddly enough, the warmth of him was soothing rather than too much, especially coupled with the strong hug. "You're alright, princess. Give it a minute, let it settle."

"What–?" You gasped at another wave of warmth pulsing through you, your hands clamping tight around his shirt.

"Shh, love." Gentle lips pressed to your forehead. "It will pass."

You made a very undignified noise, trembling through the heat until it ebbed. Then you rested against him, still trembling but steadier.

"Alright?" John tipped your head up gently, fingers gentle against your skin.

"I… think so." You blinked at him, just now aware of the wetness on your eyelashes. "That was…"

"Necessary." He pressed another kiss to your forehead. He still felt warm to you, but not quite as warm. "You did very well."

You blinked up at him, lifting one shaky hand to wipe away the wetness at your eyes, but he beat you to it. Gentle fingers wiped your cheeks and under your eyes, and he hummed softly.

"You should sleep now," he murmured. "Rest will help you to get back to normal."

"I'm alright." You frowned a little, trying to will yourself into being alright. Very rarely had you been so physically affected by something.

"You will be in the morning." His lips quirked in amusement at your stubbornness. "Let me help you, princess."

You huffed but gave in, still feeling just off kilter enough to not argue further. John helped you out of your gown all the way down to your slip, hands slow and steady over newly-bared skin.

But that was all he did before he helped you settle into the nest.

"Where are you sleeping?" You asked, already getting comfortable, eyelids heavy now that you were horizontal.

"I'll join you later," he murmured. "You just sleep."

You huffed a little complaint but, soon enough, your eyelids closed.

Rather to your surprise, John didn't do more than help you dress or undress for three days. His touches lingered, warm and both soothing and exciting, but he didn't ask for more than that. He seemed happy enough to let you explore, following you into and around the castle and onto the grounds.

Finally, though, you caught his hands as he was undoing the laces to your dress. (A new one today, one that had simply appeared next to your bed that morning with a smug-looking John watching you subtly.)

"Something the matter?" John asked, low and gentle, holding quite still.

"Not exactly," you hedged. "I just… you did mention… and we are married…" You looked down, heat rushing to your cheeks. It's not like you had a lot of experience with asking for this kind of thing.

He chuckled, moving closer until you could feel him pressed up against your back. "Yes, princess?"

You puffed out your cheeks, burning, and almost none of it had to do with his warmth. "I'd like you to… to touch me."

"I can do that." He bent his head, pressing a gentle kiss to the side of your neck. At your shiver, he pulled his hands from under yours and finished unlacing your dress, letting it pool around your feet. "How much does my princess want to be touched?"

"Enough to ask for it." You tipped your head to give him better access, hands curling and uncurling to release some of your nervous energy.

"Ask nicely, then." Teeth a little too sharp to be human nipped your ear, and you gasped.

"P-please."

"Mmm, good girl." He rewarded you with another kiss to your neck.

He moved the two of you easily, lowering you into the nest and settling above you to kiss you, his hands working up under your remaining layers to palm your bare thighs. His eyes, when he pulled back enough to look at you, were nearly black with desire.

"Do you have any idea how good you look?" He asked in a low growl, hands squeezing your thighs. "Dressed in things I brought you, in a nest I made for you?"

You gasped at the sheer possessiveness in his voice, shivering once. “John…”

He licked his lips before leaning down to kiss you again, taking his time, discovering exactly what you liked. He didn’t stop until you were panting, hands fisted in his shirt.

But you were still surprised when he ripped the last layer of clothes, sharp nails making short work of the fabric and leaving shreds on the nest around you. Your eyes went wide at how easy it was for him, at the strength he’d been holding back.

And he had been holding back you realized, watching him look over all the newly exposed skin with something almost feral in his gaze. He’d been holding back for you, giving you time.

All thoughts flew from your mind when he dipped his head, lips landing in the divot of your collarbone, hands grasping your hips.

“You’re beautiful,” he murmured, just loud enough for you to hear over the thundering of your pulse. “And mine.” His lips traveled down your body, slow but determined. When your hands tugged in his shirt from the grip you still held, he huffed a warm breath against the skin of your navel. But he was quick to pull his shirt off, gently taking your hands and guiding them to his head. “Hold on to me, love.”

You licked your lips, one hand threading into the thick mass of his hair, the other carefully exploring one of his horns.

All thoughts of exploring flew from your head with the first kiss he placed to your inner thigh.

He moved slowly but steadily, his tongue exploring the space between your thighs. Every gasp, every whimper, every moan that escaped your lips urged him on, his tongue sweeping broadly through your wetness. Warmth pooled low in your belly, tension coiling through your muscles.

John pulled his head back and you whimpered, lifting your head to look down at him. He grinned, teeth just a little too sharp to be human, wetness smeared across his lips and cheeks and beard.

“Tell me if anything hurts, love,” he murmured, low but commanding.

“I will,” you managed, a little surprised you got words out and not just noises.

With a satisfied noise of his own, John dove back in. But a finger slid into you slowly, the intrusion odd but not unwelcome. You couldn’t resist wiggling your hips.

Until his arm banded over your hips, holding you down.

“John–” Your fingers tightened, desperate for something solid to hold onto.

He hummed softly, the sensation shocking and far too good. The noise you made would have embarrassed you if you had any space to think about it, but he must have liked it, because he growled long and low.

The coil in your gut snapped and you shouted as pleasure coursed through you, intense and unrelenting for long moments. Until it ebbed and you relaxed, panting, eyes wide.

“Still with me?” John had shifted up a bit, his chin resting on your hipbone, eyes fixed on your face.

You nodded, slow and languid, eyes fixed on him. "Mmhm."

"Good." He pressed a kiss to the skin of your hip before nipping gently, playfully. "Ready for more?"

You swallowed but nodded, loosening your grip on his hair. He moved up your body slowly, taking his time to place kisses and gentle nips across your skin.

"Tell me if it hurts," he murmured to you, fingers still in you starting to rock again, gentle but insistent. Your eyes fluttered as the warmth in you started up again, slow and steadily building.

"John." You tipped your head to kiss him again, fingers exploring the breadth of his shoulders. It wasn't long until you were moving under him, hips rocking to meet his fingers, your own fingers holding tight to his shoulders. He breathed out against your neck, damp and hot.

"Alright, princess." He pulled his fingers from you, ignoring your little whine. "We'll go slow, hm?"

You didn't understand for a moment, until you felt the thick of him press against you. You breathed in deeply, watching his face. His brow furrowed a little as he started to press in, taking his time as promised, until you had to toss your head back against the pillows with a whimper.

"Alright?" He didn't move, holding himself still, holding back. Again. For you.

"Yes," you gasped, the fullness distracting but undeniably pleasant. "More, please–"

He groaned, one hand clamping over your hip, fingers smearing wetness across your skin. His movements started slow, cautious, until you arched up into him and nearly begged for more. Then he moved faster, that delicious feeling of fullness near-addicting as pleasure coiled.

The heat of him pressed into your skin was more than you'd expected, only heating further as he moved. You quickly understood why he'd made you drink a few days ago - the heat would have been uncomfortable, perhaps unbearable, before.

But now it was all part of this curling pleasure, higher and hotter with every stroke.

"Come for me, my princess," he growled into your ear, teeth sharp against your skin. "Give it to me. One more, give it to me."

Those sharp teeth bit down on the junction of your neck and shoulder and you cried out wordlessly as your pleasure crested and broke. His low growl vibrated against your skin, your chest, even in the deepest parts of you, and you writhed underneath him.

His teeth didn't leave your skin as he thrust a few more times into you and stilled. Heat settled in you, just on the edge of too hot. You gasped, unsure if you wanted to get away from it or not.

"Hush, love." His voice was still ragged but calmer, and he pressed soothing kisses to your skin, even as he kept himself firmly inside of you, keeping that heat trapped in you. "Easy."

"What…?" You blinked slowly, hands slow as they traced his shoulders.

"Just relax," he rumbled, voice dropping to a soothing rumble. "Relax for me, my princess." His hands smoothed up your sides, slow and firm.

You relaxed, lulled by his voice and his touches. Eventually, the near-burning heat in you settled back to something easier, leaving you pleasantly tired.

"Ready to sleep?" He kept his voice quiet and low, one hand reaching up slowly to smooth over your brow.

"Mmhm." You blinked slowly, struggling to keep your eyes open.

"Sleep, then." He pressed a chaste kiss to your lips, his eyes nearly glowing in the darkness. That pleased little smile was the last thing you registered before you drifted to sleep.

The two of you settled into a routine after that. You got to go anywhere you wanted. John brought you anything you desired (and then some). It was not the life you'd expected, growing up, but it was better, because your choices were your own. If you ever said no, John respected it.

Things were close to excellent.

A year had passed before you knew it, your belly slowly growing round with the child growing within you. John had started hovering more as you showed, occasionally refusing to even leave your side. (He was just a little overbearing but you knew he meant well.)

One afternoon, he stopped you from leaving the treasury and stalked off, anger rolling from him. Curious and refusing to be left out, you followed.

John stalked out of the long entrance tunnel, plumes of smoke billowing out behind him. Well, whatever had happened, he was very mad.

It didn't take you long to figure out why.

John emerged into the bright daylight and moved silently down the hill a little ways. You barely had time to catch up to him, hand cradled protectively over your belly, when John lunged and tackled something.

No. Someone. Someone who shouted in surprise, sword falling to the grass at his feet. Dark-skinned hands rose to grasp and claw at John's forearm as John lifted the intruder off his feet and into the air.

"I told you to stay inside." John didn't raise his voice, because he never raised his voice at you. But he was displeased.

"I was curious." You took two slow steps closer, eyeing the intruder. "Why did you come here?"

The intruder’s gaze flicked from John to you and back, his brow furrowing. His voice was tight when he finally asked, “Are you the princess?”

“That’s me,” you agreed, amused, lifting your chin. “And?”

“I, um.” He paused, trying to suck in a breath and coughing a little.

“John.”

Your dragon growled, low and displeased, but allowed the intruder’s feet to touch the ground again. He did not let the man go.

“I heard stories,” the man said, glancing between the two of you again. “That a dragon stole a princess, that she needed rescuing.”

“Stole?” Both your eyebrows flew up. “Well. Someone is lying to you all, because I married him.” You finally stepped close enough to put a gentle hand on John’s back.

“...What?” The poor man looked a bit gobsmacked now.

“Who told you I stole her?” John sounded a little less furious, which was a good thing as far as you were concerned.

The man faltered. “I mean, no one in particular, just, there were stories going ‘round…” He shrugged.

You tipped your head, looking at him. He didn’t look like someone from your city, and if he had been, he’d have remembered the wedding. (You were quite sure that people still told stories of the day a dragon had come down from the sky to marry their princess.) So, he was either from another town in your kingdom, or from another kingdom entirely. “Why did you come here?”

“I told you–” he started, confused.

“No, I meant you. Why did you come?” You nudged the sword on the ground, taking a closer look at it. It was old, the edges not sharpened properly. Not the sword of a current knight, certainly.

He paused at that, jaw clenching, fingers still curled around your dragon’s forearm. Then he sighed softly. “Don’t have anything left, figured I’d try.”

“John.” You turned your gaze on your dragon.

“No,” was his instant retort.

“John.” You stepped closer, pressing up against his side, looking up at him hopefully.

John lifted his upper lip in a silent snarl, blowing out some smoke at the intruder, who made a face and tried valiantly not to cough. You ignored the little fit of temper.

“He’s not even a knight,” you murmured. “He was just trying to help.”

“And if I let him go, how many more will follow?” John asked, low and vicious. “Hm? You are mine. I will not allow them to hurt you.”

“So let him stay here.” You shrugged.

“What?” John looked down at you, eyes wide.

“What?” the intruder choked out too, also staring at you.

“You know we could use the help, and I wouldn’t mind the company.” You batted your eyelashes at John. “And that way you’ll know I’m not alone when you have to go do your dragon stuff.”

John looked torn. He was loathe to deny you anything, something you knew and shamelessly took advantage of. He just needed a little nudge.

“What did you do, before you decided to come here?” You looked at the intruder.

“I was a baker,” he admitted slowly.

“Oh, excellent,” you sighed with real pleasure. You’d been missing fresh bread.

John’s shoulders slumped, and you hid your smile. “You have a choice,” he growled at the baker. “You can stay and follow my rules, or I can drop you in the ocean.”

“I’ll stay,” the baker was quick to agree, finally releasing John’s forearm to put his hands out at his sides.

John finally released him, though he still looked grumpy. You ignored that, smiling and introducing yourself properly.

“I’m Kyle,” he said, his smile small but warm with gratitude. “Kyle Garrick.”

“Well, Kyle Garrick, allow me to show you around.” You tucked your arm through John’s, gently tugging until he allowed himself to be led back inside. Kyle fell into step on your other side, though he kept a bit of respectful distance.

Oh yes. You wouldn’t trade this life for anything.

#dragon!price #glitter and gold #john price x reader #john price x you #f!reader

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d0youc0py · 1 year

Text

Even when he wasn’t working his mask seem to haunt him. He wanted to be here with you- but every time he looked in the mirror he was pulled away. Red bumps littered his jaw and some even around his hairline. He had always struggled with acne, having the acne scars to prove it, but it seemed to be getting worse. He’d been in a hotter climate this last mission, the sweat and not being able to air out his face was taking its toll.

He felt so unattractive. He quickly figured out when you feel ugly- you act ugly.

“Sweetheart, open up.” Simon sighed, his hand knocking at the door to emphasize. You two had just gone out on your first date since he’s been back and he snipped at you the whole time.

“Fuck off!”

Ouch.

“Sweetheart.” He started again. The bedroom door finally swung open. His body tensed at your teary face.

“I don’t know what happened to you while you were out there, and god knows you won’t tell me, but you have no right to take it out on me. I’ve been waiting for you to come home for the past three weeks and what am I greeted with? Hostility. It’s like I can’t do anything right.” You sputtered, glaring up at him. His hand instinctively went up to wipe the tears away from your face. He had never been the best at comforting people, but he would do anything to get your tears to stop.

“You’re right.” He admitted. The glare left your face. He was usually much more stubborn- unless he knew he in the was wrong. You softened. “It has nothin to do with work, at least not in the way you think.” His hand went up to rub his jaw but he quickly stopped himself. “I just haven’t been feeling”- He paused. He brought his hand up and motioned to his jaw, turning his head to the side.

“Si.” You murmured. You had noticed a little flare in his skin, but you didn’t really process it. He was always so handsome in your eyes. Your fingers reached up and traced along his cheekbone. “I understand.”

“Shouldn’t take it out on you though, yeah?” He affirmed.

“No you shouldn’t, but I understand now.” You smiled softly, pressing a kiss to his chin. “You’re so handsome, you know.” You mumbled down his neck. He flushed, clearing his throat. “Do you want some help with it?” You offered.

His metabolism wasn’t what it use to be. Luckily the physical activity of his job kept away any unwanted pounds. That was until he was forced to go on medical leave and spend three months ‘taking it easy.’

He would be completely lying if he said he hadn’t enjoyed it though. Being home with you had been heaven- but a bit of hell on his waistline. He noticed it a bit, but he honestly didn’t think anyone else would. He was rudely awoken when he arrived back at base only to have Soap and Gaz poke fun at him. He knew it was all in good fun, but his first thoughts were about you. Had you noticed? If you did, how did you feel about it? He hushed his own thoughts figuring he would loose the weight out on the field. That was his second rude awakening. He had shed a few pounds, but a few stubborn ones remained poking out over his belt.

“How does Y/N feel about their new pillow?” Soap hummed, plopping down next to him. It had been like this for the past month.

“Sleeps like a rock.” Price grumbled.

“Didn’t know you knew what that was Cap.”

“Soap fuck off.” Ghost growled from across the aisle. “Fucking hell.”

The plane was quiet for a while after that.

John shifted uncomfortably in his seat. He was never one to be insecure, but this was striking a cord. He remembers being younger and overhearing his mother gossiping in the kitchen about the neighbors.

“Alice has gained so much weight. She’s just gotten married too! Couldn’t imagine already letting myself go like that.”

Letting himself go.

That’s what it was. He didn’t want you- or anyone to think that he had ‘let himself go.’ That it was no longer important to him if you had found him attractive. That the two of you had been married for a little over a year so he could just give up. He shook himself out of his thoughts again.

•••••••••

He couldn’t even get through the door by the time you were on him.

“Welcome Home.” You smiled, pressing kisses to anywhere you could reach. He chuckled, leaning into you. He placed one arm under your bottom lifting you up to him. He dropped his duffle bag at the door kicking the door closed behind him.

“I missed you.” He murmured kissing you back just as desperate. He plopped down on the couch, settling you tightly in his lap. All was right in the world till your hands started to wander.

“You get hurt again?” You questioned after he flinched. Your hands went to pull up his shirt to inspect the damage. He stopped you. “John?” You questioned softly. He tangled his hands with yours.

“You know I have a tendency to be a bit old fashioned.” He started. You pressed your brows together.

“John I’ve seen you naked before.”

“No, love.” He chuckled. “I’ve gained a bit of weight and back in my day that was more scandalous than adultery”-

“You know I don’t care about that.” You interjected.

“I know, that’s what makes this whole thing ridiculous. It’s just something I’ve found out about myself, something that I need to work through.” He sighed, pressing a kiss against your forehead.

“Does this mean I can’t touch you?” You mumbled, fiddling with his shirt collar. He quickly shook his head.

“Course not.” He whispered.

“Johnny, you’re being too loud.”

That sentence had been replaying in his head like a broken record. You didn’t mean anything by it. You were just keeping him in check. Yet he could feel your embarrassment. The heat rising to your cheeks. The panic in your voice. The way you gave total strangers an apologetic smile when they turned your way. He had always been a naturally loud talker. Growing up with five siblings in a small two bedroom apartment was to thank for that. The fact that he had been around explosives for the past eight years didn’t help either.

“Johnny?” You tapped his arm. His eyes fled from the small paper bowl of ice cream to you. “You okay? You’ve been so quiet since we’ve left the restaurant.”

He couldn’t stop a dry chuckle. He grabbed the small bowl, shoving a spoonful in his mouth.

“ ‘m fine.” He mumbled. You sighed leaning across the table gripping his hand with yours.

“Jo.” You pressed again, flashing him your undeniable puppy eyes. He gave your hand a small squeeze.

“Sorry for the way I was at the restaurant.” He grumbled.

“What?” You asked, leaning forward again.

“I said, I’m sorry for the way I was at the restaurant.” He repeated. Your brows furrowed. Suddenly it hit you. Your hand left his and clamped over your mouth.

“No, no, no, Johnny.” You said quickly. “I didn’t mean it like that. Well I did- but”- You cut yourself off. You rubbed your forehead. Your hands reached out again tangling yours and his together. “I’m sorry I made you feel bad. That wasn’t my intention. I just know you sometimes forget your own volume.”

He gave you a small smile, pressing a kiss to your knuckle.

“I know Bonnie. I just don’t like embarrassing you.”

“We’re just so different in that way Jo. My parents were so strict about how loud I was- especially in public. It’s just a stupid habit I have, but I should never expect you to follow it.” You smiled softly. He smiled back at you, the sparkle returning to his blue eyes.

“I should still work on it though. Don’t want to blow your eardrums out, then we’ll both be shouty.” He chuckled.

“You hate it when I do this don’t you?” You hummed.

“I’m still not use to it.” He sighed, using his thumb to run small circles against your hip. He shivered as your fingers traced over another long stretch mark on his back. He mumbled something and pulled you closer, your body almost completely buried underneath his.

It was no secret Konig was tall. Along with that height came stretch marks. Mostly on his lower back and calves, some even under his arms. Some had faded, a small ridge in his skin to show they were still there. Others were a deeper pink- more noticeable.

“Everybody has them Konnie.” You mumbled, pressing a kiss under his jaw.

“I know.” He purred out as you massaged a small kink out of his back. Truth be told he didn’t really care about them either- until the locker room. That’s when he noticed how excessive his seemed. He had carried that feeling for a while, it wasn’t until he met you did he become more comfortable with it. You had showed him your stretch marks and he saw how pretty they looked on you. He slowly began to figure out that if he thought they looked nice on you, then you probably felt the same way about his. He still tenses when you touch them, his eyes darting to yours for any sign of insincerity. He’s always met with love and want. Just the thought of it causes a flutter in his stomach.

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pettyprocrastination · 1 year

Text

Two Phantoms

Pairing: Simon Riley x Female Reader

Summary: Simon sees a familiar face that doesn’t recognize him back. Kid!fic warning for those who do not enjoy them.

Warning: nothing explicit but vague descriptions of violence, sex, and PTSD.

Word count: 1.2k

Authors note: This is purely a word vomit i did last night at 2am while thinking about Simon not being recognized by certain members of the 141 since they dont know what he actually looks like (ignoring the MW2 canon where he shows his face to them all) but i hope you enjoy nonetheless!

_____

There’s a struggle in the shift. Going from being Lieutenant of the 141 to being a civilian. From hunting down arms dealers through rain forests and balmy deserts while ignoring the pain in his body and ringing in his ears at the gunfire around him to stepping off of a plane at the Manchester airport and hailing a taxi. To go from a masked monster to a man who hails a taxi in the pouring rain and ignores the driver’s attempt at conversation, shoulders curling in so he can fit his bulk into the backseat with his bag on his lap.

Going from Ghost to what remains of Simon Riley.

There’s no reason to wear a mask in public anymore. Nobody knows him. The spot he’s picked an apartment in is empty of those who remember little Simon and his brother Tommy, nor the tragedy that befell the family. They only know the man who doesn’t speak and only stays in his own apartment every few months but offers his neighbors a terse nod each time he catches their gaze in the hall.

If anything a mask would draw more attention to him in public. Nobody bats an eye at the tall man with dark eyes in the fruit aisle of the supermarket.

Which is why when you see your Lieutenant in public you walk right by him without a second glance in his direction while he remains frozen in place. He isn’t sure why it's shocking to him. You get leave just the same as him. You have a home to return to, a life outside of the blood and shit of the missions where you take his orders with ease, where you leave your fatigues to wear a comfortable pair of jeans and a hoodie with a bleach stain on the back.

Simon hasn’t seen it before. He knows it exists. That you exist outside of the 141, outside of him. A place where you don’t follow his command in the heat of gunfire and slip into his cot the night after when neither of you can sleep to find solace in each others arms and the marks he leaves on you.

But now he’s witnessed it with his own two eyes. In the form of two boxes of pancake mix in your shopping trolley and the sleeping baby in your arms as you try to decide between orange juice brands.

“Quality is going to shit everywhere, isn’t it bubs?”

Simon is staring. He knows it but can’t look away.

It’s a duality he knows everybody has. He’s aware that Johnny goes home to Glasgow to visit his brother and gaggle of nieces and nephews that no doubt shriek with joy and hang of his arms every time he visits, asking a myriad of questions that the man answers with patience and kindness one only reserves for children. He knows that Gaz goes home to a small apartment and a girl two semesters away from getting her masters in psychology that Simon doesn’t know the name of but can tell from the way he tries to hide his smile that she’s important to him. Price goes back to an office where he goes over reports and budget plans in a chair that makes his back ache and knees pop every time he stands from it before driving to a house that was once filled with the raucous that can only be made by 15 year old boys that have since graduated college and only call him when its Christmas or his birthday.

It’s different to see. To set his eyes on the little curls on your child's head (is it your child? Maybe you're babysitting, a godchild perhaps? Nephew? He knows you aren’t married. There’s an absence of a wedding band nor the tan line that would come from the removal of one in all the years he’s known you.) and to witness the same hand he’s seen sink KA-Bar into the chest of an enemy move up and down, up and down on the little ones back while their fingers curled and uncurled into the fabric of your hoodie like a cat kneading a pillow.

Logic knocks in the back of his head when he realizes time has passed since he first saw you. And that if you didn’t recognize him then you definitely won’t recognize him when you turn around and realize he’s been staring at you and your baby without moving for a solid seven minutes in the middle of the juice aisle.

Just as his foot shifts to turn and pull him away from this peek into your life that he didn't know existed, the little one in your arm stirs. A soft whine curls in the back of their throat as their chubby face scrunches up and eyes crack open to latch onto the man watching them back.

You still haven’t noticed him. You're far too busy swaying from side to side to keep the baby in your arms calm and checking a carton of eggs for cracks to see the man behind you that is now locked into what feels like a staring contest with an infant.

“It’s alright Sam.” Your voice, even when talking to a baby, has a dry clip to it that he knows so well. The same curl in ‘sir’ when he’s pissed you off and the rasp of your laugh at a dingey bar under Soap’s arm. “I’m almost done, okay? Then we can go back home and take a nice long nap.”

Sam babbles behind his pacifier and wiggles in your arms.

“Yeah, you and me both, little man.”

Brown eyes stare into his own from over your shoulder without shame or abandon.

He looks like you.

But even without your fatigues and your weapon, you’re still a soldier. They all are.

You feel it, his eyes on you like a soft tug in the back of your head. Your sister calls it paranoia, her husband says PTSD.

You aren’t sure which is better. But when you turn around you see a man standing behind you, an empty basket in his hand and sad eyes sinking into your form.

Sam whines.

You can feel the thread of recognition between your fingertips as you look at him if only for a moment, a split second of staring into his eyes and grasping for some memory from high school or perhaps a date years passed that never turned into a second because you were overseas, just barely able to feel the fraying strings in your hand before its gone.

“Sorry-”

Your sister says you get stuck in your own head too much anyways.

“-Didn’t mean to block the aisle.”

He should say something. Some small reassurance that it’s no problem or he didn’t mind waiting, but he just nods his head once and watches as the woman he’s been through hell with walks away from him without a flicker of realization of who you're talking to.

Sam watches him over your shoulder and raises one little hand out toward him, before wiggling it back and forth in goodbye.

Simon waves back as you turn into the cleaning aisle and vanish from his line of sight.

#simon riley x reader #simon riley x you #simon ghost riley x reader #fem reader #simon riley x female reader #ghost x you #ghost x reader #ghost x female reader #something something when simon riley is a civilian he's a ghost of the man you know and when he sees you its the bare remnants of the woman-#he knows while also being such a different side to you it feels like a new person entirely #if this is incoherent i apologize lol

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boowritess · 13 days

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mdninsfw

this is the twitter video in mind when i wrote the married!neighbor!price bit just fyi ya'll. thought you'd appreciate it. 😌

#boowrites #captain price x reader #captain john price x reader #john price x reader #captain price #captain john price #john price #neighbor!price #married!neighbor!price x babysitter!reader #married!neighbor!price

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i-am-hungry-24-7 · 5 months

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List (Sorted by Characters)

list sorted by story content

fics rec 1

Hello, I’m HalloHello. Thanks for reading!

This is a side blog so I can’t leave likes or follow others with this blog I’m so stupid I’m sorry :(

Simon "Ghost" Riley

New Year Fireworks + We Both Broke Our Promise (F)

Invincible (F)

My Heart Can Sleep When I'm with You (F)

Daisy Dukes - 1 2 (F)

His Only Asylum + Bring Me to Heaven (F, 18+, gore and knife)

Bed All Day (GN) (18+)

Inhale Our Sorrow, Exhale Our Future (GN)

Bedtime Story (F)

Unexpected Encounter (F)

Ghost*Reader with Scars and Hide Their Face (GN)

Smut Challenge - Neighbor!Reader (F) (18+)

Husband!Simon with Car Crash Wife!Reader (F)

Simon Got a Flu (GN)

Nine things Simon Riley Might Annoy (intentionally or not) His Shorter Partner (GN)

Sleeping (truly) with Simon (GN)

Domestic Life with Retired Husband!Simon (GN)

Simon with A Gammy Reader (GN)

Perv!Simon Riley with Yandere!Reader (GN)

It Isn’t Fate Bringing Us Together (It’s Me) - 1 2 (Dark Fiction, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat)(GN)

Palette (F)

Ex-bf!Simon Riley*F!Reader (F)

End This Repeating Dance (GN)

Silly Moments between Simon and Reader (F)

Simon Taking Care of You When You Accidentally Injured Yourself (F)

Simon Riley, Will You Marry Me? (F)

Soulmate AU - Separate Endings (GN)

How To Remember? (F)

Voicemails (F)

Your Inviting Lips (GN)(anon ask)

Remember-me-not (GN)

The Last Dance (GN)

Two-way Trap (F)

Simon Exploring Your Cute Reactions (GN)(evil 🐼 anon)

Simon Loves Your Chubby and Adorable Face (GN)(🦈 anon)

A Day of A Cute (and Silly) Couple (GN)(req)

Hey, how are you? (F)

Grim Reaper!Ghost*Reader That’s Always Alone (GN)

Shower with Simon Riley (GN)(anon req)

Watch You From Afar (GN)

Till It Blooms Again (F)(🐬anon)

John “Soap” MacTavish

Smut Challenge - Neighbor!Reader (F) (18+)

Regret Devouring Me (GN)

John Price

How To Remember? (F)

The True Me (GN)

Watch You From Afar (GN)

König

Spider Webs - 1 2 3 bonus chapter 1 (F) (18+)

His Only Asylum (F, 18+, gore and knife)

NSFW Alphabet (F, 18+)

Vampire AU Headcanons (GN)

Cat Café AU Headcanons 1 2 (GN)

Cat Reader Headcanons (GN)

TF141

In Pairs - Price Soap Gaz Ghost (GN)

What Makes You Unique (GN)

Cream Puffs (GN)

Sweet Flavor of Your Lips (F)

Vampire AU Headcanons (GN)

Cat Café AU Headcanons 1 2 (GN)

Cat Reader Headcanons (GN)

Wild Pets - 1 1.5 (F)

Tf141 with a Fragile Reader (GN)

Tf141 with a Reader Who Sucks at Baking but Wants to Bake Them a Valentine’s Day Dessert (F)

Tf141 with gap moe (contradictory-characteristic cuteness) reader (GN)

Melt Down The Snow (GN) (🦈 anon)

Some Thoughts about Demon!TF141 (GN)

More About Demon!TF141 (F) (18+) (anon req)

Demon!TF141 but Reader Becomes Demon Too (F) (anon req)

No Tolerance!! + It's Nice To Come Back Home (F) (🦈 Anon)

TF141 men seeing you wearing face chain for party (F) (🦈 Anon)

TF141*Reader Angst in Few Sentences (GN)

Always By Your Side (GN)

TF141*Reader Fluff in Few Sentences (GN)

Not Dying Alone (GN)

Counting Down To Heaven (GN)

Each Other’s Shelter (F)

TF141 with A Reader That Can Fall Asleep Anywhere and Anytime (GN)

Spine Chill (GN)

Mafia!Tf141*F!Reader ch1 ch2 ch3

#simon riley x reader #simon riley x you #ghost x reader #cod imagine #price x reader #gaz x reader #soap x reader #konig x reader #könig x you #könig x reader #price x you #soap x you #gaz x you #cod x reader #cod x you

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fortheb0ys · 8 months

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PRICE DURING RETIREMENT

I love old men...I love Price. TOP MALE READER FEM+MINORS DNI! Also not proofread lol

Once Price retires, he's so happy to spend the rest of his life with you. You both got married. You bought a house in a peaceful neighborhood, got a dog. Life couldn't be better. Well, it does. Having more free time just means more sex.

Even though he's an older man, he has the libido of a horny teenager. Sure sometimes he won't be fully erect or not at all but that doesn't stop you from sucking his flaccid dick till he begs you to fuck him in the ass. He found himself wearing bery little or sometimes no clothing around the house, just so you can be quick to fuck him.

You'd be tired from a long deployment, looking forward to relaxing and spending time with your husband but Price had other plans. Having been left alone for some time, his needs became unsatisfied by sex toys. He really needed your dick.

So you both met in the middle. Price got to fuck you to sleep. He'd would ride you till you could bearly keep your eyes open, you swear you passed out a few times. He put a cock ring on you to keep you going.

He hasn't really found much hobbies besides having you fuck him in literally every inch of the house. Bathroom sex check. Sex on the staircase, check. Sex while waiting for the laundry to dry, check. Hell, even having sex in the garden.

It was certainly his favorite due to gardening being his one hobby once he retired. Being outdoors, riding you as you sat in your sunbed. Having the warm sun on his face adding to the heat of your heavy cock dragging in and out of his tight ass. It was a bit of a rush to think if your neighbors were to peek over the fence to greet you or to figure out the commotion, they'd be surprised to see him having his back blow out as he's getting fucked against the fence.

You'll always have to tell him to hush but most of the time it didn't work, so you'd have to stick your cock in his mouth just to muffle his moans. 'How about I invite them over? Let them get to know the little slut who lives next door. Maybe they'll like to try him out,' you'd tease. Though he was full well knowing you wouldn't share.

Other days he'll just be soaking in the sun as his ass is filled with your cum. He'd just stick a plug in so he can feel it inside all afternoon while he's mowing the lawn or tending to the flowers.

Even though he was retired you were a few years away from yours. As you did paperwork, Price would sit in your lap as you cock warm him. Once he started getting bored, he'd start riding you without warning. Or he just be satisfied by having your dick resting in his mouth while he sat underneath your desk. Every so often you'd thrust in his mouth making him gag a little. He would rut against your leg like a bitch in heat as your balls hit his chin, drool dripping down his chin.

Price tries to put his two cents in when it comes to you commanding your troupes. It pisses you off cause 1. They're your men and 2. He shouldn't be thinking about war in his retirement so you fuck him as punishment. "You think you can tell me what to do? They're MY men and you don't have a say in my commands."

Price is just a hot old man that needs a good dick down :)

#call of duty mwii #john price #john price x male reader #x top male reader #john price x top male reader #call of duty x male reader #call of duty x reader #x reader #john price x reader

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a-small-writer-in-a-big-world · 3 months

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Rescue pt. 1: knight!price x princess!reader

Warnings: talk of pregnancy, medieval standard for women, attempted kidnapping

The king was worse than you imagined, but perhaps you were being dramatic.

He had done nothing but spoke of himself, the money he had and everything else about him. You don't don't think you'd ever met a man who was more full of himself than the king and yet no one seemed to find an issue with that.

You had barely spoken to him, not that he gave you a chance, and he didn't seem to notice. You instead just spent most of you time smiling and nodding, not even wasting your energy to open your mouth.

You had also noticed that he seemed to eye the maids who walked past, paying them more attention than you, his future wife.

Was this supposed to be the rest of your life? Were you supposed to be an accessory that was decorated and put on display, being spoken at but never spoken to while your husband chased after other women?

Did your mother hate you? Why would she do this to you?

"For security." She had told you. "We need a strong ally and you are far too past the age to be unmarried, our people adore you but they talk."

It was naïve but you wished you were born in a time where you could marry for love instead. This security felt like a prison, this marriage would be your chains. You were already alone but you'd be more isolated than ever once he stole you away to his kingdom.

It took everything in you to keep yourself composed.

"I hope you're as excited as I am." The king finally addressed you later than night at dinner and you smiled instinctively.

"Of course, your majesty." Your words were like poison and left a bad taste in your mouth.

"My family and our kingdoms will grow. Soon we won't have to worry about any war."

His family.

You were paralyzed by that notion, disgusted by thinking about the man in front of you touching you or laying with you. You were sure that he'd forget about you if you were pregnant with his child or that would be the only time he'd pay attention to you. You'd be thrown to the side once you gave him an heir, you were sure of it.

Fear gripped your throat, your entire being and it became too much.

You had pushed these feelings away for months, you had ignored them and tried to convince yourself that you could do it for the sake of your kingdom and your people but you couldn't. You were terrified.

After dinner, you were supposed to make your way to your bedchamber, but once you were out of sight, you ran towards the garden.

You somehow slipped past the guards and ran to the river, but you didn't stop. Instead you ran into the forest and let the setting sun guide you far from the castle in hopes that maybe if you couldn't see it your problems would disappear as well.

You stopped when you realized there nowhere you could go. You could run to the nearest village and someone may recognize you or you'd be caught eventually by the knights. Any neighboring kingdom was too far and you'd die in the wilderness before you got close.

You were trapped.

"Are you lost, my lady?" A voice called out to you and you jumped.

A group of men stepped onto the path you were on. They looked as if they had been on the road for a while and judging by their destitute clothes they might not have a place to go to.

However, what sympathy you had for them quickly disappeared when you noticed the strange look in their eyes. You took a couple steps back, but noticed a couple other men appeared behind you.

"No." You said firmly, lying through your teeth. "I was on my way to the village."

One of the men scoffed and raised an eyebrow, not believing you. He seemed to have special interest in your dress and jewelry you were wearing, no doubt knowing exactly who you were.

"We could show you the way." He offered but you shook your head, slowly finding yourself being cornered by the men.

"I can find my own way, thank you." You swallowed hard.

"You'd be much safer with us, your highness."

You stepped away from them as quick as possible and grabbed a stick, brandishing it front of you to keep them away. You face burned when they laughed and you're not sure what it would do to help you but it was the only thing you could think of.

You could bargained them with money but they'd get more out of you if they held you for ransom.

One of the men lunged at you and you swung the stick, smacking him in the middle of the face, causing him to cry out. You hit another before one grabbed your from behind and forced your to drop the stick. You struggled and screamed before you felt something sharp poke underneath your jaw.

"You'll come complacent or dead." The man threatened as he made a show of the dagger.

Your heart nearly jumped out of your chest and you began to panic. You thought this would be it before you heard approaching hooves.

An arrow flew threw the air and hit another man square in the back before another sunk deep into a man's arm. Price rode in on his horse and drew his sword before he jumped off, engaging with the men.

He was much quicker than them and far more skilled. Iron clashed with each other and the men let out cries when Price cut them with his blade, going completely untouched.

You used the commotion to stamp your foot on the man and elbow him in the gut. You managed to push away from him, not before getting cut with his blade on your arm, before you ran away from him.

Price grabbed you and pulled you behind him. He stood in front of you protectively and kept his bloody sword brandished to deter the bandits from moving any closer to you.

"Stay behind me." He told you lowly. "I'll keep you safe."

You blame the reason why your chest was set aflame on the adrenaline coursing through your veins.

Some of the bandits were dead, lying in a pool of their own blood, while others held onto their bleeding wounds. Their leader glared at Price but he didn't falter.

"Bastard knight." The leader spat.

"You wouldn't want to lose more of your men would you, eh?" He stood tall and kept a fierce, but confident look in his eyes. "I'm more than willing to let you if that's what you want however."

The bandit thought for just a moment they all ran away into the forest.

Your arm stung and you placed your hand over the wound while you watched them run. Warm blood stained your hand but you were more focus on Price in front of you, unable to take your eyes off the back of his head.

The warmth in your chest only grew as he turned to you, his eyes sharp but laced with concern.

a/n: i think i know who fell first or at least who i want to fall first

Tags. @deadbranch @makayla-666 @glitterypirateduck @dumbbitchgalore @m0chac0ffee @dragonbe-writing @sleepyoriana @twismare

#knight!price #captain john price x reader #captain john price x you #john price x you #price x reader #price x you #captain john price #rpincess!reader #au #john price x reader #call of duty

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sailoryooons · 11 months

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Gods of the Dark | One | myg (m)

☾ Pairing: Dream god!Yoongi x f. human!reader

☾ Summary: Don’t ask for help in the dark. It’s an old tale you always heard whispered among the people of your village. But when you find yourself dragged kicking by the man you’re to marry, you have little choice but to beg for help long after the sun has set. The god who answers your pleas promises to save you, but every deal comes with a price.

☾ Word Count: 21,606

☾ Genre: Fantasy, angst, strangers to lovers, smut

☾ Rating: 18+ Minors are strictly prohibited from engaging and reading this content. It contains explicit content and any minors discovered reading or engaging with this work will be blocked immediately.

☾ Warnings: Sexist and patriarchal society inspired by medieval europe, a lot of world building and discussion about theories/concept of dreams, discussions of morals and ethics, world building, angst, intense fight scenes, mentions/light depictions of an abusive family, discussions of gender roles and forced marriages, attempted murder via drowning, a physical fight between a man and a woman in the middle of a storm, sexual dream sequences featuring making out, biting (light), grinding, reader having flashbacks of trauma, a lot of thoughts about reader's terrible parents, a sort of power imbalance in the sense that reader is in Yoongi's realm as a part of a deal.

☾ Published: July 9, 2023

☾ A/N: It's finally here! This was originally supposed to be two giant chapters, but I cannot manage my time in a way to write to ~40k chapters and also fit all of this in a way that is not overwhelming or feels like it makes sense, so I have chosen to do this in 4 chapters of roughly 20k words! Thank you to everyone who has hyped me up for this idea, helped me work out some ideas, or listened to me struggle to write this because I was so unsure about the chemistry between Yoongi and reader at first. I am really excited to be writing this and have taken this in quite a different direction than the original idea when I had when I watched the Lilith MV, but that's okay. I heavily draw on inspiration from the Lilith MV, the song Possession of a Weapon by Ashnikko, The Sandman by Neil Gaiman, the movie The Witch, The Invisible Life of Addie LaRue by V.E. Schwab and the original myth of Hades and Persephone (where I got the deal/living in Yoongi's world idea from).

Special thank you to my amazing beta team who really helped make this fic what it is and make sure it was legible: @theharrowing and @here2bbtstrash

☾ Disclaimer: All members of BTS are faces and name claims for this story. This is entirely a work of fiction and by no means is meant to be a projection, judgment or representation of real-life people. Any scenarios or representations of the people and places mentioned in works are not representative of real-life scenarios.

Tuck a knife with my heart up my sleeve

Change like a season

It begins with rain.

White sheets of it beating against the window in a gentle murmur, a soft leak in the corner of the kitchen dripping into the metal bucket your mother has set out. The storm brings a cool wind with it, blowing in on the back porch where your father rocks back and forth in his chair, watching the deluge.

Shivering, you throw another log into the fireplace, pulling your shawl closer as orange embers spark and crackle, drifting up the shute. The smell of burning cedar grows and you smile, sitting down in front of the licking flames and holding out your hands to warm your palms.

Behind you at the kitchen table, your mother pulls a thread and needle through a dress she’s been working on, stitching purple flowers into the sleeves. You wonder if she’s making it for the neighbor's daughter, a girl a few years younger than you to be wed soon.

Mother makes some of the best stitching in the village, her practiced hands etching artful flowers and vines and designs on the sleeves and skirts of most of the village women. She’s tried for years to pass the craft on to you, but your fingers aren’t nearly as nimble and your eye for art is sorely lacking.

What you lack in art you make up for in stories, though. Head in the clouds, swimming in worlds, places and things you’ve never seen. Lives and people who only exist in your mind, entire fantasies with more colors and sights and smells than your tiny little world contains.

You’d write them down if you could. Writing and reading is not a woman’s craft, though, and you know better than to press your father on the subject any further than you have in the past. A terse word from him and your raw knuckles after being forced to do the wash alone for weeks kept you from bringing up the topic of learning to read and write ever again, especially when you remember the sting of his slap when you pushed too far.

Still, you have your mind. You have the ability to dream up worlds and twist fantasies together, to daze off and pretend that you’re somewhere else. That you’re living another life.

You have the days where you finish working at the inn early, sitting in the corner of the room with hard bread and cheese, listening to the town’s storyteller whisper tales and myths to the children of the village.

For now, it will suffice.

When the rain finally slows in the late afternoon, it’s cloudy and cool outside, the perfect temperature for a walk. Pulling on a pair of linen pants and a tunic, you creep toward the door, hoping to avoid the attention of your parents as they begin to prepare dinner in the kitchen, their movements methodical and silent.

Carefully, you slide boots on your feet. As you reach for the front door, hidden from the view of the kitchen, you hear your mother call your name. You pause, closing your eyes and grimacing as you call back, “Yes?”

“Where are you going? It’s wet and cold outside.”

“Just for a short walk.”

“You’re going to catch a cold,” she protests. Her steps move near you. You pull the door open and step into the wet air, eager to get away from her. “Come help us with dinner.”

“I’ll see you shortly, the weather is lovely!”

Before your mother can come around the corner and pin you with her disappointed stare, you’re down the slippery steps and sloshing into the yard, mud and grass sucking at your steps as you hurry. You hear your father yell something like dammit, girl but you can’t be sure, the sounds of birds and the bugs swallowing his curses as you rush through the front yard.

The world is covered in a layer of fine mist, tree boughs heavy with rain as they drip drip drip onto the forest floor around you. Thick, gray clouds hide the sun still. Thunder rolls in the distance, promising more rain through the night. You don’t mind, diving into the darkness of the trees on a well-worn path through the woods.

Water floods the path up to the ankle, soaking your boots. You grin and kick your feet as you walk, watching the ripples flow outward. Water mosquitoes dance on top of the surface of the flood and you note little tadpoles swim by, confirming that the river by your house is flooding up over the bank and washing into the mainland.

This is common most summers. Your house is out of the way from the town, almost a thirty minute walk. This far north, you’re only ten minutes from the edge of the slow-moving river that floods yearly turning the land around your property into a marsh.

It’s your favorite time of year. A heron startles as you wander through the trees, shaking its white wings and shedding water as it hurries away on long, thin legs. You spot a snake swimming through the reeds, rushing away from you once it senses you sloshing through.

Closer to the river, you pause. It’s hard to tell where the embankment dips down with it flooded. You can see where the flood moves faster, powered by the depth of the river and the overflow from the lake up north. Leaning against a tree, you look around this world of water.

It seems alien. Trees block out the sky and are reflected in the surface of the flood, giving the illusion that you stand between two worlds, two dimensions.

What would that be like, you wonder.

According to the high priest in town, there are other dimensions. There are the heavens for the gods of light and love, who bless the world with fire and harvest and rain and oceans, who protect the people and who will absolve you of all sin and greed if you pray to them hard enough and accept them as your patrons. Who will love you only if you are devout.

You don’t believe in them for a second. If those gods of love and light do exist, they are not entirely good. They have never answered your prayers, have never saved you from pain or from sorrow. You have begged the gods to give you a new life, to let you leave. To let you go somewhere far away.

They have been silent. They were silent when your father beat you after the first time you rejected a marital match. They didn’t help you when he burned all your materials when you tried to teach yourself the shapes and sounds of letters.

So you stopped praying to them.

There are other gods, of course. Other places for the wicked, dark gods full of trickery and greed, who seek only to fill the world with sin and deceit, who desire to make humans suffer and lose themselves in hedonism and debauchery. Those gods have a place too, the dark underworld for those who should be punished and reminded what it is to be full of sin.

You’ve never prayed to them either, too afraid of what it would cost you. But you wonder if they answer or if they too watch the world from a mountain so high that they cannot bother to help those who need it.

Still, you wonder what it would be like to walk between two worlds. To see one reflected in the other, to fall face first into the cool water only to surface in another place, almost an exact replica of where you’re from.

It would be nice. Perhaps there you wouldn’t be a disappointing daughter who has turned away every suitor in the village, much to your father’s rage. There, you would be allowed to pursue reading and writing. You’d have the agency to sail the world and see the ocean for the first time, to feel the freezing spray of the seas on your face while you hunt the coast for something lost.

Always something lost.

In all of your fantasies, you’re looking for something. Sometimes, you’re not sure what it is you’re looking for, you just know that something needs to be found. Other times, it’s a specific object or a person, something that, deep down, you know represents the thing you desire to find most: freedom.

A small school of fish swim by your feet. They can’t be any larger than your pinky finger, scurrying along before they’re swept up in the suction of the flowing river. Sighing, you push off the tree and begin to head back home, swatting at your bare arms where gnats bite at your sweaty skin.

Dark presses in as you walk back. You had stayed in the woods later than you intended, mind drifting far off among the sounds of the world around you. A cool tingle slides down your neck as you walk, water breaking around you.

You pause. It’s the same feeling that you get whenever you spend far too long in the woods and the sun goes down. It feels like there’s someone there with you, just at your back. Slowly, you turn to look over your shoulder but there’s no one there, just the warm press of something you can’t see.

When it happened the first time, you’d been so afraid you ran home. Now, though, you smile and look down at the ground as you keep walking. The presence, whether it’s real or something you have made up in your head, is always comforting. Always there, a gentle press of feeling.

There are candles burning in the windows and an owl hoots in greeting when your house appears. Inside, you kick off your shoes and rush to meet your parents at the silent dinner table. Both of them look up at you, your mother’s mouth pinched, eyes weary. Your father’s gaze is thunderous as he picks up cutlery and begins to cut into his potato in saw-like motions, his knuckles going white.

You sit down without a word, bow your head to pretend to pray. Your mother clears her throat, drawing your attention. “It’s after dark. You missed your prayers.”

It doesn’t matter. You weren’t going to pray anyway. But the way your parents look at you makes you drop your eyes down to the table, their expressions alarmed. Were you really about to pray after the sunset, when the benevolent gods were no longer listening? The only gods available to you now are dangerous. Violent. Tricky.

Dinner is dry and too heavily salted. Still, you don’t complain. Somewhere in the world, you’re sure that there are wonderful feasts being held. Plates and platters of honey-glazed meats, roasted pheasant and charred filets. Whipped sweets and colorful confectionaries, dripping fruits and sugary drinks.

None of those places exist anywhere that you’ve ever seen, but you like to imagine them as you chew your way through an oppressively silent meal. He says nothing, but you can tell your father is angry once again. Just as well, he at least keeps it to himself through the meal and says nothing when you’re done.

“I’ll do the dishes,” you offer quickly when your parents finish. It’s an olive branch and they know it. They accept anyway, letting you gather plates as the soft hush of rain begins again.

Rain washes out the night. You can’t see anything beyond the water that runs off the roof over the back porch as you dip your rag into warm water, scrubbing at the plates before setting them to dry in the stack next to you.

Frogs croak, their loud voices blending together into the roar of the rain. Every now and again, lightning flashes above and thunder shakes the sky. You feel it vibrate through your ribs and you smile, inhaling the charged air.

“... doesn’t have a choice!” You turn toward the open doorway. You can’t see your parents but the window is open to their room, voices coming in and out of the rain. “... force her! I’ve had… and he’s already agreed.”

You frown, stopping your scrubbing to lean further, straining your ears. “This won’t go well,” your mother says.

“I don’t give a damn! It’s already done, woman. Enough.”

The rest of the conversation is drowned out by thunder. You frown and turn back to your task, trying to piece together what they’re talking about. You think back to your mother stitching the dress before dinner and think perhaps they’re gossiping about the neighbor again. She wasn’t happy that she was being married off and everyone knew it.

Still, she’s doing it. She’s stronger than you. It’s hard to imagine going through with something you don’t want, to live a life shackled to another person who doesn’t love you. Whose only purpose is to coexist with you and reproduce. To run a household and get through each and every day, the same as last.

It’s hard to say if your parents are in love. They are tender, at times, but you can’t ever point out a moment that your mother or father seem truly happy. Content isn’t the same as happiness. Not really. While they work together well and seem to have struck up a balance after the years, there’s nothing in the way they move through life that seems joyful.

You had asked your mom if she was happy once. She gave you a funny look and said, I have a roof above my head and food on the table. How could I not be?

Her response puzzles you still. To live is not to be happy. Being alive is just that - being alive. A bare minimum. But truly being happy is something else. At least, that’s how you understand it. How the heroes and characters in stories and tales live their lives, fighting for happiness.

Later that night, you forget all about their whispers behind the sheets of rain. You’re tired and the storm is soothing, making you dream of a far away land where there are two armies entrenched in war, battling for their kingdoms and lighting the sky with storm magic.

Another dream. Another fantasy.

In your dream, a soft mouth meets yours. The kiss is slow, tongue dragging against yours, tasting of something sweet, mouth warm. It smells like clove and cinnamon, and though you don’t open your eyes to see the mouth that slides against yours, you know you are safe.

It ends in darkness.

Dusk has settled around your home like a funeral shroud. Your father has been gone all day, your mother flippant when you ask about his whereabouts. Your mother is a painted picture of anxiety: mouth pinched, darting eyes that fail to meet yours, and hunched shoulders. It makes your palms sweat, the way she avoids you in the house.

Rain comes down in patterns again, bands of storms floating by and turning the world gray. You don’t have to go to the inn with the road flooded, so you spend the day at the window instead, watching each storm flash by, listening to the frogs and watching the birds pick through bug-filled waters between each deluge.

When the sun begins to set, you find your mother standing near the window, looking through wet glass as she chews the corner of her lip. She wipes her hands on her dress, not picking up that you’re standing in the doorway watching her.

The gown she has been stitching for the past few days lays on the table. It’s a beautiful thing, bursting with intricate flowers on the sleeves and the skirts. You don’t enjoy dresses - much less the kind for marriage - but you admire the careful needlework.

“It’s a good dress,” you tell her. She startles from where she stands at the window, whirling around to face you. “One of your best.”

“Yes. I-” something crosses her face that’s unreadable. “Would you try it on for me? I want to make sure I got the sizing right.”

You shrug and pick it up. It’s not the first time she’s used you for sizing and you’re sure it won’t be the last. You just hope that she doesn’t make you stand on a stool for hours to place pins in the skirt, mapping where she needs to take in the seams and make the fabric fold.

The material is a little scratchy when you put it on. It’s snug across the chest and a little bit long at the wrist, but the material ripples over you like water. Outside of your room, the sound of your father’s voice echoes. He sounds more jovial than usual, laughing loudly - another voice is with him.

Frowning, you work the buttons on the side of the dress to secure it shut, pulling the fabric into place. It isn’t often that your father has guests over, but you can assume it’s one of his friends he has over for dinner. You make a sour face at the thought that perhaps it’s Mr. Laudermill and his son Nathaniel again, a family your father has tried to pawn you off on before.

The list of people your father has tried to get you to marry is astounding. It’s become a joke in the town, a game of who will he ask next? At first, there were plenty of families who offered their sons to make the union. Now, after how vehemently you have protested for your right to pick your husband yourself, it’s you who is rejected when your father makes dowry offers.

It seems - much to your advantage - that the men of the town and even the neighboring villages grew tired of the girl who liked to say no. It gives you small satisfaction to know that sheer inconvenience has earned you freedom alongside your mother’s unwillingness to force you.

Still, the Laudermills are a little persistent. Not your father’s favorite option he has ever brought up, but it was one that didn’t say no.

You enter the main house with minor trepidation, uneager to spend the evening sighing at Nathaniel’s terrible jokes and attempts to win you over. You wonder if it’s sheer pride that brings him back this time, upset that he cannot beat the town's little conundrum. The unconquerable conquest. You get the feeling that’s why he and his father visit for dinner sometimes, Nathaniel’s pride unwilling to back down from the challenge.

You’d respect him more if he had more admiration for the word no.

Nathaniel and his father are in the main room of your home, speaking in laughing tones to your father. Your mother stands near the open back door, hands wringing together. There is another person in your house that you don’t expect, though. The village’s high priest nods his head along with something that your father is saying, wrinkled hands clasped in front of his robes.

Time seems to slow down. You take in the tight expression on your mother’s face, her eyes drifting over to the priest who is dressed in ceremonial purple robes, an air of professional courtesy about him. He’s nodding to Nathaniel who is speaking now, and it’s when you really look at him, dressed in nice linen pants, a long sleeved shirt and an ornate vest, that you put the pieces together.

Too slowly do you react as your father turns to you. His smile is forced and his gaze is burning with warning when he gestures. “There’s our bride!”

The word sinks in like a blade. Right between the ribs and up, its point poking dangerous at your heart as your blood begins to roar in your ears. You’re frozen to the spot, staring at them from the threshold of your room. You can feel your pulse throbbing in your neck, your hands shaking.

“You look beautiful,” Nathaniel says, grinning. It’s a genuine smile, a proud one. Something that says finally. “I’m so glad you’re ready, after all this time.”

“I… what?”

In a moment of razor-sharp clarity, you remember the conversation your parents were having last night, soft words whispered under the cover of the storm. You remember something about forcing her and someone having already agreed.

No. No. Nonononononono.

You don’t realize you’re speaking out loud as you back up into your room, the horror settling in as the rain begins to tap on the roof. Your mother looks crestfallen but remains silent as your father’s smile tightens and his face reddens.

When he says your name, it’s full of warning. The back of your legs hit your bed and your weak knees buckle. You sit down with a huff and shake your head. “You can’t do this,” you whisper. You can’t find your voice, can’t work your throat louder. “You cannot make me marry.”

“Of course I can,” your father hisses. His smile drops and in its place is something dangerous. Horrific. The villain of all your dreams and epic fantasies. “I have given you more than enough time to choose. You have not. As the man of this house-”

“No!” you bark back, cutting him off and shooting to your feet. “I am a person-”

“You are a woman!” he roars, making the high priest flinch. “Your purpose is to grow up, get married, mind the household and provide an heir! You are the only fiendish woman in this entire forsaken village who seems to misunderstand this!”

“It is not my purpose!”

“It is, and you will fulfill it!” he hisses. “You will marry this man before the gods, with my blessing and the witness of the priest.”

Behind you, thunder rolls. The rain comes down harder. Frogs croak loudly, bracketed by the sound of the trees bending with the weight of the wind. Your heart pounds in your chest as you stare at the people before you. Your mother with tears in her eyes, your father with fury in his face, the priest with disappointment and Nathaniel. Nathaniel with glee. With a grin. With a smirk.

“I won’t do it,” you whisper.

Before they can argue, you turn on your heel and leap onto your bed. Your father and Nathaniel rush at the doorway, their steps pounding behind you as you crawl through the window, your ribs slamming on the sill as you lean face forward. Rain soaks you immediately, your hands gripping the sill as you haul your middle half over the edge, intending to just flip down into the mud.

Hands yank at your legs and you scream, a feral sound ripping through your lungs as you kick backward violently. You’re yanked back toward your room viciously, rib cage aching where you slide on the concrete frame. With another savage kick, you make contact and hear a loud shout before the hands drop from your waist.

Pushing harshly, you throw yourself the rest of the way through the window, falling the few feet down to land with a splash. Your father is screaming inside the house but you’re already slipping to your feet, whatever he says drowned out in the rain.

You don’t even think. You run, hands picking up the wet-leaden skirts on your dress as you tear off toward the woods. Water rushes around your ankles as you go and you hear commotion at the window as someone clambers through. You don’t dare turn around as you rush to the line of trees, unafraid of the dark but terrified of the slamming footsteps behind you.

It’s impossible to be fast in the flooded woods. You wince as your feet get cut up on rocks and sharp sticks that you can’t see. You trip over roots and kick solid things as you slog forward, biting back a cry as you try to flee.

“Get back here, you wretched bitch!” Nathaniel screams behind you.

It never occurred to you that he could say something so violent. It spurs you forward, mud and water sucking your feet down and making your flight sticky and slow. Rain pelts down between the leaves, the storm lighting up the treetops with purple flashes every now and again. Thunder shakes their branches and rumbles through your feet, the water rushing higher and higher.

Nathaniel slams into you at the waist. You scream as he takes you down, his weight on top of you. Your scream is cut off as your mouth fills with water. You swallow in a panic, body thrumming with alarm as you choke, nose full of water, eyes burning. You can hear the dull roar of water, the swish of your tangled limbs on the floor.

Clawing at him, you feel your nails rip down soft flesh and hear a muted yell. He lifts his weight off of you and you sit forward, breaking the surface and gasping for air, retching. Your lungs and nose burn as you gasp for air, fighting to get a breath in.

Nathaniel is on you again, his hand going for your hair as he digs his fingers in hard, yanking at your scalp. Your hands fly to his wrist and you scream again, pulling at him, trying to free yourself. Tears smart your eyes from the stinging pain as he yanks hard enough that you think he’ll tear you right apart.

“Fucking ungrateful,” he barks.

Your feet slide in the mud as he uses your buoyancy in the knee deep water to haul you back toward the house. You twist in his grip, mewling in panic and pain as you work to get your feet under you and fight back. You let go of his arm and throw a weak punch at his ribs. He grunts but doesn’t let go, even as you twist, hands shooting to the ground, digging through soaked earth and weeds until you feel the hard, rough shape of a rock.

Grabbing it, you lift your hand from the water and bring it down hard on Nathaniel’s wrist. He screams and lets go of your hair. Your fingers ache from the blow but you don’t waste precious minutes, scrambling to your feet and sloshing away from him again. He’s already gripping at your dress, fingers ripping at the fabric to get a hold of you.

Desperation claws at you and you scream for help. You don’t know if anyone else is out here in the dark of the woods but you don’t care. Bleeding, in pain, and terrified, you tear through the water, the rock clutched in your fingers, rushing in the dark as Nathaniel gives chase.

“Please!” you scream at the dark. “Anyone, please!”

A thread of thought slivers through you about the gods. Praying to the gods has never gotten you anywhere. It didn’t make your father let you read. It didn’t get you out of your town. It didn’t save you from this. The supposed gods who rule with light and love had never heard you and you had long stopped believing in them.

But you’d never prayed to the gods of the dark. The gods who only listen to words whispered after the setting sun.

“Please,” you beg, turning your head to the dark sky. Lighting flashes and thunder rumbles. Cool wind brushes against your face, wind that feels like it whispers I’m listening. “Please,” you scream again. “Help me, I’ll give you whatever you want. Help me!”

Nathaniel takes you down by the waist again. You gasp for air this time as your face slaps the water with a sting. The current is rushing faster here, pulling at you. Deeper. Colder. You’re close to the river, and you feel the suction of the force of the flow tugging at your body as Nathaniel digs his fingers into the meat of your arms.

This time, he doesn’t pull you with him. He holds you down, shoving you deeper and deeper until you realize that he’s no longer interested in bringing you back. You kick at him, you tear at him. You slam his wrist with the rock again but his other hand grabs yours, wrenching the weapon away from you.

Your lungs are screaming and water is rushing into your nose as oxygen escapes you. His grip is firm and you begin to panic. All you can think is help help help help. Please help.

Bubbles escape your mouth as you’re forced to breathe out again. You’re running out of time and pain starts to build in your chest. You feel the way your lungs squeeze, needing air. You let out more air and press your lips tight, desperately trying not to inhale.

Breathe in, your instincts scream. Breathe breathe breathe breathe.

Agony. You’re in agony as you open your mouth in a final cry, unable to form the words. Unable to scream and ask for a higher power that you only believe in at this moment to help you.

Water fills your mouth. You swallow it whole, feel it go down as you begin to spasm.

You’re going to die.

And then Nathaniel’s hands are gone. It takes you a moment to realize that there’s no crushing grip on your arms and in the brief moment of realization, you barely manage to push up. To break the surface and vomit, water coming out of you in a stinging, horrid mess. Your stomach turns and you feel your chest squeeze as you choke.

The storm is still raging around you, water pulling at you and pressing you into the rough bark of a tree. Blinking tears from your eyes, you look around but it’s too dark to see. You can hear Nathaniel looking for you, screaming your name in the dark.

The back of your neck tingles. There’s a feeling in the air behind you - that sliver of breath that you often sense when you’re out in the woods alone just after dark. Like something or someone is there with you, just behind you.

“What is it you want?” a deep, dark voice whispers. The hair on the back of your neck stands on end and you feel chilled to the bone. The voice is like none you’ve ever heard, sensual and dizzying.

“Want?”

“You asked for help.” The voice switches to your other ear and you don’t dare turn around to find the speaker. “What do you want?”

“What can you give?”

The voice chuckles. The sound makes you shiver, your eyelids fluttering. The voice purrs, “I can give you anything you dream, little lamb. Tell me: what do you want?”

You think about it. Lightning lances through the sky and for a brief moment, the world is a flash of silver. You see Nathaniel in the light, a few feet away from you. He’s bloody and heaving, his eyes snapping to where you hide against the tree.

“Freedom,” you gasp as the world falls to darkness again. “I want freedom.”

“What will you give me?”

“What do you want?” you beg, hearing Nathaniel move toward you.

There’s a soft hum and you feel lightheaded at the sound. “Your time.”

“My time?”

“Your time in exchange for freedom, little lamb. Better hurry, this offer is about to expire.”

Nathaniel screams in a rage. Sloshes closer to you. Your heartbeat quickens. You can feel it in your chest, hear it in your ears, your pulse throbbing as he nears.

“Okay,” you whisper, voice coming out shaky.

“Then tell me you accept.”

You take a deep breath. “I accept.”

There’s a brush at the nape of your neck, warm and soft. Though you’ve never been kissed before, you think that it’s the press of lips, intimate and barely there. Something inside you flickers to life, like a new instinct that has opened its eyes for the first time. You’re aware of another presence, a soft buzz that presses down on you as it stands up next to you.

Thunder rolls and you feel someone brush by you. A hand touches your cheek almost fondly, fingers dragging along the curve of your jaw. Blinking slowly, you lean into the touch, seeking its comfort. You don’t know who it belongs to. All you know is that just the feel of fingers on your skin has your stomach flipping, your toes curling.

The hand drops from your face and you immediately miss the contact. Opening your eyes, you see another flash of lightning. There’s someone standing in front of you dressed in black, slick with rain. You can’t make out anything much, just the shape of a man in a dark cloak.

A god. You know he’s a god, whoever this savior is. You know that something has heard your screams in the dark and has come to give you what you wanted. What you begged for.

“She is no longer available to you,” the god announces to Nathaniel. It’s not the same whisper as a moment ago, but a deep, raspy voice. Dark. Demanding. “She’s mine.”

“That’s my betrothed,” Nathaniel answers, though it comes out like a question, his voice trembling. “I– she belongs to-”

“Me,” the dark god assures. A loud clap of thunder makes you flinch. “Goodbye, Nathaniel Laudermill.”

Nathaniel screams. You don’t know what happens. There’s just his shout of terror in the dark and a roll of thunder that shakes the trees and rattles the earth. You feel the vibration in the water from the unearthly thunder before you realize that this sound, this trembling, is the wrath of a god.

The sound fades and the shaking stops. You feel more than see the god in front of you turn to face you, a sweeping warmth as he bends down. You cannot make out any features, your vision swimming with bursts of color in the lack of light.

“You’re with me now,” he assures you. “And you should not be afraid.”

Gentle hands reach out and cradle your face. You’re suddenly tired, every pain in your body weighing you down like stones, pulling at you until you’re closing your eyes and succumbing to the heavy exhaustion.

The last thing you remember is your whispered name on reverent lips.

You’re dreaming. Your eyes are closed in this dream but you feel light and warm. Fingers brush over your cheek, soft and reverent. You hear a gentle, deep humming, a pleasant melody. It smells like clove and cinnamon, making you drift further into the dream. You lean into the hand cupping your face and hear a deep chuckle before drifting off into nothingness.

The first thing you notice is the smell of clove and cinnamon. It’s a soothing scent that sends your heart fluttering as you roll over. The blankets wrapped around you feel divine, soft with a high loft that feels like you’re wrapped in clouds. The mattress is decadent, sucking you in further as you settle in on your side, inhaling deeply.

Then you remember hands tearing at your legs. Ripping you by the hair. Water filling your lungs and throat. The flash of lightning and the cold rain as you were dragged under a flood again and again.

With a gasp you sit up in bed, heart hammering. You still as you look around, mouth dropping open at the opulent room. The bed is the largest thing you’ve ever seen, on a low platform swimming with charcoal colored sheets and pillows. The headboard looks like polished obsidian, glinting in the low light provided by dozens of flickering candles.

Stone walls make up the room, rough rock with sconces of flickering flames. The room is sprawling with a sitting area a step down from the bed, decorated with chaise lounges, a coffee table and high-backed chairs situated in front of a fireplace. Flames crackle on a log, orange light dancing across the room. On either side of the fireplace are bookshelves that stretch up to the high ceiling.

Across from the bed are open double doors where you can see a magnificent bathroom. From your vantage point, you can just make out sinks carved from a hewn rock and what looks like a trickling waterfall sluicing down the wall.

Turning to the left, there is a set of glass doors, a balcony just on the other side. It appears to be nighttime outside, thousands of stars glittering through the glass and the largest moon you’ve ever seen suspended in the sky like a lone coin.

Carefully, you peel back the covers. You’re still in the wedding dress your mother made you. It’s stained and tattered and bloodied, making your stomach flip uncomfortably as you look down on it. Sitting on the edge of the bed, you place your feet on the stone flooring, expecting it to be cold to the touch.

It isn’t. Warmth radiates from the floor through the soles of your feet, making you sigh, tension bleeding from your shoulders as you close your eyes for a moment. Though the aches and the pains from being scratched and hit and torn down are gone, you wince as you recall them.

Your parents were going to force you to marry Nathaniel. You don’t know how you missed the signs before, how you thought that there was any other path. With your elbows pressed to your knees, you hang your head in your hands, pressing your eyes shut and taking another shuddering breath.

This time, a sob slips out. Somehow, you had tricked yourself into thinking that your parents would abide by your wishes to make your own choices. Foolish, you realize. Your father had not grown complacent. He had been biding his time, waiting to strike.

The smallest viper has the greatest sting.

And your mother was going to let him do it. The woman who had brought you into the world screaming and bloody was going to pass you off to a man, even if it meant that man dragged you kicking and screaming to the altar.

Disgust curls in your stomach and your hands turn into firsts, pressing against your closed lids and making bursts of colors flash in your eyes. Split down the middle, one part of you mourns the loss of the parents you thought that you had. The other is an open wound, festering with a hateful infection at the very thought of them.

The sound of the door opening catches your attention. Your heart leaps as you sit up straight, dropping your hands into your lap as a man slips through the large double doors near the sitting area. Your breath catches in your chest as he sweeps into the room, looping his hands behind his back as he sets his dark eyes on you and approaches.

He’s the most beautiful creature you’ve ever seen, you think. Inky hair falls into his enigmatic eyes. His skin is deep gold, a contrast to the all-black blouse that he wears tucked into black pants. You see the open collar of his shirt revealing a patch of tan skin and an elegant throat, but it’s his face that shatters your mind.

The man - or god, you think - has a square, masculine jaw offset with a delicate mouth the color of rose petals. His nose is straight and wide and would look ridiculous on anyone else. On him, it’s the perfect balance, his cheekbones high and angular, cutting the roundness of his nose.

“Good to see you’re awake,” he greets. The man stops at the edge of the step that leads to where the bed sits higher than the rest of the room. You stare and stare and stare at him, unable to process words as he grins at you. His voice is dulcet and warm, but not the voice that promised to save you. “How do you feel?”

“I…” you rasp out and you shake your head, unable to think of anything else.

His mouth quirks and he nods. “It sounds like you had a terrible time. How about you take a well-deserved bath and get out of that terrible dress? Sorry to have left you in it, I was under strict instructions not to invade your personal space.”

“Yes, please.” You hesitate. “Where am I? Whose instructions?”

“You’re somewhere safe with someone who wants you to remain safe.”

“Where is safe?”

He gives you a secretive smile as he nods toward the bathroom before turning on his heel and striding away. On unsteady feet, you follow him. It helps that the floor is warm, giving you the strength you need to make it down the two steps and across the stone toward the bathroom.

“I don’t think I’m the right person to answer your question,” he admits. “I’m just here to help you get settled. My name is Taehyung, by the way.”

“Taehyung.” You say the word, familiarizing yourself with the shape of it as you enter the room and stop.

The bathroom is far more luxurious than you realized from afar. There is a waterfall running down the black rockface between two basins, trickling into a little fountain that drains on the floor. To the right side of the bathroom is a large body of steaming water.

Herbal scents fill the room as you near the edge of the dark surface of the water. It reminds you of hot springs in a cave near the southern villages, a place you’d only heard of but never seen. It’s massive, surrounded by a smooth, stone edge. There is a corner full of what appears to be salts, soaps and herbs alongside flickering candles.

Opposite the hot spring is a giant glass window that overlooks mountains and lush greenery. From the window, you can see the entire world of wherever you are stretched out in the most dazzling and wonderful display. You can’t help but feel as though you’re somewhere that belongs in the epitome of night.

“How deep is that?” you ask, turning to Taehyung with a wary expression as you gesture to the body of water.

His expression softens. “Waist high when you stand in the middle. There is a ledge that you can sit on all the way around. It’s incredibly safe and very warm. I can stand just outside the door if anything goes wrong.”

“Okay.”

Taehyung points to a stack of clothes resting on a stool near a cabinet full of towels and jars of things. “Those are for you to change into. The towels are for you to dry off, of course. Anything in the bathroom is yours to use.” Taehyung must sense your hesitation, because he gives you a soft smile. “You’re safe here. I promise.”

“I’d feel better if I knew where here was.”

“Bathe. Relax. Then I’ll take you to him.”

Taehyung does not give you a chance to ask to whom he refers. He strides out of the room and the door swings shut seemingly on its own. You blink a few times at it, standing in the middle of the warm bathroom in a daze.

Spinning, you look around the room and find yourself drawn to the window. Up close, you realize how high up you are. It’s a bit dizzying, and you look down at the ground only to see that there is a garden bursting with purple and blue, neat rows of flowers that stretch until they meet a line of trees.

A world of mountains unfolds beyond the window. You’ve never seen mountains but they are larger than you could have ever imagined, snowcaps stark against the night sky. It’s mesmerizing and a little too big, so you turn away from the window and head for the steaming basin of water.

Peaking over the edge, you can see the bottom. It doesn’t look that deep, but your stomach twists as you pop the buttons on your dress. Your fingers feel stiff and disjointed as you work to undress. You look down at the ripped threads and the dirty fabric and think about how much time your mother spent stitching it.

Suddenly the dress feels suffocating and you pull hard on the garment, popping buttons from the threads and sending them clattering on the floor. You shed the dress and kick it away from you, stripping off your undergarments and lowering yourself to the edge of the water.

A sigh leaves your mouth as you slide your feet and legs in first. The water is hot, though not scalding like you expected. Closing your eyes, you remain sitting on the edge for a moment, letting your calves soak and muscles unwind, fingers gripping the edge tight.

Taking a deep breath, you slide forward a little, firmly placing your feet on the ledge Taehyung spoke of. For a moment, your fear spikes. You feel it sharp in your chest and you squeeze your eyes shut, gripping the edge of the basin. With a few deep breaths, you carefully slide down to the ledge proper, sinking in the hot water to the chest.

“I’m not going to drown,” you whisper to yourself. The words come out shaky and you’re not entirely sure that you believe them. “I’m not going to drown, I am not going to drown, I am not going to drown.”

You repeat the mantra until you believe it, your fingers grasping the edge of the stone seat as you try to relax and melt into the water. It takes a while, but you finally grow too tired of remaining tense, taking a deep breath and gaining the courage to relax.

Gently, you rest your head against the edge of the basin. Heat seeps into your skin and you feel the anxiety bleed out of you, your tensed muscles unwinding. You hadn’t realized how clenched up you were until you let go, and your body sags a little bit in the water.

Time slips away. Thankfully, your body doesn’t hurt the way you anticipated that it would. Frowning, you press your fingers into your skin where there should be bruises and pain. There is no evidence on your skin that Nathaniel laid his hands on you the night before - the day before? You’re unsure how much time has passed, only that there is an eerie absence of your wounds.

Turning your head, you look at your dress discarded on the floor. There’s certainly evidence of a struggle spattered all over the fabric, but it makes you wonder if the god who answered your prayers has healed you.

A god.

The thought comes to you in a snap and you stare down at the water, eyes unfocusing as you try to recall the details of what happened. You remember screaming for help, the sound of your desperation ripping through your mouth. You don’t think you’ve ever screamed like that, terrified and wild. You remember thinking about the gods, begging them to hear you, willing them to listen.

Water had been filling your lungs. Crushing out air. You remember the rush of the stream around you as it pulled at your fighting body. Nathaniel’s hands gripping you and holding you under viciously, fingers like claws as he tried to drown you.

Then you surfaced and choked, completely shrouded in darkness…. And you remember that quiet voice made of smoke and shadow. Thinking of it now makes you shiver, despite how hot the water is. The voice had promised you freedom in exchange for time and had taken you to wherever this place was.

You open your eyes, unsure when you had even closed them. Glancing around the room once more, you decide there is no way that you’re anywhere close to home. You’ve never seen anything like this bathroom before, a feat of what appears to be architecture and maybe magic.

Soaps and salts line the edges of the bathing pool. When you feel brave enough, you dart across the middle like a minnow, trying not to think about how you nearly crossed death’s bridge in a shallow body of water not long ago.

Unscrewing lids, you smell each of the glass bottles of liquid, humming in delight. You settle on a hard bar of soap that smells like lavender and mint. It feels good to scrub your skin raw. You imagine that you’re washing away all of the memories of Nathaniel’s fingers on your skin and the scratchy dress your mother made for you.

Fingers and feet pruned and skin feeling stripped of a top layer, you reluctantly exit the bath. The towels are the softest thing you’ve ever felt. You run the fabric between your fingers, tilting your head up at the sky and sighing. Wherever this dark god has taken you doesn’t seem so terrifying, yet it puts you more on edge, these luxuries.

The clothes Taehyung left out for you fit well enough, though it’s obvious they are not your exact measurements. He’s provided you with soft, black pants and a loose, black tunic with intricate designs that look like clouds on the sleeves and collar.

You hesitate when you’re ready to leave the bathroom. So far, it seems that whatever bargain you’ve struck with this god has been in your favor. But you know you’ve made a deal in a moment of fear, and you’re not entirely sure what you’ve agreed to.

Time.

Though you’re nervous, you can’t stay hidden in the bathroom forever. Nudging the door open, you peek around the edge, gaze sweeping the room as you look for Taehyung. He’s standing in the sitting area, face toward the flickering fire. He looks both terrifying and beautiful, hands linked behind his back as he watches the flames.

“You don’t have to be afraid of me,” Taehyung calls without turning around. “I mean it when I tell you that you’re safe.”

Slipping through the door, you walk toward him, regarding him warily. “Still,” you answer. “I don’t know where I am. Are you even human?”

He does look over his shoulder then, flashing you a wicked grin. “I’m not.”

Taehyung’s answer doesn’t put you at ease, but you’re unsure what to do. Wordlessly, he gestures for you to follow him as he heads through the door and out of the room. For a moment, you hesitate. What would happen if you refused to leave the room? Is your deal with the god already in effect? What are its limitations?

You can answer none of the questions you have, so you follow Taehyung, hoping to find answers soon. Except as soon as you step out of the room, you think you might have even more questions.

The halls are dark and lit with flickering torches, casting an orange glow up to the cavernous ceilings. Though you’ve never been in a castle or seen one, you have an idea of how grand they are. There is no doubt in your mind that this is a castle, the halls resplendent and sweeping with artwork and fabric and statues.

In front of you, Taehyung walks jovially with his hands linked behind his back. He hums a tune you don’t know, but it sounds smooth and warm. You follow behind him, casting your gaze around as you walk, trying to remember which turns you take and what paintings you pass.

You reach a tall, closed set of wooden double doors. Taehyung raps his fingers against the door, looking over his shoulder at you with an excited grin. Your stomach flips and you wipe your palms against the bottom of your tunic. Your hands feel shaky and you twine them into the fabric, willing them to stop.

Taehyung must hear someone on the other side of the door, because he opens it and steps in and to the side, gesturing for you to enter. You take a deep breath and walk by him into the room, stopping immediately as you look up, your mouth falling open.

It’s a library grander than you could ever imagine. Your town had quite a small library at the church that belonged to the high priest, but this is something beyond your wildest dreams. The ceiling stretches higher than your imagination, filled with floating lights and stars - the entire night sky is stretched above you in swirling constellations of purple and blue.

Three floors make up the library, each lined with books and windows that look out into the evening. You can see sprawling gardens beyond the tinted glass, but it’s the shelves of books that catch your attention. Stepping into the room further, you slowly spin, looking at the sheer amount of volumes that line the walls. There are multiple seating areas with rich, velvet blue armchairs and couches, tables full of books and papers and ink bottles and maps.

Your throat tightens as you look at Taehyung, your mouth wobbling. The urge to burst into tears has never felt greater than this moment. You never imagined that you could stand in a room with so many books, and the desire to pull one off the shelf and delve in is cut short by the single, glaring fact that you don’t know how to read them.

Distracted by the books upon entry, it takes you a moment to notice another presence in the room. You feel a tingle at the back of your neck, one that draws your eyes toward a long table near the fireplace. It’s the same feeling you had when you were saved from Nathaniel, an awareness that buzzes along your skin.

A man stands in front of the table, watching you with dark, feline eyes. He’s beautiful. Otherworldly, really. His round features remind you of the moon, but it’s the sharp eyes and the careful pout of his mouth that draws you in. He looks both delicate and dangerous, and you notice the quirk on his lips as he watches you watch him.

He’s in all black. Black pants tucked into black, knee-high boots, and a black, long-sleeved shirt. There’s a layer of necklaces around his neck and you can see shapes and runes that are unfamiliar to you. The same runes and shapes are on the rings on his long, delicate fingers, folded in front of him.

This is the face of a god. You know it in the way that there’s something ancient in his eyes and in the way he glows from within. His power is tangible, a crackling energy pressing up against every nerve in your body.

“How are you feeling?” his voice vibrates right to your core. Soft and dark like you remember it, though a little rougher now. Gravelly. He studies you, unmoving. “Hopefully well-rested?”

“I feel…. Better.” Finding the words is hard in his presence, especially under the scrutiny of his gaze. You want to dart out of the room and hide, but you also don’t want to leave the library without exploring. “I think I should thank you?”

It comes out as a question and he smirks a little. Your stomach flutters at the sight; he raises a brow. “You’re welcome. Are you hungry? You’ve been asleep for nearly a day.”

The door shuts behind you and you startle, whirling around to see that Taehyung has left you. Your nerves fray further and you turn back to look at the god watching you. Behind him on the table, you realize it is a feast of sorts. Roasted meats and poultry, platters of fruit, plates of cheese and neatly arranged crackers, steaming pans of vegetables and things you cannot identify.

He notices. “You must be starving. Come. Eat.” When you don’t move, he sighs. “I didn’t save you just to harm you.”

It’s true enough. You carefully approach the table, eyeing him as he unclasps his hands and pulls out a chair for you. When you hesitate, he arches a dark brow again and you feel yourself grow warm in the face, muttering your thanks as you hurry over to the chair and sit down.

The god’s presence is buzzing. He doesn’t touch you, but it’s like you feel him anyway, just an inch away from you. He helps you slide your chair in and gives a deep, contented sigh before he moves toward the opposite end of the table, taking the dull hum of energy with him.

Across the table, he sits. His gaze finds yours again as you stare at him, finding it difficult to look anywhere else. Even with the smell of a divine meal, your attention on him is a fixed point. If this bothers him, he doesn’t show it. Instead, he leans back in his seat, casual and confident.

“Have what you like,” he offers. “I don’t know what you enjoy and I didn’t want to pry.”

The table is full of options. You chew the inside of your cheek. There is glazed duck and roasted ham, creamy looking potatoes and sauced vegetables. Your stomach growls and twists painfully as you stare at your choices.

“The duck is good,” he offers gently. You glance up. He nods towards the dish in question. “Sorry, it’s probably overwhelming.”

“A little,” you answer, but take him up on his advice and go for the duck. “Where are we?”

“In between.”

You frown as you plate different foods, fingers sticky as you do. You’re hyper-aware of him watching you and you try not to look up, feeling your hands quake as you add roasted veggies to your plate. “What does that mean?”

“Exactly what you think it does. We’re at the in-between of all things. Not a solid place in your sense of understanding. It’s not a physical manifestation of a land mass, but it is a world that contains physical things.”

“A… dimension?”

“Exactly. This is my domain.”

“And what… are you?”

You look up at him then. His lips twitch at the corners and he tongues the inside of his cheek. “A god. But you already knew that.”

“Wanted to hear you say it.”

Silence falls between you as you pick up a knife and fork, cutting carefully into your meat. You pop it between your lips, sighing when the duck melts on your tongue with the taste of honey and something else. You sag in the chair, not realizing until now how tense you had been to this point. The food sends a wave of warmth through you and the god watches as you take a few bites, patient as you eat.

“This is fantastic,” you say, glancing at him as you reach for a glass of water. “The flavors are like nothing I’ve ever had.”

“I assure you that all things here are like nothing you’ve ever had.” You hum in agreement, taking another eager bite. You cannot imagine anything in the real world tasting this succulent. You almost wonder if perhaps this is all a dream. “You didn’t pray before you began to eat.”

Your chewing pauses. He’s bemused, giving you a sideways grin with his brows raised. You swallow thickly and say, “Praying never got me anywhere until recently. Why did you help me?”

“Because you asked.”

“You didn’t have to, though.”

It isn’t a question. He answers anyway. “I didn’t.”

“So why did you? The other gods have never helped me.”

“The other gods aren’t me.” His voice is soft and lethal, raising the hair on your arms. “We are not all the same, and you’d do well to not make any further comparisons moving forward.”

You lower your gaze. “I didn’t mean to offend you.”

“Gods are fickle beings. We are quick to offend and slow to let go. You don’t know any better and are thus forgiven.”

“What do I call you?”

For a moment, he hesitates. You think he isn’t going to answer just as he says, “Yoongi. You can call me Yoongi.”

“Is that your name?”

“It’s one of them.”

“How many names do you have?”

He chuckles. It’s a delightful sound and you smile, watching him lean his head back against his chair, looking up as he shrugs. “How much time do you have?”

Time.

Suddenly, you remember that you aren’t here on this god - Yoongi’s - good graces. You’re here because you called for someone in a moment of need and he agreed to help you, but at a cost. Your time. He had asked for your time, and a sense of anxiety tiptoes its way up your spine as you think about the ambiguity of his deal.

Swallowing harshly, you shift back in your seat. The food in your stomach feels a little heavy, far too rich for you to eat more than a few bites. You’ve only ever known your parents’ staples of meat, bread, cheese, and root vegetables.

“When you saved me,” you begin. “You made a deal with me.”

“I did.”

“My freedom in exchange for my time.”

His eyes are glittering as he watches you, completely still. The fireplace next to you crackles. It makes shadows dance across his face, giving him the appearance of something wild and untamed. Your heartbeat quickens as you watch him, this godly being, as he stares you down.

“That was the deal,” he finally hums. His head cocks to the side a little. “I don’t usually discuss business over dinner.”

“I’m done eating.”

He huffs but doesn’t seem annoyed. “Perhaps tea, then? It will help settle your stomach.”

You narrow your eyes. “How do you know that my stomach needs settling?”

“I know a lot of things.” Yoongi rises and gestures to the chairs directly in front of the fireplace. You stand, following his lead. There’s a quiver of energy in the air and you pause, turning to look back at the table to see it’s completely bare, no trace of anything left. You whip around to look at Yoongi as he sits in a wingback chair. “I can do a lot of things.”

A steaming cup of tea sits on a wooden table next to the chair you sink into. The cushions are soft, swallowing you in and making your muscles melt. The cup is warm when you pick it up, steam curling off the surface. Sniffing, your eyes flutter as you inhale the smell of mint.

“What are you the god of?” You open your eyes and look at him. Both of his feet are planted flat on the floor, his arms resting on the arms of the chair. He looks a little stiff, more so than he did at dinner. Orange firelight reflects in his inky eyes. “You’re a god of the dark.”

“There’s no such thing,” he scoffs, and you frown. “Your concept of gods is skewed. There is neither good nor evil, light nor dark. There are just gods.”

“So it doesn’t matter who you pray to?”

“We don’t need your patronage. If we did, we wouldn’t be gods, would we?” You’d never thought of it that way. You sip your tea, letting the warmth and sharp mint bloom in your mouth. “We’re beyond the simple classification that mortals use to understand and organize what they think our intentions are. I have been classed as both good and evil, light and dark, benevolent and malevolent.”

“But surely there are things that are inherently evil, even among the gods.”

“Of course there isn’t. Evil is a point of view. It is a word used to define the feeling one has when the opposite of their desire occurs.”

“I… guess that makes sense. But isn’t something like murder wrong?”

“Are you not the villain of the duck you ate today?” You blanch. Yoongi looks smug as he gestures vaguely with his hands. “Are you not evil for calling down the wrath of a god on Nathaniel Laudermill?”

“He was going to kill me.”

“You rejected his hand in marriage. You did the opposite of what he desired. I believe in his eyes, you are the evil. Is Death evil for doing what he was made to do?”

Yoongi’s words make your head spin. You gulp a mouthful of scalding tea before setting it on the table next to you, your mind reeling. The realization that you’re sitting in a library with a starry ceiling arguing over morals and the concept of evil with a god who has saved you from certain death makes you giggle.

He seems surprised by your sudden outburst, raising his brows as you cover your mouth, your fingers pressed to your lips as you try to contain your sudden mirth. “Sorry. This seems absolutely insane. I’m arguing over the word ‘evil’ with a god in a realm that is everywhere and nowhere at all. It feels like perhaps I’m dreaming.”

“You’re not. Though your dreams are dizzying and far more colorful than anyone else I know. You should be proud of them.” You furrow your brows. How does he know what you dream of? Before you can ask him to clarify, Yoongi says, “You wanted to discuss the deal.”

“Oh. Right. What did you mean by wanting my time in exchange for my freedom?”

“It’s simple. I want you to spend two weeks each month here.”

Yoongi’s words sink in as you look at the window behind him. Outside, the world is sinking into what you think might be night. The sky is swimming with stars and constellations, stuck in a perpetual twilight of sorts. You’re reminded that somehow, Yoongi is like the moon and the night itself, especially when you find his dark gaze on you as he waits for your response.

“Why?”

He lifts a shoulder. “I’m often very alone. It would be nice to have some company.”

“That’s it? You just want me to hang out in exchange for saving me?” He nods. “That seems too easy.”

His lips curve upward. “Maybe I’m very annoying.”

For some reason you think it might not be true. You think of all the things that you’ve heard about the gods. Yoongi tells you that everything you know about them is wrong, but you know that the gods of the dark are tricksters. They are experts in the art of luring mortals in, and you wonder if that’s what he’s doing now.

“Does it have to be consecutive weeks?” you ask, trying to bide time to collect your thoughts and work out his intentions. “Or can it be a collective?”

“Consecutive.”

“What… what happens when I go home? With my family.”

Yoongi’s face grows stormy. You shift in your seat. “You’re under my protection,” he says after a moment of deliberation. “You’ll bear a mark that protects you. No one will force their will upon you again.”

“Can you?”

He shakes his head, long hair brushing the tops of his shoulders. He looks haunting in the firelight, but beautiful. You avert your gaze, fixating on the books in the room instead. “You have my word, I will never control you. I promised you freedom, that includes me.”

“But I have to be here. I can’t escape from that. Is that freedom?”

“You made that decision of your own free will. It’s your words that bind you here, not mine. While you’re here, you are able to do whatever it is you desire. In fact, I encourage it.”

“Wording is really important to you, isn’t it?”

He chuckles and inclines his head, fingers tapping the arm of his chair. “It is. Consider the first day of your deal already spent. You slept most of it off while you healed.” Yoongi stands, drawing your attention to him. “Sleep more,” he insists gently. “Tomorrow, I’ll give you a tour.”

The thought of a tour - and seeing Yoongi for more days - thrills you. Taehyung appears at the doorway as Yoongi escorts you out. He wishes you goodnight and lets Taehyung take you back to your room, though you feel his gaze and presence as you leave.

It isn’t until you’re back in your room that you realize you never asked Yoongi how long your deal is supposed to last. It occurs to you that while he has given you a sort of freedom, perhaps he has taken something from you after all.

Tall trees surround you. Above them, you can make out a swirling sky of stars and planets and several moons, so bright that it turns the forest a shade of blue. The woods around you are familiar, and there’s a well-walked path just ahead of you that leads to the river by your home. You’ve walked among these trees and creatures hundreds of times, but never with a sky like this.

Crickets chirp as you walk through the woods now. Grass tickles your bare feet, the earth soft and damp beneath you. It smells like fresh rain, but there’s no flood or mud as you navigate by instinct.

It’s peaceful out here. How many times have you come here to escape your father’s rage? How many times have you sat, back pressed against a tree, watching the light fade from the world until it was too dark to see where you were going? You always managed to get home safely, even with the lack of light.

The river rushes a few yards ahead. You pick a spot to sit and watch, beneath the cover of leaves. The sound of running water and the smell of rain on the wind lulls you into a trance and you close your eyes, resting for a while.

Here is where you find peace. Where you dream.

Awareness creeps up on you and you open your eyes, looking upward as you sense someone approaching. Yoongi stands next to you, onyx eyes gazing at the river. He’s in black clothes like before, his hands tucked into his pockets. You smell clove and cinnamon, making you dizzy. Power radiates off of him but it feels warm and safe. Like the night air itself comes from his existence.

“Am I dreaming?” you ask him. He looks down at you, an obsidian strand of hair falling in his face. He nods, giving you a gentle smile. “This is often where I go to dream.”

“I know.”

“How do you know?”

Yoongi doesn’t answer you. He looks back to the rushing river, his face becoming unreadable. He looks like he’s somewhere far away, lost in his thoughts. Absently, he says, “Your dreams are my favorite.”

“What do you mean?”

“They are bright, full of life and color and sound. You dream the way people create art, the way people create worlds. It is rare to see such magnificence among the sleeping.”

“I just…” you shrug. “Think of places I would rather be.”

Yoongi looks at you then and his face is shadowed, full of thunder. “You’ll never be forced to live that life again.”

“Do you promise?”

He opens and closes his mouth, narrowing his eyes a little before shaking his head. You feel a smile tug at your mouth, endeared by his microexpressions. “Yes, little lamb. I promise.”

You wake with a start, sitting up in bed and looking around. The room spins as your brain tries to catch up with your body, your physical and mental awareness completely out of sync as you swivel your head, drinking in the unfamiliar room and the soft sheets that smell like clove and cinnamon.

For a moment, you forget where you are, and adrenaline surges through you. Your fingers twist in the sheets as you ground yourself, memories from the day before slotting into place. Letting out a long exhale, you relax, flopping backward in the opulent bed, your heart rate slowing down as your panic bleeds out of you.

You’re in Yoongi’s home. In a place that is somewhere in between - whatever that means. The god has told you on multiple occasions that you’re safe and have nothing to fear from him and for some reason…. You believe him. Maybe it’s naive, but you can’t erase the feeling that Yoongi is being honest with you, that he has good intentions.

Perhaps it’ll get you into trouble one day. For now, you cast off doubt and peel yourself out of bed, trailing to the windowed doors that lead to the balcony beyond. You try the handle and are delighted to find them unlocked. Slipping through the doors, you’re met with warm, balmy air. It smells like petrichor, the breeze kissing your skin gently.

Like before, the world seems wrapped in permanent twilight. There is no sun in the sky, but a vast stretch of swimming stars and the largest moon you’ve ever seen. In the distance, dark mountains loom over you, their peaks capped in snow and wreathed in mist.

Forest stretches out toward them in a vibrant shade of green. There’s a settee on the balcony along with a table and chairs. Leaning on the stone railing, you look down to see colorful gardens and a large pond full of vibrant fish.

All of the radiance makes you smile. You’ve never seen colors so rich, and you’re unable to recall if your world was this vibrant. The garden below is bursting with violet and cerulean, the flowers unfamiliar to you. Their fragrant smell wafts up to the balcony, a hint of sweetness in the air.

A roll of thunder catches your attention. You look to the east, noticing that one of the mountains in the distance is darker than the others. Lightning crackles in the sky around it and the mist is heavier there. You think the trees are darker too, though you can’t tell if they’re gray or if it’s the shade from the swollen thunderheads drifting over them.

Behind you, the door to the balcony opens and startles you. Whirling around, you find Taehyung leaning against the frame, mouth curved upwards in a sideways grin. “When you didn’t answer the door I got worried.”

“I thought I was safe here? What is there to be worried about?”

He shrugs. “Maybe you took a dive off of the balcony.”

“What is that place?” you point to the thundering, shrouded mountain. Taehyung looks where you point, his smile dropping as he stares at the looming peak. “By the look on your face, somewhere bad.”

“Bad is a relative term.”

You scrunch your nose. “You sound like Yoongi.”

“Already familiar, are we? Cute.” He pushes off the door frame and beckons you inside. “Ask Yoongi about it on your tour.”

“Are you not coming along?”

“I have things to do.”

“Like what?”

“Not give tours.”

If it weren’t for Taehyung’s playful tone and glint in his eye when he casts you a glance, you’d think you were bothering him. Instead of getting angry, he drapes himself on one of the couches by the fireplace, long legs dangling off the arm as he lounges.

Today, he’s in charcoal colored pants and a red, billowing shirt that shows off the smooth, tan skin of his chest. A dangling earring catches your attention as he leans his head back, silky hair shifting. If Yoongi is made of moonlight, you think that Taehyung might be made of sunlight: golden skin, warm energy.

“By all means,” you mutter. “Hang out.”

“This is my home first, human. I shall do as I please.”

You make a sound at the back of your throat and roll your eyes, walking toward a large, polished wardrobe made from dark wood. It smells like fresh cedar when you pull on the brass handle, opening the door to reveal tunics and dresses, all hung neatly.

Rich silks, velvets and cottons greet you. You run your hand over the materials, amazed at how soft they feel. They are far better quality than your mother ever had access to. Your heart squeezes when you think of her, and you shake your head a little as if to physically dispel thoughts of your family out of your mind.

Facing them seems like an impossible task. You know that you’ll have to eventually. Two weeks with Yoongi in this strange world seems like a long time, but you’re not sure if it’s nearly long enough to mentally prepare to go back and face them after what’s happened. Will they still be angry? What will they say? Will they have been worried about you all this time?

There’s no way to know the answer. So instead, you pretend none of that exists. For once, you have stumbled into a dream and adventure like you’ve always wanted, and you intend on playing the part.

An emerald shirt catches your eye. It’s made of a silky material, supple when you rub the sleeve between your fingers. It’s plain, save for the laced string at the throat to cinch and tie it off. You grab a pair of black, cotton pants as well, the fabric just as soft as the sheets in your bed.

With Taehyung humming on the couch, you let yourself into the bathroom to change. You appreciate that the floor is warm wherever you go barefoot, and you quickly slide out of your clothes from the previous day and into the new ones. The measurements are a little off, but more than manageable as you pull the tie closed at your throat. Glancing into the mirror, you can’t help but smile a little.

You look so different. The shirt belongs to someone adventurous, you think. Perhaps a pirate or a huntress riding atop her horse through the woods. You slide your fingers along the material, its softness inviting and magical.

Two weeks. You’ll be here for two weeks with Yoongi, a god who has been alive for hundreds of years, if your conversation from the night before was anything to go off of. It feels surreal and you’re a little nervous, but more than that, you’re excited.

Suddenly, the world is full of possibilities. No marriage to tie you down, no power held in your parents’ hands.

“Gods you’re slow to get dressed,” Taehyung announces when you enter the room. He sits up, appraising your outfit. “Green looks good on you.”

“How many are there?” he cocks his head at your question, peeling himself from the seat. “Gods and goddesses, I mean.”

“Pfft. Hundreds.”

“Hundreds?”

“Maybe thousands, I don’t really know. There’s basically an infinite amount of universes. All anyone mostly cares about are the Eternals, the gods who remain the same no matter what name or history mortals assign to them.”

“Eternals?”

“Mhmm.” Taehyung leads you into the hallway. His hands are tucked into his pockets as he strolls leisurely. You follow beside him eagerly, looking up as he seems thoughtful. “Gods are hard to define. They are great beings with massive power. Some gods do the same thing, some don’t. They come from the infinite amount of worlds to which they are native, and somehow make it into mortal history. But the Eternals have always been here, always known. They do not change.”

“Who are the Eternals?”

“Life, death, chaos, time, pathos, dream and fate.” He makes a face then. “Fate and chaos are hard. They work in direct opposition to one another. It drives time insane, naturally.”

Seven Eternals. It makes sense, from a logical standpoint. Every world must have life and death and the passing of time. Where there exists a living thing, there exists a vessel of emotion and dreams. In all worlds there is the potential for chaos disrupting fate.

“Yoongi is an Eternal?”

Taehyung glances sidelong at you, smug. “Yes, Yoongi is an Eternal.”

“Why do you look at me like that when I say his name?” Taehyung doesn’t answer, instead smirking as if he’s enjoying a private joke. Your fists close and open as you swallow down a demand to tell you what he finds so amusing. “Which one is he?”

“Have you no guesses?”

That makes you think. Recalling the night before, you remember the way Yoongi looks: dark eyes swimming with something magical, a soft and raspy voice, the way he appeared in your dreams.

Though your dreams are mesmerizing and far more colorful than anyone else I know. You recall what he said about your dreams, the way he leveled his gaze at you, full of meaning that you didn’t understand.

“Dreams,” you say, certain that you're right. “He’s the Eternal of Dreams?”

“He isn’t of dreams. He is Dream.”

You’re unable to clarify Taehyung’s emphasis on Yoongi being a deity of dreams as he opens the door to the same library as before. This time, he doesn’t knock. When you step inside, you realize it’s because the room is empty. Yoongi is nowhere to be seen, though pale light filters in through the windows. It’s still forever twilight outside, yet a little lighter. It feels like morning, even if it does not entirely appear to be morning.

Behind you, the door shuts. You turn to see Taehyung has left without another word, leaving you entirely alone in the captivating space.

Without hesitation, you walk to the nearest shelf housing rows and rows of books. The spines range from muted browns and neutrals to bright reds and rich blues. Velvet books, leather books, canvas, silk. There is no shortage of materials making up each one, letters painted, printed or stitched down the back of them to denote what they are.

Each one breathes a world of possibility as you drag your finger along the shape of them. You wonder how many worlds and histories are scribbled away in the pages of this room, the very idea of it overwhelming.

Trinkets and objects you’re unfamiliar with line the shelves as well. Your fingers trace their shape and you wonder what they are. One object in particular catches your eye in the corner of the room. It stands on three metal legs and has large, interlocking rings that spin lazily in some unknown pattern. The rings are hammered metal and appear to have markings engraved on them.

The device slowly spins of its own accord. Upon inspection, there seems to be nothing else responsible for its motion except magic or science that is beyond you. You can see that there are seven metal rings and different markings on each of them, but you cannot guess what the engravings read.

“It represents the balance of the Eternals. Taehyung mentioned you had a vague starting point as to what I am.”

Yoongi’s deep voice makes you leap and screech, spinning on your heels to face him. Your hand flies to your chest and you can feel your heartbeat rattling wildly. Yoongi stands a few feet away from you, hands linked behind his back and eyebrows raised at your reaction.

He’s dressed similar to the night before, though a little more casual. His black pants are tucked into knee high boots, and his black shirt is loose fitted with silver stitching around the collar. You notice that it’s in patterns of stars and moons, furthering your confirmation that Yoongi is associated with dreams in some manner.

Yoongi’s long hair is pulled half out of his face today, tied away in a bun. The rest of his hair brushes the tops of his shoulders as his inky eyes regard you patiently. His curiosity makes you feel warm all over and you drop your hands to your sides, fingers twitching.

“How so?” you ask. You turn back to the device. “What does it run on?”

“Our energy. Each ring represents a member of my family. The speed at which they turn represents the balance among us. When the speed is off, the balance is off.”

“What causes the balance to be off?”

Yoongi steps closer to you. You hold your breath as he does it, but you can feel his presence like a buzzing vibration at the back of your neck.

His voice is softer when he answers, “A number of things. Sometimes some of us aren’t always performing the way we should be. Other times, we’re overperforming. Or fighting, really, as siblings are wont to do.”

“I don’t know what that’s like.”

“You’re not missing much. Especially when your siblings are as ancient and never ending as you are.”

“How… old are you?”

You look at Yoongi to see he’s standing next to you now. He looks at you, face impassive as he lifts a shoulder. “How old is the earth? How old is existence? It’s hard to say.”

“Where do you come from?”

“Chaos was first. Life and Death were next, twins born of the sudden whims of Chaos. I was next, for Life often dreamed. Time was always there, though no one knows if Time or Chaos came first. Pathos and Fate came later.”

You nod, though you don’t fully understand the scope of how old and fathomless the existence of things like chaos and time and dreams are. It makes your head spin, trying to conceptualize the thing next to you who looks very much like an ordinary man being something so ancient and primordial that he precedes human existence entirely.

“You’re overwhelmed,” he notes, a bit of amusement in his voice. “I don’t blame you. The best way to understand it is that I am a living concept that can never be destroyed, so long as there exists something to dream about.”

Crossing his arms in front of him, Yoongi clasps his hands and gives you a slight smile. He has a pretty smile, you realize. Delicate and almost shy. It makes your heart flutter and you mentally chastise yourself for thinking that a being of eternal dreams can possibly be shy.

“How about a tour? Our deal is that you’ll spend two weeks a month here. I’d love for you to feel like this is a place you can be familiar with, if not something akin to a home.”

“Home?”

His smile grows. “If that word ever seems fitting, sure.”

Home. The word makes you think about what home means to you and suddenly you feel a pit form in the bottom of your stomach. Flashes of a flooded forest, lighting lancing across the sky, hands gripping you tight and shoving you under the water.

“Um,” you clear your throat. “So a tour.”

Yoongi’s eyes glitter as he grins and turns, using a hand to gesture to the wide library. “This is the main library, but we’ll end our tour here. Let’s go through the gardens first, it’s nice weather.”

Yoongi starts without you, leaving you to stand staring after him as he goes. His gait is smooth and confident. He presses on a pane of glass that you realize is a door. A breeze teases the loose pieces of his hair, carrying the familiar scent of clove and cinnamon toward you.

For a moment, you stare after him. Yoongi being a deity of dreams makes so much sense in this moment, stepping into the twilight, face tilted upward slightly as though he’s soaking up the sun. He looks radiant. Tranquil. When he turns to look at you expectantly, his rose pink mouth quirks sideways.

“Right,” you say, hurrying to follow him. “Outside is where we start.”

When you pass him, you get the sense that Yoongi wants to tease you further. Instead, he says nothing and leads you into the gardens. A cobblestone path leads from the door through wisteria trees, their amethyst leaves swooping down and filling the air with sweet fragrance.

Up above, the sky is a mix of blue and purple, thousands of stars twinkling. There is a stone bench near one of the windows of the library, but Yoongi leads you away from the palace and down the path under the trees. The air is crisp and pleasant, cooling your anxious, sweat-slick skin.

Yoongi links his hands behind his back. “This is the library garden,” he informs you, glancing at you from the corner of his eye. “It’s mostly wisteria trees, which are my favorite to walk through when I need to think.”

“They’re unlike anything I’ve ever seen.”

“Much different from the woods outside of your home.”

“You know the woods outside of my home?”

“You called me there, remember?” You blanch at the memory, but if he notices, Yoongi says nothing. “Besides, I’m familiar with the woods that surround your home. Your village pays homage to my brother.”

“Your brother?”

He hums. “Life. Perhaps they don’t know that it’s him they pray to, but they do.”

Taking a left, Yoongi leads you on a looping path through the massive wisteria trees. They’re larger than anything you’ve ever seen, their bows sweeping monoliths of purple, trunks thick as boulders. A strange creature sits on the branches of one of the trees, making you stop and stare.

A tiny, carnelian creature sits on a bough, bright against the lavender background of the leaves. It has four legs and scaled feet, sharp talons cutting into the bark as it keeps its balance in the tree. Small wings are folded on its back, bony limbs with paper-thin skin between them, a lighter red than the rest of its body. A long tail snakes around the branch, holding the creature in place as its long neck extends, head tilting to look at you curiously.

“Is that a dragon?” you whisper, staring at it.

You’ve only heard them described in stories, but you don’t really know what they look like. It has scales like a lizard and it blinks two large eyes at you, entirely black. There are small horns on its head, and a forked tongue snakes out as it tastes the air.

“She’s a fey dragon,” Yoongi hums, looking up at the creature with a smile. “And she’s not supposed to be in the trees here, are you?”

A puff of smoke curls from the dragon’s nose as it huffs, making you take a step backward. Yoongi lets out a deep laugh that makes a tingle rattle down your spine and your toes curl. The sound is like smoke and velvet, heady in the air.

“She won’t hurt you,” Yoongi assures, shaking his head to continue walking under the dragon’s branch. “She’s a pesky little thing, but she is incredibly sweet. Fey dragons are much smaller than their firedrake cousins and less dangerous than their basilisk relatives.”

With your eyes cast upward, you hurry after Yoongi, keeping your gaze on the large lizard as you run under the branch. Her dark eyes follow you, unblinking and fathomless. The hair on your arms stands up and you can’t help but feel that despite the dragon being small and what Yoongi calls harmless, it is incredibly intelligent.

“There are dragons here?”

“There is everything here.”

You frown, finally turning away from the dragon as you leave it behind. “That’s confusing. Everything as in…?”

“When you dream, you have limitless potential. You can go anywhere, be anything, see any creature. Dreams even invent things that do not exist in the natural world. Creatures, stories, songs, words, plants. The possibility for creation in a dream is limitless, and this place is the essence of dreams. It is me.”

“So you are this place and the place is you?”

He seems thoughtful before nodding. “More or less. This is a dream realm as much as it is a collection of ideas, thoughts and hopes. Everything that every living creature has ever dreamed about walks these lands.”

“Even nightmares?”

Yoongi pulls up short and whips his head at you. You bite the inside of your cheek, unable to meet his eyes under his severe expression. In the distance, you swear you hear thunder. An apology springs to your lips, but before you can give it, Yoongi nods sharply once and begins walking again.

“Nightmares too. Do not speak of nightmares here, lest they come searching.”

You think about Taehyung telling you that you were safe but being concerned when you didn’t answer the door earlier that morning. A chill seeps into your bones as you rejoin Yoongi on your walk, his pace not as relaxed now.

“They come searching?” you try, a little curious, a little afraid.

“Yes. They are different from dreams. Unpredictable in a way I admire and dislike.” He glances sidelong at you. “They have a mind of their own. You are safe with me always, but it’s best practice to not think of them while you’re here. This world has a way of manifesting.”

For a few moments, you walk in silence. You let your questions fall silent as you look around. The two of you exit the wisteria trees to see a large pond. A single, massive wisteria sits on its western edge with a bench underneath it.

The surface of the pond is dark and smooth, reflecting the swirling stars in the sky. Yoongi leads you around the mirror surface and points out the mountains in the distance that you could see from your windows.

“Mountains of Sleep,” he tells you. “It is where all beings who are ready for their eternal rest come to dream for the remainder of their existence. They are also called the Mountains of Divinity, for there are hundreds of divine immortals among their peaks.”

“Really?”

He nods. “Not all beings rest here. Some prefer their own planes and resting grounds. But this existed before those places, and has long been used for the tired and the weary who are ready to retire.”

“Are they dead?”

“No. The dead cannot come here.” He hesitates. “When they do, it is because they are not a dream.”

You get the sense that Yoongi is talking about nightmares again and you shiver as he takes you around the pond. “Don’t let anything in that body of water convince you to go swimming. They won’t intentionally hurt you but they don’t understand the concept of human life.”

“They?”

“They don’t have a name. They are water-folk who were dreamt up by someone once. I admire them and they’re beautiful and wicked smart, but they’re a bit cheeky.”

“I’m starting not to feel as safe as you said I was.”

Yoongi stops and frowns. He lifts a hand as though he’s about to touch your arm before he thinks better of it and drops it at his side. You realize you’re disappointed that he did before mentally kicking yourself, feeling a little ashamed to be so affected by a god. You’re sure Yoongi gets it often, but it makes you feel silly nonetheless.

“You are safe.” He lowers his head a little, catching your gaze. Though his eyes are midnight black, you swear you see the stars above reflected in their dark pools. “But there are rules everywhere. This place has them just the same as your home did. You were relatively safe there, but there were rules.”

“And then I broke them and Nathaniel tried to murder me.”

“Nathaniel was dealt with and will never touch you again.” Thunder rolls in the distance and your heart flutters at the vehemence with which Yoongi says this. “The misdeeds of your family cannot chase you here.”

You don’t press Yoongi on the matter. Instead, you let him proceed with the tour, keeping your questions to a minimum as you wonder what Yoongi meant by Nathaniel being dealt with. You recall the soft, susurrated voice against your ear when Yoongi found you. The gentle brush of something like a kiss to your neck. The rage and power as he stepped in front of you to face Nathaniel when the deal was done.

It does not require much to make an assumption about Yoongi’s meaning.

The yards of his palace are sprawling and full of color. Gardens with flowers he doesn’t know the name of but said a little girl had dreamed them and he liked them so he made more. Butterflies with colors you didn’t know existed flitting from plant to plant. Fruit orchards with the ripest, reddest apples you’ve ever seen.

And the palace. It is the only word you have for it. The building is several stories tall, hewn from dark stone with at least five different towers. Starlight glitters in the windows as Yoongi guides you up the stairs toward the massive double doors that lead to the main entrance of the castle. On the door handle are two wrought-iron griffons with proud faces.

Without a touch, the doors open on Yoongi’s arrival. You wonder if the building responds to his presence as the door swings open for the two of you. Inside, the foyer is as magnificent as the library, a lush purple carpet rolling over stone floors.

In the center of the room is a massive spiral staircase. Looking up, you see that it goes all the way up the floors of the palace, dizzying circles of floor after floor. Yoongi explains there are other ways to go all the way up to the top throughout the castle but this is the easiest way, though he assures you that by the third floor you’d be out of breath.

Each room Yoongi shows you is opulent and warm. Rich, deep wooden furniture, paintings with dark splashes of amethyst, scarlet and gold. Rooms for tea, rooms for painting, rooms for music, rooms for dancing. Yoongi has a room for everything, sometimes occupied by strange little creatures that hide when you walk in or curious things that lift their heads when they see him.

No one else besides Taehyung seems to be there, though. You come across felines, little balls of light that bounce around Yoongi excitedly and light him up like a burst of flame, a little furry thing that you think is a fox but in a shade of shocking sapphire, and a massive wolf with eyes like ice that blink apathetically at you as you walk by. But never once do you see another person. Even Taehyung seems to be amiss.

“Does no one else live here?” Yoongi takes you through another room empty of people and things. “It’s so empty.”

He takes his time to answer as you leave the room and move into the hallway. It’s hard to tell which way you’re going, but you think that you’re headed toward the library again. Your legs ache from going up and down the stairs on an endless tour of rooms, and you’re eager to be in the library once more.

“There used to be,” Yoongi says slowly. “But people don’t tend to do well in places that they don’t belong.”

“So you’re all alone here?”

His smile is sad. “I have Taehyung.” He pauses before he adds, “And now you.”

I’m often very alone. It would be nice to have some company. You think of Yoongi’s words from the night before and suddenly you’re filled with sadness. Sadness for this ancient being, who seems so gentle and quiet. Who lives alone in this giant castle with all of the world’s dreams around him and no one to share them with.

Swallowing thickly, you nod. “How do you know I belong?”

“Pardon?”

“Do I? Belong, I mean. You wouldn’t… have me here if I wouldn’t do well, right?”

“No one dreams the way you do.” He says this firmly. Confident. Fierce. “I believe there is nothing you wouldn’t be able to find here.”

“Do you always know what I dream about?”

“No. But you dream… loudly. Colorfully. Sometimes it’s hard to ignore. I don’t like to pry, though.”

“Can you see everyone’s dreams?”

“Mhmm. I even make some.”

This catches your attention and you reach out and grab his wrist, stopping him. He glances down where your fingers touch his skin, your fingers buzzing where you’re connected. You flush with warmth and drop your hand, clearing your throat at how forward grabbing him was.

Yoongi is smirking when you ask, “Can you show me?”

“One day, yes. For now, the end of the tour and lunch.”

At the mention of lunch, your stomach rumbles. His grin spreads into a full smile and Yoongi leads you back to the library. Again, the doors open without his touch and as you pass them, you study them for any sign of an auto-opening mechanism but find none.

Yoongi’s magic appears limitless. You remember the food disappearing from dinner, the swell of power as Yoongi agreed to save you, and his sudden appearance as you were drowning. You know nothing about the god of dreams or what he’s capable of, but you’re awed at how easy it comes to him.

“This is the main library.” Yoongi turns around to face you, sweeping his arms out on either side of him. “There are two others: one in my room and one located in the dream tower.”

“You didn’t show me the dream tower.”

“I’ll show you when you’re ready.”

Unsure what ready means to Yoongi, you look around the library. Same as the night before, the shelves are crammed full of books and scrolls, so much paper and ink that it makes you lightheaded with excitement. It still smells of lemon and wax, though as you pass Yoongi to go to a shelf, you’re overcome with clove and cinnamon again.

Trying to ignore the shiver that merely walking by Yoongi gives you, you brush the spines of books once again, feeling their potential under your fingertips.

“You always have access to this library. You can read what you like.”

A pang goes through you and you drop your hand. Without looking at him, you mumble, “Thank you, but I can’t read.”

No response comes. You stare unseeing at the books before taking a breath to turn your head and steal a glance at Yoongi. You expect some sort of amusement or perhaps pity, but his face is unreadable, jaw working.

“That’s okay,” he finally says. “We will teach you. After lunch we will make a schedule to help fill your time here. Reading and writing lessons will be a part of that.”

Your heartbeat quickens. “Do you mean that?”

“Do you want to learn?” You nod your head eagerly. He grins gently. “Then we will teach you.”

Yoongi’s eyes are dark as he presses forward. Your breath catches in your chest as you lay back, looking up at him with your lips parted, heart hammering in your chest. He settles his waist against you, the weight of him pressing you into your bed as you lay back.

He is so beautiful that it puts you in a daze, staring up into his face as he leans over you. His hair is pulled back, but a few dark strands hang loose. His mouth is stained red with wine, making you want to lean forward and taste his lips and feel their softness.

Tentatively, you reach a hand up and brush the loose strands of hair out of his face, tucking them behind his ear. You don’t stop touching him, though, hand cradling his flushed face. His eyes flutter shut and he leans into your palm as you cup his cheek, thumb sweeping back and forth.

“Is this what you dream of?” he whispers, eyes remaining closed. “Being under me, like this?”

Dreaming. You realize you’re dreaming. You jolt and suddenly, you’re alone.

“Your handwriting is terrible,” Taehyung admits, looming over your shoulder. You grip the quill tighter, nearly snapping it in two. “But you learn unbelievably fast. How many of these letters do you think you have consistently memorized?”

Taehyung is in charge of your writing lessons today and you already want to kill him. It’s been five days of your new residency in the House of Dreams, as Yoongi calls it, and you’ve quickly learned that Taehyung is equally charming and playful as he is outright vexing.

Instead of turning to give him a very harsh poke in the arm with your quill, you scan the shapes in front of you. There are twenty-six of them, all awkwardly slanted and misshapen where you’ve used too much ink or not enough. Using a quill and ink feels alien to your hand and your fingers struggle to remember the proper way to hold it as you draw your letters.

“I think most of them,” you answer slowly, mentally sounding out each word on the page in your head as you go. “But there are a few of them that confuse me. The lowercase ‘d’ and ‘b’ I find nearly impossible to recall and ‘v’ and ‘u’ are rather frustrating.”

“Whenever you see a ‘u’, think of it as having a scoop. Sc-uuup.” Taehyung points to a ‘u’ on the page and mimics the scooping motion. “Might be easier to associate the sound scoop with ‘u’ even though the word itself doesn’t have a ‘u’.”

The desperate look you give him makes him laugh as you struggle to imagine why a word with a ‘u’ sound doesn’t actually contain the letters. You’re saved from Taehyung’s maddening - but helpful - instruction as Yoongi walks into the library.

“You’d better not be laughing at her again.”

Taehyung steps away from you and bows his head toward Yoongi. “I’m laughing with her. We’re just sharing amusement over the hypocrisy of letters.”

“Yeah,” you deadpan. “It’s hilarious.”

Today, Yoongi is in a deep, amethyst colored shirt. It’s laced at the throat with the familiar moon and stars that he has stitched on much of his clothing, and his hair down and long, slicked back and tucked behind his ears. As always, he’s in dark pants and boots today, the sound of them clicking on the stone floor as he nudges Taehyung out of the way to peer over your shoulder.

You tense. Being around Yoongi for the last five days has been intoxicating. It is bad enough that you get distracted during your lessons by the way his voice rumbles when he speaks and the way he chews his lips when working on his own things while you study. It’s worse that now he invades your dreams, whispering in your ear and hands wandering over your curves, sinful mouth brushing over your skin and leaving you to jolt awake in bed covered in sweat.

The very idea that Yoongi knows what you're dreaming of drives you to the edge of insanity. He’d promised he preferred to avoid your dreams, but you wonder if he knows. Knows that you have developed an insatiable habit of fantasizing about his hands, or about the tone of his voice.

Gripping your quill tight, you hold your breath when he leans over you. He’s not touching you, but he’s close enough that you feel the heat of him and smell him, cinnamon and clove making your eyes flutter. If you didn’t know he was the god of dreams, you’d mistake him for the god of lust, if that was a thing.

“Why aren’t you breathing?” You peer upward to see Yoongi looking down at you. If you tilted your head back just a fraction more, you’d be pressed against his chest. Even from upside down, his moon-pale face and cosmos eyes make you want to scream. “Are you alright?”

“Nervous that I’m not performing well.”

His face softens. “You’re a quick learner. Don’t worry about progress and pace.”

“But what if I lose it when I go h- back.”

Home. That’s what you were going to say. But the idea of home is terrifying. You don’t know what waits for you when you go back. You don’t know what splitting time between two worlds means. You don’t know what you’ll do when you have to spend two weeks there before coming back to Yoongi.

Five days in Yoongi’s realm has been enough to make you feel like this has always been your life. You fit into the daily routines of Yoongi and Taehyung better than you imagined, and though you still sometimes get lost in the House of Dreams, you discover that you’re adapting.

There’s always something new to discover, an adventure around the corner. You like learning your letters and the sounds that they make. You love studying the maps in the library and tracing the distances between countries you can’t name and have no idea where they are.

Most of all, you love exploring. Rooms upon rooms of objects both normal and magical. Creatures that roam freely around the palace - including a clever little fox that has taken interest in following you around as you take breaks from studying by walking around the grounds.

While Yoongi’s home doesn’t feel like it belongs to you, you’re more afraid to go back to your mother and father than you are to go near the pond at the edge of the wisteria garden.

So you avoid thinking of going back.

“You’ll practice while you’re there,” Yoongi says, as though it’s the easiest answer in the world. “You have to practice every day.”

“My father won’t- he doesn’t…” You shake your head, unable to get the words out. That your father would strike you to the ground if he found you with books again. “I can’t bring anything back with me.”

“Sure you can.” You glance at him to find his expression is firm. “I told you, you’re under my protection. Things will be very different for you when you go back.”

“How?”

“It’s… difficult to say.”

Yoongi offers nothing else. You become hyper aware of how close he’s standing to you again and you look down at your letter practicing. With a shaky hand, you dip the quill into the ink, lifting it from the inkwell and letting the excess drip before bringing it over to the paper.

When Yoongi makes no move to leave, you inhale deeply to steel your nerves and continue tracing. He’s content to watch you as you work. If he knows how distracted this makes you, he doesn’t let on. Perhaps he has no idea that as you scrawl a shaky letter ‘k’, it’s Yoongi who consumes your thoughts.

Even in your waking hours it seems you’re not rid of him.

Most of your study sessions are like this, Yoongi watching you so closely that it makes your quill bleed too much ink. He is a passive teacher, letting you come to him with questions instead of correcting you constantly like Taehyung does. Even now, when you hesitate on the next letter of the alphabet, Yoongi doesn’t offer his help. Lets you figure it out.

You dip the quill in ink and continue.

After you finish the last shaky letter, you set the quill down, flexing your fingers open and closed. Yoongi makes a satisfied noise and steps away. You turn to see him walking toward the table by the fireplace, which is where you have started to take all your meals. Already, there are platters of food and drinks. Taehyung sits in a chair, plucking a grape from a plate and popping it in his mouth.

“I didn’t invite you,” Yoongi grumbles as he takes a seat at the head of the table. You push yourself up from your chair, legs aching from sitting so long. “Who said you can eat my grapes?”

“Ugh, I’m tired of eating alone.”

“Let him stay, Yoongi.” The god looks at you with a glower, bottom lip jutted out slightly. It’s so cute that you can’t help but burst into laughter, hand flying to your mouth. “Sorry, I think you just pouted.”

“He did.” Taehyung grins and leans back in his chair. “He wants you to himself.”

Yoongi hisses Taehyung’s name, shutting down the teasing immediately. You glance at Yoongi shyly as you sit down but he doesn’t meet your eyes, choosing to laden his plate with food instead. You can’t imagine why Yoongi would want you to himself, especially when all you do is ply him with questions.

Still, a little bit of a thrill goes through you as you start loading your plate, your gaze drifting toward the deity again as he bites into a strawberry, the juice running down his chin. Your eyes track the movement as his tongue darts out, catching the drip before it escapes too far.

Yoongi’s mouth is hypnotizing and it takes you a moment too long to realize he’s watching you stare at him. Quickly, you grab a cup and bring water to your lips, gulping the cool water and glancing up at the ceiling, feeling embarrassment bloom like warm liquid through you.

When you put the cup down, you swear you see Yoongi smiling.

Hungry lips suck at the tender flesh of your neck. You gasp, feeling your toes curl in pleasure, head spinning. Yoongi’s teeth scrape against the sensitive skin, the drag of his rough tongue soothing over the bites driving you mad. You let out a soft moan, eyes squeezing shut as you writhe under him.

Yoongi’s large hands pin yours above your head, your fingers tangling in the sheets as he continues to ravish your neck with his hot mouth, tongue and teeth. His hips roll over you and you whine, feeling his hard-on pressing against you.

Your parents would kill you if they knew you were here like this, trapped under a god of the dark as he sucks on your pulse point, mouth moving upward to nip your ear. Your chest is heaving and you can’t get enough breath, overwhelmed by the scent of cinnamon and clove, by the way his mouth pulls sounds from you so easily.

Yoongi tears his lips away and looks down at you, eyes so dark and blown out that you think he might devour you, swallow you whole in one bite -

“You’re dreaming of me again,” he whispers. “I don’t know if you mean to be dreaming of me, like this.”

You startle, realizing this isn’t real, and the illusion fades.

Twilight skies stretch above you. It’s warm outside, but the night air is cool against your skin, making you shiver as you sit down, folding your legs criss-cross.

“Are you cold?” Yoongi asks, sitting down on the soft grass next to you. You shake your head, eyes fixed on the low table in front of you that's filled with platters of meats, cheeses and crackers. You eye a glass bottle of red liquid that you think is wine, mouth watering. “Are you sure?”

“Promise, the wind feels nice.”

He looks doubtful as he sits down next to you, a healthy amount of space between you.

Tonight, Yoongi has insisted on a late night snack outside under the stars. He seems eager, verging on giddy as he glances up at the sky before reaching for the bottle of red liquid and popping the cork.

After nearly two weeks in the House of Dreams, you’ve learned that this world is forever twilight, lit up by dreams. Here, day and night don’t exist in their truest forms. There are always millions of people and creatures dreaming at every moment of existence, not limiting Yoongi’s world and power to times of day and night.

The twilight is beautiful. You’ve grown accustomed to the purple tint to the world, the way that it gets just the barest bit darker outside during certain periods, as though even in a world where night and day don’t exist, there are still two separate halves of time.

Yoongi passes you a glass. You bring it to your nose and sniff, delighted at the scent of cherries and something else. It’s certainly wine, though you wait for him to pour himself a glass to sip any.

Earrings dangle in Yoongi’s ears tonight. Each lobe has a small, thin chain with a moon charm on the end that’s studded with sapphires, catching the moonlight as he sets down the bottle and sits back. His hair is pulled half-up, half-down again, leaving his full face in view as he looks at you and gives you a gummy grin that scatters your thoughts.

“Chaos is moving through the sky tonight,” Yoongi informs you, glancing upward. “When she does, she’s beautiful to see. She doesn’t do it that often, but she’s passing us by on her way to do whatever it is she does somewhere. I wanted you to see.”

He holds out his drink and you grip yours tight, raising your glass to clink with his like you’ve seen people do at the inn in your village. He turns away from you, bringing his wine to his lips to sip. You follow suit, tentatively tilting your glass.

Sweet cherries bloom on your tongue and you hum in delight. It isn’t just cherries you taste, though. There’s a lush sweetness too, edged with spice, filling your mouth with warmth. You look at Yoongi as you sip and see him watching with a closed-lipped smile, eyes searching your face.

“You like it?”

You nod and set the glass down. “It’s delicious.”

“You like sweet things.”

“And you like salty.” He raises a brow in question. “You’re always going for the salted meats at dinner. And you have salted pork right there,” you point to the meat and cheeseboards. “Do gods get dehydrated?”

“We do not. I didn’t realize you were paying so much attention.” You shrug, picking up your wine to take small sips again. “Anything else you’ve noticed?”

Everything, you want to say and don’t. You’ve noticed so many things about Yoongi, all of them coming to mind at once. But you don’t want to reveal just how much you’ve watched him over the last two weeks, paying far more attention than is proper.

You could tell Yoongi how you’ve noticed that he wears seven necklaces exactly, each with a different symbol charm on them that you think corresponds to the seven Eternals. You could tell him that he has the habit of closing his eyes and tilting his face upward, like he’s absorbing moonlight. You know all of his favorite breakfast items, specifically crispy bacon and sugared strawberries.

And there are other things you could tell him, like in your dreams his lips are soft as sin, his voice low and sultry. You could admit that most nights you feel his grip on your waist and that when you study his hands during your lessons, you can’t help but already know the shape of them.

Perhaps two weeks back in your village is exactly what you need to get the ridiculous fantasy of this eternal being from your head. You don’t think you could bear the shame of him knowing exactly what living in the in-between realm has done for your imagination in a very unexpected way.

“You like bacon,” you offer as an answer. “And sugared strawberries. In the evening, whiskey is your favorite. It smells a little bit like honey, but still spicy. And you must work in the dream tower often at night, because the door to the tower smells like clove and cinnamon and you always smell that way.”

Yoongi’s brows shoot up. You hide your expression with your glass of wine, taking a long draught. It hums in your veins, warm and rushing like nothing you’ve ever felt before. When you lower the glass, Yoongi watches you with an intense expression. You meet his gaze, suddenly unable to look away.

The air feels charged as you stare. His eyes dip down to your mouth a single time, then back up to your eyes. The breeze moves strands of his hair and you smell the hint of clove followed by cinnamon, just as you always do when he’s near. Your heart starts to staccato as the silence presses on.

A little shriek cuts through the tension like a knife. You flinch and turn around, looking at a red blur of movement burst from the wisteria trees. Tiera lands with a squawk, the fey dragon huffing as grey smoke curls from her lungs. She ignores you entirely as she normally does and skips over to where Yoongi is sitting before she settles next to him, curling like a cat and laying on her tail.

Yoongi laughs. “Hello, Tiera.” The dragon chuffs and lets out another puff of smoke. “Are you not going to say hello to our friend?”

When the dragon pays no attention to you, you roll your eyes. “She hates me.”

“Dragons are capricious. She’s been with me for over a hundred years.”

“Not very mature then, is she?”

He chuckles again as you pluck cheese from the platter and pop it into your mouth. You’re delighted to find it’s soft and garlicky with a hint of rosemary as well. “She is still a child in dragon years.”

“And you let her be a glutton.”

“You could be too.” Your chewing slows and you swallow the cheese hard. You wait to see if he’s teasing you, but Yoongi watches you with a placid expression. “Dreams and desires are intertwined, you know. Desires come from dreams. It is in my nature to be indulgent.”

“I’ve never really been indulgent in my life.”

“Do you want to be?”

“What?”

His mouth twitches. “Indulgent.”

“I think this is indulgent,” you gesture to the food. “And you’re teaching me to read and write. That is more indulgence than I could ever dream of.”

He hums and it sounds like disapproval. “I think your dreams are far more indulgent than that.”

He knows. You think he’s going to say something, to ask about the way you dream of him. Instead, he says, “When you return, we’ll work on your indulgence. There is no shame in wanting things, you know?”

“I don’t know. How could I?”

Light flashes above your head. You break eye contact with him to look up and gasp. The sky is full of shooting stars, hundreds of them, maybe thousands. The world lights up as you see rainbows streaking across the sky, bursts of colors and explosions of brilliance shooting through the sky.

Your mouth hangs open as you watch, mystified into silence. You’re sure this is what Yoongi meant when he said Chaos was passing by, for the sky becomes a cacophony of color and stars and light. You blink your eyes, stunned by the display. It’s the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen, your heart hammering with excitement as you watch it, legs crossed, head tilted up.

The stars begin to slow and there are less bursts of color, until finally, there is just a shimmering wake of stardust and pink simmering in the sky. You look at Yoongi, utterly speechless, to find him looking at you. His eyes reflect the night sky, full of constellations and stardust, glittering in the dark depths of his irises.

Yoongi’s eyes are as wonderful as the display above, but you don’t say that.

“That was beautiful,” you breathe. “The most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”

His eyes don’t leave you when he hums softly in agreement. “It was.”

Tiera shuffles next to Yoongi, drawing your attention. She snakes her long neck out, tongue tasting the air as she eyes the meat on the table. Yoongi hisses at her and taps her nose in chastisement, earning an angry croak as the dragon shuffles back to her napping position.

The rest of your evening is spent snacking in companionable silence. Yoongi doesn’t talk much unless he’s answering your hundreds of questions, but tonight, you have none. You’re comfortable to just look at the world around you, the wisteria branches dancing in the breeze.

In the distance, you hear thunder. Your eyes follow the sound to the same dark peak with lightning crackling through the mist. You’ve yet to ask Yoongi about that peak in particular, but you think you know what looms there. You remember Yoongi talking about how there are nightmares in this realm too, and you’re not eager to ask what that thunderous mountain holds.

Yoongi doesn’t divulge, either. He watches you as you regard the peak and says nothing. Perhaps even the Eternal of dreams is hesitant to speak of that place, which is a good enough reason for you not to press him further on it.

When your stomach is full and you’ve had another glass of wine, you lay back in the grass. Your limbs feel heavy with drink and your world is tilted on a slow-rotating axis. The buzz in your veins feels pleasant, though your thoughts are a little sticky like honey and they run together, untamed.

Careful to keep his distance, Yoongi lays back in the grass with you. His face looks up at the sky, but you look at him. His features are so delicate and soft, nose and cheeks so round. His face don’t make sense in your head, so severe and terrifying yet gentle and innocent at the same time.

“You’re staring,” he says eventually.

“I’m indulging,” you tease back, loosened up by wine. “You said I can indulge, so let me stare.”

“What is there to indulge in?”

“Your… earrings.”

That makes him look at you, a brow quirked. “My earrings.”

“Yes. Very shiny. Very dangly.”

“Shiny and dangly?”

“Is there an echo out here?” you demand, frowning at him. “Yes, I am indulging in your jewelry!”

“Would you like some earrings?”

“My ears aren’t pierced.”

“Well then we’ll pierce them.”

“Well,” you grump. “Don’t you have the answer for everything?”

He smiles then, that rare gummy smile that makes you shut right up. “I told you. I’m indulgent. Anything you want, all you need is to ask.”

Rolling your eyes, you bite your lip to hide your smile at his words. It is insane to you that this ancient being is laying in the grass next to you telling you to only ask what you want. You don’t know what you want, but you do know that this feels like a dream. That you’re not really here, and that you’re going to wake up tomorrow and be in your bed at home.

Dread fills you at the thought of going back to your parents. In a way, you want to see them. They’re your parents and there is… unfamiliarity without the sound of your mothers needle stitching through cloth. You could do without your father entirely. The rage inside of you when you picture his face is difficult to quell and is often followed by terror.

Yoongi has told you that you will be safe when you return. You believe him. There is no reason not to. But more than anything, you’re terrified about what comes next. Living between two worlds is something you remember dreaming about that one day in the forest, looking at the way the world was reflected back on the mirror-calm surface of the water.

Now that you have access to two worlds, you don’t know what to do with the other that has brought you nothing but suffering. And yet, you still want to see what is there. You’re not ready to leave it entirely without knowing.

“Are you afraid to go back?”

Yoongi’s question is soft. You don’t hesitate to answer, “Yes.”

“You won’t be alone. All you have to do is dream of me, and I will come.”

You hesitate then ask, “Do you know any time someone dreams of you?”

“It’s like hearing someone call my name, but I never answer. My business is in creating dreams, not invading them. People like you are able to spin up dreams on your own without my assistance. I help those who cannot.”

“That sounds like a lovely job.”

He hums. “It’s not without its stresses. I talk a lot about the nature of dreams, but there is more to me and to my job than that. Perhaps we will leave that for your next visit, yes?”

You nod. “Okay.”

“Come on,” Yoongi sighs, heaving himself upward. “It is late and in the morning, you must return.”

“Touch me,” you beg him, straddling Yoongi’s lap. His head rests against the back of the couch and he looks up at you as you run your fingers through his hair. It’s softer than you imagined, sliding like silk between your fingers. “You told me to ask for what I wanted. Touch me.”

“Anything,” Yoongi agrees. His hands skim up your thighs, warm and rough. He squeezes your flesh, making you moan as his hands continue their worship. Yoongi grips your hips tightly, kneading your flesh as he pulls you closer to him. “Anything. Everything. For you.”

When you wake up, you’re confused. The roof above your head is wood and thatch. The mattress beneath you is thin and lumpy, sweat sticking the sheets to your legs. Rolling over, your vision blurs until it comes into focus once more, revealing a tiny room with just a bed, a wardrobe and a closed door.

Your room. Well, your room in your parents’ house, you realize with a panic.

You shoot up in bed as terror claws at you. Did you dream it all? Was it not real? Nothing in your room has changed and the windows are open to the cool air. Grey clouds drift in the sky and you can smell the petrichor of oncoming rain in the distance.

Rushing to your bedroom door, you rip it open, your heart threatening to burst with how hard it’s beating. You don’t know what you’re looking for or what you expect to find, but the idea that you have just woken up from the most vivid, wonderful dream is so maddening that you need anything to tell you it was real. That it wasn’t in your head.

Your mother is sitting at the kitchen table stitching. She looks up when she hears you. She looks different, leaner and narrower than you ever remember, her greasy hair tied low at her neck. Her hands pause their stitching as she stares at you, stricken.

“What day is it?” you ask her. The day you had been attacked had been a seventh day. You remember that clearly. “Tell me what day it is!”

Instead, your mother screams in sheer terror.

#yoongi fanfic #min yoongi fanfic #yoongi smut #suga fanfic #suga bts #yoongi series #suga smut #bts fanfic #bts smut #yoongi x reader #yoongi x you #minors dni #minors do not interact

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the-whispers-of-death · 4 months

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So part two to the Grumpy!Reader x Neighbor!John Price Drabble came faster than any part two to any of my other reader drabbles, but whatever. Might need to make a masterlist of all of the reader drabbles I've done. Anyways, enough rambling.

After a few dates at the local café and of course some few dates at local restaurants (because it's Price, of course he'd take you out to dinner), you two are officially dating. It's going well, he's a gentleman and understands completely when you have to reschedule dates because of your kid.

But you have one foot out the door when it comes to this relationship. It's nothing against Price, you're a grumpy, closed off person and also he has yet to meet your kid. What if your kid doesn't like him? Then you'd have to take a quick exit out of the relationship.

For the first time ever since you've started putting yourself out there in the dating realm, your kid is the one asking to meet Price. So you talk it out with him and schedule a day for when he comes over. It's nothing fancy, just dinner at your house. So he comes over and he's more (visibly) nervous than you are, dressed casually but also fancy with a buttoned down shirt on and long pants.

He's so gentle with your kid, asking for permission to even get close to them, much less touch them! He talks to them in the most soft-spoken tone you've ever heard a military man like him speak in, listening to their talking even if they ramble about everything and anything.

The dinner is splendid and after much begging to you on your kid's part, he even stays for another hour. He plays whatever game your kid wants, even braids their hair if they have long hair and want him to braid it. It goes so well that by the time Price leaves, you and your kid is impressed with him (and you're more in love with him than ever).

And so your kid turns to you and asks (either in a teasing way if they're a teen or in a serious way if they're younger), "When are you marrying him?"

Reblogs are welcomed & appreciated!

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soggyriceee · 11 months

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Helping Hand | dbf!Captain Price

summary: after your parents argue again, you walk over to your neighbors house who, you've had relations with in the past. true feelings are brought up be end in the most romantic way, loooooong back story but I feel like that makes the smut part of it so much better

warnings: dbf!Price, female!reader, age gap (reader 22, Price 45), unprotected P in V, fingering, daddy kink (bc hes daddy)

another restless night. your mom screaming at your dad for being at the bar late at night, him screaming back that he needed the break. "I work 60 hours a week!" he'd yell. "you are never home for dinner, barely make it to your kids important days!" she'd yell back, sometimes throwing a pan at him. it was bad. and you'd have to hear it every other night. your brothers drinking was no help either. family arguments were common, no matter how much you tried to avoid them. your mom would burst into your room, telling you to take her side, your father having the same idea.

"can you guys please stop I have exams tomorrow." you remember telling them, trying your hardest to focus on the notes in front of you. it was 12 in the morning. they were all supposed to be asleep. but of course, your dad stumbled in drunkly, waking up your mom and brother. it was peaceful in the house until it wasn't. thats why you'd often saunter over to your neighbor, John, to get some sleep.

"of course kid, you never have to ask." he always told you, smiling down as he opened the door wide. his wife was always delighted to have you over, she saw you as one of her own seeing as they never had kids. John was too busy with the military, kids was never truly an option for him. but he never saw you as his own, as his kid. he saw you as a woman. a woman who caught his eye the second she moved in next door two years ago.

your family had moved next door so it was closer to your college, but also to your fathers job. and Price and his wife were very quick to welcome you all into the neighborhood. they were the first people who invited you to their cookouts, parties. anything. your father had grown so close to Price, it was like they were brothers. and thats what made Price's feelings towards you even more conflicted and morally wrong. he knew he couldn't pursue you. he was significantly older than you, married and friends with your father. there were a surplus of negatives rather than positives and he was not willing to risk anything.

but when the summer time hit, and you'd slide into his pool, the pink or white bikini latching to your skin, he couldn't help but excuse himself up to his room and fuck into his fist, moaning your name into his hand. and what was the worst part about it all, he didnt care about what his wife would think. he cared what you'd think.

his marriage was falling apart quickly. his wife was very passionate about having kids, even though she was 40. "please, at least before im dried up for good." she'd beg him. but he wouldn't budge. kids was not something he wanted to have, ever. and because of that arguments were not a foreign thing for the two of them. so, it wasn't that you were young. or maybe it was. but it was because you would give him a new sense of life, a breath of fresh air away from arguments and constant stress.

the first night you had come to his home, tears falling from your cheeks, he was instantly worried. he pulled you into the house, pulling you into his chest. his wife came out quickly, gaping at your disheveled look. "oh my.. what happened my dear?" she ask, dropping the cup of tea in hand and running to hug you alongside John.

from that night on you made it routine to come sleep over in their house, whenever you needed. they even gave you a key. you felt more at home with them than you did at your home. they let you decorate the guest room into your own, took you out on small little events. it gave John's wife a sense of motherhood, one that she wanted for years.

so, when you and Price were in your room together, making out passionately, his hand gripping your boobs, your hands tangled in his hair, it didnt strike her as odd when she walked in to see you both on your bed. "she was having a hard time in school.. English test, right?" John said to her, quick to have an excuse. you nodded, swallowing hard. "y-yea I just.. needed to vent." you said, looking at her.

that was a month ago of course, she had believed you both. but that was the last time you and Price had ever really done anything of sorts again. and that was the last time you had been to their house. the feelings, tension between you both was too much and you both knew, that you wouldn't be able to make the right decisions if you both were alone together again.

but things were getting hard again and you needed to escape home. another family fight, this time about your father bringing up another woman's name during sex. it was disturbing, gross and uncomfortable for you to be around. but the screaming, breaking glass. it was not something you wanted to spend your summer night listening to.

looking out the window, you bit your bottom lip before making the final decision to sneak out and head over to your home. your real home. grabbing your phone, laptop and AirPods, you made your way out the window, landing on the mini roof in front of your window and slowly, climbing down to where the floor was. silently, you made your way across your lawn and over to Mr. Price's, looking at all the new flowers his wife had recently grown. a part of you felt guilt, selfish even for coming into their home, knowing what had happened between you and Price a few weeks ago. but you needed peace. you needed him.

knocking on the door, you crossed your arms behind your back, waiting anxiously for the door to open. a few seconds after, the door slowly opened, revealing a disheveled looking Price. his face was bright red, lips glossy. he had no shirt on, but a grey pair of sweats. a part of you felt embarrassed, but a bigger part of you felt a bit of pain, assuming he was just fucking his wife upstairs. "o-oh.. hey kid." he said, clearing his throat. " hi.. John. I guess this was a bad time but I-"

"no.. no its not." he said quickly, shaking his head. "I-i was just.." he pointed his thumb behind him, maintaining eye contact as he tried to find the words. you gave a small, apologetic smile before turning. but he was faster, gripping your wrist and pulling you back. " stay. please." he whispered, looking down at you, his eyes submissive. you swallowed before looking behind him, seeing an empty bottle of whiskey on the table. "isn't.. Mrs. Pri-" "she's not Mrs anymore.." he cut you off, looking away from you.

you felt guilty for bringing up the topic, even more guilty for thinking he was fucking her upstairs instead of you. his grip on you loosened and he backed away. "you don't have to stay.. but i'm assuming your here cause your parents. and you shouldn't.. be around that. you shouldn't be alone.. and I don't wanna be alone anymore either." he said, his words growing breathless towards the end, his eyes moving back to yours. your heart felt heavy for him. he was struggling for God knows how long alone. you gave him a small nod, his hand taking yours before he pulled you gently inside.

the door closed and you looked around the empty home, dishes and beer cans scattered about. "im sorry for the mess I uh.. its been hard to-" "let me help you." you turned to him, looking up at him. his doe eyes pierced into you, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips. that was all the confirmation you needed before turning back around, grabbing the empty cans and moving towards the kitchen recycling can. " thank you." you heard him say from the living room. "dont mention it. its a good distraction for me anyways." you said, the memory of your parents fighting coming back to you.

"hey.." he said, somehow coming up behind you. you quickly turned, wiping your eyes quickly and giving him a fake smile. his hands cupped your cheeks, his thumbs wiping the tears. " your here now.. safe." he whispered, keeping his eyes on yours. his lips trailed from your eyes to your lips, then back to your eyes. " John.." you whispered, pulling your head out of his grasp. he cleared his throat, stepping back. you both wanted it, bad. but it was wrong. and you both agreed to it, nonverbally of course, but it was an intuition.

" im sorry." you said softly, looking down to your shoes. "dont apologize. you have done nothing wrong." he said, patting your arm before walking away.

the rest of the night you spent in 'your room', reading up the rest of the texts you had for your exams. it was raining pretty hard outside, thundering and lightening. it was peaceful, more peaceful than your home.

stretching, you sat up from your bed and made your way down to the kitchen, hungry. you were sure price was hungry as well so why not make some grilled cheese? as you hummed your way down the hall, you heard what sounded like cries coming from inside John's room. you stopped in your tracks, standing in front of his room. you then heard empty bottles rolling against the floor. sighing, you leaned your head against the door. you didnt know if you should open the door, or stay outside. or just walk away.

but your heart was more powerful than your mind and you couldnt stop your hand from knocking against the door. "John.. can I come in?" you asked softly. when he stopped sniffling, and all you could hear was the empty bottles, you slowly opened the door. in front of you was John, sitting against his wall, tears running down his face with another bottle of whiskey by his side. he wasn't moving, wasn't blinking. just crying.

you slowly approached him, sitting in front of him. you took the bottle, placing it under his bed, out of sight. " can i.. hold your hand?" you asked, looking at his blank face. when he gave you a soft hum, you reached for his hand, cupping it in both of yours. he felt his breathing go from fast to slow, his hooded eyes making his way to yours. "i'm here John.. you don't have to be alone anymore.." you said softly, scooting closer.

for the next hour John spent crying into your chest, apologizing for being drunk around you. " I-im sorry for.. for this. I know drunk p-people probably make you feel-" "stop. you have a valid reason. I understand. id actually prefer being around drunk you than my drunk father anyways.." you said, running your hands through his hair. he held your waist, sniffling every now and then. he was finally calm, finally at peace. he felt safe in your arms and despite how embarrassing it was to be the older person seeking out comfort from the younger, he knew the last thing you'd do was judge him.

"are you hungry?" you asked, realizing John had been playing with the hem of your shirt for a bit. he looked up, his eyes scanning your lips before meeting your gaze. a soft smile was painted across your face, your hands still in his hair. "im.. im sorry." he whispered. before you could ask him what he meant, his lips pressed against yours, his hand slipping around the side of your neck. he poked your lips with his tongue, asking for permission. and you embarrassingly fast let him in.

he shifted so he was sitting now, pulling you onto his lap. his tongue roamed your mouth, occasionally sucking your tongue and earning a moan from you. when he finally pulled away, a short string of saliva connected you two. heavy pants and the sound of rain was all that could be heard as you both stared at each other, waiting for whats next. just as you opened your mouth, he spoke.

"i.. I know you think its because im drunk. but I promise you.. ive wanted to do that for so long." he whispered, eyes going back to your wet lips. " I dream of it, even when she was here. I couldnt bring myself to not think about you when I kissed her. when I fucked her. when I laid beside her. I know I sound like a horrible person, and I know what im risking here saying this to you. but.. but I have a feeling you feel the same about me.." he said softly, his hands holding your hips in place, hoping and praying you wouldn't run away, never speaking to him again. but you wouldn't do that. because you cared about him too much. you wanted this to happen as much as he did and you weren't going to let this moment slip away.

your hands cupped his face before leaning in again, John accepting the kiss before your lips even met. it was a slow, passionate kiss. he pulled you closer into him, moaning into the kiss when you'd pull at his bottom lip. his hands slowly snaked up your shirt, now holding your waist. "I need you.." you breathed against his lips, eyes still closed. it was desperate of you. but you didn't care. seeing how badly he wanted you made you want him even more. you didn't care if she walked in and saw the two of you, told your parents, the whole neighborhood. you guys could run away, live in a different state, a different country even. you guys could be happy. and as much as you wanted that, you knew the right now, this was the best you'd get.

he slowly pulled you off his lap, standing up before lifting you up. he laid you gently on the bed, resting between your legs. his lips attached to yours again, his hand finding your covered breast immediately. your whimpered into the kiss, thrusting your hips up to feel his hard on. his other hand found the side of your face, holding it as to keep you close. his lips moved down to your jaw, then your neck. he was careful to not make too many marks, especially ones to high up. you whimpered at his teeth nibbling your skin, his tongue sliding slowly across the mark to ease the pain. " ive wanted this.. for so long." he Sid against your skin, his hands working to pull down the pajama pants you had put on a while back.

he threw them behind him, not caring where they end up. he sat up, looking down at your panties. a large wet spot shone threw, a breathy chuckle eliciting from him. "is this all for me baby?" he asked, his fingertips ghosting over the spot. you nodded quickly, bucking your hips up. " use your words darling." he said again, looking up at you this time, his fingers still ghosting over the same spot. "y-yes.. yes daddy." his face formed a bright smile before looking back down at your panties, fingers slipping under the hem and pulling them down. "daddy huh? dont think ive ever been called that." his fingers ran up your slit and stopping right before your clit. you groaned at the teasing, trying to move your hips to meet his fingers.

"patience baby.. daddy wants to take his time with you." he said, chuckling at your desperation. nothing was funny to you, but you wanted him do bad, you'd be willing to do anything he asked of you in this moment. his fingers continued to tease you until he slid one inside you for just a second, before quickly pulling it back out. he loved how fast your cunt clenched around his finger, the surprised gasp leaving your lips when he slid it in, then out. "you like that?" he whispered, watching how your pussy clenched every time his finger got close to your hold again. "yes please.. please do it again." you begged from beneath him, eyes pleading with his distracted ones.

he smiled to himself, adding two fingers in at once this time and watching them completely disappear. your head pressed firmly against the pillow, your eyes squeezing shut. he moved his fingers in and out slowly, then fast, analyzing which pace got you reacting to his touch more. when he found it, he continued with it, his eyes finally moving up to your face. your beautiful face. he felt like he had fallen in love all over, watching your face twist in pleasure. it scared him most certainly. he'd spent what felt like years and years in a somewhat loveless marriage. seeing you, your beautiful face, kind personality and hearing your beautiful voice made him scared. scared that if he did commit to you, you both would end up like his marriage.

but now, he couldnt worry about that. your moans and whimpers were too much of a distraction for him to think about anything serious. he wanted to focus on now, and thats what he did. "feel good baby? is daddy making this pussy feel good?" he asked above you, body completely hovering over you as he tilted his head to the side, looking down at you. you nodded, opening your eyes and gripping his shoulders. "s-so good~" you whined, nodding your head quickly. " good girl. such a good girl for me aren't you? gonna cum on daddy fingers huh? gonna show daddy how good you feel?" he asked, his thumb quick to find your clit and moving at the same pace your fingers were.

no matter how hard you tried to talk, his fingers were doing magic on your lower region. you felt a knot forming at the pit of your stomach, your moans increasing in pitch. " I-im gonna cum" you cried out, pulling him down into your chest and hugging his shoulders. he grunted in your ear, keeping the same continuous pace, whispering how beautiful you were, how hes gonna claim your pussy. how hes gonna gonna make love to you, rather than just fuck you. his genuine words, surprisingly, made you finish, your cum soaking both him and his bed sheets. he gasped, peeking down at your cunt as his fingers slowed in pace, listening to the squelching noises your pussy made for him.

he sat up, looking down at the mess beneath you both. he hadn't realized it, but his fingers kept moving in and out of you. it was like he was in a spell, a spell from your pussy. " j-john" you finally called out, getting his attention. he smiled and slid his fingers out, sliding them in his mouth. he hummed around them, causing you to hide your face in your hands. he was quick, however, to remove them. "dont hide from me. I want you to see how good you taste." he said before pressing his lips back onto yours. your own taste flooded your mouth, your hands tangling back into his hair.

at the same time, he began to pull his sweats down, his dick springing free, slapping against his lower stomach. the sound made you pull away and look down. to say you were nervous was an understatement. but he was quick to shut down any worries you had. "im gonna go slow with you.. I promise." he said, lifting your head. he gave another small smile down at you, rubbing your cheek with his thumb. you leaned into his touch, closing your eyes and smiling. it almost slipped from him, but he held back the ' I love you' as he watched you lean into him. his heart was fluttering and he felt like crying all over. happy tears though. because he was truly in love, an the knew that after this, you'd have to go back home. pretend like what happened never happened. at least in front of people. but he didnt want that. he wanted to show the world you were his and he was yours.

he was so deep in thought again, you had wrapped your legs around him to get his attention. "s-sorry. your just so beautiful" he smiled, kissing your forehead before standing from the bed, pulling his sweats and boxers off completely. he was quick to slide back between your legs, his tip hitting your soaked pussy. he looked down, grabbing the base and moving it around your cunt. "shit your fucking drenched honey." he whispered, watching as strings of your wetness rose from you as he lifted his dick away. you whimpered in embarrassment, a bright pink covering your cheeks.

"its sexy." he said, looking into your eyes. he swallowed before looking back down. "like I said, I wanna make love to you. I don't want this to be just us fucking. i.. I see you more than that." he said, his eyes wandering your body nervously before meeting your gaze. you smiled up at him, pulling him closer so your foreheads touched. " then make love to me John." you whispered, looking at him through your lashes.

his lips pressed onto yours, his hands holding onto your hands as he slowly, and carefully, slid into you. it was easy, considering your slick. but it still hurt, the stretching of your walls around his thickness. the moment you let out a pained whimper he stopped, telling you to tell him when you were ready for more. and it did take a while, but he eventually bottomed out inside your cunt, groaning at the warmth and wetness. his head fell into your neck, catching his breath before he tapped your hips. "are you ready for me love?" he asked into your neck, lifting his head to see your face when you answered. when you nodded, giving him a shy 'yes', his hips moved out, slow, and back in, slow.

at first it hurt. yes, you had small flings in college, and you had definitely told him about them before you figured out how in love with him you were. but never had they meant a lot to you. you are drunk for most of them, causing you to regret not waiting for the right guy which, in this case, would be John. you looked up at him, his bottom lip between his teeth as his browns knitted together. he let out soft grunts with every thrust, a breath after a few more. he looked beautiful, so handsome.

" darling s-stop looking up at me before i.. I finish too soon." he breathed out, looking into your eyes finally. you blushed and looked down to where your bodies connected. the sight alone made you clench around him, a whimper slipping past you. your hands found his neck, your eyes squeezing shut. his thrusts remained pretty slow, causing you to buck your hips up. "faster.. please." you whispered, opening your eyes to see his already on you. "anything for my princess." he responded, kissing your forehead as his thrusts picked up in pace. he wasn't going super fast, but he was going at a decent speed.

whimpers slipped past you with each thrust of his, your head falling back into the pillow. his name, and a few daddy's, slipped past your lips every so often, encouraging him to keep going. " f-fuck princess you're.. you're so tight" he groaned, his breathing picking up in pace. his grunts slowly turned into moans and you had assumed he was close. he took one leg and wrapped it around his waist, allowing deeper access into your cunt. his tip every so slightly hit your cervix, emitting more moans from you.

you hadn't realized it at first, but your nails dug into his back, leaving both crescent marks and scratches. and he fucking loved it. it was your way of marking his body, what was yours. he wanted more. " fuck baby.. mark me. I-im all yours~" he moaned, his head dropping into your chest as his thrusts began to become a bit more fast. he was certainly close, and you were too. " John im gonna cum" you moaned, leg tightening around his waist.

his breathing grew rapid, his head raising to look down at you with hooded eyes. his hands gripped the side of your neck, his other around your hip. he felt his dick pulse inside you, scared of cumming inside you, but also hoping you'd let him. "inside me.. please" you whimpered out, sensing his worry. he gave out a quiet whimper, his eyes squeezing shut.

it was perfect, your bodied moving together. and what made it even more perfect was the fact you both were going to cum, together. it was beyond romantic and made the feelings between you both even stronger. he opened his eyes, feeling as though he couldnt hold back any longer. he didnt know what had came over him, if it was your pussy, the alcohol, or just his emotions, but he couldnt stop the words from flowing out.

" fuck princess I-im cumming- fuck I love you.. oh I fucking..love. you!" he groaned, the last few words accompanied with a powerful thrust. his cum shot into you, a loud groan and a gasp escaping him. his grip on you tightened, his eyes watching as your cum shot out of you as well, mixing with his.

his eyes fluttered closed, his body falling onto you. you looked up at the ceiling, breathing hard as you just recalled what he had admitted to you. 'he loves me..?' you though, your chest feeling heavy, but a good heavy.

he eventually rose up, swallowing as he looked down at you. "I-im sorry im probably still drunk I didnt mean-" your lips slammed against his, discontinuing the sentence he had planned. " I love you to John." you said against his lips. you felt the smile spread across his lips as he moved back down to kiss you, his arms wrapping around your waist and pulling you into him.

the rest of the night you both spent cuddling, watching tiktoks on your phone. when you eventually dozed off, he placed your phone on the charger, went to use the bathroom one last time before coming back next to you. he pulled you into his chest, spooning you. he kissed your bare shoulders, whispering 'I love you' after each peck. he was happy. he didnt worry too badly about what could happen. he was happy now. and he wanted to stay that way forever.

| aghhh after serious writers block I give you guys this. this was a lot more cute than my other ones so I hope you all enjoyed this as much as I did |

#call of duty x reader #call of duty fan fiction #cod x reader #cod #captain price smut #captain price #john price smut #captain john price

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